Into the Sea of Stars

Chapter 12

Exile Base 11; Alpha/Omega

First Completion Date: 2078

Primary Function: Adopting an old Russian concept, the United States started exiling political dissidents to space in 2068. On the eve of the Holocaust War several hundred thousand "political unreliables, conscientious objectors, and disarmament activists," led by Dr. Franklin Smith, were exiled to space.

Evacuation Date: Believed to be August 7, 2087, the re corded date of the primary exchange between the Third World powers versus the United States and Soviet Re publics.

Overall Design: O'Neill Cylinder. Four kilometers by 800 meters. All exile bases were populated far more densely than the maximum potential carrying capabilities. Thus the units were dependent on Earth for life support. It is believed by Beaulieu that no exile unit could have survived longer than six months after departure from near-Earth, due to depletion of resources.

Propulsion: Ion Drive with nuclear pulse backup.

Course: SETI Anomaly One.

Political/Social Orientation: Penal system, largely self- governing, but managed by USNSC (United States Near Space Council). Departure in fact was hoped for and encouraged by Earthside government as a means of eliminating political dissent without having actually to kill the opposition.

"I'd prefer if you moved that thing from the back of my head. You can see I've brought you where you wanted."

Stasz's words echoed through lan's consciousness, each syllable like a hammer on an anvil. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to open his eyes, since he was still debating if he was dead or alive.

"Croce, you fat slob, we should have left you behind," Ellen said in a shrill voice. "We could have jumped out in time, but, oh no, Ian had to be the hero, so now we're all stuck."

If he was dead, then he must be in Hell. He opened his eyes and looked around.

"Well, our fearless historian is wide awake at last," Richard said, offering him a tumbler. He chortled softly then beckoned for Ian to look forward. Ian gladly accepted.

The couch normally occupied by Shelley was now held by a stranger. From the back, Ian saw broad shoulders and an erect carriage. His hair was tied back in a simple queue that hung over the back of the couch-the color of it nearly matching his dark, full features. In his left hand was a pistol, which he held to the back of Stasz's head.

"Two more of his buddies are in the back checking," Richard cautioned, "so I wouldn't suggest trying any thing."

"For God sake, Ian, don't try anything," Shelley whis pered. "They hit you with a stunner. But this guy's got an old-fashioned powder-driven pistol. Don't get him mad, for God's sake!"

"Where's Elijah?"

"I sedated him," Richard replied. "After they hit you, Ellen, Shelley, and I kind of thought it best to go along peaceful like. We let them into our ship and Elijah nearly went wild. I was afraid they'd kill him, so I just came up and jabbed him one from behind. He'll be out for another couple of hours."

"Where are they taking us?"

The guard turned back and looked at Ian with an almost pleasant smile. "Just for a little talk. The priests of the Father will want to hear your story."

To Ian the language sounded like modified Old English. "The Father?" he asked cautiously.

The guard smiled, but this time with a sinister light in his eyes. "When you say 'the Father,' be sure to say it with the proper respect."

"Oh yes, of course, but of course."

"Coming up on jump-down," Stasz announced evenly. "Remember, friend, you might get sick, but don't blame me."

"Ten seconds, five…"

"Will you look at that! " Stasz pointed ahead and then to the left and the right. For the moment he had forgotten that his life was held by a stranger in the couch next to him.

To his surprise Ian found that his stomach had managed to survive jump-down intact. Perhaps it had something to do with the short duration of the jump, but that question was pushed from his mind as he looked out the forward viewing ports. It took him several seconds to grasp the perspective and scale of what he was seeing.

"It must be a hundred kilometers long," Ian whispered.

"Yes, kilometers," their guard said. "The one forward is large, but you wish to go to that one there." And he pointed to what looked like an old, familiar design. An O'Neill cylinder, probably the original, but it was simply dwarfed by the hundreds of others that filled the heavens in every direction.

They were in high orbit above a deeply pitted surface, and as Ian examined it, he realized that a significant por tion of the planet was scarred and torn, as if a giant had gnawed on it.

"Each one of those units could provide for well over a million people," Shelley said softly.

Good heavens, Ian thought, the population must number in the billions.

Following the guard's directions, Stasz guided Discovery through ever-increasing traffic. Finally, taking the control headset, the guard called for docking clearance. Within minutes the Discovery was lined up for final approach.

For the moment Ian had forgotten his fears as he contemplated the myriad designs of the shipping around him. He felt as if he had arrived at an odd Sargasso Sea, where ships of every conceivable design had collected. As the Discovery turned in on final, the ship slowly rotated on its X-axis so that a full sweep of local space was given to the travelers, and all were overawed by the sheer sizes and numbers.

"Our biggest is nearly a hundred and fifty kilometers in length," the guard said, his pride in such an accomplishment obvious. But it was the only information he would volunteer to them.

"We've got a hard dock," Stasz said as the faint vi bration of contact ran through the vessel.

"Very good. I'm glad I was not forced to kill you." The guard smiled and bolstered his pistol.

"So am I," Stasz replied weakly.

"You see," the guard said mockingly, "I wouldn't know how to pilot this ship." Laughing uproariously, he made his way aft, beckoning for them to follow.

"Maybe they all have a sense of humor," Shelley said hopefully.

"Ask Elijah about that," Ian replied.

The guard stopped by the airlock door and, turning, faced his prisoners. "Go get the crazy one and bring him with you."

Taking a still-wobbly Elijah in tow, they went through the first airlock and waited for the door to the other ship to open.

"Bear yourselves with dignity," the guard said evenly, "for you walk upon sacred ground."

The doorway closed behind them.

"Sounds like we're going to church," Richard said sar castically.

"Shut up," Ian said. "To these people, I think it is."

The doorway slid open to a tunnel of darkness. A single hooded form awaited them. "Follow me," it commanded.

Ian shrugged, pushed off, keeping Elijah in tow, and the others followed.

The hooded form drifted down a darkened corridor, his long black robes billowing out around him so that he had the appearance of a dark ghost, drifting weightlessly through the night. Reaching the end of the corridor, the ghostly guide pointed toward an open elevator. The six went into the cubicle and their guide came in after them. It was impossible to make out his features beneath the hooded robe, and their guide was silent as he beckoned for them to grasp the handholds as the elevator dropped away underneath them. Within seconds the first wispy pull of gravity took hold, and their feet drifted to the floor. Ian judged that they were in, at best, a quarter-gravity zone. When the elevator stopped, its doors opened into a large, softly lit chamber that appeared to be an audience hall.

"Go forward and wait," the guide commanded in a cold, mechanical voice.

They meekly obeyed. Elijah was starting to awaken from his drugged state, and Richard urgently whispered a plea for him to keep his mouth shut and not to make any sudden moves.

As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they saw that a low dais rose at the far end of the chamber. In the center of the dais a single chair was occupied by yet another hooded form.

"In the name of the Father, come forward." This one's tone was not threatening but it held a definite air of com mand.

As they drew closer, Ian realized that their host was not alone. Several dozen others were sitting on the floor before and to either side of the dais.

Ian was, of all things, reminded of several prints he had seen of ancient Japanese warriors sitting cross-legged in front of their warlord. As he drew closer, the compar ison took on even more similarity; to his amazement most of the hooded forms had swords that were laid on the floor in front of them. All were wearing the same dark flowing robes that their guide aboard the ship had worn. There was no ornamentation, no design or emblem to be seen, except for the one who sat upon the low, backless chair in the center-his robe was of a soft, shimmering white that contrasted with the black robes of those who sat before him.

There was a soft, gentle sound in the darkness that reminded Ian of wind chimes. The sound brought back for a moment sharp clear memories of summer evenings, and the memory hurt with a piercing blow. Ian half wondered if these people had somehow read into his memory and used that sound to provoke such thoughts.

Ian and his comrades approached to the edge of the dais and, as if by instinct, Ian knew that it would be an insult for them to step upon it. He stopped and the others drew up around him. He prayed fervently that Elijah would keep still, for he half suspected that they would leave the room in only one of two conditions, and he had no desire to fall into the second category.

Farthest to the right, a hooded form stood, belted his sword, and walked to the center of the dais. Bowing to the white-robed figure, the form pulled back its hood and turned to face them.

"Where are you from?"

Ian was surprised to hear her high, clear voice, and he was struck by her uncommon beauty-dark ebony skin, sharply chiseled features, and long flowing hair.

He hesitated for a second.

"Do I take your hesitation as an unwillingness to answer?"

He better act quickly. " Ahh, no… I'm not sure of your dialect, that's all."

"Your language roots are Old American," Ellen inter rupted, "the same as ours, but its pronunciations are dif ferent from ours. But we'll learn soon enough."

Ian was glad for the momentary interruption. He had to think out his answer.

"Then I repeat, where are you from?"

"Your ancestral home, the Earth."

"You've mastered faster-than-light?"

"That's right," Ian replied. "We have faster-than-light capability."

There was a faint murmur from the others. He realized that most of them were male, but there was a fair pro portion of females, as well.

"How long ago did you leave Earth?"

"I'm not sure of our mutual time measurements. Do you still measure things in what are called years?"

She pondered this for a moment and then nodded her head. "Yes, years. I understand what that is. I am thirty- one years."

"It took us one-half a year to arrive here, with nearly a month of stopovers at other places."

The excitement was evident-the others turned one to the other and Ian felt as if a basic law of decorum had been broken by this display of emotions.

Another dark-robed figure stood up, sword in hand, and the hall fell silent.

"You are born of the Earth?" he said with a deep, resonant voice.

"Yes, you see, we've come…" Ian looked at Richard and let the ridiculous words die.

"Then you are unclean. You are born of those who persecuted us, you are born of those against whom we have declared jihad by the will of the Father. You are born of those who cursed and abandoned us. Your blood shall be spilled, your carcasses abandoned in the night."

He took another step forward and unsheathed his sword. "Cleanse this place of their filth, their sacrilege!" he shouted, bringing the blade back in preparation for a two- handed blow.

Ian jumped backward in a desperate attempt to avoid the flashing blade.

"Fire and Hell, what's wrong with ye?" Elijah called. He stepped forward and confronted the swordsman. "Strike, but 'for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee!'"

There was a murmur of approval from the others, and the swordsman, turning his wrath from Ian, now prepared to swing a decapitating blow at Elijah.

"Nara." The white-robed form was out of his seat, and the others turned to look at him.

"Nara, be still. Sit. You disgrace yourself with such show."

Nara turned, his whole form trembling.

" Gregor, so what if the Father is awakening. He knows not the situation now; I do, and so do others. Even you know and wonder why he must be awakened."

"Be still!" Gregor screamed. He looked to the others and saw that most of them were nodding in response to Nara's words.

"Let the Father speak for the Father. They are unclean, yes, but to kill them"-he swept them with a gaze of contempt-"that can wait."

Ian was suddenly aware that Shelley was clinging to his arm.

Nara stood with blade drawn, his gaze now fixed on the white-robed master. With a blinding flash he swung the blade in a backhanded swing that whisked within a fraction of Elijah's face, and sheathed his blade. With a low bow to Gregor, he strode out of the room. And again there was a murmur from the rest of the assembly. Gregor turned to his right and nodded to the two sitting closest to him.

"Go and help his honor," he said softly. And wordlessly they stood and left the room.

"You, fat one. Are you so typical of those who we thought were so fearless?"

Ian had a hard time finding his voice, and he suddenly realized that his body was covered in a cold sweat. "Yes."

"This bears great thought. Next-is it truth that you have the ability to go beyond light?"

Ian could merely nod.

"Don't tell him anything," Elijah hissed.

"Silence! I could kill you with a word."

"You killed me fifty years ago. I am arisen from that silent death. You cannot kill me ever again, for I am al ready dead."

"A holy fool," someone muttered from the shadows. "It is written then that he should be spaced."

"He will be spaced when I command," Gregor replied. "Now, you who are called Ian, do you understand how this vessel can do such a thing?"

" Ahh, well, to be honest, no."

Gregor drew closer. "If I think that you lie, I'll slit your throat and then cut out your tongue and jam it down your windpipe."

Ian was aware that a puddle was forming around his shoes. "I don't know how it works."

"Then tell me which of you knows how it does."

"No, I'll not betray a friend."

Gregor looked him in the eye and held his gaze.

"You have more courage than it appears," Gregor snapped. "The mystery of your coming requires more examination, for I see the dream of our jihad come to fruition at last with such a device that you now possess. This requires far more decision than I am capable of. You shall live, for the moment."

Gregor turned away.

There was a murmur of angry voices in the room.

"Silence. I like it not, but the Father is already awak ening. I cannot exceed my mandate, even if I wish it. He must be awakened."

"But, Gregor," came a voice from the back of the room, "take the burden yourself this time and let him return to sleep."

"Speak not or I shall force upon you what Nara has earned."

Suddenly the two men who had followed Nara returned to the room and walked to his side.

"Did Nara keep his honor?" Gregor asked.

One of the two held up his blade for all to see-a dark substance dripped from the tip of the weapon. The others murmured their approval.

"He had already cut himself open by the time we arrived. I ended for him as second, so he would not cry out and thus be shamed. Nara's honor was preserved."

The others expressed their approval and, to lan's ears, sounded happy.

"Then it is time to take communion with Nara's honor," Gregor intoned ceremonially. "Let these others be taken to a place of waiting, for the Father must be prayed to: A decision must be made."

They were led away by their female interrogator, and as he watched them while leaving the room, Ian had a bad feeling about what a "communion with Nara's honor" really meant.

Ian looked over to Elijah and saw that he was smiling hungrily.

"Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Ian," Ellen said wearily.

Ian looked up at Ellen and smiled weakly.

"Can't you lay off him for a little while?" Stasz inter jected.

"Why are you defending him all of a sudden?"

"Because I have a feeling all our butts are going to be fried in this one, and in spite of his screw-up in bringing us here, I have to say he really hasn't done all that bad."

Ian looked up at Stasz and nodded his thanks.

Richard and Shelley were asleep on a low cot set into the far corner of the room. His heavy arm was draped protectively over Shelley's shoulder, but she didn't seem to mind and had drifted off to sleep hours ago.

How long they had been in the holding cell was only a guess. It had already been indicated to them that their respective roles had easily been ascertained by a search of the Discovery, and after that one bit of communication, not another word of information had been exchanged.

Much to lan's surprise, they had been allowed their personal possessions, so he had his pocket computer and the alien artifact, which he had quickly explained as a religious medallion.

Only Elijah seemed unperturbed by the situation. He was explaining that "to be locked up with even one other person is my idea of paradise," when the door to their cell opened noiselessly. Only a single guard stood there- the white-robed one they had called Gregor. He pointed to Ian then beckoned for him to follow.

Ian suddenly felt as if the decision over their fate had been made. They must have discovered by now the op erational and repair manuals stored in the ship's com puters. With just a little research work they should be able to replicate the Discovery; therefore there was no need any longer for the Earthmen's "unclean" bodies to be kept alive.

Ian stood up and attempted to maintain his dignity. He gently shook hands with Stasz and Elijah and lightly touched Ellen on the shoulder.

"Should I wake up Richard and Shelley?" Ellen asked. There was a choke in her voice.

He shook his head. "I don't think I could handle the upset; you better not. If I don't come back, tell Shelley I really regret not sleeping with her. It's been hard not to, but tell her I fought down the nearly overwhelming desire because I didn't want to create any friction aboard ship." He tried to chuckle.

Ian looked at Ellen and smiled. "Maybe I should have made a pass at you, as well."

"Go on, get out of here." She turned away.

Ian walked out of the room and Gregor beckoned for him to proceed down the corridor.

"Are you going to kill me?" Ian suddenly asked.

"We all die. Death is an illusion, only honor and name remain. When you die, Ian Lacklin, try to leave more behind than a puddle on the floor."

Suspecting that Gregor was laughing, Ian looked back over his shoulder, but his features were solemn and Ian realized that he had been perfectly serious.

"I do not hate you, Ian Lacklin, but I would not gain honor by slaying thee. I know that there is honor in you, in spite of what your outward appearance might tell. Gain honor and then the slaying of you would be worthy for one such as myself."

What the hell is this guy talking about? Ian wondered. If gaining honor is the ticket to this man's sword, then forget it.

"I know what you are thinking, Ian Lacklin, but I believe that you will understand, as well, and will in the end embrace your honor and die for it."

Gregor touched Ian on the shoulder and motioned for him to stop.

The chimelike sound that Ian had heard in the audience hall was drifting on the edge of hearing, but his attention was diverted by the procession coming his way from the other end of the corridor. Gregor backed to the wall and Ian followed his example to let the procession pass. They numbered nearly a hundred, each of them robed. Some were dark as ebony, others paler, a few had Gregor's Asiatic features. It seemed as if half a dozen races had been blended together during the millennium and a com posite of all had been melded into one, with the black having a slight dominance. They walked with a certain assured grace, male and female alike. Not one looked sidelong at him, so perfect was their discipline.

After the procession's passage Gregor again pointed forward, and Ian tried to somehow emulate those who had just passed by-walking to his death without a whine.

Finally they stopped at the audience chamber where Ian had been received earlier. He looked at Gregor ques-tioningly. Was his death then to be a spectacle before an audience?

Gregor pointed to the door, which slid open as if guided by unseen hands.

"Is this to be my end?"

Like an angel of death, Gregor silently pointed, his robed and hooded figure surreal and nightmarish.

"Answer me, at least let me know. Am I to die in there?"

Still there was no response.

"Well, then I have one thing to say if that's the case."

Again Gregor beckoned for him to go.

Ian screwed up his courage, trying to remember his best Old English, hoping that the words still meant the same even in this culture.

"Well then, if that's the case, then fuck you!"

Turning on his heels, he strode through the doorway.

"Marvelous, absolutely marvelous." The voice was deep and melodious.

The door slid closed behind Ian, and in the semidark — ness he could make out but one figure on the dais. Ian strode closer, and the figure stood up as if in greeting.

"I haven't heard it said that way in nearly a thousand years. And with just the right inflection!"

Ian stopped in front of the dais and looked up.

"Yes, Ian Lacklin. My name is Dr. Franklin Smith."