Where Time Winds Blow, page 6
Kris Dojaan, Faulcon noticed, had eyes only for Commander Ensavlion; he did not even acknowledge Lena. And to Faulcon’s mild surprise Ensavlion himself seemed to find the young Dojaan an object of irresistible interest. The two exchanged a long, intense, mournfully solemn gaze. Abruptly Ensavlion smiled. Kris, who had seemed in awe of the older man, gave a quick little bow from the neck and his face hardened. Faulcon thought he saw a hint of anger there.
Gulio Ensavlion was an impressive-looking man, not particularly tall, but strong in build; his legs, in particular, were noticeable for their musculature, and though Kris could not yet realize the fact, Ensavlion’s physique showed all the signs of one who spends hours, even days, in a rift suit. Older than his visitors, Ensavlion was nonetheless of indeterminate age. Faulcon thought he might have been in his sixties, on the declining side of his prime, but with a good forty or fifty years of active life before him. His face was drawn, deeply lined; his black hair was greying; swept back, and tightly bound in a small, greased plait, it seemed to shine darkly, strongly. He wore his green under suit, an outfit designed as a wear-anywhere, but which was particularly designed to be worn underneath an armoured rift suit. Kris was no doubt puzzled—whereas Faulcon was slightly impressed—to observe no insignia of rank, of achievement, sewn upon it.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Ensavlion said, extending his hand to each of them. His grey eyes regarded each in turn, a nervous, hesitating gaze, and though he smiled he was apparently uneasy with them. “Follow me, will you? We’ll eat the cream before talking about the cake.”
Faulcon echoed Kris’s empty laughter with a nervous smile of his own. He fervently wished that Ensavlion could relax more. But then Ensavlion had isolated himself so much from the human community that perhaps there was no hope of him ever regaining human attitudes.
Lena rose to her feet as they gathered at the main desk, came across and courteously shook hands with Faulcon and Kris, something they never usually bothered with. Ensavlion picked up two red plastic folders, slapping one into Faulcon’s outstretched hand, and the other into Kris’s. He laughed abruptly, staring at Faulcon who was greedily weighing the fat wallet and its traditional, plastic chits. “Heavy, huh?”
“Generous,” Faulcon agreed, wondering what value was coded into each strip. It would have been improper to check the value of the bonus here and now; fifties or hundreds, certainly, and therefore five or ten thousand g.u.’s. Faulcon could scarcely bring himself to accept the possibility of the higher figure, but when he glanced at Lena she flickered her eyes heavenwards, and made a facial expression implying she was overwhelmed.
Ensavlion had slapped Kris on the shoulder, a hesitant but friendly gesture, and waved him to a seat. “Sit down, Leo. Lena … Mister Dojaan.” He waved to a third chair. Sitting behind the desk, and leaning forward with his hands clasped on the work top, he looked at the two men and nodded. “Very good work, gentlemen.” And to Kris Dojaan. “May I assume the liberty of calling you Kris?”
“By all means,” Kris answered, while Faulcon winced: may I assume the liberty!
Ensavlion relaxed for the first time since they had walked into the room. He looked through slightly narrowed eyes at Kris. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s good to have you on the section. Good. Need vigorous young men, people with an interest, a compulsion …”
A compulsion to what he never said, but spent a moment nodding thoughtfully and appraising the youngster. “I remember your brother. A good man and a tragic loss.”
It was possible to tell, from the way he chewed at his lip and sat up, that Kris was about to interject something on the subject of the phantom. Faulcon caught his eye and gave the merest shake of his head. Kris frowned, but relaxed again. Ensavlion said, “I know you’ve come looking for him. I know that’s very much on your mind. Well, maybe you’ll find him. I can say this, Kris … I hope you do. I hope you find him, and I hope … I hope things work out fine.”
Faulcon noticed a certain shared grimness between Kris and the Commander. He glanced at Lena who was staring across the room at one of the maps; aware that Faulcon had glanced towards her she raised an eyebrow in query, but Faulcon shook his head and turned away. Ensavlion was saying, “Always the need for young recruits, coming here from other worlds, distant worlds. We have an important job here, a vital job … a job that needs to be done, and I guess it’s true that … I think that young men and women bring freshness, young ideas. And that’s important if we’re ever to … if we are to complete our mission here, and find out just what they are, these … these creatures, these beings. We need all the ideas we can get, all the good ideas and insights because, you know, they are there, they’re out there, out there in time, and we need them, and we know that they watch us sometimes and know we’re here, and maybe as I’ve often said, maybe that’s because they need us.” He laughed suddenly, briefly. Falling solemn again, he stared across the room at his wall charts and diagrams. “They need us, gentlemen … and Lena. I beg your pardon. They need us, and that’s something other section Commanders … well, they forget the mutual need aspect. We can help, we can exchange … ideas, you understand; cultures, insights. We have to find them again, and I think that … I think that if we can just get out there and be … and be positive, then maybe we’ll benefit, maybe we’ll advance our relationship with the Galaxy.”
He stopped talking, pushed three fingers across his brow and looked at the moisture he had rubbed off onto them. He was embarrassed, and suddenly in a state of extreme tension. Kris looked horribly uncomfortable, and Faulcon sympathized with the lad, wishing that somehow he could convey to him that Ensavlion always broke out into a sweat when he talked about them, and that there was nothing to worry about.
Ensavlion laughed suddenly. “Hot,” he said. Faulcon agreed. The room was indeed stifling, but now that Ensavlion had finished speaking, had got this routine speech out of the way, an air of relaxation descended.
Ensavlion knew full well, of course, that he was regarded in a variety of ways by other Sections, even by his own: with amusement, or with contempt, with frustration or apprehension, and very occasionally with interest. There were those who believed he had seen what he claimed to have seen, the time-travelling creatures from the ancient days of this world. But the believers were few and far between.
It was a paradox that Faulcon occasionally found nagging at him. With a valley full of relics, and a land surface that was forever presenting new junk, new time debris to the inquisitive minds of men, it was difficult to comprehend how people could deny so aggressively the passing through of those who had once lived here, and who had constructed some of those objects. It was as if all the artifacts of another age were no more than toys to a child, a child who would find it hard to comprehend the stages, and hands and minds that were once occupied in constructing the playthings.
Behind Ensavlion, where the wall was blank over a fairly large area, a light flickered into existence, and a moment later, on the blankness, appeared a map of that part of the continent that included the vast inland Paluberion Sea, and the Ilmoroq mountains, with their dense forests and deep gorges. Ensavlion turned, reaching for a light pointer, and flashed the tiny arrow onto the screen, waving it in a wide circle. “Recognize the view?”
Faulcon found himself nodding thoughtfully, but disturbed by something. He realized abruptly that the vast stretch of fairly featureless land reaching back from the foothills of the Ilmoroqs had been omitted, so that the end of the rift valley, the western beach, seemed far closer to the ocean than it was. A huge, multi-branched arrow was drawn across the ocean, its path curving both up and down. “This is a prediction of the time flow that caused your machine to appear. Based on surface disturbances, and a more intense look at the sea bed now that you’ve drawn attention to the likelihood of a wind in this area, it looks as if we have a dual-channel flow. The machine could have come from either of them.”
Lena asked, “Are there other ruins, traces on the sea bed?”
“None,” said Ensavlion. “No traces at all, in fact, except for some strange topographical features. But no remains.”
“Just our derelict,” said Faulcon, suddenly realizing the full importance of the find. Normally such a discovery, leading to the prediction of a nearby time-flow, would be the first discovery of hundreds, or thousands, as full survey and excavation teams moved into the area. With the ocean, of course, they would be submarine teams, from one or more of the units that crawled along the ocean’s edge, working in conjunction with deep-water orbital surveying satellites.
Ensavlion had turned about, and looked at Faulcon, something of a smile, something of concern on his face. “Not even your derelict,” he said.
All three reacted with surprise, Faulcon leaning forward, and Lena shaking her head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand,” she said.
Ensavlion touched the small button built into his desk and the map view of the continent vanished, to be replaced by a satellite photograph of the shoreline. The tracks of their bykes, practically obscured by drifting sand, were none the less clear. Where the machine had been stuck in the rise of the sandy shore now there was nothing. Faulcon clutched his wallet of money tightly, wondering whether its continued association with him was now in jeopardy. He had actually stared at the machine-shaped impression in the sand for some moments before he became aware of what it was, and he relaxed.
“It went away, then,” he said. “Good God. It must have crawled away again after we left, back into the sea.”
Another photograph appeared on the screen. This one clearly showed the hulk, and the marks of the three explorers who had walked so excitedly about it. Faulcon felt safe, now. The extra bonus was no doubt a personal gift from Ensavlion for their having found something that actually functioned.
“It had gone between one orbit of the viewSat and the next, a period of thirty minutes. Something went wrong with the geo-synch as it moved into place, the morning you left; it made another loop, and when it got back the thing had gone. No tracks left, but the wind might have obscured them on the ocean side of the ridge. Did any of you get inside the machine?” How confident and clipped Ensavlion could become when not indulging his encounter with the aliens.
Faulcon shook his head, then dropped his gaze as he waited for Kris to respond. Kris, however, denied having been inside the derelict. Faulcon glanced uneasily at Lena who shrugged almost imperceptibly. Then Kris said, “But I’m afraid I damaged the side of the thing, trying to … trying to clear sand. I set my blaster too high and gouged out a piece of the hull.”
“Did you enter it?”
Kris said no. He touched his amulet almost lovingly. “I removed this from just within the confines of the machine. I reached my hand inside to do so.”
Ensavlion sat back, staring at the youth. “It’s possible, then, that your damage triggered some mechanism that eventually set the machine into motion. Is that what you think?”
“Delayed action … up to ten hours later, following a freak shot?” Kris shook his head. “That doesn’t sound very likely to me.”
Ensavlion was staring at the amulet. For the first time he was realizing that the regularity of the shape meant it was an artifact, and not a shard. And of course, it was all that remained of the derelict. He drew a deep breath, selecting his words carefully, then leaned forward, hands clasped before him. “Kris, you’re new on this world, and we have codes of behaviour, and ways of doing things that may seem a little strange at first. I expect Leo has been filling you in … telling you all about it. That’s why you’re on his team. You’ve broken a code of behaviour out of ignorance … I should be angry with you, Leo, for letting him.” Kris paled, Faulcon noticed, but kept calm. “You’ve taken an artifact as your charm, and not a shard. Artifacts are commonly taken as charms when there are several of them. Single artifacts are not.” Kris fiddled with the necklace, shaking his head almost imperceptibly: you’re not taking it away from me. Ensavlion went on, “However … once a man takes his charm, it’s taken. It belongs to you. To deny that would be to deny your right to life. There is nothing that can … nothing that will be done to, do you understand, pressure you into allowing an examination of that piece of history.” He was beginning to sweat again, his coherence going as he succumbed to discomfort.
Kris had immediately caught his drift, however, and was obviously eager to cooperate now that he knew he would not have to lose the jewel. Had Kris so quickly become ensnared in the world’s superstition? He said, “But if I allow a study … that’s all right, is it? And I get the charm back?”
Commander Ensavlion nodded his agreement. “Would you be prepared to do that?”
“Yes, of course.” Kris made to remove the amulet; he seemed vaguely amused by the whole discussion. Ensavlion quickly stopped him from lifting the necklace over his head. “No, no. Don’t take it off. Never take off your charm, Kris. Always wear it, keep it close, keep it soaking up your life spirit, guarding you. We’ll conduct an examination in situ. I can only thank you for your help.”
How strange, thought Faulcon: over the last few minutes, except for the occasional moment of discomfort, Gulio Ensavlion had relaxed more than Faulcon had ever seen him relax in all his time on Kamelios. He obviously liked the boy, was recognizing, or reacting, to something about Kris Dojaan; this was good for Kris, and it was good for this tiny team. It was also good for the Section, because it had long been the considered opinion of the thousand persons who comprised Section 8 that Ensavlion needed someone to bring him gradually, delicately, but firmly back to the harsh realities of life on this confusing, changing world. Maybe Kris Dojaan could do it. Maybe the boy was a walking focus of luck.
Ensavlion slapped his hands together, then laid them flat on the table, staring at his knuckles. As Faulcon watched him in the silence he suddenly realized that the Commander wore no visible amulet. It had never occurred to him before, but now that he thought of it, he had never ever seen a shard or a necklet on the man. Before he could take the point further in his mind, Ensavlion said, “The question is, to return to the problem at hand … was it the jarring effect of the shot that sent the machine moving again; or was there someone … or something … on board. We’ll never know, I suppose. The machine hasn’t been spotted in the ocean … it’s a big ocean, mind you, and the bed is craggy and scored with deep, overhanging rifts. It could be hiding down there. More likely, it got caught up again in a flow of time. The ocean seems to be an active place, despite its quiet surface motion and unspectacular tides. Gentlemen … Lena …” He settled back in his chair, his gaze going beyond Kris to the wall maps. “I think we may have encountered the travellers again.”
Oh dear God, thought Faulcon. Not the lecture. Please not the lecture.
Faulcon’s fervent prayer was heard and granted. Ensavlion rose from his seat and gestured to Kris to follow him across the room. “Come and see this, Kris. The others are probably fed up with hearing me talk about it, so they can start thinking of the report they’ll have to make.”
He led Kris away across the room, to stand before the diagrammatic map of the present valley. Faulcon heard him describing the rift, pointing out the ruins of past, and some that were thought to be future, showing him the paths of the time winds, and the gullies and crevasses where squalls of time flowed and scurried almost constantly. He described his own visits to the interesting buildings, and to the less interesting structures; he stabbed at places where strange, living animals had been seen—always elusive—and where dead ones had been concerned him most, the place where the pyramid had come and gone in the twinkling of an eye, and yet in that twinkling …
Although others had seen the structure, only Gulio Ensavlion had glimpsed, through the wide, unsymmetrical window, the movement within the machine of intelligent beings, the creatures who had once owned the world, who had left their ruins in abundance, and who journeyed through all of time to see what had come after them … and perhaps to monitor it with some unknowable purpose in mind. They had paused in the valley for just a second, stepping through the shimmering walls of their vehicle, perhaps aware, as they journeyed on, of the human eyes that watched them from the cliff tops … not staying to exchange greetings.
Ensavlion’s audience of one was watching and listening, fascinated, mouth open, Faulcon imagined, eyes wide. Lena came over and sat next to Faulcon, whispering, “Six thousand g.u.’s!”
“Six thousand!” Faulcon shook his head, almost in disbelief as his wildest dream came true. “And for a machine that walked away! The old man must be crazy. Crazier, I mean.”
Lena laughed quietly, then nodded down the room where, to nobody’s surprise, Ensavlion was telling Kris in great detail the story of that sighting he’d made, just less than a year back. “Many good men lost out there, Kris. Good men, brave men. Seeking the aliens, seeking to make contact with them, and some of them went out once too often and never came back. But we’ve got to find them again, we’ve got to flag them down, so to speak. Man has learned to live on this planet, Kris; he’s learned what to expect and how to react; there are no surprises except … except what’s in the valley. There’s danger there, certainly, and yet there’s a goal there that makes no danger too great, no loss too heavy to bear. The valley, Kris. Have you been out there yet?”
“Not yet. Apparently I have to train first.” There was a hint of irritation in Kris Dojaan’s voice as it drifted through the stillness to the silently listening Faulcon. And then an abrupt change of subject that caused an awkward exchange of glances between Faulcon and Lena. “Commander … about Mark.”
