Seeds of Memory

by J. Richard Jacobs

  “There is, however, a minor problem,” she continued. “The enlightenment is imperfect and incomplete in most of the Gammas. The majority have remained, for lack of a more descriptive term, asleep. In them there is no inner understanding, no difference from the rest of the people on the planet. A few of us, like Pasha and myself, have undergone major changes, have seen and grasped these strange and mysterious happenings more clearly. Sadly, we have no way of being able to say how close we are to a full awakening, either."

  Pasha's grip on his hand tightened, and she smiled.

  “What ... what is this enlightenment ... this awakening you're talking about? I'm afraid you've lost me somewhere."

  “Nikisha, that is part of the problem. Whatever I may tell you will be nothing more that my impression—my interpretation of what we have been going through. We think we know what the secret of the Riddle of the Ancients is, but there is no way we can be certain. We also think we have an understanding of the connection between the riddle and the Ancient Record."

  “So? Tell me what you think it is."

  “That is something of a long story, Nikisha, but I shall attempt to make it as short as possible. We believe Paz was—is—an experiment. All of us are taught that we were brought here by the Fathers on a ship called the La Paz. That is common knowledge. The Ancient Record also tells us that they arrived here about three hundred and fifty-five years ago. The first of the generations was born a hundred and forty-three years later, by the Record."

  Antaris sipped from her cup, and her eyes questioned Niki.

  “Go on. So far you've only told me what every school teaches the onners. I mean, aside from the experiment thing, that is."

  “All right, Nikisha. The Riddle of the Ancients speaks of the Threes and Fours as—"

  “Of course. I have seen it. A copy of it is hanging on the wall in Mr. Washton's office. I read it, but it didn't make any sense to me."

  “Yes-s-s,” Antaris said. “Washton and his circle of friends are one of our myriad problems, but we can discuss that at some other time. The Riddle of the Ancients talks about the Threes and Fours as if they were distinct from one another, as if there were something different about the Fours that sets them apart from the Threes. Something very important."

  “You said I was the Four when you were talking to that girl, uh, Lira,” he injected.

  “Yes. The Riddle of the Ancients tells us that we, the Threes, are to look to you, the Fours, for the information we need to complete whatever it is we are supposed to do. That you will know what that something is, and why it must be done. The riddle also tells us we are to protect you and make certain you are returned safely to ... somewhere, but we do not know where, either. We believe you, Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha, will soon have the knowledge of where we are to return you and how we are to accomplish it. I suppose all of this sounds a little ridiculous to you."

  “Ridiculous? No. No—I think I may have an idea about where all this is leading; at least that's the feeling I have. I couldn't tell you right now but ... but I have a sense of what it is you're talking about. Some of what I've been seeing is beginning to make sense to me so, please, continue."

  “All right, Nikisha. When I realized what was happening to me, maybe six years ago, I scouted out others who were having similar problems, and we started holding meetings. Like a mutual support society.

  “It was devastating to some and debilitating to others, so the group caught on and grew rapidly. We discovered that there was a danger in it, too. We were becoming something separate from what could be called the Pazian norm. We were becoming ... freaks, if you will. That is when we—it was actually Pasha—had the idea of turning our loosely knit group into a religious cult on the surface. What better way of masking our differences than by displaying them openly as part of a strange belief system? Many cults have sprung up here and there. Soon, in the eyes of society, we were a band of fanatics, harmless fools engaging in some kind of simple-minded and mysterious ritualism, like the others. Suddenly the people around here no longer feared us but laughed at us instead, and that was good.

  “So, tell me, Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha, what is it, exactly, that you are seeing in your dreams and visions?"

  “Not much that I can be specific about. I'm sorry, but I'm telling it as true as I can. As you said, when I'm with the shuttles I am more than familiar with the mechanics of them. You know, how they work and what can be done with them. But when I'm not right there next to them, it all fades—goes away. You won't believe this, but when I'm there, I swear by the true Ancients, I ... I know I could fly one."

  Antaris clapped her hands together and laughed. “No, no, no, Nikisha, we have reason to believe you. You are among friends. Please, go on."

  “Okay. There ... there are a lot of different dreams, but they all have the same theme. I see the La Paz, or something that's representing it, and the message I get is that it's coming—it's coming here, and I have to be ready. Ready for what? I don't know, really. I have feelings. Strong, driving feelings that I have to read the entire, original Ancient Record and powerful feelings—the really deep kind—that I need to be with the shuttles. There's something very important to me about them. That's why I answered Mr. Washton's ad, so I could spend time with them."

  Niki's massak was cold and an oily scum covered the surface. Antaris called for a fresh cup and begged him to go on. Pasha's hand was warm and comforting.

  “I don't think anything has ever scared me much, but I think that's because, until this began happening, I could see, touch, and control things—or I could avoid them. But this ... I'm afraid. I don't feel at home anywhere—and that's not because I'm not in Nurusha. I'm never comfortable. I'm starting to see things and hear voices when I'm awake, and real doesn't mean what it used to. Do you ... know what I mean? Am I being a coward?"

  Pasha squeezed his hand again and said, “No, Niki, you're not a coward. It has been terrifying to most of us. My enlightenment was filled with ideas and memories that were completely alien to me. Before I went to work for Mando—Mr. Washton—I worked in a factory with Trina. Both of us noticed what was happening to the other and recognized it for the same thing that was taking place within ourselves. The sleeplessness, the disorientation and the confusion, and we were there for one another. We helped one another get through it. But you, up until now, have been alone. It's understandable and reasonable that you would feel uncertain and afraid. Who wouldn't?"

  “Well, now I feel a lot better,” Niki said, laughing wildly. “I thought I had an irreversible case of P-P-C-E-G-D."

  Antaris looked puzzled and leaned heavily on the table. “What do you mean, Nikisha?"

  “Nothing, Miss Antaris. It's a private laugh from my stay in the hospital.” Niki managed a nervous smile and directed it toward Pasha, then continued. “Are you aware I'm the sole survivor of my family's Delta designator?"

  “I am. Pasha has provided us with the information from Washton's files. And, for your information, we searched the record thoroughly and found that there were five hundred lines formed from the Delta three lot. Your family line was two eighty-one. Of the five hundred, only the two eighty-one has survived and that makes you, Nikisha Kaznov, the only direct-line descendant of the Delta seed lots. You are the only true Delta alive on Paz, my friend."

  The thought that he was the only Delta distressed him greatly, and he felt a heavy weight descend on his back. He would have to produce onners soon, preferably all males to carry the line into the future.

  “If I'm the only one of the Delta designators—something I find hard to believe—how will it be possible to complete whatever it is we're supposed to do? I mean, there were a lot of Delta Ancients, but only one of that group, Delta three, survived the landing. I don't think the Fathers anticipated that. Suppose it can't be done with just one Delta. Then what?"

  “I am not sure, Nikisha,” Antaris said with a thoughtful glance at the ceiling. “I am confident we shall find a way. One advantage I can see is
that no one will want any harm to come to you, and that, I suspect, is a very good thing. For now, let the dreams come, embrace them, and follow your feelings. You will find it much easier to live with if you do not fight it. We have a job to do, and I believe we shall know what to do and how to do it when it is time."

  The day had nearly drawn to an end before they left the restaurant. Niki now had some idea of what was going on in his private little hell, and that provided a small measure of relief, though he was struggling with the realization that he was the only Delta. Pasha and he, by default, had grown closer through the day, which made him feel a lot better, although he was still concerned over his not caring about her not being of the right line.

  Finally, alone in his new apartment, he could begin reading the copy of the complete Ancient Record that Antaris had entrusted to him—with the admonition to guard it with his life. He had a lot to learn, much to think about, and an as yet unknown business to take care of. From what he had learned during the day, thanks to Antaris’ candor, he was far better equipped to deal with what he now understood to be his period of enlightenment.

  She also had done a good job of explaining Washton's underlying reasons for showing an interest in Niki. And Antaris? He believed her and in her. She was blunt and honest, a person who always said it true at whatever cost. What she had told him and the manner in which she had said it made him decide to work with her and the group she called the Twelve Points of Light. From this time on, Washton could only be given tidbits of information—enough to keep him interested so that he would continue to fund Niki's period of enlightenment, because Twelve Points didn't have the backing to pay for what he had to do. Washton did.

  Niki was embarrassed by his failure to recognize some of the clues Washton had dropped while they had been together in his office. When Antaris had spoken about the Washton-Mills connection, he remembered a comment Washton had made about not understanding fishing. Washton hadn't checked the Council records and hadn't asked to see Niki's C-card, so there was no way he could have known of Niki's work history. He also had asked no questions about Niki's background before accepting him in his employ. Most unusual. Of course, had he noticed things like that, he wouldn't have spent the day with Pasha's hand in his, either.

  Sometimes, Niki, it pays to be a little dense.

  Antaris had given him a lot of stuff about the Twelfth Generation. The information had been gathered by people like Pasha who infiltrated their organization. In general the group was made up of greedy, unprincipled people whose understanding of their enlightenment and of the Riddle of the Ancients centered on manipulating the wealth of Paz through controlling her natural resources. They were bent on gaining a political stranglehold on Paz by taking over the financial base of the planet; a base that was largely in the hands of the mine owners, particularly the owners of iron mines in the north, like Nucanda. From Antaris’ point of view, that made them dangerous to Twelve Points, to themselves, and to all of Paz.

  Niki slid the chip Antaris had given him into the V-screen and pulled up a comfortable chair, paid for by Washton, to watch something Washton wasn't aware existed—indeed, no one on Paz knew it had been found. Up came the first page ... and Niki's adrenaline climbed with it.

  “How in the name of the Ancients did they get their hands on this?” It was involuntary, a reflex, and the sound of his voice bouncing from the walls gave him a start.

  Niki was looking at an unedited, original copy of the Ancient Record. This was something that everyone believed to have been destroyed in the landing or lost at one of the crash sites. What the Fathers had intended to give them was, in reality, sealed in a vault along with a guide to its use and understanding. The version found in that vault was missing complete sections by design, and large portions had been erased from almost every page. But what he was viewing now contained the entire Book of the Law, as well as something called the Ship's Log and a section listed as the Technologies of Earth and their Application. Niki was in possession of something that was supposed to have vanished at least two hundred and ten years ago. Where had they found it, and how had they been able to take possession of it?

  No wonder she told me to guard it with my life.

  Niki advanced through the chip and stopped on a random selection. He began to read.

  PLANETARY DATA SCAN

  Ore deposits—Mineral distribution: RDR

  What Washton and his people wouldn't do to get their hands on this. There are deposits all over Paz. We must have missed something or failed to use some technology the Fathers had outlined in the Ancient Record.

  Niki grew more excited with each passage, each graph and map that came up on the screen. It was ... beyond his comprehension. In the first three pages of the section he'd selected there was enough information to revolutionize life on Paz. His mind was reeling, his heart pounding. He scanned the chip, lingering here and there when something caught him by his curiosity, until it was very late.

  Unwillingly, he tore himself away from his reading. He had to be at the museum when it opened in the morning. He could not give Washton any reason for concern or suspicion. Niki also needed a safe place to keep the chip, and now he had the idea of exactly where that should be.

  * * * *

  On the forward side of the utility airlock was a small pad recessed into the hull material. As he studied the square formed by the sunken area, a picture of a key pad formed in his mind. A bit difficult to see at first, the picture developed slowly into a sharp, clear image of fifty small keys with strange symbols on them. They were not visible to anyone looking, but Niki could see them, and he was sure he understood what they were for.

  “One-nine-three-sigma-offset-plus-one,” he mumbled quietly to himself as he pressed different locations on the pad.

  What was that?

  A sound—a muffled whir and three soft clicks. Niki glanced down at the entrance to the exhibit and saw no one except the guard by the doors. The guard yawned, and his chin fell to his chest, massak draining from a cup dangling at the end of his right hand's index finger.

  Niki returned to the pad.

  “Two-five-offset-plus,” he said, poking away on the unmarked panel. There was a quiet buzz, and letters appeared in subdued red light at the top of the pad.

  PURGING—ACCESS READY—TWELVE HOURS

  The sound of argon hissing out of the several purge ports at various locations on the hull was hardly audible, but to Niki it was as loud as the rushing demon winds of Perigamia. He cast a worried look over his shoulder and noted that the guard's chin was planted firmly in his chest, rising and falling in a slow, regular rhythm.

  He stood quietly, watching the pad while going through the motions of taking measurements—just in case—to make certain the lighted notice would turn off, in spite of his knowing it would. The letters winked out, and Niki moved a little farther aft, near the leading edge of the shuttle's stubby wing, where he located another pad and entered a different code sequence. A notice over the pad came to life.

  SYSTEMS ARMED—KEYED TO ACCESS

  A vibration traveled through the catwalk, then nothing. If all went well, he would enter this shuttle and attempt to begin the startup process. An uneasy sense of doubt hit him as he waited for the notice to die, and he shuddered. These machines had sat silent through centuries. Could they be alive after all this time? And, if they were, would they be in any condition to fly? How could they still be functional?

  Niki knew they would be fine.

  * * *

  Chapter IX

  Reporters often resort to techniques that can be considered ... well, let's say they can be thought of as teetering on the edge of the legal envelope for the sake of getting a story. And Albo Shan was not one to miss a story. Law Apps went to extreme lengths to make certain their transmissions could not be intercepted by the general public, but they had not taken into account the likes of Albo Shan.

  They stirred their signals liberally, used frequency shifting, and all kinds of
digital trickery to maintain secrecy. Albo Shan had made himself an expert at digging Law Apps signals out of their scrupulously manufactured secret mumbles in the air. He was at home, a particularly nasty tasting RapiCook dinner on the table before him, and listening to his slightly illegal fast-scan monitor when he heard the call go in. With a substantial amount of fancy track hopping, he managed to arrive on the scene before the second surface patrol pulled into the dock of a vulgarly ostentatious mansion belonging to Lon Su. That is, belonged to Lon Su, a man who had just been placed in the termed column.

  Whenever one of New London's prominent figures termed in an unnatural manner, it was news. When it happened to be the wealthiest man on Paz, whose connection with crime on a global level was suspected but had never been proven, it was big news—and Shan was going after it.

  The leader of the I-team that was investigating the scene in the library room, where poor Su's body had been found, told him that the victim had been termed by a sharp blow to the forehead. The murder weapon was a large, stone paperweight, and the fatal blow had been delivered with such force that it had completely caved in Su's skull.

  According to his servants, Su had a loathing for anything made of stone or wood, an eccentricity to which his all steel, bronze, and copper home attested. They said he would have nothing made of stone in his home. The officer Shan was talking to told him that, because of Su's aversion to anything but metal, they believed that the weapon must have been brought in by Su's assassin.

  Why would some petty thief, intent upon removing the contents of someone's home, do anything like that? Why carry a paperweight, of all things, to the place where you're going to commit a crime, term someone with it, then leave it behind? That doesn't make any sense at all.

  The only evidence Law Apps had was the weapon, a piece of material presumed to have come from the assassin's clothing, and a shred of skin they had found on the paperweight and which, they had determined, was not Su's—at least they didn't think it to be, but the laboratory would clear that one up quickly. The skin, if it didn't belong to Su's hide, was good for genetic tracing, but the paperweight and fabric were too common to be of any use in the investigation. At the minimum, Law Apps would be able to limit their search to a specific seed lot, general description, sex, and blood group—if not the specific individual through marker-matching. That was, if the intruder was not an untrac. If that turned out to be the case they would be out of luck. When pressed, the officer said, “Well, Shan, you know how it goes. They always forget something. Always. Whatever it was, we will find it."