Exodus to the Stars

by Andreas Brandhorst

  For two years, Paronn had led the enterprise known as "Impetus," which was part of the Great Solidarity's space program. In particular, it produced modules for the space stations in orbit around Lemur. Under his leadership, the development of new technologies was making good progress. The scientists and technicians often showed that they were in turn infected by Paronn's enormous enthusiasm.

  Deshan employed a cognitive method that he had learned from Dauzart and allowed his instinct and subconscious free rein.

  Question: How long has Levian Paronn been working for the space program?

  The answer appeared on the screen: For three years, since he began working for Impetus as a development engineer.

  Deshan stared in amazement at the screen. During their first meeting five years before, Levian Paronn had even then said that he was working for the space program, but the Zephalon data claimed that he had entered into service with Impetus some two years later.

  Deep within Deshan, something prickled where unease had been. His Chronicler's instinct had discovered something, a new pattern of meaning beneath others, a hidden structure. Perhaps this was why he had not been able to rest these past weeks and months? Something within him had sensed that behind the things Paronn had showed him there were other things that remained concealed.

  Deshan leaned forward, starting a concerted search for information, and made an effort to reconstruct Levian Paronn's personal background.

  Born in the year 4460 dT in the research colony of Torhad far to the north in the eternal ice. Son of Trui Paronn and Kaila Rinauro, both scientists specializing in glaciers. School in Torhad, college in Kanrar to the north of Lemuria. Even as a child, the young Levian had shown himself to be fascinated by everything that had to do with space travel and outer space. During his college studies he had continually surprised his professors with innovative ideas. He worked in several areas of research with an emphasis on propulsion technology and electronic life-support systems. So far, everything agreed with the information that Deshan had been given by Paronn himself. The data further said that he had started work for Impetus three years before and only a year later he was managing the organization, a career advancement without equal.

  Deshan looked at the information and considered. Perhaps he had misunderstood Paronn five years before? Or working for the space program was meant in an extended sense? That was certainly one possibility. But there was still another.

  Perhaps Levian Paronn had lied to him.

  But why? Why would he lie to someone he had just met for the first time?

  Torhad, Deshan thought.

  The Chronicler's breath condensed into a white cloud in front of his lips as he looked out across the huge white mass of the glacier.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" asked Myrion Danater, Solidarity Chronicler of Torhad. The short, weedy man wore a jacket that was only half as thick as Deshan's fur-trimmed parka, but he did not seem to be at all cold. Deshan though, felt as though the air and ice were sucking all the warmth out of his body.

  In the icy distance there was an occasional cracking.

  "Those noises are caused by the movement of the glacier," Myriod explained. "It's quiet here in the summer now. You should come in the winter and experience one of the snowstorms."

  If this was "summer" here in the north ... Deshan shuddered inside when he tried to imagine winter.

  "I've heard there used to be dense forests here," he said.

  "An entire continent is buried beneath us," Myrion replied. "Beneath a layer of snow and ice up to five hundred meters thick. Lemur is in a very cold climatic phase, but that wasn't always the case. Once the ice was limited to the polar regions and the tops of high mountains." He reached out his hand and pointed to the west, beyond the edge of the enormous glacier. There stretched Torhad, no longer a small research colony as it had been forty-five years before, but a fast-growing industrial city in which operations processing raw materials from all forty-nine Solidarity Communities had been established. "In mining for ores, we constantly find relics of the past. Fossils, bones, often organic remnants preserved by the cold. Of course, we treat these things very carefully because the past is a part of the great truth of our life."

  Deshan nodded in acknowledgement and looked out at the city, which had grown over the years to nearly a million inhabitants. Ten times 100,000 people who lived and worked in this cold. How privileged he was to live in Marroar!

  "Where is the old research station located?" he asked curiously.

  "Do you mean the one in which Trui Paronn and Kaila Rinauro worked?"

  "Yes."

  "In the central part of the city. It's been turned into a museum since then. New stations with more modern equipment for glacial studies have been set up dozens of kilometers away, further up on the glacier and in the mountains."

  Deshan looked at the rugged mountain range to the north, white giants that reared up against the sky and whose ice-encrusted spines scraped against the heavens.

  "I'm cold," he said, shivering despite the thick parka. "Could we take a look at the museum?"

  "Certainly," Myrion said, and the two men went to the snow-vehicle waiting nearby.

  "Did you know Levian Paronn?" Deshan asked as they walked through the old research station that now served as a museum. It was not only dedicated to the two glacier scientists but also to the development of Torhad to a modern industrial center in the icy wasteland of the high north.

  "As a boy and a youth, yes," Myrion replied. They went by the exhibits, pictures, and signs with explanatory texts. There were only a few other visitors, so they had the museum almost to themselves. "It amazes me a little that he has come so far, as you tell me."

  "Why?"

  "He wasn't a good student back then. That worried Trui and Kaila." The Solidarity Chronicler pointed ahead. "Here we are."

  They stepped into an adjacent room that was furnished exactly as the old research station had been: simple tables and cupboards along with Zephalons of very limited capacity and other devices that seemed downright antiquated.

  "This is where Trui and Kaila worked and analyzed their data," Myrion said.

  After the cold, Deshan enjoyed being back in the warmth. He slowly went along the worktables and desks, absorbed the atmosphere, and listened to the echoes of the past.

  "Levian's parents achieved great Merit, didn't they?"

  "They helped glacial studies advance much further. Torhad owes them much. Their accident was a heavy blow for all of us."

  Deshan looked up from some ore samples and turned around. "Accident?"

  "Didn't Paronn tell you anything about it? Trui Paronn and Kaila Rinauro died in a traffic accident in Kanrar. Their vehicle was completely burned. It was almost a miracle that Levian survived. It must have been a terrible shock for him. After the death of his parents, we never saw him again. Perhaps that's why he never said anything to you. So he wouldn't have to remember."

  "When was this? When did the accident happen?"

  Myrion stepped to one of the display terminals that stood in the center of the room and very obviously did not belong to the original equipment. The terminal allowed access to all the museum's data banks. The Solidarity Chronicler touched some fields on the options menu and the image of a display window changed.

  "On the 23rd of Eizhel in the year 4477," Myrion said. "Only a few days after Levian's seventeenth birthday."

  "He wasn't studying at Kanrar yet at the time?"

  "No."

  "And you never saw Levian Paronn again?"

  "He did not return here. We assumed back then that relatives of his House took him in. Our attempts to get in touch with him weren't successful in any event."

  "Doesn't that seem odd to you?" Deshan asked.

  "Lemuria is rather far from here, and in those days the connections were not as good as they are now," Myrion replied. "We believed Levian would be in good hands in the Great Solidarity."

  Deshan nodded slowly and very thoughtfully.


  "A year ago, I saw the first pictures of Levian Paronn on the Telenet," Myrion added. "He had changed a great deal. But then he is no longer a boy."

  "No," Deshan answered, "that he isn't. Nearly thirty years have gone by."

  "Would you like to see the other rooms?"

  "I'd like to stay here a while and rummage through the information a bit." Deshan indicated the display terminal.

  Myrion Danatar smiled slightly. "As you wish. You know where you can reach me if you need anything. Take as much time here as you like."

  He gestured in farewell, went out, and left silence behind. The other visitors were in an entirely different part of the museum. Deshan was alone with his thoughts.

  He sat down at a display terminal, typed on the keys, and began to read.

  Two hours later, he knew much more about Trui Paronn, Kaila Rinauro, and even their son, whose academic performance really had not been very good. He looked at pictures of the parents and their son: Trui with a round, bearded face and a friendly smile, Kaila more serious and dignified, the boy a little hollow-cheeked with large, innocently peering eyes. He had no resemblance to the Levian Paronn of today, but that did not necessarily mean anything.

  "An accident," Deshan murmured. "Levian survived by a miracle and never came back here." He had read dozens of reports by Chroniclers who had worked for different media in the various Solidarity Communities, and they all mentioned two victims of the accident: the two glacier scientists. With one exception.

  Deshan enlarged the window and examined the picture in an article that had appeared in analog form, a portion of a House Memorial in Kanrar, and later digitally scanned into the system. In it, the tragic end of a family was mentioned. Just a coincidence? Perhaps an inexact description?

  Deshan reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small, cylindrical data storage unit that he always carried with him. He plugged it into the access jack on the display terminal, entered his Chronicler's authorization code, and copied all the data that concerned the accident of almost three decades before.

  A little later, he left the museum and began the return trip to Marroar, firmly determined to make further inquiries. With her expert knowledge of Zephalons, perhaps Mira would be able to help him find out more.

  12

  Roder Roderich

  A low moaning came out of cool darkness, and for one irrational moment, Roder Roderich thought he was on the other side of the line that separated life from death. But then something chirped nearby. "If that isn't a bird," he managed to say, "it can only be Yu'lli."

  "My name isn't ... " began a seductive woman's voice, but then a second chirping interrupted.

  "At least the Blues Brothers are still alive," Roderich groaned. "Me, I'm not so sure about."

  A beam of light slid along Roderich's body, and when it met his eyes, pain exploded at the back of his head. He grimaced until the stars faded away.

  "That happened to me, too, right when I woke up," said the silhouette behind the flashlight. Catchpole's voice. "It'll get better in a moment."

  Roderich waited a few seconds. "So it got you as well," he then said. "Are the others here?"

  "Crews from Crawlers One through Four reporting," a sarcastic voice announced from out of the darkness.

  "I assume this isn't the PALENQUE." Roderich sat up and tried to get some first impressions of his immediate surroundings. Standing next to him, Catchpole shone the light around for him. Its glow wandered along the men and women lying on the floor—the crawler crews—and stopped at bare metal without any distinctive features.

  "Good guess," Catchpole said.

  "What about the others?"

  "They're still unconscious," growled a deep voice from the darkness, and a second figure approached, considerably shorter than Catchpole and with a mane: Grresko the Gurrad. "I suggest that we do something at once. It smells of danger here."

  Grresko was always in favor of doing something at once, whether it smelled of danger or not.

  "We believe the teleportation field was erroneously polarized," Tru'lhan chirped, and nodded his disc-shaped head slightly from one side to the other. "That is why you humans lost consciousness in the retransfer."

  "I was also out for a moment," Grresko hissed, "and I did not like that at all. That is why I am in favor of striking out immediately."

  Roderich smiled. "Always hit something, even if you don't have the least idea what. I like it. Sounds well considered and thoroughly thought out."

  Grresko's feline eyes flashed. "Do I smell mockery there?"

  Roder Roderich stood up slowly. "I smell mainly like sweat." Catchpole had been right: the pain really was fading quickly. "Where did the flashlight come from?"

  "From my personal emergency kit." The rather old, fatherly, and completely bald Catchpole patted the many pockets on his overalls. "I always like to be prepared for anything, son."

  "Me too," growled Grresko and pulled a handbeamer out from under his wide belt.

  "Not bad," Roderich commented. "You'd still stink next to Sharita with that. Size does matter."

  Grresko narrowed his eyes. "What did you say about 'stinking'?"

  "Take it easy, Kitty. I ... "

  Suddenly the lights came on and a voice sounded. Roderich's Translator unit reacted: "Identity verification procedure initiated."

  At the other side of the room, a curtain of energy reaching from one wall to the other dropped down from the ceiling and began to come nearer.

  And Roder Roderich realized that he could no longer move.

  His view went past Grresko the Gurrad, whose back was to the glowing curtain and did not see at all what was approaching him; he was also frozen in place like all the others. Even Catchpole, who held the flashlight in his half-raised hand.

  The energy crept in complete silence over the men and women lying on the floor, reached Catchpole, then Grresko and Roderich as well. The young man felt only a slight prickling, like an itching that quickly faded. With a barely audible crackling, the energy curtain dissipated and in the same moment Roderich felt the strange influence—probably a force field—release him.

  Grresko growled.

  "Identification sequence complete," the strange voice went on. "Access to the station cannot be authorized. There are three non-humans among you."

  The voice died away.

  "The three ... non-humans belong to us," Catchpole said experimentally.

  Again there was silence for several seconds.

  "Identification of the three lifeforms not possible. Security alarm. The indicated individuals must be eliminated immediately."

  "What?" Roderich exclaimed.

  13

  Deshan Apian

  Lemuria, 4505 dT (51,895 B.C.)

  A crowd of people surrounded Levian Paronn as he walked along the elevated gallery. Wide, panoramic windows gave a view of the workshops, assembly halls, and laboratories below.

  "We have a problem with the structural stability of the next modules for Orbital Two," said one of the scientists, technicians, resource managers, and administrators who accompanied the leader of Impetus. Deshan Apian followed at a distance of several meters and left it to an audio-visual sensor to record the event. As on other occasions, he limited himself at first to gathering a general impression and letting events influence his interpretation as they played out.

  "Speak with Innovator Simmerat," Paronn replied. "Explain the problem to him. Perhaps he has a solution."

  "Defects have been identified in the new switching circuit module that was delivered yesterday. It could jeopardize our schedule for Project Nineteen," someone else said.

  Paronn's reaction to this particular announcement consisted of walking a little more slowly. Deshan knew that he was especially concerned about Project Nineteen. "This is the second time that's happened," Paronn responded. "Get in touch with the supplier and forward an official complaint along with a damage compensation claim. In addition, contact Mepha Hatan and give him a detailed
report. And send a report to the Solidarity Taman."

  Those were downright drastic measures, Deshan thought. But there was hardly anything that Paronn detested more than delays in the carefully worked-out production and development plans for Impetus.

  They approached the end of the corridor. There, a stairway led up to the roof terrace. Everyone knew about Paronn's daily little ritual and so held back. With the exception, that is, of a very young technician who, despite several admonishing looks, pushed his way forward and handed Paronn a folder. "I believe I've achieved a significant simplification for Project Nineteen," he said.

  Paronn stopped at the bottom of the steps, took the folder, and opened it.

  The young technician did not look at all comfortable when he saw the disapproving expressions on the faces of the older scientists and administrators. He cleared his throat uncertainly. "With my concept, the efficiency of the new propulsion system can be improved considerably."

  Paronn leafed through the papers, nodded, and closed the folder. "I'll take a look at it later today." He looked at the young technician and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Individual initiative means a great deal to me, Kaho Tiraha," he added, and Deshan saw that Paronn knowing his name flattered the young man. Since several thousand people worked for Impetus, it was hardly to be expected. "I thank you very much for this. And now ... "

  He gestured upwards and began climbing the steps. The others followed him, among them his personal Chronicler.

  The large roof terrace was open to all employees of this section of Impetus, but it was empty this early in the morning and the nearby restaurant was closed. Paronn went to the parapet on the eastern side and, as he did every morning, watched the sun rise. Not for the first time, Deshan accompanied him, and knew that Paronn was the first to start work every day and the last to leave the Impetus complex in the evening.

  In the east, Apsu rose from beneath the horizon and its light made the sea to the southeast of Marroar glisten. The industrial facilities that belonged to Impetus were some considerable distance outside the city, but if Marroar continued to grow as it had in recent years, they would soon be part of the urban periphery. The Great Solidarity's spaceflight center was about ten kilometers away, and the launching ramps could be clearly seen. They pointed to the sky like steel fingers.