Sundowner
and
Archernar
hovered close to the gate to give the technicians and scientists access for their preliminary studies.
Powhatan
had taken up position high above the gate. The supply ship was at twice the range as the warships and high above them. It would be
Powhatan
’s duty to run for Brinks Base should anything untoward happen to the rest of the expedition.
The gate itself was a copy of every other stargate the human scouts had encountered. It looked like a silver wedding band floating in space. The gate was thirty meters across and five meters in cross-section. Under high magnification, it showed a complex pattern of outer markings formed from small lines that flowed randomly around its surface. Lonegan was put in mind of a fingerprint. In front of the gate, there was the occasional spark of a vacsuit maneuvering jet. As he listened to the chatter over the vacsuit circuits, experienced vacuum monkeys searched the exterior for a way inside.
“Looks like we’ve got something at eight o’clock,” a gruff voice announced. “Stand by while I check it out.”
The view on the screen expanded until only a section of the stargate filled the frame. A barely discernible figure emitted two bright sparks, which were accompanied by quiet puffing noises over the intercom. Then as the figure moved closer to the silver ring, two more sparks announced that the explorer had killed whatever forward motion he’d acquired.
“Yes, we have a hatch here.”
“Any way to open it, Murphy?”
the youthful controller aboard
Archernar
asked, his voice cracking in his excitement.
“Just a sec, Ensign,” the bored voice of the spacer replied. After several seconds of silence, he continued. “Seems to be a Broan keypad with those funny dots-and-swirls they use. One of them says ‘ingress’ if I haven’t forgotten my training. Shall I push it?”
There was a longer pause as the scientists consulted. Finally, one said,
“Go ahead, Murphy.”
“You don’t think it will blow up?” the spacer asked dubiously.
“If it does, the explosion won’t be large enough to damage the ship,” an unidentified voice responded with a chuckle.
“I love you, too,” Murphy replied. “Starting the opening sequence now!”
The audio link carried several seconds of breathing sounds before Murphy reported, “Hatch is open and the interior lights have come on. Data displays are starting to light up. I would say the gate has power and is operational.”
The announcement was greeted by a hurricane of breath being exhaled on three separate ships and scattered cheering.
“Secure your safety lines,” the anonymous teenage ensign ordered. “We’ll get a boatload of scientists and technicians to you within the hour.”
“Will do, Ensign. Damn this thing is big!”
#
Vrathalatar, the planet, filled the screens and no longer resembled a mottled, blue-white tennis ball in the forward bubble of Barbara Whalen’s scout boat. They were flying upside down. The dorsal airlock was open and the quartz heat shield extended to plug the opening. Centimeters beneath the transparent surface, the lenses of three separate telescopes peered at the tan surface below, seeking the black splotch of something that had once been a city sprawled across the width of a wide river valley.
Barbara watched on her screen as the destruction slowly made itself evident. As she watched, a transient glow flashed momentarily across her field of view, and then flickered in and out of the scene. Simultaneously, a tug at her body and an almost supersonic squeal at the edge of her hearing announced their arrival at Vrathalatar’s first tenuous wisps of atmosphere.
“Reentry!” Amos Harding announced.
“Noted,” Barbara responded, her eyes not leaving the screen.
Below them, the camera followed the course of a river as wide as the Kama on Earth. On each side were geometric shapes that suggested farms, except that nothing was growing on them. Even at this distance, the dust kicked up by the wind was evident.
Slowly, as the tug and whistle of atmosphere outside the hull built up, the tan wasteland gave way to a wasteland of a different sort. Structures began to slide into view. These came in a variety of shapes, although spheres dominated. They weren’t complete spheres, to judge by shadows, but rather spherical shapes with one-third or so buried in the ground.
If the Vrath had any need for the roads with which human beings festoon their cities, there was no evidence of it. Rather, their structures seemed haphazardly strewn about the landscape, or possibly arranged in a larger pattern that the camera was too focused to see.
As the partially buried spheres and other geometric shapes marched slowly from top of screen to bottom, a slow change came over the city. They began to see places where buildings had once stood, but which now showed as pits in the landscape, or piles of disorganized rubble. If there had been fire here, the intervening years had wiped away the traces. There were no blackened splotches where mighty buildings had once stood. Rather, everything was the same sand color as the denuded countryside.
“We’re picking up some damage,” Amos announced.
“Think so?” Barbara asked wryly.
On the screen, the edge of a large circular structure had appeared. On another world it might have been the remains of the city’s central lake. Not here. The cause for the increasing level of destruction as their view swept across the city center became clear.
Whatever city they were spying on had died by nuclear fire. Within a few seconds, their view swept across a giant crater. Here the Broa must have been aiming for something buried … possibly an underground command bunker. The warhead had dug deep into the surface before exploding, leaving a bowl-like depression with steep sides and a pool of water glistening at its bottom.
“Wow, they must really have been pissed!” Ahmed said over the intercom. In addition to the main view, he was monitoring the rest of the instruments that were recording the destruction.
“How’s the radiation?” Barbara asked.
“Not as bad as projected,” the technician replied over the intercom. “We can take this for hours without reaching maximum safe dose.”
“Well, we only have about three more minutes,” she replied, eyeing her chronometer.
Below them, the crater fell behind and the camera swept over new destruction. Where things had tended to topple over in the direction of the bottom of the screen earlier, now that they had passed over the epicenter of the blast, they were all pointed at the top of the screen.
They passed back into barren wasteland once more. Ahmed sent the telescope hunting for another target. This was a major metropolis on the coast that had received three warheads. Here the landscape was littered with small rectangular shapes that, upon close telescopic examination, appeared to be the remains of vehicles that had fallen from the sky when the power was interrupted.
They watched in silence, suddenly aware of the magnitude of what it means to kill an entire world. It was a chastened crew that found themselves once more back in space and climbing for the deep black.
“Get what we needed?” Barbara asked, her tone subdued by what she had seen.
“We’ve got full memory cubes,” Ahmed replied.
After a minute of silence, Amos said, “Damn the Broa. That was a living, breathing world back there.”
Beside him, Barbara Whelan sighed as she punched up the program that would return them to the fleet.
“Just pray that some alien explorer doesn’t make a similar camera run over Earth sometime next century.”
#
Chapter Three
Ship-Commander-Second-Grade Pas-Tek, of the Pas-Gorn Clan, lay strapped into the padded resting frame on one of the numerous transports that plied the route between orbit and the planet’s surface. At the moment, his arms and legs floated free in microgravity as the winged transport maneuvered for reentry. Around him, hundreds of other travelers lay swaddled within their own frames. Some slept, others talked quietly into comms, while still others busied themselves with telescreens, either catching up on tasks left undone or else partaking of entertainment.
Pas-Tek did none of these. He rested in his cocoon while focusing his attention on the screen mounted on the forward bulkhead. At the moment the scene showed a mostly black orb limned by a blue-white crescent, with the yellow-white disk of Faalta rising into view from behind the planetary disk. Dawn was breaking for the second time since they had departed the space habitat where
Blood Oath
was docked.
The scene might have been that of a gross of worlds that Pas-Tek had visited in the Navy. It was made special only by the mixed emotions of awe and dread it inspired. This was no ordinary planet, merely one among four-times-twelve-to-the-fifth worlds that comprised Civilization. This was Ssasfal, the Home World, the orb from which his ancestors had gone forth to conquer.
Pas-Tek had been born on Vil, where he grew to adulthood. Since joining the Navy, he had traveled far, traversing some of the more backwater places in Civilization. Yet, he had never been closer than four jumps to this, the center of power.
The transport continued its fall until he felt the familiar tug of atmosphere, accompanied by a gentle settling into the resting rack. The return of partial gravity was accompanied by a general stirring around him.
This particular compartment was restricted to Masters. Most of his fellow travelers were accompanied by their coterie of subservients, all of whom had been relegated to less opulent, accommodations.
Physically, he and his fellows were not imposing. Smaller than average for sentient species, their breed possessed long arms and legs, the better to swing through vine forests. Pas-Tek himself was 1.5 meters tall when he chose to stand erect, which was seldom. He was covered with brown fur, with streaks of lighter tan. His expansive eyes were tinged yellow. His short snout bore four breathing holes on each side and a mouth with a double row of grinding teeth.
What he and his fellows lacked in physical stature, however, they more than made up for in real power. Through a fortuitous accident of history, the Race had been the first to invent a technology to jump from star to star without crossing the intervening gulf. For more than a great-gross of cycles, the small, tree-dwelling denizens of Ssasfal had used this technology to subjugate every other species they encountered.
So far as Pas-Tek was concerned, that was the natural order of things. It was in support of that order that Those Who Rule had summoned him.
#
“The Council Leaders will see you now, Shipmaster,” a grizzled old warrior said. At his words, Pas-Tek felt a surge of excitement that was like a physical blow.
In the imagination of the young Pas-Tek, Old City was an impregnable fortress set high on a barren mountaintop, and the Council building a tower so tall that clouds scuttled past its uppermost floors. In truth, Old City rested on a broad plain, nestled into a curving depression that showed where once a mighty river had flowed.
Furthermore, the ancient capital was smaller than he had imagined it, almost cramped. Only a broad greensward prevented it from being dwarfed by the modern towers that had grown up around it. The battlements of rosy granite had a museum quality to them, and a solidity that exuded strength beyond the hardness of mere stone. This was the very spot from which the Race had gone forth to conquer.
Pas-Tek entered Old City through the Obsidian Gate. Powered vehicles were not allowed within the walls. He knuckle-walked half the length of the Hero’s Path. When he reached Council Square, he stopped to gape. The chamber presented its own castellated profile, with guard towers that rose to the azure sky. Between the towers were windows of stained glass where ancient warriors battled eternally.
Pas-Tek ascended the stone ramp, passed beneath ancient battle banners, and arrived in the main hall. There he presented himself and was directed to a slideway leading to the Realm of the Founders on the third level. It was there that he encountered the grizzled guardian who had just given him permission to enter the sanctum.
“Pas-Tek, Ship Commander Second Grade,” he announced to the four worthies within.
A senior councilor greeted him. “Welcome. I am Zel-Sen, Prime Councilor. These others are Cal-Tar and Sar-Ganth, representatives of two of our ancient clans. Beside them is Dos-Val, from the Ministry of Science.”
“I am at your service,” Pas-Tek responded formally after making the gesture of obeisance.
“Do you know why you are here?” the elder with the raspy voice asked. Cal-tar’s fur had the unkempt look of the very old, yet his eyes remained clear.
“You wish to hear my report of the incident in the Etnarii system.”
“We do,” Zel-Sen responded. “Please tell us about your encounter with these aliens.”
Pas-Tek spoke of his mission to the agricultural world of Etnarii to deliver the Council’s directive concerning the wild bipeds known to be loose in Civilization. There he learned that the bipeds he sought had departed the planet even as his own ship arrived. He gave chase. Upon reaching the Etnarii stargate with
Blood Oath
in pursuit, the bipeds’ ship had entered the gate and then exploded.
“Did you determine the cause of the explosion?” Zel-Sen asked.
“We believe they strained their engines evading my ship.”
“Do you have any proof of this?”
“No, Worthy. It is, however, the most logical explanation.”
“Are you sure they were destroyed?” the philosopher from the Ministry of Science asked.
“I saw it with my own eyes and have recordings,” Pas-Tek replied.
“Yes, we have those.”
“Tell us, Ship-Commander, what happened next?” Zel-Sen asked, interrupting the philosopher.
“We searched for pieces of the stargate and of the alien ship. We discovered a few melted bits of the former, but none of the latter.”
“It was completely vaporized?” the philosopher asked.
“Yes, Worthy. The explosion was very violent.”
“And you were trapped in the system because of the destruction of the gate?”