Resurrection (10 page)

The Mechanic stood before the cave’s largest wall vault. At the touch of his fingers on the coded lock, the metalrock door slid away, hissing slightly. The vault had been airtight. That was the Engineer’s workmanship. The door had not been used for five thousand years, and yet it worked perfectly and had perfectly protected the contents of the vault. The Mechanic felt a small surge of annoyance at another reminder of the Engineer’s genius.

Behind the door was a space ten feet wide and two feet deep, as high as a man’s head. It was the repository of Kinley wisdom. Hanging from the wall at eye level were rows of soft leather cases containing data crystals. Below these, stacked to chest height, were manuals, paper copies of the most relevant information contained in the crystals. These manuals were large books of filament-thin pages bound loosely between strips of plastic. They were manuals of geological science, animal biology, archaeology, and dozens of other disciplines. They had been used for quick reference by members of the survey team, and they contained all needed information for maintaining, and even rebuilding their ship, as well as running their camp day to day.

The Mechanic ran his hand along the stacks of books until he found it: the manual to their space ship. Within its pages were instructions for building an Eschless Funnel–driven ship from the ground up. He pulled it from the stack. He continued to scan the books and found a manual of general physics that also discussed the Eschless Funnel. He took that as well.

Then he pulled out a manual of human biological science and flipped through it. From what he had observed of modern Earth on his computer screen, local medicine was in a barbaric state. The Earth natives may have built ships to take them into space, but they were dying of things the Kinley had been able to cure for centuries.

He scanned the stacks of books to ensure he was leaving nothing that would mention the Eschless Funnel. Then he began on the crystals. Each leather case was clearly labeled, one for geology, one for atmospherics, etc. Every case of crystals contained a library’s worth of information. The Mechanic pulled down three cases, one labeled “General Physics,” one labeled “Advanced Physics,” and one labeled “All Ship Systems.” Those three were the only sets that made reference to the Eschless Funnel.

He carefully opened the cases and removed the crystals, setting them in neat rows on the floor. They were clear or pale orange or yellow, with data bands of darker colors cutting through them. In all, there were about a hundred of them on the floor.

He returned to the closet. On one side were tools and small pieces of machinery. With a little searching, he found a first aid kit, a jawline translator, and something of real value—a stunner knife.

He hefted the stunner knife and fiddled with a dial at the base of the grip. He fiddled with it, changing the intensity of the electricity it generated. Then he returned to the rows of crystals on the floor. He stared at them for a few moments, a smile pulling at his lips. He, the Mechanic, had power over all of that knowledge. He was the one who would decide what would survive and what would be destroyed. Those Kinley may have been traveling for decades to get to Earth to recover this technology, but it was his to dispense or withhold. And he would withhold it from them, for the Kinley would consider it was theirs and take it from him without compensation. He could not have that. Compensation in great amounts was exactly what he needed. There was a whole world outside, a brand-new technological Earth, and someone out there would pay dearly to have an exclusive right to those manuals. When they did, the Mechanic would finally have what he had always wanted. He would live a life as blessed as the Captain’s. He would be a god among men. He would not have the divine trappings, but the pleasures of modern Earth might prove to be superior.

He sat cross-legged on the floor and picked up one of the crystals. He flicked on the stunner knife and touched it to the crystal’s base. Immediately, the crystal changed texture and seemed to expand. On closer examination, the Mechanic could see thousands of cracks that had grown within milliseconds, like infinitely branching tiny trees. The crystal was compromised at the microscopic level, and the data bands were ruined.

The Mechanic smiled again and picked up the next crystal. It took nearly two hours, but he destroyed every one. Now the only record of the Eschless Funnel existed on those delicate paper manuals. His manuals. His monopoly.

He loaded the ruined crystals back into their cases. He would bring them up to the surface and scatter them. He turned to the stasis tanks. It was time to consider the others.

He walked along the row of tanks. All but three were empty now, their lids drawn back, their interiors dry. The Mechanic recalled their occupants. The first tank had held the Engine Supervisor. He was the one who should have been woken by the computer at regular intervals. He was the one who was supposed to maintain the cave, the tanks, and the sleepers. But the Mechanic had bested him. Secretly, he had changed the programming, and it was tank five, the Mechanic’s tank, that had been called upon to wake. It had only been a small change, a simple alteration that had gone undetected by the Engineer, but it had made all the difference.

“I never regretted you,” the Mechanic said.

He had turned off the Engine Supervisor’s tank on his first wake. They had only been sleeping for five years then. The Engineer had suggested a five-year interval, for they had all been certain that rescue was on its way, and they did not want to risk missing the arrival of help. The logic of the kill had been simple: Kill the Supervisor and take his job as maintainer of the sleepers. This put him in control of their tiny crew. He had planned an explanation of how the Supervisor’s tank had failed, but that had never been necessary. Rescue had never arrived, and so there had never been any need to wake to others.

And he did not regret it, for the Engine Supervisor had been the Mechanic’s senior officer on the ship, though he was ten years his junior. Their relationship had never been pleasant.

The next tank had held the Surveyor, one of the scientists in the crew. The Surveyor had caught the Mechanic in a lie once, when they were at camp. The Mechanic claimed that he had double-checked the safety of their drinking water. The Surveyor, who had been secretly watching the Mechanic, claimed that he had not. And the Surveyor had been right. The reprimand still rankled. That had been the final straw in a long list of grievances against the man. The Mechanic had cherished fantasies of revenge for years.

He had not killed the Surveyor right away, however. Instead, he had relished the knowledge that he could end the man’s life at any time, on any whim. Finally, on his twentieth wake, one hundred years had passed, and he surmised that rescue would never come. He had taken a long drink of wine from the cave’s stores and switched off the Surveyor’s tank. If only he had been able to see inside as the man died! But the sense of vindication was still pleasurable.

After that, he had set his sleep interval to two hundred years to put as much distance as possible between himself and the legacy of the survey team outside. But every time he woke, it seemed easier to go back to sleep than to venture out into the world above. And he had certainly never felt the urge to wake the other sleepers. So here he was now, five thousand years later.

The next two tanks were empty and had never been occupied. They had been intended for two members of the survey crew who had disappeared before the sleepers left for the cave.

The fifth tank was the Mechanic’s own. The sixth belonged to the First Mate. It was working perfectly, as it had all these years, and inside of it was the First Mate, one of the senior ship officers on their mission. The Mate was not an engineer, but he had known the ship inside and out.

“I think you could build an Eschless Funnel if you had to,” the Mechanic said quietly. “And you could certainly explain the principles of one.” He let a hand slide along the tank top. “That makes you a threat to my monopoly, friend. I have nothing else against you. I’m sorry.”

He moved his hand to the control panel, punched in his override code, and turned the tank off. The tank began to beep, asking him to verify his command. There were several levels of safeguards, and the Mechanic patiently navigated them all. Within minutes, the life-systems of the tank had ceased to function, and Mate was dying. It would take a few hours, at the slow metabolic rate within the tank, but the Mate would soon be dead.

The final tanks belonged to the Engineer and the Doctor. Husband and wife sleeping side by side though millennia.

The Mechanic stood by tank eight. The Doctor, the Engineer’s pretty wife. His faithful wife. The woman he loved and who loved him. The Mechanic put both hands on the surface of her tank and breathed deeply. He had loved the Doctor himself, had been smitten with her when he first saw her back on Herrod as they prepared the ship. She had never known this, had never paid enough attention to the Mechanic to notice, perhaps. She was pleasant to him, friendly to him, occasionally showed him some sympathy, but the Mechanic knew that she had never once, not ever, thought of him romantically.

She was not a danger to his monopoly, for she did not understand the physics of the Eschless Funnel. He did not have to kill her. But what would it be like for her to wake from her deep sleep and find that her beloved husband was no longer beside her? That would be wonderful.

He moved to the Engineer’s tank. The Engineer was a brilliant man, as the Mechanic had been reminded many times daily over the course of knowing him. The Engineer had designed the ship. The Engineer understood the Eschless Funnel as well as Eschless himself had once understood it. Perhaps even better.

“And like the Mate, sir, that means you must go.” He laughed quietly. “You’ve ordered me about for years. This decision is really too easy.”

He moved his hands to the tank’s control panel. Then he stopped himself.

Quietly, he thought,
And is it too easy for you?
He thought for a moment of what it would be like to have the upper hand on the Engineer. Something worse than murder began to form in the Mechanic’s mind.

I have the upper hand right now
, his more cautious side pointed out.
The smart thing is to kill him.

But what would it really be like to see him helpless?
he wondered.
Surely that would be worse than death to him. And the Doctor—the Engineer would see her and know her, and know that he could no longer take care of her…

Killing is safer.

But not as satisfying! I haven’t had much satisfaction in my life.

He debated silently for a moment, then found that he was convinced.
Just do it right
, his cautious side conceded.
Make sure he’s crippled permanently.

He reached for the control panel and entered his override code. He quickly starved the tank of oxygen. Silently, he counted the seconds. They slid by and became minutes: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twenty, thirty… Thirty minutes without oxygen. The tank was sounding an alarm. The body within was dying.

The Mechanic slowly turned the oxygen back on, and the alarm quieted, then eventually extinguished. Three flashing lights continued on the panel, indicating that the life within was alive, but grievously damaged. The Engineer would never again be able to understand the complicated, delicate equations that described faster-than-light travel. He would be lucky if he remembered his name.

He checked the readout on the Mate’s tank and found the man dead. His body would be slowly dissolved, and then the contents of the tank would drain, to be recycled and used for the remaining tanks.

The Mechanic turned away from the tanks and gathered his things.

2605 BC
Year 2 of Kinley Earth Survey

If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.

 

—Voltaire

 

It was Emergence, the season when the Nile floods receded and the dark, rich earth emerged from beneath the waters, fertile and ready for planting. At the survey camp, the desert was hot, but there was a breeze and even a faint hint of water in the air. Rainfall was rare, but not unheard-of at this date, and there was a chance for moisture from the heavens.

The Captain stood at the edge of camp with the Archaeologist and Doctor, who were filling a small case with medical supplies for him. Some way off, the Mechanic stood waiting by two litters and their litter bearers. A few servants from camp also waited patiently.

After the earthquake and the loss of the
Champion
, they had sent the tiny, unmanned courier ship home explaining their situation and asking for modified plans for the next ship coming to Earth, which had originally been scheduled to arrive four years after the
Champion
. This courier would take three months to arrive at Herrod, and a return message would take another three months. They had at least two more months of waiting before they heard from home. There was nothing to do but continue with their work.

The camp had grown. Small stone buildings were going up, designed and built by the Engineer, with stone he grew himself, which perfectly matched the natural local stone. The workers’ huts had all been rebuilt, and the small township of locals had grown.

“I think this is everything you might need,” the Doctor said as she quickly examined the items she had packed for the Captain. “No matter what the cause of the queen’s stomach trouble, you should be able to help her. But I really would feel better if I were going with you.”

Queen Hetepheres, wife of King Snefru, had sent a messenger to camp that morning asking that the Captain, leader of the healing visitors, attend to her at once in the palace at Memphis. She had briefly described a mild stomachache.

“I’d like you to go with me, but she specifically asked that I alone go and bring only a few servants,” he said. “I’ll pass the Mechanic off as one so I can have some protection, but I can’t pretend you’re anything other than our chief doctor. If she’s pleased with things, perhaps I can bring you next time.”

“All right. But call if you need a consultation,” she said, tapping the communicator clipped to the Captain’s waist.

“I will.” He shouldered the pack, and the Doctor walked back to her camp medical station, where a line of patients was already waiting for her.

The Archaeologist waited until the Doctor was well out of earshot, then looked up at her husband and spoke seriously. “Knowing about the hierarchy of government here, there could be several reasons they’re calling for you alone. Remember, they will want to categorize you, and they haven’t been able to do this yet. The workers at camp are whispering to each other that you’re a god. This could be a threat to the palace. Or a boon, for there is nothing better as a king than clearly having a god on your side.”

“Perhaps she really just wants medical treatment,” he ventured.

“Yes, perhaps. But if they perceive you as a threat, this is an easy way to get you there alone, on their terms.”

He took her words seriously, though he was distracted by thoughts of the queen. There was another possibility his wife hadn’t mentioned…

“If it comes to physical danger,” she continued, “you should use the idea of godhood to its full advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Claim it outright.”

“Darling, I can hardly—”

“Only if you have to.” She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned close to him. “Only if you have to. I don’t want you getting killed up there.”

The Captain was moved by the concern in her voice. Their mission charter forbade them from disturbing local religions and customs, but he could see his wife did not care at the moment. He brushed a hand across her cheek. “All right, then. In this unlikely case, which god should I be?”

“Osiris,” she said without hesitating. It was evidently a matter she had considered extensively.

“Osiris,” he repeated. He knew very little about Egyptian religion.

“He’s a strange god,” she said, “without a clear-cut job in the Egyptian pantheon. But the stories about him make it clear that he’s a martyr. He is married to Isis and has a son called Horus—fits well for us. And he has blond hair.”

“Really?”

“It may just be the sun’s rays shining behind his head, but it’s close enough.” She smiled and tugged at his hair. “He was, the story goes, murdered by Seth, his brother. His death, through many bloody battles, was ultimately avenged by his son Horus. A martyr is the most sympathetic and thus the most powerful figure in any religion.”

“If he’s already murdered, how can I be him?”

She smiled as a teacher might at a naïve student. “Your death doesn’t matter. The god is ever-living. If you have already died, then you are now incarnated again. It will not matter to them, for the god is timeless. Perpetually living out his destiny.”

The Captain looked down at her, the fine bones of her face, her blue eyes with traces of lines around them. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

“Always,” she said tenderly, taking his hands in hers. “This is only a last recourse. As you say, maybe she only has a stomachache.” She glanced over at the Mechanic, who was still staring at them with impatience. “The Mechanic says I’m a trusting wife to let you go off alone to tend to that beautiful queen.”

The Captain pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “As if I could ever look at another,” he said. They smiled at each other; then he released her and walked to the litters. The Archaeologist watched as the litter bearers took up their positions and the Captain and Mechanic climbed in. Then she walked back to camp.

“It takes a patient man to have a wife,” the Mechanic observed as he settled into the cushions of his litter. “I couldn’t do it myself.”

“It has the occasional reward,” the Captain said, glancing back at her.

It took three hours to thread through the outlying villages and then the city proper, making their way to the hill at the very center of Memphis, where they were ushered out of the packed streets and through the palace gates. The Captain threw back the curtains of his litter as they passed through the king’s gardens. There were orchards of fig and olive and date and plum trees, groves of neat vines, clear pools of water where birds bathed themselves, and a thousand breeds of flowers that bobbed their colored heads in the afternoon breeze. Gardeners, naked except for small strips of cloth tied around their waists, tended to each plant by hand, watering them from clay pots. Members of the royal family took their leisure in the gardens, picnicking or lying in shade.

Turning his head, the Captain could see out over Memphis and down to the Nile itself, wide and brown, carrying ships back and forth and up and down, enabling the trade of the entire nation.

The palace itself was not one building, but many. There was a residence for the king, a residence for the queen, a harem building for the king’s many consorts, concubines, and lesser ladies, and endless rooms for servants. The buildings were of mud brick and wood, whitewashed and decorated with murals.

Since entering the palace gates, the litters had been escorted by a squad of house guards, strong young men with short black wigs and dark chests. The escort led the Captain and Mechanic to the queen’s house, stopping them in a great pillared forecourt, shaded by high, leafy palm trees growing from pots along the perimeter.

Here they dismounted their litters and, with the small cadre of servants they’d brought from camp, were shown to an entrance hall. They were met by a chubby eunuch with dark, oiled hair and heavy jewelry. He conducted them through shady halls, past rooms of women-servants and children, up two flights of wooden stairs, and at last to the chamber of Queen Hetepheres.

“Your men-servants must wait outside,” the eunuch said to the Captain in effeminate tones.

The Captain had not thought of this. He had brought the Mechanic and three male workers to provide him some protection and also to make him look important for the queen. He had not thought to bring women, preferring to save them the long, hot journey to the palace. But, of course, men would not be allowed in the queen’s chamber unless absolutely necessary.

He gestured at the Mechanic. Reluctantly, the Mechanic nodded and took up a position at one side of the door, and the men followed suit.

The Captain and the eunuch entered the room. The Captain’s first impression was of light and space. It was a very large chamber. Unglazed windows along the ceiling let in fresh air and streams of sunlight. There were soft carpets on the floor and finely carved wooden furniture, colored in gold and black and green.

The queen lay on a narrow green couch with wooden legs carved like lions’ paws. She wore a long wig of tiny braids that hung about her shoulders. Her dress was pale-blue linen, with a V-neck, and strips that covered her breasts and tied behind her neck. The Captain found himself breathless for a moment. Her beauty had dulled in his memory since that day in the market square, and it was now reinstated in its full flush.

He bowed slightly. “Your Highness, it is an honor.”

She returned the bow with a nod of her head. He moved forward with his pack and knelt by her, smelling the honey scent of her perfume. He began his examinations with questions about where she felt pain, what she had eaten, and if anything of late had been upsetting to her. He spoke through his translator but used whole sentences of the local language, for he had been dedicating himself to learning it.

He was surprised when she broke off, after answering several of his questions, and turned to the eunuch, who was hovering nearby.

“Ptah,” she commanded. “I wish you to stand in the corner, with your back to me.”

The eunuch hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then dipped his head and obeyed. His new position put him out of earshot.

“Cap-tan,” the queen said, looking at him. “I fear my ailment has solved itself since the morning. My stomach is quite well. But there are other reasons for you to be here.”

Her voice was low and intimate as she said this, and he knew immediately that there was no danger to him here, at least none of the kind his wife had prepared him for. He kept his face blank, but he was very aware of the positions of his hands, which were resting on the couch next to her stomach and breast.

“There is magic in you,” she whispered. “That much we all agree.” She touched his translator. “And you have the color of the sun.” She touched his hair. “But I want to know. Are you a god? The workers in the fields murmur that you are. Some of the merchants seem to agree. But we in the palace do not know.”

The Captain guessed then that her husband the king did not know of this visit. She had called him on her own, and it seemed she felt the same attraction for him that he was experiencing for her, an overpowering sense of their bodies and their closeness.

There was no need to make the claim of his own godhood. It was a last recourse, and he was in no danger. No, there was no need, except his own need to be great in the eyes of this woman, to have power over her. Before he allowed himself to think, the words were forming on his lips. “Do you not know me, lady? Do you not see the god Osiris kneeled before you?”

She drew in her breath slowly, staring up at him with a look that was a mixture of fear and desire. “It is as I thought…” she whispered, and she touched his hair again. “Your rage was great in the market that day. Will you bring destruction upon my husband’s land?”

“No,” he said softly, already feeling the weight of his deification. “Not destruction. Only peace and longer life.”

She smiled and he smiled back, a superior smile now, the smile of a god at a mortal. He would not touch her today. He would not kiss her or caress her, though it was clear to him that she would welcome such an advance. All of that would come later. No, a god has patience. And he was now a god.