Chapter 13: Bei Nacht

Night, when the ocean rocks me
And soft starlight
Lies upon its broad waves,
Then I free myself completely
From all endeavors and all loves,
And stand still and simply breathe.
Alone, alone, rocked by a sea
That lies cold and silent with a thousand lights.

Then I must think of my friends,
And sink my gaze into theirs,
And ask each, silent and alone,
"Are you still mine?
Is my suffering a suffering to you, my death a death?
Do you feel of my love, my misery,
Even a breath, even an echo?"

And the sea quietly blinks and rocks,
And smiles: no.
And from nowhere comes any answer or greeting.
-Herman Hesse

He was alone.

Abandoned.

Forsaken.

Hasmodai sat aboard the remains of Dumas's ship as the water rose. Eventually it would cover him. A hundred years from now, someone might come across the wreck, and find his preserved, frozen corpse, still sitting here, gazing in wonder upon the Atalanta.

After thoroughly savoring the romantic tragedy of this scenario, Hasmodai rose slowly, so as not to send his wounded head spinning, and began to search the cockpit.

Dumas's craft, however versatile, was, after all, a spaceship. Though Greecia had advanced matter transference to the point where travel was practically instantaneous, even between galaxies, the point of a spaceship was that it spent time in space, and therefore required certain maintenance and safety equipment.

Before long he found a locker under the pilot's dashboard. It opened into a long drawer.

Lying across the top of the drawer were three spacesuits.

It was difficult and painful to pull on the suit in his injured condition, but the worst moment came after he had removed one of his boots, lost his balance, and put his foot down in the water. If he had actually felt any temptation at all to live out the poetic fantasy of going down with the ship, that murderous cold would have changed his mind. Any romance in the situation would have vanished with the first lungful of salty slush.

Once the suit was on, he pulled on the gauntlets and activated the seal, then lay in the water to test it. The suit, powered by five astro-grade energy packs and designed to provide air and warmth in the gelid vacuum of space, could take anything the Antarctic sea could throw at it.

Pushing aside the extra space suits, Hasmodai took the emergency tool bag from the drawer. He found Hesma's old scanner in a corner, under water, but still working. He was glad it hadn't broken. Like the old energy packs, it had capabilities and settings that had served them well, and were not to be found in standard equipment. Who but they had ever had a cause to register the waveform of Orsel?

The leaking hatch was caused by an actual warping of the entire hull, and was beyond his ability to repair. Possibly Tarlant or Mel could have managed something, but Hasmodai was a theorist and researcher, not a mechanic. Yet again, he was useless.

He returned to sit looking at the Atalanta, and sighed. He had always felt a strange fascination for the mystery of the lost ship. When Hasmodai was a child, he had dreamed of being a space explorer and searching for the Atalanta. That dream had led him to a constantly expanding fascination with science, and eventually to the career he had chosen.

It seemed like fate that he was here looking at this ship.

Was there really any point in staying on the foundering spacecraft? If only his voicelink hadn't been smashed in the wreck. Hasmodai tried activating the ship's communications system, but it was as dead as the sensor array. The few remaining systems that still worked showed flickering lights on the control panel, and occasionally one winked out. The ship was dying.

How long should he wait?

What if they never made it back here?

And if they did…what possible use was he to them, without his sensor equipment and computers and data?

When the water reached his chest, Hasmodai made a decision. He plugged a data crystal into the socket on the control panel and started recording. "Soreto, or whoever makes it back, it's Hasmodai. Belle has taken the pod to search for her brother. The ship is going under. I've got one of the spacesuits—there are two more, you may need them—and…and…and I'm going to investigate the Atalanta."

He turned the recorder off, leaving the crystal in the socket. Even if the entire ship went dead, they should find it and be able to activate it.

He strapped the tool pouch around his waist for ballast, slipping the scanner in with it. Then he opened the hatch. The rush of incoming water swamped the cockpit, sending every bit of loose flotsam swirling. The ship sank to the ocean floor and settled crookedly on a boulder.

When the turbulence had stilled, Hasmodai hoisted himself weightlessly out of the hatch, closing it behind him.

The Atalanta lay before him.

What was the point of a scientist, if not to investigate the riddles of the universe?

Hasmodai put a hand on his energy pack and propelled himself toward mystery.

Agi followed Dumas into the Rugen Institute. His mind was still confused with newly-reawakened memories, his heart still filled with rage. He had no idea why Dumas had demanded to speak to him separately, unless it was to exact some sort of revenge for that punch to the jaw. Agi's knuckles still stung from the impact.

They entered a small meeting room, and Dumas put his hands in his pockets and slouched against the wall. Just like a surly teenager.

Which he was, of course. Agi needed to remember that, and to remember that he himself was no longer a mere sixteen-year-old boy. He took a deep breath and let his anger fade.

"You had something to say to me?"

"Have a seat."

Agi sat at the table and waited.

After a few minutes, Dumas said, "You remember when I last left Earth."

"Yes."

"You remember that your preserved Greecian bodies were dropped from the ship."

"Yes."

"You remember that they were destroyed. The capsules smashed. You remember I prevented your return to Greecia."

"Yes." Agi wondered what the point of this was, whether Dumas was simply trying to make him angry again. He remained perfectly calm.

"You remember that the capsules were actually not damaged."

Agi was silent. He remembered that, too. But-

"You remember that I promised to return your preserved bodies to Greecia and send a ship for anyone who wished to return to them."

"I...I..." He did remember that. His brow creased as he tried to sort out the contradiction in his own mind.

Dumas smiled, as if he had won some sort of contest of wills.

"The smashed capsules were an implanted memory. The rest of your people share it with you, and unless their memory is challenged, they will go on remembering that. There have been one or two other alterations made to their memories. But your own memory has been left otherwise untouched. "

Agi felt his resolve to stay calm wavering. "Why? What was the point?"

"I made you and your people a promise," Dumas said. "It was a lie. While the capsules were intact, the bodies within were too damaged to preserve. I take full responsibility for the deaths of your bodies. Under the circumstances, I thought it best your people not remember a lie I told, and a promise I failed to keep. It was better they simply know their bodies were destroyed, and that I left them in exile."

Agi stood and stared into Dumas's eyes. "You changed our memories…you edited our brains…so we wouldn't remember you broke a promise." Calm was becoming harder to maintain.

"Yes." Dumas didn't flinch away from Agi's stare, and his eyes were hard and cold. Agi turned to leave.

"Before you go," Dumas said as Agi put his hand on the doorknob, "you may be interested in how we came up with our solution to this Orsel problem." He held up a data record. "Since there was almost nobody left on Greecia studying the Zone, we searched through the work of the world's most prominent expert on the subject and found this."

He activated the record. Agi felt the blood drain from his face.

"As the conversation has been interpreted for me, this is the record of a meeting during which a team of very distinguished, very brilliant scientists discuss whether a soul, sent from one world to another world's zone, might cause an effect strangely like the one that has actually occurred. Their leader—oh, by the way, it's you—is the one who suggests that reversing the process might reverse such an effect."

Agi did not speak.

"You knew this might happen. And you did it anyway."

"That theory. It was based on concepts about the Zone which we no longer—"

"Yes, yes, I've seen the record," Dumas said. "How you talked them out of the idea that abusing the spirit portal might have disastrous repercussions. I'm not interested in your excuses, or your explanations, or even your guilty confessions. All I care about is that the damage is repaired.

"Tina wishes to remain on Earth and live her life as Helga, so I am giving you a chance. I want you to find another solution. I want the same thing you all want. Consider it a favor that I've overwritten that meeting in your colleagues' minds with false memories."

"They deserve to know the truth," Agi said in a low voice.

"No doubt they do," said Dumas. "No doubt they deserve to know they destroyed our worlds deliberately instead of in ignorance. But it might make them question your leadership, or waste time in self-recrimination, and we have no time for that. They need you to lead them. They will have to work hard and work fast, because if you can't lead them to a solution, then you must lead them through the Zone. You may go now."

Agi turned away, his mind in turmoil and his heart heavy. Once again he paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back at Dumas.

"Dumas. You said there were new bodies waiting for them all on Greecia."

"I did say that." Dumas's mouth stretched into a tight, humorless smile. "It's harder to believe, isn't it, when you know I've already lied once."

The young terrorist lay on the slab like a corpse. It seemed to Kahale Baldwin that an inordinate amount of the station's energy resources were being wasted trying to revive a dangerous felon from the brink of death.

"When can he be questioned?" Baldwin demanded.

"Not till he's fully conscious, anyway," said one of the exhausted med techs who had been working for hours keeping the scoundrel alive. "He seems to drift in and out, and his body temperature hasn't stabilized."

"Well, let me know the minute he's capable of talking," Baldwin ordered. He could see that the boy's eyes were partly open, just to narrow slits, and Baldwin suspected he could hear and understand everything perfectly.

"Do you hear that, young man?" Baldwin said loudly. "Either stop faking and answer questions, or die and get it over with." The boy's effects were on a nearby table. The uniform was free of insignia or identifying marks, and was made of a very strange, pliable fabric. The boots seemed molded in a solid piece from some sort of polymer.

There was also a belt with a metallic canister attached to it. "Has the bomb squad looked at that yet?" Without waiting for an answer, Baldwin marched to his office and punched Captain Walfang's extension on the intercom.

"Walfang!"

"Yes, sir."

"What's the security situation?"

"As well as can be expected, considering we're letting cargo ships and VIPs run amok all over the area."

"I don't like that terrorist in the infirmary."

"He probably doesn't like you either, sir."

Baldwin left a long and dangerous pause in the conversation. "Captain, are you attempting to be funny?"

"Sorry, sir."

"I want him out of here. Send him off on one of those cargo boats you keep complaining about."

"The med techs say—"

"I don't care! He's a threat. And have your explosives people look at that…thing on his belt."

"Sir—"

Baldwin shut off the intercom.

The big demonstration of Castor Weaver's new energy generator was just a couple of days away. Brightwater company executives and major shareholders were beginning to arrive already, and even some politicians and heads of state were making their way all the way to Antarctica for the occasion. Baldwin suspected that most of the politicians were more interested in a photo opportunity with a penguin than in a new and exciting revolution in power generation.

It was a triumph for Brightwater. And he, Kahale Baldwin, had no part in it. Even if Baldwin had been satisfied with reflected glory, Doctor Mellert was absorbing all that, with her hand-shaking and tour-guiding, and introducing her truculent little protégé to all the arriving dignitaries.

Baldwin had a bad feeling about it all, anyway. Several parts of the brat's infernal device hadn't even arrived yet, and it would apparently not be tested before the actual demonstration. Chances were it would be a colossal disaster, and while Baldwin had no stake in the glory of a success, he was fairly sure he'd be handed an enormous slice of any failure. Nobody even understood how the thing worked. All the brat would say was some nonsense about channeling energy from an alternate dimension.

The intercom beeped, and he hit the button. "Yes, Baldwin."

"Uh, Mr. Baldwin, this is Murray from maintenance? We went out to look at that malfunctioning regulator, you remember? The energy output sank, and the temperature rose, and then it blipped out, you remember?"

"Yes," said Baldwin. "Did you repair it?"

"Uh, no."

"Why not?"

"Uh…it isn't there?"

"What do you mean, it isn't there? Did it sink?"

"It's not there, man. Hey, check your e-mail, I'm sending you a picture."

Baldwin checked. He stared. It couldn't be what he thought it was. It couldn't.

"And what it that supposed to be?" he asked, just in case.

"It's a picture from the internet, of a UFO that was sighted in Australia a couple of hours ago. Went right over a bunch of tourists with cameras. Looks familiar, huh? It's all over the news!"

"And how would you know that," Baldwin asked icily, "as you are under orders to have no contact with the outside world?"

After an awkward silence, Murray said, "Well you see, one of my guys has been seeing this girl who works on the cruise ship where all the guests are—"

"This is going in your personal file, Murray," Baldwin said grimly, and turned off the intercom. Then he turned it on again and buzzed Doctor Mellert's office. When she didn't answer, he tried her pager.

After repeated attempts, Doctor Mellert responded. Her voice was sharp and tense. "This had better be important Baldwin. I've got the director of the company here, and two U.S. Senators and a Ukrainian princess, and Castor is being completely unsociable, and three of the component discs still haven't even arrived yet. Is this a matter of life and death?"

"No, but I really think you ought—"

"Whatever it is, Baldwin, deal with it."

"But—"

"DEAL WITH IT." The intercom went dead.

Baldwin wondered how one dealt with a flyaway climate regulator.

As he pondered what to do, he had the sudden sense he was being watched. He looked up and saw a child standing in the doorway of his office. Pollux, the worthless twin.

"What do you want?"

"Is…is Doctor Mellert around?"

"No," Baldwin snapped. "She's busy. If you have a problem, bring it to me."

Instead of scurrying off as he usually did when Baldwin was gruff with him, the boy remained dithering in the hallway.

"What?" Baldwin finally demanded.

"Can I have a helicoptor?"

"You have enough toys."

"No, a real one." When Baldwin stared, he added nervously, "We have three or four, don't we?"

Baldwin's first and natural reaction would be refusal, of course. But it was so unlike Pollux to ask for anything, much less persist when he had been rebuffed, that it made Baldwin suspicious. In his experience, when children behaved out of character, it meant they were up to something they shouldn't be.

"What do you want a helicopter for?" he asked.

"I just…thought it might be fun to redesign the engine."

Was the worthless twin finally going to make himself useful? Of course, all the attention his brother was getting must be making him jealous. Finally, the boy was motivated. And what had Mellert said about giving creative types their freedom?

If Baldwin supported Pollux while Mellert was all tied up with Castor, then Pollux's successes would count in Baldwin's favor with the company executives.

And how much sweeter that would be if Castor's new invention failed and Mellert caught the blame.

"I'll arrange it with Captain Walfang," Baldwin promised. "If you need anything else, come to me first."

"Thanks," Pollux said, and disappeared. As Baldwin punched Captain Walfang's intercom number, he couldn't help staring again at the picture on his computer.

And he wondered.

He was aware of voices around him. Earnest, caring voices. Angry, intense voices. Businesslike, officious voices. None of them voices that he knew and cared for.

The faces flickered in and out as well. Strangers, in a strange, cramped room. One of them looked slightly familiar, even called him secretively by a name he recognized as his own. One of his own.

But the room and the faces and the voices kept fading to another scene, another place.

A silent shore by a dark sea. The waves lapped noiselessly at his feet. Behind him was nothing but mist. Over the ocean was nothing but mist. And the shore, the shore stretched on forever to either side.

I have failed, Agi thought. I am here because I have failed.

Nothing moved in the mist. Nothing moved along the shore. Silently the waves lapped at his feet. The water was cold, but not the biting cold of the Antarctic waters.

It was the soft, soothing, gentle cold of death.

This is just a metaphor, Agi thought. There is no sea, no shore, no mist. This is just my mind's way of coping with this reality, converting it to images I can understand.

To truly understand death for what it was itself, he must enter the dark waters.

Agi stepped forward.

A figure appeared before him, a massive, towering, ominous dark shape. As fearful as it was, as much as it made him tremble, it was a familiar presence. Here he had no defense against it, and wanted none.

"Yes," Agi said, smiling softly. "You've been waiting for me a very long time, haven't you?" He took another step forward.

A force drove him back.

"What is it?" Agi said.

The dark figure stood silent.

Agi stepped into the waters again, but the Enma blocked him once more.

Agi stared at the shadow before him. Hadn't the Enma tried to lure him and his companions to this place countless times? What was wrong now? Was he being punished for his transgressions? Was final peace to be denied to him? Was he barred forever from the land of death?

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

The shape seemed to recede. Figures appeared in the mist, familiar figures. Soreto. Hasmodai. Tarlant. Mel. Palza. Hesma.

His friends. Already dead, they were here waiting for him. He tried to step into the water, tried to join them, but was prevented again.

Agi looked at the figures again. They were not waiting for him. There was no greeting or welcome in their faces. They looked at him with that expectant, confident, waiting expression. The one he saw on their faces so often.

They were waiting for him to lead them.

"Is that what you want from me?" Agi asked. "You want me to lead them?"

The figures faded and vanished, the dark shadow of the Enma dwindled to nothing, and there was nothing but the shore and the sea again.

Agi did not try to step into the waves again. It would not be permitted. The Enma, it seemed, wanted all of them.

He had led his people to folly.

He had led them to disaster.

Now, it seemed, he must lead them to death.

But he would not go out and fetch them. He would not hunt them for the Enma. Sooner or later, they would come to him. Sooner or later, everyone fetched up here.

And here he would stay. Folding his legs beneath him, he sat.

He would wait for them, here, on this silent shore.