«I doubt that,» said Hunda practically. «We’ve retrogressed, yes. For instance, the principle of the time projector was lost long ago. But still, there’s a lot of technology left which was far beyond your own times.»
«I know,» said Saunders defensively. «But—well, frankly—we haven’t fitted in any other time, as well.»
«Will there ever be a decent age again?» asked one of the old courtiers bitterly.
The avian from Klakkahar turned his eyes on Saunders. «It wouldn’t be cowardice for you to leave a lost cause which you couldn’t possibly aid,» he said in his thin, accented tones. «When the Anvardi come, I think we will all die.»
«What is de tale of de Dreamer?» asked Belgotai. «You’ve mentioned some such.»
It was like a sudden darkness in the room. There was silence, under the whistling wind, and men sat wrapped in their own cheerless thoughts. Finally Taury spoke.
«He is the last of the Vro-Hi, counselors of the Empire. That one still lives—the Dreamer. But there can never really be another Empire, at least not on the pattern of the old one. No other race is intelligent enough to coordinate it.»
Hunda shook his big head, puzzled. «The Dreamer once told me that might be for the best,» he said. «But he wouldn’t explain.»
«How did you happen to come here—to Earth, of all planets?» Saunders asked.
Taury smiled with a certain grim humor. «The last few generations have been one of the Imperium’s less fortunate periods,» she said. «In short, the most the Emperor ever commanded was a small fleet. My father had even that shot away from him. He fled with three ships, out toward the Periphery. It occurred to him that Sol was worth trying as a refuge.»
The Solar System had been cruelly scarred in the dark ages. The great engineering works which had made the other planets habitable were ruined, and Earth herself had been laid waste. There had been a weapon used which consumed atmospheric carbon dioxide. Saunders, remembering the explanation for the Ice Ages offered by geologists of his own time, nodded in dark understanding. Only a few starveling savages lived on the planet now, and indeed the whole Sirius Sector was so desolated that no conqueror thought it worth bothering with.
It had pleased the Emperor to make his race’s ancient home the capital of the Galaxy. He had moved into the ruined fortress of Brontothor, built some seven thousand years ago by the nonhuman Grimmani and blasted out of action a millennium later. Renovation of parts of it, installation of weapons and defensive works, institution of agriculture… «Why, he had suddenly acquired a whole planetary system!» said Taury with a half-sad little smile.
She took them down into the underground levels the next day to see the Dreamer. Vargor went along too, walking close beside her, but Hunda stayed topside; he was busy supervising the construction of additional energy screen generators.
They went through immense vaulted caverns hewed out of the rock, dank tunnels of silence where their footfalls echoed weirdly and shadows flitted beyond the dull glow of fluorospheres. Now and then they passed a looming monstrous bulk, the corroded hulk of some old machine. The night and loneliness weighed heavily on them, they huddled together and did not speak for fear of rousing the jeering echoes.
«There were slideways here once,» remarked Taury as they started, «but we haven’t gotten around to installing new ones. There’s too much else to do.»
Too much else—a civilization to rebuild, with these few broken remnants. How can they dare even to keep trying in the face of the angry gods? What sort of courage is it they have?
Taury walked ahead with the long, swinging stride of a warrior, a red lioness of a woman in the wavering shadows. Her gray eyes caught the light with a supernatural brilliance. Vargor kept pace, but he lacked her steadiness, his gaze shifted nervously from side to side as they moved down the haunted, booming length of the tunnels. Belgotai went cat-footed, his own restless eyes had merely the habitual wariness of his hard and desperate lifetime. Again Saunders thought, what a strange company they were, four humans from the dawn and the dusk of human civilization, thrown together at the world’s end and walking to greet the last of the gods. His past life, Eve, MacPherson, the world of his time, were dimming in his mind, they were too remote from his present reality. It seemed as if he had never been anything but a follower of the Galactic Empress.
They came at last to a door. Taury knocked softly and swung it open—yes, they were even back to manual doors now.
Saunders had been prepared for almost anything, but nonetheless the appearance of the Dreamer was a shock. He had imagined a grave white-bearded man, or a huge-skulled spider-thing, or a naked brain pulsing in a machine-tended case. But the last of the Vro-Hi was—a monster.
No—not exactly. Not when you discarded human standards, then he even had a weird beauty of his own. The gross bulk of him sheened with iridescence, and his many seven-fingered hands were supple and graceful, and the eyes—the eyes were huge pools of molten gold, lambent and wise, a stare too brilliant to meet directly.
He stood up on his stumpy legs as they entered, barely four feet high though the head-body unit was broad and massive. His hooked beak did not open, and the psychophone remained silent, but as the long delicate feelers pointed toward him Saunders thought he heard words, a deep organ voice rolling soundless through the still air: «Greeting, your majesty. Greeting, your highness. Greeting, men out of time, and welcome!»
Telepathy—direct telepathy—so that was how it felt!
«Thank you… sir.» Somehow, the thing rated the title, rated an awed respect to match his own grave formality. «But I thought you were in a trance of concentration till now. How did you know—» Saunders’ voice trailed off and he flushed with sudden distaste.
«No, traveler, I did not read your mind as you think. The Vro-Hi always respected privacy and did not read any thoughts save those contained in speech addressed solely to them. But my induction was obvious.»
«What were you thinking about in the last trance?» asked Vargor. His voice was sharp with strain. «Did you reach any plan?»
«No, your highness,» vibrated the Dreamer. «As long as the factors involved remain constant, we cannot logically do otherwise than we are doing. When new data appear, I will reconsider immediate necessities. No, I was working further on the philosophical basis which the Second Empire must have.»
«What Second Empire?» sneered Vargor bitterly.
«The one which will come—some day,» answered Taury quietly.
The Dreamer’s wise eyes rested on Saunders and Belgotai. «With your permission,» he thought, «I would like to scan your complete memory patterns, conscious, subconscious, and cellular. We know so little of your age.» As they hesitated: «I assure you, sirs, that a nonhuman being half a million years old can keep secrets, and certainly does not pass moral judgments. And the scanning will be necessary anyway if I am to teach you the present language.»
Saunders braced himself. «Go ahead,» he said distastefully.
For a moment he felt dizzy, a haze passed over his eyes and there was an eerie thrill along every nerve of him. Taury laid an arm about his waist, bracing him.
It passed. Saunders shook his head, puzzled. «Is that all?»
«Aye, sir. A Vro-Hi brain can scan an indefinite number of units simultaneously.» With a faint hint of a chuckle: «But did you notice what tongue you just spoke in?»
«I—eh—huh?» Saunders looked wildly at Taury’s smiling face. The hard, open-voweled syllables barked from his mouth: «I—by the gods—I can speak Stellarian now!»
«Aye,» thought the Dreamer. «The language centers are peculiarly receptive, it is easy to impress a pattern on them. The method of instruction will not work involving other faculties, but you must admit it is a convenient and efficient way to learn speech.»