by George Tome
Nothing tamed the goddess; nothing melted her hearts of ice. Nothing—until the arrival of Zhan, who replaced all the old gods. But the latter’s victory proved to be ephemeral. Because Pixihe had returned. With a vengeance.
***
Baila gazed at the hologram, trying to imagine the hole in which Abrian disappeared four days ago, right under their spikes. He was looking for the thousandth time at the plains in western Alixxor when his eyes were suddenly drawn to the nearby spaceport, which buzzed with activity. The shock of the revelation hit him right in the middle of his head spikes: Of course, it’s so simple! he thought, stunned by his slowness. Why did it take so long to figure it out? “The flood of details should never overshadow the target’s steadiness,” he had written in the seekers’ manual. And that’s exactly what I did during the last days, like a beginner seduced by frivolous flavors…
But even as he grudgingly reproached his lack of focus, he knew it would be a huge mistake to share it with the others. The prophet could only be perfect; therefore, he shouldn’t stain the aura of invincibility he worked so hard to build.
“Well? What’s the conclusion?” He turned menacingly toward the group of initiates in the room. He mainly addressed a short, fatty Antyran who was trying hard to look busy. Harut, the newly assigned ratrap of the agents, had abandoned his white robe for a black uniform, which placed him among the ranks of the temple soldiers.
“Oh… we searched Alixxor for the fourth time. We… couldn’t find him,” he uttered in a barely whispered voice, strangled by fear.
“What did you say? I can’t hear you,” the prophet said, grinning.
“Great Baila,” moaned Harut.
“Will you please repeat what you said?”
“We… couldn’t find him,” whispered Harut, a bit louder this time.
“And where do you think he ran?” Baila asked in a chilly voice, sending shivers along the ratrap’s tail.
“We raked the western fields many times with our inductors, thermal sensors, and orbital eyes, as you requested, Great Baila! We searched the mountains, the caves; we left no stone unturned. Four days of searching and nothing! He vanished somewhere!”
“And you have no theory of where he could hide?”
Harut dared to glance around him, searching for a glimmer of support from the others, but as expected, everyone pretended to ignore him, watching the holograms in front of them.
“If he had stayed in the town, we would have found him!”
“How many years you were a seeker, Harut?” said Baila with a fake gentle smile, barely holding back his wrath.
“I… the instruction lasted for twelve years, Your Greatest!”
“And after twelve years, can you tell me, what does it mean to be a seeker?”
“The seeker is someone who searches for all his life,” he began to recite in one breath. “He doesn’t necessarily know what he’s looking for and hopes not to find rewards in our world, knowing that the most precious things lie hidden at Zhan’s bosom. A seeker is a state of mind, the kyi in constant anxiety. In the white domes of the temples, the seeker becomes the ultimate weapon of the gods. He knows how to find his target and follows the path without taking his smell from the purpose.”
“And how is that helping you? Abrian disappeared from under your nostrils. How many tarjis were in the city? One million? Two million? And you sit on your tail to sift the dust? Why don’t you just find him? You’re a seeker. Why don’t you tell me where he is? Why don’t you feel him; why don’t you see through his eyes? You left the acajaa squeezers and inductors to search his scent! I expected you to find him!”
The ratrap didn’t say anything, crushed by the weight of Baila’s reproach. He gazed at the floor, hoping to find a crack large enough to fit inside. Now he saw all too well what a terrible mistake he made to rely on the profane technology captured from the enemy. He let himself get carried away, thinking that the orbital platforms that allowed him to track hundreds of targets around the clock were the answer he needed. It was wrong, and he would have to pay for it.
He knew deep within his kyi, even though he didn’t have the courage to admit it to anyone—much less to Baila—why he couldn’t find Abrian. He let his initiates lead the search. They and the Shindam’s operators, without whom they were powerless in handling the cursed technology, hunted Abrian with the digital eyes in the sky. They, and not he, operated the devices. They, and not he, looked at the screens. They may have blinked in the instant when Abrian became visible. They may have looked away or swept insignificant grooves because Arghail blinded their feeble minds to force them to overlook the fugitive.
How naïve he had been to fall into the trap skillfully laid by the god of darkness, like a layman unaware of the night’s tricks. Blinded by the technology he knew was corrupt, he tried to find the servant using Arghail’s diabolical tools, as if the god would have betrayed his child with his own hands. He should have let his inner smell guide him, let the purity of the calling sing into his gills. But he was afraid. Afraid to look after Abrian because it would have meant opening his kyi. A seeker emphatically connects to his target; he understands it up to the point of identification with it. The seeker sees the world through his victim’s eyes. But now, he had to open the door to something way too frightening, something that wouldn’t let him close it again. He had to open his kyi to the thorns of heresy. For behind the gate was Arghail, the father of darkness. The gate would have been his personal sacrifice, the challenge he had to pass to earn a place at Zhan’s bosom. Unfortunately, he had let the moment pass and failed the test of faith. And everything had happened so unfairly quickly! If only he had listened to Alala’s advice to move in Abrian’s dome for a few days, maybe—
“Harut, Harut,” Baila said, cutting into his thoughts. “Why did I make you ratrap? You come from a good coria; you have healthy origins,” he told him with a fatherly tone. “Look at you! How do you help me?”
“Forgive me, Your Greatness,” babbled the ratrap, lowering his eyes to the floor.
“I rushed my judgment when I made you ratrap. What shall I do with you now? You all know that I’m everyone’s father. But even parents scold their children when they’re wrong. For sweet is the punishment coming from your hand, kind Zhan! Wherever you hit will grow fresh meat! You make clean water flow from the driest stones and fields blossom in the spring! You melt the ice under your feet!”
When they heard the Gondarra’s swamp oration invoked by the prophet, everyone in the room bowed their heads and put their hands on their shoulders as a sign of obedience.
Baila’s life-size hologram slowly rose from the throne and approached Harut.
“Your Greatness, I betrayed your trust!” the ratrap shouted while falling on his knees, but he held his head high with renewed courage. “Give me a week to reach Ropolis as a simple soldier and die in Zhan’s service, taking a hundred traitors with me!”
Baila smiled and fondled his chin, pleased by the offer. After all, even though he had to lose a skilled servant, he was placated by his example of devotion. He would give him a chance to save his honor. Hmm, maybe… maybe he could still use Harut far from everyone’s eyes.
“I’ll give you a month,” he concluded magnanimously.
“Thank you, Your Greatness!” exclaimed Harut, excited by the prospect of washing the stain on his name with the blood of the unbelievers. His heroic deeds would be remembered with…
“You can embark on the first transport,” Baila said. “And if you happen to meet Abrian on Ropolis, give him my regards.”
“Abrian on Ropolis?” exclaimed another Antyran. “But—”
“You idiots!” exploded Baila. “The fields near the spaceport. You checked them with your platforms shortly after he disappeared into the sewers. You didn’t find him! You didn’t find him in the fields, on the streets, in the tubes, or anywhere else on this planet! What would you have done in his place? Didn’t Abrian have the intention to meet the ‘visitors’? A
nd if he reached the western fields, wouldn’t it be logical to hide in the nearby spaceport? It’s the only place where he wouldn’t have been seen by your precious orbital sensors!”
I trained them, he thought, angered. Everything came from me, and yet they can’t handle it. How was it possible that an archivist without seeker training could do something like that?
Of course, he was aware of the limitations of the training—there always have been—and he knew right from the beginning he would have to make some difficult choices. The full control of the change, learning by memorization, and killing the initiative were the three pillars of his governing. They stood the test of time and never betrayed him. But that left him without the sharpness of their collective minds, forcing him to think for everyone. He felt the huge burden pressing on his shoulders, wearing him down, crushing him under its weight. The prophet had no idea how many times he would have to do it, and he always wanted it to be the last time.
He experimented with the seekers. There were some good ones, and things had started to look promising, but the teachings had to be—again—extremely limited and controlled, which adversely affected their efficacy. But if he would have given them a free tail, he would have risked losing control of a terrible weapon.
And right in such difficult times, he had to abandon Harut, he thought, annoyed. But he couldn’t let him get away with a mistake like that. The ratrap had to be an example; otherwise, the other initiates wouldn’t learn their lesson and progress on the path drawn for them.
I want to take a break, but I can’t give up right now. I can’t give up, no matter the costs. For I’m their father!”
“Our spaceport? He just walked into the base, and no one saw him?” exclaimed one of the initiates.
“Dartos, don’t make me send you all in the crevice. What are the reports saying?” Baila screamed. “Does he or does he not have evil powers? Abrian is doing Arghail’s bidding. What would have prevented him from jumping over a fence and sneaking onto a spaceship?”
“And the ships attacked Ropolis…”
“See? You finally smelled it.”
“But if he’s in the enemy city, how can we capture—”
“We’ll get him delivered by the rebels. Negotiations, my children, negotiations.”
“You’re as wise as light, Your Greatness,” exclaimed another initiate.
“Raghan, you’re the new ratrap,” Baila told him. “I hope you’ll be more inspired than your predecessor. We will offer them a truce in exchange for Abrian. We keep our promise for a couple of days—even evacuate several thousand from the city as a gesture of goodwill—of course, without architects—and then resume the battles. Find some good excuse.”
“We won’t get ambushed this time. I already ordered echo probes to map the caves. We’ll dig wells through the galleries and—”
“Test the new fusion bombs,” Baila interrupted, grinning. “I want you to collapse each and every cave. I don’t care how long it’ll take or what the losses will be. But only after Abrian gets here safely. Luckily, I smelled his tricks… It would have been a shame if one of the bombs had killed him before I got the chance to do it.”
“I don’t know if we can arm so many warheads in such a short time.”
“Raghan, you’ll make sure of that,” he said in the same icy tone. “Otherwise, you know what awaits you…”
“Yes, Your Greatness.”
“I can’t hold it much longer. Even so, it’s hard to hide all this from the… visitors,” he said. “We keep them at the system’s periphery for the moment, but who knows what they’re going to do in a month?”
“I see.”
“Good, then we are finished for today.”
“What do we do with the cold?”
“Cold? What cold?” Baila asked with a purposely indifferent tone.
“Your Greatness, your children are freezing!”
“Move the tarjis to the equator. Aren’t they moved yet?”
“In fifteen days, at most, they will be there. What about the others?”
“What others? The unbelievers?” Baila laughed coldly. “I prepared an edict for them. I declare five hundred years of ice to cleanse their sins, for the cold came because of them. They’re allowed to work till the end,” he barked. “Everything they produce will be stored in the nearby temples. They can’t move to the equator! And take their children. Another edict. Are you recording, Raghan? The children will be finally confiscated. Every child smaller than twelve,” he gesticulated wildly. “The others are already corrupted; we can’t teach them the right path. Take care to save the children in the temples and feed them properly.”
“You are too good, Your Greatness…”
“Go to work, Raghan,” Baila said. “Don’t waste the time that Zhan has left in your custody!”
***
Everything seemed set. Omal 13 made sure again that he had memorized the Zzrey-Uka protocol prepared by the expedition’s linguist and that none of the questions on the list were likely to offend the Antyran. They moved all the equipment from the room where the discussion was supposed to take place, the only remaining objects being his floating vat, the conference holotheater received from the natives, and of course, the indispensable Corbelian translation sphere.
Omal looked worried at his arms, still trembling despite his efforts to control the shivering. Hibernation was approaching fast, and he knew he couldn’t delay it with all the treatments in the galaxy. He had already delayed it for two months, and the effect of the hormones was growing more and more uncontrollable. He had to constantly keep an eye on the dispenser implanted under his skin.
The envoy hailed from the deep swamps of the Ecarizol crater, a place over a mile below sea level. This made him particularly sensitive to the winter breeze—a cold wind on his homeworld. In his species’ past, hibernation was once the only practical way of reaching the spring when his world approached the aphelion of the second star, Garima.
What a bad time Bantara 21, his mate, had found to sprout… True, they awaited the approvals for over two hundred years, but Omal was sure that if she had synchronized65 with him before doing it, she would have reached the just conclusion to delay it. But Bantara had rarely synchronized with him over the past century. Maybe she’s cheating on me? The worm of doubt speared him. Right now, when we are about to have children?
He had to chase away the destructive thoughts roaming inside his skull, if only to avoid triggering the voluptuous chills of hibernation. Couldn’t he find a better moment to think about things? As if the anxiety of his mate’s sprouting wasn’t enough…
The container in which he stored Bantara during her sleep had to be moved to Rigulia instead of staying with him as usual. He had no choice if he wanted her to live. For millions of years, sprouting had meant a grisly end for the mother, as the small creatures had the habit of eating the female’s flesh until they completely devoured her, in order to get the nutrients they needed to grow. Only after the “Great Transformation”66 they had managed to find a solution to the complicated problem of making offspring without dying, to keep the desired number of buds and burn the rest, and of course, to stop the decomposing enzymes inside the mother’s body.
Omal cared about Bantara; he had come to know her well, he hoped, despite the fact that they rarely managed to synchronize or see each other when they were both awake. The Rigulians, the inhabitants of the Six Stars, used to hibernate for almost half a year—therefore, at any time, about 50 percent of their population was immersed in the long sleep.67
Combining in similar pairs was a very convenient and logical step because it allowed them to share resources that otherwise would have been unused for so many months of the year. One of them was sleeping in the hibernation container while the other was awake and working—sometimes from home, which often was a segment of a spaceship. Of course, it goes without saying that both members had the same job; therefore, Bantara was also a negotiator. This way, the Rigulians avoided the ch
aos of traveling to other workplaces and the problem of replacing the ones fallen asleep.
Omal would have done anything to be at her side in Rigulia, the capital of the Six Stars, as well as the Galactic Federation, and not here at the periphery of a bizarre planetary system for which they had no tested protocol… Damned superstring talks in the sector—the reason why he was on Lacrilia when Antyra was discovered. He loathed them more than anything. The Sarkens were the road workers of the galactic highways, their planet-ships stretching perfectly balanced microscopic superstring rings between the Federation worlds to ease the space deformation in the spaceship’s compression front. On the space highways, the flight was much shorter and safer than the classic one. But if the resources allocated to the construction came from the abundant Federal pantry, establishing the routes was a totally different story. The madness of negotiations usually took months and drained the energy of even the youngest Rigulian offspring, let alone someone with his mass…
Since arriving in Antyra, he had only had one contact with a ship of the natives, which left them with the holotheater and the instructions for how to use it. The meeting was surprisingly short, and the only useful thing he was able to notice was that the Antyrans didn’t seem overly excited by their arrival. They had asked him to stay at the periphery under the pretense that their presence could trigger internal turmoil, but the reason was surely just a veiled attempt to limit their movements. He had to accept the situation for the moment. Yet if he wasn’t able to progress, Omal knew that the Federation had other ways to break their bark. The sarken beacons were already en route, and soon they’d triangulate the position of the object that made the distortion. After they’d found it, the invisible kralls would take it by force if necessary.
The backup plan seemed simple, but it would take time to apply it. And time was a luxury they didn’t have. The others saw no reason to hurry, but the sound of alarm in his head made him believe that Antyra’s secrets had to be quickly clarified: no newly discovered world would behave so strangely with an advanced civilization that came to visit it—unless they had something important to hide. The ambassador could only hope that today’s meeting would finally break the ice and bring the much-expected answers.