CHAPTER 1
You, who dwelleth in my home,
repose in sanguine mind.
You, whose heart strikes out alone,
beware a world unkind.
- Verse 24, The Song of T'Chen,
From the Maiden Scroll, 211.2
"As I do you," she answered softly, "Now
let us be homeward, my love. Our world
is long away and I wish to hold you once again under skies more familiar and
kind."
Siverelle's visage faded from the screen. Sarwin Kliat Aria let his gaze loiter on the
darkening viewer. Though her image had
vanished, he could yet picture her face in his inner eye. His wife's beauty, vivid and elegant, always
quickened his breath, even now after so many years together. He sighed deeply as he recalled being in her
arms, just hours before. He could yet
savor her intoxicating scent, which lingered about him still. He reached out, placed his gray hand upon
the unlit monitor, and spread all three of his long fingers wide upon it. Though he could not possibly see, he felt
she did the same at that very moment, as if their fingertips could touch and
bridge the blank gulf of space between them.
He dropped his hand and could now see his own refection
in the glossy, dark display where his wife's comely image had been seconds
before. He sneered at his likeness,
thinking it a crude substitute for the face the screen had earlier
projected. His wife's skin was
elegantly green and flawlessly mellifluous; stunning, even by the standards of
her aristocratic race. His was gray and
leathery, clearly betraying his lowborn status. He stared for a moment into the black, vertical pupils that
bifurcated his large, yellow eyes.
Then, with a short snort of disgust, he turned away. He moved to a nearby window and let his gaze
free upon the infinite starscape outside his ship.
Sarwin reached up and stroked the polished wedding locket
that dangled on a chain from his neck.
It was of the type that had become traditional in his culture. It had the conventional shape of a heart, as
antique custom ordained. Unlike simpler
lockets of old, however, these contemporary renderings glowed softly whenever a
matched pair were brought closely together, hence a consort might always know
when its mate was nearby. In most,
there could also be stored holographic images of spouse and family. Sarwin’s amulet was dark now because his
wife, over a mile away on her own ship, was too far distant to animate the
charm. It warmed him to ponder that he
would soon see its tranquil glow again.
Sarwin breathed in deeply and the usually metallic air of
the spaceship tasted sweet as any springtime breeze. It amazed him that she loved him as much as she did. She was of the first order, a Priat, a
noble-matron of the old blood. She had
been born into wealth and power and had the choice of many males from her own
caste. Yet, she had chosen him to be
her only. He was a mere Ordinary, born
into a middle class existence of limited options and mediocre destiny.
Yes, he was special.
He could admit that to himself now, though to do so he had to stave off
the insecurities that a lifetime of repression brought about. His caste and his gender had been great
weights to bear. No mere male should
have achieved what I have, he thought, or so he had been raised to
believe. The slight grin that broke his
leathery face was not without a hint of self-satisfaction. And certainly not an Ordinary male!
He had fought hard to break the bindings of his
birthright and excelled in the universities beyond the aspirations of any Priat
female. There was no denying his
achievements. In only his twenty-third
year, he had graduated as Foremost from the Kreslar, the most prestigious
academy in the World. He was only the
second male ever to do so and the very first from the Ordinary caste. But all this was long ago and time had since
wandered on, as it always did.
"Diametric drives now charged to one hundred percent
capacity. Chronofield linkages
enabled." The perpetually pleasant
voice of his ship's computer brought him back to the present. "Mass inversion field engaged. Chronoleap threshold in nine minutes. Please verify intent to proceed," it
continued.
Sarwin focused his mind on the navigation panel,
generating the requisite brain wave patterns and the console sprang to life at
the invisible command. He had
specifically designed his ships to respond to precise brain wave commands for
all the critical systems. Thus, if a
ship were to accidentally fall into the wrong hands during a trip back in time,
its captors would have no means to operate it.
The panel projected a miniature holographic image of his
small fleet of eight ships in perfect formation around the huge asteroid, like
a string of silver beads gracefully encircling the rocky behemoth. The computer generated the image because
from his current vantage point only the two ships closest to his, those on
either side, were visible to him in a direct line of sight. The others were hidden beyond the jagged
horizons of the titanic space-berg they encircled.
Each ship had a single occupant and Siverelle was
piloting one of them, one of the two closest to his own. The monitor displayed summary data on the
status of his tiny armada and would give any detail he asked. He did not bother looking deeper
though. The computer would notice
anything wrong by even the smallest degree and would alert him promptly.
His mind could not possibly monitor all the innumerable
details of what was about to transpire.
They were about to violate space and time itself; to assault the very
fabric of the universe. The few factors
that his limited, organic mind could oversee were woefully inadequate to the
task. The computer was far more suited
to the endeavor.
"Verified," he answered.
The hologram vanished and he turned his attention to the
harsh, pitted surface of the asteroid.
So close was he to it, that it seemed a vast, forbidding wall before
him. It had no real color and he could
not make out any pleasing shapes among the many peaks and valleys. Even the pockmarked surface of the World’s
own moon was a more appealing sight. It
had taken two of his ships the better part of their sojourn in this age to drag
this giant rock sunward from its natural orbit. As with most asteroids, it circled the sun much farther out, in a
great belt of debris that clustered between the fourth planet; the tiny red
world of Brekkan; and the huge fifth planet, the gas giant Garen Pel Tor, which
was the largest of the solar system's nine planets. The name of the latter meant "Eye of the Infidel" in
the ancient tongue, because of the great red spot that marked the liquid world.
Yet to Sarwin, the asteroid before him seemed the more
baleful stellar body. Something about
it frightened him in a way he could only barely perceive, as if the gloomy
stone harbored some malignant force that lurked menacingly among the tormented
crevasses. I need this rock to get
home, he thought. Its enormous mass
would provide the push his ship's time engines needed to spring them back to
the future age from which they had come.
They had towed this asteroid closer to the sun so that it
would be warmed to the temperature range best suited for the chronoleap. If left far out in the icy realm of its
natural orbit, it would have been too cold to form an effective inversion
field. It could be done, but the risk
of disaster was increased exponentially.
One had to slice into space-time with a scalpel, not punch through it
with a fist. The calculations involved
in opening a door to infinity were immeasurably complex. His team had carefully chosen this rock for
its roundness and its high metal content.
Once they had towed it to this place, just outside the primitive World’s
orbit, they set it into a spin, so its surface would be warmed as quickly and
equally as possible.
"Six minutes to threshold," announced the
computer. Sarwin turned to another
window. Once the threshold was reached,
he knew, there was no turning back.
Thus, he decided to take a moment to say farewell to the world they had
spent the last three weeks observing, the planet third-most distant from the
sun. From this distance, it looked very
much like the World he knew; a brilliant blue orb, bedaubed with white that
streaked and swirled whimsically around the disk.
Looking closer, however, things were not as they should
be. Instead of the familiar outline of
five continents and seven seas that every saurian knew, there was only a
single, great continent that dominated an entire hemisphere. The other side was mostly engulfed in a vast
ocean. Moreover, the white caps of the
poles were far smaller than those of his familiar, future World.
Sarwin knew if one were to peer closer still, this planet
would appear even more outlandish. On
the lands of that vast continent, in the depths of that unfathomable sea, and
in the boundless skies above it all; there walked, crawled, swam and flew the
most wonderful and horrific creatures one could imagine. There were colossal lizards that shook the
land with each lumbering step; far larger than any Sarwin knew from his own
time. Sleek reptiles soared the azure
firmament on wings that could nearly match his ship in span.
Amid all these exotic creatures, there existed one tiny
and easily overlooked species, which Sarwin's band had spent most of their time
here studying. A lithe, bipedal reptile
that ate smaller animals and which spent most of its short life hiding in the
shadows of the greater lizards that ruled this realm. But this frail creature, though small in body was vast in
intellect, at least by the standards of its day. In time, Sarwin believed, this creature would evolve and become
saurian. It would come to master this
world, subjugating the beasts that it had so long feared. Finally, Sarwin had indisputable, physical
proof of that. Sample DNA from the
creatures showed a clear link to modern saurians from Sarwin's age. He was bringing plenty of it back with him
to attest that the theory of evolution was true.
Of course, there were those who fanatically believed
otherwise. The T'Chen temple, as well
most of the minor churches, long opposed to the notion of saurians having
evolved from a lesser species, tried to stop this expedition from ever taking
place. They had almost succeeded. They had many conservative sympathizers in
the senate and all of Sarwin's funding had to be secured from private parties
to make this journey possible at all.
It took perseverance, luck and ultimately a bit of deception to bring
about this voyage, but it had been well worth it.
Still, there were those militant ones who swore to stop
it at any cost. Some shouted. Some marched. They shook their holy Scrolls in the air. A few went so far as to set themselves
aflame in the plazas of the great temples.
But it was not these tumultuous zealots that Sarwin feared.
It was the quiet ones.
Those whose self-righteous rage seethed behind false pacifist facades,
but who in shadowy rooms contrived clandestine plots of utter savagery to
further what they saw as the good of their cause. About a month before their departure, one such desperate soul
blew herself up, taking with her one of Sarwin's ships and three of his
friends. Sarwin himself was to have
been there, doubtless her primary target, but a chance delay in his arrival had
saved him. Surviving eyewitnesses said
her last act was to cry out "T'Chen tala forshick pruthon" before
delivering herself and her victims unto her beloved goddess.
T’Chen is the all and the only. His mind translated the old Farian words, the sacred tongue of
the elders. Sarwin curled his lip in
distaste. That they believed T'Chen
created all saurians in her own image, he had no argument. That they were willing to die to promote
this belief, he cared little. But that
they would drag innocents along to their afterlife soured him deeply. They preached the universal love of T'Chen,
yet carried disdain and death to those who dared glance away from her Scrolls.
"One minute to threshold," reminded the
computer. Sarwin glanced one last time
at the blue planet, which spun through a universe as complex and mysterious now
as it was when T'Chen herself walked upon it.
It was strange to think of her time being so long ago. From his current standpoint in this distant
past, she would not even be born for countless eons hence. This planet would circle the sun sixty-five
million more times before it became the World on which Sarwin and every other
sentient saurian would be born.
"Final countdown," announced the computer,
"Six seconds to chronoleap threshold." Sarwin sat in his chair and began to fasten the restraints. If done right, time travel was a smooth
ride, but he was always prudent. It had
gotten him this far.
"Five seconds," interjected the computer. Sarwin tugged the harness snug about his
abdomen and returned his attention to the view port. He never grew tired of watching the initiation of the trip; how
the time slippage twisted light into forms and colors not seen in nature
unbroken.
"Four seconds." He watched as the inversion field began to take shape around the
great rock, shimmering over its inky surface like summer heat on a tarred roof.
"Three seconds." The stars themselves now began to blur and distort, becoming
streaks of many colors as the threshold closed upon them. The blue planet they were leaving behind
grew hazy.
"Two seconds."
In a flash that made Sarwin wince, the universe inverted in upon
itself. The celestial black now
appeared brilliant and the stars seemed like infinite dark pinholes perforating
the radiant cosmos.
"One second."
Sarwin felt it now. Time was
pulling at him once again. The whole of
his body felt electrified, yet somehow benumbed as well. "Chronoleap initiation sequence
successful. Transport in process,"
calmly reported the computer, oblivious to any excitement.
The heavens fell in upon themselves and convoluted in
ways the eye could not follow. It
reminded Sarwin of a capricious drawing he had once seen, in which a fanciful
staircase spiraled upwards, only to somehow connect again where it had begun. He closed his eyes to spare himself the
pain. The mind instinctively tries to
perceive order in chaos, but in this region between the clock hands, it was
infinitely overmatched.
He recalled how he tried to watch the entire trip through
during his first voyage, only to be rewarded with a migraine that lasted for
weeks. This time, he daydreamed
blissfully of his welcome home banquet with his entire family gathered about
him.
Sarwin felt a great sense of relief that this mission had
gone so smoothly and was now all but over.
He had been so worried in the months before their leaving for this
expedition. The anomalous omen of their
departure date had haunted him.
Year 5456.
Month of Cartoth. Day five. Seventeenth hour.
Why couldn't he travel forward in time beyond it? The question had gnawed at his mind. It had mocked his intellect. But perhaps, in the end, it was nothing. All had gone well and he would be home
soon. Arriving back the very moment he
had left.
Year 5456.
Month of Cartoth. Day five. Seventeenth hour.
He sighed again and his thoughts returned to Siverelle,
as they most often did. A vacation was
in order for them, he thought to himself; a nice long vacation. He laid his head back upon its rest and
waited to be home.
"Warning.
Imbalance detected," the computer announced, so nonchalantly that
the words took a moment to register in Sarwin’s dreaming mind. "Chronoleap field distorting," the
machine continued blandly, as if it were announcing lunch. Shaken from his languid state, panic pierced
Sarwin’s chest like a lance. He had
heard those words before only in simulations.
This was not a good time for something to go
wrong... Not a good time at all. "What's happening?" he shouted at
the walls, "Initiate corrections immediately!"
"Unable to comply with command," the machine
replied, "Ship number three has moved out of formation under manual
control. Unable to reestablish
auto-pilot."
Number three, thought Sarwin. That’s Etyiam’s ship!
"Show me!" he commanded.
Instantly, a hologram of the asteroid appeared, the ships
of his fleet appearing as blinking lights in a circle around it. All of the lights were yellow except one,
which flashed menacingly blue, the universal color of trouble among his
people. The saffron lights were all in
position, spread equidistant from one and other, but the blue link in the chain
was moving out of its assigned place and accelerating quickly toward the golden
link labeled as ship number one.
She’s heading right for me, Sarwin realized. Only Siverelle’s ship stood between Etyiam's
craft and his own, but he could see she intended to bypass Siverelle and was
coming straight for him. Sarwin
pictured Etyiam in his mind. She was
his student assistant, whom the Senate had demanded Sarwin bring on this
journey so she could act as an official observer for the church. Just yesterday, as they were preparing to
depart, she had surprised him by asking him if he loved her. Sarwin was so caught off guard and
embarrassed by the question that he had reacted awkwardly, telling Etyiam that
he was in love with Siverelle and had eyes for no other. Etyiam took his rejection badly and spoke
not a word to him since. What is she
trying to do? he wondered. Kill me?
She’ll kill us all!
"T'Chen tala forshick pruthon!" came her
answer, crackling over the speakers as if she had somehow heard his silent
question. "Death to you, Yeetas,
and carry your lies to hell with you!"
This in the modern tongue.
Sarwin could hear in the words her rage and fear. A quick brain wave pulse opened his
transmitter. "Etyiam, please! Don’t do this. We’ll all die. If you
want me, fine, but let’s discuss it on the other side. Let the others live. If you move back into position right now we
just might be able to..."
Her screeching curse cut him off. It was in the old tongue again and he
couldn’t quite make it out. Something
about his mother being a mammal.
Sarwin sat frozen.
He didn’t know what to do. He
could move his own ship to evade her impending ram, but that would throw what
remained of the chronofield into even greater chaos. He didn’t know what would happen with the field so
corrupted. In simulations, the
variables proved so infinite that no reliable predictions were possible. Now the speakers were filled with the shouts
of his other pilots screaming for instructions. Sarwin could hear Kleesic, his second in command, screaming at
him to move his ship. Only Siverelle
was silent.
"Ship number two now moving out of position under
manual control," said the computer, but it stirred Sarwin from his
dumbfounded stupor like a slap in the face.
Siverelle! He watched as
her ship turned from yellow to blue on the holographic display and began moving
to intercept Etyiam’s ship, which was just about to pass her.
"Siverelle! Noooo!" Sarwin shouted at the projection, then
turned to look out the view port toward the closing ships. Looking into the time slip made his retinas
ache, like he was peering through someone else’s eyeglasses, but he had to see.
Siverelle’s saucer was rocking straight for
Etyiam’s. Sarwin shouted and clawed at
the glass in vain. He wanted to tear
through the hull and swim though space to her.
Her lone, quiet reply drifted in like the first cool zephyr of autumn;
sensual and sweet, but chilling as well.
"Get them home, my love.
Remember me."
The two ships intersected. Even here, where physical law was stood on its head, two objects
could not peaceably share the same space at the same time. Etyiam’s ship split in half as Siverelle
rammed its keel, then blew apart, sending countless flaming fragments spinning
toward the surface of the asteroid like a storm of drunken fireflies. Siverelle’s ship recoiled from the impact,
spinning outward, away from the great rock and into the contorting ether of the
slipstream.
Sarwin’s unblinking gaze followed her vessel as it melted
into the void. He barely saw his other
ships break away, out of control, spinning helplessly into the effulgent
abyss. He hardly noticed the great
asteroid give way to the intense gravitational sheer of the collapsing
time-stream. It ruptured into pieces,
flinging colossal shards of itself this way and that, some of the rubble
driving menacingly toward the misty blue planet. All that mattered to Sarwin was the fading image of his wife’s
tiny vessel. He watched until he could
see it no more.
Then the future came upon him as a tunnel comes upon a
breakneck train. Infinity winked by him
like a deranged typhoon. Through the
churning chaos that roared silently by, Sarwin maintained his vigil in frantic
hope that he might yet see Siverelle reemerge from the tempest of eternity
disjoined.
Beyond the twisting vortex of the slipstream, normal
space-time wandered sluggishly onward, as it always had. The nearby blue world continued to circle
its sun as it had for millennia. Its
continents drifted and clashed, folding themselves languidly toward the skies,
or abased themselves into the seas.
Oceans advanced and lashed their shores with ephemeral fury, but to
withdraw into puddles, exhausted and spent.
Flora and fauna arose, prospered for a time, then faded to shadows of
stone while progeny prospered in their decay.
Great ices spread upon the land, retreated, and returned anew. The sun arced gracefully across the heavens,
while the moon reshaped itself in step with the caressing tides. Beyond it all, the infinite stars whirled
eternal in their celestial spheres.
Sarwin’s forlorn wail echoed, incorporeal, across the
altering eons, unheeded and unheard.
Time wandered on... deaf and indifferent to the ruin of his heart.