Pitus Peston and the Eyes of Harnuk

PROLOGUE

The Universe is such a big place that at any given moment, there has to be two or more bunches of beings blowing each other to hell over some thing or another. It might be some neighbors a feudin’ for several generations, or one state against another for a couple of years, or, if the technologies are sufficiently advanced, whole planets or stellar regions. As one goes up the scale of size, the pyrotechnics become more impressive, but the duration of the show becomes shorter. On the other side of this galaxy such behavior took place about the time Jamestown was founded.

It was a war not of black powder and lead balls, but of Promethean bolts of megaton force, leveling great cities in seconds. No time even for an anguished wail . . . just the crushing thuds of inexorable force and then silence. What became known as the Thirty-Minutes’ War was over and in its wake, the negation of progress of sentient beings wrought over ten thousand years.

Oman lay in ruins and the Oman moon, Alovis, did not receive the dead as was customary. Before this, an Oman’s ex-publicated remains were transported through an inter-dimensional aperture to Alovis for perpetual rest. Now the planet itself became the Oman ossuary.

There were different reasons for the cause of the Thirty-Minutes’ War, depending on whose opinion was sought. The Haldi claimed Oman persecution of the Haldan people at the heart of it all. The Omans accused the Haldi of imperialism. The Haldi were a military race after all, and it was no secret that Lu-Janx Ing wanted to expand beyond his crowded planet for a celestial liebest-ralm.

The rest of the Local Group of Planets seemed content to merely stand aside and let the two ignite into a mutually consuming flame, the best way to end the general tension that had disturbed the quiet and lucrative calm of former times.

Haldan, the world that history would blame for letting first blood, was also in ashes, but the destruction of this people was not like that of Oman. Instead of lying in social paralysis after the blow as Oman did, a new war on Haldan erupted. A collapse of the Lu-Janx dynasty left three factions scrambling for control. Two united for convenience against the other, and soon there were but two. These quickly turned on each other and a new order called Hest, with peace its primary goal was forced to battle with the vestige of the Lu-Janx to prevent the carnivorous old regime from returning to power. At present, Hest was calling the shots.

It is likely this sort of tragedy has replayed many times throughout the cosmos; birth of a civilization, growth to a Golden Age, then decline, or sudden death, a poignant allegory of nature. Gone are the treasures of literature, arts, and discovered secrets of the Universe, along with the Shakespeares, Einsteins, and a Da Vinci or two. One could say in all probability it is happening now—somewhere. The sensitive heart is spared the anguish of the pain and the wantonness through the bliss of ignorance. It is a miracle of chance that any of this galactic drama here told would ever have been known to Earth but for a wandering Oman ship and a clever terrestrial named Pitus Peston.

A five-year quest to learn the truth about the gods of Oman ended in the year 1812 atop a butte in Arizona Territory, when Pitus Peston discovered an interstellar ship nestled in a hollow of its summit. Two years later, he is on board this ship in the company of one of the gods, Calnoon Atoye Itah, expatriate of Oman, a planet 103,000 light years from Earth on the opposite spiral arm of Caleeron, the Oman name for the Milky Way Galaxy. Peston was a linguistic genius and read and spoke nine languages. With the help of Atoye’s extensive information left on board, he eventually mastered Omanee as number ten. The technology of these people was availed through this alien tongue and opened a door through which Pitus was transformed into a man of our future. He was no more fit to remain on Earth than his alien partner. They are now on their way to Nesook Barg, a periodic wormhole that will connect them with the remote region of Atoye’s home world. Peston expects to realize his dream of exploring the Universe; Atoye hopes to resume his life that flight from his native world disrupted. They were both in for some surprises and a quest that neither envisioned.

CHAPTER ONE

Haldan Capital Kitanos

We Haldi are a dead race! cried Reddik. And why? Because of insanity. Dreams of the air . . . less than that, even the empty air holds more truth than the empty heads of the Kotu-Heem! What do you say to that, O Son of Lu-Janx Ing?

Reddik leaned over the enormous conference table, glaring at the youthful looking soldier who sat on the opposite side. The voice of the elder statesman bounced off the walls, piercing the hollowness of the Prime’s anteroom; empty of furniture but for that table and the Spartan high-back chairs around it. The drab polished stone walls encircling the chamber bore ten generations of silent witnesses to the argument, portraits of long dead kings and generals whose ruthlessness or valor, depending on one’s viewpoint, burned their names into the annals of Haldan History.

The kinsman of General Tott-Habine Ing returned the glare defiantly.

If this is how you pay respect to my family’s service to Haldan, then I have little to say to you. You are old and tired—and empty! Where is your lust for empire? I will tell you. You have none, and no stomach to achieve greatness.

That `lust’ you speak of so highly is what killed two planets, worlds whose vigor could have been invested in a common goal instead of spent on blood. I had hoped the defiled thinking was dying out with the backward minds that bore it, but I see fresh shoots rising from the blighted stump!

Why not arrest me, then, said Habine? Before Reddick could answer, Habine laughed. You are hamstrung by your own rules. ‘Due process,’ I think the fools call it in the Council. You cannot touch me without proof of wrongdoing. My fathers would have made quick work of a threat like me. You have made yourselves impotent!

The ire of the old man rose to a height that surprised the soldier. The Prime interceded to prevent what might have become a mortal scuffle.

Enough! Alubic shouted. We are not dead yet. We will rebuild once again as before. This time, however, I pray is the last. There are those who will help us. Allies among the Calbres and Qetterans will help us restore our broken civilization. Even the Fornicians have promised aid. Have heart!

Rebuild at all haste, sneered the warrior. Then we can finish the job those irresolute generals left undone.

No! shouted Alubic. As long as I rule, there will be no more waste of our people or resources. He reached for an ancient ballistic-type weapon on the table beside him. If that is not clear, the voices of dissent will be silenced, if necessary, by my own hand!

You are a true Haldi, laughed the soldier sarcastically. You make your peace with the sword! He knew Alubic meant his words. He cursed and stormed out of the chamber.

Watch that one, said Reddik sternly. ‘He has his grandfather’s stubbornness, and, I fear, a greater guile in that steely heart. You know he is wanted on the Calbres for murder."

So are a lot of us, said Alubic. It is time for a change.

I agree, but we are in our autumn, said Reddik. To change our unfortunate status among the Local Group of planets will take much effort and time, many years of it.

There are many of the younger who are tired of fighting with everyone, said Alubic. We will plant the seed. Others will tend it after we are gone. When I said `have heart’, I meant that for you, not Habine.

Reddik looked curiously at the Prime

Why did you consent to an audience with Florn-Habine’s whelp? He presumes to rise above his station. He identifies with his ancestor Tott, one of the most ruthless commanders our army ever had. He is the offspring of a commoner, the result of Florn’s romp in the grass with a Horadi wench. His true caste is revealed in his manner.

You wisely chose not the throw that up in his face a few minutes ago, said Alubic. For all his shortcomings, he is a spokesman for many. `One must bend to the bloom in order to smell it,’ as the proverb goes . . .

What did you smell, sire? Reddik asked. Alubic looked pensive. He turned from Reddik a moment to gaze at a portrait on the wall. He then returned his gaze to his friend. I smelled trouble, he replied. He slowly stepped around the massive table and stood before a gallery of portraits, all warrior princes of the defunct Lu-Janx regime. He spread his arms out before the gallery. I refrained from discarding these rogues partly because they represent out heritage, dark though it was at times, and partly because I admire them.

Admire them? asked Reddik.

Do not be so astonished, replied Alubic. These are men and women who accomplished great feats of progress for our people. They often had to resort to ruthlessness to do it. He pointed to one. Lu-Janx Pai, he said, If it was not for him, our people would have remained a scattered jumble of minor principalities without the strength and advancement our unity made possible. The Fornicians or the Jamborones would have certainly conquered us by now, with a fate worse than even these terrible times. He stared at the portrait. Of all that has been written about Pai, there are shelves of books on his military career, but little about the man himself. Story has it he was the tenth degree ancestor of Habine. Little is known of many of the Lu-Janx lineage. The personal histories of these men and women are full of holes. Alubic turned to Reddik, still wearing the pensive expression.

What do you know of that young man who just left this room? he asked.

He is a troublemaker, replied Riddik, long on wind and short on experience.

Are you sure of that?

What do you mean, sire?

Are you sure he is short on experience? You called him Florn Habine’s whelp . . . Are you certain it is not the other way around?

Yes, replied Reddik, an incredulous tone in his voice, but why are you not also sure of what can plainly be seen just by looking at him?

A rumor, that is all. Bassime Gorn told me Habine was alive when he was in the Oman War.

Bassime is old and addled, declared Reddik.

He is the only living veteran of that war, and a hero. A moment with him would show you he is still quite sharp.

I misspoke, sire said Reddik, but I do not think what you suggest is possible. Have you proof of such a thing?

Alubic crossed his arms over the top of a chair. "Immal Costorhut Habine, whose nickname was skinner was a master of disguise. Bassime told me that he inserted himself among the Omans and provided vital information to his brother Tott for the war effort, ill conceived though it was. After the war he disappeared, thought to be a casualty of the conflict, but I believe otherwise. Immal’s face was covered with scars from the pox he contracted in the days before we expelled the disease from our midst."

He had no scars on him, said Reddik.

True, replied Alubic, but that could have been remedied on Qetterxilict. There is a resemblance to some old holograms I have seen and ICH, the name that seemingly young man has . . .

Immal Coster-Hut; I C H, said Reddik. Why would he taunt fate with such a name?

He was then and is now an arrogant tardsoon, said Alubic. Though they were alone, Reddik furtively glanced around the room. Some words cannot be uttered anywhere without danger lest it fall on unintentioned ears. Alubic continued unabated. He has also outlived all those who could betray him.

Except Bassime, said Reddik.

Except Bassime, replied Alubic. Ich Habine is still around because of the herb he consumed during his stay on Oman. Have I proof of all this? I do not, admitted Alubic. If and when I do, he will have to be brought to justice for some heinous crimes. Normalizing relations with the Local Group will require it.

To be sure, breathed Reddik.

I will say no more of it until I am sure, said Alubic. And you will not utter a word of this to anyone.

Beyond the door of the anteroom, in the Great Hall, Sune Balek waited. He was a Haldan who appeared young for his middle age. His family once held eminence with the Lu-Janx, second to none in devotion to the king. The tradition of this fealty survived the fall of the dynasty and a tenuous ceiling of position lay between them.

I could not help but hear the position of the Prime, even through that heavy door.

The old Cat roars, but I pay no heed, said Habine. Reddik has his ear for the present. That will change when my plan succeeds. Then the old cat will lose his teeth. He motioned for them to leave. We need to get to Baluge. There is someone I must meet who knows some important things.

That is on Oman. How can we get there without a ship?

Lann-Dorz has solved that problem. He stabbed his finger scornfully toward the Prime’s chambers. They hope to get help from Fornis to rebuild this soft place. They have not been hearing what I have.

CHAPTER TWO

Shootin’ The Tube

The dazzling light of Pollex filled the vast emptiness of space. It was so close as to be barely hidden by the thumb on an extended arm. Pitus was watching out a port window.

I can just barely see Castor, the other Gemini twin, said Pitus. The light from Pollex is washing it out.

Atoye sat still as death at the helm of the Duster. Do you feel it?

Feel what? asked Pitus, alarm germinating in his expression. Atoye was staring off into the room listening, feeling . . . as if wishing to be the room and share its knowledge. Are we in trouble?

I don’t know yet. Atoye remained still.

I thought I just heard a cockroach sneeze, quipped Peston nervously. Atoye seemed to pay him no mind. What the hell are you listening for? asked Pitus urgently. Just then there was a small jolt, so subtle that had he not been standing still, it would have escaped his notice.

That. Did you feel it? repeated Atoye.

What was it, asked Pitus? It felt like a thud from something large but far away.

Not far away. said Atoye.

We are not near any stars, said Pitus."

My guess is a nullity, said Atoye.

Can we find out where it is? I’d like to see it.

That would be quite a trick, laughed Atoye nervously.

Yes, yes, I know, said Pitus sarcastically. It is unseeable; a black hole in space. Junior has probably seen it. Let’s ask him, said Atoye.

Pitus pressed a button beside him and the hologram of a young Atoye appeared standing in the middle of the room. How do you like your new mobility? asked Pitus good-naturedly.

I like it very much, said the image. I can gather input by moving around and seeing things from different vantage points. I am now a moving sensor.

I’ll have to be careful not to bump into you, said Pitus.

What is it out there jostling the ship? asked Atoye.

It is a nullity of 200 solar masses. It is rather a dinky one.

Big enough to be dangerous if we get too close, answered Atoye.

It is affecting navigation, said Junior. I have to compensate by one degree per day. And we will have to get close to it. Its trajectory will take it through the location of Nesook Barg in 8 days. Junior uttered gravely.

What will happen if it reaches the passage before we do? Pitus asked. Unknown, replied Atoye. No one has witnessed the collision of a nullity with a space-time tube as far as I know. If whatever they are made of is compatible, they may merge making the wormhole longer. That could mean a farther distance from home when we emerge from the other end than we should expect. If not, what is apt to happen is that the wormhole will be obliterated and our gate to the other side of the galaxy shall be no more.

You seem rather calm over something that could prevent you from returning home.

I’m concerned enough, but I am also sure we will be through the tube and long gone before the crisis comes.

We will know in 6 days. said Junior. That is our approximate time of arrival.

The two kept a close watch on the vicinity of Pollex for any sign of the passage. As the ship drew nearer, the excitement became mingled with apprehension as the long reach of the black hole became stronger. A couple of days passed. Pitus entered the bridge to take his usual shift as pilot, where he saw Atoye hunched over his monitor. He seemed excited.

I didn’t want to get up, declared Pitus. I was having such a great dream. The most beautiful girl I ever . . .

The passage has appeared! Atoye exclaimed. It is early.

We still have time to reach it, don’t we? asked Pitus.

Maybe so—maybe not, replied Atoye. I think the black hole is influencing it. I asked Junior to monitor both objects. He said the passage is pulsating slowly. It has not stabilized like it has in the past. It could wink out at any time. We must get there and through it as soon as possible.

Aren’t we due to arrive in four days?

Yes, but I fear it will be too late, replied Atoye. We must arrive sooner. He turned toward Pitus. I can cut our remaining travel time in half by rerouting the energy from the injector directly into the drive coils.

If you do that the thrusters will overheat and fuse the whole drive. We will be left to drift. warned Pitus.

I think we can `red-line’ the Duster for a short time each day. We can get it up to 60-H and coast while the thrusters cool down.

I don’t know . . .

It worked well enough on the way out from Oman, replied Atoye.

The standard injector is a high-density ceramic. What I installed in there is a petrified bone.

Fossils are God’s ceramics. I believe it will hold, assured Atoye.

Junior was unable to help on this phase of the journey. He was part of the computer and only an independent hand could make a computer do such an anathema to its programming. Junior did involve himself to the extent of constantly cyber-bitching about it. The injector held, and in just under two days they broke through into flat space once again.

At the mouth of the worm hole the intense gravity sucked matter in like water into a culvert pipe. At first the material had a laminar flow, but it quickly picked up speed until it rushed glowing, into the mouth at relativistic speed. Before it entered, the tidal forces of the gravitational field at the aperture vibrated the solid objects to bits.

How are we going to survive going into that gaping throat? Pitus asked nervously.

We will be fine with the shield up to full and if we enter the very center of it. Atoye assured. Remember, I had to go through this to get to this side of the galaxy. He secured himself in his seat. This act by Atoye spoke volumes to Pitus and he hurriedly did likewise.

We are ready, Junior, said Atoye. Take us through and make certain you keep pace with the speed of the flow.

Ich Habine and Sune Balek entered the warehouse through an alley way door. The interior was hangar-size, with a dirt floor, and partially filled with shipping containers set in such ways as to cordon off the space into several sections. It appeared abandoned but Habine knew at least a half dozen pairs of eyes bore upon him. He was counting on it. A subtle sound of a safety being clicked off . . . .

Bing-at! Came the sharp command in Haldi. Habine obeyed and stood calmly still. The guard looked closer at his subject and quickly lowered the weapon.

Forgiveness sire! he said fearfully. I at first did not recognize you.

Where is Dorz? Habine said sharply.

In the ship, sire. The guard hastened to the corner of a shipping container and pointed beyond. Habine rounded the corner.

Lann Dorz was standing just outside the hatch of a tractor trailer-sized Qetteran freighter. It was actually a small module with a star drive sealed on to the end. The actual freighter it originally came from was larger than the building that now hid it. Habine approached Dorz who stood cool and still, displaying none of the deference that was shown by the guard. Though Habine was of Lu-Janx blood and therefore royalty among the Haldi, this seemed to mean little to Lann Dorz. The War functionally ended the Lu-Janx dynasty. To him, Habine was just another business associate.

I was beginning to think you would not show, said Dorz. I was getting ready to leave.

That would have been a mistake, said Habine.

Little choice, replied Dorz. There have been Hest agents checking the area. Someone has a loose tongue.

Then let us be gone, said Habine.

We can if there is something in that sack you carry that I will accept for fare.

Habine reached into the sack and Dorz let his hand fall beside his holstered proton pistol. Habine slowly pulled a small jeweled disc out of the sack and held it up before Lann Dorz, whose expression read excitement at seeing the object.

You have so little respect for your temporarily deposed prince, said Habine. The Lu-Janx will return to power and the memory of friend and foe will be long.

You should not mistake caution for disrespect, Your Highness. I merely wish to remain alive long enough to see the glory of your return, replied Dorz, barely cloaking a sarcasm in his words. Habine nodded and offered the object in his hand. Dorz eagerly took it, turning it to examine both sides.

This will do quite nicely, said Dorz. The gem alone is . . .

. . . To remain where it is, in its setting, said Habine sharply. I am merely loaning it to you for your temporary benefit. It is part of the crown jewels of my ancestors. It will be reclaimed from whomever you sell it after the Restoration.

Dorz secured the artifact. We must go before the Hest return. They will not be long discovering the falsity of my livery permits. Habine entered the craft with Balek.

Who are we to meet? asked Balek. This man who bears important knowledge?.

An enemy. Balek looked astonished.

We are not going to Baluge to fight a battle, said Habine. This enemy knows much of what I need to know to succeed in the Restoration. He will not give information knowingly. We must be cunning.

Baluge, that slime-pit of Oman? Is that where you pay so handsomely to go? asked Dorz.

That is what I said, replied Habine. "I need to meet someone who is unaware of our meeting, so let us be off before he moves on and I lose the opportunity. That would put me in a very bad mood.

Lann Dorz ordered a guard to open the large sliding doors at the end of the building.

There was a commotion just outside. The hum of particle beam weapons firing signaled the return of the Hest custom agents. Four of Dorz’ men dove through the hatch which then slammed closed, and three others, including the one who originally accosted Habine remained behind to put up cover.

What of those men? asked Balek? They will surely be killed!

Yes, they will, said Dorz. They know it and accept it. He jerked the throttle and the freighter swiftly rose, smashing through the roof of the warehouse.

Pitus watched as the ship entered the throat. The stars in the background behind them scrolled inward until they all coalesced into a single point of light. It winked out altogether as they crossed the threshold. The tube’s interior was utterly black, at first, except when bits of debris flowing along with the ship strayed toward the wall of the tube, heating to incandescence and exploding in white flashes.

The force field swaddled the ship, insulating it from the violent gravitational distortions inside the wormhole. If the ship were in normal space the distance would have been crossed in a nanosecond. This was not normal space. To an observer outside, it would appear that the travelers were motionless, trapped in the amber of time at the planar face of the throat. Within the tube was anything but stillness. It was a hellish pummeling vortex of colliding matter and radiation. The forces outside tried to pull the ship off its dead center course where it could tear it apart. Junior was countering each yank by the field of the wormhole in lightning responses. What were actually seconds seemed an eternity to Pitus and Atoye within their metal cocoon. Finally, another point of light appeared directly ahead and exploded into a star-filled tapestry when they emerged from the other mouth of the passage. The buffeting ceased. There were some seconds of silence. Atoye cleared his throat. So much for strapping in, he declared, raising himself from the floor between the two console seats. I thought that black hole was going to cave the passage in on us. I am not sure where we would have ended up, but I am sure we would not have arrived living!

We seem to have made it and that’s all that counts, answered Pitus. Are we where you expected us to be? Atoye moved to a large lateral port and stared out into the stars. He stood as though mesmerized at the sight. Pitus read his expression with dread. What happened? Are we where we belong or not?

Argulis, `the runner’, he declared, pointing to a constellation in the center of the view through the window. It has been so long since I have seen you . . . Pitus gazed at it. The stars made a distinct pattern of a figure in the midst of a leap as if over some celestial hurdle.

I see it! exclaimed Pitus excitedly. Then that to the left of his outstretched hand must be `Kellon, the serpent’, the tip of his tail in his mouth making a circle.

The Ring of Life, Atoye replied. As one emerges from the dust, so must he return. Pitus watched Atoye as he gazed out the window. This must be one hell of a moment for you! he said. Atoye continued to stare out the portal for a couple of seconds. He took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully through his nostrils. A smile grew on his face. He turned to Pitus and winked, We truly have made it!

In another two days they were in view of a pinkish orb with one small natural satellite.

Our presence has likely been detected. We shall soon hear from customs, said Atoye.

I hope they don’t remember how you left this place.

You can rest assured they do. Is the drive program in safekeeping?

Ready for the switch back to the old specs. replied Pitus.

Junior, said Atoye, switch to PTV-1 drive and re-format. The ship shuddered during the reversion. There were a few seconds of darkness, and then the power came back on.

This may not help me in the end, said Atoye. "How can I explain my departure . . . How can I explain where I’ve been . . . How can I explain you!"

Could you really still be in trouble? asked Pitus. It has been 400 years since you left here. That’s a long time to keep an offense on the books!

Hard to say, Atoye shrugged. The Oman I knew would not let me get away with it. Maybe it has changed—maybe not. He moved to the large port