Helix (39 page)

Unfortunately,
there were still anarchists and heretics like Kahran Shollay and Ehrin Telsa
who denied the existence of God and the right of the Church to rule.

The
torture and death of Shollay brought Cannak no personal pleasure; in fact, he
found the entire episode somewhat distasteful. More frustrating was Shollay’s
reluctance to admit the truth, that he and Telsa were in league with the alien
invaders.

When
he confronted the aliens with Telsa, he was alarmed to learn that the pink ones
spoke their language. This suggested a conspiracy long in the making, and that
the arrival on Agstarn of the pink ones was no accident but the vanguard of a
well-planned and orchestrated invasion.

The
alien spokesman had even attempted a clever ploy when addressing Telsa. It had
said that they came in peace, and wished the Agstarnians no harm. Telsa, for
his part, had been disingenuous with his display of amazement.

The
truth, Cannak knew, was that Telsa and Shollay had been instrumental in
bringing the vanguard of the alien invasion to Agstarn, that night out on the
western plains, and no degree of deception would conceal the fact from an Elder
as dedicated as Cannak.

And
then the arrival of the black alien had added confusion to his neat hypothesis;
what part did this giant play in the invasion, with its destruction of the
penitentiary and its rescue of Telsa and the pink ones?

Cannak
himself was fortunate indeed to have survived the penitentiary’s demolition.
He’d managed to slip from the corridor as the gunfight began, but found himself
pinned down by cross-fire as the aliens made their escape. A stray blast from
the giant’s weapon had brought masonry tumbling down around his head, though by
the grace of God he had suffered merely superficial cuts and bruises. As the
pink ones led by the giant made their escape, Cannak had followed at a
distance, his robe of office stained with dust and his own dark blood.

He’d
arrived at the courtyard in time to see the last of the aliens flee within the
ship. He screamed at the useless militia to disable the flying machine, to do
all within their power to bring it down as it rose, unsteadily, into the cold
air. They had loosed off volley after volley of bullets at the thing, but it
appeared impregnable. With despair he watched it rise, clear the perimeter
walls and accelerate over the city towards the mountains.

He
considered his options for perhaps five minutes, before deciding on a course of
action. It was radical, but there was no other way of countering the threat
posed by Telsa and his alien invaders. From the smouldering ruins of the
penitentiary he took a Church wagon to the penthouse suite of Prelate Hykell
and informed the venerable Elder of the momentous events of the past two hours.

Then,
tentatively, fearing the Prelate’s outright refusal, he made his suggestion.

Hykell
considered his words for a long minute, his gaze abstracted.

At
last the Prelate asked, “And who would lead the mission?”

Cannak
straightened. “I would, Elder.”

“It
would be dangerous. By all accounts the godless giant was well armed.”

“I
will have God on my side,” Cannak pronounced, and felt a thrill of pride as he
did so.

“If
you succeed, all Agstarn will hail your exploits, Elder Cannak.”

The
very idea made Cannak’s head swim. “I will endeavour to discharge my duty to
the state and to the glory of God.”

At
last Hykell inclined his head. “Go, and may God go with you, Elder.”

Cannak
rode from Agstarn in a wagon hauled by right zeer, the faster to take him to
the Church’s mountain redoubt. He had time to summon two scientists, both
Church officials, whom he briefed is they rode through the foothills.

An
hour later they passed through the buttressed walls of the redoubt, slowed by
numerous identity checks, which, while gratifying to see being upheld,
nevertheless frustrated Cannak’s wish to pursue the aliens. Every minute wasted
here increased the likelihood of the pink ones’ eventual escape... And who knew
what that might mean for the future of Agstarn?

At
last they were admitted into the inner chamber of the fortified redoubt, into
the very hub of the laboratory, which, for fifteen years, had housed the
Church’s most terrible possession.

Cannak
had last seen the deathship—as the Zorl had called it—fifteen years ago, when
Telsa senior had piloted it from Zor to Agstarn. Cannak and other Church
officials had travelled with the ship, while scientists had attempted to fathom
the weapons systems. It had been Cannak’s idea that they should test the
weapons on the return journey—the ziggurat upon the western plain being the
obvious target.

Cannak
recalled the thrill of watching the beam lance towards the edifice, and the
disappointment as it withstood the onslaught and remained intact. They had
tried again, this time aiming at the column that connected daily with the
ziggurat, and this time they had succeeded in destroying the lower portion of
the mechanical tentacle.

For
the past fifteen years, though, the ship had been concealed in the bowels of
the redoubt while Church scientists worked to learn more about its fearsome
capabilities.

Now
Cannak stepped over the threshold of the hangar, flanked by the scientists, and
stopped in awe at the sight before him. The deathship almost filled the
chamber, a thing of stark and brutal magnificence, combining the predatory
lines of a mountain raptor with the sleek grace of a snowbird.

He
gave a short speech to the assembled technicians, who for years had worked upon
the ship’s secrets, hardly thinking that one day it would take flight. They cheered
as he ordered the vessel to be readied for take-off, and he felt a strange
power fill his chest as he realised that his idea, his words, would soon
unleash the might of the deathship on its quest to track and destroy the
godless ones.

As
he climbed the ramp, escorted by eager young pilots dressed in the black
uniforms of the Church’s science corps, the roof of the hangar was winched
open, and he paused to stare up into the grey sky.

On
the bridge of the deathship, he addressed the crew.

“We
are united in the eyes of God, upon a righteous mission into the unknown. What
we will discover, beyond the grey, only God knows, but be assured that we are
in pursuit of evil on behalf of all that is good in existence.” He nodded and
smiled at the assembled crew. “Let the flight commence.”

He
sat in a padded seat to the right of the captain as the ship lifted with a
mighty roar of engines, seemingly floating on a cushion of air, then leaped
through the roof of the hangar. He was pushed back into his seat as the ship
accelerated, covering the distance between the foothills and the mountain peaks
in seconds.

Cannak
stared into the grey, and he knew fear.

He
believed in “the word of the Book of Books. He believed that they were the
chosen ones of God, that Agstarn was God’s true land, and that all others, and
all other lands beyond theirs, were illusions created by malign forces opposed
to the true God. But what terrible, illusory lands might lie beyond what he had
known for all his life?

To
the pilot he said, “Are you able to track the renegade ship?”

The
pilot smiled easily. “We’re locked on to its ion signature, Elder.”

Cannak
turned to the scientist seated to his right. “The weapon is primed and ready to
use?”

The
scientist smiled an affirmative. “We have a dozen missiles at our disposal.”

Cannak
could hardly contain his excitement. “Inform the gunner to await my command,”
he said.

He
stared through the long screen that fronted the bridge, and as he did so the
grey suddenly vanished. His old eyes, accustomed by years of grey and only
grey, found it hard to adjust to what now lay before the ship.

The
sky had changed colour, from grey to the deepest indigo, and then...

He
stared, as did the crew with him on the bridge, and a collective gasp filled
the air. This, then, was where the illusions began.

Ahead
he witnessed a bright fiery ball, and twisted around it what appeared to be a
vast rosary, and Elder Velkor Cannak knew he was gazing upon all that was evil
in the universe.

From his garden
in the
mountain-top phrontistery at Yann, Watcher Pharan had an uninterrupted view of
the world as it spread to the horizon in every direction. He had never
considered it anything less than paradise, and this evening it seemed
especially so. Had the massed lobes of the ko trees ever been greener; had the
great river Phar—after which he had been named, long ago—ever seemed bluer and
more sustaining of the life that teemed in the rainforest? He thought not, and
for perhaps the hundredth time that day gave thanks to the Creator.

Life
was beauteous and bountiful, and the fact that Pharan was coming to the end of
his own physical existence made his appreciation of it all the greater.

From
contemplation of the land, he turned his attention to the night sky. He rose
from his chair and hobbled across the lawn to where his scope was set up before
his armchair. He settled himself, as he had done every evening at this time for
the past fifty cycles, and bent to the eyepiece. A warm breeze stirred his
gown, playing over his scales. Far off, a nightbird sang a gentle lullaby.

The
sight of the helix, resplendent in the early evening light, never failed to
bring a tear to his eye and fill his chest with a mixture of emotions: wonder
at the vastness of the construct, awe at the fact of its existence, curiosity
at the mystery of its provenance.

As
the world turned slowly and the sun set over the rainforest, the last light
caught the tier above his own, underlighting the string of multiple worlds and
seas that swept around its vast upward curve. He wondered at the strange beings
that inhabited these other worlds, and pondered on their ways and customs. As
ever, these thoughts led him to the most perplexing question of all: why had
the Creator initiated the chain of events that began with the Constructors
building the helix and continued with their stocking the worlds with life of
every type? What was the purpose of such a grand project?

For
many cycles he had taught his acolytes the way of the Calique: that the motives
of the Creator were shrouded in mystery that one day might, or might not, be
revealed. More importantly, every day he had taught that what was important,
what was paramount, was the appreciation of the wonder of existence, the
delight of small things, and the reciprocation of kindness to one’s fellow
creatures. All else, all craving of material possessions, of wealth or power,
was a distraction that would turn one’s head from the essential truth: that the
ultimate gift was the gift of one’s blessed existence.

He
turned his scope on its well-worn cycle of the heavens. He tracked the upward
sweep of the helix, and then the downward curve for as far as it went. Then,
feeling the thrill of apprehension that always assailed him at this point, he
turned his scope to the space between the tiers, at the deepening mysterious
blue that was rich with distant, tiny suns. He was scrupulous in his
observation of the heavens, but as ever saw nothing of note.

He
was a Watcher, and it was his nightly duty to scour the heavens.

A
hesitant throat-clearing alerted him to the fact that he was not alone.

He
turned. Sela stood upon the lawn, her bare feet crushing fragrance from the
grass. She carried a pot of herb water, which would help to keep him awake
until the early hours, when his shift of sky-watching would be over, and a
Watcher elsewhere on the mountain would resume the constant vigil.

Sela
wore the green gown of the graduated acolyte. She was not only his favourite
pupil, but his best, combining modesty of being with sharpness of intellect.
She wore her crest swept upright and tied with ko bark, denoting that she would
soon enter the Guild of Healers.

Pharan
would miss her when she finally left to take up her post in some far off
village, if, that was, she departed before he met his demise: the two events
would be soon, that he knew for certain.

“Watcher,
your herbs.”

“Set
it down on the arm, child.”

She
placed the pot on the wide arm of his chair, then asked, “The Watching goes
well?”

He
smiled. It had become a ritual between them, this catechism, a means by which
she extended her stay in his high garden, so that she might stare in awe at the
magnificent brass scope aimed at the heavens. It gave him, too, the chance to
appreciate the inner beauty and goodness of his acolyte.

“The
Watching goes well, Sela. The wonder of creation fills the soul with
gratitude.”

“Watcher,”
said Sela after a pause. “There is one thing.”

This
was not part of their nightly ritual, and he smiled at his acolyte in
encouragement.

“Watcher,
I will miss you when I leave. For so long we have been one, you have given me
all the wisdom you possess. The parting will be difficult.”