He pauses so they will understand the words that follow are not his own. “The Ryl co-ruler Ningal henceforth renounces all claim upon Mars and Martian science. In acknowledgement of the terrible wrongs committed by her people, Ningal wishes it known that the Ryl will remain worlds apart from Mars, and in permanent isolation from the Martian people. She says the destruction of Mars is a crime that has weighed heavily upon the collective conscience of her people for thousands of years and that they wish this to be their act of reparation.
“Ningal also wishes you to know that should you ever choose to return to the lower dimension you, the Martian people, shall be assured of safety. The Ryl believe the people of Mars and Earth must be free to communicate with one another. Ningal fears you have imprisoned yourselves in this world of your own creation. That you must consider returning to your natural place in the universe, where your DNA is tied to that of Earth and all the other worlds around your sun. That you are at risk of becoming just like them — exiled from the place of your origin.”
When he finishes speaking, the room is so utterly silent it feels like his words have been cast into a vacuum.
Winsporg asks him, “And what is your opinion of this message you convey?”
Borman takes a moment to collect himself. For the briefest moment, he fears the words will elude him. But he senses everybody in the chamber now eager to know what he has to say, and it occurs to him at that moment there are limits to their telepathy. Perhaps limits they impose upon themselves, like a form of personal space.
He says, “I think Ningal presumes a lot. In fact, I think she presumes too much. Firstly, as I understand it, your skill in this dimension could not return with you. Here, you can conjure up space ships and flying platforms, carve cities inside mountains with no more than the power of thought and pretty much do whatever you like. Where I come from, the only way we can do that is with a lot of hard physical effort. Do you even remember what that’s like?
“More importantly, you should know the Mars you left behind has no atmosphere, no magnetic field. It is almost uninhabitable. But there may be Martians who live there still, deep underground.” An undercurrent of shock ripples through the room behind him. “Ningal told me as much when she showed me the gold mine they have now abandoned. If those Martians do exist, theirs would be a very harsh existence, compared to the wonders of this new world you have made for yourselves. Thus, I believe the Ryl’s ultimate intent is for Martians to live on Earth. And this is an offer they have no right to make.”
Morpago asks, “Are you saying we would not be welcome on your planet?”
“It’s not as straightforward as that,” Borman replies. “But if you want a simple answer I would say no, you would not be welcomed. The Ryl asked Martians the same question all those years ago, and look how that ended.
“Humanity doesn’t even know you exist. It would be a massive leap just for me to tell them we are not alone in the solar system. But to suggest the surviving Martian population now wants to move to Earth? Humans are fearful people. Misunderstandings are easy in my world. It wouldn’t take long for people to start talking about a Martian invasion.”
Zisibor says, “Tell me, Frank Borman — do you know what your Befalyn goddess expects us to do with you?”
“That she didn’t say.”
“Nor did she seek your opinion.”
“I’d like to go home, but is that even an option?”
Morpago raises her hand to bring the discussion to a close. “There is another who now wishes to speak.”
The room behind Borman erupts in debate as the figure strides out to join the Council of One. Only when he finally looks up, does Borman realize with relief that it’s Jim. But the feeling is short-lived.
“I am new among you, but today I am reborn. My name is Solus.”
Borman knows immediately the choice of a new name does not bode well.
“I will be brief. By the standards of Martian law, Frank Borman must die. He is a threat. A cancerous cell inside an otherwise healthy organism.”
Borman can hardly believe what he’s hearing. It’s theater. Surely, they’ve put him up to this.
Solus continues. “I say this with a heavy heart, but in the name of Martian preservation.” There are murmurs of agreement all around. “But I also believe our defense cannot end there. I call upon the Council of One to go further. To weaponize the Monument. To blow Earth from the heavens.” Borman tries to object, but no sound emerges. “Your future — our future — may depend upon it,” says Solus.
Morpago stands, as do the other members of the One. Solus simply nods and exits the platform through a side door.
“We have much to consider,” Morpago concludes. “Colonel Borman, it is time for you to leave us.” She points to a door at the side of the chamber.
He walks alone from the room. Neither Holtz nor Skioth move to follow. Never in his life has he felt more of an outsider than this moment. A terrible thought bears down on him like a crushing weight — that all his accomplishments have come to nothing. That his sacrifice, discipline, and honor mean nothing to these people. To them, he is he no more than a harbinger of war.
42
The room is comfortable. It has a bed and a basin with running water. There is even a toilet, presumably installed especially for him because from what he’s seen the Martians don’t use them. They don’t need them, because they have no need for food. The engineer in him marvels at how a physical body can function like that, one more reminder he’s in a place where the normal laws of physics no longer apply. He fills a glass with water, thirstily emptying its contents.
The room opens onto a small balcony, overlooking the main street along which they entered Firawn. He sees one or two Martians walking between buildings, appearing briefly and then disappearing again, almost like they don’t want to be in the open air any longer than necessary.
Like they’re on high alert.
“There’s so much to look at, isn’t there?”
He turns to find Solus in the room with him. He looks different. He dressed like a Martian now, in a body-hugging uniform colored to closely match his skin tone. Like he’s naked and fully dressed all at once. His hair is lighter, more blond than grey, and he’s no longer wearing glasses. He wonders whether to feel angry at being condemned, but finds he has neither the will nor the strength to summon the emotion.
“Every time I remember where I am,” Borman tells him, “I have to convince myself all over again I’m not dreaming. They’re treating you well, I hope?”
He smiles. “Solus, do you like it? It’s Latin for ‘the only.’ I chose it myself, actually.”
“I guess that means they’re not going to kill you.”
Solus shakes his head. “I’m way too valuable for that. There are Martians out there queuing up to hear me speak about the wonders of life on Earth. I’m like a walking encyclopedia to them. A one of a kind.”
“The only one of a kind.”
“Exactly.”
“Won’t you be lonely?”
“I do find myself missing my wife, which is a curious thing because technically I’ve never had a wife.”
“I never met her. I can’t…”
“No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Maybe they’ll do it for you.”
“Perhaps. If I ask,” says Solus, both of them knowing he never will.
“Nobody should be alone in the world.”
“I wanted you to know I’m OK, Frank.”
Borman smiles gratefully. “I appreciate that. Of course, I’d also appreciate them not destroying the Earth like you suggested.”
“If it wasn’t me who said it, the idea might have occurred to someone else in that room. And then they’d be taking it a whole lot more seriously, I can assure you.” In this, at least, Borman is relieved.
“We won’t be seeing one another again,” says Solus. He turns and simply disappears. Borman is too tired to be surprised. At once, he feels an incredible weariness overpower him. He lies down on the bed and quickly falls asleep.
In what seems like no more than a moment or two, he is standing at the foot of the bed, watching himself. Holtz is at his side. Though he can’t recall her entering the room, he realizes he has been expecting her. She says, “The Befalyn created human beings as slaves. They will never see you as equals, any more than you would impart such status upon a cat or a dog.”
He asks, “Will you never make peace with them?”
“Before today, it has never been something they placed any value upon. They are a people who dominate. Taking what they want if it is not given freely by those they subjugate.”
“People change.”
“Most readily when strength deserts them.”
“You think they have an agenda.”
“Of course. Though we disagree on what it is.”
“Martians arguing. What does that look like?”
“Not much to see.” She taps her head. “It’s all happening in here. Many believe we should take the Befalyn at their word. For others, like Skioth and Zisibor, there remains the question of their deeper motivation. We think their power to endure is dwindling.”
Borman says, “I’ve been thinking about the Ryl, how strange it must be to exist on a foreign planet in secret.”
“It’s not so hard for them,” Holtz replies. “They have lived away from their own world for tens of thousands of years. Though you are right in one sense — it has taken a toll on them. On your moon, their resources are limited. On Earth, they exist in small enclaves, hidden from your people or harbored by those who wish to benefit from the association. This is a relationship the Befalyn understand. One they value, based on trade and mutual benefit. They have never demonstrated a propensity for forgiveness or philanthropy.”
“Then it’s as you say, they’re a shadow of their former selves.”
“A wounded animal is dangerous.”
“Why did you abandon me in there?”
“We are not members of the One. We are the Outliers. It is our role to remain separate, so that we remain an outside influence on the thought processes of the collective.”
“Aren’t you afraid one day they’ll just look at you with fear and mistrust?”
“If that ever comes to pass, it will be at the behest of the Collective. With this, we cannot argue.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so trusting.”
“We know one another intimately. There are no secrets. No corrupt agendas.”
“But you’re trapped here. No one gets in, nobody gets out. This isn’t a future for your people, being frozen in amber.”
“We are not yet ready to leave it behind. Maybe that is our greatest weakness, but it is also our strength.”
He sees a sense of sadness in her eyes. “You’re here to say goodbye.”
She smiles, but says nothing. Like Solus, she just turns and fades away.