Hours later he staggered back to the filing area, leaving the others to the enthusiastic examination of the finds. There was enough sense still about him to realize that this unit had not been vacant for the last millennium. First off, something had altered its course from the original route into the galactic core. Second, something had provided the data to this vessel and had guided it into orbit. Finally, there was significant evidence of repair and maintenance.
He was drawn back at last to the books set off in the white circle. They were obviously set there to draw a visitor's attention. Not sure what to anticipate, Ian reached over and opened the first book.
He suddenly realized that Shelley had come up to his side.
"What is it?"
"I think it's a translator. Look, the pictographs for a man and a woman. Here's a diagram of our solar system and a map giving our location in relationship to the rest of the galaxy. That's it—these books are a translator for anyone, or anything, for that matter, who might find this ship."
"Ian? Stasz here."
There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
"Go on."
"Ian, I've just picked up a high-energy burst from the forward antenna of Archival 2. Damn near blew me out of my couch."
"I think we just hit the doorbell," Ian said softly. "Richard, Ellen, did you hear that? Meet me back in the catalog area before we head out."
Within the minute Stasz was back with more news.
"I've just locked on to several incoming energy sources, I can't tell what they are yet, but they were in high orbit around this planet. They're accelerating like mad. Damn it, you people better hurry!"
A doorway at the far end of the corridor slid open and Ellen burst through it panting for breath. "Where's Richard, I want to get moving!"
"Richard, how long before you get back here?" Ian tried to sound calm, but he knew his nervousness was showing.
"Another five minutes, at least, Ian. I'm way the hell at the other end of this ship."
Damn it! Ian silently cursed himself. He had screwed up. He should have had everybody stay together. He got so carried away by the honey pot that he had not thought of the consequences.
"Ian. Look, why don't you people head on out without me? Ahh, I mean you'll stand a better chance that way."
"What is this, Richard, a god-damn video drama? Cut the garbage and move your fat butt up here."
He could hear the audible sigh of relief.
"I hoped you'd say that, but at least my offer sounded good."
"You'd never have made it if I was in command," Ellen muttered.
"Ian, you have two minutes. They've already started to decelerate. For God's sake, get moving!"
Richard finally burst through the far door, gasping for breath and looking as if he was on the verge of an apoplectic fit.
"Let's go!"
Ellen took off at a run, while Shelley and Ian fell in on either side of the exhausted physician.
Reaching the stairway, they pushed Richard ahead of them while he cursed them and begged pitifully for a moment to regain his breath.
"Ian, I've got them on visual, there's three of them. They're about our size but look like they're armed, a couple of old-style missiles slung under each of them."
"Stasz, can we punch through to translight from a standing start?"
"Increases the breakup possibilities by a factor of ten. I must remind you that you never liked the odds to start with."
"Screw the odds; power the damn thing up."
"One of them is swinging into the opposite docking port, Ian. This doesn't look good at all..." There was a high-pitched shriek of static and then nothing.
"Do you think they hit him?" Shelley cried.
"If they had, we would have felt the vibration run through the ship. I think they're just jamming him. Come on, Richard, move it!"
They were rapidly moving into the low-gravity region and finally, in exasperation, Ian braced himself on the ladder and leaned onto Richard's backside, giving him a tremendous shove.
Richard arched up and away like a champagne cork popping out of a bottle. With a crash he slammed into the bulkhead on the other side of the stairwell and ricocheted out into the main zero-gravity corridor. Ian and Shelley were right behind him.
They pushed off for the opposite end, where their own docking port was located. Ellen was already there and waving them on.
Just another twenty meters to go and suddenly Ian felt a slight shifting in the air, as if a distant doorway had been opened. Grabbing a handrail, he looked back the way they had come. Another docking port was open. A shadowy figure filled the bay, and Ian felt a tremor of fear. They had lost the race.
Trying to smile, he raised his hand and tossed the stun pistol away. The figure he was facing had some far heavier artillery.
"Ahh, greetings, friend," he said in a high, squeaky voice. "Ahh... We've come in peace for all mankind. How's that?"
The blast knocked him over backward, slamming him into darkness.
Chapter 12
Exile Base 11; Alpha/Omega
First Completion Date: 2078
Primary Function: Adopting an old Russian concept, the United States started exiling political dissidents to space in 2068. On the eve of the Holocaust War several hundred thousand "political unreliables, conscientious objectors, and disarmament activists," led by Dr. Franklin Smith, were exiled to space.
Evacuation Date: Believed to be August 7, 2087, the recorded date of the primary exchange between the Third World powers versus the United States and Soviet Republics.
Overall Design: O'Neill Cylinder. Four kilometers by 800 meters. All exile bases were populated far more densely than the maximum potential carrying capabilities. Thus the units were dependent on Earth for life support. It is believed by Beaulieu that no exile unit could have survived longer than six months after departure from near-Earth, due to depletion of resources.
Propulsion: Ion Drive with nuclear pulse backup.
Course: SETI Anomaly One.
Political/Social Orientation: Penal system, largely self-governing, but managed by USNSC (United States Near Space Council). Departure in fact was hoped for and encouraged by Earthside government as a means of eliminating political dissent without having actually to kill the opposition.
"I'd prefer if you moved that thing from the back of my head. You can see I've brought you where you wanted."
Stasz's words echoed through lan's consciousness, each syllable like a hammer on an anvil. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to open his eyes, since he was still debating if he was dead or alive.
"Croce, you fat slob, we should have left you behind," Ellen said in a shrill voice. "We could have jumped out in time, but, oh no, Ian had to be the hero, so now we're all stuck."
If he was dead, then he must be in Hell. He opened his eyes and looked around.
"Well, our fearless historian is wide awake at last," Richard said, offering him a tumbler. He chortled softly then beckoned for Ian to look forward. Ian gladly accepted.
The couch normally occupied by Shelley was now held by a stranger. From the back, Ian saw broad shoulders and an erect carriage. His hair was tied back in a simple queue that hung over the back of the couch—the color of it nearly matching his dark, full features. In his left hand was a pistol, which he held to the back of Stasz's head.
"Two more of his buddies are in the back checking," Richard cautioned, "so I wouldn't suggest trying anything."
"For God sake, Ian, don't try anything," Shelley whispered. "They hit you with a stunner. But this guy's got an old-fashioned powder-driven pistol. Don't get him mad, for God's sake!"
"Where's Elijah?"
"I sedated him," Richard replied. "After they hit you, Ellen, Shelley, and I kind of thought it best to go along peaceful like. We let them into our ship and Elijah nearly went wild. I was afraid they'd kill him, so I just came up and jabbed him one from behind. He'll be out for another couple of hours."
The guard turned back and looked at Ian with an almost pleasant smile. "Just for a little talk. The priests of the Father will want to hear your story."
To Ian the language sounded like modified Old English. "The Father?" he asked cautiously.
The guard smiled, but this time with a sinister light in his eyes. "When you say 'the Father,' be sure to say it with the proper respect."
"Oh yes, of course, but of course."
"Coming up on jump-down," Stasz announced evenly. "Remember, friend, you might get sick, but don't blame me."
"Ten seconds, five..."
"Will you look at that!" Stasz pointed ahead and then to the left and the right. For the moment he had forgotten that his life was held by a stranger in the couch next to him.
To his surprise Ian found that his stomach had managed to survive jump-down intact. Perhaps it had something to do with the short duration of the jump, but that question was pushed from his mind as he looked out the forward viewing ports. It took him several seconds to grasp the perspective and scale of what he was seeing.
"It must be a hundred kilometers long," Ian whispered.
"Yes, kilometers," their guard said. "The one forward is large, but you wish to go to that one there." And he pointed to what looked like an old, familiar design. An O'Neill cylinder, probably the original, but it was simply dwarfed by the hundreds of others that filled the heavens in every direction.
They were in high orbit above a deeply pitted surface, and as Ian examined it, he realized that a significant portion of the planet was scarred and torn, as if a giant had gnawed on it.
"Each one of those units could provide for well over a million people," Shelley said softly.
Good heavens, Ian thought, the population must number in the billions.
Following the guard's directions, Stasz guided Discovery through ever-increasing traffic. Finally, taking the control headset, the guard called for docking clearance. Within minutes the Discovery was lined up for final approach.
For the moment Ian had forgotten his fears as he contemplated the myriad designs of the shipping around him. He felt as if he had arrived at an odd Sargasso Sea, where ships of every conceivable design had collected. As the Discovery turned in on final, the ship slowly rotated on its X-axis so that a full sweep of local space was given to the travelers, and all were overawed by the sheer sizes and numbers.
"Our biggest is nearly a hundred and fifty kilometers in length," the guard said, his pride in such an accomplishment obvious. But it was the only information he would volunteer to them.
"We've got a hard dock," Stasz said as the faint vibration of contact ran through the vessel.
"Very good. I'm glad I was not forced to kill you." The guard smiled and bolstered his pistol.
"So am I," Stasz replied weakly.
"You see," the guard said mockingly, "I wouldn't know how to pilot this ship." Laughing uproariously, he made his way aft, beckoning for them to follow.
"Maybe they all have a sense of humor," Shelley said hopefully.
"Ask Elijah about that," Ian replied.
The guard stopped by the airlock door and, turning, faced his prisoners. "Go get the crazy one and bring him with you."
Taking a still-wobbly Elijah in tow, they went through the first airlock and waited for the door to the other ship to open.
"Bear yourselves with dignity," the guard said evenly, "for you walk upon sacred ground."
The doorway closed behind them.
"Sounds like we're going to church," Richard said sarcastically.
"Shut up," Ian said. "To these people, I think it is."
The doorway slid open to a tunnel of darkness. A single hooded form awaited them. "Follow me," it commanded.
Ian shrugged, pushed off, keeping Elijah in tow,, and the others followed.
The hooded form drifted down a darkened corridor, his long black robes billowing out around him so that he had the appearance of a dark ghost, drifting weightlessly through the night. Reaching the end of the corridor, the ghostly guide pointed toward an open elevator. The six went into the cubicle and their guide came in after them. It was impossible to make out his features beneath the hooded robe, and their guide was silent as he beckoned for them to grasp the handholds as the elevator dropped away underneath them. Within seconds the first wispy pull of gravity took hold, and their feet drifted to the floor. Ian judged that they were in, at best, a quarter-gravity zone. When the elevator stopped, its doors opened into a large, softly lit chamber that appeared to be an audience hall.
"Go forward and wait," the guide commanded in a cold, mechanical voice.
They meekly obeyed. Elijah was starting to awaken from his drugged state, and Richard urgently whispered a plea for him to keep his mouth shut and not to make any sudden moves.
As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they saw that a low dais rose at the far end of the chamber. In the center of the dais a single chair was occupied by yet another hooded form.
"In the name of the Father, come forward." This one's tone was not threatening but it held a definite air of command.
As they drew closer, Ian realized that their host was not alone. Several dozen others were sitting on the floor before and to either side of the dais.
Ian was, of all things, reminded of several prints he had seen of ancient Japanese warriors sitting cross-legged in front of their warlord. As he drew closer, the comparison took on even more similarity; to his amazement most of the hooded forms had swords that were laid on the floor in front of them. All were wearing the same dark flowing robes that their guide aboard the ship had worn. There was no ornamentation, no design or emblem to be seen, except for the one who sat upon the low, backless chair in the center—his robe was of a soft, shimmering white that contrasted with the black robes of those who sat before him.
There was a soft, gentle sound in the darkness that reminded Ian of wind chimes. The sound brought back for a moment sharp clear memories of summer evenings, and the memory hurt with a piercing blow. Ian half wondered if these people had somehow read into his memory and used that sound to provoke such thoughts.
Ian and his comrades approached to the edge of the dais and, as if by instinct, Ian knew that it would be an insult for them to step upon it. He stopped and the others drew up around him. He prayed fervently that Elijah would keep still, for he half suspected that they would leave the room in only one of two conditions, and he had no desire to fall into the second category.
Farthest to the right, a hooded form stood, belted his sword, and walked to the center of the dais. Bowing to the white-robed figure, the form pulled back its hood and turned to face them.
"Where are you from?"
Ian was surprised to hear her high, clear voice, and he was struck by her uncommon beauty—dark ebony skin, sharply chiseled features, and long flowing hair.
He hesitated for a second.
"Do I take your hesitation as an unwillingness to answer?"
He better act quickly. "Ahh, no... I'm not sure of your dialect, that's all."
"Your language roots are Old American," Ellen interrupted, "the same as ours, but its pronunciations are different from ours. But we'll learn soon enough."
Ian was glad for the momentary interruption. He had to think out his answer.
"Then I repeat, where are you from?"
"Your ancestral home, the Earth."
"You've mastered faster-than-light?"
"That's right," Ian replied. "We have faster-than-light capability."
There was a faint murmur from the others. He realized that most of them were male, but there was a fair proportion of females, as well.
"How long ago did you leave Earth?"
"I'm not sure of our mutual time measurements. Do you still measure things in what are called years?"
She pondered this for a moment and then nodded her head. "Yes, years. I understand what that is. I am thirty-one yea
rs."
"It took us one-half a year to arrive here, with nearly a month of stopovers at other places."
The excitement was evident—the others turned one to the other and Ian felt as if a basic law of decorum had been broken by this display of emotions.
Another dark-robed figure stood up, sword in hand, and the hall fell silent.
"You are born of the Earth?" he said with a deep, resonant voice.
"Yes, you see, we've come..." Ian looked at Richard and let the ridiculous words die.
"Then you are unclean. You are born of those who persecuted us, you are born of those against whom we have declared jihad by the will of the Father. You are born of those who cursed and abandoned us. Your blood shall be spilled, your carcasses abandoned in the night."
He took another step forward and unsheathed his sword. "Cleanse this place of their filth, their sacrilege!" he shouted, bringing the blade back in preparation for a two-handed blow.
Ian jumped backward in a desperate attempt to avoid the flashing blade.
"Fire and Hell, what's wrong with ye?" Elijah called. He stepped forward and confronted the swordsman. "Strike, but 'for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee!'"
There was a murmur of approval from the others, and the swordsman, turning his wrath from Ian, now prepared to swing a decapitating blow at Elijah.
"Nara." The white-robed form was out of his seat, and the others turned to look at him.
"Nara, be still. Sit. You disgrace yourself with such show."
Nara turned, his whole form trembling.
"Gregor, so what if the Father is awakening. He knows not the situation now; I do, and so do others. Even you know and wonder why he must be awakened."
"Be still!" Gregor screamed. He looked to the others and saw that most of them were nodding in response to Nara's words.
"Let the Father speak for the Father. They are unclean, yes, but to kill them"—he swept them with a gaze of contempt—"that can wait."
Ian was suddenly aware that Shelley was clinging to his arm.
Nara stood with blade drawn, his gaze now fixed on the white-robed master. With a blinding flash he swung the blade in a backhanded swing that whisked within a fraction of Elijah's face, and sheathed his blade. With a low bow to Gregor, he strode out of the room. And again there was a murmur from the rest of the assembly. Gregor turned to his right and nodded to the two sitting closest to him.
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