The eternity artifact, p.37
The Eternity Artifact, page 37
For General Quarters, I could, as I understood the parameters of action, remain in my stateroom or go to my work space, in either case ensuring that I did not hamper those who had more urgent duties relating to combat and safety.
I decided upon and embarked upon a swift shower, doubtless violating the letter of the General Quarters decree, but not the spirit, since I was remaining well out of the way of those engaged in defending the Magellan. My decision to undertake that ablution was predicated upon the observation that detection of intruders and antagonists in space was likely to occur well before any physical proximity was attained. My quickness in completing it was based upon the possibility that I might be mistaken.
Nonetheless, by six-forty-one, I found myself dressed, generally in a state of consciousness, standing in the middle of a closet-sized stateroom. With little to do in that locale, save to undertake reading of the least-intriguing sections of the professional material I had downloaded to accompany me, I made my way, if cautiously, up the ramps—deserted by the time of my peregrination—to my work space, and my analyses of Danann and the artifact, an eternity artifact, of sorts, I had decided.
I did strap myself into the chair before the console, the one anchored to the deck, with a safety harness, before calling up the sections of the analysis I’d been working on. I began to reread what I had set forth, trying not to skim through my words.
While not all sections or towers of the megaplex had been thoroughly investigated, more than fifteen percent of the towers had been opened and viewed in a cursory fashion, according to the reports filed on the system by Kaitlin Henjsen. Less than five percent had been inspected in any detail. Even so, given the gridding and the sampling used, the fact that only a single artifact of any size whatsoever had been discovered suggested most strongly that it had been left deliberately.
My tentative conclusion along those lines was bolstered by the expedition’s theoretical mathematician. Misha Nalakov had entered an analysis of the patterns of tower placement, and his analysis, which employed abstruse mathematics the accuracy of which I could not verify from my own expertise, concluded that the tower in which Chendor had discovered the artifact did in fact occupy the sole unique position within the entire megaplex. To my mind, that suggested the placement was neither coincidental nor meant to be easy to discern.
In turn, that intimated that the megaplex—perhaps all of Danann itself—had been constructed from its inception for multiple purposes meant to be accomplished over an infinitely long period of time. From that, and from the anomalous materials used in construction, few of which we could even analyze accurately, and none of which we knew how to duplicate, even theoretically, one could also conclude that the builders had not only possessed great technological talents, but equivalent skills in cultural self-patterning, social organization, and prognostication of the development and exploration patterns of other intelligences.
For a culture less advanced than ours, those capabilities might well have been considered godlike…
At that thought, I stopped. Was it remotely possible that the Sunnis or the Covenanters entertained such an idea? No. Any creation by humans—or even by other intelligences—by definition could not be divine. But how would they regard something so far advanced?
If mankind—and the leaders of those theocracies all thought of human beings primarily as men—were indeed the creation of a deity, would that deity allow a greater creation to usurp mankind? Theologically speaking, as well as politically, that was not conceivable, and that would suggest that, since there was but one God, with no others above, before, or beside Him, any such technology had to be, by definition, the creation of some incarnation of the devil, or Satan, or Iblis. The fact that its possessors and creators had vanished, doubtless extirpated by the One Deity billions of years earlier, would be proof enough that the artifact discovered by Chendor—the Eternity Artifact—was a creation of the evil one, the Hammer of Lucifer, the Morning Star, or the Spear of Iblis. That might be bolstered by the fact that the other aliens had vanished as well. Any monotheistic theologian could sermonize that even the attempt to obtain the knowledge of Lucifer had resulted in their demise, and that the same could indeed befall humanity.
By extension, that suggested why the Sunnis had attacked the Magellan. Since I had not discovered what polity’s fleet currently threatened us, I could not complete that section of the analysis, but, in general terms, the Comity faced opponents of both secular and theocratic origins. Those of a secular nature would most likely be interested in obtaining the technology for an advantage, and in destroying us only if it could not be detected and reported and could allow them to obtain such technology.
At that point, the entire ship lurched, and my mass was restrained from impacting the overhead by the harness straps with which I had secured myself, even while doubting their efficacy.
The first disruption was followed by three more, each of decreasing severity.
After a period of silence, in which I pondered remaining strapped into my chair, I accessed the general information net, but found nothing that had not been there previously. The wall screen options were nonexistent, the single image available showing only the darkness of a galactic void, a blackness sprinkled with the distant faint-ness of other galaxies.
I attempted to concentrate upon the analysis, but the conflict between curiosity and apprehension effectively annihilated my capacity for concentration.
After another few minutes, the wall screen displayed the image of Captain Spier. She did not speak immediately.
“This is the captain. We have engaged a hostile force. All the hostiles who attacked have been destroyed. The engagement was not without casualties. The Alwyn destroyed three enemy frigates and more than ten needle-boats, but was lost in that effort. We have suffered a few casualties, but we are on course for the first of the Gates required to return us to Hamilton system. At this time, it appears that there are no further obstacles to reaching that Gate… You may return to normal operations at this time…”
Return to normal operations?
Suffered a few casualties? Battle cruisers, even former colony ships rebuilt with cruiser drives and armament, were not designed or operated to suffer minimal casualties. Such casualties were either nonexistent or maximal. Why… who… ?
A cold feeling slithered along my spinal cord. Pilots… needleboat pilots, and Jiendra was a pilot.
I unfastened the harness straps, but saved what little I had added to my analysis before putting the console on standby.
Then I hurried toward the ramps, the one leading up to the boat deck. As before, I found the ramps effectively deserted, save for one junior tech who did not even glance at me as he headed inship.
The ready room was empty, the gray chairs equally vacant, under lighting bright and cheerless. I had half expected Commander Morgan, but had rationalized that he well might have remained on the bridge with the captain. I stepped inside the hatch and to one side.
Then a single pilot appeared, not from the boat locks, but from the lockers where they racked their armor. Her hair was damp and plastered to her skull, so short that it was not even helmetlike. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed me and my obvious lack of official uniformed status. I didn’t recognize her, and that indicated that she was not from the Magellan. I could only surmise the obvious.
“You’re from the Alwyn, I take it.”
Before she could answer, Lieutenant Lindskold appeared, as disheveled as the unidentified pilot. Her eyes flicked to me, but her frown was succeeded by a nod. “Professor Fitzhugh. You shouldn’t really be up here, but…” She glanced toward the hatch through which I’d entered. “I’d suggest you take one of the corner chairs.”
“Do you know… ?” I hesitated to finish the question.
“Ops thinks they have her needle. Lerrys is trying a pickup. She reported that she’d lost all systems after the last Covenanter went to energy.” Lindskold turned to the other pilot. “We might as well wait here until Shaimen and your…”
“Eyler.”
“Until they’re clear of the bay,” Lindskold finished.
“Why’s he here?” murmured the other pilot.
“Interested in Chang. He’s a professor… former commando… took out one of the assassins… probably saved a bunch of us… Ops boss might kick him out… not me.”
Had the situation been otherwise, I might have been tempted to smile at her last utterance. I settled into one of the chairs well out of the way… waiting, ensconced in apprehension.
Before long, two more pilots appeared in the ready room, both women. I recognized Shaimen, although I’d only talked to her in passing in the mess. The other had to be the one mentioned by the other Alwyn pilot—Eyler.
“We’re all supposed to check with sick bay,” Lindskold announced. “Told the major we’d wait until Lerrys and Chang were back.” She turned to the two pilots from the Alwyn. “You can go… if you’d like.”
“We’ll wait,” Eyler stated flatly.
With no warning, Lindskold turned. “Professor? Ops reports that the recovery shuttle has secured Needle Four.” Her visage remained sober. “That’s positive, but without power, there’s no way to tell…”
“The habitability situation,” I noted.
She nodded.
Still, as I recalled Lindskold had said, Jiendra had reported in when she had lost all systems, and that had meant she had been alive then. Space armor, if un-breached, as I had learned all too well in a past I had thought long divorced from my present, provided between two and three hours of survival, even in deep space at close to absolute zero.
I could but trust that her armor was intact—trust and wait.
The moments oozed past me, and all those in the ready room, more slowly than water dripping from the ancient timepieces once employed to measure such passage of elapsed time. My forefingers rubbed the tips of my thumbs.
Shaimen paced back and forth, looking toward Lind-skold, ignoring me, which may well have been for the best, while her eyes alighted but infrequently upon the two pilots from the Alwyn.
“She’s all right!” Lindskold announced. “They had to manually open the needle. Everything was fried, and then some, but she’s on her way to unsuit.”
Shaimen smiled. “Wouldn’t have been right…”
I agreed, even if I had no idea why the younger lieutenant had voiced the words.
Even so, it was another ten minutes before Jiendra walked out into the ready room, her eyes going to Lindskold and Shaimen first, standing, awaiting her. “Glad to see you two… wish… wish I were seeing more…”
Lerrys appeared behind Jiendra, his face slightly flushed, his demeanor almost embarrassed.
I rose, slowly, not wishing to intrude, knowing that the majority of the needle pilots had not been so fortunate as those before me, and yet wishing to convey, by my presence, my concerns for one particular pilot.
At that precise instant, Commander Morgan entered through the main hatch, his iron gray hair more than slightly disheveled, and his eyes reddened and set in darkness, suggesting long stans under high stress. “Welcome back, Lieutenants. All of you did well. All of you.”
Not one of them offered a direct reply.
Lindskold and Jiendra nodded. Shaimen looked down. Lerrys looked at me, and provided the slightest of nods, clearly approval at my presence.
Jiendra looked straight at Morgan. “What were those waves of yellow energy? They burned out all my systems.”
“The Danannian defenses.” Morgan smiled. “They took out all the remaining Covenanters and the CW ships that had been chasing us. If we’d been much closer, they would have taken us as well.”
Jiendra stiffened. “You’d thought there might be something like that. That was what destroyed the Norfolk, wasn’t it. That was why you modified the satellite beacons and left the fusactor sites you left on Danann, wasn’t it?”
The commander did not deign to reply, but I could see that Jiendra had been right, although I had but a general concept of Morgan’s strategy, based on what her question had revealed.
As the silence extended itself, Morgan finally spoke. “It was worth the gamble.” Abruptly, he saw me, apparently for the first time. That, or he wished to use me as way to avoid saying more. “Professor, the ready room is off-limits to civilians.”
“Commander… I believe you have a point there, but do you really wish to press it?” I observed him as if he were a Covenanter crusader, lower than the underside of a sand snake and uglier than a fire roach. While I didn’t care for either Covenanters, sand snakes, or fire roaches, I wasn’t sure I cared much for an officer who had apparently lured two fleets to their destruction by ancient technology and probably denied all of humankind the possibility of more in-depth investigation and inquiry.
He met my eyes, but I wasn’t about to give in, not at the moment, and not until I’d had a chance to assure myself that Jiendra was indeed as strong as she appeared and that she understood the significance she had brought to my existence.
I could sense her eyes taking me in for the first time, but I continued to observe Morgan.
“I’ll leave you as Lieutenant Chang’s responsibility then.” The commander inclined his head to Jiendra. “If you would act as the professor’s escort, Lieutenant, as necessary. You do need a check at sick bay. All of you.”
“I can manage that, Commander.” Jiendra smiled politely. “I think he has more than proven his loyalty and trustworthiness.”
“After sick bay,” Morgan continued, pointedly ignoring me, “you’re relieved of all duties until morning quarters tomorrow.”
Jiendra eased up to me, and smiled. “Will you escort me?”
“That might be in the optimal interest of all.” I did not bother to mask my relief and elation.
“… most polite she’s been to anyone…” came a murmur. I thought it might have been from Lindskold.
I offered my arm to Jiendra, and she accepted it.
76 BARNA
In between the General Quarters and the escape and fight with the Covenanter ships, and afterward, I kept working on the differing paintings of the artifact. From each angle, each image, it conveyed a different sense of what it was. I didn’t even try light matrices. Those didn’t seem right. While I thought I managed, especially in one of the larger oils, to combine several of those different “identities” into one painting, even that work didn’t catch everything.
I also spent some time on the study of the professor and the pilot, and that kept me fresh for the work on the renderings of the artifact.
I also worried about Elysen. I’d stopped by her work space often, but she wasn’t there. I’d even slipped down to sick bay, but the medtech on duty there insisted she wasn’t there, and promised to let Major DeLisle know I’d inquired.
I hesitated to try to find her stateroom, or to go there, but the comm gave me the same response every time, and she hadn’t returned any of my messages.
For perhaps the eighth time in less than half a stan, I stood back from the canvas and studied the work. I had the silvered blue of the hall in which I’d found it correct, and I was happy with the crystal flaring sections, but the silver-grayish bases didn’t convey what I wanted.
“Ser Barna?”
I turned from the easel. A major stood in my work space/studio doorway. He looked familiar.
“I’m Doctor DeLisle.”
“Yes?” Was it about Elysen? “Is it about Dr. Taube? What can you tell me?”
“She asked to see you, and, well, it’s not something I wanted to handle over the comm.”
“Is she… she said there was nothing anyone could do.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“I’m afraid there isn’t.” The doctor smiled, sadly. “Not that I can do. Not that anyone could have done anywhere. Remedial actuation of telomerase only works for so long, even under the best of conditions. She was fortunate that she’s one of those for whom it works at all. It doesn’t for most people.”
Fortunate? I wondered. Watching your children and grandchildren die before you? Even partial immortality—or extreme old age, active or not—had a price. My eyes strayed back to the canvas. Had that been a problem for the Danannians? Would we ever know?
“Where is she?”
“I’ll take you.”
“Just a moment. I want to bring something.”
DeLisle waited while I gathered up the best of the portraits of her. Then we took the lift down to the quarters deck.
On the lift, a solid-faced lieutenant I didn’t know looked at DeLisle, me, the portrait, and back at me. He almost shook his head. I could tell.
“She’s dying.” I wanted to shake him.
He started to retort something, then caught himself. “Your friend?”
“In a grandmotherly way. She’s an astronomer.”
We got off, leaving the lieutenant. He had other things to worry about, I surmised.
“He doesn’t understand,” DeLisle said quietly. “He’s young, and if he survives combat, he still believes he’ll live forever and never grow old.”
Did I feel that way? Or somewhere in between—not young, but ageless? Didn’t we all?
DeLisle stopped at a doorway. “I can’t stay. There’s a monitor, and if there’s any problem… when…”
“Can you do anything?”
“No. Nothing more than relieve the pain and discomfort. We’ve done that.”
“Do what you need to. I’ll stay with her.”
“I can send a tech if you have to leave.”
“I’ll stay with her.”
DeLisle eased the door open and motioned for me to enter.
Elysen lay stretched on the gray plastrene bunk in her quarters, plain white sheets tucked neatly across her chest, white counterpane folded across a gray D.S.S.-issue blanket, her upper torso and head propped up with two white pillows. Somehow, she should have been in a solid wood bed with fine linens, and an antique china tea set beside her. Then, perhaps not. She had wanted to keep working. The only sign of any medical equipment was a wide wristband, with a narrow strip that led to a miniature console on the low table beside the bunk.
