Seeds of Memory

by J. Richard Jacobs

  “Sealed on the external plates, Bo. We'll be approaching from the inside, and we will get out, trust me. Remember the shafts you were sure weren't here?"

  “Right. Are we taking the ... cores with us?"

  “No. They weigh ninety tons each. The shuttles were designed to do that job for us, and they're equipped to extract them from above. You'll see. Anyway, it's time to get moving."

  * * * *

  Pasha entered the code Niki had given her, following his diagram carefully since none of the keys were visible. The airlock pad on Twenty-three replied:

  ACCESS DENIED

  “Ancients be kind,” she said under her breath.

  “What is wrong?” Antaris said. “You have the right code, do you not?"

  “Yes, but there's nothing on this pad to tell me if I'm touching the right spots, Trina."

  She tried again, this time being exceptionally cautious about following Niki's diagram.

  ACCESS DENIED

  “Damn it."

  “Now, there is a first. I have never heard you use language like that. Listen, why do we not move around the museum for a time and try it again, later?"

  “Why?"

  “Do you see those three men down by the entrance?"

  “Uh-huh. What about them?"

  “They were standing there when we came in, and they have been watching everyone who comes up here. I do not know who they are, but I think it would be a good idea not to give them reason to take notice of us."

  Perhaps Trina was right. There was quite a crowd at the museum taking advantage of the four weeks of free use before the beginning of Halfyear, and they had to get into Twenty-three without being seen. Groups kept shuffling off the lift in waves, and each successive wave would press their faces against Twenty-three's cabin windows while others brought handmade arrangements of flowers shaped in the form of the traditional double helix and draped them over the hull or scattered them on the wings as a sign of respect for the Fathers and their gift to the people of Paz, the Book of the Law.

  Being on the catwalk too long was bound to attract attention from someone, so Pasha nodded to Antaris and, at the next opportunity, they went down on the lift to take a turn around the museum.

  After an hour of wandering through the outer display area, they returned to Twenty-three. Passing the guard at the entrance, Pasha noticed the same three men had moved a couple of meters to the right of the door and were continuing their vigil over the lift, scanning the catwalk occasionally. Who were they? She didn't recognize any of them from the people she knew in the Generation. Maybe they were nothing more than additional security for this opening day.

  ENTRY SEQUENCE—STAND CLEAR

  “I got it!"

  “And none too soon,” Antaris said. “One of those men is headed for the lift."

  The airlock's outer door closed only a second before the lift reached the catwalk, and an angry-looking man stepped off onto the platform, then returned to the rail overlooking the entrance where the other two were waiting.

  “You sure they came up here?” he shouted.

  “Yeah, I'm sure,” one of the men replied, and the two by the doors started for the lift to join him.

  “We can't go into the cabin. They may be looking for us and we can be seen through the windows,” Pasha said.

  She edged her way forward in the dark passage until she could just see around the edge of the after cabin door. There, noses flattened against the glass, were two faces, their eyes probing the interior.

  “They're there, all right. If they don't see anything they'll probably think they were mistaken and give up."

  “I think not, Pasha. The big one was watching us all the while—never took his eyes off us that I noticed—so he knows that we were on the platform and that we did not come back down. I think we are trapped in here until Nikisha can come up with a way to get us out."

  “Do you have any idea who they are?"

  “It does not matter who they are."

  In the dimming light Pasha saw a smile march cross Antaris’ face.

  “What's ... what's funny?"

  “No one has entered a shuttle in over two centuries, correct?"

  “That's right. Why?"

  “And we are trapped inside a shuttle that not even the best of our scientific minds has been able to penetrate, is that not so?"

  “It looks that way."

  “It is, therefore, safe to assume that no one else can possibly get in here?"

  “No one, except Niki."

  “Good. Then why do we not have some fun while we are here?"

  “What?"

  “I would enjoy seeing their expressions when they realize we are in here and there is not a thing they can do about it. We have work to do that cannot wait, do we not?"

  The two of them walked into the bridge cabin, talking and smiling as if it were normal for them to be where they were. Three faces were now at the windows, engaging in an animated, silent discussion, and hands were gesticulating while the two occupants of shuttle Twenty-three laughed and talked as if there were no one around.

  * * * *

  “They're what?” Tazh shouted at the image on his screen.

  “They're inside the shuttle, sir."

  “Who's in the shuttle, damn it?"

  “Two ... women, sir. I scanned our records, and one of them is definitely Pasha Valdar, a woman who worked for that Washton fellow. The other may be Katrina Antaris—the one who runs the Twelve Points of Light."

  “You stay with those two. Don't let them out of your sight for a second—and don't arouse any suspicion. Just keep an eye on them."

  “Sir, the museum is closing in twenty minutes."

  “So? Use your head, man. Wait outside. Hide in the bushes—climb a tree—I don't give a damn what you have to do, just don't lose either one of them.” Tazh was livid. He cut the connection and immediately punched in another number.

  “Get Lang—now,” he demanded.

  The half-asleep face of General Lang came up on the screen. If anything, he appeared a bit angry as he said, “Tazh, do you know what time it is?"

  “Right now I don't care what time it is. “We have two people inside a shuttle, and they're not ours. One of them is from the Generation, and the other is the head of Twelve Points. They've joined forces, Lang, and they obviously have the Delta or they wouldn't be in there."

  “There's no mistake?"

  Tazh held back a laugh and bit off a large chunk of tarsac. “No, General, no mistake. I'm sending in an attack force to take the museum and to hell with your First Day of Halfyear."

  Lang was suddenly awake. “Well ... I agree, Tazh. A situation like this calls for immediate response. It can't be allowed to jeopardize our plans, but ... but calm yourself, man."

  “What the hell do you mean?” Tazh protested. “How can I calm myself when someone's about to take all we planned and toss it in the Nurab Deep?"

  “Tazh, look ... is it possible for you to put a ready-team in place around the museum and wait?” Lang looked haggard. “Wait to see if they attempt to move it. If they do, then blow it to pieces. Intelligence tells me the New London Sector has been mobilizing during the last few days, and if you move on the museum now, you'll be faced with a full and ready Enforcement force."

  “All right. All right. I can get a group in the area in two hours, but if anything goes wrong we'll be going on full assault status here. Are you prepared to back us up?"

  “Yes, Tazh. I sent the signal while we were talking and, if it blows up on you, we'll be ready."

  On my ancient, you'd better be ready. I don't want to go into this alone.

  * * * *

  Harko was beat. He'd been up all night studying everything available on the behavioral characteristics of geneticentric personalities in the hope he'd find some traits he could use to help predict events—some common thread that would tie them all together. There was nothing that applied, and all he had to go on that seemed universal was that they
were all Gamma lot. Outside of that—they all went their separate ways.

  As far as Nikisha Kaznov was concerned, Harko felt he knew more about that man than he knew about himself. Born to a pairing on Nurusha, he was the son of a shell mason father and an artist mother. He was brilliant, of that there was no doubt, having scored in the high two hundreds on the Pazian Universal Exam. He had been offered every scholarship there was but had scorned them all in favor of becoming a fisherman. Somehow, that made no sense to Harko, but it had been Kaznov's choice, and that was that. He was the only surviving direct-line descendant of the only Delta seed to make it through the landing of the Fathers.

  Nurusha had been destroyed in the last Perigamia and Kaznov had been brought to New London, then disappeared. Why had he disappeared? How? He must have had help to do that, but help from whom?

  To hell with it—I can think about that one tomorrow. Right now I need to get some sleep.

  He gathered up the files, stacked them neatly at the end of his desk, and headed for the door. The sound of the com pulled him back.

  “Harko."

  “Glad you're still here, Chief. We just got a report from an Enforcement patrol I thought you'd want to hear."

  “Go ahead,” Harko said wearily, “but make it fast or I'll go to sleep right here and now."

  “Fifteen minutes ago a standard surface patrol called in from the Museum of the Ancients for information on a transport that's sitting in a dock out there. It was a computer check, so no one knew what was happening until I decided to clear out my watch. Chief? You awake?"

  “Yeah. Go on, I'm listening."

  “Anyway, I caught a glimpse of this name as I was scrolling through tonight's inquiries and—"

  “I don't need the entire history in detail, just tell me what you have."

  “Okay. There's a transport registered to Washton Global Enterprises sitting in a dock out there."

  “Washton Global? Are you sure?"

  “Yes, sir—absolutely, but that's only part of it. The assigned pilot for that transport is Nikisha Kaznov. Weird we didn't pick that up before. What do you think of that?"

  Adrenaline gushed into Harko's system as though a dam had burst, and sleep was now the farthest thing from his mind.

  “Is anyone on it? Have they moved it?"

  “No, sir. Sax told us to watch for anything that showed up with either of those names attached to it a couple of days ago, so, when I saw that inquiry, I pulled the surface patrol out. It gets better."

  “How the hell can it get better? What else?"

  “I dispatched an air patrol to run a light scan of the area, and they found a transport sitting about three hundred meters west of the museum in that little forest out there. Three occupants. I think maybe we have your man, boss. Want them picked up?"

  “Damned right I do. Gas them from the air before the surface people move in. I want all three of them, alive and undamaged."

  Before the screen could go blank he had the three files and Kaznov's work-up spread out on his desk again, with the case chip up on the other screen.

  “Well, well, well,” he said to himself. “I've got you now, Mr. Kaznov."

  * * * *

  Sitting in the pilot's seat was ... spiritual ... exhilarating ... strange. It was an odd shape and size with bends and pads in the wrong places at first, then its motors whirred and it conformed to her perfectly. When she had taken her place, it was like putting her shoes on the wrong feet. Were the Fathers ... different? Physically different?

  Pasha and Antaris had given the computer what it requested, being careful to be specific, as Niki had warned her, and now she felt as though she and Twenty-three were old friends.

  “Twenty-three."

  “Yes, Pasha."

  “Activate the core beacon at tenth hour."

  “Tenth hour relative to what, Pasha?"

  Pasha thought for a moment, then realized the computer would be using whatever time standard the Fathers used, and she had no idea what that might have been.

  “Twenty-three, give me a tone at the end of a five minute period from the time I tell you to start."

  “Yes, Pasha. Ready."

  Pasha watched the seconds flash away on her watch until an even minute came up.

  “Start,” she said.

  When Twenty-three sounded the tone, Pasha's watch indicated exactly five minutes had elapsed.

  “Good,” she said quietly. “Five minutes is five minutes."

  “Yes, Pasha, five minutes has always been five minutes."

  Niki had warned her the computer was literal.

  “Twenty-three, when I say, ‘go,’ I want you to count one hour and seventeen minutes, then activate the core beacon."

  “Yes, Pasha. Ready."

  “Go,” she said, settling back in the pilot's seat. All she could do now was wait and hope that everything worked the way it was supposed to, though she had little doubt. Twenty-three was a remarkable machine, and when the time came it would transmit the signals to turn on the locator beacon, then Niki would find the cores. The big problem now was, how to get out of the shuttle without being caught by those men, whoever they were.

  * * *

  Chapter XVI

  Noises down in the tunnels and ducts reverberated through the whole system until they died, their points of origin impossible to determine. Distorted sounds of shouting and the pounding of feet came to Niki's ear from somewhere. Had they been detected? He didn't think so, because there was no evidence of an alarm system in the ducts and he'd made it a point to look for anything out of place—anything that appeared too new. So far, there was nothing, and the only evidence of activity was their own tracks pressed into the muck that covered the floors of the tunnels everywhere. After their passing, the semi-fluid stuff closed back in and removed any evidence that anyone had been there.

  “We'll wait here,” Niki said. “Sit and relax—the beacon should start in about ten minutes."

  Removing the heavy pack from his back, Niki slid down the wall of the duct until he was seated on the floor. He could feel Shan who, through the entire trek, had remained attached to him as firmly as a nervous shadow.

  “Are you all right, Bo?"

  “Yeah, sure. What was all that noise?"

  “I don't know. A minute ago I thought I heard some kind of machinery, but there's nothing now. At least they're not down here looking for us."

  “A-S rovers,” Luto said from out of the darkness. “The machinery you heard was the sound of A-S rovers—the kind the Cadre has. I've seen lots of them up in North Coopersland."

  “Cadre? Are you sure?"

  “Yeah. The mining companies have a few big ones, but they're babies compared to those A-S rovers the Cadre uses. You can tell by the tone of their vertical fans. It's like a low rumble—really deep, you know?"

  “Why are they up there in North Coopersland?” Shan asked.

  “Almost uninhabited up there, and that gives them lots of room to train in. The terrain is a mixture of everything—except forests—so they get a sample of a lot of different conditions to play in."

  “So, what are they doing down here?"

  “It's a staging area, I'd guess. Maybe even a headquarters for this region. Those guys need large, isolated places to keep their equipment out of sight, and this place is perfect. It's close to New London, but far enough away so they can move stuff around without being noticed. The closest track is forty kilometers south. This shelter and the town site were abandoned after Mount Cafferty grew up out of their shako fields and sprayed lava all over the place. Took out half the shelter doing it. The place has been forgotten—like it never existed."

  “So, Niki, you want to get these cores of yours out of a place that's crawling with badfolk who'd be delighted to term us all? This story had better be good."

  “Oh, it is, Bo. It really is, you can trust me on that. And don't worry, they're concentrating on what they have to do in the time they have left. They're not thinking about us,
and the last place they'd expect to find us is here."

  “Yeah, what makes you so sure?"

  “Their activities are being guided by the same forces that have driven the Generation and Twelve Points. They have to be ready to do whatever they intend by First Day of Halfyear, and that doesn't leave them much time. We can expect to see a lot more movement from them in the next fifteen to twenty days."

  “Yeah—well—as long as they keep their movements out of these tunnels..."

  Shan's comment drew a muffled laugh from the group, then there was silence, except for an occasional voice or footfall caroming along the walls of the shafts from somewhere above. Niki checked his watch, removed a small box from his pack, and set it on the floor between his legs. He turned it on, and the tiny screen's blue-gray glow emitted just enough light to make out the ghostly shapes of men seated on both sides of the duct. He checked his watch again. Thirty seconds—if Pasha had made it into the shuttle. Niki stared at his watch as the seconds went by, then, almost exactly on time, the box emitted a beep and the screen's color changed to pulsing green—the beacon was on.

  He rose, shouldered his pack, and started off down the shaft with the others close behind. He watched the green glow and its changing rhythm that guided him as he closed the distance to the cores with each step. A half hour later, Niki stopped in one of the large tunnels that crossed the duct they were following. The tunnel was streaked with shafts of dull light streaming from a large area vent some twenty meters to his left.

  “Luto,” he whispered. “See what's on the other side."

  Back pressed against the wall of the tunnel, Luto moved slowly toward the grating. Peering through the rectangular openings, he searched the room beyond, then worked his way carefully, quietly back to the group.

  “Empty chamber over there, Niki."

  “Good. The cores are beneath the floor of that chamber, and somewhere in this shaft, or the cross duct ahead we will find the opening. Everybody down on the floor and feel for a seam. A couple in the cross-duct to the right and left, too."