The Pillars of Eternity

9

‘Look.’

Captain Joachim Boaz awoke.

He was alone in the ship. Mace had not been there for over three days, but that was no surprise. Her absences were becoming longer.

He did not answer. But he felt, impinging on his brain, one end of a very long stick. That stick was a spy-beam that extended seven miles or more.

The other end of the beam showed him Mace. At first he wondered why the ship had roused him just to show him one more of her erotic episodes. It was a good part of a minute before he realized that this time something else was happening.

Mace was bound to a chair by clasps. Nearby two men sat, wearing the loose flowing garments associated with the high-ranking and leisured classes. It was the apparel that had confused Boaz at first. The men did not look like policemen.

One leaned toward Mace, listening intently. And Mace was talking. It was evident she was drugged. Drugs that could get a person eagerly to tell all, on any subject, without inhibition or hint of falsehood, were legion.

‘What’s the range?’ he asked. The answer was what he expected: just over seven miles. ‘Show me where.’

The ship fed a route map to his brain, storing it in his adplant. Boaz wasted no time in getting ready. He pulled on his modsuit, and went to the storeroom. He selected a hand gun and a cutting beamer, both of which he tucked into two of the many recesses of the suit.

He went to a cupboard, opened a flask, and drank a long draught of glucose-rich nutrient syrup.

‘Get up onto the ground,’ he ordered the ship, ‘and be ready to take off when I return.’

The ship robots were busying themselves when he left. He made his way to the travel agency just outside the ship ground, and dialled a small ten-booth agency whose number he had to get from the directory after consulting the map in his mind.

He emerged on a nearly deserted walkway. At his back, the blank wall of a building seemed to extend forever. Before him, on the other side of the walkway, a tangled vista of rectilinear shafts gave the usual view of the three-dimensional urban jungle that was Kathundra, interspersed with lamp-suns that relieved the gloom of the lower city and created a glowing haze.

He paused with eyes closed, waiting for the wave of sickness that ran through his body to fade. Then he turned left and walked along the wall until coming to the entrance he knew would be there.

The huge blank-walled building was multifunctional. In it were several thousand dwellings, businesses, workshops, private clubs, dens and enterprises of all sorts, slotted into a mazelike inner structure. What they all had in common was a measure of secrecy. The building had no internal addresses, and all its force-transport numbers were unlisted. The only way to find any of the apartments was to be given a travel number or already to know the way there. For such privacy, the rentees paid highly.

But it was no protection against Joachim Boaz. He moved into the lobby, which was a long tunnel, square in cross-section, the wells roughened and grey and punctuated with elevator gates and the openings of flow-corridors. A tomblike quiet prevailed. The air was dead and oppressive.

Along the flowing floors of silent corridors, down in silently running elevators, Boaz came to a grey, numberless door. He took out the cutting beamer and began to trace out a rough square around the lock.

The tool’s nearly invisible radiation blade, carrying very little heat but maximum penetrating power, sliced into the metal. The main difficulty with a cutting beam was that the shear line was so thin that metals tended to bond themselves back together after the beam had passed. To prevent this Boaz placed a sucker pad against the section and jiggled it slightly until, the cutting complete, it came away altogether.

He knew that an alarm would go off as the door opened. Beyond it was an empty room. He crossed it at a run, and almost without losing momentum smashed into a second door with a booted foot and a fist.

The plastic panel shattered under the impact of his ship-enhanced strength. Kicking his way through the fragments, he emerged into the second room, putting away the cutting beam and taking out his hand gun.

During his long years of dependence on his ship Boaz had become used to foreknowledge. He already knew what he would find in the room. The interrogation was over. Mace, still held by clasps, lolled in the chair. The two robed men, who moments before had been sitting pensively, had risen at the sound of the alarm and now stared at Boaz with a lack of reaction that was curious until one realized that, after all, there was little they could do about what was happening. Boaz blocked the only exit. Neither man was armed. Usually, people in the addressless building saw little need for protection other than simply being there.

The taller of the two was a man with blue eyes that were clear and direct. With raised eyebrows, he coolly appraised the intruder.

‘Captain Joachim Boaz, I presume?’ he said after a moment’s hesitation.

‘How do you know me?’ Boaz asked gruffly.

‘You look the part, Captain. I admit, I had not anticipated that you would turn up here. You are even more resourceful than I had thought.’

Boaz used his gun to wave both men to the rear of the room. The use of the archaism ‘Captain’ in place of ‘shipkeeper’ disconcerted him slightly. He stepped to Mace, taking hold of her face in a thick hand and directing her eyes to him. She stared up without recognition.

He released the clasps on her wrists and waist. ‘Stand up,’ he ordered. When she did not respond he hauled her to her feet. Unsteadily she stayed on her feet, leaning on his shoulder. He backed away, guiding her toward the door, keeping the gun trained on her interrogators.

‘Stop,’ the taller man said.

Boaz’s plan was to leave by the transport cubicle he had seen in the other room. Regretfully he was thinking to himself that he would have to kill these two first. But he halted.

Something in the situation was odd.

Apart from the lack of formal dress, apart from the furtive location, there was the behaviour between the two men. The smaller individual with sandy hair and a snub nose had said nothing and seemed unready to take any initiative, looking to the other as a disciple toward a master.

Boaz recognized that look. It was a feature of many philosophic or occult groups, whose members were apt to fall into what Madrigo had termed thelemic transfer – the surrender of the individual’s personal will to the superiors in the order.

‘I take it you are government?’ he queried.

‘Yes and no. Let me introduce myself. I am Cere Chai Hebron, Director of the Department of Scientific Affairs. My friend here’ – he indicated the other – ‘also works for the government. But today neither of us is acting in an official capacity. We are, to put it bluntly, committing a crime, as you are.’

He smiled, without mirth but in an apparent attempt to win Boaz’s confidence. ‘I think you should listen to me. Without my help you stand little chance of leaving Kathundra alive. You see, it is not simply a matter of illegal possession of alien artifacts. I am sure you have little idea of the alarm with which the government regards your very existence, or of the effort that is being put into tracking you down.’

A bundle of questions arose in Boaz’s mind. In particular he wondered how these people had found Mace. But then it occurred to him that this man Hebron, if that was his real name, could be doing nothing more than feeding him information gained from Mace herself. Perhaps she was the victim of a random kidnapping, snatched to satisfy the festering lusts or warped hobbies of pleasure-sated Kathundrans. The man was evidently trying to delay him, and every extra moment spent here increased his danger.

He started back again. ‘At least let me call Aban Ebarak here to talk to you,’ Hebron said hurriedly.

Again Boaz stopped. That name could not have come from Mace.

‘You know Ebarak?’

‘Indeed. You and I are collaborators, in a way.’

‘What is his number?’

Hebron recited a string of digits, which Boaz matched against the number he held in his adplant. He nodded, but was still suspicious. ‘Come here,’ he said.

Beckoning them into the other room, he dialled. After a short wait Ebarak appeared on the vision plate by the side of the booth which was inset into the wall. Boaz pushed Hebron before it.

‘Do you know this man?’

Guardedly Ebarak nodded. ‘Yes. He’s a Cabal Director.’

‘What can I expect from him?’

Ebarak, reluctant to say anything incriminating over a public service, looked ill-at-ease. ‘You could say he’s on our side,’ he murmured eventually.

‘Then we’re coming through. Stand by.’

‘I was suggesting Aban come here,’ Hebron said diffidently.

‘Get in the booth, both of you.’

Still at gunpoint, they obeyed. After dispatching them Boaz dialled again, pulled Mace in after him, and stepped out with her in Ebarak’s vestibule.

Only the scientist was present. ‘They’ve gone into the lounge,’ he said. ‘You will join us?’

‘They gave Mace a truth drug. Bring her round for me.’

‘Bring her in here.’

He led Boaz into the laboratory and helped him lower Mace into a chair. Disappearing into a storeroom, he returned a few moments later with a hypodermic into which he measured a tiny amount of colourless fluid.

With a faint hiss the drug went into Mace’s blood-stream. ‘She’ll be all right. Don’t suppose he gave her anything to hurt her, anyway.’

‘Do you mind telling me what this is all about?’

Ebarak smiled wryly. ‘Philosophy again. A human preoccupation that seems capable of producing an endless variety of fanatics.’

‘I had guessed it,’ Boaz muttered.

Mace seemed to have fallen asleep. Ebarak arranged her limbs more comfortably in the deep armchair. ‘You see, the government, including the Cabal itself, has unwittingly become host to a secret occult society, and its beliefs are treasonable. Cere Hebron, the tall fellow in the next room, is Director of this society. He is also Director of the Department of Scientific Affairs.’ He shrugged. ‘I haven’t been able to tell you this before, but we have both, to some extent, been under his protection. I have also been obliged to collaborate with his society in the matter of research into the time-gems.’

‘These treasonable beliefs concern time?’ Boaz asked.

‘Yes. The society’s aims are broadly speaking the same as your own. But the philosophical background is quite different.’

Unseen by Ebarak, Cere Chai Hebron had slipped into the laboratory while he spoke. ‘That is right, Captain Boaz,’ he said quietly. ‘And yet you, I gather, should be able to appreciate that background.’

‘What “philosophy” is it that makes it necessary to kidnap an innocent woman?’ Boaz demanded brusquely.

‘I make no apology,’ Hebron replied, unperturbed. ‘The Great Work is of such magnitude that any act committed in pursuit of it is praiseworthy. As it is, I took your friend so as to gain an insight into your good self, Captain. And I am glad that I did.’

He moved closer, without a glance at Mace. His gaze on Boaz was open and disconcerting. ‘Listen closely, and I will explain our doctrine. We reject that colonnader teaching on the absoluteness of mind-fire. We believe it is not a state of ultimate consciousness, but only a kind of limpid sleep, a clear, calm quiescence. The whole universe is in this state of quiescence, whether in its latent or its manifest phase. Essentially, it consists of the fact that nothing ever changes. The Mirror Theorem proves this. It is what we call predestination. But what does predestination signify? To those of us in the society it merely signifies that existence has not yet evolved true consciousness and will. What consciousness does exist, either as pure mind-fire or as the smaller consciousness that is present in every one of us, is passive and not in command of itself.

‘In this condition, the universe resembles a flower, or some other plant, that blossoms by day and closes up by night, and does nothing more. This opening and closing, of course, symbolizes the manifest and latent stages of the world. So it has been for no one knows how long.

‘But it will not remain so forever. The universe is capable of further development. There is a higher destiny – to evolve a new, more intense consciousness that is not quiescent, but which instead is capable of change and innovation. Only creatures possessing individual consciousness can take this step, and doubtless this is the reason why such creatures – organic creatures – exist. We believe it is man’s specific duty to generate the new consciousness. We are the acme of creation. But we are still conditioned by the material universe. We can, if we choose, become its masters.’

Boaz turned his face away. It was no wonder Hebron was interested in him, he thought. He remembered Gare Romrey. It was more than likely he had disclosed Boaz’s quest under interrogation.

‘You see how closely our ambitions match, Captain,’ Hebron went on. ‘The difference is that you seek only escape. You have not grasped that the goal is rather a glorious new adventure. To create wholly new events! To control time, space and materiality!’ His eyes shone. ‘To become, in a word, gods. That is our future – a future outside the dead time we are used to.

‘And yet if anyone has earned a place in our society, it is you, Captain,’ Hebron added calmly. ‘You see, I have learned all about you from your girl. On Meirjain you met the ibis-headed man, who told you the secret of attaining super-consciousness.’ He gestured. ‘All this technical research is unnecessary. The secret is in the will. If you can descend into hell, and emerge unbroken, you will become a god.’

‘Except that no one could do it,’ Boaz said bitterly.

‘Not even if it is the only way? Think, Boaz. We are a madcap species. Some man, somewhere, must brave that which cannot be faced. Perhaps it will be our society that implements the ibis-headed man’s instructions.’

‘You will not implement it. If you try, you will fail. You could not endure that agony. I could not. No one can, and if either your aim or mine depends on it the cause is lost.’

‘In any case,’ he said after a pause, ‘are you not guilty of a failure of perspective? The universe has spawned millions of species, any of whom might be candidates for this transformation you speak of. More likely than ourselves, for instance, might be the ibis-headed people.’

Hebron laughed. ‘Have you not committed the same hubris, Captain? Why should you be the only mite who can move a mountain? Yet that has not deterred you. We believe that man is unique. Time and again it has been shown that other races, while they may be advanced intellectually, lack man’s daring. The ibis-headed man tried to denigrate this forceful quality of ours by calling it obsessiveness. Yet because of it, our guess is that it is man’s destiny to be the inheritor of the new universe. Look!’

Suddenly he held up his open hand, palm outward. He seemed to concentrate for a moment or two, and on the pale palm words appeared, standing out blood-red:

WHO

DARES

WINS

‘Our identifying motto. A willed stigma, made visible by mental effort. You may bear this stigma, if you choose.’

‘I take it you do not adhere to this doctrine?’ Boaz said to Ebarak.

Ebarak’s wry smile returned. ‘I’m a scientist,’ he said. He rapped his knuckles on the workbench, producing a hollow drumming sound. ‘Matter and force are what are real, not ideas. As for belief without proof, I’ve no time for that.’

Hebron waved his hand, allowing the motto to fade. ‘Aban’s is a shallow attitude. Science rests on philosophical thought; it is nothing without it. Your own mentor pointed that out to me, Captain. But I detect, somehow, that you are not with us.’

‘That’s right,’ Boaz said. He did not like the look of Hebron, or the sound of his philosophical society, which he sensed was ruthlessness personified. ‘Your teaching is interesting, but my aims are purely negative. I don’t care about the future of existence, on whatever plane.’

Hebron gave no sign of disappointment. ‘We are bound to work together, nevertheless.’ He turned to Ebarak. ‘I was going to contact you today anyway. Orm is on the point of tracking down Captain Boaz. He may well discover his connection with you, too. I can’t delay matters long – you had both better get out. Best, in fact, if we move the whole operation to a fringe planet I have selected.’ He turned back to Boaz. ‘Gems, equipment and most of the staff will leave by separate ships in separate directions. You leave first. You can join up with us later.’

‘And why should I allow you to dictate my actions?’ Boaz responded in an unfriendly tone.

The Director smiled. ‘Can you be so ignorant? Are you unaware of why time research is banned? It is because whatever Aban may say about it, government scientists do think that time mutation is possible. The Cabal is a traditionalist institution, just like any government anywhere. In its eyes time research threatens destruction. So if I tell you that the Rectification Branch has orders to hunt you down with unusual vigour, you will realize that you took an enormous risk in coming here. Perhaps I will return to my office today and be informed that your ship has already been traced to Kathundra. For a few hours I can delay its seizure, but no more. So do as I say, take your girl and go where I tell you – before it is too late.’

The news startled Boaz. It made him feel vulnerable, reminding him that the surrounding city was, in effect, hostile territory – and that he was miles from his ship, linked to it only by its subtle beams. Could these alone be enough to break his cover? Until now he had not thought so. He had presumed that the government of the decaying econosphere would not have the latest technical refinements in its armoury, and that the integrator beams would remain invisible. But then he had taken only routine methods of surveillance into account…

He found it bewildering that the totally private nature of his mission to change time should have been breached. That other minds considered it valid, that it was a secret political issue, made the concept seem paradoxically unreal. He doubted, too, that he had any real friends here. Hebron’s co-operative attitude was probably connected with the fact that Boaz still had a hoard of time-gems in his possession.

Mace stirred, opened her eyes abruptly and stared about her in alarm.

Boaz placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘All right,’ he said, speaking to Hebron, ‘we’ll do as you say.’