‘You know about the ship?’
‘Of course I know! Your men are hardly discreet, Quintus Fabius, at least with the women they take into their beds. So, did the eagle of the Romaoi fly over Illapa, in a ship called Ares?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Quintus said. He sighed, and seemed to come to a decision. ‘Yes, Inguill – some of us Romans did indeed fly beyond Terra. I did. And I studied the early exploration of the planets at the academy at Ostia, during my officer training. This Ares should have been a heroic legend, even if it crashed! And the evidence you produce suggests it did. But I never heard of it.’
The ColU said, ‘There may be another explanation.’
Inguill pursed her lips. ‘You mean, another history.’
‘You are quick to understand, quipucamayoc. Yes, I – and Mardina’s mother – came from a different history from these Romans. Who came in turn from a different history from yours. And in that history we had space explorers who wore patches like these. Rome did not survive, not as the empire, but we still used relics of its culture – the Roman alphabet, for instance.’
‘Of course you did,’ Quintus said complacently.
‘The eagle may have been used, not as an emblem of Rome, but of America – which was a great country in the continent of Valhalla Superior.’
‘So,’ Quintus said, ‘are you telling us that this Ares was sent to Mars by this “America”?’
‘No,’ said the ColU unhappily. ‘It’s not as simple as that. In my history America never went to Mars, not with people, not alone. The first to Mars were Chinese – Xin. Other nations followed, but as a group, the United Nations, which included America. There was no Ares.’
Mardina was becoming confused.
Inguill, though, seemed to be grasping all this strangeness readily. ‘So this was yet another history,’ she said. ‘One like the history that produced you, ColU. But not identical. One where this—’
‘America.’
‘—sent a craft to Illapa. Yet here is this patch, this scrap of evidence – the wreck of a ship, on Illapa, my Illapa. And the odd thing is—’
Ruminavi barked laughter. He looked to Mardina as if his head was spinning. He said, ‘After that list of impossibilities, you say the odd thing—’
Inguill ignored him. ‘The odd thing,’ she persisted, ‘is that we would not have found this – I mean scouts from the Inca’s navy would not have discovered it – if not for the sudden appearance, in the ground of Illapa, of a field of warak’a, a portal, where none had been found before. Not before you came.’
‘The portal,’ the ColU said. ‘The Hatch. And that is the most significant thing, of all we have discussed—’
‘Enough,’ said Inguill abruptly. She stood, massaging her temples. ‘You flatter me for my ability to learn, ColU. I never thought I could learn too much, too quickly – I need air. You and you and you—’ she pointed at Mardina, Quintus Fabius, and Chu with ColU ‘—walk with me. We will plot together, like conspirators.’
Ruminavi got to his feet too, evidently troubled. ‘Quipucamayoc, we are far from civilisation here. I fear for your safety if—’
‘Oh, don’t fuss, apu. What harm will I come to here? Save for having my grasp of reality shattered, and that has already happened. Have your soldiers follow me if you must, but keep their distance – unless any of them knows any comforting philosophy …’
CHAPTER 50
Outside the house, Inguill led the way, striding stiffly and rapidly, heading out of the ayllu towards the forested edge of the clearing. A pair of soldiers tracked her, never more than an arm’s length from the quipucamayoc. Quintus followed a few discreet paces behind, with Mardina and Chu to either side. Chu, who probably didn’t get as much exercise as he should, was soon panting from the pace Inguill set.
But Quintus patted his back. ‘Don’t worry, lad. She’ll soon run out of puff. Look how stiffly she walks … She spends too long staring at her quipus – as I used to with my command papers before we came to this place and I have to play at being a farmer – it is nerves and tension that propel her, and all that will soon work itself out of her system.’
Sure enough the quipucamayoc was slowing long before she reached the forest border. She stood, panting, gazing up at the trees. The two soldiers trailing her took watchful positions, surveying the terrain.
Inguill gestured. ‘Look at that,’ she said. ‘To be a tree! Tall, patient, ancient. You need never know that the sunlight on your leaves comes through Inti windows, or that the thick earth around your roots is processed rubble from a shattered moon. Let alone worry about which strand of a quipu of realities you belonged to. A tree is a tree is a tree. What do you think, Quintus? Would you be more content as a member of a forest like that?’
The centurion grinned. ‘Only if I was the tallest, quipucamayoc. And besides some of my legionaries may as well be trees, for all the sense they have.’
She laughed. ‘Legionaries, eh? So you admit what you are.’
He shrugged, saying no more.
She walked on, at an easier pace. ‘Let’s sum up what we have, then. Several histories! And I had enough trouble memorising one.’ She counted them on her fingers, fingering the knuckles like quipu knots, Mardina thought. ‘First my own, this glorious realm ruled by the Sapa Inca. Second, the one where you upstart Romaoi and Xin and others still squabble. Third …’ she looked to Chu.
‘Third,’ the ColU said, ‘we have what we have come to call the UN-China Culture. A world of high technology, myself being an example, but relatively little expansion beyond the home world.’
‘Fourth, then, the Ares history. Like yours, but with bold explorers striking early for Illapa. Very well—’
‘And don’t forget the Drowned Culture,’ Mardina said brightly. ‘My father worked that out. That makes five—’
‘I don’t think you’re helping, Mardina,’ Quintus growled.
‘And the jonbar hinge Stef Kalinski spoke of, when she discovered she had a sister she had never suspected existed before. That’s six!’
‘Thank you, Mardina.’
The ColU said, ‘Clearly these histories do not coexist, but they overlap, to a small degree. Scraps of one may be discovered in another.’
‘Like my Ares insignia,’ Inguill said.
‘Yes,’ Quintus said. ‘And like my own century, my ship, which survived one jonbar hinge.’
‘And myself and my companions,’ said the ColU, ‘who have survived two hinges … Quipucamayoc, we have taken to calling the transitions between worlds jonbar hinges. The derivation is complicated and irrelevant.’
Inguill tried out the words. ‘Shh-onn-barr hin-ch. Very well. A name is a name. But to label something does not mean we understand it.’
‘Indeed,’ said the ColU. ‘The replacement of one history by another is not a tidy matter. Scraps remain.’
‘Do we know how these transitions are made? How one history is cleared away, like a dilapidated building ready for demolition, to be replaced by another?’
‘Judging by our experiences, the termination of one history is generally accompanied by disaster. War. The release of huge energies from the kernels – which you call the warak’a.’
‘Which is something to be avoided.’