Legacy (17 page)

"It's quite real," the time traveller assured him. "So is everything else. Well, the sky
is
a projection." He glanced at the blue vault overhead, with its fleecy clouds and gentle afternoon sun. "You see, we're in an artificially generated parallel reality, accessible only through a specialized version of the kind of portals we used for intership transit. This universe is only a few kilometers in diameter, and the unconcealed view from within it can be . . . disconcerting."

Tiraena's mouth was hanging open. "You mean . . . ?"

"Yes. All of our living quarters, plus supply storage and fuel tankage and, in fact, everything that doesn't have to interact with the natural universe, are tucked away in these pocket universes. You've probably wondered how our ship can be so small. Well, all it has to carry are the access portals. Speaking of which, I really should deactivate this one." He made no sound or movement, but the hole in the universe vanished.

"And now," he continued, "let me offer you refreshment. I'm sure you're famished." He led the way across the foot bridge, walking like an altogether ordinary human. They followed, looking around in silence.

Sarnac began to understand what had made him think of Chinese landscape painting: it was the seeming lack of vanishing point perspective, as though the "three distances" doctrine that Natalya had once tried to explain to him in the art museum at Tharsis was somehow reflected in the natural laws of the space they were in. He walked on, grimly concentrating on the everyday quality of all the immediate sensations—the air, the warmth, the scrunch of fine gravel under his feet.

They seated themselves in the pavilion, and Tylar busied himself serving refreshments that had appeared they knew not how, but whose presence seemed somehow appropriate and unremarkable. Sarnac sipped herbal tea and nibbled on some kind of seafood and vegetables, gazing at the dreamlike landscape and glancing down at the fishlike life forms that darted about in the lake, close enough to the surface for the sun to bring out their iridescence.

"So, Tylar," he heard Tiraena say, "you and the rest of your people are descended from ours?"

"Precisely. Having been in your era, I can identify you as a Raehaniv, and your companion as a Terran. We are descended from your two peoples. It is entirely possible—indeed, almost a statistical certainty after all these generations—that I am a remote biological descendant of yours!" Tylar seemed delighted by the thought.

Suddenly, Sarnac shook loose from the lassitude that had been stealing over him.

"Hey!" he cried, "If you people are descended from us, then we must have won the war! You must know what happens in our future . . . and our past! My God, you must know the answer to the riddle of how there came to be humans on both Terra and Raehan! You must know . . ."

As he was speaking, Tiraena also seemed to come alive, and began talking rapidly, her words tripping over his. "And how can time travel be possible, however advanced your technology is? The concept involves insoluble philosophical problems! You'd inevitably change the past and generate all kinds of paradoxes. . . ."

They both trailed off, partly because the sheer number of questions was overwhelming, but mostly because they found themselves unable to concentrate on anything except Tylar's eyes, whose dark brown depths seemed to draw them in where they couldn't even see the look on the time traveller's face—a look of compassion with no lack of respect. But they could hear Tylar's voice, and there was nothing at all befuddled about it, and it seemed to fill this strange universe.

"These are reasonable suppositions, Robert and Tiraena. But there are certain things which I may not tell you, and which you may not know."

Then the moment was over, and Tylar was fussing over the tea in the pleasant lakeside pavilion, and what had passed was not even a memory. But no more such questions were asked.

"So," Tylar resumed, "our ancestry explains our presence here. Earth is, of course, the ultimate homeworld of the human race, and we are engaged in the lengthy—even for us—task of reconstructing its past. Naturally, we concentrate on crucial eras like yours, and eras which are poorly documented. As I mentioned, I've been working in your era. This ship had just departed from it when, by sheer bad luck, the Korvaash ship carrying you passed through the temportal we had used, just before it was deactivated."

Tiraena's head jerked up. "So that ring of spatial distortion we passed through was a temportal? The Interrogator—the senior Korvaasha aboard that ship—called it a 'gravitational anomaly.' Does the effect depend on an application of artificial gravity, then?"

"No. Earlier forms of time travel did, indeed, employ a variant of gravitic propulsion. We still use such vehicles, but largely to emplace temportals, which represent an application of the same technology we just used to access this place. But all forms of time travel will only function within, and in relation to, a gravity field. Necessarily so, if one thinks about it; otherwise, one might take a temporal vehicle to another time only to find oneself in vacuum, with the planet somewhere else in its orbit around the sun! The same applies to all forms of portal technology—energy conservation problems, you know. Imagine what would happen if you stepped through a portal from a planet's surface to a satellite moving around that planet at orbital velocity! So for a spacecraft-sized temportal out beyond a sun's gravitational influence we have to generate a stable artificial gravity field, identical in both of the times in question.
That
was what the Korvaash ship's sensors detected, not the temportal itself, which is imperceptible to them."

"But," Tiraena began hesitantly, "if these spatial and temporal portals of yours aren't based on spacetime distortion through gravitics, then how
do
they work?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly give you a detailed explanation. Quite out of my field, you know. But . . . I believe the Raehaniv of your era have begun to understand the nature of psionic phenomena."

"Yes. Just enough to confirm that it's too weak a force to be useful to humans. But yes, we've determined that it's rooted in the effect neural activity above a certain level of complexity—exceeding the minimum required for self-awareness—has on the possible outcomes of events."

Tylar smiled. "Yes, you are approaching the beginnings of understanding. So perhaps you will understand when I say that portal technology is based on the distortion not of space or time, but of
reality
." He stopped, frowning. "No, that doesn't convey the concept of
nareeshyan
at all. I'm afraid English, or even Raehaniv, lacks the necessary terminology."

Sarnac squirmed in his chair. "Look, I'm not following this at all. But the important thing is that we passed, purely by accident, through this 'temportal' of yours." He paused, and shook his head slowly. "Can you imagine the odds against that happening? I mean, do you have any idea how
big
space is?"

Tylar looked uncomfortable for an instant, but then his poise returned. "I quite agree that it was a very low-probability event. In fact, we've never had such an accident before. But"—he spread his hands apologetically—"even low-probability events do occur."

Sarnac felt unsatisfied by the reply and wanted to pursue the matter, but found it hard to frame the questions he wanted to ask. He was still trying when Tiraena spoke up, derailing his train of thought.

"But," she pursued, "why bother with a spaceship-sized temportal at all? Why not just put a much smaller one on Earth's surface, with its termini in your era, and in the era you want to reach?"

"In many cases, we do precisely that. But Earth in your time frame is a difficult place in which to conceal temportals. You're getting altogether too technologically sophisticated! We are largely reduced to observation from space. Also . . . well, without going into the details, Earth is a somewhat out-of-the-way place in our time. Most of our personnel and equipment have to be brought in from out-system."

"All right," Sarnac resumed, doggedly, "we can provisionally accept all that. The basic fact is that we passed through your temportal. But you said earlier that we're not in your time period. So where—or rather,
when
—are we?"

"Ah. Well." Tylar seemed to gather his forces. "As I mentioned, we are historical researchers. Normally, we have several projects in hand at once. In fact, given the capability of time travel, 'at once' is a somewhat elastic concept. The temportal that you passed through was a temporary one. It enabled us to move on from your period to another area of history that we've been investigating. I've already visited it repeatedly, over a period of several of my own subjective years, and established a solid local identity. We intend to complete our investigation over the next few subjective months. In the meantime, the temportal that we—and, inadvertently, you—used has been shut down."

An awkward moment passed before Sarnac found his tongue. "So you're telling us that we're stuck here until you've completed your research?"

"That is a not inaccurate statement." Tylar looked uncomfortable. "Although the incident occurred quite unintentionally on our part, we are fully sensible of our ethical responsibility, and are prepared to return you to your proper time as soon as possible. In the meantime, we will do our utmost to minimize the tedium of your unintended stay in this period."

"Hmm. . . . What, exactly, is your utmost, Tylar?"

"Well, if you wish, we can place you in a temporal stasis so that when the time comes for you to return to your era, no time will seem to have elapsed—because, in fact, no time
will
have elapsed for you."

"Hmm. . . ." That, Sarnac reflected, would certainly take care of the tedium problem. But it seemed such a waste. . . .

Tiraena seemed to be having parallel thoughts. "Your 'if you wish' seems to imply other alternatives, Tylar. What are they?"

Their host took a sip of tea, then leaned back in his chair and eyed them appraisingly over steepled fingers. "It occurs to me that if you prefer to make some use of your time in this era, you could perhaps assist us in our research."

"What?" Tiraena thrust her head forward. "You mean land on Earth in whatever historical period this is?"

"To be precise, it is the fifth century of the Christian Era—late in the year 469 A.D., in fact," Tylar supplied.

"But Tylar," Sarnac said, "I'm sure you people are very experienced at what you do, and have in-depth knowledge of ancient times in general, plus the specific ins and outs of, uh, 469 A.D. We haven't got any of that. Aren't you afraid we'd screw things up for you and your research team, as well as getting ourselves killed?"

"Not in the least," Tylar assured him. "We would supply you with the tools and information you need—we have the capability to do so in a very short time. And besides, I honestly believe you undervalue yourselves." He suddenly looked abashed. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely candid with you. Before you awakened, we examined the database of the Raehaniv craft in the Korvaash hold. So we know your background. Both of you, as officers of your Survey services, have been trained and biotechnically enhanced to survive in primitive settings. You should be precisely in your element.

"Furthermore," he continued earnestly, "I would be less than honest if I didn't admit to an ulterior motive in suggesting this. As you surmise, we are very experienced at this sort of work—so much so that I fear we may be in danger of becoming somewhat doctrinaire. We need to bring fresh viewpoints to bear on the human past. Your insights could hardly fail to be of value to us, inasmuch as you are—no offense intended—far closer to this era, culturally and technologically, than we."

Tiraena cocked her head to one side in a gesture Sarnac had come to know. "So you get the benefit of our . . . insights. What do we get, besides the chance to spend our enforced layover in something more interesting than stasis?"

Tylar spread his hands. "Why, I should think that would be obvious. You get something that the people of both your cultures have only dreamed about: the chance to view the past at firsthand. The two of you would not do what you do for a living if you did not hear the call of new frontiers. Well, the Earth we are en route toward is, from your perspective, as much an unexplored frontier as any newly discovered planet—and far more colorful than most!"

Sarnac thought about it. He couldn't deny that Tylar's offer was tempting.

"Uh, tell us a little more about the plan, Tylar," he temporized. "I mean, what part of Earth would we be going to? Not that I know much about this period of history, you understand."

"Our area of operation is Western Europe. Specifically, the region known as Gaul in this era, and as France in yours."

"Hey! That's where my father's family originally came from way back when—the province called Brittany."

"Well, then, this will be almost a homecoming for you!" Tylar beamed, as though it was all settled. "Our exact destination is on the lower Loire, next-door to what is currently in the process of becoming Brittany. You see, it is only in the last generation that immigrants from Britain have been the dominant element there. . . ."

"Tylar," Tiraena interjected, "my knowledge of Earth's history and geography are a little sketchy, so you're losing me. For now, can you just tell us why your people are so interested in this particular time and place?"

"Remember what I said earlier about poorly documented eras? This one is almost uniquely ill-documented—infuriatingly so, given its importance. For this is when the ancient world dies and the Middle Ages are born."

Tiraena brightened. "Oh, yes, the Middle Ages! Knights in shining armor! Aleksandr Nevsky!"

"Ah, I'm afraid you might find
him
something of a disappointment. And we're almost a thousand years too early for the kind of armor I think you're visualizing. Permit me to summarize the situation at the present time.

"The Roman Empire, which conquered and superficially civilized Western Europe, has been split into eastern and western halves for two centuries. And now the Western Empire is in its death agony. Later ages will say it was conquered by barbarians; more accurately, its economically precarious superstructure of urban gentility is collapsing into a ruder social order, of which the barbarians are taking control. Understandably, these events are poorly recorded, leaving a vacuum in which legends will be free to proliferate. We are, you might say, trying to weed out the legends so the facts they've overgrown can be glimpsed."