Posleen War: Sidestories The Tuloriad (30 page)

Hemaleen V

“Do you want us to come in with you, Reverend?” Bourdon asked once they'd reached the ramp that led to the pit they'd dug down to the top platform of the pyramid.

“No,” the Posleen shook his head. “I'll be fine.” Guano wore the quarantine suit and helmet Sally had made up for him in the forge. At least I won't be down here long enough this time to have to crap on myself.

“As you will, then. If you need us, call.”

Smiling thanks might have been a good idea, except that from a Posleen a smile looked even more menacing than from a human. Guano bowed his head, gratefully, then turned down the ramp, down the steps and then entered the pyramid through the tenar gate.

One thing the humans had not bothered with was the previous occupant's tenar. It was sitting, in its storage alcove, but so obviously out of power that there seemed little sense in trying to recover it. Nor did the ship have a good way to produce a replacement power unit, even though it was itself powered by anti-matter. There was some question of the efficacy and safety of trying to tap the main containment unit merely to, in Sally's words, “Recharge an old, worn out, and probably defective battery.”

Still, Guano patted the thing as he passed it, almost as if it were alive. Some things wear out, he thought. Some things never do. And 'We'll go no more a roving, so late into the night.' Odd how that poem from Divinity School stuck with me.

Though they'd left the site pretty much undisturbed otherwise, von Altishofen's crew, sick of sneezing, had removed the dust from the floor. It remained of course; no telling what some future archeologist might do with the DNA-cognate trapped therein. But it remained in piles, set off to one side, where footsteps would not raise it.

Guano made his way down the ramp, past the point the Indowy had first entered. There were no barriers to bar his way, as he was already inside the thing's ancient defenses. He stopped along the way several times to peer at certain of the bas reliefs, in part to appreciate the carving and in part to try to determine just how it was done. Reverently, with reverence for the long lost artist, he lightly touched a few spots with his gloved hand.

I would I had known you, friend, in my time, so that your art could glorify God.

The carved panels extended much further down than the chute by which the Indowy had entered the pyramid. These had been seen before, and recordings of them were in Sally's data banks and the AS. They were of happier scenes and times, though still all had that one magnificent stylized kessentai at their center.

I wish I knew. I wish I knew if al Rashid is right. But I doubt that I ever shall, in this life . . . and I would not be the bearer of a false prophecy, nor the messenger of a false prophet.

At the base of the winding ramp, Guano stopped for a moment, to orient himself. Over there, I think. Over there is where that old Great One's personal quarters would have been. There, if anywhere, I will find what I am looking for.

This door, about three meters high and two wide, was wide open. The humans had looked, of course, but only from the door. They hadn't disturbed the quarters, nor even the almost incorrupt skeleton of a kessentai that lay on its side therein. No more did Guano. He made a nod of respect to the remains, but then pushed on, raising clouds of ancient dust.

My people think much alike, one to another, and so I think the trove will be there.

Underneath the dust, a rectangular something arose slightly above the floor. Guano bent, brushed away some dust until he could see and grasp the handle, and, with a great deal of straining, lifted it. Inside, so he saw, were some hundreds of small bars of gold, “heavy metal,” as his people called it.

“This will be useful,” Guano said aloud, as he began filling his utility pouch with the golden fingers.

"Answers were sought and answers were found.

Whether the questions were the right ones

Remains to be seen." So said our lord.

—The Tuloriad, Na'agastenalooren

Anno Domini 2011

Posleen Ship Arganaza'al

It was there, all the time, plainly written for anyone to see; so thought Finba'anaga. The Aldenata had the power of gods. The Posleen, some of them, had rebelled—and only slightly and indirectly—against that power. And then the Aldenata, like petty, petulant gods, had punished the entire species.

Fearful, fearful, the kessentai thought. My instincts were correct.

Coming to even such understanding of the Aldenata language as Finba had, had been exquisitely difficult. Going from that understanding to reading some of the scrolls the Rememberer gave him to study had been worse.

But I must not think of them as petty, petulant gods, for they might have been our gods, our legitimate gods, and, if so, we were wrong to rebel. Otherwise, we'd not have been punished, guilty and innocent alike. That rebellion perhaps showed a deep flaw not just in the rebels, the Knowers, but in our species as a whole.

There must be a way to make amends, to once again bask in the sunshine of our gods' smiles. Or, failing that, to avoid them completely. But what is it?

Nura'gantar, the ruined

Like most kessentai and kessenalt who had survived the experience of orna'adar, Binastarion, the one-eyed, had never before seen the final result. Typically, the high chiefs were among the first to escape, even as the major weapons, anti-matter and nuclear, were searing the planet from which they fled. Late-fleers, as often as not, were picked off by others likewise fleeing.

Thus, the planet of Nura'gantar was a shock.

And shocking in more ways than one . . . and shocking deep in the soul.

This had been a major Posleen world, at one time, even if there was nothing in the records to indicate it. Records or not, the sensors showed vast cities there, below the soil. In places, too, the pyramidal palaces of long dead God-kings stuck up above the surface soil. These, however, also showed the drip of melted stone and the glazing of incredible heat.

Binastarion was able to trace the various sides of the orna'adar that had sterilized the planet. Far below the surface tunnels connected the cities into groups, while those tunnels pointedly did not connect other cities or other groups. Oddly, there were great areas where the destruction could not even be accounted for by anti-matter weapons.

The population of the place must have been immense for its size, so Binastarion thought, since the tunnels went out even under the seas to places that had also been slagged.

Odd, he thought. Every place I know of that's descended into orna'adar did so long before population pressure forced us to colonize under large bodies of water. Perhaps the people here didn't have enough ships to leave, or enough to leave in time.

Binastarion had a sudden, and not entirely welcome, thought. “AS, get me the Arganaza'al.”

“Yes, Binastarion . . . the Arganaza'al is listening.”

“Tulo'stenaloor, here, Binastarion. What have you found?”

“Nothing but what we expected, Tulo: Destruction. But I had a sudden thought.”

Tulo's growls sounded impatient when he asked, “Yes, what was that?”

"Well . . . we are so far in past the area the Galactics called the 'Posleen Blight' that I've the very odd feeling that this is the world of our original exile, the world Rongasintas fled as told of in the Scroll of Flight and Resettlement. I thought you might run that possibility past the Rememberer.

“Meanwhile, I'll continue my survey. Binastarion, out.”

Ship Arganaza'al

“It is . . . possible,” the Rememberer agreed, with a shrug, “though I think Binastarion has made a leap of logic that the record simply will not support . . .”

“Yes it will, Lord,” Finba interjected. “At least in part it will.”

“Speak, puppy,” the Rememberer ordered. “What have you found that suggests this is the world of exile?”

“There is only one word for exile in Aldenata that I have found, Lord,” Finba answered. “It is a pictogram, a small dot to the left of a large circle. In other words . . .”

“A moon of a gas giant? You think so, Finba?” Tulo asked.

Somewhat flattered that the high chief even knew his name, the younger kessentai bowed his head. “It is the only word I have found for exile, Lord. And this is a dot around a circle.”

“Interesting,” Tulo agreed. “It might be important to our history to know . . .”

“Oh, I see,” Golo said, sneeringly. “You're willing to risk my suit, right enough, but you're not willing to risk me?”

“Exactly!” Tulo agreed with a toothy Posleen grin. “You matter. Unless you can replicate the material of your suit, it doesn't matter. So why not send down your assistant in it, to find whatever can be found?”

“Because . . . well . . . the honor of the thing?”

“You have honor in plenty, Tinkerer. Give the young one a chance.”

“I mistrust Finba's experience.”

“Pfah. Nonsense and other stuff. He's very bright, as you remind me regularly. Besides, the best entrance the sensors have found to one of the cities below is underwater and that helps with the radiation. It's also the place where the sensors picked up what appear to be the remains of a lot of ships. I'd like to know about those.”

Nura'gantar

Oh, to be free of that miserable spy of an AS, thought Finba, as the lander given unto his charge sliced through the waters of the planet's greater sea.

The thought was actually anticipatory; the AS was still there. Instead of hanging around Finba's neck, as usual, however, it hung from a hook on one of the lander's bulkheads. It had been placed there before Finba stepped over the lump of silvery metal that would become his suit.

I simply forgot to put the little treacher back on, what with all the excitement. Yeah, that's the story. Excitement, yeah.

The lander was large enough, well shaped enough, and massive enough that Finba barely felt the currents in the water as the lander moved through it and down toward the continental shelf on which the presumed entrance sat. The lander's own view screen showed the bottom of the shelf in fairly good detail. Among those details, here and there, Finba could see the outlines of ships, and even the occasional bit of wreckage or frame jutting up.

He took control of the lander and steered it towards one such, a framework that seemed a little more complete than most. As he grew closer to it, and as the view on the screen improved, he expected to see battle damage, the twisting and melting that usually accompanied near misses and hits from the major weapons.

Instead, the closer he got, the more he saw that it was a C-Dec's frame, and that it was nearly pristine.

“Makes no sense,” Finba whispered.

“What was that, Lord,” the AS asked from its spot next to the hull.

“I said it makes no sense, AS. As if the ship were caught unprepared by orna'adar. As if the builders didn't expect it. As if, also, they were hiding the building of the ship down here where it wouldn't be spotted.”

“That makes perfect sense, Lord. Half completed ships are often caught by orna'adar.”

“Maybe. But when the planet is as heavily settled as this one was? And why only in this area, rather than all over the planet.”

“I have no idea, Lord.”

Hmmm . . . maybe if this was the only clan or polity of the People that had ships . . . that might make sense. Maybe . . .

Finba guided the lander to do a three-sixty all around the abandoned framework, recording the thing for Tulo'stenaloor's later review. That done, he continued on toward the entrance he'd been told would let him into the tunnel system and from there into a city.

The water by the entrance was actually quite shallow. This was all to the good as there'd been no way aboard the Arganaza'al to test for the suit's reaction to high pressure all around it. It might stop a boma blade cold, but that didn't mean it wouldn't squeeze itself flat or into a lump under uniform pressure.

With the lander resting on its legs, and perpendicular to a line running through the core of the planet, Finba'anaga lowered the ramp. The water that came up flush with the opening, and even washed over it a bit from the disturbance caused by the lowering ramp, looked distinctly uninviting. Posleen were heavier than water and completely misdesigned for swimming. Except for drinking it, and that only for whatever they couldn't extract, donkey-like, from their feed, they loathed the stuff. The deeper it was, the more they loathed and feared it.

Finba put on the helmet that went with Goloswin's suit, then waited a few moments for the material to ooze around and seal to the helmet. He walked to the edge of the ramp where the water lapped, then fearfully, hesitatingly, put one suited foot into it. Another shivering step followed, then another. He stopped for a moment when the water arose halfway up the helmet.

Behind the kessentai, the AS nagged out a “Don't forget to take me with you.” Finba ignored it.

Closing his eyes so as not to see the water rising over him, Finba took three more steps forward and down. When he opened his eyes again, the edge of the water was somewhere above him, shining with the internal light of the lander. The ramp was still below, and a new world was laid out in front of him.

As Finba progressed, he saw that though the light from the sun and reflected from the gas giant lit the water almost bright as day, there was little life to be seen. Finba noticed some plants, some cockroach-like insect life travelling the sea bottom, a swirl of yellow in the distance that might or might not have been a school of fish analogues. Ahead was a trapezoidal cave opening, with some waving fronds around it. The opening reminded Finba of nothing quite so much as a gaping maw, nor the fronds of anything so much as a predator's reaching arms.

Briefly, he considered just backing out of the mission, flying back to the Arganaza'al, and reporting that the cave's entrance had been blocked.

But that would never do. If this is the world of exile, the answers I seek are here, if anywhere.

Finba pressed on to the entrance. The fronds did, indeed, wave towards him as he passed, but there was no questing in the motion, merely the currents and the pull of the water Finba moved himself.