Last of the Treasure Hunters

by Warren Dean

  "Are you able to show us your map?" Christina asked him. "The one showing the paths of the survey drones?"

  Ant answered by speaking a few coded commands into the refectory's ordering system. A moment later a holographic star map of the galaxy appeared above the table.

  "I see your hacking skills haven't completely deserted you," said Azee wryly.

  "They aren't what they were on Earth," he replied with a grin, "but I'm learning."

  Connor gave him a summary of the discussion they had been having before he arrived. "So, what we want to know is; if we had to narrow the search area even more, where should we be looking?"

  Ant adjusted the scale of the map so that they could see the superimposed paths of the drones more clearly. "At first, I couldn't see any pattern emerging. The gold deposits are spread uniformly through the galaxy. There are higher clusters in places but those are random and there is nothing which makes one more likely to be closer to the source than another. I considered whether there was any pattern to the directions the drones took, but there isn't one that I can see. Many of them didn't follow directional paths at all. They used portals to flit about, presumably following the order set out in their survey schedules."

  "So, is there a pattern or not?" she asked. "Connor said you might have found one."

  "Yes and no," said Ant.

  She was too tired to berate him for being obtuse and waited for him to elaborate.

  "The pattern is the fact that there isn't a pattern," he said, "or that's what I've been thinking anyway."

  She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of what he was saying. Unfortunately, logic got in her way. "If there isn't a pattern, how can that be a pattern?"

  "Look at it this way," he said. "If the gold is spread randomly throughout the galaxy, what would make that look like a pattern?"

  "It might be a pattern," she said thoughtfully, "if the source was right in the middle."

  "Give that lady a gold star," said Ant.

  "You think that the source is near the centre of the galaxy?"

  "There is a certain symmetry to the idea," said Christina.

  "And it's as good a guess as any," said Connor.

  Azee frowned at Ant. "I was hoping we would be able to give the Journeyman more than just a guess. Is there anything in that area that hasn't been fully explored already?"

  He shrugged. "So far, the usual: stars, exoplanets, nebulae, black holes, supernovae, gas clouds, dark matter – nothing out of the ordinary. But that's just my feeling, and I haven't been looking for very long. It would go a lot faster if we could get the Nerds on it."

  She nodded. "Okay, in the absence of any better ideas, I'll suggest it to the Journeyman." She lapsed into silence, not certain that the new plan of action would make things better or worse.

  "Seeker!" exclaimed Ant suddenly. "I almost forgot." He leapt to his feet and began leading the way out of the refectory, Connor and Christina at his heels. He paused at the door when he realised that Azee hadn't moved. "Oh, come on headmistress, do you want a gilt-edged invitation?"

  She considered waving them away in favour of having another cup of pseudo-tea but curiosity got the better of her. So she got up and followed the other three down into the City of Shapes.

  When they got to the scaffold, Xzaroth was waiting for them, and she could see immediately that the little drone was almost whole again. Its rear section had been replaced, although its shell remained scorched and blackened and its solar overlay was still missing. The flyer remedied the latter almost immediately, flitting upwards and flattening a new overlay onto the top of the drone.

  He returned to the ground and picked up the end of a heavy cable which snaked away into the distance. He lifted it to the rear of the drone and fitted it to some connection she couldn't see from where she was standing. He descended again and landed alongside the watching humans.

  They stood without speaking for a time while nothing happened. In the silence she became aware of a faint hum emanating from the cable. Then she realised that slowly, almost imperceptibly, a change was coming over the drone. The blackened regeneralloy of its shell was growing lighter, score marks were fading and craters filling.

  Eventually, after checking the diagnostics a few times, Xzaroth reported that the process would take a day and a night to complete and that they should come back then.

  Ant, Connor, and Christina urged her to come back to the refectory with them for an impromptu celebration, but Azee declined. She felt that she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore and headed for her dormitory instead.

  Oddly enough, though, Seeker's little victory had brightened her mood and she fell asleep with a sliver of hope in her heart.

  AS AZEE SLEPT…

  The Journeyman stepped through the interplanetary portal onto the surface of Ayyakorre. He felt the giant planet's heavy gravity take hold and suppressed a groan. Had he been living at the Repository for so long that he could barely walk on the world he had once called home? Or was it just that age had leached the strength from limbs which were no longer bursting with power and energy.

  He looked around at the decayed grandeur of the deserted portal centre. That no-one was there to greet him added to the desolate mood of the place. In days so long ago that he could barely remember them, the planet had been a bustling centre of Constructor life. To a place of mighty mountain ranges, voluminous oceans, and skies brimming with gaseous compounds, the great race had added golden cities of commerce and learning, where millions of Constructors had contemplated the mysteries of the universe, grown wise, and left behind great legacies of knowledge.

  Those legacies remained, as did the grandeur of the world's natural wonders, but the cities were defunct, their once gilded fountains, porticos, and facades stripped of the yellow metal as its growing scarcity came to require such sacrifice.

  He dragged his protesting limbs across to the other side of the centre and located the local portal he needed. Stepping through, he found himself in a dimly lit reception room. Again, no-one was there to greet him, so he walked out through the doorway and into a long straight corridor, which he knew led to the main living quarters of the abode.

  His knees creaked alarmingly as he trudged down the corridor and through another doorway at the far end. There he encountered the first sign of activity he had seen since his arrival on the planet. Tables had been laid with a selection of fresh fruit, meat delicacies, and carafes of sweet nectar. He paused to eat and drink, hoping that the sustenance would give his gravity-stressed limbs some strength, and then moved on towards the central quadri-court.

  The 'courts of these old homes were nostalgically comfortable places –beautifully decorated sitting and dining areas surrounding open-air gardens – where the resident Constructor and his family would spend much of their leisure time. In later millennia, younger Constructors had eschewed the pleasures of space and comfort in favour of more functional living quarters in the cities.

  The 'court he walked into was large and elegant, its luxuries carefully warded from the decays of age and neglect, presumably by the small but efficient looking servants who prowled the area pandering to the whims of the guests present. Accustomed to the relative silence of his existence at the Repository – although it had been decidedly less silent recently – the telepathic hubbub of so much conversation came as a minor assault on his senses. The booming mind-speech of the Constructors in attendance was particularly so; he made a mental note to make more of an effort to accede to Azee's ongoing requests for him to turn down the volume when he spoke.

  Although representatives of other races of the Thousand Systems were present to swell the numbers, there were no more than a dozen Constructors in the 'court and he quickly schooled his face and thoughts to mask his disappointment. Was this how close his race was to perishing? That so few were left who were able to physically attend the passing of one of their own?

  One of the servants scurried up to him, bobbing its head in servility. "--My apologies, Gr
eat One, thought I that all who were coming had already arrived, else would I have sent one to receive you. Hope I that you were not inconvenienced by my carelessness.--"

  "--Any inconvenience was trivial and no apologies are necessary, ah…--"

  "--Called Mose was I by my Master, and by all others, although Mospecitithus is truly my name, Great One.--"

  The little creature bowed its head and upper body sorrowfully. "--Now that my Master lies deathful yonder, he being the last Great One of this planet, do I despair of what is to become of Mose and his people.--"

  "--Which of the Thousand Systems are you from, Mose?--" asked the Journeyman.

  "--Nowhere but here,--" replied Mose dolefully. "--My people were bred by my Master to serve him.--"

  "--Then you are of Planet Ayyakorre, Mose, entitled to make your home here as best you may amongst the ruins of the civilisation that birthed you.--" Unable to offer the strange little servant more comfort than that, the Journeyman strode away to engage with his fellows.

  He approached a group of three Constructors standing together in conversation, all of them larger than he and all sporting cybernetic fitments of one kind or another.

  "--Wisdom to you, Jorakko,--" said the most senior of the three to him as he joined them. He towered a head taller than his companions, the effect of which was somewhat diminished by the structural contraption which rested upon his shoulders to support his incongruously thin neck. "--It was rumoured that you were unavoidably detained at the Repository.--"

  "--Wisdom to you, Malkarre. It is true that I am mostly of the Repository now but I am not so engaged as to be unable to pay my respects at the passing of Goroddo.--"

  "--Your beginnings were here on Ayyakorre, were they not Jorakko?--" asked one of the others in the group, her tone conveying mild disapproval at the Journeyman's casual use of the deceased's living name. "--He who lies deathful was once your mentor, was he not?--"

  "--He was indeed that, Roloyyi, and my sorrow at his passing is boundless.--"

  "--As is the sorrow of us all,--" replied Roloyyi.

  "--As is the sorrow of us all,--" repeated the others.

  "--What news of your work among the sub-sentients, Jorakko?--" asked the Constructor who had not spoken yet. Bollorre's wizened upper body was supported by powerful cybernetic legs and, for the first time, the Journeyman felt a momentary desire to embrace the inevitable and put the pain of his creaking joints behind him. "--They may be sub-sentient, Bollorre, but they are intelligent in ways that we are not.--"

  "--A sub-sentient species more intelligent than we?--" interjected Roloyyi incredulously.

  "--In some ways,--" the Journeyman corrected her. "--Their thought processes are less rigid and more intuitive.--"

  "--Ah, intuition,--" replied Roloyyi disdainfully. "--The last refuge of the ignorant.--"

  The Journeyman did not reply. The elder Constructors did not share his hope that humanity could add something new to the search and he knew that speaking of it to them would be unproductive. He excused himself in order to circulate amongst the other Constructors present.

  After a respectful length of time, Mose and his fellows wheeled the remains of their Master into the 'court aboard a trolley built for that purpose. All conversation died and those present who had known him personally filed past to look upon him for the last time.

  The Journeyman was shocked to see that the being who had once seemed to him to be the epitome of grace, power, and learnedness was reduced to little more than a construct of cybernetic parts and systems, and he again had to mask his thoughts lest they be considered to be ill-mannered.

  When the procession had ended, Malkarre stepped forward to conduct the eulogy.

  "--Our loss today is immeasurable,--" he intoned. "--He who lies deathful bore the fullest mind left to our great civilisation and doubtless to all of the Thousand Systems also. To recite all of his achievements exceeds my capacity for speech and I beg forgiveness for the poor attempt I must now make.--" He then proceeded to deliver an impressive resume, which took far longer than was good for the Journeyman's knees. He was no longer accustomed to standing for so long and Ayyakorre's gravity was killing him.

  Eventually, as it grew dark and Mose brought up the lights of the 'court, Malkarre brought his recitation to an end. "--It remains for me now to speak for the last time the living name of he who lies deathful before us. Be remembered Goroddo.--"

  "-- Goroddo be remembered,--" boomed the congregation in reply.

  The Journeyman took his leave and left the great planet without delay. Not only was he in need of an infusion to alleviate his physical pain, he also wished to assuage the mental anguish his visit had engendered. Yet another Constructor was lost, one who had been a friend and mentor, and he had been powerless to prevent it.

  Stepping through the interplanetary portal onto the roof of the Repository, he redirected its destination and stepped through to the 'hive below. Then he limped away towards his private chambers. He was not destined to reach them un-accosted, however. Before he got halfway there he found a deputation awaiting him. Azee was in the forefront, flanked by Ant, Connor, and Christina. The flyer Xzaroth hovered, both literally and figuratively, in the background.

  He stopped and had to resist the urge to send them away. But, as his visit to Ayyakorre had just reminded him, time was short, and not just for Planet Earth.

  "Forgive me," said Azee. "I can see you're tired. We'll come back tomorrow if that's alright?"

  Her concern for his discomfort made him glad that he hadn't acted upon his first impulse. Empathy was regarded by the Constructors to be more of a weakness than a virtue, and it was refreshing to encounter it so freely given.

  "It is true that I am fatigued," he replied, "but I have learned of you that when you have something on your mind, it is usually of value."

  She reddened at the compliment and he led them to the nearby refectory where they could sit and talk. The pain in his joints trumped any regard he might have had for his dignity and he pushed together a couple of tables and sat on them. The others perched on stools in a semicircle facing him, except for Xzaroth who chose to hover just off the ground in his effortless way.

  "--You have the air of having come to some conclusion,--" he observed, switching to mind-speech so as to include the flyer in the conversation.

  "--Not a conclusion, no,--" she replied, "--but we have a theory. As you know, lately the Nerds have been focussing on a sector of space near the centre of our home galaxy. Unfortunately, so far they have not identified anything worth fuller investigation.--"

  "--This is disappointing,--" said the Journeyman, "--although perhaps not unexpected.--"

  "--We have an idea, though,--" interjected Connor. "--It's a long shot, so we'd like to explain how we came up with it.--"

  "--Long shot?--" queried the Constructor.

  "--It's a gambling expression…--" began Connor enthusiastically.

  "--It means it probably won't succeed,--" said Azee, cutting off what sounded like the start of a long exposition.

  The Journeyman did not respond, merely waited for the Irishman to continue.

  "--A little while ago, Azee said something to Christina and me, which made a lot of sense. She said something about the source of the meteors being in front of our noses, but that we can't recognise it for what it is. If that's true, if the source looks like something else entirely, then how are we ever going to identify it? The question got me thinking about something my father always says; often what you're looking for is in the one place it can't possibly be. That's how he found the wreck of the Christina de la Fuego; by looking for it in Portuguese waters where a Spanish galleon wouldn't have been expected to go.--"

  "--It's like when you can't find your holo-vid all morning because you put it in the fridge,--" added Ant helpfully.

  Connor ignored the interruption. "--So, assuming we're right in thinking that the source is near the centre of our galaxy, what is the one place that it can't possib
ly be?--"

  "--The answer is obvious,--" said Ant. "--The source isn't near the centre of the galaxy, it's at the centre of the galaxy.--"

  "--At the centre of what you call the Milky Way,--" mused the Journeyman, "--is a supermassive black hole.--"

  "--Known as Sagittarius A,--" nodded Ant. "--A black hole which shoots jets of radiation, energy, and other particles out into the galaxy every few million years or so.--"

  "--And although it isn't that active now,--" said Connor, "--what might it have thrown around in the past?--"

  The Journeyman only had to consider the theory for a moment to come up with a dozen reasons why it was insupportable. Supermassive black holes were just that; black holes millions of times larger than conventional black holes. They were at the centre of most sizable galaxies in the universe. They consumed stars, light, gas, dust, and even other black holes, while hurling vast jets of matter far across, and sometimes beyond, their host galaxies.

  Those jets did not come from within the black hole, however. They consisted of some of its incoming material, slung away by the tidal forces around the black hole.

  The Journeyman decided against rejecting the notion out of hand, however. He did not want to discourage his human protégés from developing it into something more feasible. This was, after all, the kind of radical thinking he wanted from them.

  "--Black holes have never been observed to emit metal-bearing meteors,--" he said. "--1Have you any evidence to support your idea?--"

  "--Yes and no,--" said Ant.

  Azee rolled her eyes at him.

  "--Well, it's not evidence as such,--" admitted Ant. "--More like an odd coincidence we think might mean something.--"

  He called up his holographic star map of the Milky Way again and adjusted it so that it featured the galactic centre. He picked up a breadstick and used it to indicate a thin yellow line, which stepped its way through the hologram.

  "--This is the path taken by Seeker, you know, the damaged survey drone you gave us permission to restore. As you can see, most of its path is made up of straight lines, showing that it travelled mainly by portal to get from place to place. Here,--" he pointed to where the yellow line ended, "--is where it conducted the last survey recorded in its log; on a desert world near the centre of the galaxy.