The problem was that Bris Torputus was old, very old, so old that she had stopped keeping track some years before and no longer considered the matter to be worthy of her attention. What did merit her attention were the Tomes of Truth, all three of which had been laid on the makeshift table that occupied the center of the room.
First came the Book of Yesterdays, which described the gods, their powers, and areas of influence. Then came the Book of Nows, a history of sorts, that started with the creation of the great armada and would end when the Thraki did. Finally came the Book of Tomorrows, prophecy mostly, some of which had proven to be eerily accurate. Unlike the first two volumes, which were available to everyone, the Book of Tomorrows was restricted to members of the priesthood who were sworn to secrecy regarding its contents.
Each volume was a work of art. Rather than rely on transcriptions carried out by others, Torputus did her own translations, many of which were more accurate than those most of the priesthood had come to use. Each page of each tome bore drawings, designs, and marginalia executed by her own hand, and paid for with her failing vision.
The task, which had been given to Torputus as punishment for an offense she could no longer remember, had grown to consume her every waking moment. Considered to be something of an eccentric, and of little use to the hierarchy, she’d been sent to serve the colonists. The tomes accompanied her. Now, as her days dwindled to a precious few, the priestess could no longer carry out the work herself, but was forced to rely on her carefully programmed form, which, truth be told, had a finer hand than she did, was willing to work around the clock, and never complained. She watched the spider shaped robot dip a brush into some pigment and apply it to a grim visage. Was it the great god Hoonara? Yes, the priestess thought so, but knew her eyes had a tendency to betray her Especially from so far away. The knock came softly—and Torputus knew who it was. Ironically, it was the human who understood her best, who realized the importance of her work, and spent hours at her side. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Come in.”
The door, which had once been part of a clone cargo container, and still bore the legend, “Rations Ready To Eat,” creaked on makeshift hinges. Nogosek went to the female’s side, located a hand, and held it in her own. She was good at languages and spoke without the aid of a translation device. “I brought a visitor, Sister Torputus—just as I said that I would.”
“He believed you?”
“I haven’t told him yet... but I will.”
“He must come to believe you,” the Thraki whispered urgently, “or many will die.”
“Yes,” the xenoanthropologist said gently, “I know.”
Nogosek released the oldster’s hand and turned to Booly. He seemed relaxed, but she could read his thoughts. “Show me something—and make it soon.”
The academic looked at McGowan who nodded encouragingly. The key. Nogosek thought to herself, is to hook him, and follow with the facts, or, what the facts seemed to be. She motioned toward the table.
“I came hoping to study Thraki culture. They are polytheistic, which makes religion extremely important. The books are the basis of their religion. One of those volumes, the Book of Tomorrows, contains the following passage: “And our people will settle a new world. Some will call it home, and wish to stay there, while others will point to the stars, and the menace that follows. Beware of those who call them selves friends, for they may attack, or align themselves with the menace. Run if you can, but failing that, call on the twins,”
Booly wondered if the word “menace” referred to the Sheen. The quote was interesting if so—but hardly worth the trip. He glanced at McGowan. She nodded as if to say “Hang in there.” The legionnaire tried to sound interested. “So, who are the twins?”
“Not who” the academic replied, “but what. Step over to the table, and I’ll show you.”
The floor was made of compacted dirt and felt slightly uneven. The tomes lay open, and the officer admired a beautifully illuminated page while Nogosek accessed the Book of Tomorrows. She knew what to look for and touched Booly’s arm. “Here, take a look.”
The officer turned. The text was illegible, to him at least, but the picture was quite riveting. The hand drawn, hand colored illustration was very realistic, and, thanks to the way it had been done, seemed to glow from within. What he saw were two golden cradles. Both had been decorated with beautifully executed scrollwork and rested on the same platform. Of more importance, however, were the bright metal tubes that the structures supported. The cylinders might have functioned as storage tanks, pressure chambers, or something equally mundane. But the soldier in Booly knew what they were. The twins were weapons. Weapons so special, so powerful, they had acquired religious significance. Nogosek saw Booly’s expression and nodded. “That’s correct, General, either one of the twins could destroy an entire fleet.”
Booly raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“By releasing the sort of energy trapped within a black hole. Not in a gradual or controlled way—but all at once. On demand.”
The legionnaire tried to imagine something that powerful but wasn’t sure he could, or even needed to, since the matter was obviously hypothetical. “So, what are you trying to tell me? That the beings who wrote the book believe that such weapons will exist one day?”
“No,” Nogosek replied patiently. “They exist now. The
Thraki have them.”
Booly was skeptical “No offense, Doctor, but how do you know that?”
“Because Sister Torputus saw them with her own eyes,” Nogosek replied, “and belonged to the elite team assigned to guard and maintain them. That was more than thirty years ago, but there’s no reason to think that the weapons disappeared.”
Booly looked up to find that, dim though they might be, the oldster’s eyes were locked with his. Something, he wasn’t sure what, drew the officer to her side. Nogosek followed and served as translator. “So, tell me Mother of Mothers,” Booly said, unconsciously reverting to the form of address reserved for Naa grandmothers, “is the doctor correct? Do your people have such weapons?”
The reply was faint. “Yes, the twins exist, though only the priesthood is aware of them.”
“But why?” Booly asked gently. “Why run for hundreds of years when such weapons were available?
And why tell me?”
There was a pause while Nogosek translated and Torputus struggled to get her breath. “There were long periods of time when no one beyond initiates such as myself was even aware that the twins were among us. On other occasions, when all seemed to be at risk, those who needed to know were told. But the Runners ruled back then, and, thanks to the fact that their power came from running, they were reluctant to call on such weapons. Battles were fought and sometimes lost. The twins slept on.”
The priestess made a wheezing sound and gestured with her hand. Nogosek placed an oxygen mask over the oldster’s face, waited while she took three deep breaths, and pulled it away. “The reason I am telling you is because things have changed .. . The Facers have come to power—and may decide to fight.”
Booly shrugged. “So? Perhaps they should. If the Facers destroy the Sheen, then so much the better.”
“No,” the oldster said sternly, “there is more. An entire paragraph that the original translators chose to omit from die Book of Tomorrows. It read: ‘Know, however, that the twins may turn on you, may attack those who gave them life, leaving nothing but tears.’ There is no way to know why the passage was left out. An error perhaps—or part of some plot. It makes no difference. Take the information. Give it to my people. Save them from themselves.”