Hidden Empire (36 page)
The mist across her vision was either a blur in the cockpit windows or a thin sheen of tears. Tasia didn’t know which. She
engaged the stardrive and shot away from Plumas toward her new future.
F
or weeks, the Colicos team had uncovered an endless succession of wondrous discoveries, amazing and challenging relics … but
few answers. Still, it was time for another report to be sent to Earth. Sitting inside her stuffy tent shelter, Margaret finished
her latest log entry and smiled ironically to herself.
Unlike excavating Roman ruins or sunken Mediterranean cities on Earth, research into the Klikiss civilization involved more
than simply adding a few obscure details to an already thorough understanding. With the Klikiss, even the fundamentals remained
complete enigmas. Whenever Margaret or Louis discovered something profound—such as her realization that had led to the Klikiss
Torch, or the conjecture that the presumably insectoid race could fly—all other aspects of Klikiss studies went through major
reassessments.
Their work on Rheindic Co amounted to a tremendous undertaking of data gathering, with little time for analysis and introspection
except in the evenings. Unfortunately, it was late morning now. Margaret couldn’t believe how many good working hours she
had already wasted writing this progress report, but she knew her obligations. The Hansa gave them substantial funding, and
one of their adamant requirements was that the Colicoses deliver regular updates. Louis certainly wouldn’t do it—he thought
such “homework assignments” were pointless. But Margaret understood that a good archaeologist had to keep the funding sources
happy, even if it consumed productive hours.
Though she had already listened to the delicate metallic tune many times since awakening, Margaret activated the old-fashioned
music box Anton had given her. The tiny metalcomb teeth whirred out the haunting old melody of “Greensleeves.” She smiled
at the thought of her son and wondered how often he imagined his parents on far-flung planets.
Margaret reread her report, satisfied with the tone and the descriptions of all the things they had discovered. When this
dig was finished, she would carry home detailed scan images and preserved artifacts, but for now Arcas would dictate her report
to his small grove of worldtrees. Via telink connection, his words would reach a green priest counterpart on Earth, where
the report would be delivered to—and perhaps be ignored by—Chairman Wenceslas.
Along with DD, Louis was already inside the cliff city, tinkering with alien mechanical leftovers, sure that he could reactivate
one of the long-abandoned generators. Anxious to get back to the ruins herself, Margaret stepped out into the harsh, dry sunlight
and looked toward the maze of spidery canyons that ran through the nearby mountain buttress. She wondered how much more remained
to be found out there. They had barely scratched the surface.
She looked for Arcas, but the priest’s hut was empty. She scowled, annoyed. Behind his tent, the twenty worldtree saplings
had grown as high as her head, and they spread their golden-green fronds to drink up the sunlight. The soil around them was
moist, indicating that Arcas had already watered them for the day, but he was nowhere in sight. She needed to transmit her
report, and it wasn’t as if he had much else to do.
Earlier, Arcas had proved his worth by receiving and then reporting the astonishing news about the alien attack on Oncier.
He was unable to show images through the telink connection, but he described what General Lanyan had discovered. Stunned,
Margaret remembered the brief glimpse she’d had of the crystalline spheres that had shot out of the burning planet’s interior
and streaked off into space. Dr. Serizawa had blithely dismissed them as “exotic debris” ejected from the burning planet.
Had their test of the Klikiss Torch somehow provoked this attack? What life form could possibly exist deep within the high-pressure
bowels of an enormous gas planet?
She called the green priest’s name but heard no response. Setting her shoulders, Margaret sighed. This wasn’t the first time
Arcas was not to be found when she’d needed his capabilities.
She didn’t begrudge the man his own interests. He liked to wander off into the canyons, collecting fossils and geological
samples. Still, his primary purpose was to serve as a communication link to their sponsors.
“Arcas!” she called again, raising her voice so that it could be heard across the desert. Gripping the information plaque,
she wondered if she should just leave her report until later, but she made up her mind to find him.
Louis and Arcas got along well enough. They often played card games with DD in the evening while Margaret studied the day’s
discoveries. Knowing the access Arcas had to all the information stored in the vast worldforest, Margaret felt a twinge of
resentment at how the priest did not seem interested in learning new things. Where was his drive?
She trudged away from the camp toward a rocky rise where Arcas often went to contemplate sunsets. She climbed the slope, picking
her way over boulders, recalling that all the Klikiss worlds she and Louis had analyzed were sunny and dry. The empty cities
on Llaro and Pym had been erected on great grass-filled plains, their structures standing tall like termite mounds in the
middle of nowhere, far from any accessible running water. Instead of building their mounds close to streams, the insectoid
aliens had chosen their construction sites for some other reason, based on either a geometrical coordinate system or some
other criteria.
Corribus, their most recent archaeological dig, where Margaret and Louis had discovered the Klikiss Torch, was also a barren
world, but far more damaged. The ruins there were blackened and vitrified, as if Corribus had been the site of a titanic battle
many centuries ago. But the xenoarchaeologists had found no explanations or clues to the cause of that destructive conflict.
Margaret reached the top of the rise, suddenly startled to find the huge black forms of the Klikiss robots waiting there.
Sirix, Ilkot, and Dekyk sat motionless, staring at the sky and basking in the sunlight. The three machines looked almost identical.
She stopped quickly upon seeing them.
One—Sirix, she thought—instantly activated his systems, ebony carapace flapping open like beetle wings. A large reflective
sail spread outward, flying up in an intimidating move. The other two robots also split open their shells and extended large
sails so that they appeared three times their already ominous size. Multiple red optical sensors glowed as if ready to go
nova.
Margaret backed off, raising her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”
The Klikiss robots took two steps forward on their articulated legs. Then Sirix froze as he recognized her. In his humming
and clicking synthetic voice he said, “Margaret Colicos. Your arrival was unexpected.” The robots eased back down, reflective
sails folding and withdrawing into their body cores. Curved exoskeletons clicked back into place. “We did not mean to activate
our automatic response.”
“What was that?” Margaret said, her heart pounding, sweat prickling on her skin. “Those sails …”
Sirix buzzed an answer quickly. “Merely solar panels to recharge our power cells. We came up here to absorb energy and to
contemplate. There are many mysteries on this world. We have absorbed more details of our past, though our memories remain
empty.”
Businesslike again, still trying to cover her nervous reaction, Margaret held up the datapad. “Well, Louis and I are doing
our best to find answers for you. I have a report that must be transmitted to Earth, and I need to find Arcas. He sometimes
comes up here.”
“Not today,” said Sirix.
“I can see that. Do you know where he is?”
“Is it urgent that you find him immediately?” asked Sirix.
“I need to transmit this report, and he’s our green priest.” Margaret put her left fist on her hip. “We have a deadline.”
“Then it must be urgent.” He and the other two robots buzzed in a rapid, vibrating conversation, then Sirix extended one articulated
arm from a capped hatch in his body core. “He went to that canyon. Do you see which one?”
Margaret saw a clear trail leading into a crack in the rocks surrounded by sheer walls. “Yes, I remember it. Arcas told me
he discovered something there two days ago.”
“You will find him at that location,” Sirix said. “We will stay here … and attempt to remember.”
Margaret trudged off, relieved to be away from the baffling robots. Sirix called after her with an odd observation, “Because
we are so ancient, Margaret Colicos, we are not as impatient as humans. Given a problem, we are willing to study and ponder
for decades. But we do arrive at an answer eventually.”
Margaret turned as she climbed down the slope. “That may be so—but I don’t have that much time.” She went off in search of
the green priest.
R
epresenting Theron and the green priests, Nira and Otema prepared to depart for the heart of the Ildiran Empire. A merchant
woman named Rlinda Kett would transport them to the dazzling capital city.
Thanks to Sarein’s relentless insistence, along with Reynald’s friendlier intercession, Father Idriss and Mother Alexa had
finally allowed Rlinda Kett to take a small cargo of Theron products—fruits, nuts, juices, woven fibers—on the condition that
she also carry the two passengers.
Wide-eyed, Nira stared at the
Voracious Curiosity
. Not only had she never been away from the forest planet, she had never even set foot aboard a spaceship. The
Curiosity
had been built with an eye for practicality and engineering necessities rather than aesthetics, studded with weird protrusions,
diagnostic arrays, and sensor grids. In the vacuum of space no one could see beautiful lines or shiny hulls anyway.
Otema paid little attention to the vessel or the Theron workers who loaded packages into the hold. Instead, the ambassador
drank in the verdant landscape, filing away every detail of the worldforest as if this might be the last time she ever saw
it.
Before departure, Sarein appeared, wearing the ambassadorial cloak Otema had given her. Her smile was thin and formal. “I
came to bid you good journey, Otema. My brother tells me the crystal city of Mijistra is magnificent.”
Otema’s expression hardened, but her voice was without inflection. “Remember what I told you, Sarein: You are a Theron. Keep
our interests foremost in mind. The trees have warned that we must all be vigilant.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Sarein’s face. “That is my duty as ambassador, Otema. I will not forget it.” Ignoring Nira,
she hurried off to where Rlinda Kett directed the operations personally, insisting that everything be properly stowed. Nira
looked from Otema to the new ambassador and wondered what had passed between them.
When the cargo bay was sealed, Rlinda stood in the entrance hatch, hands on her broad hips. She motioned toward the two green
priests. “Come on and get onboard. The
Curiosity
doesn’t need a push, you know.”
Nira wanted to hurry, but slowed to keep a sedate pace with Otema. When the hatch closed behind them, she instantly felt enclosed
and claustrophobic. A thrill of panic went through her as she smelled metal and unnatural lubricants, synthetic furniture
and reprocessed air. How could she tolerate being imprisoned here for the journey to the seven suns of Ildira?
Otema sensed her assistant’s anxiety, and the expression on her lined face softened. “Any time you wish, you can commune with
the treelings. It will be as if you are in the worldforest.” They had already loaded their potted treelings, gifts to be presented
to the Mage-Imperator. Otema’s dark lips curved in a smile. “I know, Nira, because not only have I ridden on spaceships many
times, but I also spent years on Earth far from the worldforest. It is not the same, but good enough for you to keep your
sanity.”
Rlinda showed them to their guest cabin. Carefully potted in ornate containers, the selected treelings had been anchored to
shelves and in the corners of the cabin.
