*

Working in the fields on a torrid summer day, Brother Ivjiel grew aware of a distant roaring high above him. He set down his plow, the mule ahead of him halted, and he cupped one hand over his eyes as he searched the heavens. Brother Jospeh, weighed down with a bag of radish seeds slung over his shoulder, followed his gaze. The two kept squinting as they battled the glare of the Gatria sun. 

The roaring was increasing. Eventually, Ivjiel could make out its source – a bright triangular form up amid the ocean-like blue, like a shard that had flaked off from an impossibly high crystalline structure. 

“Rocket,” murmured Ivjiel.

“Conglomerate?” asked Joseph. Ivjiel said nothing. 

Already the ship was growing a darker shade, and was larger and more distinct in the sky. Ivjiel took a deep breath as he looked back down. The sweat was streaming off his cheeks and nose. “I’ll go tell the abbot. Give Luey some grass and water.”

* * *

Abbot Duncan Mennod stood at the edge of the monastery fields at the head of his monks, each one dressed in a simple tan robe, ready to receive the visitors who were about to descend the rocket’s stairway. Upon becoming the head of this remote colony of some forty brothers, he had taken a number of vows, among them to always welcome with hospitality and unstinting assistance any beings who might arrive at his monastery from out of the dark and forbidding reaches of space.

One by one, some eighteen or twenty men emerged from the rocket, all wearing the burgundy uniforms with gold pins and medallions of the Conglomerate. Most carried rifles slung over their backs, while the first three to emerge wore laser pistols at their sides. 

“Captain Hew Gilliam,” said the first man to emerge as he approached Mennod. He had a weathered face and gray-brown hair, and held himself laxly and confidently. Mennod bowed slightly, then introduced himself and some of the more senior monks, including Ivjiel and Joseph, who were standing near him. 

“And these are officers Clem and Merid,” said Gilliam, indicating the two others of his crew who carried pistols. “I imagine this must be an unusual event for you.”

“We don’t receive many visitors, true,” said Mennod. “Occasionally, we might get a merchant ship or transport that’s gotten lost and is in need of supplies and directions. Other than that, only the rare individual or small group that wants to join the order, but might or might not stay. I was just speaking with Brother Joseph about how it’s been at least four years since the last vessel stopped by.”

“And who was in it?” asked Gilliam.

Mennod smiled cautiously. “It was an Array ship. There were twenty-five or thirty Cygnids inside. They needed water and some food and fuel.”

The captain’s lips might have twitched slightly, but he said nothing. At a gesture from him, the soldiers with rifles fanned out and explored their surroundings, eyeing the monks with near-indifference. 

“I don’t expect you’ll see too many more of them,” said Gilliam. “We’ve pushed the Cygnids out of this cluster almost completely.”

There was a long pause. “And how might we be of service to you, Captain?” asked Mennod.

“Well, no requests as desperate as your last visitors’,” said Gilliam. “I’m here to serve you and your monks orders from high command.” Officer Merid produced a paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Mennod. 

“As fellow humans in the great campaign against the Array,” said Gilliam, “you are directed by the Central Mind of Saturn to let us consult your archives as long as my research team finds necessary.”

Mennod glanced over the paper without really reading it, then handed it back. He gestured down the dirt path that led to the monastery. “Of course. What might you be looking for?”

* * *

In a hallway near the front door of the archives, Gilliam was showing Mennod a hologram projected from a small disc he held. Looking on were Merid, Clem, and Brother Jospeh. Brother Ivjiel was making his rounds through the lobby, halls, and courtyard, offering the soldiers who had come in out of the hot sun cups of water and some plates of grapes, cheese, bread, and jam. In the archive stacks, half a dozen monks were busily dusting the shelves and scrambling to arrange all the books, folders, binders and other items into something resembling a neat arrangement.

“This depiction is only guesswork, based on what little we know,” said Gilliam. A faint, gold-colored image of a long, flared, trumpet-shaped object flickered before the abbot. “But the Central Mind tells us it has compiled several dozen sources saying something like this was a mind-reading device – or a part of one. Supposedly, long ago, one or more of these were constructed here, on this planet, by men of the Sixth Era, before all the old colonies died out.”

Mennod studied the image. “Ages ago. You know, I’ve read stories about a mind-reading technology myself that supposedly had some connection to Gatria II, although I’ve never come across anything that looks like that, in the archives or elsewhere.”

Gilliam switched off the hologram and handed the disc to Mennod. “Have all your monks look at the image before the day’s over, ask if it rings any bells.”

“Of course,” said the abbot. He handed the disc to Brother Joseph, telling him to circulate it. Joseph left.

Clem spoke to the abbot: “Are we correct that yours is the only settlement on Gatria II? We scanned, of course, but sometimes a colony can find ways to keep hidden.”

“The only settlement as far as we know,” said Mennod. “Though we don’t make it our business to do much exploring.”

“Any intelligent native species?” asked Gilliam.

Mennod shrugged. “Not really. Nothing that suggests abstract thought, tool use, anything like that. Again, we stay quite close to home.”

“Are we also correct that your archive records are completely analogue?” asked Clem.

“Yes,” said Mennod. “We use no digital equipment or items of any kind at this monastery – no electricity whatsoever, in fact.”

“And why is that, exactly?” asked Merid.

Mennod paused to find the right words. “We feel… that it keeps us in touch with the universe in the way God meant for us to know it.”

The conversation met a lull, the officers seeming to take this in. Clem coughed – all the dust raised by the cleaning effort in the stacks had reached the hallway. Merid took a bite of bread with jam. “You’re lucky, you monks here – you’re exempt from the war effort. Cut off from everything, way out in nowhere’s midmost. You’ve never had to worry about a friend or a loved one dying in the fighting.”

Mennod looked steadily at Merid. “Or at least, worry about hearing about it,” he said.

Gilliam cleared his throat. “We won’t take any more of your time than necessary, Abbot. When the arranging’s done, do you know where it would be best in the shelves to start searching?”

“Shelves 7B through 15A are where we keep old print-outs, photos, charts and what-have-you from the Sixth Era,” said Mennod. “That’s the section I told the brothers who’re cleaning to work on first. They shouldn’t be too long. The files there are mostly related to the administrative and logistical concerns of the major settlements of the time.”

“Very good,” said Gilliam. 

“I apologize we didn’t keep our records in better order,” said Mennod.

Two soldiers entered from outside carrying a bulky, cubic device. “Text-reader, sir,” said one.

“Just put it in the next room,” said Gilliam. 

* * *

While the text-reader did its work, rapidly scanning thousands upon thousands of pages and loose papers, Gilliam, Clem, and Merid, at a suggestion from the abbot, accompanied him for a brief walk outside the monastery. Gatria hung low in the sky, casting a brazen, late-afternoon gloss over the land. The four headed down a path beside a vineyard. Below them and to their right, a muttering stream ran through a ditch and several culverts before getting lost amid hedges. Swallows, larks, jays and other birds imported from Earth fluttered amid the grape vines.

“And how fares the ongoing campaign against the enemies of humankind, Captain?” asked Mennod. 

“It’s a bit touch and go these days,” said Gilliam. “We lost Eddio 12 lately, but on the other hand the Central Mind expects the Pavonians to capitulate within this Earth year.” 

“The great fortress-asteroid of Raum-Bliss has held out magnificently no less than four times against the navies of the Aludrans,” put in Merid. “Buckets of medals – no one over on that rock has a bare chest anymore. Wish I could have been there for more than just the first battle.”

A few minutes later, Clem halted and pointed toward somewhere in the vineyard. “Captain.”

All four stopped and looked. About thirty-five or forty yards away, a segmented creature with many legs was creeping slowly down a broad path that ran perpendicular to the vine rows. It looked to be about two meters long, and resembled a centipede of Earth, except that, in addition to its giant size, its head was larger in proportion to its body. The thing either hadn’t noticed the men or was unconcerned by them. Beyond it could be seen a few others of its kind crawling amid the trellises or in the middle of the path. 

“That’s one of the chilopods,” said Mennod. “Harmless creatures. They don’t eat the grapes or any other crops – just some of the rodents that burrow around here.”

Clem had taken out his pistol. Without a word, he took a step to his left, finding comfortable footing. He squinted and aimed carefully.

“Best marksman in the unit,” said Gilliam softly.

Before Mennod could think of what, if anything, to say or do, a laser blast sang from the barrel, and a flash of light struck the abbot’s eyes. When he looked again, he could see the creature writhing, its dozens of legs twitching as it rolled and squirmed. It tumbled into a low place below a trellis and soon gave up all motion. Traces of smoke rose from a dark, scorched patch midway along its body. The others of its kind had already scurried far away, no more to be seen.

Clem chuckled in satisfaction, and shook the hands Gilliam and Merid offered him. Mennod crossed his arms inside his robe, stiff and silent, studying the creature’s stricken body.

* * *

Back from their walk, the three officers checked up on the scanning, while Mennod joined brothers Joseph and Ivjiel. The senior monks with wary eyes watched the research team feed books and papers into the scanner in the center of the archive floor. They conversed in hushed tones.

“Guess that thing’s programmed to pick up any images resembling the hologram we saw,” said Joseph. “Or any text referring to it.”

“What hologram?” said Ivjiel.

“An image of something that’s supposed to read minds,” said Mennod. “Didn’t you see it yet? Looks like a trumpet.”

“Huh?” said Ivjiel. Mennod only shrugged. 

“For intelligence purposes, must be,” whispered Joseph. “To get information from captives.”

“Do you think such a thing even exists, though?” asked Ivjiel. “I’ve heard a lot of tales of what men of the Sixth Era invented – teleportation doors, instant human duplication, forward-acting time machines – but hardly any of that stuff sounds believable. Most likely the Conglomerate is just wasting its time.”

“I hope so,” whispered Joseph, glancing at the researchers. “If they ever got their hands on such a technology, the battles would become…” He let his thought trail off.

“Massacres,” finished Ivjiel. “Every weak point in the Array’s defenses would be exploited. The war’s been lopsided for decades now, but if the Conglomerate gained such a technology…”

Mennod frowned. The group was quiet. The abbot wasn’t sure if Joseph and Ivjiel were correct about how the war was going, nor did he know what information they might have heard, or how they’d heard it. He thought again of the vow he had taken to always welcome, shelter, and unstintingly assist strangers and visitors who came to the monastery. When he’d taken that vow, he hadn’t thought of such visitors as Gilliam and his crew, with such a purpose as they had and such requests as they might make of him and his monks. How far did Mennod’s duty extend? What were its limits?

After a few moments Gilliam came up to the three monks, leafing through a book.

“Good evening,” he said vaguely, still looking at the pages.

There was no answer. Gilliam, sensing the tension, looked up.

“Brothers,” said Mennod, “why don’t you go fetch some more refreshments for the captain’s crew?” Ivjiel and Joseph shuffled away.

Gilliam set the book down. “Is there anything you can tell me about the men of the Sixth Era, their colonies here? Perhaps you know some lore that isn’t in the records but could be useful to us.”

“We don’t know very much about the colonies, I’m afraid,” said Mennod. “We keep these records, but we don’t study them. It’s all we can do, day to day, to keep ourselves fed and clothed and to give continual thanks to our Lord for his blessings. But I can tell you this much, which you might already know: Gatria II was a hotter planet back then. The men lived in caves, mostly, where it was cooler. By many accounts they invented some of the most advanced technologies of the era, perhaps things surpassing even our current achievements – but nearly every detail on that subject has been lost or forgotten.”

“Have you heard any explanation of how the colonies on this planet died out?” asked Gilliam.

Mennod shook his head. “We only know for certain that they did so some five hundred thousand years ago. But I have some vague memory of reading that the first spelunkers to investigate the caves found most of the homes and factories underground ruined in a way that suggested the use of lasers and explosives.”

“Civil conflict?” asked Gilliam.

“Could be. Unless…”

The two talked on until Merid called out: “Captain, come take a look at this.”

All the monks and soldiers in the archives were gathered around the text-reader. Mennod and Gilliam joined them.

“Reader lit up when it got to this paper,” said Merid to the captain. “It’s working on a translation now. But look at the images.”

Gilliam took the creased, yellowed page. The bottom half of it contained one line of old-Earth numerals and several blocks of text in a writing system he’d never seen before. The top half of the page showed a schematic of an object similar to the hologram he’d shown to the monks – something cylindrical, long, and slender, but widening exponentially at one end like the flare of a trumpet. Beside the object were depicted several smaller, bowl-shaped items with what looked like straps attached to their rims – helmets, probably.

“Abbot, do any of your men know this language?” said Gilliam.

The abbot scrutinized the page. “I wouldn’t think so, Captain. I know that this is an alphabet of the Sixth Era, but we’d need a special dictionary and a grammar handbook to have any hope of reading it. Best to rely on your machine to translate.”

“Do you know what these numbers mean?”

The abbot studied them carefully. “I might… You know, some other worlds in this system use this formatting. Yes… The numbers indicate a location on our planet: the first segment means ‘Gatria II’ and the rest give a specialized form of longitude and latitude.”

“Is the location far from here?” asked Gilliam.

The abbot calculated quickly. “No – perhaps only fifteen kilometers… maybe fewer. ”

“Punch these coordinates into the ship so we’re ready to go,” Gilliam ordered a soldier, who noted the figures and left. “Translation coming along?” the captain asked Merid.

Merid shook his head, frustrated. He kept squinting at a display on the side of the machine, chewing his lip. “It’s stopped working, Captain. The reader doesn’t recognize the grammar. I’ll try to keep adjusting the logic-perimeter.” He tapped some buttons uncertainly.

There was a long lull while the text-reader gave off minor beeps and hummed a bit more insistently than before. Many of the soldiers, growing bored, had sat down and slumped against the shelves, while some of the monks had left the archives to attend to tasks that had been neglected in the bustle and excitement of the day. 

“If you wish to make a copy of the text,” Mennod told Gilliam after a long while, “I can have certain of the brothers begin work on a translation. But it might take a day or two.”

Gilliam sighed, not answering. He walked over to Merid, who shrugged helplessly. The captain stooped down to look at the display, then straightened up and turned.

“I think we have more than enough to go on. All crew, grab your things and get ready to leave.” 

“You’re not going to wait for a translation?” asked Mennod.

“Please, have your monks begin one, Abbot,” said Gilliam. “But I don’t want to waste any time.” He stepped closer to him. “And you’ll be coming with us, in case we come across something you can help explain.”

Mennod thought of how late the hour was and how tired he felt. Gatria had already set, the land grown dark. This officer was driven, no question about it. Restraining himself, the abbot simply smiled and said: “I remain at your service, Captain.”

* * *

Disembarking from the rocket after finishing up the meal they’d started en route, Gilliam’s crew shone flashlights all over the surrounding area, not certain what they might find. It was a dry and dusty region, mostly flat, with hardly any trees or shrubs anywhere, and three high crescent moons shining down on the bronze-colored sandy soil. The air was still hot from the long summer day, and wouldn’t lose much heat before being hammered again by the pounding sunbeams.

It wasn’t long before one of the soldiers shouted out. Everyone hurried over to see: tucked away in the side of a long crevice carved by an ancient stream was the mouth of a cave. It was well-hidden, and perhaps only three feet across and four from top to bottom. The angularity of the opening suggested it was artificially made, or at least modified by human work. One of the soldiers nailed a stake down at the floor of the crevice, then tied what Mennod was told was a miles-long rope to it, then clipped the other end to his belt. Carrying flashlights and weapons, the captain, crew, and the abbot tested their way down into the cavernous reach, stooping to fit through the opening.

It was much cooler down below. After a long diagonal descent where the footing was often precarious, the tunnel, much to Mennod’s relief, began to level out. Gilliam’s compass showed that they were proceeding more or less north-west. The entrances to many small side-tunnels could be glimpsed here and there by flashlight. A few substantial rocks and slabs on the ground meant the crew had to watch their step, but otherwise the floor, walls, and ceiling seemed remarkably smooth, showing only the occasional crack or cavity. 

After about an hour of walking they crossed a shallow stream of water, then entered a vast, open cavern. The crew shone their flashlights all around, but could not find the ceiling or far walls of the huge chamber. It was a place covered with boulders, heaps of stony flakes, and dust. What looked like the ruins of dwellings – stretches of smooth rock containing gaps and openings which strongly resembled doorways and windows – could be seen along the nearer stretches of the cave walls. 

The group made their way across the huge, town-sized chamber slowly, no one saying a word, only marveling at the scale of what must have once been an underground society. Many ruined stone structures sat about the enormous chamber, few of them much more now than an upright wall or two and a pile of debris. Mennod kept expecting someone to speak, but no one did.

At the other end of the chamber the tunnel continued, and the group wandered through many twists and bends, the rope unspooling all the while behind them. After some time, they found themselves in a fairly small, smooth-walled chamber from which tunnels ran in all directions.

At the chamber’s center rested a tall, metallic object of a red-gold color, which glinted in the flashlight beams. Perhaps two and a half meters tall, it was trumpet-shaped, resting on its flared end. Everyone rushed up to it. 

After an astonished pause, Clem asked: “How do you think it works?”

“Don’t worry about that now,” said Gilliam. “We can study it all we want later. Let’s try to move it.”

The team pushed and shoved at the object, with little to show for it. “Is it secured to the ground?” asked Merid. He tried to rock it back and forth, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“We’ll have to beam-cut it away from the floor,” said Gilliam. He drew his pistol. “Merid and Clem, work from equidistant points. Use steady-beam mode. Everyone else, stand back.”

The three men crouched down and aimed their weapons at the object’s base. Gilliam was about to give the order to begin, but instead stood up, and raised a hand for silence. 

Everyone looked at the captain curiously – and then all seemed to gradually sense that ineffable something Gilliam had perceived. In the utter quiet, Mennod could hear a very faint noise echoing down the passages which ran in all directions – a soft rustling, or scuttling.

Merid was trembling visibly. The noise was growing more distinct, and instinctively the group gravitated to huddle at the center of the room around the strange object. Mennod felt the pit of his stomach sinking with fear. Everyone shone their flashlights down the passages.

It was then the chilopods appeared – dozens of them, from all the tunnels, scuffling their innumerable feet over the stone walls and floor. Quickly they surrounded the knot of humans, and halted. Rifles and pistols were now trained on the crowd of sudden arrivals. Having filled the chamber, the creatures paused, seeming to study the crew. 

Clem spoke up, his voice catching with anxiety: “What’s – what’s that they’re wearing?”

“And holding in their mouths?” asked someone.

Mennod looked carefully. To his amazement, each creature was wearing a wide metal helmet strapped around its head. And held in each creature’s jaws was a small silver block or box, with a short muzzle or snout protruding from it. 

The tense, unbearable seconds dragged by. “Hey – why don’t they do something?” said Clem.

“Why don’t we do something?” said Merid. “I say we blast ’em.”

But for some reason, everyone held back from firing. 

Gilliam was attempting to shout. “All of you!” he managed finally. “Scram! Get out of here. Then we’ll leave, all right? All right?” But there was no response. The men began to mumble anxiously. Mennod closed his eyes as he recited a prayer in his head. When he opened them, he noticed one of the chilopods edging toward Gilliam. The rifles and pistols followed it.

The men grew dead silent again. The chilopod stopped, Gilliam’s pistol less than five feet from its head. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, from the creature’s helmet a kind of metallic appendage seemed to grow. And from a knob at its end came, at last, the following words – stilted, odd, but perfectly clear:

“Put down your weapons.”

Mennod glanced at his companions, unable to tell who looked the most shocked.

Gilliam sputtered and scoffed, struck almost dumb. “What?… What’s that?”

“Put down your weapons,” came the words. “Put them down and you may leave.”

Mennod could see the captain trembling. “Oh? Or what?” the man sneered. He tried to manage a laugh. “What are you going to do?” There was a long pause. 

“What are you?” Gilliam asked, his voice softer.

The chilopod rolled its bulbous head. The words came slowly, ploddingly: 

“We are the ones who live here, in these caves and on the surface. We build machines. We protect ourselves, and what we make. Put down your weapons.”

“No!” said Gilliam. “Get out of here, now, or we’ll shoot you.”

The chilopod was still. The captain scowled and tightened his grip on his pistol. 

“Just give the order,” whispered Merid.  

“I’m going to give you ’til three,” Gilliam growled to the creature. “Do you understand what ‘three’ is? One.”

No reaction.

“Two!”

Mennod covered his face, dropping his flashlight, and crouched down. He hugged the trumpet-shaped object tightly, pressing his face against it. 

“Th–”

But before the word came out, Mennod heard a blaze of firing. It lasted hardly a second, and he felt a soldier’s weight drop against him, then roll off him. When he looked again, gasping in terror, the room was slightly darker, for all the flashlights had fallen to the floor. He was surrounded by the dead bodies of the crew. 

The abbot straightened slowly, hands held up. He noticed traces of smoke wafting from the silver boxes held in the creatures’ jaws. Mennod looked down at the men. Trickles of blood oozed onto the stone floor from small, precise holes bored into the middle of each man’s forehead. 

The creature that had spoken crept a little ways toward Mennod. The abbot flinched, horrified. A minute passed, and then he felt – suddenly, urgently – that he should say something.

“I – I had to help them,” he said. “I didn’t want to. I… took a vow. I’m a man of God… Do you know what ‘God’ means?” There was silence. “I promised myself… I promised God… that I would assist anyone who came to my monastery – my dwelling – on the surface.” Mennod pointed above him. “Do you understand? To help them was… my vow. I couldn’t break it.”

The chilopod rolled its head again. An unbearably long time seemed to pass, the abbot keeping his hands up. Finally, the voice came again:

“You speak the truth.”

Without a sound, the metal appendage retreated back into the creature’s helmet. The chilopod turned and, with all the rest of its kind, crept away, the sound of scratching feet disappearing gradually down the tunnels. 

The fortunate abbot, alone in the dark chamber and surrounded by his deceased companions, shut his eyes and trembled for many minutes, breathing deeply to calm himself. Then, without any fuss, he gathered two of the still-shining flashlights from the ground, shut one of them off and slid it into the pocket of his robe. After searching briefly for the rope, he clutched and lifted it, stepped carefully over two or three bodies, and began his slow and cautious journey back to the surface of the planet.

*