He stopped paddling and gazed at the water, trying to reconstruct the plan of the old town. It could have been so. This could have been the waterfront—that patch back there where his home had been—up higher, near where the present shoreline lay, perhaps the old site of the schoolhouse where he had first met brash, red-headed, teen-aged Theresa McGann …
"Is something the matter, Viktor?" Balit asked anxiously.
Viktor blinked. After a moment he managed a grin. "It's all right," he said. "I was just remembering."
Balit nodded, studying Viktor's face. Then he said hesitantly, "Viktor? Has—ah—has Nrina called you?"
Viktor looked at the boy. "It wasn't Nrina I was thinking about," he said.
"I know," the boy said. "I just wondered." And then he said, "When we give Markety's boat back to him, do you think we should ask him to show us the Nebo things?"
"Oh, my God," Viktor said, shaking his head in astonishment. Because, incredible as it was, with all the other things that had been going on since he arrived back on Newmanhome, he had almost forgotten "the Nebo things."
The things weren't in a museum, or anything like one. They were in a shed on the outskirts of the little colony, and most of the space was full of junk that no one wanted but no one was willing to throw away. Since that exactly described the artifacts from Nebo, they were there—half-concealed behind a litter of broken dune-buggy wheels, stacks of cracked crockery dug out of the ice-age warrens, and other unnameable debris,
When, with Markety's help, Viktor and Balit got to the Nebo things they were not much better. The largest of them Viktor had already seen, on Nrina's desk machine, a lavender metal object as big as a man, more or less cubical in shape. Viktor poked it cautiously. It was very solid. "Why weren't these things taken to the habitats?" he asked.
Markety looked astonished. "They might be dangerous, Viktor. You know what happened on Nebo when people tried to poke into that sort of thing. They're better here, so that in case anyone does anything risky there would be less damage—I mean, to anything important," he explained.
"You mean if anybody tries to see what's inside them," Viktor said, nodding. "Maybe you're right, but it has to be done."
Markety's astonishment turned to worry. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Viktor."
"It doesn't have to be done here. Maybe they could be taken to some other part of Newmanhome—maybe we could work out some kind of remote-controlled machinery to try to open them up—I don't know, maybe the best place to do it is on Nebo itself. But in the long run we have to take the chance, because we do have to know!" As the words came out of his mouth Viktor heard, surprisingly, that he sounded as though he were actually growing excited again.
"Pelly says maybe it could be done in space," Balit offered eagerly.
"Just so it's done, I don't care how," Viktor said. "Those Nebo machines did things human beings couldn't even imagine—ever—even when they could travel from star to star."
Markety coughed. "We know they were pretty good at killing people, anyway," he conceded.
"I don't think those deaths were on purpose," Viktor argued. "Not all of them, anyway. At least we know that they actually helped some people—the ones I saw land on Nebo; we have the tapes to prove it. Yes, they died after a while, but they weren't simply murdered … God knows why," he finished. Then he went on. "I haven't said all of this even to you, Balit, but I have a kind of an idea. I think there's another civilization around—not human. At least, I think there was, and that they sent somebody to Nebo long ago—very long ago, even before the first New Ark landed here from Earth."
"Nobody's ever said anything like that, Viktor," Balit said worriedly. "Where would those people come from?"
"I don't know. The star Gold has planets, according to Pelly. Maybe the people who landed on Nebo came from one of those planets. Anyway, I think that for some reason—I can't even guess what it might have been—they constructed those machines on Nebo to tap the energies of our sun, and use them to accelerate this whole little group of stars."
"Why would they do that?" Markety asked good-naturedly.
"I have no idea. I said so. But we'll never have any hope of knowing 'why' unless we can figure out 'how'—and that means taking some of those machines apart to see what made them run!"
There was a moment's silence. Then Markety said diffidently, "Viktor? You don't mean you're going to, well, just try to break one of them open by yourself, do you?"
"If there was no other way, I would," Viktor said uncompromisingly.
"My," Markety said, pursing his lips. He studied Viktor's face uncomprehendingly, then sighed. "Well, let's talk about something more cheerful. Are you getting hungry?" he asked. "I was hoping you two would join me for lunch—I have some good things Pelly brought from home. What about it, Balit?"
But Balit wasn't listening. His eyes were on the door. "Viktor? Why is it getting so dark outside?" he asked.
Viktor turned to look. It was true; the bright day had turned gloomy. The sun was gone, and the clouds were thick and black. "Well," he said, "if we're going anywhere maybe we'd better hurry. I think it's going to rain."
Rain it did—the first big warm drops splashing on them even before they reached Markety's home, then crashing torrents when they were safely inside. Balit was delighted. He kept jumping up to the doorway, to take more and more pictures. It was coming down most imposingly, with thunder that made Balit hold his ears and lightning strokes that made him squeal—not in fear, or not all in fear, but mostly in a thrill of excitement at this unprecedented, unimaginable spectacle of the elements at work.
The lunch was all Markety had promised, and he was a cheerful host. "I do apologize for not knowing more about those Nebo things, Viktor," he said, steadying his hand to pour wine. It took both his hands to hold the decanter against Newmanhome's pull, one to support the other. "It was my wife, really, who was interested in them—Grimler, you remember? You met her when you arrived."
"Oh," Viktor said, trying to recapture the memory of a slim, pretty woman. "I think I did."
"And she went back with Pelly, unfortunately. I really miss her … But I can't say she knew very much about them, you know, it was just that she thought they were interesting."
"I'd like to talk to her anyway," Viktor said.
"And so you shall, as soon as she gets back." Markety sipped the wine, made a critical face, then beamed. "Yes, I think it's all right. Balit? If you can sit still for a moment I'd like to offer a toast to your wonderful parents."
"Just a minute," the boy called from the doorway, fascinated as he took his pictures of the bright violence in the sky and the muddy rivulets that were running down the walkway outside. "Oh, Viktor," he breathed, "I just can't wait till I send these pictures to my class—they'll be so jealous." Then he recollected himself. "You wanted to drink a toast, Markety?"
"To our great artists, Frit and Forta," Markety said, lifting his glass with ceremony. Then, when they had drunk, he added, "They're part of the reason Grimler sent the data to you, you know. Of course, she was interested anyway, but she would have done anything if Frit or Forta asked her to—any of us would! Did you see his new dance-poem about the kitten? No? Perhaps it was while you were in flight, but we saw the transmission here. Marvelous!"
"Did you know that Viktor has danced with Forta?" Balit put in.
Markety blinked at him in astonishment. "This Viktor? He dances? He's danced with Forta? Why, that's wonderful, Viktor," he said enthusiastically. "I had no idea. I really envy you, Viktor. Actually—" He permitted himself a rueful little smile. "At one time, you know, I wanted to be a dancer myself. I even hoped to study with Forta for a time. It didn't work out. He's kind enough to say he remembers me, but I think he's just being polite. I didn't really have the talent, I'm afraid, except in a very amateur way. And in this gravity of course I can't dance at all."