Avery spoke to one of the Adar guards on the gate and was directed to the meeting hall where they were directed to sit in one of the cubicles.
“Our world’s dying while we sit here,” Bill pointed out.
“I know that as well as you do, Dr.,” the admiral replied, tartly, and Bill remembered that he had started off life as a “nuke,” working the ballistic submarine fleet. His remarkable ability at languages had been put to use later. The admiral, in his own way, was a warrior, a man who had carried a key that could lead to the extermination of millions of lives and who had run the risk on every deployment of having to use it.
“But,” the admiral added, more thoughtfully, “the longer we sit here, I suspect, the better.”
“Why?” Bill asked.
“If we’d been received immediately, we would have gotten, at most, Tchar,” the admiral said. “If we’re being kept waiting it’s because someone who can discuss policy is being summoned and briefed.”
Bill shrugged, then pulled out a calculator and started tapping keys.
It had been a four-hour ride from McCoy to France in another F-15. Bill was logging up some serious hours in that jet at this point. Then a brief ride by helicopter; one had been waiting with the rotors already turning when he landed. By the time he got to the gate, the news had worsened. Huge areas around the gates had been opened by the Titcher and, in those where the areas were in view from a safe distance, the Titcher “fungus” was already spreading. Even if he closed the gates, it might be too late to save the world.
Finally, after an interminable wait that turned out to be all of twenty minutes, another Adar came to the cubicle and waved for them to follow. They were taken to the same meeting room that had been used during their previous, less hurried, visit. Tchar was waiting for them and so, to Bill’s relief, was the unnamed artass.
“Tchar,” Bill said, inclining his head.
Tchar spoke hurriedly to the admiral who shook his head.
“They’ve already been informed of the breakout,” Avery translated. “They ask if you think it’s possible to stop the Titcher.”
“I’m not the Army Chief of Staff,” Bill replied. “But the frank answer is: no.”
“Why then are you here?” Avery translated. “Do you seek shelter for your people? Our foods cannot be mutually consumed. There is no way that we can support many of you on this side. If you, yourself, and a few others wish to flee, that can be granted.”
“No,” Bill said, “I’ve come for help. I have spoken to God, as you told me to, and he has told me that there is a way to break the gates. But it requires a large amount of quarks, free quarks. We have figured out a way to produce them, but not enough and not in time. I am hoping that you have such a way, such a weapon. I think you do.”
“And if you get such a weapon, even supposing we have it, what would you do with it?” Tchar asked.
“There is one gate I believe possible to retake,” Bill answered. “I would use it on that gate. It should shatter the entire fractal, if the math is right. At the very least it will shut all the gates, giving us time to retake them and set up more effective defenses at each. But, again, my understanding is that it will turn them off, perhaps more.”
The artass suddenly leaned forward, examining Bill with the single eye in his forehead. He peered at him for a moment, then spoke.
“You say you have spoken to God,” Avery translated. “What did he say.”
“To cut matter to the smallest form it becomes, when it will no longer cut because it is light, it is water. That is the secret of the gates,” Bill answered, staring back.
“And if I told you we had tried this method and failed?” the artass asked.
“I’d say you didn’t use enough,” Bill replied. He turned back to Tchar and nodded. “I think I should add something. When the Titcher take our planet, they will gain access to the bosons already generated and the boson generator. That means any bosons you make will be potential gates. You could find yourself in the same predicament we are.”
Tchar didn’t answer, just sat looking at Avery. Nor did he turn his head to the artass.
“Please,” Bill said, looking at the artass, now. “In the name of all that is holy, in the name of God, please. Help us.”
The artass looked at him out of both side eyes then said a word.
“I don’t recognize that one,” Avery said. “Artune a das? There are some similarities to other words. Destroyer of Small Things?”
“There is a device,” Tchar said, abruptly standing up. “Come with me.”
He led them out of the building to a rank of small cars, somewhat like golf carts. All four piled in one and then he put it in gear.
Bill had previously seen the Adar drive but had never been in any of their vehicles. The thing looked like a golf cart and was open on all sides but it drove like a Ferrari. He held on for dear life as Tchar, who apparently considered this no more than normal, rocketed across the compound and around a series of buildings. Pedestrians, clearly, did not have the right of way and he nearly smashed some poor human that had never heard of Adar driving techniques.
They stopped at the base of the mountains that half ringed the site where there was an open corridor leading into the mountain.
Tchar and the artass led the way; the guards at the entrance, which had the sort of blast doors Bill had only seen at a very few military installations, stood aside at their approach, saluting cross armed in the Adar way.
“I would be delighted to figure out who the artass is,” Avery whispered as they strode down the tile-lined corridor. It was sloped downward, with several doglegs, heading deep into the bowels of the mountain.
“I am K’Tar’Daoon,” the artass said in very clear English. “The Unitary Council is composed of nine members, each with their own separate area of responsibility. We do not break it out the same way that you humans do. I would be something like your secretary of high technology defense. I am currently the rotating head of the Unitary Council.”
“Holy crap,” Bill whispered, then realized that the question had not been translated. “Sorry.”
“You said that you spoke to God,” the artass replied. “And I sensed no lie in you. You are a fortunate man to have been able to speak to God, twice. Such a person does not deserve to die at the hands of the Titcher.” He paused in front of a blast door and made a complicated hand gesture. “On the other hand, the philosopher/scientist Edroon pointed out that alliances are based upon mutual need as well as friendship. Your point about the Titcher taking your planet was well timed.” There were guards in front of this door, as well, and Bill considered them to be nervous. It was hard to read body language among an alien species, but they didn’t look very happy.
The artass placed a hand on a pad and then leaned his forehead on a curved plate. This placed his center eye against the plate and Bill suspected something like a retina scan was being conducted. As the artass leaned back the door swung ponderously open.
It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the last door to be accessed. There were a total of four, the last requiring that two more Adar, who were awaiting them, give their identity and approval.
When the last door was opened it revealed a small room with shelves along one wall. There were several devices on the shelves, including one long line of what looked like small artillery shells. On the opposite wall was a vault which the artass opened by a combination. It was the first nonelectronic security device Bill had seen.
The artass pulled a box from the vault and then closed it. But Bill got a glimpse in the vault and saw that there were two more. The vault was, otherwise, empty.
The two stranger Adar were standing to one side as the artass came out with the box. They, too, looked strangely nervous, turning their head from side to side to watch the box that the artass carried, with apparent indifference, by one of two handles placed at either end.