years in the heart of the star-spanning Trivashti empire, we walked
in the emperor Sesemene’s palace.
‘Why all this in a tomb? He could have lived here.’ Once again
Fainey-Juveh and I were joined in understanding.
‘Yes,’ was all he said then.
A new vision began to grow. O r I felt his presence. Sesemene.
Not dead these centuries of centuries, only sleeping. Awaiting the
coming of those with the science to return him to wakeful life. And
we had the science — not Fainey-Juveh and me, but the worlds to
which we belonged. Sesemene the Eagle, Bubutap, Priest and Lord
of Bubutap, High O rderer of Orbits, Chief and Marshal of
Armies, Trivash Lord of Trivash, King of Lives, Lord Provider,
Vulture of Fomalhaut, King of Kings, Sesemene Emperor . . .
sleeping there. O ut of this unparalleled mausoleum Sesemene
would rise again — suddenly I was afire with this knowledge, this
certainty, for what can be done will be done — look at the cosmos,
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look at all the weird things they do, all the peoples poking prying
trying building daring dream ing daring spreading seething
through the myriad myriad stars. There is only one law — what can
be done will be done — and this great presence in whose shadow we
crept from pillared cavern to pillared cavern filled with the treasures of numberless antique worlds would live again.
Sesemene.
Fainey-Juveh with his adopted beloved daughters oooooed and
aaaaaed at the knowledges his machines like trained dogs sniffed
out for him and brought tail-wagging upon their displays. This
pearly sphere upon a tall baroque stem was not solid but carried in
its interior some intricate mechanism — for what? This unknown
wooden hand implement had originated in the single torrid billion-
year forest of Orkan when the trees were yet young. And this object
floating in golden amniotic fluid within glass was the foetus of a
smaller creature resembling a m an — what? — and why?
Speaking tautly, dogged by the fawning machines, we came at
last to the tomb of tombs.
Unease had arisen in me, I was a child about to commit some
childish crime for which I must then go in fear of discovery. I
wanted to turn back, I wanted to get out of this — let the buried
stay buried. But I could not flee and earn thus the disappointment
of Fainey-Juveh. And another part of me did not want to.
O ur feet had brought us to great sword-blue metal doors with
ornate wheels beside. But we did not need those wheels to open
them. The archaeologist had not yet entered this inmost sanctuary
of the undead, but he and his iron dog servants, in preparation for
the official entry, had barnacled an airlock onto one of the lower
panels, checked it, flooded sterile air beyond, then left it to await
the coming of the first men in tens of thousands of silent years. Why
had he held back? Why not a private glimpse? Was the need of his
strange and generous nature to share the wonder of his discovery
more powerful than the summons of that most magnificent autocrat lying within? O r did he fear to enter alone?
So through the cramped lock we peeled out of our softsuits,
placing them folded, little more than bubble helmets in a row. By
something in our m anner Limini and Pixr who had been regaining
their laughter were quieted. We were in an antechamber full of personal things. Sesemene watched fierce-eyed and multiplied over my shoulders. Indeed there were half a dozen eagle-faced dummies
bearing ceremonial outfits of metal and gems. Two were sets of
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Anthony Peacey
dress arm our for a grandly muscled chest, helmets with springing
double plumes, gauntlets and greaves, and codpieces proportioned
to house the testicles of a bull, over which should lie (the jutting
downcurving languid but arrogant platinum sheath graphically
depicted) a penis of heroic design. Pixr shrieked with laughter,
pointing, was joined by Limini when Fainey-Juveh and Praliya
smiled. Then he hurried us on.
And I stood before —
There slept within
