by Ben Bova
“I see our Mr. Krowek likes to play,” she chuckled, genuinely amused. “All right, then. Place the call for me, and let us see what happens.”
Poser concentrated, his integrator making the necessary connections. After a few moments, the holoframe glowed and Krowek’s image appeared.
“Mistress Valtane, it’s so good to see you again. Although I’m forced to admit that I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon as this.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” She crossed to the viewing chair facing the holoframe and sat, noticing as she did that his features changed subtly to the same look she had seen before, a mixture of appreciation and downright leering. Her disgust for him raised a notch as she realized the man was even shallower than she originally thought. “In any event, since we both seem to be stuck here for roughly the same purpose, I thought it might be nice to get to know one another. Please, won’t you be my guest for dinner this evening. I’m sure you would be much more comfortable with the facilities I can offer here aboard the Tiatia, than on that cramped shuttlecraft of yours.”
He flashed the ingratiating smile she was coming to loathe. “But Mistress, I’m perfectly comfortable where I am. And as to your offer of dinner, I’m very grateful but I’ve already eaten. Thank you anyway.”
“Surely, there must be some comfort I can offer. Perhaps I can arrange to have something sent over, then?” She turned in her chair. “Poser, please see to it that after-dinner refreshments are shuttled over to—”
“No,” he said simply, cutting her off with the single word. “That won’t be necessary either. In fact, until the situation changes, or until we receive further instructions, the two of us should not be on the same vessel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some matters I need to attend to.” He leaned outside the pickup range of his sending unit, and his image faded away.
Rihana was silent for several minutes as she considered what Krowek had said, then: “Now, what reason could there possibly be for us to avoid being on the same ship? Poser, come sit down.” She indicated the other viewing chair.
The aide was startled and, while not exactly distressed, was nonetheless wary of her motives as he took the offered chair and sat stiffly with his hands clasped in his lap, his back not touching the chair.
“What is your impression of Krowek?” she asked bluntly, all her usual airs forgotten for the moment. Oddly enough, the moment she spoke to him on a one-to-one basis, Poser, too, seemed less rodentlike in his own movements. Discussions of this type between them were rare, but when they occurred the two of them immediately took on a no-nonsense demeanor. “The way he acted, how he spoke and looked. Anything you can recall.”
“I don’t recollect anything out of the ordinary, Mistress. Although …” He shook his head weakly, his brow furrowed in thought. “ … he reminded me no small amount of Mr. Rapson himself.”
Rihana leaned back in the chair and pulled absently at her lower lip. “How about the way he talked, how he formed his sentences?”
“Again, he reminded me of Mr. Rapson; although there’s nothing specific I can put my finger on.”
She nodded slowly, thinking, then said, “Did you see the way he looked at me?”
“I … I’m not sure what you mean.” He stiffened in the chair, his nervousness returning.
“Please!” she snapped. “You know exactly what I mean. You have seen the look I’m referring to a hundred times over the years.” She rose and paced for several moments, again pulling absently at her lip. “Access the communications log and run back the recording of the first conversation, triple speed, sound muted. Put it in edit mode, as I wish to mark two five-second segments.”
Poser complied and the holoframe glowed again, Krowek’s image animatedly moving through the message up to the point where he had glanced at Rihana’s obvious attention-getting movement.
“Mark.”
The playback continued for several moments.
“And … mark.” The recording ended shortly afterward. “Now, connect and play the two segments back-to-back, normal speed.”
Poser complied. The holoframe glowed with Krowek’s image centered in the frame at the exact moment Rihana had crossed her legs. There, again, was the approving look, a tiny shift of his head, a downward then upward glance of his eyes, a tiny curl at one corner of his mouth. The computer had blended the segment smoothly with the next marked portion. It showed the same leering look of approval, but the two segments were more than just the same mannerisms made by the same man at different times—the two segments were virtually identical, as if the same segment of the recording had been played twice.
“There, do you see what I mean?”
“They’re … the same. But I don’t see the significance in that, Mistress.”
Rihana nodded, still considering the possibilities. “Can you overlap them? Play them at the same time?”
A look of concentration more intense that usual spread over his features as he set up the proper playback parameters. The holoframe glowed again; the segments replayed.
“If there had been any difference between the two, there should have been a double image at some point. They’re identical, aren’t they?”
“Yes, identical.” He cleared his throat and straightened contentedly in his chair. Was that a genuine smile on his lips? “I … also took the liberty of checking timing, lighting intensity, and angle of pickup. There is no difference, not even infinitesimal, that I can detect between the two.”
Rihana raised an approving eyebrow. “Well done. Now, find the same segment from my second conversation with him and overlay it atop the two we just viewed. Same analysis.”
Poser complied. After a few minutes, he said, “The results are the same, Mistress.”
“That sneaky bastard,” she whispered so softly under her breath that Poser had to strain to hear. “Can you scan for life signs aboard the shuttle?”
A look of comprehension appeared behind Poser’s eyes. “I’m sorry, but the Tiatia is not equipped for that. However, I believe I can …” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed once more. Rihana waited in uncharacteristic patience. Then, after several minutes, “Mistress, I’m sorry it took so long—I had to reroute the proper scan circuits—but, there can be no one alive on board the shuttle. All life-support systems are on standby. Internal temperature settings in all passenger sections read well below zero.”
“The sneaky bastard,” she said again, louder and almost appreciatively this time. “We have been talking to a computer-generated representation. He has plainly altered his image, but no wonder ‘Krowek’ reminded you of Rapson.” On one level, Rihana was furious with herself for being taken in so completely; but on a deeper level, she admired the intricacy of the ruse. She made a mental note to ask Poser to outfit a similar system for herself—after she had dealt with Rapson regarding this act of subterfuge. “System!” she barked, forgoing Poser’s assistance. “Connect me with the master pilot’s quarters.”
It took a moment, but directly a bleary-eyed woman’s image appeared in the holoframe. She clumsily tangled herself in the sheets as she swung herself to the edge of the bed, struggling to clear the sleep from her mind. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“Moyan, I want the Tiatia ready to move on a moment’s notice.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The woman was now wide awake and already pulling on her clothes. “Do you have a specific destination that I can enter into the—?”
“I will keep you informed.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll have a duty roster ready for your approval as soon as I—”
Rihana thumbed the image out.
Poser cleared his throat again, the annoying habit alerting Rihana that he wanted to say something. Their discussion closed, both had returned to their usual role patterns.
“Yes, Poser?”
“Mistress, shall I make preparations for departure?”
Rihana laughed, the pure, natural sound surprising the man more than anything his mistress had
done in some time.
“No, not yet. Let’s sit here for a while and play with our new toy.”
15
DISCOVERY
Gareth Anmoore strained at his side of the heavy rectangular slab of gray-brown stone. The faces of the other three crew members lugging the burdensome rock—the huskiest men the landing party could offer—were beet red with exertion, the muscles and veins in their necks and shoulders standing out in marked contrast to their sweaty skin. All had removed their shirts, but even that gave them little relief as they worked in the hot sun.
“Easy! Easy!” A survey member, geologist Vito Secchi, rushed forward and grasped the slab next to Gareth. “Set it down on its edge, over here. Then flip it over so I can examine its underside. Careful! Watch your feet!”
Gareth’s voice came in nearly unintelligible grunts. “Take it—unhh! Take it easy, Vito. We’re not about to—aaah!—hurt your precious rock.”
The five men let the slab down on its side as gingerly as they could, then allowed it to fall over so the underside was exposed per the geologist’s request. Secchi almost leapt onto the slab, studying it for whatever minutiae had originally excited him about it. The image reminded Gareth of a cat curiously pouncing on an intruding insect. A shout for similar help came from the other side of the dig site, and Gareth waved the three big men over as he sat heavily in the freshly turned dirt, leaning back on an elbow.
“Was it really necessary,” Gareth puffed wearily, “to do this right now?” He pulled his shirt from the waistband of his pants and wiped it across his forehead, the sweat mingling with dirt to form a pasty, claylike whitish coating on the side of his face. He looked around him at the dig, watching as more than a dozen filthy men and women worked at numerous tasks on every side of the five-meter-wide man-made crater. Secchi himself, although he had done a minimal amount of the actual lifting and carrying, seemed to be the dirtiest. “You could at least have waited on the big stuff until someone brought down a null-gravity harness.”
The two had been friends for years, but when Secchi turned to face him, a sudden worrisome expression crossed the man’s face. He straightened over the slab, saying, “I’m sorry, Captain; but finding this here I just—”
Gareth’s hearty laugh cut him off. “Vito, come on. Lighten up a bit.” He stared at the geologist, watched as the troubled expression changed to one of better cheer. “And drop the ‘Captain’ stuff when none of the freshman crew are around.”
A sudden, bright flare over Secchi’s shoulder, high in the southern sky, caught his attention: the braking rockets of yet another ship inserting itself into orbit around the newly popular planet. He wondered idly who was on this one. The Emperor’s two sons had already arrived in the system, and he expected them to make a personal inspection of the base within a few days. Perhaps it was Adela de Montgarde herself, come to take over authority here in her role as the Emperor’s official representative at Tsing. He felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of finally meeting the woman he’d heard so much about all his life.
Whoever it was, once in orbit the ship would be invisible to the natives, who possessed little optical technology. Still, he hoped again that the natives—concentrated most heavily in the planet’s northernmost landmass—wouldn’t notice the increased low-altitude activity in the skies above the southern hemisphere where South Camp, the planetside base, had been set up.
“We get more company every day, Vito,” he mused, sitting upright in a cross-legged position. “When do you think you might tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for here?”
“Metal.” The geologist didn’t look up from the slab.
“I know that.” Gareth liked Secchi, but if there was anything about the scientist that did get on his nerves it was his way of explaining things in shorthand. It didn’t help that Secchi’s face, hidden behind a thick, bushy black beard, was virtually unreadable. “The metal concentration in this entire region was easily detectable, even scanning from orbit. What’s so special about this particular site?”
Secchi sat back on his haunches and let his breath out in one long, slow sigh. He took a rock hammer and struck a corner of the slab, easily and neatly chipping off an angular fist-sized chunk, then tossed it to Gareth. “Take a close look at it.”
Gareth turned it over several times in his hands. It was gray-brown, indicating that it was of the same material as the slab from which it came. He hefted the piece in one hand, guessing that it weighed a little more than a kilo and a half, a bit heavier than he might have expected. Like most of what had been dug up, it was covered with tightly packed dirt closely matching the color of the rock itself; but looking more carefully at the clean side that had been in the interior of the slab before being chipped off, he could see dark blotches running through it.
He scraped experimentally at one of the blotches with a grimy thumbnail. “Is this the metal you mean?”
Secchi nodded.
“What about it?”
The geologist glanced up, making sure that none of the other team members were within earshot.
“I don’t think it’s from here,” he answered simply, raising his thick, dark eyebrows.
Gareth considered this new bit of information gingerly, careful not to infer more from Secchi’s words than he was offering. “All right,” he began directly, handing the chunk back to the other man, “so it’s not from here. Is it meteoric in origin, or could the natives have brought it? Even though there’s little evidence they’ve explored much of this hemisphere, they could be responsible for it being here.”
Secchi shook his head and took a seat on the slab, putting his back to the others as he spoke. He dug a battered handheld data pad out of a vest pocket and automatically wiped a layer of dirt from it with his hand, then punched a few keys before passing it over to Gareth. “I’ve positively identified each of those metals,” he said, pointing to the handheld. “Most are common; it would be unusual to find them here, but it’s conceivable they could have been brought here by the natives.”
“But the last three listed here?” Gareth tapped at the readout on the handheld’s tiny scratched screen.
The geologist shrugged. “They’re not from here,” he repeated. “At least, not in those combinations or amounts.”
“So they are meteoric, then.” He gave the handheld back and stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants, then retrieved his shirt and pulled it over his head, frowning at the way the damp garment clung to his sweaty skin as he tugged it into place. “Interesting, but hardly worth the silent treatment you’ve been giving me about this dig site.”
“Gareth?” Secchi leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked up at him. “This isn’t rock,” he said under his breath as he tapped at the slab with the chunk he still held. It crumbled slightly at the impact. “It’s clay, baked at high temperature as if it had been fired in a pottery.” He kept striking the slab with the smaller piece, breaking it up into a pile made up of dissimilar shapes and sizes, then ran a finger through it and fished out a darker piece, which he held out in the palm of his hand. “Look at this closely.”
Gareth scrutinized the offered piece, turning it over in his hand with a fingertip. The piece was smooth and globular, not a broken fragment as he had first suspected. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he spit on it, then wiped it on his already filthy pants. “It’s a bit of metal that’s been melted,” he said finally. “That’s obvious; but I don’t see the significance.”
“Whatever hit here wasn’t a meteorite,” Secchi responded, standing and sweeping an arm around the shallow hole. “The temperatures were just too high.” He took Gareth by the arm and led him several meters away, up the side of a gradual slope that overlooked the area. From here they could see the shuttle and the prefabbed shelter that had been erected for the survey team here at the dig site, as well as the larger, more permanent dome in the distance that served as the main base on the planet. From this vantage point even Gareth, whose knowledge of pl
anetary geology was weak, at best, could tell that it had once been a basin or lake bed.
“A couple thousand years ago the climate was a lot different,” Secchi began. “It was still pretty cold and damp around here. I can’t be sure just how much water there was, but there was plenty of mud and wet clay filling this depression. A meteorite hitting here—the tight, dense mass that it is—would have buried itself in the muck quite nicely; mostly in one piece, at that, if it wasn’t too large. But whatever hit here tore itself apart on impact, and burned hot enough to melt everything that wasn’t incinerated entirely.”
“Big meteorites don’t do that?”
“Sure, the really big ones do. But one that big would have left a massive crater; this is a natural water basin. What hit here, though, wasn’t that big, not nearly big enough to generate the temperatures needed to make these.” He reached into a pants pocket and pulled out a handful of irregularly shaped metal globs similar to the one Gareth was turning over and over in his fingers. “I’ve found them everywhere.” He poured the pieces back into his pocket and walked to a spot just above them, then scanned the depression in the landscape.
“The way I see it, something crashed and burned here. It must have been fueled, too, because the trees and scrub that would have grown around here at the time couldn’t possibly have been responsible for the amount of heat it would have taken to bake the clay like that.” He indicated the slab. “Then it explodes, slinging molten metal everywhere. A few millennia of drying out and the rest of the clay solidifies with these nice streaks and veins of molten metal in it.”
Gareth thought the geologist’s speculations over carefully for several minutes, then said, “Maybe the natives here once had, then lost, a higher technology. Maybe this is a relic of something fairly common a long time ago, but has been forgotten because of … hell, I don’t know. Maybe they went through a ‘dark age’ here, just as Earth did, and lost everything. Is that a possibility?”