The Engines of God Page 5

  The intent of its builders was unknown. It was solid rock, with four inner chambers but no means of reaching them. The chambers were empty, and did not seem to have any geometric order.

  “What did you feel when you came to this place?” Caseway’s voice, breaking into his reverie, startled him.

  “Its age,” Richard said, after a moment’s reflection. “It felt old.”

  “You didn’t mention that. In your book.”

  “I didn’t think it was important.”

  “You were writing for the general public. About a structure that seems to be unique on Pinnacle. Nobody knows what its purpose was. Or anything about it. What else was there to talk about except your feelings?”

  The book was Midnight on Pinnacle. Richard had dwelt on brick texture, on the discoloration near the top that suggested a long delay during construction. He had made observations relating to the geometry of the object, and drew inferences from the fact that it stood alone. He had traced the geological history of the land on which it rested, pointing out that it had probably been a prairie at the time of construction. He had provided graphs showing how long it had been buried. And described recent wind action which had uncovered the object for Arnie.

  “I’d like to go out there myself some day.” Caseway rose and offered a hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Dr. Wald. Glad you could find time to come by.”

  Richard was thinking of the inadequacies of holograms. You can’t sip wine out near Holtzmyer’s Rock. On the other hand, when he had stood in a high wind years ago and pressed his fingertips against the blistered stone, he had been shielded from the heat by his Flickinger field. The sand had rattled against the energy envelope, and the wind had tried to blow him over. Like Caseway, he had never really been there.

  “Yes. Well, I needed to talk to you.” Richard was naturally gregarious. Despite the years that make cynics of most people, he believed everyone could be reasoned with. He took the proffered hand and squeezed it warmly.

  Caseway was a small, heavy man in late middle age. He reminded Richard of a master chess player he had once known, a man of infinite deliberation. He observed all the courtesies, and his manner suggested that he had taken the moral high ground, and that they both knew it. His voice filled with passion, and Richard understood that he was dealing with no empty opportunist. Norman Caseway perceived himself as a benefactor of the species.

  “Please, sit down.” His host turned his chair to face him. “I assume you’d like to talk about Project Hope.”

  Right to the point. Richard tasted his Burgundy. “Apparently, Mr. Caseway, there’s been some bitterness.”

  “My friends call me Norman. And that’s something of an understatement, Richard.”

  Richard folded his hands across his waist. “I would have preferred it otherwise.”

  “Doubtless. So would I. You should know Horner went behind my back. Tried to pull political strings.”

  “Ed means well. Maybe it didn’t occur to him to just ask.”

  “I think he needs new advisors.” Caseway looked out across the desert. “Does he listen to you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Tell him that if it had been possible to oblige him, I would have done so. If he had been willing to approach me directly. And talk to me.”

  “What you’re saying is that it would have made no difference.”

  Caseway’s lips tightened. “None,” he said. “Under the circumstances, I really have no choice but to proceed.”

  “I see.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I take no pleasure in this. I understand the archeological value of Quraqua. And I have a reasonable idea what we stand to lose. But you have had twenty-eight years on that world—”

  “That’s a long time in a man’s life. Mr. Caseway. But it is very short when we are trying to reconstruct the history of an entire world.”

  “Of course.” He smiled at Richard’s persistence in using the formal address. But he refused to take offense. “Nevertheless, there are pressing considerations. We are not entirely free to choose our time frames.” He sipped his drink. “What a marvelous place Pinnacle must be. I wonder what they were like.”

  “We’ll know eventually. We are already able to make reasonable assumptions. We know they believed in survival beyond the grave. We know they valued mountaintops and seacoasts. We know they succeeded in eliminating war. We even know something about their music. Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about a private corporation seizing the world.”

  “I understand.” Caseway looked genuinely regretful. “I envy you. I don’t know anyone who has a more interesting line of work. And I would oblige you in a moment, if I could.”

  “It would be to everyone’s benefit.” He wished they were somewhere else, away from the glare. He would have preferred being able to see Caseway’s eyes. He took his own glasses off to emphasize the gravity of the moment. “The last of the natives on Quraqua died off probably about the middle of the seventeenth century. They were all that was left, scattered in dying cities around their world, of a prosperous and vital web of civilizations that spanned their globe only three thousand years ago. We don’t know what happened to them. They collapsed, over a short period of time. Nobody knows why. They were technologically backward, by our standards. Which should have helped them survive, because they were still close to their roots, and not vulnerable to the kinds of problems we’ve experienced.”

  “It wasn’t all that sudden,” Caseway said. “It happened over centuries.”

  “No.” Richard took the initiative. “Those are assumptions, put out by people who think it had to happen that way, because some of these civilizations were not connected, and should not all have gone down at the same time. But it’s as if someone turned off a light.”

  Caseway thought it over. “Epidemic.”

  “Maybe. Whatever it was, the old order went to its knees, and never recovered. Twenty-five hundred years later, the species became extinct.”

  “Well.” Caseway crossed one knee over the other, and scratched an ankle. “Maybe it’s the Toynbee factor. Their species exhausted itself.”

  “That’s a non-explanation.”

  “Richard—” Caseway paused. “I would like to know what happened on Quraqua as much as anyone. But the deluge is upon us. We have no time left for academic niceties.”

  “What deluge?”

  Caseway looked momentarily startled. “Tell me,” he said, “what you see in the future for us? For mankind?”

  “We’ve always blundered through. I’m optimistic.”

  “I fear I have the advantage of you: I’ve read your books, and you speak often of the future. Unusual in an archaeologist, I would think. No, no; no protest please. I’m less sanguine than you are. And perhaps more of a realist. We have virtually unlimited power now. And we have the experience of the convulsions of the last two centuries. What good has it done us? You and I live well. But people continue to starve in frightful numbers; much of the damage to the environment has proved remarkably intractable; population is approaching the levels that preceded the Collapse.” He stared pensively into his wine. “We have eliminated active warfare, but only because the League has the weapons. The Poles still hate the Russians, the Arabs hate the Jews, the People of Christ hate everybody. It’s as if we’ve learned nothing.”

  “And the only solution is your Utopia on Quraqua.”

  “Yes. We select a small group. Leave the old animosities behind. Start over. But start over, knowing what we know now. That way, we may have a future. Earth surely does not.”

  Richard shrugged. “It’s an old idea, Norman. But even if I grant you the premise, why the big hurry? Why not take the time to see what we can team from Quraqua? Then terraform away.”

  “Because it may already be too late.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Not at all. Listen: the first step, which will happen in a few weeks, is to melt the icecaps. From that moment, it will be a half-century, at bes
t, before the first member of the pilot colony sets foot on Quraqua. Fifty years, Richard. Middle of the century. What do you suppose will be going on by then?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Who indeed? Will political conditions be stable? Will there be money? Will the technology still exist?” Caseway shook his head. “Our experts predict a second Collapse within thirty years. Time is very much against us. Even today, we will be fortunate to bring this off. To create and populate a new world. But if we don’t, I suspect we’ll end very much like your Quraquat.”

  “It’s a scheme. Leave the old animosities behind. You can’t do that unless you find a way to leave their human nature behind. And you’re prepared to sacrifice a major source of knowledge to this aberration.” Damn the man and his arrogant smile. “Granting your premise, there will be other worlds. Why not be patient? Why not wait for a world you won’t have to terraform?”

  “Can you guarantee the discovery of a reasonable habitat within the next half-century?”

  “Guarantee? Of course not. But there’s a good chance.”

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t object if we settled on Inakademeri? And kicked the Noks off?”

  Richard stood. “I’m sorry to find you so determined.”

  “And I to find you so obtuse. But you’re right: I am determined. Determined to see that we get another chance. And you must understand, this may be the only window. Delay, back off to save your pots on Quraqua, and someone may find a better way to spend the money. Once that happens, the game is over.”

  “It is not a game.” He banged the glass down, shattering it. Gingerly he released the broken stem and mumbled an apology.

  Caseway laid his handkerchief on the spilled wine. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “You were saying—?”

  Richard plunged ahead: “Norman, there is potentially explosive information at the Temple of the Winds.”

  Caseway nodded. “And what is the nature of this information?”

  “We have evidence there was a contact between the Quraquat and the Monument-Makers.”

  His eyebrows rose. That had hit home. “What sort of evidence?”

  Richard showed him a copy of the Tull bas-relief.

  “It’s hard to be sure,” Caseway said. He pointed over Richard’s shoulder and the desert vanished. They were seated in a modest wood-paneled room, bare save for the two chairs and the coffee table. “Not that it matters. There are always good reasons to delay.” His eyes narrowed. “Money. Political considerations. The promise of better technology next year. Did you follow the debates over whether we have the moral right to destroy an extraterrestrial ecology? The Committee for Common Decency almost got us canceled because we are subverting God’s plan for Quraqua. Whatever that might be.” His brow creased. “I know what you’re saying. I even agree with you, up to a point. I should tell you that if I had my choice, I would go to Nok, take it over, and leave the Temple to you.”

  Later, when Richard replayed the conversation, the final remark chilled him, because it came from a man he had begun to like.

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  4.

  NCA Winckelmann. Wednesday, May 12; 1410 GMT.

  Earth and moon fell behind.

  Hutch sat on the bridge of the Johann Winckelmann, watching the familiar globes fade to bright stars. Once more into the breach, dear friends. Already Cal was receding, growing hazy, as if his existence were a Schrodinger effect, dependent on her presence. Maybe he was right about her.

  Richard was moving around in back, unpacking, getting settled. She was grateful for the last-minute change in plans, which had saved her from a solitary ride out to Quraqua. In her present mood she needed a diversion. And her passenger was the perfect prescription: she knew him well enough to tell him everything, and he would tolerate no self-pity.

  They’d had breakfast before departure, and then he’d disappeared into his notebooks. He was excited about something, which was another reason she was delighted to have him aboard. Richard was always on a crusade. He did not come forward after launch, but that was not unusual behavior either. At some point he’d wander up, probably when he got hungry, because he didn’t like to eat alone. And he’d explain everything.

  She knew about the enigma on Oz, of course. She was pleased that Richard was going to take a look at it, and she looked forward to hearing his ideas on the subject.

  But seven hours out he still hadn’t appeared, and she informed him they were about to make the jump. “Ten minutes,” she said, over the ship’s comm. And added: “Estimate twenty-five days to Quraqua.”

  “Thanks, Hutch.” He sounded disgusted. That would be because he was anxious to get started. By the second day he would begin to prowl the ship and challenge her to chess matches and bemoan his inability to get around more quickly. He’d stand on the bridge and watch the Tran dimensional mists drift past while Wink proceeded with the apparent velocity of a flatboat.

  He came forward carrying a package of cinnamon buns. “How we doing?” he asked.

  “Fine. Buckle in.”

  He sat down, secured the web, and offered her one of the pastries. “Good to see you again.”

  The wraparound view panel was open. The stars were bright and lovely. Their soft glow suffused the bridge. The interior lights were off, save for a few of the status lamps. They might easily have been outdoors on a terrace.

  Richard made small talk for a few minutes. And then, when she saw an opportunity, Hutch wondered aloud about Oz. “It’s not really a product of the Monument-Makers, is it? I mean, it’s not at all like the other stuff.”

  His expression clouded. “Until a few days ago, I wouldn’t have thought so. Now I’m not so sure.” He passed her Henry’s transmission.

  The similarity was quite clear. “They found this in an eleven-thousand-year-old excavation?”

  “Yes. What do you think?”

  “It’s one of them.” She chuckled. “They went down and got their picture taken. I’ll be damned.”

  Hutch went through her checklist prior to insertion. “I always thought it had to be them,” she said. “That built Oz, I mean. Who else is there?”

  Richard looked disappointed. “We don’t really know, do we, Hutch? Anyway, to be honest with you, Oz
is a place that I’ve preferred to ignore. It doesn’t fit any kind of rational scenario I can think of.”

  Hutch looked back at the Death-image. It touched something deep in her soul.

  “Well,” said Richard, “I’m sure Henry’s people will have some ideas.”

  An amber lamp began to glow. “Insertion coming up,” she said quietly. Power couplings activated. “Ten seconds.”

  Richard settled back into his web. “If it’s really them, it might mean they suffered some sort of precipitous decline.” His eyes drifted shut. “I hope not.”

  The engines fired, and the stars went out. That was the only physical effect of the leap into Tran dimensional space. There was not even a sense of motion. Some claimed to feel a slight vertigo, but Hutch thought they were generally overwrought types anyway.

  It was a little like passing through a tunnel. When the tunnel faded, a process that might require anywhere from half a minute to almost an hour, it had given way to the gray mist.

  Systems went green, and she closed off the forward view.

  “—I’d hate to think that, in the end, they went mad.”

  “Isn’t that a little strong?” She had waited on the pastry. Now she poured fresh coffee and helped herself.

  “Mad? You won’t think so when you’ve seen Oz.”

  LIBRARY ENTRY

  WHERE IS THE PAYOFF?

  …The wealth that was to accrue from interstellar flight has never materialized. We have had minor technological advances that might have been achieved any way, at a fraction of the cost. We have learned that intelligent species existed on two remote worlds, and that they exist no longer; and that, on a third world, another species is currently waging a global war. One might argue that these results (combined with our own failure to respond to deteriorating conditions on Earth) suggest that what we have really learned is that intelligence is rarer than we thought. There is some reason to suppose it has yet to evolve. Anywhere.