The Slowest Spacecraft (part 6)
I turned away from the darkened screen, frustrated and angry with the bureaucrat from the Prefecture's Office. Who in the Nine Rings of B'beori did they think they were to insist that I track the orb back to wherever it came from? It could take weekcycles, monthcycles, even yearcycles of time; time when I could be doing something productive and profitable enough to keep Vortex and I stocked.
"Vortex, have any ideas about tracking this thing?"
"I am searching my navigational database for occurrences of the hyperfield rift effect produced by the object. While the rift fades with time, I have located enough probable matches to extrapolate a course."
A familiar diagram of our home spiral galaxy appeared in the air in front of my pilot's chair. A red line spiraled through the mapped regions dozens of times. I traced it around, knowing that the galaxy had been doing all of the moving.
"Given your course, can you determine if the object has been in the vicinity of any other known star or planet?"
A series of bright specks appeared along the path. Space is immense and mostly empty. Given enough time though, you're bound to run into something. Eighty million years ago, a collision with the object would explain a supernova. Two hundred and forty-nine million years ago, the orb probably ended the existence of another planetary biosphere, resulting in the eventual evolution of the Y'h'dane race. At something over five and a half billion years, the path appeared to end.
"Vortex, what happened here?"
"The hyperfield terrain maps do not show the effect of the orb beyond that point. The effects were growing harder to detect when they suddenly faded away. I would hypothesize that the time period and the other cumulative forces affecting the hyperfield have been significant enough to eliminate all measurable traces beyond that region of space."
"Is there anything else that would have been there five and a half billion years ago?" I should have known there would be, and I should have been able to guess who it would be.
"The Klorn home system is within the statistical boundaries of that volume of space."
"Take us there, best possible speed. That has to be the answer."
The Klorn are one of the oldest races in the Coterie. They don't talk much about their history, but they've shown some archaeologists objects dating back over eight billion years. The Klorn have suggested that these are "relatively recent" artifacts.
The Klorn are definitely one of the strangest races in the Coterie. No one knows what a true Klorn looks like, because every one of them has a different form and a unique biology. They are a race of artists who use themselves as part of their palette. It's not even clear if the Klorn we see today are the same race that evolved on the planet so long ago. There are reasons to believe that the Klorn we are familiar with may be a creation aesthetically pleasing to one of the true Klorn, who have since gone elsewhere. Of course, there are tales that those "true Klorn" were also a creation, and that the Klorn of today are at least two "generations" removed from the originals.
The orb was beautiful, but that didn't mean that it would be pleasing to the Klorn. A few yearcycles ago, Vortex and I had carried three Klorn back to their homeworld, so that they could see a major public exhibition. One of them, a bipedal pinkish-gray cube a meter on a side, went into its cabin as soon as we left port. When we arrived, it came out as a garish orange and blue spotted millipede, ten-meters long, with incandescent antennae running along its spine. The burning cilia cast intense green beams of light all about. To change to this form, the alien had quadrupled its mass without consuming anything provided by Vortex.
The exhibition bringing them home turned out to be a single cubical room ten meters on a side. The walls, floor and ceiling were stark white, somehow harsh and bright enough to hurt my eyes. The room was empty. When I asked for an explanation, they said that "time flowed ecstatically" through the volume.
Two hundred yearcycles ago, they'd changed the color of their star and the inclination of one of the moons circling their homeworld - but only for seven weekcycles. The single Klorn responsible for the effort was hailed as a master for creating more aesthetic shadows during the nights when the moon was full.
"Were they at war with the Yansmar?" Those sentients in the room that had offspring recognized the tone of a youth still eager to get to an answer, but perhaps just a bit concerned over the possible personal impact. A dozen of J'orrr's foot-roots were clinging to the edge of the table, as if they were trying to pull the alien closer to the story.
"Offspring J'orrr, the Coterie provides cool and generous shade from the barbarisms of the uncivilized." Secondfather E'efff's voice was confident and comforting, clearly hoping to calm any anxieties of its offspring. "War is not allowed within the growths of the Coterie. Even a species as advanced as the Klorn would fear for the assembled retribution that would thunder down from the other races."
The glass of vintage wine stayed on the table in front of Captain Gale. There was a stir at the bar; odds were being posted as to when she'd get to her first taste.
"I believe that even the Klorn would go to war, if they thought it served some artistic purpose." Her hand reached out; the beings at the bar paused simultaneously, as if they shared a single nervous system. Sometimes the betting gets quite intense. There was a general look of disappointment from them when Maggie simply reached up to push a stray lock of golden hair back into place. "War was not the reason for the orb, although it took some time to get any kind of answer."
I was beginning to tire of the Klorn. Vortex and I had waited in geosynchronous orbit over the main spaceport for a weekcycle without landing clearance. We'd transmitted the data about the orb when we'd started here, weekcycles earlier. The only answer had been a curt response about something called The Festival of Eternal Indifference.
"That's it, Vortex. Start the landing sequence checklist."
"We do not have clearance to land."
"We're under the direct order of the Prefect of Yansmar to investigate the death of his planet. All of the signs lead here. Coterie law demands an explanation, and native rituals be damned." It was an attitude that had gotten me into trouble before. There are times, however, when a little trouble is called for.
By the time we reached the ground, there was a single Klorn waiting for us. Three meters tall, the alien stared down at me with a single green eye. Its skin, small metallic blue-black scales with lighter blue-white veins, produced soft metallic tinklings with every movement. It scuttled about on five crab-like legs, each of which emitted a different, pure musical note when the leg touched the ground. Two breathing orifices along the side of the body sang soft tenor harmonies.
"Follow me," it said in Standard, turning away before I could agree. The Klorn was a surprisingly graceful symphony, subtly different with each new direction we took through the quiet spaceport. It was also far too fast, and I had to hustle to keep up.
"You're not Indifferent?" I asked, trying to make some conversation. There were no other Klorn in sight.
"I am kilgallen," was all it said, as if that explained everything. I still don't know what it means.
The end of the brisk two kilometer walk brought us to one of the storage hangars at the spaceport. All spaceports have to have buildings of this sort; with the Klorn, it was unlike any other storage facility I've ever seen. The building was a cathedral of curves, just symmetrical enough to please the eye, just asymmetrical enough to challenge the imagination. It wasn't clear how the structure could stand, but here it was.
Inside, the orb sat in a single shaft of dusty orange light, the gift of a set of mirrors and an opening on the roof. The Klorn stopped, looked briefly at the orb, then turned to face me.
"Is that the object you reported?" I could barely pull my eyes from it. This close, it was even more hypnotic.
"Yes. Is it Klorn?"
"A minor work. Thus, it was forgotten. As you can see, it has been retrieved." The Klorn bowed, producing a chiming race up the musical scales. I suppose it wouldn't be hard to forget something after five and a half billion years.
"What about the Yansmar?"
"Their world will be rebuilt, if they desire it." The Klorn spoke the words as if it were some minor task, almost demeaning to take on. "They have accepted our apology." Somehow I had a hard time imagining the Prefect accepting anything about the destruction of his world. "You are now free of your obligation to them and to Coterie law. The necessary legal documentation has been transmitted to your companion, the Vortex of Chaos."
The words carried the tone of dismissal. Merely human, I was done with things Klorn. The alien turned to leave.
"Wait!" It continued towards the vaulting arched doorway. "I have to know. Why?" The Klorn stopped, turning back to me.
"It is a negligible work, not worthy of consideration."
"I have followed this trail for monthcycles now. I find the orb to be artistically interesting, captivating to my eyes. However, I can't see why it was placed as it was in space-time. I would expect to find it in a museum or an art gallery, not in deep space."
The alien did not say anything. It moved to the orb and traced a simple pattern.
The room vanished. I was standing in the middle of one of the arms of the galaxy, an immense Titan with an infinite perspective. Stars of all colors surrounded me. The Klorn sun was an actinic yellow pinprick in front of my nose.
The galaxy began to move. Clouds of dust seethed and swirled, hurling protostars out of their clutches. Planetary disks of ice and gas condensed into systems all around me, a million tiny sparks flaring into suns familiar and forgotten. The arms of the galaxy swirled past me and through me. I held my breath, not daring to exhale and disturb the dizzying evolution of all the places I had ever been and ever would be.
In the harmonies of utter silence, I watched the spiral arms turn, stars dancing and weaving, burning bright, collapsing and exploding, playing the themes scored by gravity and nuclear processes. The arms of the spiral pirouetted, swirling liquidly around the glowing core, millions and millions of droplets of light, alive and exuberant.
I do not know how long the display lasted. I only know that five and a half billion wondrous dance steps played out before, around, and through me. It was a glorious display, all captured by the orb in its travels. From its fixed point, it had observed and recorded the sweep of the galaxy through time and space, in all of its grandeur.
The next thing I realized was that the Klorn had moved next to me, and it seemed quite concerned.
"Have you been injured by the work?"
"No." Still awed, I could barely gasp out the single syllable. Coherent sentences would take a few more minutecycles.
"You seem to be having difficulty with your oxygenation. Are you certain that the orb has not harmed you?"
"Yes. It was..." I searched for a word and some air to speak it with. "...astounding."
"You enjoyed the work?" I sensed honest surprise, as if it had never imagined that the orb was anything more than some primitive cave drawing.
"It is one of the most amazing and aesthetic experiences I have ever had." Good. My voice and my wits were returning to normal. The Klorn stood silent for a moment. I appreciated the time, since it seemed determined to carry on more of a conversation.
"Art," it finally spoke, in a voice that was thick with reverence, "should be appreciated, no matter how mundane the work. I give the orb to you. I shall see that it is loaded aboard your companion." That was the end of the conversation. Before I could respond, the alien had scuttled away, faster than I could follow. When I got back to Vortex, the orb was already in the main cargo hold.
"The spaceship is yours?" J'orrr's voice boomed throughout the bar. "Is it here?" Its entire stalk shook as it trembled on its foot-roots. "Can I see it?" It did not take parenthood for a sentient capable of sensing J'orrr's voice to realize the desire of a child to see, to touch, and to learn.
He was not the only one. Several of those listening from the bar had moved closer. There was a flurry of questions about the orb, if it was still in Vortex's hold, or if it had been offloaded to one of the cargo areas in the station. A significant fraction of the customers in F'nordalp'leen's were ready to leave then and there to see the object, if it was nearby.
"So Maggie, where is it?" Dugar always was direct, and his military command voice was powerful enough to cut through all the others.
"Oh, come on Dugar, you know I couldn't keep it for myself, even if your Prince did offer me half his wine cellar in exchange. There really was only one thing I could do. Besides, the orb was big, bulky, and it made Vortex slightly nauseous."
"I'm sorry J'orrr, but we took it back to the Prefect of Yansmar, as a gift to his people. When the Klorn complete their terraforming efforts two yearcycles from now, the orb is going to go right in the central plaza of New N'quir as a memorial. It will have a relative velocity of zero, but it will be moving with Yansmar instead of against it."
"Some things are so glorious, they are meant for all to enjoy. Perhaps you will be able to convince Secondfather E'efff to take you to see it." She was certain that a visit to the slowest spacecraft would be a frequent request from J'orrr for the foreseeable future.
"And," she continued, turning from J'orrr to Dugar, "some things are so glorious they are meant for a very select group, to be paid for by someone other than me." Smiling, she picked up the glass of port and took a sip. It was truly glorious.