CHAPTER 26
Adore T'Chen, for She is
ultimate love and unlimited mercy.
Whomsoever shall believe in Her will live eternally in paradise, whilst they
who renounce Her shall be cast into hell.
- Scroll of Adorations, 313.4
So
witness the unconditional love of T'Chen, thought Sarwin, as he surveyed
the incinerated remains of the hangar.
About the only thing left that had its original shape still recognizable
was the chronoship, which was charred black and flipped upside-down by the
incredible explosion that had all but gutted the huge building the day
before. The force of the blast
distorted even the saucer's nearly impervious flexisteel hull.
Daylight
streamed into the blackened chamber from the gaping hole that had been blown in
the outer wall. What little was left of
the sixty-eight people who died in this room had already been removed by the
police, but miniature blue flags marked where they had fallen. Three of the flags marked where a trio of
Sarwin's close circle of friends had fallen.
He could see dozens more such flags through the giant hole in the wall,
where flaming shrapnel had struck down many in the crowds outside.
I
was supposed to have died here too, pondered Sarwin.
"Don't
tell me you're alone here?!" came a familiar voice from behind.
Sarwin
turned to see a tall, gray-skinned Ordinary, who had his arm in a sling and a
large bandage on his head.
"Kleesic!"
shouted Sarwin and embraced his friend.
He released him instantly when Kleesic's gasp made Sarwin realize the
hug had pained his friend's injured arm.
"No, Tolis is here with me.
He is outside talking to the police."
"Well
you two should stay together, I don't think it's safe for you to be
alone." Kleesic looked out across
the remains of the hangar, "Not safe at all."
"I'll
be alright. Besides, you are here
now. What better protection could I
hope for? I am surprised they let you
out of the hospital already," Sarwin said.
"Oh
yes," replied his friend, "It's only a sprained arm and a few
stitches in the head." He tapped
his cranium with his free hand.
"It'll take more than a little bomb to crack open this thick
skull," he finished, with a wry smile.
"And
what of Etyiam?" inquired Sarwin.
"She
will be fine also," answered Kleesic, "They are going to hold her for
one more night to make sure she doesn't have a concussion, but I think she
fared better than I. She doesn't have
one of these." He held out his
sling-sheathed arm.
Sarwin
looked back at the still smoldering room.
"I cannot believe either of you survived this," he said.
"Well, it was
luck mostly," replied his friend, "The bulk of the chronoship was
between us and the blast, so it shielded us partially. We managed to get a ways down that concrete
corridor also, before the explosion.
Otherwise, we'd be ashes, like the rest of these poor souls."
"Clios,
Shresdel and Thrain were in here," said Sarwin, shaking his head,
"They didn't deserve this. This was
meant for me."
"Nobody
deserves this, my friend," assured Kleesic putting his uninjured hand on
Sarwin's shoulder, "Certainly not you.
Even that misguided young woman who did this didn't deserve it." Kleesic spit on the ground. "Damn the church for twisting young
minds into monsters. What value is even
a god's love if it is promoted by hate and death?"
"The
church is denying they've had anything to do with this," replied Sarwin,
"It is conceivable that they truly did not. At least, not directly."
"Even
if they didn't give specific orders, I'm sure they influenced this to some
extent. And I'm sure they were pleased
with the attempt, though perhaps not so pleased that you yet live," said
Kleesic.
Both
watched as the police picked through the wreckage, looking for clues.
"Why
do they even bother going through this charade?" continued Kleesic,
"Their commanders report to the ministry, which is controlled by the
church. Do they really think for a
moment anyone expects them to finger an accomplice? As if we might read in the papers tomorrow that some senator or
bishop ordered this. They're going to
conclude the bomber acted alone. They
might as well just say it now and save the act. What a joke."
"I've
heard funnier jokes," replied Sarwin.
"At
least that was one of our older, prototype ships," interjected Kleesic,
changing the subject, "We weren't going to use it for our expedition next
month, so its loss won't delay us."
Month
of Cartoth. Day Five. Sardic didn't share the thought with
Kleesic.
"Always
looking for the golden lining, aren't you, my friend? Would that our fallen comrades could be so easily replaced."
"They
will be missed," replied Kleesic, "but their deaths will not be
entirely wasted. This attack has
generated great sympathy for you... for
us. Most of the media pundits are
decrying the Scroll-clutchers
now. Even the most conservative of them
are distancing themselves from the temple now.
There is a ground swell of support for our cause because of this."
"A
high price to pay for such support," muttered Sarwin.
"Too
high," agreed Kleesic, "but it was a transaction forced upon us
without our consent."
"I
hope we are right, Kleesic," pondered Sarwin, "I hope we find
indisputable evidence for evolution on this coming journey. I'd hate to think all these lives were
wasted for a folly. If we fail, we will
not be able to hide the magnitude of our deception and at best we will never be
allowed a second chance. At worst, we
will all hang together in the plaza."
"We
will not fail, my friend," assured Kleesic with another pat on Sarwin's
shoulder, "I believe in my heart that we are right. And I know you believe that too." He watched as one of the green-skinned
police sergeants approached them.
"And if we should fail," he concluded, "I can
think of no one I'd rather be hanged with."
The
police matron walked up to them and addressed the larger Ordinary. "You are the one called Kleesic,
yes?"
"Yes."
"You
witnessed this yesterday?"
"In
a way. I was too busy running for cover
to have seen much."
"I
will need a statement," said the sergeant.
"I
gave one at the hospital already," argued Kleesic, politely.
"Then
you will give another," snapped the sergeant, "this is a serious
investigation. You will cooperate,
Ordinary." The matron fingered the
manacles hanging from her belt.
"Of
course," acquiesced Kleesic, knowing he had no choice, "Ask your
questions, sergeant."
Sarwin
patted his friend on the shoulder.
"You talk to the nice officer," he said, "I'm going to
take a closer look at the ship. And
don't worry, I'll stay in sight."
"Do
not enter the craft," ordered the sergeant, "Disturb nothing."
"I
understand," said Sarwin, as he turned and walked toward the overturned
saucer. He could hear the dour officer
start to question Kleesic. Her voice
mercifully began to fade with distance as he walked toward the saucer. When he reached it, he walked its mangled
perimeter once, then looked inside the open door. Unfortunately, the craft's door had been open and facing the bomb
when the explosion occurred, so although the tough outer hull might be
salvageable, the delicate insides were blown to pieces and the pieces burned to
ashes.
Sarwin
contemplated the ship, which was one of the earliest he had built. He was proud of it and even though it had
grown rather obsolete by now, it pained him to see it destroyed. He had hoped it might end up in a museum, so
that it would be preserved and future generations could see it. So much for that idea. So many years of hard work and effort had
gone into creating and building it. As
he stared into the blackened interior of the chronoship, his mind wandered back
to those early times, which seemed so far away now.
For
years after his graduation from school, Sarwin had been working on a drive to
carry his people to the stars. His race
had conquered the solar system in the time of Sarwin’s grandmother and settled
on or around all nine known worlds; but no one could devise a way to break the
light barrier and travel to distant suns in reasonable time.
After
years of study, and with the help of many colleagues, he thought he had found a
way. With a large enough mass to push
against and with the proper complex electromagnetic fields, he had thought himself
able to slice open a hole in the space-time matrix and slip though to another
part of the galaxy.
He
recalled that day, so long ago now it seemed, when he sat in his prototype
would-be starship, circling a small asteroid.
He remembered vividly the intense fear of failure that swept though him
during the final checks. Not so much a
fear of the kind of catastrophic failure that would bring him death, but of a
less dramatic failure that would bring upon him humiliation and scorn. He had received much criticism from the
press in the months before his attempt, for declaring he would succeed where so
many Priat female scientists had failed.
To falter would mark him forever a charlatan, overshadowing any success
he might later have. He pointed his
little ship in the direction of the nearest star, slightly more than four
light-years away, and engaged the ignition with quaking hands.
Nothing
had prepared him for the ride that followed.
What was it like to rewind through the continuum? He could not begin to describe it, not even
to himself. No secondhand account could
do it justice and one had to fallback on comparative analogies, and even they
were woefully inadequate to convey the experience. It was like trying to describe a sunset to someone who had been
blind since birth, or a symphony to the deaf.
It
was wonderful and terrifying all at once.
The traveler, and the vehicle around him, seemed sluggish to the point
of stillness, while the universe itself appeared to blur past at mind-numbing
speed. The cosmos twisted inside out
and became so distorted that it pained the eye to see.
When
the leap had finally ended, Sarwin checked is bearings, hoping to see an alien
star before him. But he was
disappointed to instead find only his own, familiar sun filling the view port.
After
some moments of swearing to himself, he sighed heavily and tried to report his
failure to his colleagues. As if his
secret wish to go unheard had been granted, he had received only static in
reply. He recalled being quite puzzled
when he realized he wasn't receiving any signals at all, on any
wavelengths. Even the solar positioning
network beacons were silent. The
monotonous and ubiquitous background hiss of the universe was the sole tone his
antennas could draw in from the void.
Confounded,
he had then ordered his navigation computer to run a check on the stars to
determine his location. He remembered
feeling utterly consternated when it said it could not locate any familiar
patterns. Perhaps he had traveled to a
different system after all; one that had a sun identical to his own? That seemed improbable. Unsure what to do next, he had then ordered
his computer to compare the pattern of the unfamiliar star field to all records
on file, in hope of determining where he was.
Even
with the incredible speed at which his computer could search itself, it took
several minutes for the answer to come.
And when it did, Sarwin was astounded.
He had asked the wrong question.
It was not where was he, but when!
Well
into its search, after exhausting more plausible caches of its memory for
answers, Sarwin's computer had come across some artificial predictions of how
the World's skies might have appeared in ages long past. The star-scape outside matched almost
exactly a virtual reconstruction of the World's sky dating back 3,000 years
before Sarwin's birth! He had moved
barely a ship-length in physical distance, yet had traveled far further than he
ever hoped and in a direction that he had never dreamed. For all the intricate mathematics he
possessed to catalog the ethereal and enigmatic guts of the universe, it still
held surprises for him after all!
As
it turned out, he had to spend several days in the lonely, distant past while
he worked out the calculations for his return.
He also had to search for a planetoid of apposite nature, so his tiny
time-engine could push against it and springboard back to the age whence it had
come. When he returned, his colleagues
thought nothing had happened, as he arrived back at the same moment of his
departure. But he was able to present
proof, with sensor readings and photographs, of where he had been and what he
had seen.
Sarwin
became a great hero to many that day and an even greater enemy to others.
"You there!"
Shaken
from his thoughts, Sarwin turned to face the harsh voice, which had come from a
police captain walking briskly toward him.
He could tell by the stern expression on her face that she was not going
to ask for his autograph.
"What
are you doing in here?" demanded the captain, "There is an
investigation in progress here. You
could be disturbing evidence."
"This
is my property," replied Sarwin, pointing to the wrecked saucer, "The
sergeant gave me permission to look it over.
I have touched nothing."
"I
don't care what the sergeant told you," sneered the captain, "This is
my investigation and I don't need civilians poking around, disturbing
things. Especially ones who may have
been involved."
"You
suspect me of having something to do with this?" asked Sarwin,
incredulously.
"I
suspect everyone," answered the captain, "and I have seen staged
terrorist attacks like this designed to stain the church and generate sympathy
for unholy causes."
"Three
of my good friends died in this attack," countered Sarwin, fighting to
remain polite and repress the indignation he felt, "I had nothing to do
with this."
"We
shall see, heretic." The captain
pointed toward the exit. "Now, you
will leave here, gray-hide.
Immediately. Or I shall arrest
you for interfering with an investigation."
Sarwin
was furious. "Captain, I will not
be treated like..."
He
stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He turned to see that Kleesic had rejoined him.
"Please
forgive my friend's insolence," said Kleesic to the captain, "He has
just lost three of his good friends and is very upset. We will leave now, as you ask."
The captain just looked at them sorely, then gestured toward the exit with her head. The two Ordinaries began to walk toward one of open doorframes leading outside, the door itself having been blown off its hinges.
"You
know better than that," said Kleesic to his friend, quietly.
Sarwin
said nothing. So many enemies,
he thought.