Extremis (59 page)

“Indeed? What is it?”

By way of answer, Mretlak passed a data token to Ankaht, who slipped it into her forearm-mounted reader. She let the
selnarmic
data streams flood into her. Mretlak watched for her reaction.

He was almost disappointed by her calm as she turned off the unit and turned to face him—until he realized that her stillness was a byproduct of the immense self-control she was exerting. “This is true? This is not a comedic fancy concocted by some bored analyst in your cluster?”

Mretlak was genuinely hurt. “Elder, if you think I would waste your time with lies, and right after you have suffered such losses and tribulations…”

She sent (apology, shame, apology). “Good Mretlak, I am sorry to have insulted your offices and your integrity. But this is—”

“It is rather stupefying, is it not? This human legend—of a third eye which possesses or signifies enlightenment, true seeing, and mystic powers such as clairvoyance and telepathy—is actually extremely widespread. But it is in Hinduism—as we have detailed here—that it has its most powerful and startlingly parallel presence.”

Ankaht signaled (accord). “Jennifer Peitchkov mentioned this to me, but I never had the time to explore it. I presumed that it was merely an inchoate, ancient myth. But the exacting scholarly attention lavished upon the topic—”

“Yes. Its theological centrality is at least as arresting as the degree of detail in which it is set forth. This third eye—called the
gyananakashu,
or eye of knowledge—is a feature posessed by all noteworthy Hindu gods, and many of the lesser beings in the myths surrounding them. It also plays a central role in the outcome and end story of creation, for the universe is said to end when the goddess Shiva finally opens her third eye.”

“But if I read the material correctly, this annihilation is also the catalyst for rebirth, for creation.”

“Yes—and for souls to be restored.”

“So the Hindus believe in reincarnation as well?”

“For them, reincarnation is far more than a belief, Elder. Again, it is central to the Hindu cosmology. As with the teachings of Illudor, Hinduism teaches that the human soul attains enlightenment—we would say
holodah
—in its journey to and through higher states of being, with its end destination being a peculiar concept that they call Nirvana. And yes, I note the phonetic smiliarity of that term to our word
narmata
. Indeed, the similarities between our lived reality and Hinduism’s faith-based myths are, quite frankly, disturbing in both their quality and quantity. If there were any other reasonable explanation, I would sincerely doubt that all these parallels could be dismissed as mere coincidence.”

“I’m not sure they are coincidence, Intelligence Prime.”

Mretlak had not expected that response. “I do not understand, Elder.”

“Nor do I, Mretlak, but in the process of our research we found yet another disturbing human-Arduan parallel which exponentially increases the significance of your discoveries. As you know, in the course of creating the vocoder, we had reason to study every aspect of human communciation. This involved studies of their physiology and biochemistry, with particular focus on their brain and related neurology.”

Mretlak sent (accord). “Of course. To have ignored these physical variables would have been an unforgiveable oversight.”

“We felt so, also. And in the process of closely examining their books on anatomy, we discovered something called the pineal gland. It is located in humans exactly where the neurological network for our main eye is located, and its phylogenic characteristics have caused many human anatomists to designate it as a latent, unexpressed, or evolutionarily lost third eye.”

Mretlak had throught that he was the one who would proffer startling news during this meeting. Now he found himself on the receiving end—worse, arguably, because he had taken smug comfort in thinking that he was to be the sole purveyor of a shocking new perspective. “This cannot be…can it?”

“The structure is there, Mretlak, inside their bodies today. And there is still more evidence that supports the theory of it being a vestigial third eye. In higher Terran vertebrates—such as a number of their homeworld’s reptiles—an analog of the human pineal gland actually asserts itself as a rudimentary light sensor. This means that directly on the humans’ genetic tree there is not merely an ancestor but a plenitude of present relatives in the same phylum—
Chordata
—that have a third eye. And therefore, buried deep in the humans’ own genome, there may still be a residual but deactivated code for it.”

“So what does this mean, Elder? That there is some…some convergent evolution at work? Is this some challenge that Illudor has put before us—to find His Blind Children and reclaim them to His vision and awareness of His manifestation in the universe? Are we to be missionaries, then, to aliens—no, not aliens, therefore, but to long-lost and distant cousins?”

Ankaht projected (uncertainty, distraction, perplexity). “Mretlak, who can say? But I see now why Urkhot fought so desperately to keep the human histories, myths, and old religions hidden from us.”

“Why? Do you suspect that he had come across these parallels in his readings of the human materials?”

“No, I doubt it. But I also doubt he needed to, in order to realize that it was only a matter of time before some evidence arose which was sure to topple his contention that humans are merely
zheteksh
.”

“And he hasn’t really lost that battle, Elder.”

“You are absolutely right, Mretlak. His ludicrous propositions are now protected by the aura of his martyrdom. So now—for all of us—it is a race against time. Since he has imparted his desperate fanaticism to his followers, the more contrary evidence we unearth, the more frantic and intemperate their zealotry will become. In time, I fear…”

Mretlak saw it. “They will resort to genocide.”

Ankaht shrugged. “They would then be able to claim that the question of human personhood was, at last, moot.”

“Except that there are still uncounted billions of humans that exist beyond the limits of this star system.”

“I’m sure the theological heirs of Urkhot would be happy to extend their genocidal policies to the rest of human space.”

“Yes, that seems probable. It would also mean our ineluctable doom.”

“So it would seem.” Ankaht rose. “I must return to my tasks, Mretlak. You have given me much to think about. I shall continue to update you on any matters that seem pertinent.”

“And I you, Elder.”

As Ankaht left, Mretlak felt a new
selnarm
aura approaching, carefully matching her withdrawal. So he knew who it was. “Lentsul. Come in.” Mretlak’s promising counterinsurgency group junior commander entered, casting eyes back in the direction of Ankaht’s withdrawal. “Do not worry, Prime. She will not return. Why do you avoid her so?” Mretlak knew the answer, of course, but needed to get the situation out in the open if it was to be resolved.

“She has protected the humans, Commander, and they are our enemies.”

“This is incorrect, Lentsul. The Eldest Sleeper has—rightly—explored the humans and, in the process, uncovered facts that make our course of action less clear and our present position morally ambiguous. But she has not betrayed the People to champion the cause of the humans. If she had, I would not be her ally and this cluster would not support her activities.”

Lentsul’s
selnarm
seemed to settle, as if reassured. “I feared, given the recent events in the Council, that we might be ordered to discontinue our attempts to locate the headquarters of the human Resistance.”

Mretlak felt the suppressed thirst for vengeance that throbbed at the back of Lentsul’s dedication to his duty. Clearly, the humans had discarnated someone quite dear to him—an issue that was too nebulous and private for Mretlak to address. But he could offer the reassurance the small
Ixturshaz
obviously wanted. “Be unconcerned, Lentsul. Your search continues. Even if we cannot now see the ultimate use to which your intelligence findings will be put, we do need to have it, regardless. Perhaps upon finding the human Resistance headquarters, we will simply keep it under observation. Perhaps we shall obliterate it. That is to be determined in the future—and by persons other than us. But our job remains unchanged. Now what do you have to report?”

Lentsul signaled (gratification). “We have finally backtracked the purchase records for the remote detonators the humans used to trigger their charges in the Empty Zone’s sewers. Most lead back to a number of construction supply companies, but there were also several lots that—once again—passed through the inventory of Rashid’s Sport and Tool.”

“Excellent. And who purchased these detonators?”

Lentsul pulsed (satisfaction). “The Department of Public Works.”

Mretlak sent (dubiety). “This sounds like a completely legal transaction.”

“Yes, it would seem so—except that the passive monitors we placed on the store provided us with images of the individuals who picked up the detonators, all of whom arrived in Public Works trucks and uniforms. However, we ran a comparison of their pictures against the photo ID records of all Public Works Department employees.”

“And you found that none of the humans who picked up the detonators were actually employees of the Public Works Department.”

“Exactly.”

“Who are they, then?”

“Our first efforts to establish their identities were fruitless. With so many official records and databases having been purged by the humans before we arrived, we had little to work with. But we started finding the faces we were seeking by searching through other photo lists that belonged to ID databases that hadn’t been purged—records of memberships to sporting facilities, hunting licenses, special vehicle registrations. And all of the IDs had a code on them which revealed what they all had in common.”

“And what was that?”

“They were all affiliated with the human military services. Their current status of involvement varied widely. They might be active duty, reserve or retired—but they all had that in common.”

Mretlak nodded. Now, at last, they had touched the core of the organization that opposed them. “Excellent work, Lentsul. And now we must track their movements. If we do so assiduously enough, they will lead us to our next objective—the location of the Resistance’s headquarters.”

“And how do we track their movements?”

“By giving them something we can track.”

21

Ex Nihilo—Omnia

“Out of nothing—everything.”
—Latin proverb (revised)

TRNS
Goethals
, Detached Duty, Deep Space

Against the backdrop of interstellar space—not the abstract circuit-diagram–like warp network to which humans had become accustomed—TRNS
Goethals
was a submicroscopic mote.

But on any normal scale of human engineering possibilities,
Goethals
was huge. And within her multimegaton depths, life-support systems and cryogenic sleep cells fluttered into activity, and began filling the small crew section of the behemoth with living warmth—a much greater warmth than that radiated by the dim red star that had begun to wax in her forward viewer.

* * *

Captain Javier Cardones once again tried to shrug off the cold-spasms in his larger muscles: a common side effect upon awakening from cyrogenic sleep. Unlike most of his crew, Cardones was career Terran Republic Navy. He wasn’t always comfortable dealing with the civilian technicians under his command, even though they had, for this voyage, enlisted and placed themselves under military authority. Now he stood before them and stiffly went through the requisite platitudes about what they had accomplished, before getting down to business. “Our recon drones have completed their preliminary swing through this system, and it appears that, as expected, the Baldies have not picketed this star.”

There was a general release of breath. Everyone knew what it would have meant if there
had
been pickets. The Baldies could not, under any circumstances, be allowed to capture the Kasugawa generator, or even to know of its existence. Hence the codes, known only to Captain Cardones and a few others, that were set to trigger an immense antimatter scuttling charge that would reduce
Goethals
to subatomic plasma.

“Now,” Cardones continued, “the drones are continuing on the next stage of their programmed course, toward this system’s single warp point.” He pointed at the small holotank in the wardroom; they all crowded around it, peering over each other’s shoulders. The red dot of Borden glowed at its center. The green icon of
Goethals
was to one side—about three o’clock, by the arbitrary “clock” overlay, roughly seven light-minutes out from the primary. The smaller icons of the recon drones crawled across the system, and one of them approached the purple circle that lay fifteen light-minutes out along the nine o’clock axis, marking the solitary warp point that led to Trebuchet, the next system in the Bellerophon Arm. The drone would closely inspect the space proximal to that warp point and determine if it was picketed. And if it was, then it was also possible that the drone might be spotted and elicit a response from the Baldies.…

But that did not occur: the space around the warp point was empty.

They all looked at each other, and the meeting broke up in the uneasy knowledge that they had gotten, if not a full pardon, at least a temporary reprieve.

And for the duration of that reprieve, they had a crucial task to finish: it was time to prepare the Kasugawa generator.

* * *

Naturally the planners hadn’t wanted Li Han’s armada to have too tedious a voyage between Borden’s warp point and the new one it was about to acquire. At the same time, they wanted to leave room between the two for organizing and maneuvering—and for defensive depth, in case things should go sour. So a compromise had been worked out before
Goethals
had departed, using old survey charts of the Borden system.

Thus it was that
Goethals
now lay twelve light-minutes out from Borden along the twelve o’clock axis, with her clocks ticking toward an instant determined by atomic decay, in unison with other clocks ticking in the ZQ-147 starless warp nexus 2.21 light-years away. Her crew worked with a long-practiced smoothness that almost muffled the steadily rising suspense.