Chapter Sixteen
"Hey, Ornenkai, could you go to the computer terminal and ask it if there's anything in the memory bank about Kayrian macton cross-linkages?"
Ornenkai had just entered the laboratory when his lab partner Lerney threw out the request without even turning around. Lerney, a short, slight-framed biologist with an odd sense of humor and a penchant for practical jokes stood bent over the microscanner, and for once his tone of voice had been serious.
"Our tirani specimen is dying," Lerney added, letting a hint of disappointment enter his voice.
The two lab partners had raised the tirani clone since its birth ten months ago. A strange pigment discoloration on the soft fur under the creature's belly and a sudden listlessness had led the two researchers to investigate for signs of disease. Ornenkai had left the macroscopic analysis to Lerney, but Ornenkai had been putting his own expertise in biochemistry to use in trying to determine the cause of the strange rapid-aging disease that they had observed in their tirani in order to find a possible cure.
Lerney's conservative statement expressed the situation—the tirani was beyond all hope.
Ornenkai stopped in front of the computer terminal. He was rather tall and thin in a way that suggested he had just finished growing and needed time to fill out; his forearms were sinewy, and his hands large but dexterous. His curly hair had straightened out since childhood; despite the labcoat, the severity of his expression when he could muster it, he appeared almost angelic, like one of the cordan statues set around the botanical fountains.
Ornenkai’s mouth quirked into a concentrated frown.
The tirani's disease and the sight of the computer terminal had suddenly recalled an image of Ilika Marankeil—an image eternally youthful in his recollection. He had not thought of his childhood friend Ilika in several years, not since the early days of his training, when his father sent him under protest to a center far from home, where he was to acquire a singularly excellent education.
He had acquired it, but at a cost.
When Ornenkai tried to contact Ilika, he learned that the young Marankeil had also been sent away to an advanced technological institute in Melacre, and after a while, the two had lost touch.
Where was Ilika now? Ornenkai couldn’t help but wonder.
Now, he found himself paralyzed by the unexpected memories returning to him. The years in between had forced him to drown out the dreams he had cherished as a young boy. He had long since embraced pragmatism, and made reason his faith. A recollection of his former excitement in the days he and Ilika had gone off adventuring and then researching their comet rider heroes struck him with unexpected pain, but he convinced himself this sentimentality was pointless.
For a moment, he thought the recollection would pass, as though the older Ornenkai would disdain such fantasies.
A few minutes later, they were still there.
He was getting annoyed.
He grew increasingly irritated when they hadn’t retreated ten minutes later. Once again he felt their hold on him, and he wondered randomly if he could still read the ancient language he had learned as a child.
"Hey Ornenkai, what's keeping you with that file?" Lerney called.
"Sorry..." Ornenkai offered, and set to work on retrieving the information. Keeping his thoughts focused on the tirani helped him to put Ilika out of his mind.
Several hours later, the two lab partners were finishing monitoring the tirani's life signs for the last time that evening before leaving the laboratory. In their absence, the computer analyzers, mechanized units in both android and humanroid forms, would continue to take care of the creature.
"So, where are you headed after the specialization ceremony?" Lerney asked.
"The Central Research Center," Ornenkai responded absently, still thinking about the tirani. With the disease in its final stages, it was unlikely to survive the last tenday of their training. He couldn't imagine coming in to find the little creature already dead. He had always thought they would give it back to the institute as a viable specimen where it would live out a full life.
"That's a remarkable position, but it isn't a Specialists' Center." Lerney continued.
"I know." Ornenkai admitted.
"You just surprised me, that's all. I guess I thought you would be going on to further research in your field. The Central Research Center welcomes specialists from all of the fields, I heard."
"That's true. The varied teams there combine for Federation research projects." Ornenkai explained.
"So that's why you studied under so many different field researchers. I thought you must just enjoy pain."
Ordinarily Ornenkai would have laughed at Lerney's last remark,
but he was suddenly distracted by the idea that the largest artificial intelligence section and starship computer development program had been established at the Central Research Center, within the buildings of the Scientific Center of Learning.
Several tendays after the specialization ceremony, Ornenkai stumbled on the disembarkation platform at the Central Research Center in Ariyalsynai; dear Ariyalsynai—the precipitous white towers were exactly as he remembered them.
"Do you want me to wait?" A mechanized voice sounded behind him, and Ornenkai looked down at the small android transport towing his things. He shook his head, and the transport moved ahead of him to take his things up to his new laboratory.
Several days passed before Ornenkai had gotten all of his belongings in order. The delay was partly due to the numerous meetings he had been asked to attend to begin a joint research project and partly because he spent too much time stopping to talk to strangers while wandering around familiarizing himself with the building.
About a tenday after he had arrived, Ornenkai was well into his analysis of tirani x-strand replication, but he had some work to do before going to the developmental project meeting scheduled that afternoon. He stepped from the elevation device into the dark corridor before his laboratory, wondering why so many of the staff scientists had been called to attend.
Only a few scientists were in the building this early in the morning, most of those that were having stayed since the previous evening. Many of their work necessitated that they keep unusual hours, and some of the experiments had to be checked around the clock. Every laboratory had a sleeper panel installed in case an experiment needed to be constantly monitored.
"Hello, Riliya." A low voice emerged from the shadows to his right. As Ornenkai peered into the dark, a young man stepped forward.
Ornenkai stared at the man for a moment before he recognized him. He was of average height, a little shorter than Ornenkai, with a build that suggested he was quick and strong.
“I’m sorry—”
“You don’t remember me?”
"Ilika Marankeil?" Ornenkai asked tentatively, and the older man offered him a slow smile of approval. “Well, I’ll be—what are you—so... so...”
Marankeil laughed.
"Shall I let you collect your thoughts? You haven’t changed all that much—just an older version of the kid you were. I remember those days fondly.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hear you have been included on the major research project meeting."
“Yes, but how—”
"Actually, that's the first time I knew you were here. I was reading over the attendance list and I saw your name."
"I didn't know you were here, either."
"I'm not surprised about that." Marankeil admitted. "This place is incredibly large, even for a research center. We've acquired sixteen thousand scientists in the last three tendays, and my division is on the other side of the building."
"Your division?" Ornenkai repeated numbly.
"Yes. I'm head of the new mnemonic technology department in the artificial intelligence center."
"Well, well. I’m impressed." Ornenkai whi
stled, and headed towards his laboratory. Marankeil followed him two steps behind.
"Actually, I was just talking to your director, and she told me that the Biochemistry Department did everything in their power to get you here.”
“Well—”
“I didn't know you were involved in the successful tirani-piwyn combination cloning experiments." Marankeil said. “They didn’t think it was possible to cross-breed such different species.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be modest now. I detest false modesty.”
“Is that why you came—to discuss our collaboration on the new joint project?" Ornenkai asked casually as the two entered his lab and headed for the relaxation area to take a seat. Ornenkai stopped for a moment on the way to glance through a microscanner and record an entry in his data.
"No." Marankeil said absently. "I just wanted to see for myself how much you've changed. I don't suppose the new Ornenkai is at all interested in folklore and taking field trips?"
Ornenkai stiffened. He couldn't tell if Marankeil were sounding him out and had been derisive about it or if he were merely being pleasant. Marankeil's tone of voice had an unusual quality, a potential double meaning and darker intent hidden beneath the charm of his superficially innocuous manner.
"What about you, Marankeil? Haven't you given up your childhood dreams? Don’t we all?" He asked suddenly. But Marankeil only laughed.
"Idle dreams, yes. I only have time now for what I can do to make myself happy. I’ve had a lot happen this year to make me re-think what I want in life.”
During the project meeting, Marankeil suggested a joint venture between the artificial intelligence department and the biochemistry of systems and genetics division. Ornenkai was sure Marankeil the division director had orchestrated the collaboration in order to work with Ornenkai on developing the new mechanized unit androids he had proposed, androids with a parity to not only the human form but also its character.
Marankeil insisted that a knowledge of human systems was essential in creating the perfect human replica when several of the other division directors questioned the need for a biological division to be involved in the project, even though most scientists could fabricate an android using the present technology in artificial muscles, bones, organs, and computerized brains and neural systems. Ornenkai watched open-mouthed as his childhood friend convinced the older, established scientists to take his project seriously. By the end of the meeting, they were enthusiastically behind him.
Marankeil seemed to know everything there was to know about the humanroids.
Once the project had been passed, Marankeil enlisted Ornenkai as the chief geneticist and biochemist for his project team with the rest of the department working as their other projects allowed. However, after several tendays, it became clear that the driving force behind the project was Marankeil alone, and in fact it was he who had pioneered much of the technology for the project. The technicians of his division performed many of the tasks that he called for, but Marankeil had breathed the life into the project.
As the tendays passed, Ornenkai's fellow scientists in the biochemistry of genetics division fell further behind in the project, as the fundamental level of knowledge required to understand the innovations the team of Ornenkai and Marankeil had achieved was raised beyond their ability to make any great contributions. Ornenkai often delegated only the small tasks to them, as most of his colleagues were involved in other endeavors.
What Ornenkai didn’t know was that Marankeil had already artificially augmented his own intelligence using nano-technology, by implanting computer memory into his own brain.
At the end of a long day, the two old friends had a moment to relax in Marankeil's lounge while their new artificial facial muscle went through a battery of tests.
"Why haven’t you become attached?" Ornenkai asked absently, remembering the admiration in Lia Hilan's eyes when she looked at Marankeil; she had brought some parts over from her lab to the division director earlier.
Marankeil looked away suddenly, and though his returning expression appeared calm, Ornenkai had caught a glimmer of irritation in his boyhood friend.
"If I admit anything, I expect it to go no further than these walls.”
“Of course.” Ornenkai was intrigued.
“I was in love once, not too many years ago." Marankeil admitted. "I knew this woman for a year, before I became specialized. Before I met her, I used to want to have a woman who would rest beside me. So that if I woke in the dark, I might feel her comforting presence there, feel her soft arm lying over my chest. Then I would know that she needed me more than I her; that her gentle serenity, her repose, depended upon my strength.
“I thought I wanted her to be there with me in the day, to laugh with me, to understand when my heart wasn’t whole. I wanted—well, pleasure, things, but not a companion. I always preferred the company of males in matters of the mind. Or I should say—usually. I do esteem our female scientists, to be sure, but I never sought out their company.
“But I will tell you, I did meet a woman who made me love everything about her—and especially her mind and spirit. But the one I had set my heart upon, and yes my desire, she the first who could have satisfied both for me—well, she was fickle creature and meant no word she ever spoke to me. Or if she did, well she left. Left without returning my love.
“I realized then that if I could subdue my male desire and cure it along with the pain, that at last I would be free of it all. Free to focus my desires on action. Ambition isn’t enough to change the world. You have to subdue all other feelings, my friend, for ambition to have any real power. Anyway, enough about her. As you can see I am doing quite well without her. I am getting to do what I always wanted to do, and getting it done!"
"Perhaps you’ll meet someone else." Ornenkai offered.
Marankeil seemed about to laugh, or to strike someone.
Ornenkai looked away, uncertain how to respond to Marankeil's sudden gravity. He didn't understand Marankeil's attitude.
"What about you?" Marankeil asked, with a strange tone. "Have you ever thought of securing a partner?"
Ornenkai shook his head. "Lerney says I'm too picky, but the right woman hasn't come along yet."
“Perhaps he’s right, but then, perhaps the right woman hasn’t found you.”
"What is the purpose of this project?" Ornenkai decided to change the subject, remembering that Marankeil had gone to present a report to the Seynorynaelian Council that morning for permission to continue the project. "Has the council authorized another explorer mission, or will the new androids run the shuttles between the conglomeration of five planets?"
"No, the Council doesn't consider androids capable of heading a mission on their own. They are interested to see if androids can function as independent cognitive beings, but they don't see the potential..." Marankeil stopped.
"Then why did they approve the project?" Ornenkai persisted.
"The council doesn't particularly care about or understand science, Ornenkai. They keep the peace between the planets, and as you know, the scientific boom was only created to analyze the conglomeration of planets' biological and technological systems for political reasons. With that work nearing an end, there is a surplus in the field, but the Council won't discourage the field because our exploration expedition could return at any time."
"So then, at the moment, as long as we’re working for the expansion of understanding, they don't really care what projects we involve ourselves in."
"To some degree." Marankeil nodded. "But the space shuttle engineers have requested some of our reports to aid the development of the ship guidance computers. If we can create a cognitive intelligence, they hope to utilize the design to protect the shuttles where the range of human pilots is limited."
"Wasn't that your former division?" Ornenkai asked.
"You've been check
ing up on me, I see. Yes, I was co-director in the spaceship computer program for a year."
"Why did you leave?" Ornenkai wondered.
"As I may have told you, I decided I only had time to make my dreams a reality. Working in computer development for spaceships was not bringing me closer to what I wanted to accomplish—I wasn't realizing the dreams I hoped for, and I had learned all that was of use to me. So, I asked for a transfer. The artificial intelligence unit here is a small department, and after a while, I pioneered a new mnemonic division. The central directors don't really know what to do with it yet, and so they haven't asked much of me—yet. But I'm afraid there aren't too many qualified technicians in my field. Even after acquiring new specialists last year, I'm still doing most of the detailed work myself."
Marankeil hadn’t told anyone that he had had his own memory and intelligence augmented with nano-chip technology. It was illegal to do it—dangerous, and even most scientists in the field didn’t know how to use nano-technology properly. Marankeil had found his father Vaelan before Vaelan passed away; it had been Vaelan’s final gift to his son to implant his son’s brain with nano-technology—all so he could pass on his secret research to his son.
"I wondered why you and I were the only ones involved in the actual development outside the theoretical planning of the independent constituents—the only ones actually creating the android from the raw blueprints." Ornenkai continued.
"You aren't even trained in my field, Ornenkai, and you're a greater help than any of my specialists. But that was why I wanted you for the project. With your knowledge of living systems, I thought you would be able to determine if there were any design flaws. I suspected the skills of a biologist might be essential to the success of my project. Studying human nature and technical skill isn’t enough. Our android must come as close to a natural life form as possible. Right now the humanroid androids look more human than they actually are. I know. But I want ours to truly be more human, no matter what it appears to be. There aren't many ways of improving upon natural life systems."
"I agree with you there, but this kind of work is exhausting.”
“Agreed.”
“It looks like the analyzer is going to take a while on the tests—let’s take a break. We've been working so hard these past few tendays, and I'm getting sick of this laboratory."
"Have you ever seen the botanical gardens?" Marankeil suggested.
Ornenkai laughed. After all of these years, he still had never been.
“One more question,” Ornenkai said.
“Yes?”
“What was her name?”
“Elera.” Marankeil answered, almost before Ornenkai finished asking.
“Who was this Elera?” Ornenkai wondered.
“She was nothing special,” Marankeil said with level calm. At the same time, he saw a memory in his mind’s eye, a memory of himself long ago. He saw himself speaking, whispering to her as she slept on the fields of grass and golden flowers.
You are everything to me. Oh, Elera, give me something to believe in! Let us cherish every moment together. We have so little time together, you know.
“But you said—” Ornenkai started to object, confused.
“She was nothing at all... nothing at all,” Marankeil repeated tonelessly, then turned his face from Ornenkai and headed back towards the door. “I’ll see you later,” he offered easily. “I’m feeling a bit tired suddenly. We’ll schedule our trip to the botanical gardens later, if you don’t mind.”
Ornenkai just nodded.
"Do you remember the trip we were planning to come here when we both moved into the new tower?" Marankeil asked as they finished their tour of the gardens the next day. He had taken a few steps off the path and headed towards one of the tall sher-inn trees nearby, one of the few native specimens in the botanical encyclopedia. He reached out an arm to ease himself onto the ground under the tree and leaned back against the trunk, his elbows behind his head, his knees pulled up.
"Yes. But then we began to visit the archives instead. And not long after that, I was sent away to training." Said Ornenkai.
"As was I.” Remembered Marankeil. “But I have often thought of those days. Do you remember how we loved to pretend we were explorers or comet riders journeying to a new land? We made a vow to find the Havens one day, but I suppose you've forgotten all of the legends by now. Or have you kept any of the records we found in the archives all those years ago?"
"Strange that you should ask." Still standing, Ornenkai began to pace back and forth as he spoke; one of the female scientists strode by them, just then, obliging Ornenkai to pause. He followed her with his eyes, appreciative eyes that assayed the potential of her pleasant figure.
“You were saying?” Marankeil prompted, amused.
"Some time after we began our project, I went looking through my belongings.” Ornenkai resumed after a moment, suddenly regaining his lost fervor. “I don't know why I kept them all—I was sure at the time that my father would find them and get rid of them, anyway, but—
“Mine would have.”
"I've been reading through some of those old records on the comet riders. It's amazing how much you'll remember from childhood without even knowing the information is still there until you see or experience that something again. I had forgotten some of the legends, but I discovered that I do still remember the language and syllabary."
Marankeil sat up, suddenly animated, though Ornenkai thought he moved deliberately slowly so as to seem less excited. "I knew you still loved the legends." He declared. "I could always see it in you. No matter what happens later, you always remember what you once loved.”
Ornenkai turned away. “I don’t think that’s the point. The pursuit of knowledge is of tangible value, whether in the realm of biology or cryptology. I don’t understand why you keep bringing pointless philosophical judgments and all this talk of love into the argument.”
Marankeil laughed.
“Science is more than biology, or chemistry, or astrophysics, or even engineering, isn’t it, Ornenkai?”
“I said that.”
“But you don’t value all of it. You don’t value philosophy, which is the science of the human mind.”
Ornenkai sighed.
“Don’t think to sigh at me,” Marankeil said evenly. “It won’t accomplish anything. I don’t oblige people’s petty contradictions, not even yours.”
“Petty? You smug bastard,” Ornenkai said, getting angry. “What kind of child do you take me for?”
“None at all,” Marankeil said. “You’re brilliant, so very brilliant; a genius even,” Marankeil shrugged, noticing Ornenkai’s expression softening, “but for all of your analytical skill, you lack emotional intelligence. I wonder if perhaps your brother inherited it all in your family.”
“Emotional intelligence?” Ornenkai wondered, impartially, not registering the insult because emotional intelligence wasn’t something he valued at that moment or felt pained to lack. He had no desire to be like his brother, either.
“Yes. An intelligence of the senses.” Marankeil explained. “Oh, you have senses, sensibilities for the nature you love so and for the dreams that you live on, dreams that live somewhere in you estranged from your rational self, no matter how you deny it.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, really. I just found it amusing how much you love these legends, how they consume you with intensity, but you are still so young in spirit. You have yet to learn so much.”
“Like I said, you smug bastard.” Ornenkai said.
The left side of Marankeil’s face quirked into a smile.
“So,” Marankeil laughed. “Your intelligence keeps you from loving anyone; you can’t love someone beneath you in intellect, maybe? Or not at all? But the truth is you don’t really value anything but reasonin
g and pure knowledge. You shy from grasping intuition or recognizing subtleties, or looking for meaning where it doesn’t spontaneously appear to your critical eye.”
“I see nothing wrong with that. Love is just an emotion. What does it really matter? What are emotions really for, except that they make us behave like fools. We must not fall prey to them, but act according to our beliefs.”
“I do. Still, Ornenkai, I think you do lack emotional intelligence. It may not be a bad thing. It is what it is.”
“Some of what you say might be true,” Ornenkai shrugged. “I don’t much care for weak sentimentality, but I shouldn’t confuse enthusiasm and a desire for excitement and the pursuit of knowledge with these ’dreams’ as you put it. And what do you mean by emotional intelligence? Every man feels—yes, even I do—but he doesn’t let his feelings blind him to reason. Feelings can’t be allowed to blind us so that we don’t do what we must for the sake of the greater good.”
Marankeil laughed. “You have your opinions, still. And you may be right. Anyway, this talk of love has left a sour taste in my mouth. Let’s forget about it.”
“Easily.” Ornenkai shrugged. “I was getting angry, anyway.”
“So, you’ve really been trying to read the old syllabaries?” Marankeil asked.
Ornenkai nodded.
“Wonderful. You’ve just given me an idea.”
“What?”
“After the project is finished, we can go looking for the Havens as we always meant to do."
“You’re serious?”
“Perfectly.”
"I don't know," Ornenkai finally said reluctantly. Marankeil had seen something he couldn’t admit to himself, that he still loved the ancient lore. But would they find anything? he wondered. Or would such a search be in vain as his mind told him, a regression into childish fantasy? And whatever dreams the young Riliya had cherished, the present Ornenkai didn't know if he could risk the disappointment of failure. And even if it was an adventure, he would feel ridiculous, looking for mythical havens like a little boy!
If they went off in search of evidence of the comet riders, how would he find the time to maintain his position in the research center? Ornenkai wondered.
"Give me some time to think it over," Ornenkai added, thinking that there was some comfort in the routine of his life. Remembering his youth and his fantasies about finding the havens of the comet riders always depressed him. It inevitably reminded him that his own life was passing too quickly. It was much easier keeping his thoughts on the future, and not to dredge up the past and its faded dreams.
Several tendays later, Ornenkai entered Marankeil's laboratory, looking somewhat dispirited after another mandatory project meeting that Marankeil had been too busy to attend. Ordinarily Ornenkai's return would not have disturbed Marankeil, but something was different this time. Marankeil watched his friend expectantly as Ornenkai dropped the sample bag he was carrying on the floor.
"They're closing down the project," he finally managed.
"But it isn't finished." Marankeil protested, visibly shaken by the surprise. Ornenkai wondered for a moment at the odd look in his friend's eye and what it meant, but decided Marankeil was allowed any reaction to such ground-shaking news. He thought he recognized a bit of the expression Ilika had shown after his mother's death, like the look of a drowning man—a man determined to find something to cling to beyond all hope, who would allow nothing to distract him. Ornenkai turned away to avoid Marankeil's gaze.
"They say we've learned as much as possible." Ornenkai added. "What they mean is that they've already got as much information as they need to improve the starship guidance computers. They've assigned me to another, more urgent project. There's been another outbreak of Kayrian fever, only now it's affecting some Seynorynaelians of mixed descent." After standing a few moments longer, Ornenkai had gone to sit down heavily in a chair in the lounge across the room.
"But this isn't the end of our collaboration." Ornenkai added decisively over the sound of the test machine parts operating in the simulators. "Since I'm not the senior project chief, I'll only be doing some of the foundation work. If you have time, I thought we could make a journey to Lake Firien—at least we could begin to look there." Ornenkai tried to appear composed as he waited for Marankeil's reaction. He had decided in that moment that Marankeil needed something to lift his spirits, and he hoped that agreeing to their expedition would put him in a better mood.
But Marankeil turned around quickly, a hard expression on his face. "Once you agree to the search, you can't disappoint me, Ornenkai. If you’re still willing to go, we’ll keep looking until we find the Havens of legend."
Ornenkai found he couldn’t say anything. He had committed himself to the venture lightly, but to his great surprise suddenly felt a burden lifting from his shoulders, a new freedom he had never known. He was filled with such an excitement that he didn’t notice his friend's pensive silence.
The fifth trip to Lake Firien had been a failure, though enjoyable for the hikes alone. After half a year, Marankeil and Ornenkai had not located the Havens, but at least this time they had picked up some local tales about the comet riders neither of the two friends had ever heard before. They included incredible stories about the powers of the comet riders' Leader, who had disappeared shortly after the great expansion of Ariyal-synai, a figure often referred to as the Zariqua Enassa by the legend experts.
Very interesting, Marankeil had thought.
On the last day of their search, an archivist in Firien City had shown the two of them a surviving record from a personal diary about ten thousand years old, of a supposed ferai-lunei, one of the comet riders. But like so many others that had been found, the document was unreadable, written in a strange flowing script of unfamiliar letters, a combination of small swirls, curves, strokes, and dots. Marankeil supposed it to be some obscure dialect of the second wave of comet riders; the text had died out apparently almost immediately following their landing.
Ornenkai had asked the archivist if he knew what had happened to the second wave of comet riders' when they met the others already living on the planet, and if there were any truth to tales that they had contributed to the expansion of Ariyal-synai. To Ornenkai's irritation, the archivist wouldn't give them a clear answer. He had only shrugged, offering them the same explanation they had heard everywhere else, that the expansion of Ariyal-synai had been a result of some severe weather causing mass migration to the South.
The archivist told them he did not believe in the comet riders, per se. But he did believe that the Seynorynaelian race had come from the stars, only long before the tales originated. As for the so-called "second-wave" comet riders, he would concede they could have been an explorer group of the early civilization that had returned after a long mission, hence all the exaggerated tales prevalent upon their return about other galaxies and planets.
According to him, these returning explorers must have crashed the ancient starship, thus destroying what remained of the ancients' technology. In his opinion, there could have been only a few survivors, and half of the stories and supposed diaries that appeared after the crash must have been fabricated by a population caught up in romantic tales that had grown larger with each re-telling.
Marankeil had asked why an archivist of Lake Firien did not believe the tales, and the archivist had held up a finger, asking them to wait while he retrieved something from the preservation room.
"I'm not supposed to do this," he had said, bringing out a translucent blue, rectangular board, a thin plate that he had carried tucked under his arm. "I shouldn't have removed it from its preservation casing, but..." he trailed off, holding up the plate for them to see. As his hands moved to the side of the board, hidden words etched into the document lit up within the interior as though composed of small fires.
Ornenkai had copied the words of the document as the archivist expl
ained.
"Now, we of Firien know this is a real document of the first-wave of comet riders, despite what the Federation scientists might say about it. Our scientists have tested the material and it's, well—let's just say all of the materials used by the second-wave of comet riders are nothing like it. They used holo-printsheets very similar to ours.
"You asked why I was skeptical about the second-wave comet riders? Now you know. You'll see a few documents with this lettering in Ariyalsynai if you look there. But this piece here is almost untranslatable. Unlike some of the others, there are only a few representatives of our modern alphabet shown on it, which is another reason why the Ariyalsynai experts deny its authenticity. But to me, it proves that we are descended from a great civilization from the past. Too bad the so-called second comet riders destroyed its lost secrets when they crashed their vessel," he added in an irritated tone.
"Why do you believe we're descended from the first comet riders?" Marankeil had persisted, ignoring the man's unfounded claims about the second wave of comet riders.
"Why?" the archivist had repeated as though the answer were obvious. Examining the plate again, he bit his lip, then met their curious expressions. "Aside from the fact that this board is over twenty thousand years old and hasn't decayed like some of the more recent documents, aside from the fact that we can't reproduce this material—I have no idea how they got those fire-letters in there." He had said, then left to return the board to its proper place among the archives. In his absence, the friends had left the building, and then left Firien.
Confused and disheartened by their discoveries, Marankeil and Ornenkai planned a different kind of expedition on the way back from Firien City.
"Look, don't think that I want to postpone the search, Marankeil," Ornenkai said, "but how about taking a break from our routine to simply enjoy the surroundings? Just like we used to when we went exploring outside Ariyalsynai. The warm season is passing, and we won't be able to travel north into the wild lands for another year. If you don't want to see the area any more—"
"All right, we'll take a short break. But since a lot of people journey to the wild lands near Kerasov in the warm season, I would rather stay clear of all of the northern towns. How about—here?" Marankeil said, pointing to a spot far north of the band of settlements. It held an unpopulated range of hills and mountains just south of a network of rivers that fed the Meraya River, one of many great waters that emptied into Lake Firien.
Ornenkai cast him a skeptical eye. The terrain of the territory he had indicated was too rugged for settlements and largely untraveled, except by herds of wild and potentially dangerous delochs and other predators. But he saw why Marankeil had made the suggestion. The territory was one of the least likely areas where a ship might have possibly landed. It seemed Marankeil was willing to put the search out of his mind and enjoy the outing.
For the past several days they had been hiking over hills shrouded by a thick fog of unusually damp air. Then a day before, the fog had finally given way to clearing skies, large white clouds, a fine early morning mist, and the crisp perfume of dew-touched flowers. The afternoon had warmed, and it had turned out to be a pleasant day, cooled by gentle breezes whispering in the tree branches.
They stopped in the small valleys below the tree line that separated the hills from each other, finding stony streams trickling down from the peaks and small cascading waterfalls that fed pools of crystal clear water. The ground was cold at night, but each day they found a dry area of undergrowth on which to rest. So far there had been no visible sign of the deloch herds and only a few old tracks of predatory animals near the large stream they had followed.
Then as they climbed higher into the rising mountains, the temperature began to fall. Ornenkai had been thinking about yileches, the water fowl that dominated the area. He had studied more of the well-known Kayrian and Tulorian creatures than those of his own planet, but he recognized one of the yileches before she scurried off to hide in the ferns. He knew only a few scientists who studied the elusive creatures of the northern territory, creatures that survived the long winters by remaining dormant in the frozen waters and secreting reviving enzymes at the beginning of the warm season in which they lived all of their waking lives, hunting, mating, and then preparing for the upcoming winter.
Without warning a glint of sunlight struck his eyes, and Ornenkai raised a hand to shield them, blinking furiously. He had been watching the stony path as he walked, only occasionally glancing further up the mountainside, but he looked up at once when he realized that the source of the light had been ahead.
But—wasn’t the sun behind them?
They had almost reached the summit of a high mountain when Ornenkai stopped, Marankeil only a few steps behind him. They had seen nothing unusual as they looked ahead, as though they had been blinded by an illusion; now the sudden light blinded them, drawing them towards the source.
High in the rugged mountain, glints of sparkling metal had suddenly shone through exposed patches in the hillside; grown over by grassy turf, the metal object beneath stretched almost half of a mile. Nestled in the uneven faces of the neighboring peaks, the smooth, curved side of a manmade vessel had long lent its shape to the hillside before them, though fallen soil, trees, and grass had gradually buried it. How long the ship had been buried, though, none but the stones could relate.
Thus the secrets of Enor had been lost.
Marankeil and Ornenkai searched for several hours over the wide, precipitous hill for an opening into the ship that had crashed at an angle into the cliff side.
"Do you think this was the vessel of the first comet riders?" Ornenkai wondered aloud, staring up the acclivity. Why had they not seen it until they were almost upon it? He wondered to himself as he stared at the smooth blue alloys of the outer hull, now closer than he had ever imagined, reminiscent of the shape of the swirling script of the first comet riders. Ornenkai could hardly contain his excitement that they might have actually found the Havens. But Marankeil didn't answer him.
Now Ornenkai had to admit to himself that until that moment on the hill, he hadn't been exactly sure what they were looking for. But perhaps the legendary Havens was in fact a spaceship, perhaps the comet rider's ship itself, and not some mythical settlement or city. Ornenkai had never heard of any but the long scrutinized ruins at Lake Firien, the ruins so many tales called the remains of the ancient starship of his ancestors.
Meanwhile, Marankeil had moved ahead, climbing, his hands and feet finding the interstices in the face of the cliff. At last he gave a shout, and Ornenkai hurried to follow, looking ahead to a rift in the hull under the shadow of a large tree growing from a small ledge above. Perhaps it was not the entrance they had sought, but Marankeil's smile made it clear that it was going to do.
Marankeil disappeared into the rift. A loud noise echoed up to Ornenkai, the sound of feet landing heavily on some hard surface.
"Be careful," Marankeil called. "There's a fifteen foot drop." Ornenkai stooped over the sharp curling lip of metal and braced himself for a fall. He landed on a cold, slanted surface. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior, but Marankeil was waiting for him.
"I twisted my ankle a little. Are you all right?" Ornenkai felt a hand on his arm help him to his feet and nodded. Marankeil's face became visible in the dark. "We're lucky," he added, gesturing to the surface beneath them. "This area is an open space between the interior and exterior hull, but whatever made the rift in the outer hull also created this floor we're standing on. Can you see the small hole in the interior hull above? We'll have to climb up the wall to get to it. It's slippery and steep, but if you hoist me on your shoulders, I can reach the top and pull you up after me."
Ornenkai nodded involuntarily. They walked several meters ahead until they neared the interior hull. Once Marankeil had reached the second rift, he hooked
his feet over the edge of the rift and reached out for Ornenkai's outstretched arms. The rift brought them out into the upper half of a wall in a human-sized corridor. Both of them jumped to the ground and collapsed on the floor, exhausted with the effort.
Suddenly the interior was illuminated.
Ornenkai blinked in amazement at the swirling design of blue alloys and mild blue lighting of two intersecting corridors. The mesmerizing walls gave the effect that the corridors were channels built under water. The patterns and atmosphere evoked by the soft lighting reminded Ornenkai of the ocean floor. Then they heard the soft sound of generators engaging.
"We should head into the innermost chambers," Marankeil suggested, his eyes already analyzing the corridor to their left.
At the end of the long corridor, past more than a dozen intersections and a hundred smaller doorways, they came into a large circular area with the same aquatic design as the corridor they had followed. On the floor several open man-sized metallic bottomed cylinders with tinted blue exteriors and swirling ornamental alloy designs had been arranged, spaced about three meters evenly apart, each on a raised dais. Ornenkai walked among the empty cylinders, peering curiously into them.
Marankeil had found a small alcove on the far end of the room. The sound of his footsteps drew Ornenkai's gaze from the cylinders. In the dim light, Ornenkai saw him sit behind an elevated platform on a kind of stool. Then he lifted a tinted rectangular piece of something that looked like blue silica. In his hands, the smooth, thin plate began to illuminate from within, igniting invisible words engraved in the very core of the plate.
Marankeil turned the piece sidelong for Ornenkai to get a better look as he entered the alcove. Lit panels covered the walls of the room that Ornenkai's instincts told him was some form of archives library. A few more plates lay on the platform as though someone had just put them aside. As Ornenkai got a better look at the platform, he saw that though it had appeared just a table from a distance, at close range he could see thousands of lit panels on its surface for any number of functions involved in data recording and retrieval.
Marankeil was already examining the words. Ornenkai sat next to him and gasped.
Though much was immediately indecipherable, like the plate the Firien archivist had held, a few of the triangular shapes and elliptical swirls immediately resolved into characters from their own Seynorynaelian alphabet. Many of them Ornenkai recognized from his childhood, when he and Marankeil had attempted to decipher some of the comet rider writings.
"That looks like the language of the first comet riders." Ornenkai commented, peering at one of the long inscriptions.
Like the plate still in Firien, these were the most rare symbols, found on only a few ancient writings. The lack of material had made it difficult for anyone to interpret them. Even Marankeil and Ornenkai had had far more success learning and deciphering the other syllabaries of the comet riders.
All the other documents we found—they must have been the words of comet riders that followed, Ornenkai realized. But it stands to reason, there would be fewer traces of the first comet riders left outside the Havens, if that’s really what we’ve found.
"We were close, Riliya," Marankeil interrupted the silence, reverting to Ornenkai's childhood name. "Some of these have been written in the second comet riders' alphabet—so they must have been one people! This might be the missing evidence, the missing key we needed to figure out the earlier symbols. This one that was lying here looks like it might help. Look—if you apply the equivalents that we determined from the repeating patterns, you can find words in the ancient Firien dialect..." Ornenkai focused on the patterns and allowed his mind time to translate.
"Something about an immortal woman? That can't be right—"
"To destroy the Empire... " Marankeil continued. "'The future... destiny... destroy the loop... nothing..."
"It sounds like a history," Ornenkai commented. "Maybe it was the end of their civilization."
"It could have been a prediction," Marankeil said thoughtfully. "The tense of the verbs is unclear, and it does speak of destiny, of the future."
"About our future?" Ornenkai wondered aloud. "Our fate maybe?”
“Our fate,” Marankeil echoed, suddenly distracted.
“But that bit about an Empire—that sounds like a historical reference. Creator above, though," Ornenkai continued, considering Marankeil's opinion, "I never heard about our ancestors coming from an Empire—so, so maybe it is a prediction... A dismal one, though, if there is to be nothing left."
"Wait a minute—it says something about a legacy that 'lives until the universe's end.'"
"Then you're right—it must be talking of the future," Ornenkai breathed, surprised, but Marankeil said nothing. "Do you think our ancestors were planning on creating an Empire when they came here?" he asked.
"I don't know, Ornenkai, but there's a map here lighting up at the bottom—a spiral galaxy and beside it a picture of a system with nine planets... “
“What? Where are you going?” Ornenkai asked as Marankeil began shuffling everything quickly, as though preparing to leave.
“We have to get these plates back to Ariyalsynai and give them a full analysis." Marankeil said, with a casual shrug.
"What about all of the other information that is stored here?" Ornenkai said.
"I already tried to see if the panels would respond to my touch when you were looking at the cylinders, but they don't. All I see is the plates that have been left out here."
Ornenkai picked up the other plate, but the words that appeared made little sense to him. Yet the postscript sent a shiver down his spine. The account had been a kind of personal diary, written in obscure characters, but it was signed in the ordinary ancient script of their ancestors, the name lost to time in the unknown letters, then the words "the Haven-master, last colonizer of Enor".
"You must swear, Ornenkai, by all that you cherish most, never to reveal to another living soul this place where we discovered the Enorian Havens. Anyone who finds out will destroy the place, you know that." Marankeil's unwavering eyes were fixed upon Ornenkai, and he felt as though the entire world waited listening for his answer, as though time had slowed and the very trees cried out in anguish as he uttered his oath, his words lost in the wind.
"I swear,” Ornenkai said, feeling very awkward and boyish making the pact out here in the light, like so many of the pacts they had made as children. But Marankeil seemed altogether serious, and Ornenkai felt his friend’s sincerity carry him along. “I’ll never disclose the location of the Havens." He said, and immediately he regretted it.
“Nor will I,” Marankeil spoke solemnly, looking back at the now distant hillside and its invisible secret.
The two had explored the open corridors in the Enorian Havens, but the sealed corridors and rooms would not let them pass. Only at the end of another long passage did doors open for them, but it was the air lock that led them to the outside world again, as though the Havens themselves had not welcomed them and were urgent to have them leave. The doors swished closed behind them with incredible speed but would not open again no matter how close they approached and how long they stood outside.
Ornenkai lingered on the hill, looking back longingly at the embodiment of his heritage, the last remnant of the ancient past that still kept so many secrets, but Marankeil had already hurried on ahead, eager to return to the city.