He steepled his fingers before his face before commenting on what she had told him. “The orboni he showed greatest interest in is this Paul. What would you say are his chances of reaching this creature without getting himself killed?”
“Quite good. Paul is dying and cannot move about very much. He has already started to venture into the less complex environment of the savannah.”
“And you have a chameleon drone following Paul.”
“Yes… we couldn’t think of much else to do really. An air search… I mean… the jungle… ”
“I take your point. But you do have more than one chameleon drone.” Carmen nodded.
“Then I would suggest you send them into the jungle to search the area between here and Paul’s present location. Mark Christian did take a radio tracker so it is likely he is heading directly toward this orboni.”
“I suppose we could.”
“There is some problem?”
“The remaining drones are being used in an intensive study of the Thrakai. The study has prime status.” The man pressed his finger against his temple. It was a gesture Carmen had seen before. Visible alterations were not the only ones. He was direct-linked to the runcible AI.
“I see,” he said, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “A class three sentience?” Carmen nodded again. It was not polite to interrupt someone when they were in the midst of a conversation with an AI as those intelligences tended not to repeat themselves. Eventually he shook his head and showed signs of annoyance.
“And this fool is trailing after the Orbonnai?”
“We passed all the recordings on to him. He did not see fit to study them.” The monitor bowed his head for a moment before going on. “It would appear this is an intervention situation rather than a monitoring one. He must be stopped. The policy of Earth Central is one of
’observation only’ during encounters with any sentience above class eight. We cannot have theocratic interference with class three sentiences.” The monitor looked thoughtful, finishing with, “Recall your drones and send them into the jungle. This man must be stopped.”
Mark was stillness itself as he watched the orboni, even though the pains in his stomach had increased. It was Paul. He knew it was Paul.
And he is praying!
This was what he had come for. Here was purpose.
Paul knelt at the edge of the stream with his head down on the blue sand. He had remained so for some time. Mark maintained his position and slowly lowered his holocorder. His arm was beginning to hurt, but he believed he had enough evidence for the Bishop. He continued to watch, gradually becoming more uncomfortable, and wondering when Paul was going to move. Some time passed before the orboni jerked upright and shuffled to the edge of the stream. Mark raised the holocorder again. Paul was poised at the edge of the stream for some time before he dipped his hand in and pulled out a nautiloid. He held it up before himself for a long time.
He’s not turning it!
Abruptly his arm jerked to one side and the nautiloid was smashed on a rock. Yes! Yes!
In a moment he had the nautiloid in his beak, but then he seemed to lose interest, and the fleshy body, crusted with sand and broken shell, dropped to the sand. Mark lowered the holocorder. That was not relevant and could be deleted from the crystal. He followed the orboni as it stood and began to make its unsteady way along the bank of the stream.
It seemed almost as if there was no transition at all when they came from the jungle out into the open. Twice Paul fell to his knees in an attitude of prayer. On the second occasion Mark only got to film part of it, because he was suddenly and violently sick.
Backwoods worlds!
He felt hot and shivery and the light seemed too bright.
Oh Father, give thy servant the strength to go on.
It was only as the glare seemed to clear, that he saw the pyramid of skulls — Orbonnai skulls, stacked so their beaks were all pointing to the east. The stack was higher than his head.
“Thank you, Lord,” he said, and filmed the pyramid before continuing to follow Paul. This was proof that the Orbonnai respected their dead. Better than tool using, as good as the act of worship. Mark walked on with the light in his eyes.
The third time the orboni went down the light seemed to turn to a heavenly glare. Mark nearly fell over the creature, but instead fell to his knees at its side. He clasped his hands before his chest just as the creature was pulling itself upright. He gazed at it, searching for some sign of fellow feeling, of an understanding of the mystery of worship. The orboni made a squealing sound and he felt something rake his face.
“No, wait! I understand!”
Paul was staggering away. Mark stood to go after it when a silvery sphere materialised in the air above him. He glanced up at it then ignored it, for he had more important things to do. It was a chameleon drone with its emulation field off. He wiped blood from his face and went after the orboni. Paul stumbled along ahead of him. But for some reason he could not catch up. He felt slightly drunk. His legs did not seem to be obeying him.
“Wait! Come back… please.”
He stopped and took a breather. Liquid bubbled in his chest and his stomach heaved again, but he was retching dry.
“Wait… ”
When he finally got the retching under control he looked for Paul again. And saw horror. Paul was bowed to the ground again, and rearing above him was a thrake. Mark froze, his brain working sluggishly. He had not realised they were so big. The thrake towered over Paul — it must have been over ten feet tall.
No, not that, that is not The One.
Mark unhitched his pack and removed from it a small glassy pistol. He fired once, but his hand was shaking too much, and scrub began to smoke beside the thrake.
“Get back! Get away from him!.. Paul, that creature is no god. It is… an icon… God is…” The thrake turned its nightmare mouth and convolute sensorium towards him. He swallowed bile and fired again. This time his shot hit and it emitted a bubbling scream as part of its hide gusted smoke, then turned and ran.
“God is… ”
A dark shadow blotted out the sky above. He looked up and saw someone looking down at him.
“God?” he said, and fainted.
“Feeling better?”
Paul nodded to the kind-faced man and took another drink from the pure water in the flask. He tried not to look at Carmen Smith, who was standing beside the raft with her arms folded and a look of disgust on her face.
The man said, “We would have taken you back, but your condition is not too bad. Those injections will keep you going until they can give you a transfusion at Seventeen. The cut on your face should cause no problems. Anyway, I believe Professor Smith has something to show to you.” Mark nodded and got unsteadily to his feet. He was feeling better. He may have been delirious, but he had seen what he had seen. He looked to Carmen.
“Please, come with me,” she said, all politeness.
When he saw where she was leading him he said, “Paul…” Paul, still frozen in an attitude of prayer.
“Yes, Paul. He is quite dead, though you did not make his dying any easier.”
“The thrake… ”
“The thrakai feed on the Orbonnai. They always have done.”
With more certainty he said, “That does not make it right.”