“Damn,” said Hutch.
Carson took a deep breath. “Angela, how long do you think this will last?”
“Hard to tell. The worst of it should end within a day or two. It’s still moving pretty quickly. And it’s not tracking Delta’s orbit, so we should come out of it fairly soon.” They could hear her breathing in the dark. “I think this place is going to have even lousier weather than usual for a while though.”
“I’m scared,” said Hutch.
So was Carson. But he knew it would be improper to concede the point. Someone needed to show strength. “We’ll be okay,” he told her. He wished they could get pictures from the ground cameras. What was happening at the site?
The dragon’s head dissolved. Billows and fountains expanded, collapsed, and blew apart. They rubbed together like great cats. Chunks of rock and ice, apparently buried within the thick atmosphere, were expelled.
On Delta, methane seas exploded into nearby low-lying areas. Tornado-force winds, generated by sudden changes in pressure, roared around the globe. Everywhere, it was midnight.
Rock and ice fell out of the sky. Their fiery trails illuminated the general chaos. Most were small, too small to penetrate even the relatively thin atmosphere. Others plowed into ice fields, and blasted swamps and seas.
Volcanoes erupted.
Out on their plain, Hutch, Angela, and Frank crouched in the shuttle and waited. Waited for the world-cracking collision that would come when the core of the dragon struck ground. As it must. As Angela, despite her assurances to the contrary, sincerely believed it must.
But it never happened.
The winds hammered at them, and the plain trembled, and black rain and ice and thick ashes poured down.
The night rumbled and flared.
Gradually, they became persuaded that the worst was over, that the hurricane-force winds were diminishing. They would survive; they needed only ride out the storm. And they grew talkative. An atmosphere that might best be described as nervous festive set in. Things banged and exploded and crunched in the night. But they were still there. And they silently congratulated themselves on their good luck. At one point, their rising spirits were helped along when they thought they heard Janet’s voice in the ocean of static pouring out of the receivers.
Navigation lights were mounted low on both sides of the cowling, behind the cockpit on the fuselage, and beneath the wings. Periodically, Angela blew the snow and soot off the windscreen and turned them on. Mounds were building high around them.
“I’ll make you a bet, Frank,” said Hutch.
“Which is—?”
“When we start reading the history of the Monument-Makers, we’re going to discover that a lot of them cleared out.”
“How do you mean?”
“Left the Galaxy. Probably went to one of the Magellanic Clouds. Somewhere where they don’t have these things.”
“Maybe. I think they entertained themselves bringing them down on the heads of whatever primitives they could find. I don’t think the Monument-Makers were very decent critters.”
“I think you’ve got it wrong,” she said.
“In what way?”
She took Carson’s wrist. “Oz was a decoy,” she said.
He leaned closer to her. “Say again.”
“Frank, they were all decoys. The cube moons. The Oz-creation at Beta Pac. They were supposed to draw these things off.”
“Well, if they were,” he said, “they apparently didn’t work.”
“No. I guess they did the best they could. But you’re right. They didn’t work. In the end, the Monument-Makers couldn’t even save themselves.”
He sat down on the deck behind her seat. “You think they got hit by one of these things?”
“I think they got hit twice. The interstellar civilization probably got nailed. They collapsed. Maybe they ran. I don’t know. Maybe they got out and made for the Lesser Magellanic. Ran from these things because they couldn’t divert them, and couldn’t stop them.”
“What about the space station?” he asked. “What do you think happened there?”
“—Survivors. Somebody rebuilt. But they didn’t get as far the second time. They didn’t go interstellar. Maybe it was a different type of civilization. Maybe they lost too much. They were just at the beginning of their space age when the wave came again.” She was glad now for the dark. “Frank, think what their technology must have been at its height. And how much advance warning they had. Maybe thousands of years. They knew these things were out there, and they tried to help where they could. But you’re right: they didn’t succeed.”
“The goop is getting a little high,” said Angela. “I think it would be a good idea to shift locations. We don’t want to get buried.”
“Do it,” said Carson.
She took them up. Their navigation lights, freed, spilled out over the black snow. The wind rocked the vessel, swept it clean.
Lightning lanced through the night. They timed the distant rumble, guessed at the effect of local air pressure. It was about twelve kilometers away. Cautiously, she set back down.
They passed coffee around. “It figures,” said Carson. “We knew all along that the natives lived through these. Except, I guess, the urban populations.” He looked hard at Hutch. “I think you’re right. About Oz. When did you figure it out?”
“A few hours ago. I kept thinking how much Oz looked like a city. Who were they trying to fool?” She kissed Carson lightly on the cheek. “I wonder if they understood what these things really are? Where they come from?”
“I wonder,” Angela said, “if this is the way organized religion got started.” They all laughed.
More lightning. Closer.
“Maybe we should start paying attention to the storm,” said Hutch.
Angela nodded. “It does seem to be walking this way, doesn’t it?”
Another bolt glided to ground, illuminating the cockpit.
“I think it’s seen us,” Hutch said.
“Hey.” Angela caught her shoulder. “Don’t let your imagination get overloaded.”
“It’s only lightning out there,” whispered Carson.
Angela, as a precaution, powered up.
“What kind of sensor range do we have?” asked Hutch.
“Zip. If we have to go, we’ll be flying blind.”
A long, liquid bolt flowed between land and sky. Hills and plain stood out in quick relief, and vanished. Thunder rolled across them. “It is coming this way,” whispered Angela.
“I don’t think we want to go up in this wind if we can avoid it,” said Carson. He was about to add something, when another fireball appeared. It sliced across the sky. They watched it move through the dark, right to left, watched it stop and begin to brighten.
“Son of a bitch,” squealed Angela. “It’s turning toward us.” Simultaneously, she pulled back the yoke, and the shuttle bucked into the air. The wind howled. The thing in the night burned, a blue-white star churning to nova.
“Button up,” called Hutch, sliding into her harness and igniting the energy field. Carson scrambled for a handhold.
Hutch locked Angela down in her web seat, and sealed off cargo, where Carson was seated. Then she clipped on her own restraints.
“Frank?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “Get us out of here.”
Angela put the juice to the magnets, and the shuttle leaped forward, and up, and the light passed beneath them. They heard the subsequent roar and felt the shock wave, and came around in time to see a white geyser climbing skyward.
Hutch looked toward Angela. “Strange meteor.”
She nodded. “I’d say so.”
The wind dragged at them, blew them across the sky.
Angela was trying to ease back onto the surface when a thunderbolt exploded alongside and the night filled with light. Their electronics went down, and the vehicle lurched wildly. Smoke leaked into the cockpit.
Angela activated her fire-retardants, fo
ught the shuttle into near-level flight, and started back up. “Safer upstairs,” she said.
“No,” said Carson. “Down. Take us down.”
“Frank, we need to be able to maneuver. We’re a sitting duck down there.”
“Do it, Angela. Get us on the ground.”
“You’re crazy,” said Hutch.
Angela looked distraught. “Why?”
Another bolt hammered them.
“Just do it,” Carson said. “As quick as you can.”
Hutch watched him on the monitor. He was pulling together the air tanks they’d stored.
Angela pushed the stick forward. “We should be trying to get above this,” she protested.
“How do you get above meteors?” demanded Carson.
Status lamps blinked off, came back on. Something exploded in back and a roar filled the vehicle. They began to fall.
“We’re holed,” cried Hutch.
Angela banked left and whacked the navigation console. “Portside rear stabilizers are gone,” she said. Through the bedlam of escaping air, howling wind, raining rock and ice, she managed to comment coolly, “Looks like you’ll get your way. We are sure as hell going down.”
The sky was filled with lightning.
“Fifty meters,” said Angela.
They jounced back onto the plain, throwing up gouts of snow and soot. Another meteor was tracking across the sky to their rear. They watched it pause and begin to brighten.
“Out,” Carson cried.
Angela started to argue, but Hutch reached over and punched the air cyclers. “It’s okay,” she said.
They grabbed the tanks and dragged them out as soon as the hatch had opened. Hutch tumbled into the snow, got up, and kept going.
Carson was right behind her.
“Run,” he cried. He had three tanks, lost one, but did not go back for it.
The fireball was coming in over a range of hills to the north.
They ran. The snow was crusted and kept breaking underfoot. Hutch went down again. Damn.
Hang onto the tanks!
“You sure he knows what he’s doing?” Angela asked.
“Yes,” said Hutch. “I think so. Go.”
The women struggled to put distance between themselves and the shuttle. Carson stayed with them.
The meteor trailed fire. Pieces broke off and fell.
“Everybody down!” cried Carson. They threw themselves into the snow.
The fireball roared in and blasted the shuttle. Direct hit.
The ground buckled, the icescape brightened, and a hurricane of snow and earth rolled over them. Rocks and debris struck Hutch’s energy field.
When it subsided, Carson switched on his lamp. They saw only a crater where the shuttle had been.
Angela shivered. She looked at the sky, and back at the lamp. “For God’s sake,” she said, “turn it off.”
Carson complied. “If you like,” he said. “But I think we’ll be all right now.”
She tried to bury herself in the snow, to hide from the clouds.
“It was never after us,” said Carson.
“How can you say that?” Angela asked.
More lightning. “Right angles,” he said. “It wanted the shuttle. Your flying box.”
Over the next few hours, the electricity drained out of the heavens. They sat quietly, watching the storms clear off. “I think I understand why the Quraquat used the image of a Monument-Maker to portray Death,” Frank said.
“Why?” asked Angela.
“Shoot the messenger. The Monument-Makers probably had no compunctions about landing, introducing themselves, and telling the Quraquat what the problem was.” He smiled. “You know, Richard was right. There are no aliens. They all turn out to be pretty human.”
“Like George,” said Hutch.
Carson drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. “Yes,” he said. He looked at Angela and explained: “They couldn’t stop the goddam things, so they created a diversion. Made something else for them to attack.”
“Well, something occurs to me,” said Angela. “This thing”—she waved in the general direction of the sky—“was part of the wave that struck Beta Pac about 5000 B.C., Quraqua around 1000 B.C., and Nok in AD 400. More or less. Right?”
“Yes,” said Carson.
“It’s headed toward Earth.” She looked unsettled.
Carson shrugged. “We’ve got nine thousand years to deal with it.”
“You know,” Hutch said, “Janet mentioned that we may already have had some direct experience with these things. She thinks the A wave correlates to Sodom.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Sodom? Maybe.” She fixed Carson with a tight smile. “But I’m not sure we’ve got as much time as you think. The B wave is still out there.”
Hutch moved closer to her companions. The B wave, the wave that had struck Beta Pac in 13,000 B.C., and Quraqua four thousand years later, would be relatively close to Earth. “About a thousand years,” she said.
“Well,” said Carson, “whatever. Nine or one, I still think we’ve got plenty of time.”
A shadow crossed Angela’s face. “I suspect that’s close to what the Monument-Makers said.”
LIBRARY ENTRY
No successful probe of an Omega cloud in Sight has been made. Efforts to transmit signals through the objects have yielded no results as of this writing. (See Adrian Clement’s excellent monograph, The Omega Puzzle, quoted in full in Appendix iii, for a lucid discussion of the theoretical problems involved.)
The only attempts to take a manned vehicle beneath the outer layers were made 3 and 4 July, 2211, by Meg Campbell, on the Pasquarella. Campbell made consecutive descents to 80 meters and 630 meters. She failed to return from a third try.
A detailed analysis of the Omega clouds must apparently await the development of new technology.
—Janet Allegri, The Engines of God
Hartley & Co., London (2213)
AFTERWORD
Institute for Advanced Studies, Princeton, NJ. April 2231.
To date, there are few substantive answers about the Monument-Makers. A vast ruin exists deep beneath the harbor city on Beta Pacifica III. It is known to be from the Cholois, or Monument-Maker, era. (The term means the Universal People, and it seems to have been used to include other intelligent species.) Excavation is proceeding with due caution. What is currently known is that Priscilla Hutchins’ suggestion that a substantial number of the Cholois fled their home is correct. They planned, initiated, and may have completed, an intergalactic leap.
Surviving members of the species still exist on the home world. They are few, and have been reduced to a state of near-savagery. None have been found with any memory of their former greatness, save in their myths.
Recent investigations support the view that the inhabitants of the space station at Beta Pac III witnessed the destruction of their world by an Omega cloud, and chose to die in space rather than return to a devastated homeland. Investigation continues.
Attempts to inspect the Omega clouds (which were not named for Angela Morgan) have been uniformly unproductive. Strong electromagnetic fields are believed to contribute to the clouds’ ability to retain their structure, but no one has explained satisfactorily how this could be.
They have turned out to be much less numerous than formerly supposed. It was something of an aberration that the Ashley Tee found two of them simultaneously in the same system. They are nevertheless uncomfortably plentiful, and there is no realistic hope that the solar system will not receive one or two unwelcome visitors in its own distant future. Conferences have already been convened to plan a strategy, and to ensure that future generations are warned of the danger.
The central processing unit recovered by Maggie Tufu from the space station has been a trove of information about the so-called City-Builder era. The natives of that period were aware of their early exploits. But rather than serving as a source of pride, they provoked a sense of lost greatness and
decay which slowed development, promoted decay, and induced dark ages.
The existence of the Omega clouds has raised deep-seated philosophical questions about the position of the human race in a universe now seen by many to be actively hostile. Return-to-nature movements have sprung up around the world, and there has also been a resurgence of fundamentalist religious groups, which had been in decline for decades.
Project Hope has proceeded successfully, and it now appears that the first human settlers will arrive on Quraqua well ahead of schedule.
Six additional monuments have been found. The Braker Society (named for its founder, Aran Braker, who died of a stroke during a demonstration outside the Smithsonian) has led a strong effort in recent years to recover the Great Monuments, and place them in Earth orbit. This effort has been encouraged by technological advances which would render the project feasible. Although the idea has found considerable popularity among the general public, opposition has come principally from the Academy and its allies, one of the more vocal of whom has been Melanie Truscott. These have been characterized as “Arconuts” by the Braker Society.
Starship design has improved significantly as a result of the experience of the Winckelmann. Secondary life support systems, capable of full manual operation, are now standard features.
Melanie Truscott’s career went into eclipse for several years, owing to the Richard Wald incident. She came to the public’s attention again in 2207 when she opposed an effort to resume massive logging in the Northwest. She lost that struggle, but was elected to the Senate in 2208.
Ian Helm, who was Kosmik’s director of southern icecap operations on Quraqua, escaped all blame for pushing the button. He has served several agencies and corporations in high-level posts, and is currently Commissioner of the NAU Park Service.
The Great Telescope in Beta Pacifica shares many of the characteristics of a living organism, although it is not quite precise to say it is alive. It was once fully capable of collecting data across the spectrum. Its signals have never been translated satisfactorily into optical images. It is now believed that the software, whose methodology is only dimly understood, has malfunctioned.
Henry Jacobi died in Chicago after a long illness. His last years were embittered by a series of simmy versions of the rescue at the Temple, all of which portrayed him as reckless and blundering.
The Engines of God Page 44