’Tseems that the Polkraitz were an amazing
bunch,
Valyavar said as he ran his hands over the wall of the room in
which he and Stringer found themselves. He sat down on one of the many
couches and stretched out his giant’s legs, scratched his already growing
beard, and relaxed. To assume, this was the way I
was taken from Triesk to Pant.
Absolutely,
Stringer agreed, but I’m sure the Polkraitz had nothing to do with
this.
You know for sure?
I saw some Polkraitz writing once, on a ship at
Ta-tjenen. It’s much like the writing the Tjenens use themselves, which
makes sense since everyone seems to be descended from the same original
group. You notice everyone speaks the same language, even though over the
years different dialects have grown up, and everyone is biologically
identical. Anyway, the writing on the stala was very different; I had time
to notice that as we entered. And while I’m not yet certain why the
Polkraitz were here, clearly all the Tjenen stories and the ones we heard
on the way south are consistent in one thing: that the Polkraitz came and
departed something over a thousand years ago. Just as clearly, this planet
was built earlier than that.
What?
Valyavar screamed.
You didn’t know, then? It’s been coming to me in
nightmares and by bits and pieces ever since I got here, almost as if
somebody were trying to tell me. But in any case, I’m convinced this planet
is artificial. It is the only conclusion that fits all the
observations.
He went on to explain to Valyavar all his experiences,
nebulous as they were, that had convinced him the planet was not
natural. And so,
he concluded, just by the very fact that this planet is here, with
mountains, water, life, all of which must be well over one thousand years
old, the Polkraitz couldn’t have had anything to do with it.
Sounds good,
Valyavar said. The gravity bothered me, too, but I couldn’t make it
stick. I just didn’t know enough to decide. It is hard for someone like me
to think in terms of artificial planets, that’s a certainty.
Suddenly
he turned pale. A big mistake.
What’s that?
Seems that this transport is top-secret, to be
used only by those Fairtalian unless passengers are escorted and
blindfolded by the same. How is it going to look when we show up, clearly
not Fairtalian—
—and not blindfolded. I see your point. I wonder
if we can turn this thing around. Do you think these are controls of some
sort?
Stringer stood up and examined the devices that lined the front
end of the compartment. There seemed to be three widely differing
constructions, and he didn’t know if they were controls or decorations. He
began fiddling randomly with any of these that fit his hand.
Hey! Are you sure that’s a good idea?
Valyavar
shouted as he jumped up from his reclining position. But he grew quickly
silent as the front end of the room became transparent. What are we seeing?
he whispered.
I’m not sure.
But in a way, Stringer knew. The
tube that stretched ahead of them to infinity, fading away as it got
smaller and smaller, was surely a tunnel. Three bulges in the tube, spaced
equally at one hundred twenty degrees, ran along the tunnel wall until they
converged at the vanishing point. What was most frightening were the
luminescent circles that ran around the inner circumference of the
tube. They formed a reference grid. And they were moving. Stringer picked
out a small ring near infinity, almost unresolvable, and watched it grow
until it was moving so fast over his head that it was invisible.
We’re traveling,
Valyavar said flatly.
Stringer snorted. There is some truth to that,
he said, lying down.
After perhaps two telclads of sleep, although Stringer could only guess at
this, Valyavar tapped him on the shoulder. We’ve
been speeding up.
Stringer rose to his feet and went to the window. The circles were no longer individually visible, just blurs now, providing the whole tunnel with a dim glow that alternated in intensity as they swept by. Stringer squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief and began pacing the room, peering into the cabinets, anything just to avoid looking ahead. He found spacesuits in one of the storage closets. Just for fun, he tried one on to see if it would fit, and it seemed alive, adjusting to his body as if it were made for him.
Perhaps another two telclads had passed—who could tell?—when Valyavar made
his second announcement. We’re slowing again.
Indeed, the circles were once more becoming visible.
Funny, I don’t feel as if we’re slowing. I don’t
feel as if we’re moving at all.
Soon the rings spaced themselves at wider and wider intervals, until they barely crawled past. Eventually the last ring, glowing dimly, went by, and no more were to be seen. The passengers felt a slight bump, an upward acceleration, and that was all. Within a few moments the cabin door opened and Valyavar, with one hand on his kalan and the other on one of Stringer’s grasers, walked out. Stringer followed, cat-like and circumspect.
This way,
Valyavar said, pointing to what
seemed to be the exit. As they emerged outside they were met by a blast of
superheated air.
Sarek! Verlaxchi! What a furnace!
Stringer almost ran back into the stala but knew there would be little point in that. He looked around and saw orange sand and mountains that rose like a wall not two centimeters from his eyes and cut off half the sky. Stringer was becoming frantic; the air was searing in his throat and tearing at his lungs, and he thought that his clothes would catch fire. He was sure he would die within moments. His ears perked up: the sound to his left could only be that of trickling water. He ran around and suddenly he was in the shade, water dripping on his head from a troughlike awning above him.
Valyavar was not far behind, clutching at his own throat. Cupping his hand
to catch some of the leaking water, he drank and spat. It’s almost as hot as this air! Sarek!
But it’s saving our lives. Look.
Stringer
pointed to a wide awning with green foliage dangling from its top. Mounted
on bamboolike posts, it ran across the desert to vanish at the base of the
nearby mountains.
Valyavar stared for a moment and then looked in the other direction. Not ten meters behind him, the trough angled toward the ground, spilling its contents into a large lake. The water did have to go somewhere. At the lake were grask, drinking, and by the grask were Gostum. They were not wearing black, but white. Nonetheless, the orange stripe made their identity unmistakable. Valyavar raised his pistol as he tugged on Stringer’s arm.
The nearest Gostum saw them and signaled to the others. There were at least a dozen, hiding in the shade of the stala. Stringer was already poised for fighting.
Little Stringer, ’tis not to be foolish. They
haven’t killed us yet, so let it be.
Stringer lowered his kalan as they were surrounded.
You are the Aliens,
one of the
Gostum said, scratching his rough face with his sixth finger. We have been expecting you. We will take
you to the Commander.
Valyavar shook his head in puzzlement. Soon I may
be placing faith in God.
Let’s hope you’re not dressing warmly, at
least.
Stringer grinned as he mounted the grask that had been brought
for him. He expected the trip to take a telclad, no more, the mountains
seemed so close. But the fifty-kilometer ride stretched on and on in agony,
with the shade above and the cooling water doing little to alleviate the
pain.
This is a new project the Commander
initiated,
the Fairtalian explained with pride. It was only completed at Mid-Bannk. We had
to divert a river, import material from the north, and build it with the
labor of thousands of our recruits. The Commander is wise. The channel
makes the stala so much more accessible now that it is being used
constantly. The new recruits are being housed at Massarat.
Stringer hardly paid attention. Massarat meant nothing to him; the heat on the desert under the sun did. Finally, no matter how much he stretched his head, he could see nothing but the mountains. The crew-cut grask began to climb, and the temperature—thank Lashgar—dropped a little. Why the Gostum lived in the mountains became remarkably clear.
Stringer only vaguely remembered seeing a large stone slab rise in front of him, signaling their arrival. He had been slumped over the neck of the grask at the time. He remembered even less of the drawbridge and passed out totally within clads after that.
When he awoke, he had no idea how long he had been asleep. Valyavar was still snoring next to him on some large cushions. Soon a guard entered the room.
The Commander will see you any time you
wish—if you are rested.
Stringer found himself eager to see Pike again; what this Commander business was about, he didn’t know. In fact, he was so eager that he rolled over to Valyavar and shook the sleeping giant to awaken him. Eventually Valyavar complied, and soon after they were trotting into the council chamber. Even before he saw Pike, Stringer heard the clack, clack of a giant clock and was surprised to see two men standing on either side of it.
Friends!
came the joyous shout as Pike rose from a
huge table to greet them. We’ve been expecting
you.
So we’ve been told,
Stringer remarked as he
took Pike’s arm.
Valyavar and Stringer! I had been told one
was alive, but two is truly amazing. One chance in a million!
’Tis true, we’ve had more than some luck. Seeing
you is a good thing.
You look as if you’ve been through a few things
yourself,
observed Pike, standing back.
And you. Commander? Look at yourself. Gold,
bracelets, necklaces. You look positively decadent.
Pike frowned deeply but quickly recovered his smile. It helps get things done around here. The Gostum have
certain traditions to which it is wise to adhere. Sit down with me. Let’s
have some drink.
Pike waved his arms.
They sat down at a long table covered with an elaborately woven cloth. Stringer saw many figures on it, many weapons, and other things less distinguishable. Absently he picked at the edges, and pieces fell off in his hands.
You seem to be highly regarded,
Valyavar
said. The observation’s clear enough.
We’re Polkraitz, aren’t we?
Stringer frowned. Are you serious?
Pike didn’t answer.
Just then three men walked in: a tall, husky man, about the same build as Valyavar, a young man with blond hair, and another who, in this surrounding, was clearly Alien.
Ah,
Pike said. Meet
Paddelack, my right-hand man. I never would have survived without him, nor
he without me, I suspect. He came here with Hendig more than twenty years
ago and has managed to stay alive ever since.
’Tis something to doubt. A feat to be wondered at,
yuh?
There was no alternative. Stranded,
Paddelack
said. So tell me, where’ve you been?
Stringer was still feeling tired and now a little cranky, but he
answered. Ta-tjenen. I think it’s called Triesk
down here.
A rumble emerged from the standing giant, an eyebrow was raised at the
blond-haired boy, and Pike’s face lit up. Tell me,
Stringer, did you see rockets at Triesk?
Yes, I saw two.
Pike slammed his fist down on the table and glared at Paddelack. You see, Paddelack, the Gostum have always been right,
and you have always been a fool not to believe me. The Polkraitz again
demonstrate their greatness, and the mission is even more clear.
Stringer cocked his head. Why is everyone so taken
by the Polkraitz?
he asked, yawning.
You have not seen the great city, but you have seen
the stala. A great work, is it not? Now you add the rockets we have always
suspected.
Nonsense,
Stringer objected, shaking his
head. Who were they?
Originators of all of which I have just spoken—
The Polkraitz were nothing of the kind.
How can you say that?
From the evidence at Triesk.
Ah, yes, the Trieskans. Merely prisoners of the
Polkraitz.
Perhaps. Or maybe they were prisoners of the
Gostum, and the Polkraitz were gone long before then and had nothing to do
with it all. Or maybe you’re right. If I were holding them prisoners and
didn’t want them to escape, I’d surely tell them the world was flat with an
edge to fall off and that Ta-tjenen was the only place there was. On the
other hand, the Tjenens seem to feel they were the victors of the Great
Revolt. Tell me, who were the Polkraitz?
They built Daryephna, the city we came to find. I saw
it with my own eyes, a wondrous city—
I doubt it. The Polkraitz were here and gone over
a thousand years ago. Maybe they came to investigate the planet, as we did,
and found the stalas at Triesk and Konndjlan. Maybe something happened and
they had to leave suddenly, abandoning some behind. Maybe there was a
revolt. Maybe all that revolt stuff is two-thousand-odd years of
embellishment. But one thing I’m sure of is that the Polkraitz, whoever
they were, left for good. Who would come back to this hell? They’d have to
be fools.
Pike shook his head violently. A great race! They
built wonders! You have seen them yourself!
He was screaming.
Look,
Stringer said as calmly as he could
manage. How many people live on Patra-Bannk?
Triesk has something like twenty thousand. I doubt there are three times
that many in all other places combined—
Twenty thousand! We underestimated! How could the
mistake have been made?
Paddelack urged Stringer to continue.
So the Polkraitz disappeared twelve belbannks ago,
leaving behind the origins of the present population. How many people could
there have been then to produce the population we see now? Use your
head. What could it have been? Several hundred? A few thousand? Maybe the
famous Lashgar had fifty followers, who knows?
It can’t be, it mustn’t be!
cried Pike.
Why not? How many fought in the battle of the
Transhi pass? A hundred?
But the city—
I don’t yet understand that city,
Stringer
replied in a lowered voice, or why it is the only
one to be found, or why anything else, but I am sure that city is ages
older than anything the Polkraitz built. Maybe they stumbled on it as
Hendig did, but they didn’t build it, I can tell you that. I want you to
take me to Daryephna.
That is impossible. I have been there and explored
it. Triesk has more to offer.
Paddelack had stood up and was facing the entrance way. Silence gradually fell about the table as Paddelack ran from the argument.
Barbalan!
Pike stood up. It is good to see you, Barbalan. I had
been informed by the guards from Pant that you went there searching for
Valyavar. Thus I gave orders to leave you unhindered. Good work.
He
smiled benevolently.
Stringer and Valyavar exchanged glances of understanding.
At that another guard walked in. Stringer wondered where he had seen him before, and recently.
You asked to see me, Commander?
Pike responded angrily. I ordered the Trieskan woman
to be brought here not a half-beclad ago. Where is she?
The guard pointed to Barbalan. She took
her.
He swiveled toward the conference table. And these two were with her.
Pike began to shake uncontrollably. He grasped the bracelet on his left
wrist and turned it back and forth. He could smell the oil from the burning
torches. Is this true?
There must be a mistake,
Stringer lied.
Yuh, what’s he talking about?
There was no mistake,
the guard
insisted. I recognized Barbalan but
allowed her to go because of your edict. I assumed all was in good
order. There are others who will confirm what I say.
Pike slammed his fist on the table and a cloud of dust rose. Where is she, Barbalan?
For the first time since Paddelack had known her, he thought he saw Barbalan frightened. Why he was so sure, he could not say. Perhaps she stepped back a centimeter at Pike’s scream; perhaps her hand quivered slightly. Perhaps the first I of her response was hesitant. She controlled her fear well, as always, as all Gostum did. But she was frightened.
I don’t know.
Pike’s eyes grew to twice their normal size and then narrowed to the narrowest of slits. Stringer stood motionless as Pike walked slowly over to Barbalan, put his hand across her throat, and began to strangle her. She made no motion to stop him and no motion to give him the information he wanted. Stringer began to understand what it was to be a Gostum, or what it was to be Barbalan. She would die first before she ceded anything. And she was dying. Her knees began to sink to the floor, and her face, chameleonlike, was turning horrible colors.
Paddelack looked about desperately, not knowing what to do. His legs and arms were paralyzed.
Stringer could not bear it any longer. He ran forward and grabbed Pike’s
arm, slamming him backhanded across the face with all his strength. Pike
reeled, and Stringer was immediately surrounded by other Gostum. We took her to Triesk! Let Barbalan go!
Pike stepped back. Stringer wrenched himself free from his restrainers and knelt by Barbalan. Her breathing was faint and irregular. He held her close, pressing her head to his chest and glaring at Pike. If his kalan had been near, it would now be resting in the Commander’s throat.
You helped her?
Pike asked.
Stringer did not move a millimeter, only ran his fingers through Barbalan’s
hair and kissed her forehead. Forgive me,
he
whispered to her. Yes,
he said aloud.
And you?
Pike asked, turning to his left.
All three.
Valyavar nodded.
If you hadn’t once been my friends, I’d have you
executed on the spot. As it is, I’ll just have to put you away until I
decide what to do with you.
Out of the Bannk and into the Patra,
Valyavar
muttered as they were led away.