66
Fitzhugh
My first impulse after leaving sick bay on threeday had been to find Jiendra, but I quashed that with a modicum of common sense, such a quaint appellation for such a rare quality. The commander had summoned her, then hastened to Dr. DeLisle. That suggested that she had been dispatched on piloting duties.
I had attempted to determine what those duties entailed by checking the available options on my wall screen in my work space. That was infeasible, because all options had been blocked except for the sole view of the unchanging vista of Danann, slightly light-enhanced, but still a dark gray mass against the near blackness of the galactic void, filled with hazy ovoids, discs, spirals, and points of light that were distant galaxies, barely visible even with optic enhancement.
I could not locate her at any time on threeday. Nor could I ascertain the existence of any reference on the accessible sections of the ship system to potential enemies or any intention or indication to move the ship. At supper and breakfast on fourday, in the mess, there were scientists I had not seen in days, if not weeks. While the subject of a number of conversational interactions was the sudden required return to the ship and while all those who conversed did so in great detail and volume about the evacuation requirement, solid information was not forthcoming.
To me, that suggested a high probability that our situation was less than sanguine. Yet my own options for determining the verity of any of the varied surmises were nonexistent. I was but an abaculus in an enormous politi-comilitary mosaic.
In the end, I sat before the console and attempted both rational thought and analysis. What was it about Danann that had create such a maelstrom?
We had studied the remnants of an ancient culture, one that appeared both culturally and scientifically advanced. The expedition had been attacked by warships before we had even left the environs of Hamilton system, and there had been at least one and possibly two attempts at sabotage of which I was aware, and now a presumably hostile flotilla was approaching. Was the political and power balance between the various human governments that delicate?
To me, the irrationality was stupendous. Despite all the secretiveness associated with the mission, most of the major systems had learned of the expedition. If they could do that, then why didn’t they just wait and steal whatever the Comity learned? Space was big enough and technology application sufficiently capital-intensive that the Comity could not conceivably develop and implement whatever it learned before it could be stolen or copied. Equally important, the lessons of history strongly suggested that while highly advanced technology might provide a significant edge in armed conflict, it was not terribly useful in subduing large unfriendly populations. I was certain that the Comity understood that proposition. That suggested that at least some of the polities involved feared not subjection, but obliteration—or wished to do the obliterating themselves. That was also not rational, because, again, with the vastness of space, the energy and financial costs of undertaking such would bankrupt most systems, assuming that they could even master the alien technology.
Yet… rationality did not seem to be a significant concern of all those involved.
Why?
The only possible motivating factor had to be fear— fear that the alien technology was so superior, and so potentially deadly, that every polity wished it for itself or to deny it to all.
Was the Danannian technology that deadly? Had it been so destructive that Danann was all that was left?
I shook my head. That I found a difficult proposition to reconcile with what I had seen and studied. Yet… the questions remained. What had happened to the species that had constructed Danann and presumably Chronos?
My other question was far less universal. Where was Jiendra?
67
Barna
I was awake early on fourday. It was one of those times when mental visions of what I should paint and had not yet put on canvas or matrix flashed through my mind. I did a quick sketch of aliens—the visiting aliens, not the Danannians—attempting to batter through a tower door. The sketch was sheer fantasy, of course. We had even less idea of what they looked like than we did of the Danannians, but space armor can conceal much, and there ought to be at least a speculative sketch of the other species to seek out and explore Danann, even if it had been a million years earlier.
Then I finished the last touches of the work showing Liam Fitzhugh taking on the subverted stewards. His eyes were the hardest, because they were that hazel color that changes from light brown to green depending on the setting.
I waited until midmorning on Fourday before approaching Elysen’s work-space door. It was just slightly ajar. I could hear voices.
“… How did you get the images?”
“Chendor, of course. He thought I should see them.”
“He has better instincts than Kaitlin will credit him with. He found it, you know? She had trouble with that.”
“Kaitlin should know better. I will have a talk with her.”
When she talked in that tone, Elysen was no longer the kindly, tea-drinking, elder astronomer. I decided to knock. “Elysen?”
“Come in, Chendor.”
I closed the door behind me. I didn’t want any more eavesdropping. Lazar was standing. Elysen was in her chair. If possible, she looked more tired and frail than the night before. I tried to keep a pleasant smile on my face.
I’d seen Lazar on occasion, even sat at the same table at the mess. Up close he was bigger than I realized, with fine black hair that was cut short and clung to his skull, but he wasn’t quite as big as Liam Fitzgerald. Nor as dangerous. Lazar had pale white skin and gray eyes. His name fit him.
“I believe you know Cleon,” Elysen said.
I nodded slightly. “He’s been working with you, and the artifact confirms—or supports—whatever you two have theorized.”
“Supports. I have doubts that we will ever be able to prove the theory,” Lazar replied, “accurate as I believe it to be.”
“Why not?”
Elysen smiled, faintly. The grayness in her face held hints of blue. Her eyes were intent as she looked to the physicist.
“The universe has changed, and while we can determine that it has changed, that change is so basic that, although we may be able to theorize what conditions were like six to ten billion years ago, we may never have the technology to replicate those conditions, and thus prove that they in fact existed.”
That didn’t sound as insurmountable as Lazar made it out to be. “The Theory of Everything hasn’t ever been proven conclusively, has it?”
“No. It has never been disproven, and it seems to explain the universe… as we know it. What we’ve discovered may require revisions.”
“Then what’s the problem? Theories do get revised.”
Lazar looked almost embarrassed. He didn’t say anything.
“It’s clear to me,” I pointed out. “The Danannians were more advanced than we are. They built towers out of materials we can barely understand and can’t yet duplicate. The buildings responded to their wishes or commands both inside and out. They built an enormous advanced city for one project or purpose. They sculpted an entire planet for the sake of that city.”
“Just tell him, Cleon, or I will.”
“They were Type III plus. They created another universe and moved a whole galaxy—albeit a smaller one—into it.” Lazar rushed through the words, spitting them out, one after the other. Then he looked at me. His expression was almost defiant.