George Zebrowski

by The Omega Point Trilogy

  “They’re much nearer,” she said.

  “When?” he demanded.

  “I can’t judge distance. Soon.”

  “It won’t do them any good.” He looked up through the skylight at the clear blue sky, then out through the west window. Wind waved the tall grass.What is she planning ? he asked himself.

  “Consider that you may be putting me in danger,” she said.

  “You’ve taken good care of yourself so far,” he answered without looking at her.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “I found the cylinder,” he said as he turned to look at her again.

  Her face seemed strange. “It’s only a tactical weapon,” she said. “If you don’t win immediately, you’ll have to supply and cover your force as it retreats. Where will you retreat to? You’ve never commanded a force.”

  It might have been his father speaking.

  “What can they use against me here? They have no reason to suspect …”

  She looked at him with icy attention. Her gaze was impenetrable, immune to intimidation.

  “Come with me,” she said calmly.

  She turned away from him. He looked at the curve of her back, the strong muscles in her stocky thighs.

  A portion of the floor slid open in front of her, revealing a stairway.

  Myraa disappeared into the hill. The lights came on below. He followed. She was already a distant figure, far below.

  Gorgias reached bottom and saw a long, dimly lit hallway. Myraa was a silhouette standing in the archway at the end, waiting for him.

  She slipped from sight as he started toward her.

  He came out into a large circular room and looked around. Parts of the granite wall and ceiling were stained where moisture had seeped in from the hill.

  There was a silver plate on the floor. The polished surface rested on a platform of concrete. Gorgias stepped forward and looked into the mirrored surface.

  Myraa’s image joined him as she came up behind him. He took a deep breath of the damp air and turned to face her.

  “It can take you,” she said, “to the Lesser Magellanic Cloud and back, but only once. They left this link on their way out. Go and see what’s left of them.”

  The survivors! It was the only thing in his mind as he stepped onto the plate. They were a reality, not just a legend.

  “Have you been there?” he asked.

  “I have no need.”

  “Then you don’t know anything! They might be alive.”

  “You must return quickly, before all the power is gone.”

  He heard her warning, but she was far away, unimportant. Who was she to give him orders? He thought of the distance that he would traverse: a quarter of a million light-years. This too was accomplished by his people. What else might there be for him to find?

  Myraa backed away from him. He saw the control panel on the wall. She reached back and pressed her palm against a small green square —

  — darkness pushed in around him, a solid blackness threatening to crush him —

  — the silence was a long shrill note, the sound of something great dying between the stars —

  — Myraa had cast him into an oblivion from which he could never return —

  — the starry lens of the Milky Way was rising, cut in half by a mountainous horizon.

  He stood in a rocky grotto. Below him lay a barren plain, strewn with rocks. The dry, alien night was still.

  He searched the sky. The planet was probably near the edge of the cloud. He might see the Magellanic stars toward morning, if there was any rotation.

  He looked down into the plate and saw his faintly lit face floating in an abyss of stars.

  He stepped off the receiver, wondering how long it had taken to establish it here by travel through conventional jumpspace.

  He walked down the rough hillside to the plain, where he stopped and looked back. The mountain was a dark mass against the intergalactic sky, its lower regions shrouded in shadow, hiding the mirror-eye whose nerve ends reached across space to the edge of the galaxy in the sky. Where else did the link lead?

  He turned away and searched the horizon. There was something directly ahead, a structure of some kind. He started walking toward it.

  After a few minutes he saw that it was a ship, a huge wreck lying on its side like the carcass of some huge sea creature that had been stranded at the bottom of a dry sea.

  As he came closer, the derelict seemed to rise out of the darkness toward the bright stars of the galaxy behind it. Natural conditions had not disfigured the vessel, he realized; it had been stripped. Dozens of holes had been torn in the hull, a few so large that he could see through them and across the stony plain.

  He saw the first skeletons lying near the nose of the ship, jaws open in a frozen grimace.

  He circled the leviathan and came upon a bone-strewn area — thousands of skeletons reclining on the bare rock — as if one day they had all lain down to rest and rotted away. The bones were very white in the starlight, protruding through the torn elbows and knees of dusty uniforms, hands and skulls a white sprinkle on the dark rock.

  All have gone but me, he thought, realizing why Myraa had sent him here.There is no one left .

  He pictured the sick soldiers lying before him, some still alive and calling out to one another, others crawling away into the darkness to take their own lives. Falling stars had whispered across the sky while the flesh of Herculeans had rotted away and the cold wind had blown through their bones.…

  To die so far from the suns of home. He looked up at the distant galaxy, hoping to glimpse the Cluster, even though he knew that the angle was wrong for him to see it. He wanted to rip himself open and let his anger flow out to fill the universe, but there was nothing in him now except pity. He was the last flailing arm of an empire that would not let him free. He craved rest, but it would not be his until the blood of Earthmen flowed around his feet.

  An ancient will to power stirred within him again, dispelling his pity and sense of weakness. A wind came up from the mountains, but he imagined that it was blowing in from beyond, from the dark belly of space-time, where it whirled the snowflake galaxies. He stood like a rock before a tide, feeling its currents pass around him, threatening to carry him off if he weakened.

  A faint dawn showed itself behind the mountains, a fire kindling below the world. He saw dark clouds breaking up before the growing heat. The wind became urgent as it whipped his face.

  He turned to go, knowing that in the night the skeletons possessed a kind of dignity; the harsh morning light would make them squalid and pitiable.

  He walked back toward the mountain, up the stony foothill to the grotto and the mirror. There he paused and looked back at the corpse of the behemoth that had crossed the void to die here. Its dark shape lay on the plain in the gray light of morning. He heard the wind in its wounds.

  This vessel had established the receiver plate, through which the soldiers arriving on Myraa’s World had escaped. They were all here; there were no others. Only the cylinder remained. It might not work, he realized, or it might be empty.

  He looked up at the Lesser Magellanic Cloud as it rose before the sun, a million morning stars fading in the dawn.

  He turned and stepped onto the plate —

  — into the room in the hill, one island universe away.

  |Go to Contents |

  XI. Dialogue

  “Is not his incense bitterness, his meat Murder?

  And our hands labor and thine hand scattereth …”

  — Swinburne

  MYRAA WAS NOT in the underground chamber. The air was damp in his lungs as he looked around. Something was wrong.

  He jumped from the plate, ran down the dark passage and climbed the stairs into the house.

  A gloomy light filled the main room. Myraa was standing by the east window. The view was gone. He looked up through the skylight. The sky was a gray bowl over the house.

  “There are three shi
ps outside,” Myraa said. “They’ve put a restraining field around the hill. There’s no way out.”

  He rushed to the back door. It slid open and he stepped outside. The Whisper Ship was well within the field. Myraa came up behind him.

  “It’s still there,” he said. The light from the side lock was a bright yellow in the gloom. “We won’t starve.”

  He felt a quickening of his whole being. The sudden stress tightened his nerves and sharpened his perceptions.

  “You sent me to the Lesser Magellanic to demoralize me,” he said, “but it won’t work.”

  “They’ll set up a power plant outside and leave it to sustain this prison forever,” Myraa said.

  Gorgias gazed at the gray wall of the field. It let in only a feeble light, just enough to dilute the murkiness.

  “They’ll never get the ship if they do that. They’ll have to drop the field, and I’ll be ready.”

  “But even if you win here, they’ll send a larger force against you. When you release the troops from the cylinder, they cannot be stored again. How will they live?”

  “Once we secure the planet, we’ll have ships to escape in.”

  “But what if you can’t?”

  “I can order the Whisper Ship to destroy itself. I can take the whole planet with me.”

  “Give them the ship,” she said.

  “Never.” He followed her inside and into the main room.

  “You’ll kill us all with you,” she said.

  He went to the east window and peered into the grayness. They were waiting for him on the other side. He was looking forward to facing them.

  Suddenly the field winked out, flooding the house with light.

  Two Earthmen were coming up the hill. Three ships sat on the grassy plain behind them, three large globes casting black shadows in the bright afternoon sunlight. The taller man on the right held his left hand up in a gesture of truce. The sight of them made him restless and uneasy.

  “I’ll kill them as soon as they come inside.”

  “No — hear what they have to say,” Myraa said.

  “They’re coming to talk because they can’t do anything else. They’ll try to seem generous.”

  “Gorgias,” she said fearfully, “their thoughts are a blank wall. I can’t see!”

  “I don’t need your way of seeing.”

  “They’ve never tried to talk with you before.”

  She was right. They were showing a certain amount of respect for his power. It occurred to him that he might be able to reach the ship and take off before they got to the front door. But suddenly he was curious to hear what they had to say.

  He watched as they approached the front door. Myraa spoke a word and it slid open. Gorgias motioned for them to enter.

  The tallest came in first. The door slid shut when they were both inside.

  The taller man seemed older. His hair was a deep black. There was a settled expression on his face. The shorter man was stocky, with streaks of white in his bushy brown hair. His eyes were a clear blue; his expression seemed to be a mixture of amusement and arrogance.

  “Gorgias — may we talk?” The tall man almost smiled, as if he were greeting an old friend.

  “Go ahead, talk.” Gorgias stepped back. Myraa went to one of the chairs by the east window and sat down.

  “We want the ship,” the shorter man said. “You can have almost any kind of terms, as long as you stop all hostile actions.”

  The tall man gestured for his companion to be silent.

  “You don’t expect me to just give it to you?”

  “We can give you the chance for a better life,” the tall man said.

  “I warn you now,” Gorgias said, “the ship can defend itself without me.”

  “This is a truce — what do you take us for?”

  Fools.

  “Julian — please be quiet.”

  “Extermination has been your policy,” Gorgias said. He regretted not having gone to the ship for a hand weapon before the two Earthmen reached the house.

  The tall man seemed unimpressed by the accusation. “You know very well that hasn’t happened for centuries.”

  “How often does it need to happen — if it’s done right?”

  A sad, patient look came into the tall man’s face, reminding Gorgias of his father.

  “There can be no agreements between us, Earthman, ever.”

  The tall man seemed to consider. “We are not your enemies. My name is Kurbi. My associate is Julian Poincaré. Neither of us had anything to do with the war. We’re trying to clean up after what happened. We don’t have to do this; we want to. As far as the Federation is concerned, it’s all ancient history.”

  “You expect me to take what you say seriously?”

  “It may be hard, but —”

  “Give me back my home world,” Gorgias said. He looked directly at the Earthman.

  “I would if I could.”

  The tall Earthman was impressive. Gorgias noticed the lack of markings on his green uniform. Who was he? The meeting was not what he had imagined it would be.

  “Try to consider things, Gorgias, without the past guiding your thoughts.”

  “The past is reliable in my case.”

  “It can also destroy your future, unless you choose otherwise.”

  “There is no future for us,” his father said within him. “All we can hope for is a personal life in the shadow of the Federation, unless we strike out for uncharted stars. Somewhere in this galaxy, or beyond it, there may be a new home for Herculeans, if we start now.”

  “The facts are undeniable,” Gorgias said. “The destruction of our home worlds, the hunting of my people after the war, the looting, the enslavement.…”

  “We agree. This is true.”

  Gorgias’s facial muscles tightened. The man was an expert at misdirection. His visit was part of some elaborate trickery.

  Kurbi looked at the floor. “Your people were brilliant,” he said slowly. “Your technology and military leadership were astonishing. It was a rich culture, dominated by an absolute pragmatism. What you could do, you always wanted to do, and did as a matter of exercise. You saw yourself as the strongest, the best social organization in the galaxy. The Federation came to believe, quite honestly, that Herculeans wanted to dominate the galaxy, at least that part of it that was the Federation. By Herculean standards, you lost. You were not the strongest.”

  Gorgias felt a trembling inside himself.

  “Who are you, Kurbi?”

  “There are a few of us who don’t want what’s left of your civilization to perish.”

  “Why should you care?”

  “For the same reason that we went to war to prevent the eclipse of the Federation’s various cultures.”

  Again it was not the expected answer. Surely this was not the hunter?

  Kurbi held out his hands in a pleading gesture. “Consider this, Gorgias — that this may be your last chance, that others will come if I fail, and that they will not speak or act as I do. Think — ultimately you are also descended from Old Earth, from one of the numerous families of man originating on the continents of Earth. We need not be enemies, not now. You must not die. What is left of your people must live and grow. What you know and have lived must become known. Can you see that I feel what I say?”

  “What is there for me in your world?”

  “Sanity — happiness, perhaps. You’ve never lived with a whole culture around you. Your people could become numerous again and repopulate the Cluster. It would take time, but it’s possible. We would help.”

  Would these fools really help their enemies? Gorgias wondered. It was only a trick.

  Gorgias looked into Kurbi’s eyes. “You’re either lying or deluded.”

  “But we can and would help,” Kurbi said.

  The man seemed to believe what he was saying. Perhaps someone was using him as a tool. Gorgias looked at the shorter man, but his face was a mask.

  Gorgias turned his h
ead and looked at Myraa, wondering if she could sense his discovery of the Earthman’s trickery; but her face was expressionless. She looked away from him and gazed out the window.

  Gorgias looked back to Kurbi. “My people, you say — but where are my people? Have you seen them lately? What’s left are mindless freaks. Their wills are dead.” He motioned toward Myraa.

  Kurbi was silent for a moment. “There are others,” he said finally. “You and I could gather them, bring them here.”

  “And what about me?”

  “In time … you would be permitted to live here.…”

  “Permitted! I’m free — I will not be permitted anything. You don’t offer anything better than what I have now.”

  “You have nothing,” said the stocky man.

  Kurbi motioned for him to be quiet. “Gorgias, what do you have? Endless wandering …”

  “You’ll see what I have. I don’t need anything from Earthmen. Get out!”

  The stocky man took Kurbi by the arm and slowly led him to the door. “I’ll be all right, Julian,” the tall man whispered. The door opened and the Earthmen stepped through.

  Gorgias followed them outside.

  “Fools!” he shouted after them as they made their way down the hill. He felt the centuries of hatred uncoiling inside him like a steel snake, cutting his innards painfully, releasing the resolve that would insure his victory.

  “I will destroy all of you!” he cried, his voice echoing. He imagined the bodies lying below, the ships ruined, as he went from body to body cracking heads with his boot.

  “I know your game, Kurbi! You may not know it, but I know! I’ll leave you all to rot here. You think you have me trapped. When I’m finished here, I’ll move on Earth itself!”

  Neither man showed any sign of stopping to look back, but Kurbi seemed to stumble for a moment.

  “Weaklings! That’s all they send against me!” Gorgias laughed.

  Kurbi stopped at the bottom of the hill and turned around. “I’ll give you an hour! After that it will be out of my hands. Give yourself up, Gorgias, it’s your only hope.”

  “Hope for what? To be tried and exhibited? Look around and breathe all you can, Earthman. Today is the last day of your life!”