Beyond the Black Enigma

by Gardner Francis Fox

  From this juncture of streets, he could make out the old temple half a mile away. It was a small building of unfinished building stones, nothing like the grand new edifice which was to have housed the god. Staring at its bulk, Craig shifted The Imp in his hands.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. He was moving toward the critical point of his entire assignment here. Enter his temple, fight a god Kill the god and free his people. And tear down the black mystery of the enigma? Open this sector of space to the Empire and its trader-ships? It would not be the first time a man had defied a god, but surely it was the first time a man had set out to murder him!

  John Craig had killed other men in his role of Commander, Alert Command Division. Part of his value to the Empire was in knowing what man to kill, what man to let live. His jaw muscles twitched again to his inner worry. It might be a tactical mistake to kill Rhythane, assuming he could.

  Yet he meant to try. Desperately.

  "Let's move it,” he breathed.

  Fiona had been standing with her back to the building wall, staring in horrified fascination at what she could see of the battle between the Toparrs and the Empire men. Silent implosions, flashing white energy balls, it was a quiet fanfare of death those weapons were writing before the temple. She drew a deep breath as she pushed from the wall. It was almost a sob, but her lips firmed and there was a quiet determination in her hazel eyes.

  She nodded and moved ahead of him.

  Craig followed her shifting hips, eyes turning left and right and behind him against surprise. He knew that Fiona would cry an alarm if the Toparrs came at them from the front. But apparently all the yellow half-men were engaged in their battle to put down the slave rebellion. They would not think to guard Rhythane.

  They came out into the little square that was half the size of the plaza before the new temple. The stones here were worn; apparently this was an ancient part of the city. The newer section was to the west, from the direction in which they had come.

  The temple looked abandoned. Its wooden doors were closed, there was a layer of dust on its windows. Though the stones of its several steps had grooves worn in them, they gave no sign of recent use.

  Craig moved up the steps and put a hand on the wooden door. It opened inward with a creak of rusted hinges. The interior was empty, save for the stone altar at the far end. There were no pews, no choir, no columns or marble fonts, only barren emptiness.

  Nor was there any metal rod and wire abstraction above the altar. Craig stood frozen a moment, a let down tiredness running through his body.

  Rhythane was not here!

  He had been so sure, so sure. All his calculations, all his hopes, had rested on the fact that he might destroy the god. If Rhythane were some invisible force, that did not need actual matter like rods and wires to make its presence known and felt, then the crewmen were dead men outside the new temple where they were now fighting so furiously.

  His reasoning was: Rhythane gave the Toparrs the power to move, to act and think, even as he gave the power to the tools the workers used in the temple, Destroy the and he destroyed their power source. Then the Toparr threat would be gone from Rhyllan and somehow he could go back through the Now—time into the Then—time where the spaceships were, and send word to Dan Ingalls that the threat of the black enigma was ended.

  His on the metal grip and stock of The Imp were damp. One by one he removed them and wiped them dry on his breeches. Copybook axioms popped into his mind. Believe what you see only so long as you can test it with your other senses. When an integral part is missing, find it or account for its absence. Success is attention to the obvious.

  Craig went into the quiet dimness, The Imp at the ready. He did not know what to expect; he would be alert to the quiver of a shadow. Yet there were no shadows other than his own and that cast by Fiona as she followed him on tiptoe.

  He walked around behind the altar and found only a black wall and a bare floor. As he walked, his mind was almost numb with disbelief.

  This is all wrong. The god—or whatever it is—has to be here, if its anywhere at all on this nightmare world Somewhere, I must find it.

  He began his search slowly, methodically, as he had been trained and as he had conducted all his assignments in the past. Overlook nothing. Every sight, every sound, is a fact that must be considered as an integral part of the whole. He recited copybook maxims as he walked around the altar and along the wall, idly noting how clumsy the workmen slaves had been at this point where the stones were so irregular, then moving to the asile walls, running his hand along them.

  Fiona sat on the altar, hugging her knees, eyes enormous as they followed every move. She scarcely dared to breathe, sensing how important this search might be.

  He walked once around the room, then came back to her, shaking his head. "I can't understand it. This Rhythane has to be in this temple. He can't be in the old one.”

  Then he turned and stared the length of the nave, down to the partially opened doors. Craig frowned. The temple was small, but surely not quite as small as that nave would indicate. He turned, touching his eyes to the wall behind the altar.

  The stones were irregular on the wall. A botched job by the working slaves, he had thought. Perhaps it was something else that gave those stones that odd appearance. Not a sloppy bit of workmanship, but—

  Craig Smothered an exclamation, ran around the edge of the altar and up to the stone wall. Excitedly he ran his palms over the stones. Wait. There was a regularity about its very irregularity. The crudely fashioned stones were in the shape of a rectangle, about as large as—a door.

  His palms pushed at the door, here and there. Ah, right about here. He pushed harder. With a creak of unused hinges the door swung inward.

  The commander found himself staring into a small room, windowless, that held a small machine. No, not a machine but—a something—vaguely similar to the abstraction of rods and wires which had been above the altar in the new temple.

  You are a dangerous man, Earthling Craig felt his knees turn rubbery. Rhythane! Hidden inside this bit of metal, out of sight of his worshipers, he could hurl his power where they asked for it, and appear to the slaves to be a god in truth. Only the priest caste of the Toparrs would know about his secret sanctuary.

  The commander swung up The Imp from the wall against which he had leaned it to make his search. Its barrel rose toward the silent metal housing.

  Wait! your weapon is no good here. It did not work in the new temple, it will not function here.

  Craig did not lower The Imp but he kept his finger from its activator stud. “Go on.”he said softly.

  I will make a bargain with you. Give over your attempt to destroy my housing here on Rhyllan, and I will free your people. I shall not makes slaves of them, nor of the Rhydd from the Now-time. We shall live in peace, your people, the Rhydd and my Toparrs.

  “The enigma? Will you destroy it?”

  It is not mine to destroy.

  “You lie, I think.”

  There was a silence through which even the telepathic voice of the god did not penetrate. Craig tightened his grip on The Imp, expecting battle.

  Then—

  You do not know the story of the enigma or you would not make such a request. For me to let down that barrier would be to doom this world.

  Long, long ago, there was no enigma. This was even before the people of Rhydd came to the planet Rhyllan. They lived on another world, then. A world..... Too late, Craig realized that his guard was down. In his intensity of interest, he had relaxed that alertness which was his safeguard as a special agent. The bluish light in the machine swelled from a dot of brilliance to an engulfing sunburst.

  It was an instantaneous occurrence. Even as Craig realized that his alertness to danger was at its lowest, the blueness had enveloped him. He stood frozen in surprise and dismay, rigid, vaguely aware that behind him—how far behind a man is infinity—Fiona was screaming out her terror and despair.

  He expected deat
h, yet it did not come.

  There was only the brilliance, the blueness, and a sense of warmth and incredible age. Of wisdom, of understanding, of some emotion akin to triumph.

  Foolish man! To put yourself against a god! He was floating in emptiness. His feet no longer touched the solid stone of the old temple floor. There was no sensation of height; it was as if Rhythane cloaked him against all emotion, all feeling. Come with me to the beginning, Earthling!

  Chapter Eight

  His feet settled into firmness.

  Craig swayed dizzily. He put out a hand but there was nothing against which to lean so he balanced himself by moving his arms and letting the nausea pass. He knew without thinking that The Imp was gone from his hands and that the sack holding The Halo and the time field box was far behind him wherever Fiona might be.

  Except for the sword, he was defenseless.

  After the intense brilliance of the sunburst into which he had been plunged, it took a while for Craig's eyes to become accustomed to the light around him. He stood in a garden, but it was a garden unlike any he had ever seen. The flowers were metallic, of varying hues of color, with petals and stalks and leaves of barbaric sizes and shapes. So might a nation of robots have cultivated beauty, a love for which they had learned at the hands of extinct masters.

  A yellow sky diffused a pallid light against which the colors of the metal flowers stood out with startling clarity. Craig drew a deep breath. He did not know where he was, except that he was perhaps on some distant corner of the planet Rhyllan, a corner inhabited by—

  Not Rhyllan Rather—Rhythane!

  Rhythane? The first place.

  Craig remembered the old folk tales of the Rhydd he had heard from the lips of Fiachra the harper in the great hall of Rhyddoan. The people had legends that they came from another planet. They had had no name for it, other than the name of their god. Its name had been lost in the mists of Time.

  “Rhythane?” he asked out loud, aware that Rhythane could hear him. "Is this where the people of Rhydd came from?”

  Yes, long ago, so long ago that mine is the only memory of the event. All others have forgotten.

  Except in the form of folktales.

  Craig said, "How could you have brought me across a hundred million miles of space, alive and well?”

  I am Rhythane the god. I have great and awesome powers. There is none to equal the powers of the god Rhythane. None!

  “Why, then?” he challenged.

  To convert you to my cause. You have intelligence, cleverness, courage. You escaped my priest Kofarpan after he you. You stole the taraths, you armed your people with them. You fought my creatures, the Toparrs.

  Craig grinned wryly. “What happened, back on Rhyllan? Did the crewmen defeat the Toparrs?”

  It does not matter. Nothing matters now but that you see the way which I shall show you. Advance.

  He moved forward along the flagstoned walks between the symmetrical rows of metal flowers and bushes. He their musical tinklings as a wind sprang up, clanging the petals and the leaves against one another. It was beautiful in its own way, and for a little while he stood entranced. Then he went on, aware that the scabbard beside him was banging into his ankles. Almost unconsciously he shifted the sword so that its hilt was closer to his fingers.

  He walked on, knowing that if he made a wrong turn Rhythane would touch his mind to guide his feet. The music of the metal flowers grew sweeter to his ears. It seemed that they sang in welcome. Craig told himself not to be seduced by sound. And yet it was pleasant. Very pleasant.

  Peaceful was this world. And beautiful in its own cold fashion. At a distance he could make out trees fashioned into fanciful shapes, all of metal like the flowers, with buds and blossoms in mimicry of nature. When he rounded a bend, he saw a low building. It resembled a wave flowing upward, supported b thin pillars. A free form concept, executed in metal. There was a doorway opened to the cool air. Craig approached it, understanding that he was to enter here, to go closer and closer to wherever it was the god wanted him to walk.

  He went into the little building. The interior was starkly beautiful in clean lines and with metal walls colored blue and white in fluid colors. It held a minimum of furniture, a couch and two chairs that looked as if they had just been created, they were so new.

  He must not pause here, he must go on, through the door that stood open so invitingly. To Rhythane, the god. Dimly Craig wondered if he might be under some sort of hypnotic spell, or whether the god had taken control of his mind.

  He tested that idea by sitting down on the chair nearest the inner doorway. He waited, knowing that where he wanted to go and where Rhythane wanted him to go were one and the same. The god wanted him close by to convert him to its use. He wanted to be where the god was, to destroy it.

  After a time he got up and moved on. The inner door opened onto a long ramp that went downward into a vast chamber, lighted by a pinkish radiance. Craig walked down onto the ramp, then paused in amazed surprise.

  The chamber floor was filled with men and women They were garbed in brilliant clothing, red satins and black velvets touched with golden threads, blue linens, soft cashmere wools, in taffetas and gabardines. There were men clad all in armor with great swords hanging by their sides. They stood in uniforms that fitted them like skin, lean and muscular, or in casual clothes that hung with tasteful effect. Beside them were women so beautiful as to take away the breath, all dressed in garments calculated to reveal the perfection of their soft, curving bodies. Craig whistled and moved down, letting his eyes touch a dusky cave-woman draped in a fur loin-cloth, standing with her fingers to her long black hair as if to throw it back. He passed to a slim girl swathed in skirt and tight placket, who stood just beyond her.

  For an instant, he had thought them to be alive. Now he saw that they were nothing more than dummies.

  And yet—

  They seemed so real! As if they had been caught in movement and frozen here forever in arrested life. The tints of their skins were as different as was their garb. A pallid yellow girl stood close to a man with reddish flesh tones, while a woman with long red hair and white skin brushed elbows with a man whose hide was the color of ebony. It was as if some supernal force had reached out to all the known worlds and all the known Times eras, lifting inhabitants of each away from their fellows.

  Craig put his hand out to touch the bare back of a dancing girl, finding her flesh soft but cold, lacking nothing but the warm pulse of life itself. Her eyes were slanted behind long black lashes and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile on her red lips.

  Do you like her, man of Empire? She is yours.

  Craig said, knowing that he lied but wanting an explanation, "She's only a dummy. I can get a thousand figures like hers on the planet Treefik, where beauty is almost a religion.”

  Athalla is no dummy. She is everything an Earth girl is, except that she has no life. I can give her that life, if you so will it.

  As if to prove its words, the girl stirred. She lifted her head and laughed softly, looking up into Craig's face. A ripple went through her all but naked body. Her arms rose about his neck as she pressed herself against the commander.

  "Give me life,” she whispered.

  Craig shivered.

  "I know the dances of the ages, she went on softly, clinging to him with you strength. “I know the love arts of all time. All this is a part of me. I can bring you pleasure that will make you swoon.”

  She drew back, lifting her arms above her head. Her body writhed with serpentine grace. Soft laughter came through her parted lips as she began to dance to silent music. Her legs were shapely, her hips curved and undulant, her breasts a poem of motion.

  Craig said, “You’re just an android. Pain touched her eyes. She shook her head, forgetting to dance. "No, I am as much a—a human being as you are. I can bleed. I can die.”

  She pointed with her forefinger at the sword he wore. "Stab me, man from Empire. Kill me if it is proof you w
ant. He could read the fright on her features just as clearly as if she really were human. She speaks truth, John Craig. Athalla is a living woman. She has emotions, she has love and hate and tenderness locked inside her, waiting to be awakened. Is it so impossible? What is your body but water and a certain amount of chemicals Just so is her body made. Your scientists can duplicate the human body. They can do everything but give a body life. Being a god, I can do that.

  And I will, if you swear allegiance to me.

  The girl dancer shivered, staring around her at the other women and the men. She turned back to Craig. "I have stood here a long time,” she whispered. "A long, long time. I was not alive then, I did not know what it was like to be alive. Now that I am, I do not want to be unalive again.”

  Craig said, "I can do nothing. She threw herself against him, clinging. Her lips touched his throat, kissing, as she whimpered, “You can! You can! You have the power, through Rhythane. Accept his terms and let me live to love you.”

  "This is madness, he muttered. He caught her arms to push her away, and it was like trying to free himself from a real woman who was, indeed, wildly in love with him. Her soft skin was warm now, flushed with life. Her breath was sweet, her forehead damp with nervous sweat. She even smelled like a woman.

  Reflect, John Craig! Athalla is only one of the women who can be yours. Walk along the hall, study them. All of them I intend to bring to life, to people the planet of Rhyllan when the time is come for my emergence.

  Athalla pouted, looking up at him. Craig marveled at the jealousy that flared in her slanted eyes. Fiona herself could not have been more greedy for his attentions. His mind told him she was merely a perfect android, but his sight and all his senses told him she was a warm, living woman.

  The men, man of Empire. These are handsome men, and strong. They shall be your men, your servants, to form a cabinet and an army, to populate a planet that shall belong to you alone. I am a god. My sphere of influence and yours shall never cross.