Morgan's Return (4 page)

A tall young man waited for them at the end of the passage. When he smiled, lines crinkled around his eyes. "Afternoon. We don't get many visitors. I'm Rick Yamoto." He swung the door wide. "Come right in."

Ravindra stepped down onto a stone-flagged floor in a room that resembled a vault, a series of arches traversing the length of the room. Display cases lined a central walkway. Yamoto led the way, talking to Prasad, while Morgan trailed behind them.

"We used to have virtual environments in booths along the walls," Yamoto said. "But people can do that sort of thing at home these days, can't they? So now we just provide central storage for the few artifacts we've been able to find."

"And they're in these display cases?" Prasad said, stopping next to the first one.

"That's right. They're all vacuum sealed, of course. Except for the written books. They're invaluable, and the originals are sealed in a vault. But we do have replicas here."

Ravindra glanced at fragments of vases, cups, and plates. Here and there, complete objects had survived: bottles, pots and pans, and sometimes more poignant relics like a child's doll with a missing arm, and a singed teddy bear. All very interesting, he supposed, but it didn't get them anywhere.

Morgan leaned over another case. He joined her.

"Computer artifacts. They don't know what they did." She pointed at a button-like object. "They think this is memory. Data storage. But they're not sure."

"Does the name Doctor Rosmenyo mean anything to you?" Prasad asked Yamoto. "A colleague mentioned the name when she learned we were coming here, she suggested we visit."

Yamoto's smile brightened the room. "Of course I've heard of him. He's one of the evil magicians of the bad old days."

Ravindra exchanged glances with Morgan and Prasad. Evil magician?

The scholar chuckled. "Apart from the relics you see here, all we have about the Conflagration is from accounts written later, as life started to settle down. I expect you know Humanity was on the verge of extinction?" He waited for the nod. "Good. Here on Iniciara, as society began to recover, the survivors formed a new religion, based on the belief that the Conflagration was a battle between the forces of good, and the forces of evil."

"The forces of evil being the machines?" Morgan said.

Ravindra thought she looked more than a little somber.

"Correct." Yamoto nodded at her, as if she'd just passed a test. "Rosmenyo was a scientist, and we guess a wealthy man. Come along here." Beckoning, he led them to a screen, and entered a search for the letters 'ROS'. A two-dimensional, scratched and stained image of a low, squat building appeared.

"That's the original image," Yamoto said. "It's ancient, dating back to before the Conflagration. Enhanced, it looks like this."

The stains and scratches disappeared, and letters became visible on a sign on the building's roof. "It's not in Standard, of course. But we've translated the script and it reads 'Rosmenyo Enterprises'."

A thrill coursed down Ravindra's spine. Their first, definitive clue. This might have been the place being attacked by a mob when Rosmenyo was killed.

"Do you know anything else about this place?" Morgan stared at the picture, the tension in her posture showing a level of interest she hadn't displayed earlier.

Yamoto shook his head. "Not a thing, sorry. We don't know where it was or what it was used for. But the Nikatians certainly think they do."

"Nikatians?" Morgan asked.

"A religious group. It was very powerful for over a thousand years." The archeologist leaned against the display stand, arms folded. "These days, of course, religion is something of a backwater, but you'll still find churches and cathedrals to Nikat. Nikat's the name of our star. It's sort of sun worship, I suppose, where the sun represents the 'life force'." He added the quotes around the words with his fingers.

"Anyway, back to Rosmenyo. The earliest, hand-written books refer to him as having dabbled in the dark arts. There's a passage where the author rails against men who presume to usurp Nikat and create life, weird mutants who would do their evil bidding, like the menace from beyond the stars." Yamoto pulled a face as he spoke, hunched over, his fingers crunched into claws.

Ravindra refrained from glancing at Morgan. She'd be thinking the same thing:Artemis's clone warriors.

"Ridiculous, of course." Yamoto dropped his hands to his sides. "But it suggests Rosmenyo was working on genetics."

"What happened to him?" Prasad asked.

"No idea. The book says he and his works were destroyed. When, where?" The young man shrugged. "Who knows?"

Prasad frowned. "The other group you spoke of, was that here, on this planet?"

"We suspect not. The religious writers knew there were other inhabited star systems. If you look at it logically, 'the menace from beyond the stars' could be something like a group, or even a man called 'menace', or some similar word, on another planet."

It could indeed. And could that group or man have been involved with the genesis of the Manesai? "Where are the books you've spoken of?" Ravindra asked.

"They're ancient, and very fragile," Yamoto said. "The Nikatian Cathedral here in Neo has them in its vaults. But the university has translations available to anyone who wants them."

"We'd certainly be interested," Prasad said.

"You can study them here in the university library, or you could buy your own copies." Yamoto glanced between them, eager as a puppy. "You'd have to pay for them, though."

"How much?" Ravindra asked.

Yamoto named a price.

It seemed like a lot of money, but in a way this was now part of Manesai history. Artemis's clone army had killed many Manesai citizens. And who knew? Morgan might be able to unravel something more. Ravindra used his data stick to pay.

"Can you give us the books on a data stick?" Morgan said. "The gentlemen don't have implants."

Yamoto's eyebrows shot up. "Goodness me. I don't know how you cope. I'll be back in a minute."

"So," Morgan said. "Are either of you interested in seeing the Nikatian Cathedral?"

"Is there any point?" Ravindra replied. "I'm not much interested in religion."

"Like the Krystor Temple?" Her eyes glittered with mischief. She certainly knew how to rile him.

"That was a ruin. This is a working cathedral. Or so I assume."

Yamoto returned, his boots ringing on the flagstones.

"Is it worth visiting the Cathedral? Is there anything we could see from the Conflagration?" Prasad asked, taking the data stick from the scholar.

"Some of the art is nice. They have these magnificent, lurid holos of the battles between the machines and the humans. Totally fanciful, of course, although they did a wonderful job of depicting the enormous fighting machines."

Fighting machines, Ravindra thought. Now that would be interesting.

"Would they know any more about Rosmenyo?" Prasad placed the data stick into his pocket.

Yamoto shook his head. "I shouldn't think so. Nothing that you won't find in the books. Trust me, I'm researching a doctoral paper on the relics of the Conflagration, why they survived, how. You'll find nothing more there. I suspect the Church had a lot to do with finally obliterating anything that survived in the early years."

"You said you wouldn't think they'd know any more?" Prasad said. "What was your experience with them?"

The young man fidgeted, chewing at his lip. "It's all myths and legends," he said at last. "How much is true? Who knows? But it's worth seeing the Cathedral, if only for the art."

"The myths?" Prasad prompted.

"You'll find them all recorded on the data stick." The young man glanced between him and Prasad, then Morgan. "If there's anything else?"

"Thank you for your time and your knowledge, Mister Yamoto. We're most grateful." Ravindra employed his political voice, the one he used to charm the ministers.

"I'll second that," Morgan said, smiling. "You certainly know what you're talking about."

A flush flared on Yamoto's cheeks and spread. "My pleasure. It's always nice to talk about a man's passion."

"We should be getting on," Ravindra said, moving toward the door.

The young man locked the door behind him when they left the museum. "Back along the corridor, turn right and you'll be back at the entrance. Nice to have met you." That last was mostly aimed at Morgan, who grinned.

Ravindra slung an arm around her shoulders and bent to murmur, "I suspect he might have indulged in some other passions, given half a chance."

She rolled her eyes. "Not jealous, again?"

He chuckled and let her go. Jealous of that weed? Definitely not. But it didn't hurt to remind her of where she stood. Ravindra inclined his head at the guard, before stepping back into grubby reality.

Ravindra gazed ruefully around a shabby, relatively empty street. "Where's the cathedral?"

"The other side of town," Morgan said. "But visiting hours are over. We'll have to go tomorrow." She gazed around. "No sign of a cab, and I don't know how to call one."

"As I recall, it wasn't far. A walk will probably do us good," Ravindra said.

He set off up the paved road the autocab had followed. The further he walked, the more crowded and ugly the streets became. This city was in trouble. Blocks of identical, gerry-built apartments rising to unknown heights in the murky sky formed a dark, litter-strewn gully teeming with people. Several beggars sat on the pavement, holding makeshift signs, overflowing bins mocked the rubbish on the road, dirt and graffiti defaced the buildings, and the smells and stenches fought for attention. Blank-faced people slouched next to doorways, eyeing the passers-by. More and more often, the stares seemed to be directed at them. Ravindra tried to fob off the feeling of unease, but the air fairly simmered with animosity. Somebody pushed past Morgan, throwing her off balance. She swore and staggered.

Prasad ranged up beside Ravindra. "We seem to be attracting a bit of attention."

"Yes." Ravindra took Morgan's arm, holding her closer.

She shrugged him off. "I'm fine. It's a bit tense, isn't it?"

"Is this the way we came?"

She pulled a face. "Yes. But we were up there." She pointed at the sky.

"The sooner we get out of here, the better I'll like it." Ravindra's flesh tingled, a warning he'd learned to heed. He gazed around him, scanning for trouble as he walked

Some sort of skirmish had broken out ahead of them. Two or three people were exchanging words, pushing. Ravindra's pulse sped up a notch.
Let's get past, move on
. The dull thwack of a fist hitting flesh rang clear, followed by a cry of pain.

Morgan stopped. Ravindra grasped her shoulder. "Morgan…"

She thrust him away. "That was a kid or a woman being hit." She'd barely finished the words before she'd wriggled her way in between the spectators. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Ravindra stared over their heads. A woman knelt on the ground, moaning. A scowling youth stood over her, his fist raised. "Give me my money, you bitch." This felt bad. All these people were enjoying the show.

The woman on the ground stumbled to her feet, a hand on her cheek. Then she spat in her assailant's face.

"You filthy…" Ravindra didn't understand the rest but it would have been the usual invective. The man slapped her hard enough to send the woman down again, then bent, his arm outstretched to grip her hair.

Morgan sprang forward and slammed into the attacker's side, sending him staggering. "That'll do, pal."

"Keep out of this," he snarled, fighting to regain his balance. "She's a thieving piece of Solvarian shit."

Damn and blast. We don't need this.
Ravindra shoved into the crowd and grasped Morgan's arm. "Come on, Morgan. This is not a good idea."

The man had dragged the woman back onto her feet. Young and thin, with long dark hair, she would have been pretty without the swelling bruise on her left cheek. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth.

Morgan snatched her arm away. "We can't just let this happen." She faced the fellow, hands on her hips. "What has she done to deserve a beating?"

"She stole from me. Ask her where she got that money." Spittle flew from the thug's lips. The crowd growled.

The girl shook her head. "I didn't steal. He paid me—"

"I didn't get what I paid for."

The spectators were baying for blood.
Damn damn damn
. "We don't want a fight," Ravindra said.

The thug's lip curled. "Illegal bloody immigrants. We don't need 'em here. They take our jobs, our houses. There's not enough for us. They should go back to where they came from." He aimed a kick at the girl, who dodged.

The audience rumbled agreement.

"You didn't mind screwing her, though." Contempt dripped in Morgan's tone.

"Are you one of them, too?" The words came from the side, where a big man tapped a metal bar on his hand. "You're not from around here." The big man curled his lip at Ravindra and Prasad. "And what're youse? With your girly hair. Hey? Some kinda naffs?"