Fire with Fire

Chapter Twenty-One

ODYSSEUS

Upon reentering the meeting hall several hours later, Caine expected to find it a hive of activity. What he found, when the security guard on his left opened the door and the one on his right ushered him in with outstretched hand, was an utterly still tableau made up of concentric rings of expectant humanity.

The innermost ring of ten persons was incomplete: seated about a round table, their circle was broken by two empty chairs. The next ring was that of the advisors, aides, assistants, and chroniclers who were seated behind their delegates. The last ring-as numerous as the other two put together-were (mostly) men whose eyes could not be seen: square-jawed and sunglassed, the security personnel projected the aura of waiting automatons, creatures who had long ago ceased to move in accordance with their own will. Caine could see the eyes of the other two rings, however-and they were all on him.

Nolan had been waiting beside the door, smiled when Caine noticed him, accompanied him to the two empty chairs at the round table, indicated the one on the right. Nolan stood behind the other, cleared this throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have all heard about Mr. Riordan, and what he found and experienced during his three weeks on Delta Pavonis. Please remember that Mr. Riordan is not here in a political or official capacity. His credentials today are those of a well-regarded researcher and writer who, on the advice of Senator Arvid Tarasenko, was sent to assess conflicting reports regarding advanced life forms and structures found on Delta Pavonis Three. You already have his report-except for one footnote that he will now present to you himself.

“Mr. Riordan, allow me to introduce the bloc representatives gathered here today. Starting on your right: Ms. Hollingsworth of the UK and Mr. MacGregor of Australia; Mr. Sukhinin of Russia and Ms. Durniak of the Ukraine; Mr. Ching of China and Mr. Demirel of Turkey; Mr. Karagawa of Japan, and Mr. Medina of Brazil; and Ms. Visser of Germany and Mr. Gaspard of France.”

Caine noted which delegates offered a nod or some other sign of recognition: both of the Commonwealth delegates, Sukhinin of Russia, Visser of Germany, Medina of Brazil. The last he dismissed: at this point, it was impossible to distinguish warm but impersonal Brazilian cordiality from a sign of personal receptivity. He was similarly undecided about Durniak’s lack of response: she was somewhat young and very intent, probably too focused to even think of personal interaction, at this point. No surprise in Ching’s silence: he was the Great Sphinx of international relations. China’s Foreign Minister for almost eighteen years now, one journalist had quipped that Ching could go days without speaking-even if he was China’s sole representative at a two-nation summit. An exaggeration, but not by much: according to Nolan, Ching had not spoken a word during the first day at Parthenon.

All five blocs. Two representatives from each. The US was conspicuously absent, probably because the mediator-Nolan-was a fairly famous American, and also in deference to providing a seat at the table for the Commonwealth’s newest (and still probative) member state: the UK. Was this the shape of things to come? The first de facto sitting of the Confederation Council, meeting to will itself into existence, to midwife its own birth? Ex nihilo-a new world order. For a moment, Caine felt himself as the watcher, not the watched, immersed in the surreal quality of being present for the unfolding of a historical moment, and sharply aware that the neat beginnings and endings of history as reported had nothing to do with history as made.

Nolan’s voice was gentle. “Mr. Riordan, whenever you’re ready.”

“Uh, yes-sorry.” Wonderful beginning. Ass. He glanced down at his palmtop, at the notes he knew by heart, and calmly decided to ignore them. “Ladies and gentlemen, one hour before departing from Delta Pavonis on July 10, 2118, I returned briefly to the main ruins at Site One-”

— and he was there. His own voice became distant; he fell out of the council chamber and emerged into-

— The glare of Delta Pavonis, low on the horizon, glinted off the semi-rigid body armor of the Marines who, face shields down and weapons in an assault carry, preceded him out of the landing craft. Caine could hear the second fire team milling eagerly behind him, ready to follow him down the ramp. Overhead, a transatmospheric fighter orbited lazily. Caine wasted no time, moving through the swirling dust even as the whine of the landing thrusters was still dying away. Every second counted, now-and would until he got back to Earth. He walked past the right-angled dig pits, clambered over the berm, the first group of Marines hustling to keep in front of him.

He popped over the rise, side-footed down to the base-where the head archeologist was waiting, pudgy hands on pudgy hips, rounder, dustier, more gnomelike than Caine remembered. “I’m here,” said the Gnome.

Caine couldn’t decide whether he was more struck by the superfluity or petulance of the utterance. “Thanks for coming.”

Gnome snorted: Caine’s “request” to meet had been, in reality, merely a polite ultimatum. “What do you want?”

Caine debated whether he should try to apologize for the ruse he had used to get information out of the Gnome when they first met, but pushed that aside: there was no time. Gnome was never going to like him, so this had to be all business, pure and simple. So he went straight to the heart of the matter: “I have something you want.”

“Oh? Maybe a time machine, so I can undo the past and not ruin my career by talking to you?”

“No, better than that.”

Gnome’s truculence gave way to interest. “How much better? What kind of ‘better’?”

“The kind you really want: a ticket out of this place. Here’s the offer-and you’ve got one minute to consider it.

“Someone has to write up the full report on the collective archeological findings from this dig site. That report will be presented at a global summit, sometime next year. That summit will remain a secret until after it has occurred, but I’m offering you the chance to write the report-and be the first to publish on what’s been found here, and its archeological implications. That means a free trip back to Earth, and-I should imagine-the endowed chair you’ve been craving.” Actually, it meant a lot more than that, but Caine hardly needed to explicate: Gnome’s eyes seemed to grow as large as the round glasses that were in front of them. His lower lip flopped about a little.

“Does that mean you accept?”

Gnome sputtered and nodded. “Yes, yes-what do you want? How can I help?”

“When we met last time, you were about to explain something more about this ruin, about to show me something else, and then you stopped yourself.”

A furtive look returned to Gnome’s face. “I suppose I did.”

“Show me now.”

Gnome nodded and beckoned with a crooked finger. He went to the side of the temple, disappearing around the corner from which he had emerged the first time. Caine followed him down into a narrow slit trench that had been dug along the southern, leeward side of the structure, exposing its foundation for at least twenty meters. Five meters in, Gnome stopped, pointed. “Look.”

Caine looked, saw a hole, about the size of his thumb, maybe a bit narrower. And then he saw the brown, rusty stain rimming it. He reached out, held his hand back, his breath coming short and fast.

“Go ahead,” said Gnome, “all us researchers do. Those of us with any sense of a larger universe, that is. Go ahead. Put your finger in.”

Caine did. He felt around. Felt a smooth, cold surface recessed half an inch from the exterior wall, restrained the impulse to either giggle or yell.

“Rebar,” supplied Gnome. “Eerie, if you ask me. Chemical composition consistent with mid-grade industrial steel. The stereobate-that’s the foundation-is actually risers of dressed stone, alternating with reinforced concrete. Probably the only reason the base held together all this time. The rebar was sunk a meter down, at even intervals all along the side.” He paused. “You know what it means, don’t you?”

Caine barely heard him, could not remember if he nodded or even waved farewell. He scrabbled up the berm and back toward the Marine lander. He was short of breath when he reached it, but not as a result of the exertion. Rather, he was overcome by a sudden, absolute, even desperate desire to begin his journey: to return home and discharge the burden of this final secret-the one which was the explanatory key to all the others…

Caine once again became aware of the faces ringing the round table. The looks were hard to read for a moment: fragments of many expressions were rippling up through the studied detachment of career diplomats and politicians. He saw shock, doubt, wonder, distrust, maybe even fear: too many threads, too tangled to separate.

They kept looking at him, as if they were waiting for more.

Nolan stood. “I think you see why we saved Mr. Riordan’s footnote for last. It is-singularly provocative. I’m sure there are questions: who’d like to start?”

Visser leaned forward. “You finished by saying that the presence of the rebar explains all the other secrets of what you found. What did you mean by that?”

Where to begin? “I’m going to jump ahead to the most important conclusion that can be deduced from it.” Caine took a deep breath. “Taken along with the local’s ability to point out the Sun as my place of origin, it means that we have been on Delta Pavonis before.”

There were sounds of restlessness among the delegates. “How long before?”

“I can’t be sure, but I’d say at least fifteen thousand years. Probably more like twenty thousand.”

The first moment of stunned silence spawned its opposite: Gaspard snorted the word “outrageous” through pinched nostrils; Medina laughed; Karagawa smiled; MacGregor raised his eyes toward the ceiling. But Sukhinin, Ching, and Hollingsworth only looked more thoughtful. Durniak’s eyes were wide as if she were already seeing how the logical dominoes inexorably fell toward this conclusion.

Nolan had his hand raised for order, but Caine was suddenly weary of having to rely on someone else’s authority: “Listen: do you want to hear why this conclusion is inevitable, or not?”

Sudden stillness. Nolan was hiding a pleased grin behind the hand upon which his jaw was resting.

Caine leaned forward. “First, the facts: the local’s indication of our star was absolutely unmistakable, once I realized what he was doing and what he was pointing at. And he did so repeatedly. Until I understood. I think it safe to say that there are no grounds for suspecting that I misinterpreted his gestures.”

“So once we’ve established that he does know where I came from, the question becomes: how could he know? There are two reasonable answers, excluding blind luck and divine inspiration. One: he learned this from us, directly or indirectly, since our arrival on Delta Pavonis in 2113-but neither his behavior nor our records show any possibility that this could have occurred. Two: that he and his people knew of us-and our star system of origin-before we arrived in 2113.”

Durniak was thoughtful. “Could they have visited us? Were they once a starfaring civilization?”

Caine nodded, impressed by the rapid flexibility of her mind. “That’s one possible mechanism to explain their prior knowledge of us. But the data argues against it.”

“Why?”

“Lack of gross physical evidence. Let’s use ourselves as an example. If Earth reverted to a primeval state, and never rose up from that again, later visitors would still be able to infer some of our contemporary technological capabilities from the alterations we made to the surface of our planet.”

“Such as?”

“Such as mountain passes and roadways that have been blasted out of solid granite, the plumb-straight line of canals, perfectly level roadbeds, old quarries, tunnels. The probability that the locals on Dee Pee Three could have reached Earth via supraluminal travel without having first gone through an industrial era is extremely unlikely. On the other hand, there is strong evidence that we were present on their planet. Long ago.”

Gaspard scoffed. Sukhinin-eyes narrowed, nodding-asked: “Such as?”

“Such as the main ruin.” Caine picked up his palmtop, switched it over to remote control mode, called up the first image on the room’s display screen: a view of the stairs leading up to the humble remains of the micro-Acropolis.

Gaspard sneered. “And how is it that their ruin proves our presence?”

“Because this is not their ruin; it’s ours.”