by Steve White
“—but they find it very difficult to change their technique. They have persisted in creating Heroes, even though the results have continued to be mixed at best.”
Understanding came to Jason. “Like Danaos of Argos?”
“Among others. In recent generations the Teloi, incapable of abandoning the approach but seeking to refine it, have taken to using women of part-Heroic ancestry, in an effort to reinforce the traits of the … breed.” Achaean wasn’t up to “subspecies.”
“His mother,” Deirdre said, very softly, looking at Perseus.
Jason nodded. It explained a lot of things about their friend. It also explained something else. If the Teloi, like Oannes, knew Deirdre was a time traveler, they might well have looked at a woman from a future age, with who knew how much further evolution programmed into her genes, and seen fresh breeding stock.
I may have other uses for her , Hyperion had said in the torch-lit courtyard at Tiryns.
Jason saw no useful purpose to be served by mentioning it to Deirdre.
“I trust I have answered your questions,” said the Nagom. “And now I hope you will have the courtesy to answer some of mine.”
“Well,” said Jason, “we certainly owe you that much, at least. But first of all, I must ask you one more question—although I think I know the answer already. The, uh, phenomenon we observed in the cavern, beside that idol … ?”
“Ah, yes. The Teloi who had themselves marooned on this planet were not entirely insane. They were careful to provide themselves with a sanctuary—a refuge from any imaginable dangers. It is a device for creating … that is, shaping—”
“Never mind,” Jason cut in. “I’m certain I know what you’re trying to express.” Deirdre and Nagel weren’t so sure, judging from their expressions. But then, they weren’t au courant with cutting-edge dimensional physics. Jason wouldn’t have been either, except that the field impinged on temporal physics—a connection Oannes’ people evidently hadn’t discovered. Humans had, and perhaps it was the resulting diversion into time travel that had prevented twenty-fourth century researchers from discovering a practical way of creating a “pocket universe” isolated from all physical phenomena of the familiar continuum, even though they knew it was a theoretical possibility.
“I know what you mean,” he reassured Oannes again. “And I know how difficult it is to describe. Just tell me how this … gateway can be… .” How do you say “interfaced with” in Achaean? he wondered desperately.
But Oannes’ alien body language somehow exuded good-natured relief. “I see that you know what it means. And the answer to the question you are trying to ask is that it can only be opened from the outside—from our world. But the device that does so can be timed in advance to open at a predetermined moment. Or it can be activated by voice.” Jason spared a fraction of his consciousness to marvel at how clear Oannes was making these concepts in their common language. The Nagom’s expression shaded over into the first inarguable amusement Jason had observed. “The designers of your probe were not the only ones to think of the idea of concealing a piece of advanced instrumentation in what appeared to be a primitive idol. The Teloi long ago used the same kind of … housing for the controls concerning which you inquire. The location of that idol determines the location of the gateway. The pirates’ leaders had been given verbal formulas to recite in case of emergency. I became aware that the device was being activated—there is an instrument aboard this craft that can detect the peculiar energy surge involved—and intervened at that point.”
“Yes, I saw the gateway opening,” said Jason absently. Here, he thought, was the solution to the mystery of what had happened to Deirdre’s TRD. The Teloi had taken it into their private extradimensional mini universe for further study, pulling familiar space-time in around themselves so the transponder could no longer make contact with Jason’s computer implant.
“So,” he heard Oannes saying, “now that I have satisfied your curiosity on that point, perhaps you will explain your own presence here, and what you were trying to accomplish in that cavern.”
Jason had always regarded telepathy as a singularly unbeautiful dream. Now, for the first time, he wished it was real, so that he could communicate silently to his two companions a simple message: Keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking!
“I will not attempt to deny that we come from this world’s distant future,” he began. “The device that enables us to travel through time is implanted in our flesh.” He released a silent sigh of relief when Deirdre and Nagel remained silent for this half- (or quarter-or eighth-) truth. He then proceeded with a reasonably factual account of their adventures. “Oannes,” he concluded, “you have been aiding our race for two thousand years, and we thank you for it. Now I ask you to aid us once again. Help us recover the device that was cut out of Deirdre’s arm. Without it, she will be forever unable to return to her proper time.”
The large, strange eyes held inarguable compassion. “I believe you are telling the truth—or as much of the truth as you are permitted to tell. And I will give you all the cooperation I can. But I must tell you that this will be very little.”
“Why?” asked Deirdre, almost too quietly to be heard.
“As I previously explained, my overriding duty is to advance my race’s struggle with the Teloi. This must take precedence over all other considerations—including my very real sympathy for your plight, and my inclination to help you.”
Jason leaned forward and held those alien eyes. “Oannes, there is no conflict between your ‘inclination’ and your duty. Consider: if the Teloi are given the opportunity to study this device at their leisure, they may be able to duplicate it. They would then have the secret of time travel. And they know when and where you and your shipmates arrived here. They could be there at the time, prepared to blast your ship into atoms before it even hits the water!”
Silence fell, and Oannes’ nictitating membranes fluttered back and forth in what Jason hoped reflected an agony of panic-stricken indecision. He continued to hold those eyes, thankful that neither of the other humans had said anything to reveal the outrageous mendacity of what he was saying. But then, he reflected, maybe that mendacity wasn’t as obvious to them as it was to him.
“And consider this also,” he resumed, lying con brio . “If the Teloi on this world travel back far enough in time, perhaps they could lay the foundations and develop the industrial capacity to return to space by this era, and reestablish contact with the rest of their race. Then they could go back even further—to the origin of your civilization—and abort its future!”
Jason was growing more and more confident of his ability to read the Nagom’s expressions. And he was certain he saw a twinkle—or, more accurately, a glint—of shrewdness as Oannes replied. “I have some small experience of observing your race. And I perceive that you are not being altogether candid with me. Furthermore, your very presence in this era suggests that the course of history is not as easy to change as you are suggesting. If it were, time travel would be a philosophical as well as a practical impossibility.”
Jason forced himself to remain expressionless. “Some small experience” indeed, he thought belatedly. Like two thousand years of it! And he’s gone straight to the heart of the matter of history’s malleability, or lack thereof. I couldn’t trick him for a second. I was a fool to try.
“However,” Oannes continued after letting Jason hang in suspense for an instant, “in light of my total ignorance of time travel, I cannot ignore the possibility of catastrophic consequences if this ‘device’ is not retrieved from the Teloi. This obligates me to aid you.” He became brisk. “Our first step is to proceed to a locality where we can obtain advanced equipment. My people have, over the centuries, taken pains to leave caches of such equipment in areas where the Teloi were active. I will set our course at once.” He started to turn toward the control panel, but then paused and turned back to Jason. He spoke with restrained eagerness. “Tell me one thing first. You
are from this world’s future. Do I understand that you have never … ?”
“Yes,” said Jason, and he had never been gladder in his life to be able to tell the complete truth. “In our era, on this planet, the Teloi are forgotten. The ‘gods’ they pretend to be are only tales to amuse children.”
At once, he was sorry he had spoken, for something seemed to go out of Oannes. He stepped forward in alarm, extending his hand to offer support before the old Nagom could collapse. But Oannes stood up straight, and Jason understood that he’d been overcome by a surfeit of gladness. “No, I am all right. It is only … We succeeded. Or would it be more accurate to say that your race will succeed, with whatever help we were able to provide? It doesn’t matter. The point is, the Teloi will fail. Thank you for the gift of that knowledge.” He stood for a moment, clearly in the grip of an emotion to which Jason doubted he could have put a name. As for Jason himself, he did not trust himself to speak, for if he had he might have blurted out that which he knew. But then the moment was past. Oannes’ briskness returned, and he went to the controls.
Deirdre gave Jason a curious look, unable to read his expression. She leaned close. “What did you mean earlier, when you said you knew of his race?”
“Out beyond my home system of Psi 5 Aurigae,” he whispered hastily, “there’s a dim orange star—a class K9v—with a liquid-water, life-bearing planet resonance-locked to it. An expedition from Hesperia discovered it a few years ago. Normally, nobody goes there except archaeologists. But I stopped there once—we were pursuing some smugglers—and saw what they’ve found: the remains of an ancient civilization, with horribly degenerated, gene-twisted monstrosities skulking among the ruins. The archaeologists concluded that the race had destroyed itself by unwise tinkering with its own genotype—what we humans narrowly escaped with the Transhuman movement. Only … there were indications that they might have escaped it too, if their civilization hadn’t already been weakened by a great war. In fact, that war might have been what caused them to yield to the temptation to try to genetically engineer themselves into specialized castes, including supersoldiers. And there were plenty of artistic representations to show what the race had looked like in its natural state.”
Horror awoke in her eyes. “You mean … ?” Her gaze flickered to Oannes.
“Now you know why I don’t want him to know we have interstellar travel. He’d naturally wonder if we have any news of his civilization. And I don’t want to lie to him any more than necessary.”
Nagel, who had been listening, took the next step into the regions of horror. “If this is true, and if the war was the one Oannes says they were fighting with the Teloi, then … it could be argued that their species unknowingly died defending ours. Or, I should say, that it will so die.”
“You had it right the first time,” said Jason grimly. “Radiocarbon dating showed that the collapse had occurred about forty-five hundred years before our time. Which means that as of now it has already occurred.”
They all stared at Oannes—one of the last of his race, not just on Earth but in the universe.
Chapter Twelve
Oannes rejoined them. He took no apparent notice of the embarrassed and abrupt halt to their whispered conversation.
“I have set in our course. Ah, we are moving now.” They felt a slight surge.
“Should we get seated again?” asked Jason.
“No. We are proceeding at a leisurely rate. This craft’s full speed would bring us to our destination in little more than an hour. But the energy expenditure involved would make us easier for the Teloi to detect, besides imposing an uncomfortable acceleration.” Jason didn’t doubt this in the least; he knew what submersibles with supercavitating hulls could do.
“What about the ship that brought us?” asked Deirdre.
“It is moving on a southerly course. Evidently the captain decided to depart when you failed to return. His action is understandable, given these waters’ grim reputation.”
“Will he escape?”
“Probably. I have detected no indication that the Teloi have connected that ship with you, or that they are taking any action against it.”
“Good,” Jason said, and meant it. He liked Sotades.
There was a stirring from the direction of Perseus’ recliner. “Your companion is awakening,” Oannes observed. “Perhaps you should—”
“Let me,” said Deirdre quickly. “Maybe I can, well, ease him into things if I’m there for him when he comes to.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Jason. “And now, Oannes,” he continued as Deirdre went to Perseus’ side, “tell us about this ‘destination’ of ours.”
“It is one of the equipment caches I mentioned. We Nagommo established it several centuries ago, when the Teloi were first beginning to take an interest in this region.”
“Will others of your race be there?”
“No. I am the last in this sea. As I indicated, we are spread very thin these days. The others—even older than I—have gone to the islands off northwestern Europe, where the Teloi have become more active in the identities they long ago assumed among the Celtic peoples. They will do what they can there.”
“The Silkies,” Deirdre breathed, as she knelt beside Perseus. Jason wondered what she meant.
“The cache in this region,” Oannes continued, “was positioned to be close to the Teloi activities on the island of Crete.” He used the current word for Crete: Keftiu . “There, the Teloi were in the process of establishing the kind of society they always try to create: the closest approximation they can manage to the glorified slave pens into which they originally crammed their human subjects. We have been able to ameliorate it, although it will probably take a conquest by the mainland Greek-speakers—the kind of conquest that has been going on for the past two generations in the Middle East—to completely sweep it away.”
A totalitarian theocracy , thought Jason. He made eye contact with Nagel, and for once they shared a moment of wordless empathy. So much for Arthur Evans’ innocent, carefree, peaceful, egalitarian, et cetera Minoans. They’re just as imaginary as Margaret Mead’s Polynesians.
The difference is that Evans was merely too opinionated—and his opinions were mistaken. He, at least, wasn’t falsifying evidence to advance the twentieth-century Western intelligentsia’s ideology of self-loathing.
“Unfortunately,” Oannes was saying, “we put it a little too close to Crete. The island on which it is located has become a major center of Teloi-inspired activity, and will therefore be hazardous to approach. It is only about seventy miles north of Crete, you see, and—”
“A circular volcanic island?” Deirdre said, rising to her feet and speaking like a robot.
“Why, yes. The island of Kalliste.”
“We know of it,” Jason heard himself say. “In our time it’s called Santorini.”
*
The little vessel wasn’t comfortable for humans, but at least the voyage was short.
Deirdre turned out to be right about her ability to help Persus adjust. She explained everything to him in terms of Oannes as a benevolent sea deity and the submarine as his “chariot.” It all proved surprisingly easy for him to accept. He had grown up with a matter-of-fact attitude toward the supernatural, given his background.
And that reminded Jason of something …
He took it up with Oannes as soon as they had an opportunity to talk privately. There were more such opportunities than he might have expected, since Perseus was spending a lot of time with Deirdre. At the time, Jason noted it with nothing more than gratitude.
“Oannes,” he said, “earlier Perseus spoke of ‘the Old Gods.’ Naturally we couldn’t admit that we didn’t know what he was talking about. We merely warned him that we might run afoul of some of them. Do you know what he meant?”
“Ah, yes. As I explained, the Teloi live an incredibly long time, but not forever. Thus the … breeding that produced them allows them to have children, but only very infrequ
ently. Childbirths are exceedingly rare events for them—but not occasions for great rejoicing. The Teloi,” Oannes added in an unmistakable tone of studied understatement, “are not noted for deep filial feelings. Nevertheless, a second generation appeared on this world. There have been no subsequent births, however. We Nagommo do not know why. Presumably there is something in this world’s environment which in the long run—the very long run—interferes with their already very problematic fertility.
“The younger generation worked with their elders about as well as the Teloi generally do—which is not well at all by the standards of either of our races. They can act in concert whenever their self-interest requires it, of course, but they have no deep wellsprings of mutual loyalty. Absent the pressure of an outside threat, they compulsively intrigue against each other—sometimes for motives which, at best, are obscure to us and, I would imagine, to you.”
“Yes, you indicated as much,” Jason ruminated. The reasoning of the ages-dead genetic engineers was clear: the near immortality of the Teloi had had to be accompanied by drastically reduced fertility, lest every environment available to them be smothered in a mass of Teloi flesh. And since the parenting urge could no longer be fulfilled, it had been edited out of the genetic code. Only … how widely, and in what unforeseeable directions, had that void spread through the psyche? It was just the kind of unintended consequence that the Transhuman movement, in its hubris, had ignored.
“Perseus told us his ‘father’ is Zeus,” he said cautiously. “Is that—?”
“Yes,” Oannes nodded—another of the human mannerisms he’d had centuries to pick up. “He is one of the second-generation Teloi. That is his name in the local human belief system, where he has carved out a niche as the weather god. There are others, with names like Hera, Poseidon, Ares—”
The Olympians , thought Jason with an unconscious nod of his own.
“—and the rest. As part of their ongoing low-level rivalry with their elders, they seek to create Heroes of their own. Zeus made use of a female descendant of Danaos for this purpose.”