Before she could stop herself, Pruit was pounding on the plantglass with both fists and screaming incoherently at the captive. Kep and the Lucien spy could not hear her voice, but her pounding shook the wall, and the captive’s eyes turned and seemed to look right at her.
She yelled at him, and her voice began to form coherent words. “No! No! No!”
Niks grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her away from the glass, shaking her. He yelled into her face, “Stop it! By all that lives, stop it, Pruit!” He shook her hard and she quieted, still breathing heavily. The Chief looked at her, but made no response to her outburst, perhaps remembering his own reaction when he first heard the Lucien’s story.
“Stop it!” Niks said, now speaking more quietly. “That’s not helping.”
Slowly, Pruit nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He just…he just…How dare he? Put our houses in order, while he decides our fate…” With great effort, she controlled herself and calmed. This was why they were an excellent team, she and Niks. Their skills were nearly equal, but while Pruit felt driven by dread and hatred and was sometimes overcome by these emotions, Niks was the one who pulled her back and steadied her, and even, most times, brought a sense of lightheartedness to their work.
“Your anger is justified,” the Chief said softly. “Sit down.”
They complied, and he sank into a chair facing them, switching the plantglass back to its opaque white setting so Kep and captive were hidden from view. Pruit still felt her heart beating fast, but she made an effort to relax.
“It’s time to be blunt and unemotional in examining this,” the Chief said. “We have thirty-five years, and then, if their plan continues unabated, all of this will be gone.” He made a vague, sweeping gesture that indicated the entirety of the city above and around them. “Our city domes are not built to withstand a nuclear attack. They will provide some moderate protection from distant blasts, but bombs dropped close to the domes, or on top of the domes, will quickly compromise them, and then the city can be destroyed easily by a follow-up explosion. They are hundreds of years ahead of us in spacecraft. We are ten million citizens, grouped into three cities. We require massive filtration systems for drinking water and breathable air. We are easy targets.”
“Is there any chance of negotiation?” Niks asked.
“We don’t want to let them know that we have discovered their plan,” the Chief said. “And at any rate, we know their opinion of us. We are not considered a race of equal stature. We are not even considered sentient beings, not really. In a thousand years, they have never answered a broadcast from us, and there is no reason this would change. We are pests to them, nothing more.
“The Sentinel Council has been in session for the last four days and has decided on our course of action. We will halt standard reclamation procedures immediately and turn our full attentions to burrowing deeper underground, creating shelters at a depth great enough to hopefully provide protection from a sustained nuclear attack. Concurrently, we will begin a program to develop space-based defense. This is a double-edged sword, however, for it may make us appear an even greater threat to the Lucien.”
He waited while Pruit and Niks thought these things over.
Then Niks asked, “How can that be sufficient to protect us?”
“It won’t be. Even if we begin today, we will not be able to protect our population from any kind of sustained bombing. It is nearly impossible that we can survive the attack.”
They stared at him. There was no sugarcoating here.
“Then what…How will we save ourselves?” Pruit asked at last.
The Chief hesitated for a moment, then reached into his breast pocket and drew out a small object, about the length of his index finger and not much thicker. He set it on the table and slid it toward them. Niks picked it up, and he and Pruit examined it. It was a crystal, perfectly symmetrical, with four long faces that met at right angles and faces of forty-five degrees that met in a point at each end. It was extremely hard. Along the length of it were four red bands. On close examination, it was apparent that these bands were grown into and through the crystal itself. They made little red planes through the clear substance.
“You will remember this from history class,” the Chief said. “Before the Great War, the Kinley ancients had many uses for crystals. They were able to manipulate them and grow them in ways we have never fully understood.
“The bands of red were created by inserting foreign atoms into the crystal as it grew—in this case, iron and oxygen. By manipulating the pattern of these foreign atoms, they could use them to store information, vast quantities of it.”
Pruit and Niks remembered all of this somewhat from their early education, but its relevance was not yet clear. Everyone knew the ancients had achieved many things the modern Kinley could only dream of.
“And the crystals,” the Chief continued, “especially ones like this one, which is an artificial diamond, last almost forever—theoretically, of course, since, in actuality, most of them were destroyed in the Great War. They don’t survive a direct nuclear attack.”
He paused, and they both held his gaze. Slowly, the Chief said, “These crystals were once taken elsewhere. Off of Herrod. Do you remember the story?”
Pruit and Niks were silent for several moments, thinking back to their early schooling. Then, with an almost religious sense of awe, Pruit realized what the Chief was referring to. As young children, they had studied what was known of the Kinley ancient history. In this history was the story of a small group of Kinley scientists who had built a ship that could travel the universe. They had set out for a planet nearly eight light-years distant. The war had come soon after, and they had never returned.
“The Eschless Funnel,” Pruit breathed.
“The Eschless Funnel,” the Chief agreed.
For that was the name of the engine within the ship that had allowed it to travel at speeds faster than light. If that history tale had been accurate, those ancient Kinley had unraveled the deepest secret of the universe and had built a ship with their knowledge.
“Did it really exist?” Pruit asked. For that ship and its crew and the Eschless Funnel were so far removed from modern Kinley civilization that they had the flavor of a creation myth, a story that could not possibly be real.
“Yes,” the Chief said seriously. “We know that the Eschless Funnel did exist. There are many references to it, though no records of what exactly it was.”
“Earth,” Niks whispered. That was the name of the world to which those ancient Kinley had traveled.
“Yes, Earth. Earth is there, just as it was. And somewhere on Earth are the crystals that traveled with that ancient crew. Crystals that recorded the building of the Eschless Funnel ship and the science behind it.”
Pruit felt a surge of hope within her. There was, perhaps, a doorway to the past, to the days before the Great War, when the Kinley were masters of all they surveyed and the future was wide open.
“If those crystals still exist,” the Chief continued, “they would teach us the true nature of physics. They would vault us past Lucien technology and enable us, perhaps, to win a war against them.”
Pruit stared at him, then slowly said, “You want us to find the technology.”
“Yes,” the Chief said. “And bring it back. You two are young enough to make it through the trip without serious consequences to your health. And you have both proven your abilities as soldiers. I and the council believe you are the right choice. Obviously, this is a last-ditch effort. But Kinley science achieved faster-than-light travel once. There is no reason we cannot achieve it again. We just need the key. And what better time than now, when it may be our only option?”
They almost laughed at the desperation of this plan, but neither thought of refusing.
As they lay together in bed that evening, in their small suite of rooms on the very top level of Kellersland, they looked up through their plantglass ceiling at the dome canopy above. Through the dome, t
hey could see thousands of stars, spread out across the galaxy.
“I’m frightened, Niks,” Pruit said, her arms twined about him under their light covers.
“Me too.” He held her to him, his lips in her hair. “But if someone will go, I’m glad it’s us. No matter how desperate it is.”
“Yes,” she whispered back. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER 3
Adaiz-Ari and Enon-Amet walked side by side down a wide hallway with an enormous arched ceiling. The ceiling was of a polished aluminum alloy that shimmered in the white light of the artificial suns outside.
Adaiz was human, a man in his twenties, bred in a Lucien laboratory from human genetic material gathered from captured Kinley. At birth, when he had emerged crying from the Lucien incubator that had nurtured his prenatal development, he had been given to the father and mother of Enon-Amet, then a Lucien pup of three years, and Adaiz and Enon had been raised as brothers.
The racial difference between them had never been of any consequence to either. Like any younger brother, Adaiz had adored and emulated his older brother Enon, and Enon had treasured his unique sibling.
They passed guards standing at attention in front of high doors that led off from the hall, back into the meditation chambers and meeting rooms that filled the bulk of the Hall of Elders. Both Adaiz and Enon wore the uniforms of Clan Providence, the Lucien army, which left them bare to the waist. From the corner of his eyes, Adaiz caught glints of sunlight reflecting off the silver chest of his brother. Enon was slightly over six feet tall, average for a Lucien male.
A human seeing a Lucien for the first time would think them insectile, but this assessment was incorrect. They were more akin to mammals than insects. Their most striking characteristic was their skin. It was silver and was partially reflective, as long as they were exposed to regular sunlight. Their coloring was caused by a subcutaneous layer of a silica solution that captured sunlight and employed it in biochemical reactions. Starved of sunlight, they became less and less reflective as their bodies sought to draw in all available light to perform these functions.
Their oval heads tapered to a narrow point at the place where a human’s chin would be. Their mouths sat behind this point, at a place analogous to the underside of a human’s chin. Two small slits above the tapered point made up the Lucien nose. Their heads were smooth and hairless, and on each side, above small, pointed ears, were remnant antlers, the legacy of some previous step in their evolution. The antlers were about four inches long and lay back flush against the sides of their skulls. They were made of soft cartilage and covered with brown fuzz.
Their arms were quite similar to human arms, but their legs had two knee joints, the upper bending forward, the lower backward. Their feet had long, splayed toes, three facing front and two facing back. Their double knees and the shape of their feet allowed them to run quickly and jump quite long distances.
Enon’s uniform consisted of loose elastic trousers, which allowed for the bending of his double knee joints. There was a golden stripe running up the side of each leg, indicating that he was an officer. On his feet were soft, black sandals. His rank was indicated by bronze armbands on both of his upper arms. Enon had a regal carriage, and his silver head displayed a distinct facial bone structure that was considered quite attractive by the females of their race. His wide, slanted eyes were a black obsidian.
Adaiz wore an almost identical uniform, modified only to fit his human form. He had one fewer armband than his brother, for he was of a lower rank. His upper body was tanned from its natural copper color to a deep brown. His eyes were blue. His hair was reddish brown, and he wore it shaved close to his scalp, with two longer, braided queues at the back of his head. Far from being burdened by his human body, he had turned it to his advantage by developing manual skills that were difficult for Lucien to achieve.
Despite the difference in their heights and physical makeup, their gait was almost identical. Growing up as a Lucien, Adaiz had long since learned to modify the natural inclinations of his body to match those of his adopted race.
At the end of the hallway, they reached silver doors that stood twenty feet high. Before these were two guards, wearing the blue trousers of noncommissioned officers. They swung the doors open to allow Enon and Adaiz to pass through.
The doors opened in on a tall receiving room, one wall of which was a solid-glass window, letting in bright sunlight. The room was spare. There was a rug of woven fiber, and several low tables, at which visitors might sit until they were called. Across from the great window was another set of doors, these leading to the Triad chamber within. Near these inner doors was a low desk, and behind this an officer sat cross-legged on the floor, speaking in soft tones through a communicator at his ear. As Adaiz and Enon entered, the officer politely excused himself from the communicator conversation and stood, his long legs unbending.
Adaiz and Enon drew themselves to attention and saluted, by bowing their heads slightly, with their arms held before their chests, the fist of one hand cradled in the palm of the other. The officer returned their salute.
“Leader Enon-Amet, Officer Adaiz-Ari, you are expected,” he said in the sibilant tones of Avani, the chief language of the Lucien, designed for the natural lisps of the soft Lucien palate. “The Medium Triad is engaged in a peaceful Opening at present. They will call you when they have surfaced. Please be at your ease.”
Enon and Adaiz nodded again and withdrew to stand by the window. An “Opening” was a form of meditation, a way of clearing the mind and centering oneself. It was a common conclusion to deliberations of great weight, and the officer’s mention of it indicated that the Triad had been discussing matters of import. “Surfacing” was the Lucien expression for returning to the world after meditation.
The two brothers stood at the window, their arms neatly held behind their backs, their posture upright and only a fraction more relaxed than it would have been were they standing at full attention. They were, after all, in the antechamber of a Medium Triad, one of the highest-ranking groups within Clan Providence. There were only five such triads within the whole of Lucien civilization.
“Younger Brother, it is, indeed, an honor that the Triad has asked to see us alone,” Enon said. “I had expected other officers to be waiting with us.”
“Yes, Older Brother,” Adaiz replied. “An honor few of our rank have had.” Adaiz had spoken Avani as his first tongue. He considered it his mother tongue, but his human mouth would never be able to pronounce all of the words correctly.
They said no more, preferring to hold themselves in calm awareness of their bodies, their minds, and their surroundings. The room in which they stood was over a hundred stories above the surface of Galea, the asteroid that was the primary Lucien settlement. Below them were spread the lesser buildings of Shekalla, the city over which the Hall of Elders towered. From this vantage, they could see past the great industrial zone, where all manner of consumer goods and industrial products were produced, past the shipyards where much of their space-fleet was built, past the miles and miles of residential districts, with flowering trees and bathing gardens, to the edge of the city, where the agricultural district began. The layered, green farms stretched to the visible horizon, lush with crops almost ready to be harvested. Below the top layer of these farms were underground hydroponic layers, where fish and vegetables were grown in an almost closed system, the unused portions of the vegetables being used to feed the fish and the bones of the fish being used to fertilize the vegetables.
Above it all was the canopy that stretched over the upper surface of Galea and was anchored in encircling cliffs. The asteroid itself had once been bare metallic rock.
Looking up from the window, Adaiz could see through the canopy itself, out into deep space, populated with stars. Galea was almost at the edge of their star system, so far out from the sun that it appeared as little more than a bright star in the dark sky. To make up for this lack of a natural sun, the Lucien
had created artificial suns, three bright balls powered by fusion. These small suns hung outside the canopy, evenly spaced along its breadth, and they moved slowly back and forth to create spaces of morning, afternoon, evening, and night.
As Adaiz looked up at the faint real sun of their star system, just visible between two of the artificial suns, he thought of Herrod and the human Plaguers far away, circling close to the warmth of that natural sun. He felt hatred welling within him, but he did not let the emotion gain a foothold. Hate was not useful. The Plaguers had made their choice millennia ago. Only barbarians would knowingly destroy an entire race. And now their fate was sealed.
There was a soft chime, and Adaiz and Enon turned to the officer, who was speaking again into his communicator. “Yes, sir,” he said deferentially. “They are here.”
He stood and beckoned them. “You will be seen now,” he said.
Enon and Adaiz nodded and followed him through the tall inner doors.
Within was a chamber with a glass ceiling that soared fifty feet above. The glass had darkened to mitigate the streaming light from the suns, and the chamber glowed with a muted brightness. The walls and floor were bronze. There was no rug and nowhere to sit, save for three round daises, grouped in a tight knot in the middle of the room. These daises floated six feet above the floor, and perched on each was a robed figure, seated cross-legged and wearing the bronze headband of the Medium Triad rank. These Lucien had a tightening around their eyes and a dull cast to their skin, which indicated their great age. Each of them held a shiny silver sphere in his left hand, another emblem of their rank.