“The answer is ‘no.’ Many of us will die fighting the Sheen, but there are worse things than death, such as a life spent running away from it. I say we face the machines, fight them to a standstill, and claim what’s ours. This sun! This planet! This home!”
There was a moment of silence followed by the thump of a single foot, and another, and another until the individual sounds were lost in one massive beat. The female known as Sector 4 sought the admiral’s eyes. He tried to conceal how he felt, tried to erase all expression from his face, but the oldster knew the truth. A battle had been fought and won. How many more would it take? Nortalla felt tired and sank into her chair. The foot-stomping died away.
The sun, which was high in the sky, beat down on the officer’s back as he followed the slightly concave worm path upward. Although Andragna took pride in his body and worked hard to keep in shape, he had discovered that a lifetime of shipboard living had left him weak and out of breath. Something he was reluctant to admit to himself, much less to the fit, young bodyguards who trailed along behind. The errand—or was it a mission?—was something of a chore. Andragna had encountered a number of alien cultures during his lifetime. Many featured religions and were in some cases governed by religions. All of them had one thing in common, and that was a propensity to build monuments or other structures that were so large, so visible, that the population would hold them in awe. Sadly, from the naval officer’s perspective, the Thraki priesthood were possessed of the same unfortunate instincts. The steadily growing city ofStarfall offered plenty of choice building sites, many of which were on level ground, but had one of those been chosen? No, not when there was a hill to build on. A hill that would make any edifice built placed there even more visible. Broken glass crunched under the admiral’s boots as he arrived on a level area and paused to take a breather. His bodyguards paused as well, but didn’t need to, which he tried to ignore. Yes, he could have ordered up an air car, but that would smack of self-importance. and admirals, Thraki admirals, were politicians first and officers second. The view was quite pleasant Starfall occupied the foreground. Sun glittered off glass, worm orchards circled beyond, and hills shimmered in the distance. Pretty now, but what about later? After the Sheen came?
Andragna turned his back to the scene and resumed the climb. Refreshed, or at least partially so, the officer focused on the trail. The worm ruts had been filled with a mixture of gravel and bits of broken glass. They glittered like lost jewels as the admiral made his way to the top or, if not the top, a flat area where the remains of a once prominent building stood. Three of the four violet walls remained and, thanks to the work of a dozen robots, stood free of debris. In fact, so beautiful was the U-shaped enclosure that a stranger might have taken it for a piece of architectural art, and mistakenly assumed that it was supposed to look that way.
Now, as Andragna entered what felt like open arms he saw the mouth of a tunnel, one of many the indigenous population had left behind, and a magnet for the Thraki priesthood. The early histories had been lost, but much had been said and written during the last couple of hundred years regarding the possibility that the Thraki race was descended from subterranean ground dwellers. The theory was certainly tempting, accounting as it did for the race’s excellent night vision, the complex nearly warrenlike manner in which their space ships were laid out, and the average adult’s diminutive stature. Which, when combined with the prominence of the hill, would explain why the site had been selected. An acolyte stood at the entrance of the tunnel, back straight, spear grounded at her side. It was a rare individual who wasn’t acquainted with Andragna’s face. Both the challenge and the response were a matter of form. “Who comes?”
“A seeker of truth.”
“Enter then ... for all who seek truth are welcome here.”
Andragna stepped into the mouth of the tunnel, but his bodyguards were forced to remain outside. Weapons were not allowed on holy ground, unless they belonged to the priests themselves or their highly trained assassins. A fact that spoke volumes about the amount of power vested in the priesthood, the extent to which they influenced the government, and the reason for the officer’s visit. A second acolyte, this one male, came forward to greet him. A triangle had been shaved into the fur on his forehead, a second-year kilt was buckled around his waist, and his demeanor was respectful. “The high priestess is expecting you. Admiral. .. please follow me.”
The passageway, which had been blocked at various points, was clear now, but work continued. Construction robots, many of which had only recently been retrieved from deep storage, would handle most of the work, with acolytes pitching in to help.
What light there was emanated from a spray-on fungus that Thraki scientists had harvested from a planet visited more than a hundred annums before and stored in the Armada’s extensive “life” banks. Some of the Facers opposed the wholesale use of offplanet “biotools,” fearing the manner in which native species might be impacted, but the Runners, who still harbored hopes that the stop on Zynig47
was little more than a pause, had no such concerns. In spite of the fact that the priesthood was a theoretical mix of Facers and Runners, the leadership had a pronounced proRunner bias. A fact which had everything to do with Andragna’s visit.
While the priests didn’t swing enough votes to stop the Facers, and feared the backlash that might result from any attempt to leverage the secular political process, they could be counted on to support conservative initiatives. Or, so he hoped.
Suddenly, the passageway opened to an enormous cavern. Light poured down through a partially restored dome to paint the lake below. The water was smooth as glass. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” the acolyte said softly, and the admiral, who took the stars themselves as his standard of beauty, was forced to agree. “Yes, it certainly is.”
The trail, which had formerly resembled a gently turning trough, followed the cavern’s wall and wound down toward the lake. Once they arrived at the bottom Andragna discovered a large relatively fiat area only partially visible from above. It was there, where numerous tunnels met, that the priesthood was in the process of establishing its headquarters. The temple was only half built but had already started to resemble those seen in the ancient texts. A swarm of robots, priests, and acolytes were hard at work, their tools screeching and clattering. It seemed that, Runner sympathies not withstanding, the church was building a home. Not a good omen from Andragna’s point of view.
