Gateways (10 page)

To most of the world, that is the sole one in existence. Only a few suspect that such things have been encountered before, across the centuries. And even fewer have certain knowledge of another active stone, held in secret, here in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean.

Wer contemplated the three-dimensional image of his counterpart, a clever and educated man, a scientist and spaceman and probably the world’s most famous person, right now. In other words, different from poor little Peng Xiao Wer in every conceivable way.
Except that he looks as tired and worried as I feel.

Watching the man portrayed in the placard-view, Wer felt a sense of connection, as if with another
chosen one.
Another keeper-guardian of a frightening oracle from space. Even if they found themselves on opposite sides of an ancient struggle.

Patri Menelaua answered Yang Shenxiu by describing a long list of physical differences in excruciating detail—the Havana Artifact was larger, longer, and more knobby at one end, for example. And, clearly, far less damaged. Well, it never had to suffer the indignities of fiery passage through Earth’s atmosphere, or pummeling impact with a mountain glacier, or centuries of being poked at by curious or reverential or terrified tribal humans . . . not to mention a couple of thousand years buried in a debris pit, then a couple of decades soaking in polluted waters underneath a drowned mansion. Wer found himself reacting defensively on behalf of “his” worldstone.

I’d like to see Livingstone’s object come through all that, and still be capable of telling scary stories.

Of course, that was the chief trait that both ovoids had in common. Differing somewhat in the details, each one seemed intent on frightening Earthlings with dire warnings they could do nothing about.

“. . .so, yes, there are evident physical differences. Still, anyone can tell that at a glance that they use the same underlying technologies. Capacious and possibly unlimited holographic memory storage. Surface sonic transduction at the wider end . . . but with most communications handled visually, both in pictorial representation and through symbol manipulation. Some surface tactile sensitivity. And, of course, an utter absence of moving parts.”

“Yes, there are those commonalities,” Anna Arroyo put in. “Still, the
Havana Artifact projects across a wider spectrum than this one—and it portrays a whole community of simulated alien species, while ours depicts only one.”

Dr. Nguyen nodded, his elegantly decorated braids rattling. “It would be a good guess to imagine that one species or civilization sent out waves of these things, and the technology was copied by others—”

“Who proceeded to cast forth modified stones of their own,” concluded Anna. “Until one of those races decided to break the chain letter, somewhat. By offering a
dissenting
point of view.”

Wer took advantage of this turn in the conversation—away from technical matters and back to the general story their own Worldstone had been telling.

“Isn’t . . . is it not . . . clear who came second?
Courier
warns us not to pay attention to
liars.
It seems . . . I mean is it not clear that he refers to the tales that are . . . that have been told by the Havana Artifact?”

Of course they were amused by his stumbling attempts to speak a higher grade of Beijing dialect, with classier grammar and tones. But he also knew there were many
types
of amusement. And, while Anna and Patri might feel the contemptuous variety, it was the indulgent smile of Dr. Nguyen that mattered far more. He seemed approving of Wer’s earnest efforts.

“Yes, Peng Xiao Wer. We can assume—for now—that our Worldstone is speaking of the Havana Artifact—or things like it—when it warns against
enemies and liars
. The question is—what should we do about this?”

“Warn everybody!” suggested Yang Shenxiu. “You’ve seen how the other worldstone has thrown the entire planet into a funk, with that story told by the
emissary
creatures who reside within. A tale of profound and disarmingly blithe
pessimism
, confidently assuring us that
nobody survives.
Already, there are rising waves of nihilism and despair, across every continent.”

“Not everybody is reacting that way,” Patri answered. “Perhaps the warning will have net positive effects. It may be enough to rouse humanity, to gird us with determination and make us decide at last to grow up. To bear down and concentrate on solving—”

Anna snorted with disdain. “You’ve seen the telecasts. Those artifact creatures insist, over and over again, that there is no way to accomplish it. Surviving as a technological civilization appears to be like crossing a vast minefield. Too many mistakes lie in wait for any sapient race. Too many bad trade-offs or ineludible paths of destruction. They say it’s rare for any
advanced culture to last for more than a few thousand years. At best. Barely long enough to learn how to make more of
these
”—she gestured at the worldstone—“and cast out more copies of the chain letter!”

Well,
Wer thought,
even a few thousand years would be nice. We humans have only had high tech for a century or so, and we seem to have already blown it.

Anna held up a finger.

“
Either
they are telling the truth about that inevitability, in which case it’s all hopeless, and we should take up their offer . . .
or
. . .”—she held up another—“or they are telling this story
in order
to push us toward despair and self-destruction—the scenario that our
Courier
entity warns against.”

Yang Shenxiu agreed. “This is bigger than any of us. Let us bring these terrifying stones together! Let them debate each other, before the world!”

All eyes turned to Dr. Nguyen, who rested both elbows on the teak tabletop and bridged his fingers, blowing a silent whistle through pursed lips. Finally, he shook his head.

“I am answerable to a consortium,” he said at last, in impeccable Mandarin, with only a hint of his childhood Mekong accent. “My instructions were to start by getting this stone’s story and determining if there were any differences from the Havana Artifact. That we have accomplished.

“Alas, the second imperative priority was made crystal clear—to seek advantageous technologies, at almost any cost. Either through interrogation or through dissection. Also, using such methods to determine if there are troves of information the thing is holding back.”

With grim, tight lips, Patri Menelaua nodded. Meanwhile, Wer and the others stared, in various degrees of shock.

“The word
advantageous
. . . ,” Anna protested. “. . . it assumes we can discover something that the researchers in Virginia aren’t discovering—technologies that would give our consortium an edge. But we’ve already seen that these objects are similar. Moreover, the entire
premise
of the story being told by the creature-simulations inside the Havana Artifact . . . their whole narrative . . . revolves around a promise that they will give humanity every capability
to make more of these stones
!

“It’s the reason they crossed so many light-years. Surely that means we’d gain nothing from tearing apart—”

“Not necessarily,” Patri dissented. “If
Courier
is right, they have a hidden agenda. They’ll hold back plenty. Sure, they’re teaching humanity how to make copies. But really, what are they offering? These stone emissaries
don’t seem to be all that far in advance of our present capabilities, anyway. Now that we’ve seen them, we could probably duplicate everything—except maybe those super-propulsion lasers—in thirty years. Or less.

“No, what has to worry us is the possibility that there may be
a lot more to all of this
, underneath what they are telling us. Only, because the Havana Artifact is openly shared and in public hands, it will never be subjected to harsh scrutiny.”

“But
we
can cut into
our
stone, because we’re not answerable to public opinion, is that it?” Anna’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Are you listening to yourself? If
Courier
is telling the truth, then
only he
can expose the other stone’s lie! Yet,
because
we believe him, and have an opportunity to proceed in secret,
we’ll
start sawing away at him, with drills and lasers?”

“Hey, look. I was only saying—”

“What about the others?”

Menelaua glared at Wer for interrupting, so fiercely that Wer shrank back and had to be coaxed into resuming.

“Please continue, son,” Dr. Nguyen urged. “What others are you talking about?”

Wer swallowed.

“Other . . . stones.”

Nguyen regarded him with a blank, cautious stare,

“Pray explain, Peng Xiao Wer. What other stones do you mean?”

“Well . . . ,” he gathered his courage, speaking slowly, carefully. “When I first arrived here, you . . . graciously let me view that report . . . the
private report
describing legends about sacred crystals or globes or rocks that . . . were said to give some humans a chance to . . . to see strange or distant or fantastic things. Some of the stories are well known—crystal balls and dragon stones. Other tales were passed down for generations within families or secret societies. There is one that’s supposed to go back nine thousand years, right? It’s . . . it is interesting to compare those sagas to the truth we see before us . . . and yet . . .”

He paused, uncertain he should continue.

“Go on, Wer,” urged the rich man—representing an association of many other rich men and women.

“Yet . . . what I don’t understand is why that report, all by itself, would have made people so eager . . . spending so much money and effort . . . to actually
look
for such a thing! I mean, why would any modern people—sophisticated men like you, Dr. Nguyen—believe such stories, any more
than fables about spirits and demons?” Wer shook his head, repressing the fact that he
had
always believed in spirits, at least a little. So did lots of people.

“I figure the former owner of our worldstone—”

“Lee Fang Lu.” Yang Shenxiu interjected a name that Wer had never known, till now. The fellow who used to own that predeluge mansion, with the clandestine basement chamber where Wer had found a treasure trove of odd specimens. He nodded gratefully.

“Lee Fang Lu might have been arrested, tortured, and killed over rumors—”

“That he possessed something like this.” Dr. Nguyen nodded and his beaded hair clattered softly. “Pray continue.”

“Then there’s the way you and your . . . competitors . . . pounced on me, after I put out just a
hint
about a glowing white egg. Clearly, when the Havana Artifact was announced, there were already powerful groups out there, who knew the . . . the . . .”

He groped for the right words. And abruptly a new, unfamiliar Chinese language character appeared in that ai-patch, overlain upon his lower right field of vision. Plus a row of tone-accented roman letters, for pronunciation. The ai-patch had been doing that more often as it grew more familiar with Wer—anticipating and assisting what he was trying to say.

“. . . the range-of-plausible-potentialities . . . ,”
he carefully enunciated, while moving his finger over his palm, mimic-drawing the character in question—a common thing to do, when a word was obscure. He saw the others variously frown or smile a little. They were probably used to this sort of thing.

“I just find it hard to believe that powerful people would go to so much trouble . . . to search frantically for such a thing, even after learning about the Havana Artifact . . . unless they thought there was a real possibility of success. Unless they had strong reason to believe those legends were
more
than just legends.”

He looked at Dr. Nguyen, surprised by his own boldness.

“I bet there was a lot left out of that report, sir. Is it possible that some groups have had worldstones before this? And maybe still do?”

Menelaua shook his head and snarled. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And why is that, Patri?” Anna Arroyo answered. “It’d take care of that
temporal coincidence
, at least a bit. Maybe these things have been crisscrossing our region of space for a long time, like messages in bottles, sent by neighbors squabbling and slandering each other. While most settled into far orbits, waiting for Earth to produce space-faring folk, others might
have landed—accidentally, like this one. Or on purpose in some way. Most would shatter or get buried at sea. But just like a plant that sends out thousands of seeds, you need only one to take root . . .”

Yang Shenxiu protested. “If there were so many, would not geologists or gem seekers or collectors or plowing farmers have seen, by now, some of the fallen ones? Even if they were split or burned, they would stand out!”

Anna shrugged. “We have no idea how these things decay, if broken. Maybe they decompose quickly into a form that resembles typical rock crystal—like some of those that were worked into sacred skulls. Or they might dissolve into sand or dust, or even vapor. One more reason to leave this one intact, I say!” She turned to Wer. “But your point is that some clandestine group or groups may already have one or more of these things. Either complete or a partially working fragment. They might already have heard some variant on the tale told by the Havana Artifact . . .”

“In which case,
not
telling the world may have been merciful and wise,” Yang Shenxiu muttered. “Better to let people continue in blissful ignorance, if all our efforts will be futile anyway. If humanity is simply doomed to ultimate failure.”

Patri Menelaua pounded his fist on the table. His action-crucifix wriggled in rhythm to the vibrations. “I can’t accept that. The Havana aliens
must
be lying!
That
stone should be dissected, instead of this one.”

Silence stetched, while Yang Shenxiu seemed uncertain whether to interpret Patri’s shouting as disrespect, or simply a matter of cultural or personality difference. Finally, the scholar shrugged.