Other excited Rigulians gathered around him, floating in their customary vats, gesticulating and talking in an unknown language. Two menacing-looking spheres surrounded by a green mist floated nearby, pointing their strange devices at him—were they laser lenses? The lower part of the spheres was actually made from a mud vat like those carrying the aliens, on top of which was screwed a shiny white cap.
The display in the sleeve of his spacesuit detected frantic scans from all sorts of advanced devices.
In the end, it appeared that the aliens had reached a conclusion because the Rigulian made a sign to follow him. He went into a spacious room, which lacked almost any furnishings except a floating table display, a giant display wall, and a small white sphere. Gill had seen such spheres in his Grammian ship, but he hadn’t managed to activate them. The same spheres had escorted the Federals when they landed on Alixxor’s western fields.
“I’m Egar 9, the medir of this ship,” said the Federal who led him from the entrance, pointing with self-importance at the broad silver ring he was wearing on a bony spike of his shoulder. “Who are you?” he asked in nearly fluent Antyran—the sounds coming from the floating sphere.
“I’m Gillabrian, archivist of the Antyra’s Shindam. I’m Antyran.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” replied the Rigulian. “And by which circumstances are you driving one of the Galactic Federation ships?” he asked, throwing him a sharp gaze.
“Federal vessel? I thought it was Grammian!” Gill exclaimed.
“Grammia is one of the Federal worlds.”
“Our prophet had captured me and sent me onboard. I escaped and took it from the Grammians inside…”
The Rigulian looked at him, puzzled, hardly able to believe what he just heard. He checked the display table next to him, and his puzzlement grew even more.
“You’re chased by the Antyran Ruler?”
“Yes, I ha—”
“How did you dispose of the Grammians on the ship?” he asked coldly, cutting Gill off. His voice didn’t sound friendly at all. On the contrary, it had the smack of a martial inquiry.
“Um… well, I was captured… and tied to a neural probe,” he babbled an incoherent explanation, surprised by the Rigulian’s hostility. “I managed to escape and—”
“Have you done any harm to them? You killed them?”
“I had to…”
“You killed them!” the Rigulian exclaimed after looking again at the table.
Egar turned to the Corbelian sphere and ordered something. Right away, two armed spheres burst into the room.
“You are more dangerous than we thought! You stole a ship of the Federation and killed its crew! From now on, you may consider yourself arrested. Don’t move without my permission!”
“I can explain everything!”
“Put the device from your right arm on this table!” he ordered, pointing to the floating table display. “Move slowly if you want to live. Unlike the poor Grammians, we are very good at killing!”
Without a word, Gill took off his bracelet and threw it angrily on the table screen.
“What a strange bracelet. Is it Antyran?” exclaimed Egar 9, astounded, looking at the messages scrolling on the display table. What an amazing technology! It’s… blocking the scanner! Seems to hold antimatter—you used this to capture the Grammian ship?”
“It’s a Sigian bracelet.”
“Huh, Sigian! Sigia is the ancient name of the Grammians, and believe me: the Grammians don’t have such technology! Why don’t you say the truth instead?”
“Why don’t you look at your display instead, to see if I lie?” Gill exploded, feeling a wave of rage at the wall of prejudice raised up by the Rigulian. The medir—whatever that meant—didn’t seem to be really smart… at least not the way that a member of an advanced civilization was supposed to be.
The Rigulian looked at the table and then back at him, confounded.
“It seems you believe it, indeed, but you’re wrong. Grammia is the same thing as Sigia. Our first contact was—”
“One thousand two hundred and fifty years ago, close to Antyra, which on that date was hidden in a distortion,” Gill said, finishing the rest of the sentence.
“How do you know that?” the medir asked him, intrigued.
“You came to Antyra to find out how we hid in the distortion.”
“And I suppose you’re going to tell me?” he asked, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
“The Grammians locked us in one thousand two hundred and fifty years ago after they destroyed the Sigian civilization. They hid Antyra in a wall of fire.”
“Right,” Egar 9 scoffed, “the Grammians, the invaders of the stars.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t laugh like that,” Gill said, interrupting his exuberance. “You don’t even know who you are dealing with!”
“For your information, Antyran, Grammia is the most peaceful world in the galaxy; they don’t have the word war in their dictionary! It’s a world shielded from the madness of technology—no army, no security, no crimes or other violence. What nerve you have to butcher the poor defenseless Grammian ambassadors and say such… outrageous lies!”
It was like someone had hit him in his head spikes, leaving him speechless. He finally glimpsed the staggering web of lies woven by the so-called Antyran gods—and especially the way they did it.
Gill’s frightening supposition that Antyra wasn’t the only distortion created by the enemies of the Sigians was confirmed by the naïve ignorance of the Rigulian in front of him. Gill imagined Grammia contacting the Federation instead of Sigia some 1,250 years ago while, one by one, the stars of their worlds disappeared in the folds of the continuum, unnoticed and unbeknownst to anyone—that is, if they weren’t already camouflaged during the Sigian war.
Maybe the ruins of the Sigian civilization were hidden from the Federal eyes in the same way. Maybe a huge Grammian war machine, hidden from view, grew like a dolmec infestation, building… who knows what! And during all this, the Grammians probably established colonies on some insignificant planet to fool everyone with their “pacifism.”
“I su-suppose you will let me tell my story,” Gill said, his mouth dry.
“I’m begging you,” Egar 9 replied sarcastically. “I can’t wait to hear more of your lies!”
Just when Gill was about to start his tale, the white floating sphere flickered.
“We’re called by our Grammian allies,” Egar exclaimed, grinning broadly. “They’ll be grateful to learn we arrested the criminal who killed their brethren!”
But instead of the Grammians, the hologram of an Antyran materialized in the room.
“Great Baila,” babbled Egar 9, surprised by the apparition. “How… how do you use a Corbelian sphere? Where did you get it?” he exclaimed, completely forgetting the requirements of the addressing protocol.
“Medir Egar 9,” the prophet began, directly addressing the Rigulian and without looking at Gill, “your ship is hosting a dangerous Antyran who belongs to me. I request his immediate transfer on one of the Grammian ships, to be brought back to Antyra!”
“Your Greatness, we figured out he is a notorious murderer. Right now, we’re interrogating him, and I want to talk to my Grammian colleagues to—”
“No need for that. I want him transferred now!”
“But…”
“I won’t take no for an answer!” he barked.
Egar 9 changed his color from green to bright orange, more offended than surprised to receive orders from someone he considered to be a primitive. He turned to the Corbelian sphere and shouted:
“Rico 3, inject the serums, and bring the ambassador here. It’s an order!”
He turned to Baila’s hologram.
“Great Baila, we believe the Antyran killed a number of Grammians, who are, as you know, members of our Federation. We have to clarify the problem with them before handing him over to Antyra.”