Perry Rhodan Lemuria 4: The First Immortal E-Book

Leo Lukas

• Herausgeber: Perry Rhodan digital
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Perry Rhodan Lemuria
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Perry Rhodan has discovered a huge space ship, an ark in space, carrying a population of humans who set out on their journey 55,000 years ago, from Earth - Lemurians, the legendary forefathers of mankind. In order to find all the arks, Perry Rhodan embarks onto a mission to the home system of the Akons. There, in the stronghold of the enemy, he hopes to find the coveted data, stored in the central computer of an ark recently captured by the Akons. A startling discovery awaits him: Levian Parron, the creator of the arks, is still alive!

Leseprobe

#4 The first Immortal

by Leo Lukas

Perry Rhodan has discovered a huge space ship, an ark in space, carrying a population of humans who set out on their journey 55,000 years ago, from Earth – Lemurians, the legendary forefathers of mankind.

In order to find all the arks, Perry Rhodan embarks onto a mission to the home system of the Akons. There, in the stronghold of the enemy, he hopes to find the coveted data, stored in the central computer of an ark recently captured by the Akons. A startling discovery awaits him: Levian Parron, the creator of the arks, is still alive!

LEMURIA 4

The First Immortal

by Leo Lukas

Translated

by Dwight R. Decker

"Whenever men have sought Paradise, they have found Hell."

—MARIO VARGAS LLOSA

"You cannot choose the world into which you are born, you cannot in the least determine when, where, and as what you begin; instead, you are molded by the place and time of your birth. Who you become and how you live until you die—that, at least, lies in your hands."

—WORDSOFTHE KEEPER

"I am a part of that power that always desires good and always creates confusion."

—HEINZ GOETHE

Prologue

The Puppet Show

Vast and wide is the Universe, and for the most part horribly empty, but it is also filled with wonders.

It has taken me days to formulate that sentence. For hours I have pondered over the first comma alone. Idiotic, since no one other than myself will ever read this diary. I am writing it only for myself and it must not under any circumstances fall into other hands. It would be better to erase everything at once, word by word, letter by letter. Actually it would be even better not to write it in the first place, but I could not bring myself to do either the one or the other. This diary has represented my one companion, my one support, my one consolation for centuries. I was and am enterprising, sociable, seldom alone but always lonely. I can confide in no one, man or woman, no matter how close we are. To no one can I confess, from no one but myself can I ask forgiveness.

Vast and wide is the Universe, and for the most part horrible. Empty, but also filled with wonders. Tiny islands drift, trembling like soap bubbles, in the cold endlessness. Thinly strewn, separated by enormous distances, exposed to cosmic forces without any protection worth mentioning, they nonetheless defy, hopelessly optimistic, anew each day, the deadly barrenness of space. Scattered oases, asylums, shelters, refuges, retreats, life-support systems ... Their inhabitants know little or nothing at all of each other. As ignorant as they are self-centered, they disregard the danger that nonetheless threatens them all. They don't know how to recognize, let alone interpret, the signs. I, on the other hand, may not reveal myself to them if I wish to save them and all their kind—the entire human race—from annihilation.

It is frequently difficult, and I am overcome by melancholy. Sometimes I seem in danger of choking on my knowledge, fearing I might burst under the weight of the responsibility. Since I may not scream, I write. Otherwise, the burden, the yoke, would have long been unbearable even for me, an immortal.

Yes, never aging—what a gift, what a blessing, what a curse! My most valuable ally, Time, is also my worst enemy. Many generations I have seen come, mature, and pass away. Minute realms as well as vast empires. But I remained, kept myself on track, on course, in control. Always. Did not scream, but wrote.

Wrote.

Wrote, and persevered. Patient, composed, collected. Bound myself in a harness of steely discipline. Worked quietly, gradually, on the great project. As inconspicuously as possible, without ever entirely stepping forward into the light, I built, I manipulated, I set the course. Now it is nearly done and the seed is about to sprout. Soon, very soon, I will reap what I have sown. I should rejoice. But I, I who hardly require any sleep, feel too tired for it.

There is certainly reason for celebration. So far, everything has proceeded marvelously according to plan. Without any complications at all. A key figure in my play, Perry Rhodan, as Terran Resident one of the most powerful men of this era, found himself at the right time in the right place. The NETHACK ACTHON was discovered by "chance"—despite the extremely slight statistical probability. Soon thereafter, just as I had expected, Rhodan also came across the remnants of the LEMCHA OVIR. And because of the mysterious Halutian who fled from the wreck, he asked his long-standing comrade-in-arms Icho Tolot for assistance. With that the stage has been set and all the important actors have taken their places.

I myself follow events from close at hand. I cannot repress a certain shudder when I observe how the principle individuals act. In the belief they are making their decisions freely, independently, and without compulsion, they still do precisely what I knew in advance they would. Filled with self-confidence, even obstinate, they resemble marionettes even so. Since I hold only some of the strings in my hands and only very occasionally need to intervene to set things right, the whole thing is uncanny for me. I often blink to assure myself that I am not dreaming. Even I have spells in which for a fraction of second I feel the ground is slipping away from beneath my feet. I feel giddy and grave, witless and witty, befuddled and bedazzled. As though I'm experiencing a continuous sense of déjà vu, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Everything happens because it must happen, because in a certain sense it has already happened.

For we stand both at the beginning and at the ending. One determines the other. Causality works in both directions. What was, will be. What will be, has already been ... Although the laws of logic continue to be valid without any interruption, one could quickly go mad, lose perspective and orientation, reel, stagger, stumble. Conscious of this danger, by writing I keep myself on track, on course, in control.

And I hold tightly on to you, oh Diary, beloved crutch, true friend, helper in need! When doubts oppress me, I read the lines that I composed myself—vast and wide is the Universe. Very small and insular are we, who struggle in it for naked survival and a piece of happiness. Fate seems to allow me to make it a little simpler and a little more secure for us. The welfare of mankind in all eras has been put into my hands. A unique chance has been offered only to me, myself alone. I decided a long, long time ago to take advantage of it. Now, with great caution, it is a matter of putting the last piece in place, which paradoxically is also the first. Still, the prospects seem favorable, very much as though the project will succeed. Rhodan, Tolot, and the other actors in the drama are moving obediently in the predicted direction. Up to the present day—25 April 1327 of the so-called "New Galactic Era"—there are no indications that they have become suspicious.

Even so ...

I tremble within, yearn for what is to come. Check for the hundredth time to see if a fatal error has slipped in somewhere. I recall in meticulous detail each of my calculations, each of my steps. I am calm. Self-controlled. Concentrated. I try to consider each detail, analyze it impartially as though it were completely new to me.

I sink into the web of my thoughts. To understand the plan, to begin it as well as to complete it, I must go back, very far back ...

1

The Holy Quest

Autumn Solstice, in the Garden of Everwas

"In the beginning I created Heaven and He-ell."

The Majittri stuttered. His hoarse babble had little in common with speech. It sounded more like the groaning of the six-wheeled pusher-beasts when they heaved a heavy load over the hills. No matter. Boryk and the others were not really listening, anyway. They knew the litany by heart. It had been drummed into them from the crèche, alternating with rods and sweetbars.

"But Heaven and Hell lay desolate and without life. Da-darkness covered the abyss, and only my spirit floated over the waters ... "

Boryk's lips moved automatically along with the words whether he wanted them to or not. Besides, the litany was very nearly the last thing that interested him at the moment. He was sweating and freezing miserably. The gravel on which he knelt stabbed into his skin. The pain grew with each breath he took. More than anything else, however, Boryk was afraid. Afraid of falling over at any moment, losing his balance and muscle control, going limp, collapsing. Falling forward on his face onto the hot stones, unable to catch himself since his hands had been bound behind his back. Such was the custom, such was required by the ritual. Boryk would have gladly done without it, to say nothing of the Majittri's stammering.

"Then I let the water co-come over the earth, in order to eradicate all flesh that had the breath of life within it. Everything on the Earth had to be destroyed. For the Earth lay corrupt before me and was filled with murderous wickedness. I looked upon the Earth. Corrupt it was, for all that was flesh had been corrupted in its Earthly existence. The evil of the people was great, and all thoughts in their hearts were constantly those of evil. The children that they bore were corrupt and behaved like creeping things. And because they found no mercy in my eyes, I destroyed them, drowning them in the waters of the Flood."

Boryk's stomach growled. As he had been instructed, he had fasted for three days and nights. Well, almost. He had permitted himself a few sips and sweetbars when thirst and hunger had plagued him too much.

Now he was reproaching himself for it. The ceremony would go on for some time. What if he couldn't control his digestive processes in this unnatural, cramped position? If he befouled himself, soiled himself in front of everyone?

Then he could forget his initiation. Always the weakest of his Year and constantly in danger of being considered unfit to live, he would instead end up going straight over the edge of the volcano cliffs, to meet his fate in the Abyss of Elimination.

Wiped out even before the first test ... The most shameful death imaginable. And even so, that was not the worst of Boryk's fears.

"Then I decreed: let there be light, so that it might divide the darkness. And there was a firmament between the waters, between the water b-beneath the firmament and the water above the firmament, between Heaven and Hell. And I saw that it was pr-pr-pretty good, actually."

Gujnar and Rautsh knelt on either side of Boryk. The torture seemed to be having much less of an effect on his crèche-brothers than on him. They proudly pushed out their chests, lifted their heads, opened their shining blue eyes wide. They smiled in the certainty of their triumph. Didn't they feel the heat that radiated from the red glowing incense vessels and singed the ends of their hair and eyebrows? The icy wind that tore at their thin white jerkins? Didn't they feel any fear at all of what awaited them?

No, Boryk answered himself. They're probably just too plain dumb.

He was immediately ashamed of himself for that thought. What gave him the right to feel superior to the twins? Especially him, by far the weakest of his Year! The small, scrawny Boryk, who seemed more like an undernourished five-year-old than a youth on the threshold of manhood.

On the threshold that he was soon supposed to cross ...

"Then I decreed that the waters gather and dry land appear. And the land blossomed and brought forth greenery. Plants that brought forth seeds after their kind, and trees that bore fruit after their kind. And I placed lights in the firmament to illuminate Heaven and Hell and divide the evening from the morning, the light from the darkness, and to serve as signs for festivals and days, weeks, months, and years. I think I did a really good job on the lighting, esp-especially the moons, if I do say so myself. In any case, I then said, Let us make people in our own image ... "

The ceremony approached its highpoint. As the Majittri continued to recite without a break, his voice was increasingly overlaid by whizzing, cracking sounds. The adults standing around whipped the air with their long rods. Boryk got goose bumps. His intestines rebelled. He clenched his hips.

Not now, please not now ...

"As man and woman I created them, as bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, and into their noses I blew my breath of life. I set the people in the Garden of Everwas, which I had laid down for them between the sea and the high mountain, and gave them the command: Be fruitful and multiply, and have dominion over the Earth!"

That was the cue. The adults moved in, drawing their circle ever closer. "Be fruitful and multiply! Be fruitful and multiply! Be fruitful ... "

The rods whistled. With each word blows rained down on Boryk's back, shoulders, and arms. The adults gave it their all. Louder and louder they shouted; harder and harder they struck. Now and then Boryk thought he could recognize the voice of his Mama in the welter of shouting and whacks of the rods, or the characteristic corporal punishment technique of one of his fathers. Of course they would also be taking part in the ritual and not holding back. They loved their son, after all, in spite of his deficiencies. Sparing him would be an expression of disdain, of a lack of faith in his maturity and capacity for endurance.

"Be fruitful!—Be fruitful!—Be fruitful!"

At some point Boryk realized in surprise that he no longer felt any pain. He was aware of the places where his skin had burst open under the blows, of the cuts from the sharp edges of the gravel, and of the hot billows rising from the incense vessels. But these were simply observations; he felt nothing along with them. Blood ran in his short, leather trousers. His mother wept and laughed at the same time. The shreds of his shirt stuck to his wetly oozing wounds ... Time passed and the smoke and heat gradually lessened. He was almost sorry when the cries faded away and the blows grew weaker. A film of red sweat that tasted salty and metallic, mixed with flecks of ash, lay on his face, blurring his vision. The shadowy figure to his right rocked from side to side, back and forth. Then it collapsed like a balloon whose air suddenly escaped. Only after several shallow, panting breaths did Boryk realize that Rautsh had collapsed into unconsciousness.

Rautsh, who was taller by almost a head. Rautsh, who was so much stronger, had passed out before he did!

With this thought an immense feeling of joy spread through Boryk. Suddenly the pain also came back. Like a black wave, it crashed over him. He opened his mouth, wanting to scream. But he could not.

The pale light of the midnight moons lay over the ceremonial plaza when Boryk awoke. He raised his head, then tried to sit up. Tears flooded his eyes. Everything, absolutely everything hurt. Even the smallest movement provoked new agonies. He crawled on all fours to the pond and let himself fall into the water with a splash. It was very cold, but also stimulating and invigorating. Boryk gasped and sputtered, and his heart hammered in his chest.

As he peeled off the remains of his shirt, making some of the crusted welts on his upper body begin to bleed again, the foggy weakness faded away, and his head cleared. He had gotten through the first phase—at the cost of feeling as though he had fallen under a harvester. Even so, he had not failed as he had feared he would, but had held out. Even longer than Rautsh.

Boryk grinned. That was something that loudmouth would have a hard time getting used to ...

He climbed out of the pond, shook himself with a low groan, and glanced around. Behind the now cold incense vessels, the menhirs, hung with loudspeaker boxes, threw blue shadows on the hard-trampled clay soil. The ceremonial plaza was deserted. Broken rods lay scattered on the ground along with shreds of cloth, numerous empty juice mugs, and chewed cigar stubs. In the morning, the children and youths would turn out to clean the circular expanse.

Until this night, Boryk had been one of them.

He gave a start as he realized that his crèche-brothers had already left. Once again he had slept the longest. And of course Gujnar and Rautsh had not awakened him. He who comes first grinds first, said the mill engineers. One of Boryk's fathers was their Maherrot, which was why Mama always used only the very finest flour for bread and sweetbars.

Oh, Mama ...

Oh, sweetbars ...

Thinking of food proved to be a mistake. Boryk's stomach growled audibly. And with hunger came thirst. Drinking the water of the pond was not advisable. A good many intoxicated adults would have relieved themselves in it not long before.

Boryk's gaze wandered yearningly to the roofs of the cottages that rose beyond the palisade. Over there were food and drink in abundance, cozy warmth and security. But not for him, not tonight. Not before he had successfully returned from the Beyond. He sighed deeply and shivered, and not just because a gust of wind had brushed him. The fear of not being up to this challenge seized him once more with cold, sharp claws. Disheartened, he let his shoulders sag.

Why didn't he set out? What was still holding him here?

He couldn't go into the village no matter how much he wanted to. Only one direction stood open to him: upwards, ever upwards. Boryk swallowed, gagged, sobbed. He was ashamed of himself for his cursed cowardly indecisiveness and his childish tears. He angrily wiped them away and balled his fists. He tried to remember the tips his fathers had given him: "The first steps are the hardest; the first few hundred meters upwards are the most strenuous. Then it will get easier, honest. You'll see, but never mind that. We've all done it, even fat Fosse."

But there had also been other remarks in the background of all the enthusiasm for the journey, low and muttered from behind a hand held in front of the mouth: "About one of every three never comes back from the Holy Quest and remains lost in the mountains or in Hell ... So be careful not to exhaust yourself too soon. And never let your guard down! Ferocious beasts and the Shadow People live up there ... "

Still others had muttered vaguely about "natural selection" and "survival of the fittest," while looking at him with open disdain from top to bottom, as though they certainly didn't consider him one of the fittest. Yes, as though they expected it would be him in particular who failed on the way and relieved them of his useless presence that insulted their eyes.

Boryk seriously considered doing them the favor. He just had to climb high enough until he found a sufficiently deep crevice that he could fall into. It seemed tempting to him. Putting an end to the constant fear and agony, the biting mockery and feigned sympathy. To rest in peace ... The more he thought about it, the more he liked this option. "Do you still remember little Boryk with the big ears and the bow legs? Gujnar and Rautsh's crèche-brother? Yeah, he wasn't worth anything, wasn't any use, kind of a freak. Poor guy. But still, you gotta admit he showed some class when he checked out. He even took off his leather trousers beforehand and laid them down so one of his younger brothers could wear them, and then ... Say, guys, what do you think of naming this crevice after him? 'Boryk's Ravine' doesn't sound too bad, does it?"

He was already some fifty or sixty meters above the ceremonial plaza when he suddenly realized that he had started out. Boryk looked at his naked feet in disbelief. He immediately stumbled over a root, lost his balance, and had to hang on to the stunted trunk of an olive tree to keep from tumbling down the slope. Wind that smelled of rancid oil and rotting, half-fermented fruits slapped his sweat-drenched hair against his forehead. Boryk stopped to rest.

Below him, the village lay in pale violet moonshine. No smoke rose, no window was lit. Everything was asleep. Boryk was suddenly surprised by himself. How he had hated that place and most of its inhabitants! The crowding, the narrowness, the mindless brutality, the lack of interest in anything beyond eating and drinking, working and reproducing.

Now, however, the small village nestled between the foothills of the mountain seemed to him like sheer Paradise.

The Garden of Everwas ...

Beyond the families' cottages and the animals' stalls stretched the fields, berry bushes, and groves. They gave way to meadows and savannahs, which then mixed with swamps and dunes that ended at the seashore. There he had learned to swim, as usual the last of his Year. Rautsh had not missed any opportunity to dunk him and hold him underwater for seconds that seemed to last an eternity. Boryk had been subjected to utter terror in what for the others was a harmless game. Each time he had gasped and howled, to the amusement of his crèche-brothers. And had wished for nothing more ardently than to be grown up, grown up at last.

Strange. Now that he was finally at that point, he yearned for his childhood ...

On the shore a misty veil rose. Still, Boryk could see to the horizon, where the sea curved upwards and merged with the sky. "What exactly lies beyond the horizon?" he had once asked, and got baffled, long-lasting laughter in response. The story quickly spread. Months later, Gujnar was still making fun of him over it. "Do you know where Boryk lives?" he would ask pointedly. And the other children and youths answered in chorus: "Beyond the horizon!" Then they held their stomachs as they brayed and cackled, while Boryk wanted to sink into the ground in shame.

And what lies beneath the ground, anyway?

Angrily he kicked the stunted tree trunk. Often he himself thought that he was a freak: poorly endowed physically, and on top of that not quite right in the head. No one else asked such stupid questions. What for? The world was perfectly arranged and contained exactly everything that humanity needed. People were content with how things were, end of story. No wonder he always lagged behind if this was how he wasted his time.

Just as now. The two moons, whose paths crossed in the sky at midnight, already stood a good distance apart again. In a few hours they would go down in the green-blue sea, from which the bright sun would soon rise.

"Cover as much distance as you can during the night," Fosse, his favorite father, had impressed upon him. "Daylight will be brighter the higher you go. So bright that it will burn your eyeballs and you'll soon be blind. So leave off with your daydreaming and hurry for once, little one!"

What would Fosse say if he could see him at this moment? Boryk hesitating again, incapable of tearing himself away from the sight of the village although he was already a considerable distance behind the others?

What will Fosse think of me when they show him the trousers? And tell him where they found me?

And how will my Mama take the news?

Boryk pressed his lips together. He pushed himself away from the olive tree and went on, with longer, more furious steps than before.

2

A Double Double-Life

14 March 1327 NGE, Akon System

"Mark my words—he'll amount to something someday!" Mechtan tan Taklir roared. His loud voice, accustomed to command, easily overpowered all conversations and incidental noise. "Something big! He's destined for higher things. It's too bad that all my granddaughters are already married—and unfortunately the whole lot of them to zeroes!"

"Grandfather, please."

"But I'm not giving up hope," the Takhan went on in his bluster, "that one of these aesthetes will soon get so lost in his philosophizing that he'll trip and break his own neck! Then his place will be free for a real man! Har! Har!"

The space officers who stood around the Admiral of the Seventh Fleet in a half circle dutifully joined in his laughter. Aykalie did not. Indignant, she raised her left eyebrow, though only a little.

When he saw that his granddaughter was upset, Mechtan abruptly broke off. With a curt nod he excused himself from his subordinates and came over to her. He took her by her arm and guided her gently though firmly in the direction of the terrace.

"No offense," he said to her in a considerably lower voice as they walked along. "Saying things like that is what they expect from me. You know that I would never stand in the way of the happiness of my children and grandchildren. Although I've never been too comfortable with the fatal attraction you girls have for civilians. I don't even have any problems with your beloved, the existential rhetorician ... "

"Experiential theoretician."

"Whatever. Nor do I mind talking with him now and then. Or rather he talks to me, and then I only understand about every fifth word. Still he seems like a reasonable and well-mannered fellow to me, and he makes you happy—that's the important thing. Nothing else counts."

Tenderly, almost a little clumsily, he squeezed her fingers. She returned the pressure. "Admit it, Grandfather—you still would have preferred it if I had chosen one of your officers. Like Achab ta Mentec."

"You can read me like an unsecured data crystal." Mechtan gave her a wink. "I won't deny that I would have gladly seen you two united. But the lack of interest was on both sides. I personally couldn't understand how a healthy Akonian could fail to succumb to your charms. Even had a suspicion that the fellow was from the other quadrant, if you get what I mean."

"I can reassure you on that account. The gossips in the various palaces chatter constantly about his womanizing exploits. Excuse me—amorous affairs."

"Is that so? I'm delighted. Not that the other would have been such a serious indiscretion. Even has a certain tradition in the Fleet. One of my most highly decorated commanders ... well, never mind. No, it would worry me more if out of sheer devotion to duty the man forgot to live. Unhealthy in the long run, that kind of thing." Mechtan reached for a glass of beer from a tray floating by and emptied it in a single gulp.

"Does he work so much, then?"

"Like a beast of burden. And always well-groomed, polite, nonchalant. Impartial, too, sets an example that way. First-rate leadership material. At the risk of repeating myself, he's going to amount to something."

Bending down to a psychoactive flower and carefully inhaling the exquisite aroma, Aykalie said, "Achab means a great deal to you."

"I won't try to fool you. I probably see in him the son I always would have been glad to have and which Fate denied me in spite of all the concubines. However ... "—the Takhan stiffened, making his chest muscles bulge through the uniform that was covered with innumerable medals and rank insignia—"I'm much too old a soldier to let myself be blinded by personal feelings and wishful thinking. Achab ta Mentec impresses me all over again almost every day. He has a sixth sense and possibly a seventh as well. Have you heard what he's been fiddling with lately in addition to his duties as Maphan?"

Aykalie looked around, regarding the mob of society movers and shakers with a contemptuous batting of her eyelashes. "It can hardly be anything special if you're telling me about it out here in the open like this."

"Oh, but it is, girl, but it is. That's actually the beauty of it. Long obsolete technology, perfectly familiar to all the powers of the Galaxy. Detection shields and by the same token fine-scale hyper-detection, based on neutrinos. It would immediately make any hyper-physicist's eyes glaze over, probably. As the saying goes, you couldn't lure a new-born Okrill baby out from behind the rocks with that."

"But?"

"It's a matter of what you make of it. Just in the experimental stage, Achab has already discovered things that even in times like these would have otherwise stayed unknown and undiscovered until the end of time."

"Which are?"

"Have to wait until the first readings are confirmed. He's working on that now. Looks as though we've got ourselves a sensation that could shake the Blue System."

Aykalie heard something amid the music and a not entirely harmonious song sung by many voices that sounded from the hall. "That concerns you, Takhan," she said.

"Was afraid of something like that. They want to pin another tin medal on me because of that oh so successful Fleet maneuver. I presume from your body language that you're about to take off?"

"I promised my husband that I'd listen to at least part of his lecture to the Academy."

"Give him my regards. But by all that is precious, don't tell him they're from me. Was very nice to chat with you again. Thank you for coming. You made an old soldier very happy."

"I was glad to, Mechtan. Farewell!"

"All the best, child."

They embraced. If Aykalie hadn't known that her grandfather was considered the toughest military man in the entire Akonian Empire, she would have suspected that he was having a sentimental moment.

She hurried to the exit, slipping through the small groups of social strivers and pretenders like a slim boat through bending reeds. In the foyer she placed her right thumb on the input field of the teleporter terminal. Mentally composed her destination. Stepped into the flickering rainbow ...

... and stepped out.

The dry, utilitarian plainness of the Academy enveloped her like a coat of dust. Fuzzy. Oppressive. Under the robes the funk of a thousand years, Aykalie's rebellious classmates had joked during her student days. Many of them now wore those selfsame robes and strode through the halls in them no less solemnly and arrogantly than their predecessors.

The lecture hall, one of the smaller ones, was less than half filled. It virtually smelled of boredom. Even so, Jars tan Aburrir, Aykalie's husband, acted on the podium as though he were presenting the scientific discovery of the century to an enthusiastic crowd of four thousand people.

" ... leads us without further digression to the central, fundamental question," he lectured with his own brand of purple eloquence, glowing with enthusiasm. "And that is: Does the practicality of time travel, as it has often been indisputably documented in Galactic history, therefore demonstrate the existence of free will? Or does it serve us on the contrary as a significant indication of the inevitable predestination of Fate? Supported by the recently published theses of my highly esteemed faculty colleagues Noiso, Langweil, und Uzun-Dalga, I dare to assert ... neither! Only the deliberate and demonstrable causation of a time paradox would tip the scales of a conclusion in the direction of the recognition of chance, which means unlimited self-determination. The focus of our attention should be on the term 'demonstrable.' I think you realize where I am leading with this. A time paradox changes the past and thus logically the present as well. How, then, can it be verified beyond any doubt that such a thing is involved? Hmm? It is even quite possible that, depending on the reordering of the past, the question is no longer even relevant. Yes, it could even be that in the thereby modified present, the one who originally asked it never would have been born!"

Jars tan Aburrir smiled as though he was amusing himself over the highly polished formulation of his point, and let his gaze sweep out over his listeners in a bid for applause. As he did, he discovered Aykalie, who waved to him. He returned the gesture, then continued with the lecture. As soon as his attention was concentrated entirely on his subject again, she slipped inconspicuously out.

She used a teleporter to reach her personal core apartment, which consisted of only a few rooms: study, bedchamber, dressing room, bathroom. Since the Akonians had developed teleportation technology to the peak of perfection, it was customary for members of the upper class to spread parts of their living quarters all over. Thus Aykalie's kitchen and garden were on a farmstead far outside the city, her studio was on the coast of a different continent, her veranda on an orbiting space station, and her library in a loft in the booksellers' district on the moon of Xolyar. She and Jars maintained several other living and reception rooms scattered across the entire Akon System. All these rooms were connected by personal teleporters and so could be reached with a single step as easily and as much a matter of course as stepping through a doorway.

With a few movements of her hand, Aykalie freshened her make-up. Then she traded the conservatively tailored, modestly high-necked cocktail dress for skin-tight slacks that emphasized her figure and a soft, flowing blouse whose fabric slowly shifted among various pastel colors and even occasionally turned briefly transparent. For shoes she selected high heels that consisted only of loosely woven, ultravioletly luminescent threads. The ten-centimeter high, needle-thin heels were supported by mini-antigrav fields; their projectors and batteries were located in the lower seam of her trouser legs.

After she had checked her appearance one last time in the mirror and judged it to be satisfactory, she stepped through the teleporter arch.

Her lover awaited her in his indoor garden. Where it was located, Aykalie had no idea: a Syntron program developed for privacy protection prevented anyone from using a terminal to call up the coordinates of the destination. The glass surfaces that made up three of the walls and the domed ceiling were always set to opaque during her visits. The gravity and atmosphere seemed normal, but of course they could have been produced artificially.

"Am I right in assuming that we don't have much time?" she asked with a lightly amused undertone after they had greeted each other with a long kiss.

"What gives you that idea?"

"I was just at Mechtan's maneuver party. He's already waiting feverishly for the sensational data you promised him. Shouldn't you be busy analyzing it?"

Smiling boyishly, Achab ta Mentec, wrapped in a flowing, silken leisure toga whose rich orange contrasted charmingly with his flawless light brown skin, sank onto the wide sofa. "Already taken care of. I just wasn't in the mood for rousing speeches and heroic drinking sessions. Besides, all things considered, I prefer your company to that of your grandfather."

"I certainly hope so." She sat down next to him and cuddled under his arm. "Although ... If the matter is as important as you told the Takhan ... can you allow yourself even this slight delay in good conscience?"

"In comparison with 55,000 years, I think it can wait a few hours."

"Fifty-five thou ... ? What have your neutrino detectors stumbled on? An artifact from Lemurian times?"

He ran his finger gently over her lips. "Let's not waste this hour with business, Darling. Before the end of the day I will inform Admiral Mechtan tan Taklir in detail about my discovery. And don't worry—you'll get a data cube, too, so you can be the first to make a report to the Energy Command!"

Aykalie made a pouting expression, then seized Achab by his gray, lightly shimmering pigtail and pulled on it teasingly. "I hate being tortured on the rack like this. But I must surrender to overwhelmingly superior forces."

They enjoyed the stolen hour to the full. Ta Mentec was an excellent lover, sensitive and reserved, as would otherwise be expected only from considerably older, more experienced men. When it came to passion, he was perhaps a little too clear-headed and she had not yet been able to lure him completely out of his reserve. But that was probably a consequence of his profession, and not least of the nature of their relationship.

It was evident to both of them that they were using each other. Aykalie worked for the Akonian secret service, the legend-shrouded Energy Command. True, it no longer constituted a state within the state as it once did, but stood under the democratic control of the Ruling Council and its agencies. However, it was still a significant power in its own right in the present day. Neither her grandfather nor her husband Jars, who required pleasantly little care and attention and who was dedicated to the theory of experience rather than to its practice, knew that Aykalie led a double life. Usually everyone accepted her as the rich heiress, artist, and art-gallery owner. After all, every noble family had at least one member matching that picture.

Achab ta Mentec, however—the "ta" identified him as member of the mid-level nobility; the highest families had a "tan" in their names while the lowest ones a "cer"—had seen through her almost from the start. Probably because he was cut from similar cloth. Like her, he was not content with what his parents, educators, and patrons had arranged for him. Like her, he preferred to pursue his own goals without revealing more than necessary.

They had quickly agreed to keep their affection secret. That way they profited considerably more from it. To push his career forward, Achab needed a good connection to the Energy Command. In return he supplied Aykalie with inside information about the Fleet that she could not easily have swindled out of her grandfather.

As far as political views were concerned, they were on the same wavelength. They detested racism and nationalism. They welcomed the entry of Akon into the multi-ethnic Forum Raglund as progress. Even so, Achab made it very clear that as one of the oldest civilized peoples in the Galaxy, the Akonians should act from a position of strength. For him, that included the development of new technologies of their own. On the other hand, they followed with great concern the increasing bloc formation in the Galaxy, especially the neo-hegemonic efforts of the Arkonide Crystal Imperium. Their galaxy was slowly but surely turning into a container for an Arkon-Bomb. Perversely, the most dangerous tendencies were evidenced by those peoples who had arisen from common ancestors: the Lemurians.

Lemuria. The cradle of humanity. Which stood on Lemur, the third planet of the Sol system, later called Larsaf III and still later Terra. From which we humanoids set out to settle this galaxy and several others.

About 55,000 years ago ...

Although Aykalie burned with curiosity to find out what Achab's experimental detection systems had discovered, she did not press her lover. As always, they parted without a word and without any ado. They both held the admittedly somewhat superstitious view that only someone who didn't hope to see the other again soon made a fuss about saying goodbye.

Aykalie tan Taklir slipped into her clothes. Maphan Achab ta Mentec smoothed out his silken toga, stepped to a desk, and took out a small data storage crystal that he handed to Aykalie. She tucked it away, blew her lover a kiss, and then was gone.

3

The Clear Fever, the Beast, and Yet Another Fateful Encounter

In one respect the tips Boryk's fathers gave him turned out to be correct: the higher he climbed, the easier his progress was. He even imagined that he weighed less. Or was it actually the first signs of delirium? Harbingers of altitude sickness?

Lighter or not, it was still exhausting and sweat-inducing enough. Again and again, towering masses of dirt from mud-slides blocked the path, forcing detours through dangerous terrain. Boryk climbed over wobbly blocks of rock the size of cottages, their sharp edges scraping the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet. A gravel slope slid out from under him and the avalanche of stones very nearly tore him along with it into the depths. Every movement hurt, his hunger and thirst were only increasing.

Just before daybreak, in the darkest hour when the moons had already sunk into the sea but the sun had not yet risen, he had climbed and passed the first lesser peaks of the volcano chain. A few meters below the ridge, he tumbled exhausted into a hollow where he wanted to rest for a bit—and jumped back, because he had stepped on a soft body.

Boryk's cry woke Gujnar with a start. "What the—oh, it's you. Can't you watch where you're walking, you idiot?"

Then Rautsh pushed his head out from under the thick tarp that covered the pair. "You can lie down here with us for all I care, squirt," he grumbled, "but keep your trap shut and let me sleep." Boryk was tempted to accept the invitation. He lay down and was about to stretch out his tired legs, but something bothered him. "I thought you'd be a long way away by now," he said in a low voice to Gujnar.

"Are you crazy? This is as far as we're going."

He thought he had heard wrong. "What ... ? As far as you're going?"

"Say, are you really that dim-witted or do you just act like it? We just wait here nice and cozy for a couple of days, then we climb back down."

Boryk stared at his crèche-brother in complete incomprehension. "But ... "

"Pipe down!" Rautsh growled from under the cover.

"You heard me," Gujnar whispered. "Now come on, be sensible for once in your life. I'll even let you have some of our supplies. We have enough water and sweetbars for three."

Boryk's head spun. This was how it was supposed to go? A mountain hike and a picnic?

"No ... it can't be."

"Of course it can. Our uncle and his friends did exactly the same thing last year. And they weren't the first by a long shot."

"But ... but they said they climbed up into Heaven and down into Hell. That they fought with the Beyonders and stole their most beautiful girls and spent many hours with them doing ... well, you know."

"So, that's the same story we'll tell, you dope. Who can stop us? As long as we cover for each other, nobody can prove any different."

Boryk felt as though someone had pulled the ground out from under his feet. Becoming a Man, the Holy Quest, the great adventure—was it just a fraud, a gigantic lie woven out of camaraderie and boasting?

No. He simply could not imagine that Fosse had also lied and cheated back then. The fat one was occasionally a little distracted, and his apathy bordered on laziness. But he had always told Boryk the truth. Always.

Although ... Could he really be so certain of that? Grown-ups didn't respect children as equals, and especially not him.

"Maybe so. It just isn't ... right. I mean, it says in the Holy Writ that ... "

"I've had it!" Rautsh threw the cover back and leaped up. "Enough with the stupid yakking! Get it through your head once and for all, you little idiot—you don't have any choice! Either you go along or I'll beat you into a pulp and then throw you into the deepest crevice I can find with my own hands. Is that clear?"

Boryk did not answer. His throat felt dried out. He did not utter a sound.

"You bet it's clear!" The twins, taller than Boryk by at least a head, drew themselves up threateningly in front of him. There was sympathy in Gujnar's expression, but it was out of the question that he would go against his brother when the chips were down. Rautsh trembled with anger. He bent over and picked up a large stone. The flashing in his eyes emphasized that he was serious about his threat.

Deadly serious.

At that moment, something happened to Boryk. Something within him broke like a thin shell, and something was hatched. He grew hot from the inside outwards. A wild fever seized him, pulsing through him all the way to his fingertips. But it was not a side effect of dizziness or stupidity. Just the opposite. He felt a great clarity. Never before in his life had he ever seen with such sharpness. Despite the vague morning twilight, he could make out every little vein, every little hair, every pore in the face of the youth standing before him.

Rautsh hesitated, teetering on the tips of his toes. He stared down at him. For the first time, Boryk did not lower his eyes but met the gaze of his crèche-brother.

"Put the stone down," Boryk said in a low voice. The syllables flowed from his mouth as though of their own accord. As though he was not the one speaking but another, a stranger. Someone who had just awakened within him.

And Rautsh obeyed.

All three stared in disbelief. Something enormous, something incredible, had happened and was still happening.

"I will go on," said the one who spoke with Boryk's voice. "You will not stop me, nor will you follow me. You will let me go my way. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Yes ... Boryk."

"And now go back to sleep."

He had not gone ten steps from the hollow when a duet of snoring could be heard behind him.

The sun came up. As he had feared, it struck him as unpleasantly glaring in the eyes since he was many hundreds of meters closer to it than down on the plain. Even so, he was still only about halfway up the volcano cliffs. The path was now hard to make out, apparently seldom used. Still, there was a path, however faint, so Boryk followed it. Gradually tension and euphoria drained away. In their place came a splitting headache. Hunger, thirst, and tiredness returned as well.

Boryk strode on his way, half in a trance. He could not understand what had happened back there on the lower ridge. He had defied the twins. More than that: Gujnar and Rautsh had backed down, had allowed him to give them orders. And they had obeyed without a peep of objection! He never would have thought that possible, even in his wildest dreams.

Unfortunately, the feeling of power he had felt then had now faded. The new, big Boryk had withdrawn once more. The old, small Boryk began to doubt the correctness of his spontaneous decision. His crèche-brothers' arguments had something to them. Why take on new agonies, why risk his life, when there was a simpler way?

At least he should have rested and fortified himself! Warmth, water, and sweetbars ... His tongue stuck to his gums, his stomach rebelled. The wind stabbed at his naked, wounded back with icy needles. Uncertain, he went on putting one foot in front of the other, and steep as the path was, he had to use his hands for support. Higher and higher he climbed. And so did the sun, though with considerably less effort.

Yes, the sun had it good. It glided along the sky and nothing blocked its path. The clouds got out of its way. And it made an elegant bend around the thick column of smoke that rose from the highest volcano peak. Boryk, meanwhile, thousands of meters below it, fought his way along narrow, sloping rock ledges and abrupt steps that were much too high for his short legs.

In the early afternoon, after difficult, almost vertical climbing, he reached the saddle of a pass. Here, the wind blew so strongly that Boryk had to crouch on all fours to keep from being blown away. Crawling on his stomach, he traversed the narrow cut between two cliffs. After he had descended some fifty meters on the other side—where the path was steepest, rusty cables and steps had been installed, though the latter were set too far apart to be of much use to him—a gently rolling plateau stretched out before him. It was about twice the size of the village and the ceremonial plaza put together. Low, wind-blown, half-withered bushes covered the plateau. While the path snaking its way through them was now almost level and much more passable, the thorns on the plants scratched Boryk's thighs. He didn't have very many uninjured places left on his body ...

The beast suddenly stood in front of him almost as though it had shot out of the ground. Never before had he seen such a large creature. The wide-open maw spanned a good three square meters by itself. Each of the yellowish fangs was longer than Boryk's own body. He saw chunks of rock rolling in the animal's throat and being ground by its massive jaws. The sight of it sent his panic level sky-high. If it could swallow and digest rock, how much easier would a weak little human being be for it?