Legacy (16 page)

"What is the relevance of this to our present situation?"

"I don't know. But . . . look, I overheard you describe whatever that was we passed through as a 'gravitational anomaly.' Could it have somehow, well . . . warped time? Flung us back a few millennia?"

"Preposterous!" In contrast to the flat tone of the voder, the Interrogator looked agitated. "Time travel is fantasy."

"Why?" Sarnac challenged heedlessly. "We routinely distort space in various ways. Why couldn't time be distorted as well?"

"No, Bob," Tiraena said. "He's right. Time travel would allow for too many paradoxes. It would make nonsense of the very concept of causality itself! Maybe there's some chaotic universe in which time machines can be built—but not ours. As one of our scientific philosophers once said, 'Reality protects itself.' "

"Yeah, yeah. We've speculated about these things too, you know. If you went back and shot your grandfather before he met your grandmother, then how could you have been born? And so how could you have shot the old geezer? Well, what about strictly one-way time travel into the future?
That
doesn't violate causality in any way that I can see. Maybe we've jumped ahead into an era when Sirius A has ballooned into a red giant. Of course, the proper motion of the stars would have altered the constellations—although noticeable changes would take a very long time."

"Our astronomy section has reported certain minor discrepancies. . . ." The sounds from the translator pendant stopped abruptly, then resumed. "No. It is absurd. There must be some other explanation."

"All right! Fine! You explain it! Explain those little discrepancies. Explain that one big discrepancy," he cried, pointing at the red star. "Explain. . . ." He stopped short, for the Interrogator was no longer listening; he had turned in response to the uproar—or what must be an uproar in the Korvaash auditory range—from the bridge area below them, and was looking again at the viewport. Sarnac followed his gaze. "Explain . . .
that
," he finished in a hushed voice.

No one paid any attention. A small arrowhead-shaped spacecraft had flashed up to a position just to starboard, without benefit of any visible means of propulsion, and stopped dead with relation to the
Gorgon
.

Sarnac again found himself listening to one end of a conversation as the Korvaasha spoke into an interstation communicator.

"Scanning! From what bearing did that craft approach? . . . Why was I not informed it was incoming? . . . What? . . . Impossible. . . . Well, now we can track it visually. . . . Gunnery, lock in on target with all weapons that can be brought to bear."

"No!" Tiraena tried to struggle forward. A guard gripped her with irresistible strength. She didn't cry out, but when she spoke it was through tightened lips. "You haven't even tried to communicate with them!"

The Interrogator turned ponderously to face her. "Why should I? They are clearly not Korvaasha. Therefore, by definition, they are inferior beings, and hostile."

"Just as clearly, they are
very
goddamned advanced," Sarnac said. "Doesn't that suggest that they might be worth talking to?"

"And," Tiraena added with elaborate sarcasm that the translator unfortunately wouldn't convey, "that an unprovoked attack might be ill-advised, as they might be able to make their displeasure felt?"

Nothing came from the pendant, but Sarnac would have sworn that the jerky half-motions of the Interrogator toward the console suggested indecision.

Finally, the tinny sounds arrived. "Silence. Further attempts to interfere will be punished." The Korvaasha turned back to the console. "Gunnery, is the targeting solution complete? . . . Fire!"

Laser beams are naturally invisible in vacuum. But the visual effects of the plasma weapons made them look almost as lethal as they were. Bolts of superheated hydrogen flashed blindingly along laser guide beams to the enigmatic little ship. Sarnac, knowing that such a small vessel could not last more than seconds at the focus of those converging energy beams, silently screamed at it to flit out of harm's way as swiftly as it had appeared.

But the strange ship didn't move relative to the mountainous Korvaash battlecruiser. With apparent indifference, it held its position inside a glowing bubble, dissipating the energy being projected at it into sheets and streamers of light.

Sarnac and Tiraena watched openmouthed as the Interrogator ordered the attack stepped up. "That can't be anything related to our grav deflectors," she whispered, clearly shaken.

Sarnac nodded; he had seen imagery of the device—a Raehaniv application of artificial gravity that lay beyond the Solar Union's horizon—in action. The shield of force it projected was disc-shaped, because the physics of the effect made a bubble-shaped "force field" inherently impossible. It was also an energy hog. The Raehaniv interposed it between a ship and incoming attacks like an ancient swordsman using a buckler.

Yet here sat this impossible little craft, seeming not to even notice an attack that should have volatilized it!

Sarnac dragged his attention from the viewport to the Interrogator, who stood silently looking at the stranger. And even from across the gulf that separated them, it was obvious that he was shaken to the core. Finally, the Korvaasha spoke into the communicator.

"Engineering, bring the drive on-line. I want maximum acceleration. . . . What was that? Did you say we're being held by a tractor beam?"

Through the mechanical blandness of the voder's tones, Sarnac could barely make out a faint bass tone like a distant foghorn. He had heard that, contrary to popular belief, Korvaash vocal apparatus could with great difficulty produce a sound loud and high-pitched enough to reach the lower threshold of human audibility. The Interrogator's voice must have risen to a full scream on his last words. Sarnac could sympathize: a tractor beam that could hold this ship—from a vessel only a tiny bit larger than
Norlaev
—which was rated as too small to hold a tractor beam generator . . . !

"I never felt a jolt," he whispered to Tiraena.

"No reason you should," she whispered back, expressionlessly, "if the tractoring ship has matched vectors
precisely
with the target before activating the beam."

"Oh," he nodded . . . and continued to nod. It was all he could do other than watch the Interrogator and the other Korvaasha sag to the deck—and realize that he was sagging with them.

Before consciousness fled, he had time for one clear thought:
Oh no, not again!

Afterwards, Sarnac could never decide which he had noticed first after regaining consciousness with a blessedly clear head: the fact that he was still on the Korvaash bridge, or the incongruous figure that was gazing down at him. The two thoughts probably entered his mind in that order, for he felt an instant of despair at the former, immediately washed away by the latter's obvious concern, sympathy . . . and humanity. For the man seemed to be middle-aged, and, while strikingly exotic, undeniably human.

Details began to register. The man was of medium height and average build, with brown skin that could have come from any of a number of Earth's ethnic groupings, and features that resembled none of them. He wore a one-piece garment of unfamiliar material. Others, similarly garbed, were moving about the bridge, examining instruments and unconscious Korvaasha, of whom the Interrogator was the nearest.

And there was something new on the command balcony. Sarnac thought it was a holographically projected display screen such as the Raehaniv used, roughly two meters high, and one meter wide. But he couldn't tell what was being projected, for he was seeing only the edge of it from the side, where he was sitting with his back against a bulkhead.

He heard a sigh beside him, and turned to see Tiraena open her eyes. A quick succession of emotions chased across her face as she saw him, their surroundings, and then the kind-looking man, who immediately beamed at them.

"Oh, good! You're both awake. We were so concerned, after this dreadful mix-up! We had no reason to think that you
wouldn't
awaken in fine fettle. Still . . ."

"Wha . . . wha . . ." Sarnac struggled to form words. "Who are you? And how do you speak English?"

"Oh, I've had to acquire English, you know. I've been working in your time, after all, and . . ." He stopped when he saw their expressions, and his own face took on a look of gentle befuddlement. "Oh, I
must
be more careful in introducing unfamiliar concepts! But you should understand that this is all most disconcerting. So please excuse me if I'm not at my best." He seemed to gather himself. "Let me begin at the beginning. My name is Tylar. And you are?" They introduced themselves. "Ah. Well. I and my people belong to an era which, from your perspective, lies in the remote future. Until just now I have, to repeat, been in your time period—myself and my colleagues are historical researchers, you see—and . . ."

He got no further, for both of his listeners came out of shock simultaneously.

"So I was right!" Sarnac yelped, just as Tiraena sprang to her feet with an incredulous "So we're in the far future!"

"Well, er . . . no. I'm afraid there are complications. Dear me! This is going to be even harder to explain than I thought!" Sarnac was afraid Tylar was about to start wringing his hands. But then the fellow brightened. "Why don't we go to my ship? We'll be more comfortable in my quarters, and I'm sure you have no desire to remain here. Knowing the Korvaasha from my stay in your era, I imagine your experience here was less than pleasant."

"You could say that." Clearly, there was something about Korvaash constructs that all humans found psychologically oppressive. And Sarnac was more eager than he wanted to admit to see the inside of Tylar's ship. He wondered how comfortable the living quarters could really be, on the little vessel that was still holding position outside the viewport. He had already seen more of the strangers than their ship looked able to accommodate.

"Wait," Tiraena said. "There are three more of us here. The Korvaasha said they were in suspended animation."

"So they are," Tylar affirmed. "We've inspected the medical facilities and found three humans in cryogenic suspension. Using our own medical sensor apparatus, we've determined that they are in no danger—especially now that we are monitoring the equipment. So, for the time being, I suggest we leave them as they are."

"Well," Tiraena said dubiously, "if you're sure they're all right."

"Quite sure. Indeed, if awakened they would represent additional complicating factors in what is already a rather complicated situation, as I'm sure you'll agree after I've explained." He gestured as if ushering them on.

"All right, then." Sarnac stretched and shook his marvelously pain-free head. No doubt about it, Tylar's people had zapped them something a lot more humane than sonic stunners. "Lead on. I suppose your shuttle is in the hold, where our ship is."

"My . . . ? Oh, dear! I keep forgetting that you are . . . ahem! The truth of the matter is, we won't be using that particular method. Just follow me." He walked toward what Sarnac had assumed was a holographically projected display screen.

It had a small, odd-looking device at the lower left corner—presumably the generating machinery. And it was outlined with . . . what? Rods of spatial distortion, it seemed, glowing faintly with refracted light. And within the frame was a corridor of some kind.
Not
an image. It seemed to be the corridor itself, as seen through a doorway.

Sarnac, his sense of reality wavering, stepped around to the other side of the immaterial portal and looked through it. There was Tylar, and Tiraena, and beyond them the vista of the Korvaash bridge. Feeling slightly silly, he stepped back around it and rejoined the others . . . and looked again into that impossible corridor.

"Are we ready?" Tylar stepped through the portal. Standing in the corridor, he beckoned to them. Sarnac and Tiraena looked at each other, then the former stepped forward.
Ugh! Male hunter lead way for squaw into woolly mammoth's cave
, he gibed at himself. There was a barely perceptible resistance to his passage, but then he was standing in the corridor, looking back through the same—or an identical—immaterial door at Tiraena. He became aware that he had been holding his breath. To cover his embarrassment, he gestured peremptorily at Tiraena, who joined them.

Tylar, with a smile whose gentleness was somehow more infuriating than outright condescension would have been, led them forward along the corridor, which looked like it would fit easily into the strangers' ship. Its otherwise featureless walls were lined with door-sized outlines.

" 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,' " Sarnac mumbled.

"What?" Tiraena looked puzzled, then brightened. "Oh. Narliel's Law."

"No, Clarke's Law."

"Whatever." She addressed Tylar, "Obviously, you couldn't have initially entered the Korvaash ship that way."

"Oh, no. Members of our crew with . . . specialized abilities effected ingress first, and set up one of the paired portals.

"Ah, here we are." He stopped in front of one of the seemingly useless rectangular outlines in the walls, which were made of an unfamiliar metal.

Whether some device had detected him, or whether he had simply thought a command, was a question that never had a chance to enter their minds. For, all at once, the solid, blank wall held another doorway, not unlike the one through which they had just entered. Tylar led the way into the landscape beyond. They followed, wondering.

A bridge curved over the tinkling stream that flowed among gracefully drooping trees. Beyond it, the exquisite little lakeside pavilion was so appropriate that it was impossible to imagine it not being there, against the backdrop of the wooded hills. The scene would have inspired a landscape painter of Sung Dynasty China beyond endurance.

"Tylar," Sarnac said through a constricted throat, "please tell me this is all a holo projection."

With a grave look, Tylar pulled a leaf from the limb of a tree and handed it to him. The species was unfamiliar, but it crumpled in his fingers exactly like any other leaf.