Seeds of Memory

by J. Richard Jacobs

  “Colonel,” a voice shouted from the com. “I ... you've got to see this, sir. The ground around the west end is ... is moving. All of it, and it looks like the whole damned thing is coming up—just lifting right up, sir."

  “What station is this?"

  “Sorry, sir. Entry two. There was a really wild thump a minute ago, and the shaking got so bad it sprung the doors open up here. Anyway, right after the thump, the ground over there looked like it was boiling. Then it stopped. This time—the one that just happened—the whole area around the west end came right up out of the ground around it. Right now it looks like it's a whole meter up from the rest, and it's still coming."

  “I'm on my way up,” Tazh shouted as he wheeled around and went into the passage at a full run. The man in the corner continued to tremble and whimper, his eyes vibrating like a cornered shavecat.

  Why doesn't anything ever go right?

  If he wasn't having to put up with old Lang's indecisiveness, it was the government or the cowards under his command. The only reliable thing he'd found, outside himself, was the predictable stupidity of the government.

  The Keep continued to shake around him as he made his way to the second of the main access doors. He stepped out onto the shaking entry pad and looked west. The ground out there was churning like water boiling in a pot, and dense clouds of dust lifted skyward in a beige-colored imitation of steam. The area was now a good two meters above the surrounding level, its steel-colored sides diving straight from the top of the artificial mesa into the ground below. A lone sentry stood near the entrance with a SED pressed to his face, staring at the elevating real estate. His mouth was moving but issuing no sound.

  “Twenty percent, damn it,” Tazh shouted above the welter of discordant noises.

  The startled sentry dropped the SED to the pad. “What, sir?” he said, stooping for the instrument at his feet.

  “I assigned five men here. Where the hell are the other four? They run?"

  “No, sir. They got trapped behind the door when it popped open—didn't have a chance,” the man said, pointing at the pool of blood under the edge of the giant steel cover plate.

  “Give me that SED,” Tazh snapped and viciously snatched the device from the sentry's hand. What he saw caused involuntary shudders to snake their way down his spine. A section fifty meters on a side was now standing two and a half meters above the original level, and most of the dirt covering was gone. Immense gray cylinders were protruding from the surface by another three meters. Something about them was familiar to him, but he couldn't dredge up the details to fill in the missing pieces ... something familiar and ... important.

  “Security, are you operational?"

  “Yes, sir. We got scrambled around down here, but we're up and running again."

  “Any ideas about what the hell's going on here?"

  “None, sir. Not a clue."

  * * * *

  After activating the core elevator there would be very little time before the Cadre people figured out what was happening. When they did, Niki knew they would do whatever was possible to prevent him from getting at the cores—including destroying the cores. There was no time for second thoughts nor room for doubt, the retrieval had to commence immediately, and Twenty-three had to be the first shuttle on the scene, because the others would be unmanned and defenseless during the procedure. Twenty-three was needed for protection and guidance.

  “Twenty-three."

  “Yes, Niki."

  “Are there instruction files for weapons operation in your system?"

  “There are complete training files for all operations pertaining to this unit."

  “Bring up the files and begin active startup procedures."

  Twenty-three's engines roared to life. The cabin was vibrating and full of noise. The entire area around the shuttle lit up with a blue-white glare as the vertical thrusters blasted the ground below with a fiery hell. The gargantuan machine shuddered a little, then the landing pads pulled clear of the ground while Niki manipulated the controls as if he had been born with them in his hands. He was ecstatic. He could fly the shuttle—but, he reminded himself, on more than one occasion he had discovered the hard way that there was a difference between soaring confidence and reality, that something he thought he knew and what was happening were substantially different. Here, there was no room for error—disaster waited in the wings for the slightest mistake, the tiniest hesitation or indecision. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.

  He twisted the vertical thrust control slowly, carefully to the right while, simultaneously, maintaining pitch and roll through deft movements of the stick in his right hand and adjusting yaw with a delicate toe dance on the pedals. Twenty-three ascended, the rush of super-hot gases inside the display area blowing out the remaining windows and incinerating the building and its contents. Twenty-three rose above the walls of the gutted museum and thundered over the charred skeleton of a once beautiful building. Smoke and flame rolled around it while it hovered and fed Six the commands required to position that shuttle behind and slightly to the right of Twenty-three for the flight to Mount Cafferty.

  “Where is weapons control, Twenty-three?"

  “Primary weapons management is located on the port side, center console."

  “Already here,” Luto called out. “Training program is running now."

  Niki rotated to count heads. Luto was at the main weapons station, and Antaris had taken up the other. Pasha was seated beside him and the seats behind were filled with others of the group, the remaining three pressed against the aft bulkhead, their fingers clutching whatever they could find.

  “Twenty-three, are there more safe seats?"

  “Yes, Niki."

  He was going to have to remember to be more explicit. Such errors could prove important ... even crucial when time was short.

  “Where are they located?"

  “Tactical and navigation stations in compart 7-D at the aft end of the main companionway and up two levels."

  Niki flicked his thumb at the ones by the bulkhead and said, “Go,” then turned to Pasha and winked. “Am I learning?"

  She smiled.

  “Twenty-three, resume control and begin retrieval mission. Activate all other units, now."

  The sticks went limp in his hands when control transferred to Twenty-three's computer and notices flashed on the screen verifying each critical function had taken place properly. The loud whine of hydraulic pumps rolled in over the deep rumble of the engines as the landing legs were sucked up into the fuselage. That was followed by a series of clicks and clangs when the landing gear locked in place. His restraints tightened around him, and an acceleration notice flashed on the screen. Niki grinned. The Odyssey was beginning.

  Below, the smoking, melted ruin of the Museum of the Ancients stood in testimony to the occasion. In the future the ruin itself might become a museum to mark the beginning of the change, if Paz could survive the turmoil rising in its gut. The people of Paz would be writing a new history, erecting new museums to house future artifacts, and Niki hoped he would not be remembered with the same disdain he had felt for the Fathers before all this began. That thought brought with it a strange feeling—the feeling that his memory of the time before his enlightenment was fading into obscurity and he could barely remember his youth, his friends, even his family. A new man—a different man sat in the pilot's chair of shuttle Twenty-three.

  Twenty-three and Six climbed directly to two thousand meters for the short trip to Cafferty Bight and the cores, while Niki did the only thing he could do—put his faith in the computers and the planning of the Fathers, sit back and observe. The only part any of them could play in the next hour or so would be to help defend themselves and the other shuttles if that became necessary. Niki watched the various monitors giving him a complete view of the area around and below the shuttle with a clarity and brightness rivaling that of midday Vegamwun. He tinkered with controls on the sides of the monitors that allowed h
im to magnify any portion of the display, revealing incredible detail. Magnificent machines employing technology well advanced over that of Paz. He had wondered about this before, now he understood the how and the why of it and, in an odd way, wished he wasn't going so he could see what they would do with what he was about to give them. Paz would be changed forever—for good or bad he would never know—and Paz would never ... ever be the same.

  * * * *

  Arms loaded down with a stack of paper files and two chip cases dangling from his fingertips, Sax hit the latch with his knee and pushed the door with his forehead. Harko motioned him to a large case board on the back wall and locked the door.

  “Sax, why so much paper? I thought most of this stuff could be chip loaded."

  “Yeah, Chief, I could have done that, but as soon as I give the copy command, the system will go active and anybody interested will know—so I printed it, and I think it's all in order."

  “But this is going to take hours."

  “Better that than having someone reading what I'm loading, right?"

  There were many reasons why Harko liked Sax, but his honesty and attention to detail were the main ones. He could trust Sax to do his duty and rely on getting far more detail than needed on any record search the man did.

  “Okay, Sax, what do we need to do?"

  “Rumor has it you have a computer down here that's not connected to the rest of the system."

  “Yeah? How did you know that?"

  “It's my job, boss. I know lots of things I'm not supposed to. Where is it?"

  Harko pulled two chairs over to the end of the case board where an old computer sat hidden beneath a pile of papers. He swept the papers off onto the floor.

  “Sax, I've heard you're a frustrated—"

  “Chief?” a voice said from the com.

  “What is this? You don't signal me first any more?"

  “Sorry, sir. The team from Astro's been waiting a couple of hours, and they're insisting you either take them to the museum or authorize them to go there on their own. What should I tell them?"

  “Hmm, are they with you now?” Harko had forgotten about the Astro people, and he couldn't allow them to go anywhere near the museum now. He needed an excuse to keep them in New London without having to listen to them whine or take the matter to the Council.

  Part of the truth will work—the part the Council already has—and that way, if they go over my head, the Council will corroborate whatever I tell them.

  “Yes, sir. They're in the waiting room."

  “Okay. Get them on the com, but scramble it."

  “A frustrated what, boss?"

  “Sorry, Sax ... a frustrated historian. I understand you've been compiling a detailed account from day one."

  “Yes, sir. I started it when I was still in onners house. As a hobby, you know. Funny, I haven't thought about that in a long time. I started collecting information when I was ten and put it all in a book I called Sax Facts for about two years, but it got too big for me to keep it in order without spending forever sorting. Anyway, I had the idea that, if we—"

  The sound of the com interrupted him.

  “Yeah, Harko here."

  “Chief, the guy from Astro's on your secure line."

  “Thanks.” Harko changed lines and a red, heavily wrinkled face with drooping secondary eyelids, which gave it a permanently drugged appearance, materialized.

  “Chief Harko, I am Dr. Samyal Shupe, head PSI at Astro Nuperz. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

  “Dr. Shupe?” Harko had never heard the name mentioned even lightly in any context, but it was prudent to keep this affair on a diplomatically pleasant level. “Yes, I believe so, Dr. Shupe. The name is definitely familiar,” he lied. “How may I be of help to you, sir?"

  “We have been waiting a long time, Chief Harko. Can you explain why we are still here?"

  Harko couldn't decide from the man's expression if he was angry, frustrated, or asleep. “Of course, Dr. Shupe. We have dangerous insurgents operating in the area, and open conflict with them could erupt at any time. It is my feeling that persons as valuable to the wellbeing of Pazian society as yourself and your colleagues should not be exposed to potential harm. If I were to let you go to the museum with the current threat—I could not ensure your safety and would not be able to live with the guilt should anything happen to you or any members of your team.” He laughed inwardly at the idea that he was practicing diplomacy—he hadn't thought he had any of that trait in him.

  Sax, obviously swallowing laughter, stepped out of the office and closed the door.

  “Thank you, Chief Harko. You would be surprised how few recognize the magnitude of our contributions to life here. I understand your concern and appreciate it, but I would like to be taken to the museum at the earliest possible moment. Are you able to give me an idea of how long we will have to wait? I have some critical experiments in progress back at the station, which need tending—very important experiments."

  “Yes, I'm sure they are. The best I can say at the moment is, tomorrow at midday. Does that fit in with your schedule?"

  “Yes, that will be fine. Are there adequate Council funds on hand to take care of our stay?"

  “Absolutely, Dr. Shupe. Tell the man on the desk, and he will make all the arrangements."

  The screen went blank, and Harko sank back in his chair.

  Pompous, self-serving asses.

  “Sax,” he shouted. “Get your butt back in here."

  Sax stepped through the door wearing an exaggerated smile and started for the case board.

  “Lock the door, Sax."

  “Oh, yeah. You finished nuzzling the illustrious Dr. Shupe's royal fuzzy, sir?"

  Harko threw him a menacing look and pointed at the empty chair beside him.

  “Yes, sir. I don't know which is harder to stomach, Astro or Council. Anyway, where was I?"

  “Your book got too big—but I'm not after your whole history, Sax. Try to condense it, all right? I'm trying to piece together a puzzle I've been chewing on for a while, and I need to find historical precedents and evidence to support it or toss it."

  “All right, boss. Where do you want me to begin?"

  Sax took his seat and squirmed the cushion into conformity.

  “I want you to give me your opinion and interpretation of our history up to the end of the Fathers—but try to keep it brief, please."

  “Brief's going to be pretty tough. Let's see now,” Sax said while digging around in one of the chip cases. He withdrew a chip, flipped it over in his fingers and slipped it into Harko's private computer. “Yeah, that's it,” he said as he adjusted his position to see the screen and Harko at the same time.

  “In my opinion, the stuff we're taught in school is outside the reality border by a few parsecs. We were taught our lines started with the Ancients, and that's true, almost. It probably began fifty years earlier, because the Fathers didn't just drop out of the sky like snow flakes, plant the Ancients at Ganeden, then melt."

  Sax scrolled up a chart on the screen and continued, “See that nice, straight line at the bottom—that represents the birthdays of the Ancients. They were all born on the same day. People don't get born in blocks like that—not even with our population at its current level. Records show that, in any given month, only two hundred sixty thousand are born at our most prolific, and that number is from our best month last year. So, I do a little calculating, using the information we have, and I get from as low as six thousand to as high as eleven thousand new Pazians, and the best count I have been able to put together for the Fathers was eight to fourteen thousand on the surface during the Seeding.

  “They were, according to the Ancient Record, more or less evenly distributed—males and females. That means, at best, there were seven thousand women at the time and, of that number, maybe three thousand six hundred were of childbearing age. So, where did eleven thousand and forty babies come from on a single day?"

  “Well? Where did they come
from?” Harko demanded.

  “It's only guessing, you know, but I think the Ancients were incubated, much like we do with commercials who don't want to carry. We may be descended from the Fathers—or we may not. I think those embryos were engineered and brought here to provide the first Pazians, the folk we call our Ancients. It's even possible the Fathers completed the engineering here, once they were aware of the conditions on Paz. I don't know ... but evidence and comments I found here and there tend to support that idea. Creepy, isn't it?"

  * * *

  Chapter XXII

  Six remained at two thousand meters while Twenty-three descended through a dense ice fog, its vertical thrusters producing a rhythmic staccato of explosive sounds as the computer positioned the shuttle's main cargo hatch over the first of the cylinders. Niki expected resistance, but none had been offered. Most of the Cadre soldiers who were in the area when the shuttles arrived fled beyond the slip and into the forest to the south.

  Hovering just five meters over the rack, Twenty-three's main cargo hatch opened and two long, mechanical arms reached down and delicately plucked one of the cores out of its two-hundred-year-old nest. Raising and rotating the ninety-ton cylinder, the arms moved the core into Twenty-three's gaping mouth where another appendage, looking like an articulated steel tongue, cradled the core and swallowed it like an oversize capsule.

  Twenty-three had just managed to get a bite on the third core when the first of Tazh's attack craft came in from the east and headed straight for the waiting Six. Two missiles were launched and burned a steaming trail for Six's midsection. They erupted into harmless fireballs some two hundred meters from their target. A second try brought similar results, and an artificial snow began to fall on Mount Cafferty's southern slope.