The Chrysalis of Eternity

Who shall contend with time, unvanquished time,

The conqueror of conquerors, and lord of desolation.

-Kirk White

Brad Coulson stared about in dismay. He’d been expecting a barren, uninviting scenario, but this was way beyond desolate. It was devastatingly bleak and depressing in the extreme. There was no sign of life, vegetation or moisture in the area he could see, and he was reluctant to leave the proximity of the Gateway, still spinning silently behind him. In the sky above the horizon, a strangely coloured crescent moon hung, orange and blue blazing back against the brightness of noon.

He forced himself to move forward, and the dark vortex slowly collapsed in on itself. He stood alone on the side of a small hill, blasted shards of rock surrounding him on all sides. Twisted rods of metal, bits of reinforced concrete slabs long since blown to pieces and blackened sheets of unrecognisable material littered the landscape for hundreds of metres in every direction.

He glanced down at his armpad, noting the high gamma radiation level readout. The surface temperature was approaching 50 degrees, and he was thankful for the body shield’s protection from both radiation and heat. Without the personal shield activated, he would last less than a few hours on this planet.

“Not the most hospitable place I’ve ever seen, Brad.” Linda was similarly depressed by the scenery.

He replied vocally, the sound of his own voice comforting in this wilderness of heat and devastation.

“That’s some understatement, Lin. I’m not very happy about this, I can tell you. There’s no sign of the ’loper either – no telepathic trace, or any physical sign that anyone was ever here. The radiation levels are hellish, maybe why there’s no trail. If we weren’t shielded we wouldn’t last too long. The sooner-”

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden movement on top of the little hill. He moved up the rise cautiously, hand on his holstered stun gun. He peered over the top, only to be confronted by a muzzle levelled at his eyes.

The crouching owner rose silently, still pointing his weapon directly at Brad. His bony face stared at Brad impassively. A ridge of ever increasing humps protruded from his forehead and extended across his scalp, parting his long hair and widening significantly into cartilaginous segments that flattened out as they continued down his neck, and presumably his back. His eyes were covered by an opaque film that retracted every few seconds, allowing Brad to see the yellow colour of the irises behind their screens. Kahana’s description of a Vorkutan was accurate enough.

The man was powerfully built and appeared to have no shielding or other device. He was dressed in a short leathery vest and shaggy leggings with long, heavy boots. Apart from the weapon, he had nothing at all on him.

“Pablo?” Brad asked.

The man remained still, training the weapon in the same direction – directly at Brad’s face. They stood like that for a full minute, and then the man moved slowly forward, forcing Brad backwards down the slope. They reached the bottom, and the Vorkutan grunted, pointing to a flat section of rock set into the surface behind them. He moved Brad roughly out of the way with his weapon, which appeared to be similar in size and construction to the laser rifle Brad had used in the final assault on Ulli Koster back on Misra.

Bending down, the Vorkutan felt for a groove and lifted the flat faced stone upwards, revealing a flight of steps. He motioned Brad down.

Brad stood his ground for just a moment. He wasn’t sure if the shield he’d activated before arriving would withstand a close-quarters laser release. As far as he knew, this one was only designed to shield out radiation. He didn’t want to push his luck and find out. Discretion dictated that he follow instructions, at least until he had a chance to use his stun gun. The man evidently didn’t recognise the small, flat object on his belt as a weapon – it was in fact designed to look more like a comms unit.

He led the way down the steps and entered a dimly lit room carved from the solid rock. There was a desk, chairs and a bank of monitors along one wall. A potted plant stood in one corner, a welcome flash of green in a drab, grey world.

The Vorkutan motioned him to sit. Brad obeyed, slowly and carefully. He didn’t want to annoy the fierce-looking character with the gun, certainly not with the record he had. Pablo, if that’s who he was, moved across to the desk and pressed a button on one side, then sat down himself. He kept the weapon pointing in Brad’s direction.

After a few awkward minutes, a door on the far side of the dimly-lit room opened and a man entered. He appeared to be a normal human being, tall and dark, with a thin moustache that made him look sinister even though his brown eyes were soft. He approached Brad and held out his hand, which Brad ignored.

“Welcome to Phoenix, Peacekeeper. Don’t make any sudden moves – my friend here is a bit nervous in the company of your kind. What is your exact purpose in coming here? Simply following Pablo, or is there some other agenda you’re following?”

He stared deeply into Brad’s eyes; Brad stared back impassively. He probed the man’s mind again – he’d already done so automatically when he first saw him. The result was negative – the man was worried about some future encounter with a strange looking person, or creature, but the probe for telepathic capability was negative, unlike the Vorkutan Pablo. His mind was a jumble of twisted thought patterns, clouded by paranoia and fear.

“No, love. This man is not a telepath. The other one is though – feel his turmoil.”

“Yeah. Lin, what do you make of this then?”

“Not sure, love. You know as much as I do,” she giggled in his mind. He grinned to himself, then put on a more stern expression.

“Why do you presume I’m a Peacekeeper?” he asked, still staring into the man’s dark brown eyes.

This seemed to confuse him. He started to say something, and then stopped. He looked from Brad to Pablo and back again.

“All right, I’ll bite. Who or what are you then? I don’t recognise the uniform – Pablo is under the impression that some sort of Peacekeepers are pursuing him, for some reason. He sought sanctuary here – this is usually a last resort for people fleeing their home worlds for whatever reason. I’m John Smith, by the way.”

“Not very imaginative,” Brad observed.

“No, my parents weren’t. It’s my real name, actually. But you haven’t answered my question. Who and what are you?”

“My name is not important. I’m from GSA – Galactic Service Administration, and you were correct about your friend being pursued, but Peacekeepers, or law enforcement agents or whatever else they’re called don’t cross boundaries. They stay on their home turf – no agent has jurisdiction beyond his planet’s solar system. This man is a Category Four illegal interloper. He’s to return to Vorkuta where he allegedly killed a policeman and a Watchman. There’s no other option open – he must accompany me back. I have no alternatives to offer – you must release him into my care.”

He sat back in his chair and stared into the man’s eyes again, trying to feel as confident as he hoped he looked. He was nervous about the weapon still being trained on him by the wild looking Vorkutan, who hadn’t opened his mouth apart from two earlier grunts.

“Sorry to disappoint you, GSA man. Never heard of GSA, Galactic whatever. What do you people do? Are you some kind of Peacekeepers as well, or what? Where are you based?”

Brad didn’t reply; he continued to try to outstare the man. They’d reached a stalemate, and eventually the man calling himself John Smith looked away and sat down behind the desk. He studied a screen set into the surface, and then nodded to himself.

“Well, GSA man, Pablo here has been granted sanctuary. It’s our policy to protect anyone seeking our help – Phoenix has a long history of assistance to those less fortunate among us. We don’t hand over anyone, not to any Peacekeepers, or anyone else, without a very good reason. But we have a problem here – you have some sort of personal shield that’s too powerful for us to do anything about. We can’t touch you, evidently,” he said, staring at a small instrument on his desk.

Brad was puzzled. Evidently the man had a scanning device and detected the personal shield, but why was he so convinced of its capabilities? To withstand a full blast from the sort of weapon Pablo was wielding it would have to be extremely strong – he still wasn’t convinced that it could.

The man leaned forward and spoke again.

“Look, we can sit here until we starve, or you can attempt to take Pablo with you, but our weapons will keep you pinned down here, shield or no, whatever you try. We may not harm you personally, but we can certainly prevent you from leaving. The door to the surface is sealed – you wouldn’t be able to open it, no matter what you did, so we’ll have to reach a compromise. The compromise I suggest is this: you leave now and we’ll forget you ever came here. How’s that sound?”

“Stupid, actually. You must realise that I’m not leaving without him. If necessary, help will be summoned and we’ll take him by force, so I suggest you revise your plan of action to accommodate us. By the way, the setup you have here is now on record – it was unknown to GSA. You have to understand it will be investigated. If it’s a haven for criminals and other interlopers, it will be shut down. The network connection here is being used illegally and may well be immobilised as soon as I leave anyway, so it would really be in your best interests to cooperate with me now, and save a lot of grief later.”

Brad sat back and folded his arms. He had one very comforting factor in his favour – he knew he would come to no harm. He knew he would live a long and interesting life – Kahana had told him so. The Caretakers knew what happened well into the future, having seen ahead on a number of occasions. It made life a lot easier knowing that whatever the situation, nothing bad was going to happen, even if he was sitting staring at a weapon pointing in his direction on a hostile planet, populated by who knew how many renegades and interlopers. He allowed a little confident grin to play around his lips.

John Smith noticed it and was further unsettled. He really didn’t know what to make of this man in the dark uniform with a powerful personal shield protecting him from anything they could throw at him.

“Come,” he said roughly, standing up and moving towards the door through which he’d entered. Pablo rose and motioned Brad to follow, swinging the rifle barrel in an arc towards the door.

Sighing, Brad rose and moved out, not because he felt threatened, but out of curiosity. He wanted to see more of what these people had on a supposedly dead, uninhabitable planet. He was interested to see how many of these so-called sanctuary seekers were accommodated here, and how.

The door led into a passage carved from solid rock, along which they walked for a few minutes. The dim lighting was not very comforting – the shadows were dark and the whole setting was gloomy and depressing.

The route eventually opened out onto a vast area, lit by a shielded domed skylight. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, Brad was amazed to see a small lake surrounded by greenery; trees and grass neatly trimmed spread out from the water to the edge of the rock walls surrounding the place. He stood still, mildly shocked by what he saw. Smith noticed his expression and grinned.

“Didn’t expect to see this, did you, Peacekeeper?”

“I’m not a Peacekeeper. We’ve been through this already. Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Sorry – slip of the tongue. You look similar to one, in that uniform. That’s vaguely how they look where I come from, anyway. What is it you do, exactly? You didn’t say.”

Brad didn’t reply. Instead, he studied the scene in front of them. They were standing on a landing jutting out from the rocky wall. Stairs led down to the grassy slope below, and a number of people sat or lay about on the green banks and terraces leading down to the clear water – some were swimming. They were dressed in a variety of clothing styles and as he looked more closely, he began to pick out individual humanoid types.

There were a few other Vorkutans - squat, powerfully framed with horny skin and the ugly flattened spine shells; a couple of tall, ethereal Nimbians and one or two small tough Aramistans from the English colony nearest the rim. The rest were as yet unidentifiable – he would have to speak to a few of them before he might, perhaps, figure out where they originated.

Although he had yet to meet him, Brad had been operating as an Assistant to the Section Master of Sector Twenty Four for two standard years. There were over eleven thousand catalogued humanoid colonies scattered throughout the known universe – the Milky Way. There was an imbalance in Brad’s Sector, which was more crowded than any other at over seven hundred settled planets. Even though he’d visited a great number of worlds over the past twenty four months, there were many, many more cultures and people to meet before he’d be able to identify more than just a handful in a mixed population like this.

“How many cultures are represented here?” he asked, turning to John Smith.

“About twenty, at last census. I’m descended from the colony of Telford myself. You know it?”

GSA had the planet catalogued as an English colonial world closer to the core and on the same side of the galaxy as Earth, sub-listed as a centre of industry and technological innovation.

He’d heard nothing bad about the planet and definitely planned to visit it if he was ever in the neighbourhood. After all, his remote ancestors had been from the British sector of Europe, Scotland to be precise. Way back in the early nineteenth century they’d emigrated to the relatively new Cape Colony, down at the bottom of the continent of Africa on planet Earth.

“Telford hey? I’ve not been there yet. And why are you here then?”

“Altruistic motives, believe it or not. Actually, I was born here. My father came over with a working party to help restore this planet to something inhabitable.

“The original residents here were from ancient Iceland – Telford made contact and pulled them into the technological age, skipping a few hundred years in the process.”

He paused, looking out over the green carpet below.

“I’m a construction engineer, like my father before me. I’ve always felt some sort of peculiar affinity for this planet. What do you think of all this, then?” he asked, sweeping the air with his arm.

Brad was silent for a moment. He studied the area again, noticing a number of doorways on the lower level leading off into dimly lit passages. There were about forty people in sight, a peaceful and happy scene. This was as far from what he expected to find as it could be – the contrast with the surface was staggering.

“Where do you get the water?” he asked.

“It’s all here, underground and very carefully recycled. This planet was a paradise until the explosion.”

“Like a few others I’ve seen lately,” Brad muttered, thinking about a colony hell-bent on destroying itself with nuclear weapons he’d visited a year ago. John Smith looked at him for a moment.

“Look, whatever your name is, what are you going to do? I deliberately brought you down here to show you what we have going for us. Is this worth destroying, as you seem intent on doing?”

“Depends. What’s the real purpose of all of this then? Merely a refuge for unfortunate people from wherever, or a centre for criminals hiding from the law on their respective planets? That’s what I have to determine. Based on my report and conclusions, this planet either remains operating, without the criminal element present, or it will be depopulated completely so it can be terraformed at some future date, if feasible.”

The man stared at him for a moment. “You have that kind of power? What is this Galactic Service Administration anyway?”

“I have that power, as direct representative of the Section Master of this particular Sector.”

John Smith looked at him with an uneasy mixture of scepticism and respect.

“What exactly is a Section Master? Sounds important, but who is he?”

Brad ignored the question, and the other man continued after an uncomfortable pause.

“So, how are you going to determine whether it goes or stays? The inhabitants will never be persuaded to leave peaceably, you know.”

“Let’s see what else you have here, Mr Smith. By the way, my name’s Brad.” They shook hands.

“OK then Brad, what do you want to see?” John Smith relaxed visibly.

“Where’s the rest of it then? This is evidently some sort of recreational facility. Where does all the raw material come from? This ball of rock is about as barren as it’s possible to imagine, from the surface appearance anyway.”

“That’s it exactly – from the surface appearance. I was born here, Brad, but very few of these people were. I’m the only one descended from the colonists on Telford; the rest are from all over the galaxy. The original inhabitants from Iceland were Norse warriors who arrived in the seventh century – Telford made contact with them by accident apparently. Someone stumbled across the interstellar travel facility - the network you called it - leading to exchanges of culture and technology. The inhabitants of Hekla – the original name of this planet, incidentally, were almost all wiped out.”

“Ah, Hekla! No wonder it wasn’t in the database, although the coordinates should have thrown up the error. Yet another detail to sort out,” Brad mused. “Funny the Vorkutans knew the name.”

“Pardon?”

“Just thinking aloud,” Brad replied.

John continued. “The survivors, and there were a few, managed to begin again underground. They renamed the planet Phoenix, and then somehow word got out among some travelling telepaths about this ‘underground’ planet. There were some who were under the impression that it was a sanctuary for displaced people whatever the reason, no questions asked.

“And so, needing more immigration to stabilise the population, the Herre – it’s a hereditary title actually, means lord, or master in their old lingo, well, he agreed to have the word spread. It rapidly became known as ‘Sanctuary’.

“The population’s been supplemented by arrivals from all corners of the universe over time. We’re a real cultural mix here – we never turn anyone away. As I said, over twenty different races live here, not always in harmony – that would be asking a bit much, but we all manage to get along. It works, that’s the point. Apart from a surface that’s been ‘sterilised’ as one record has it, this is a successful colony. Don’t break it up, Brad.”

“Well then, let’s see the rest of it,” Brad started to move to the stairway leading down. With a grunt, the Vorkutan stepped forward, blocking his way. Brad moved forward, and Pablo attempted to prod him with the rifle, but it collided with his shield, making a hollow clunking sound as little blue veins of lightning flashed across the area he’d hit. The Vorkutan jumped back, readying his rifle for action, pulling back the safety. Brad noticed it was set on full power – it was definitely the same type of weapon he’d used on Misra. He stopped in his tracks.

“And now?” he asked, looking up at John Smith.

“Nyet, Pablo.” The man stepped aside.

“I never know whether to address Vorkutans in Russian, English or Spanish since the Empress Olivia inveigled her way into their culture and instigated a Monarchy there. It’s apparently a virtual police state now – summary executions, laws far too restrictive, prisons bulging at the seams. For that reason we have a surfeit of Vorkutans here.”

“John, how do they know about this place? I mean, a disgruntled Vorkutan back on his home planet – how would he know to come here?”

“Word got around a long time ago – out to the farthest reaches. They’re almost all telepaths, Brad. Like just about everyone here, of course, or they couldn’t have made it to Phoenix in the first place.”

“You’re not telepathic,” Brad pointed out.

“How do you know? Oh, I see. Of course. Well, it doesn’t matter,” he said when it became obvious Brad wasn’t going to reply.

“Like I said, I was born here. None of us is telepathic – those of us born on Phoenix. Something to do with the inherent radiation levels here. Hopefully they’ll decrease eventually and we can move up topside again.”

A short, dark man coming up the stairs stopped and spoke to John in a low voice; Brad heard every word clearly.

“Well, looks like I’m to treat you with a lot more respect, Brad Coulson. The Herre requests your company when you’re ready.”

“So someone knows my name then. Wonder how?”

“Interesting. There’s more to this place than meets the eye, my love.”

“Yes, I heard. Where is he then?” Brad asked aloud.

“In Phoenix Central. We can go there from down there,” he indicated one of the corridors leading off the park.

“What’s the population of Phoenix now, John?”

“It’s just over seven hundred – two hundred and twenty four Phoenix-born and the rest refugees.”

“What’s your position – are you the Chief, or Herre, or what do you call yourself?”

“I’m second in charge – the present Herre, descended from the original Heklans as they all are, is Ingolfur Sigurdsson. A descendant of the original race is always in charge – it’s a hereditary custom. But the physical work is left to the Council of Four – I’m one of them, the Engineering quarter.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and walked out onto the grass. It was newly mowed and smelled fresh and clean. The lake sparkled in the filtered sunlight streaming from the dome above and the scene was like any park on any planet with a benign climate – certainly not the hellish solar and gamma radiation blasted sphere these people inhabited. A few people stared at them briefly, and then continued their conversations or whatever they were doing before the sight of an armed Vorkutan, a Councillor and a newcomer interrupted them.

“Over this way, Brad,” John led him into one of the passages circling the park. Pablo had slung his weapon on his back, presumably on John’s instructions, and followed them closely. They walked along the dimly lit corridor for what seemed like minutes until it opened onto another vast excavation, this time filled with more water – a much bigger lake with machinery lining a metal wall damming it.

“Our water supply and recycling plants. There’s a mining complex further along there, and the hydroponic farms, if you want to see them,” John said, indicating where the corridor continued.

“Not really, thanks. I’m impressed, but where do people live? That’s what I really would like to see – your living area. And I’d like to meet your Chief – your Herre after that.”

John looked a bit sheepish, nodding slowly as he turned to go back the way they’d come. Again Brad felt the anxiety, almost fear accompanying images of a strange being he would meet in the near future. They reached the park in silence, and John stopped and looked at Brad.

“The Herre is a direct descendant of the survivors. You may be a bit shocked when you see him. He keeps out of sight most of the time. People who don’t know him are affected badly by his appearance, which is unfortunate because he’s a really good person. However, mutants are never…” He let the words hang in the air.

They walked down another tunnel, shorter this time, and emerged into a domed plaza surrounded by low buildings. Doors and windows indicated the dwelling places, and there were a few shops and restaurants lining the main square.

“Phoenix Central,” John smiled. “The offices are up there,” he pointed to the far wall which was covered in windows up to the roof of the cavern walls ringing the dome. Entering at ground level, they walked to the back of the lobby to a sealed door. John pressed his hand to a pad at the side and a beam of light scanned his eyes. The door opened silently and Brad followed him up a stairway, noticing that Pablo had left them somewhere along the line.

He could still sense the man – his inner turmoil was easily discernable in the babble of telepathic traffic flowing throughout the area. People were moving at a leisurely pace through narrow lanes leading off the main square, most smiling and looking happy. A pretty good indication of the state of this planet, Brad thought as he climbed the stairs.

“Looks can deceive, my love. I’m not so sure about this place. Are you?”

“Not really. Something missing somewhere, I feel. Anyway-”

“Pardon?” John was staring at him strangely, and he realised he’d been talking out loud.

“Nothing, just musing,” he repeated his earlier excuse.

“Are you schizophrenic?”

“No. Just like thinking aloud,” he replied. “I must be careful – they’ll think I’m nuts, Lin,” he laughed inwardly, feeling Linda’s mirth.

They entered through a portal at the top level, and stopped at the first door. John knocked and a voice called him in. They walked into a large office, adorned with paintings of tropical scenes. Animals were browsing in verdant jungles and the settings were reminiscent of City back on Murra, the home continent on Misra.

“Hekla, before the big bang,” a hoarse voice from behind the desk sounded before Brad saw the owner. “Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

Brad was prepared for a mutant – he’d been well primed by John, but it was still a shock to see the twisted, gnarled features of the man as he got up and advanced, a claw-like hand stuck out in front of him.

Brad reached behind his pack to disarm his shield and shook the claw, feeling its rough texture, rather like a shark’s skin he thought, remembering his childhood fishing outings back on Earth.

The man wore obviously carefully tailored clothes to minimise the misshapen form within. Grey tunic and darker trousers led to a pair of strangely shaped black boots.

“I’m Ingolfur Sigurdsson. Welcome to our world, Brad Coulson,” he said. His misshapen face twisted and cracked into a crooked sneer, presumably an attempt at a smile. Brad, try as he might, could apparently not mask his feelings completely because Ingolfur’s face once again warped into a sneering attempt at grinning. In any case, Brad could feel the strong telepathic powers this mutant possessed – it was pointless to disguise any feelings or expressions.

“Don’t feel bad, Mr Coulson. I find adverse reactions whenever I confront a new face. My brain is good, even if my appearance isn’t – no,” he continued as Brad attempted to apologise, “it doesn’t bother me at all. I got over all that a long, long time ago.”

His English was flawless – the pronunciation without accent and perfectly enunciated. Ingolfur Sigurdsson was shorter than his body should have been – it was hunched and twisted from the waist up, and one arm was a lot longer than the other.

His neck was missing – his head rested on his torso with no visible connecting part. His face was wide – the eyes were placed way out on either side of it and his nose was a flattened piece of flesh attempting to separate two large nostrils. His mouth was a sideways S – one side was permanently open and flecks of drool hung there. His breathing was ragged and noisy.

“All in all, not a pretty sight. A terrible pity – his mind is clear and sharp.”

“It is, Lin – but I can feel he’s reading this. John said nobody born on Phoenix is telepathic – he’s wrong here.”

“Yes, he is, Brad and, er, Linda, is it? How is it that there are two of you there?” Ingo asked silently, his eyes, the two reliably human features on his face, had opened wide.

“We are one, Sir,” Brad replied vocally, out of habit. John jumped slightly and stared at Brad with the same quizzical look as before.

Brad continued, ignoring him. “Linda died and apparently metamorphosed into something bound inside my mind – we are truly one being. Apparently it’s not that unusual in very long-standing telepathic relationships, according to a Caretaker friend of mine.”

“Just so. He is correct. You are here ostensibly to assess our planet, I believe?”

“Well, Sir, I’ve been tracking an interloper across the galaxy and caught up with him here. He’s a Vorkutan, name of Pablo, and John tells me he’s gained sanctuary. I must take him back to Vorkuta – I have a brief to do so. I tracked him solely as a Category Four ’loper - a potentially dangerous illegal interloper. His crimes are nothing to do with me. He must face his local law enforcers for those.

“Apart from that, I have no reason to do anything other than file my report concerning this planet. I’ll update the records back at Headquarters to reflect the name change and current status of this planet, but it’s up to the Section Master to decide what, if anything, he would do about it.”

“What if I told you Pablo is not guilty of anything, and that on Vorkuta the only real criminal is the self-proclaimed Empress Olivia? She has a lot to answer for – murder is among the crimes of which she is guilty. Her short reign accounts for as many as a thousand disappearances among the inhabitants of Vorkuta, which is a significant proportion of an already depleted populace.

“Since she appeared the planet has become a vile backwater of fear and death. Her law enforcers are nothing more than murderous thugs responsible for heinous crimes against the galactic family of humankind, and that is my conservative assessment of her contribution so far.

“She’s the one you should be following up on, Brad Coulson, not an innocent man framed by her thugs, as happened in this case.”

He turned to John and dismissed him with a curt nod, and smilingly turned back to Brad. John Smith departed; the door slid to behind him.

Brad resumed by questioning. “How can you be sure? Did your information come from Pablo himself? Do you have proof of the things you claim?” Brad was distinctly unhappy at the way the conversation had gone – he felt more like a policeman now than ever before. This was not what he expected to be doing with his time as Assistant Section Master.

“Brad, my love, your shield is still deactivated,” Linda reminded him. He reached behind again, but the control button didn’t respond. He tried again, but to no avail. He felt Ingolfur’s triumphant assessment of the situation.

“Yes, Brad Coulson, it was I. We shouldn’t have any advantage, either one of us. How, you ask? Give me credit, Sir. I am a twentieth generation telepath – my people had telekinetic power centuries ago. They may have been primitive Norsemen, but they had powers long forgotten by more modern examples of mankind. Perversely, these powers been heightened by the radiation we suffered after the big bang. I’m the first mutant you’ve ever met, I believe?”

Brad nodded, temporarily at a loss for words. His mind was jumping – he was trying to block Ingolfur at the same time as trying to read more of his mind, and think ahead as well.

“There are two of us against his one, love. We can do it – easily. Just focus.”

He relaxed and followed Linda’s advice. Ingolfur nodded and more or less admitted defeat, opening his mind and relaxing as well.

“We shouldn’t clash, Brad Coulson. There is much common ground here – let us work together. Perhaps I also take too much credit on behalf of my ancestors – they were not technological people. Come, I’d like to show you something,” he said, leading Brad around his desk and through a door at the back that slid open.

Inside the next room stood a long desk with a series of small instruments resembling the recording playback machines in the library on Prime. Ingolfur moved further into the room and clicked a remote control he was holding. The back wall dissolved into a transparent film and then disappeared altogether. With a shock tempered by his initial reaction to Ingolfur, Brad stared at what the mutant Chieftain revealed. He felt Linda’s reaction at the same time as his.

Behind a low desk studded with computers and monitors of many different types sat a small, slender creature not instantly recognisable as any species he’d ever seen. Both of his arms stretched across the smooth desk; his long fingers manipulated a variety of controls on the instruments cluttered across the surface.

With a soft sigh, the door closed and Brad saw they were alone. With an effort, the slight being rose and extended one elongated arm, his fingers outstretched in greeting. Swallowing hard, Brad advanced and shook hands with the strangest creature he’d ever seen. The small man’s other arm was still stretched across the desk; the fingers continued to fly across the instruments, pressing keys, sliding knobs and drumming on the desktop as if in frustration.

His hand was soft to the touch, cool and gentle but the handshake was firm. His skin was dry; his head was almost normal, humanoid in appearance, but the cranium was more pronounced and the beautiful, pale eyes were larger than he’d ever seen on a human. His ears and nose were almost invisible – mere indentations with openings on the respective areas of his head. It was not a disturbing countenance – Brad felt he could get used to it very easily. The man, if that’s what he was, stood little taller than a metre. He wore a one-piece jumpsuit similar to Brad’s GSA uniform, in light green trimmed with dark olive.

But it was his mind that intrigued Brad the most. It was working at an incredible pace. Images of at least ten different tasks were flashing across the palate of his mind – he was in complete control of a number of different functions at the same time as he was scanning Brad and Linda together.

“No wonder the desk is so low,” Linda was thinking. Brad cleared his throat.

“Brad Coulson,” he said.

“I know, Brad. Linda – nice to meet you.” The spoken word and the mental address were simultaneous; Brad was surprised that he absorbed both clearly. Unlike the Herre, this person didn’t seem in the least surprised at Linda’s presence within.

His voice was husky and gruff – as if the owner was out of practice. It sounded unused, like it needed oiling, or his throat needed clearing. As he spoke, it seemed to ease and sound more like a normal man’s deep voice.

“Well, I know who you two are. I know a lot about you both, in fact. I must apologise for the charade we’ve been through to get you here, Brad. It was necessary. So, let me introduce myself then. I’m known as Twinkletoes here – my real name is Tin-kelto. I arrived here long ago from a planet nearer the core called Saynshand. The inhabitants originated in Central Asia, before China was named – they were taken there a long time ago.

“The civilisation they built collapsed after a thousand years. I’m the sole survivor of that place. Hey,” he added, “I may be even older than you.”

“But, you-”

“Yes, I’m humanoid originally, Brad.”

“But how old are you then? I mean, apart from mutants, evolution to a form as different as yours would take aeons – I can’t see-”

“Hey, I like your choice of words, Brad. Aeons! Not very precise for a GSA Section Master’s apprentice, is it? How long would that be then? No, I’m joking with you – you’re quite correct of course. Genetic manipulation, specialisation for different types of work, that was my race’s forte. Pity it didn’t work out – the civilisation became too specialised – we couldn’t cope with even minor disruptions in the end.

“If we lost an astronautics engineer, or a cybernetics physicist, for example, there was nothing anyone else could do if a problem arose in either of those fields. I started out as a geneticist, by the way, but I’ve added a good few more qualifications since graduating to this planet.”

“How do you know who I am?” Brad asked quietly. “I haven’t mentioned the Section Master or GSA to you.”

“Give me a little more credit, Brad. I know many of the Caretakers, actually.”

“What? Who are you exactly? You spoke of a charade in getting me here - how do you-”

“Later, my friend, as Kahana calls you and your lovely wife nestling there inside your mind, wandering the corridors of your heart.” He grinned.

“Ah, never mind me,” he continued, noting Brad’s look. “I’m a hopeless romantic. Come over here; take a look,” he invited.

Brad moved closer to the desk, fascinated by the array of obviously highly advanced instruments. With an effort, Tin-kelto moved across slightly, grunting a little.

“Ah, yes. You’d be very interested in some of these, I’m sure. From a century far along the timeline. A stranded traveller joined me long ago and we put these items together from what we could salvage of his equipment. Poor fellow died before we could activate a lot of it, but I managed to figure it out and voila-” He pressed a pad at one side of a monitor, keyed in some figures and invited Brad to join him on the long bench-like seat he was using.

On one screen, a schematic of the Milky Way appeared, expanding to centre on what he presumed was the planet they now inhabited. The stark, rough surface stared back at them, and slowly, the view penetrated the white, blasted rocky exterior and they were below ground, in a maze of tunnels and caverns. He recognised the park John Smith had showed him, and the underground lake with the pumping station, but the scale of the rest of the underground warren was breathtaking.

The tunnels went on for vast distances. More and more caverns appeared, some empty and some with construction workers erecting buildings and landscaping more park-like areas.

At one junction of tunnels, a long, circular and dead straight level excavation was in progress. It appeared to be a transit system in preparation; this was confirmed when a small bullet-shaped vehicle ran for a few hundred metres suspended above the bottom surface of the tunnel.

“All computer-generated, of course, but this is what the system would look like a few years from now,” Tin-kelto said. “So far we have Central Park and Phoenix Central village completed – the next phase is under construction right now – and the transit link to the next planned complex has begun. What do you think?”

“This is what you hope it will look like, you mean. Isn’t this a bit ambitious? I mean, do you have unlimited resources? The population here is only seven hundred odd – isn’t this a little ambitious for the time frame you mention?”

Tin-kelto looked at Brad for a moment, and then spoke.

“Not just what I hope it will be – no, Brad. This is what it would, in fact, look like, if circumstances were different. If you like, I’ll show you how it would develop over the next hundred years, all things being equal.”

“You can project into the future, accurately?”

“I look directly into the future, accurately.”

Brad was silent for a moment, studying the little man’s face to see if he was serious. He appeared to be. Brad shook his head.

“Fascinating theory. By the way, do I call you Twinkletoes? It sounds like a joke, actually.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the connotations, but please call me Tin, if you like Brad. We have a lot in common, you and I, as far as occupations go. But your scepticism concerning my ability to see ahead is misplaced, as you’ll find out, Brad. Now, for your immediate problem, let’s take a quick hop across the universe. To Vorkuta, in fact, so your mind can be put at rest.”

He pressed a pad next to one of the playback instruments and the screen lit up.

“This system,” he explained, “is similar to your observatory on Prime. It’s from an era not quite as far in the future as your equipment, but far ahead of anything available here and now. I’m getting a relay feed from the only satellite still orbiting this planet.

“Yes,” he added, seeing Brad’s expression, “there was a complex system of communications on Hekla. It was all destroyed, unfortunately. Still, the observatory operates remotely, securely lodged on our furthest moon – little Charon. Same name as one of Earth’s solar system moons – out at the edge of their system, I believe.”

The familiar Milky Way appeared on a much larger screen set against the wall next to them, and began to expand. Slowly, a star system out near the rim on the edge of Sector Twenty Four was singled out – the second planet grew until it filled the screen.

“Vorkuta. The other inhabited planet in that system, Novy Moskva, is the third planet. Vorkuta is quite close to their sun, relatively speaking, hence the extra physical radiation protection the Vorkutans possess. Again, genetic manipulation, aided by the Novy Moskva scientists, helped them to develop those cranial and spine protectors. Now, we go to archived material. That’s about the nearest view we can get with our equipment.”

The orb of Vorkuta hung in the blackness of space, surrounded by three little moons. The surface appeared orange-brown in colour, with small areas of greenish water. Not much vegetation was visible. Tin-kelto turned to another monitor.

“All right, Brad, these are recordings taken by Vorkutan agents and sent to us under very difficult circumstances. Pablo is one of them – he can never go back, of course. Some of them died trying to get recordings out in the past – the place is very difficult for them to operate from. Secret police everywhere, capital punishment for minor offences, cruel laws enforced by dull-witted thugs, it’s not the sort of place you’d find in a tourist brochure.”

“Tin, who are you, really?”

“Brad, did Kahana indicate that this excursion, to this planet, would be any different from your normal routine?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. He didn’t elaborate though. Why?”

“We have a good understanding, Kahana and I. We’re old friends – very old friends. I knew all about you long before you even set off on that ill-fated Genesis Project to colonise Misra – Alpha Centauri A.2 - Petersen’s Planet. When you discovered it was already colonised, it must have been a bad shock to you people. Tragic loss of life on the return voyage, but you were never in any danger.

“I was the one who programmed Mother, the Armstrong’s computer, to deselect you for disposal along the way when the ship ran out of material for your continued survival. So many died on that trip,” he gazed pensively at the desktop.

Brad stared at the little figure sitting next to him. He felt the man’s mind, open and friendly, hiding nothing and welcoming him in – as if he was inviting him to share any knowledge and experience he could find useful. It was an unusual feeling, as if he’d known Tin-kelto all his life.

“Are you the one a certain Caretaker on a desert world in the middle of nowhere told me would guide me in the times to come?”

“You met Kelahaan then? It must have been very recently,” Tin-kelto said, his eyes widening slightly.

“It was – just before I came here, in fact.”

“No wonder I didn’t know. I was a bit preoccupied. Kahana send you?”

“Yes. I didn’t learn too much from the encounter though. So, are you the one he was talking about?”

“Probably. He’s taken to talking in riddles, you probably noticed, but he’s been seeing the final outcome of an ancient problem for a lot longer than anyone else. He’s a true visionary, Brad.”

“You’ve been working with the Service for a long time then,” Brad observed.

“Forever,” Tin replied. Brad didn’t pursue that.

They turned their attention to the monitor once more. The sequence had paused while they spoke, and now events began to run again. They were on Vorkuta, on a street where red uniformed law enforcement agents were chasing a group of citizens. They wielded batons mercilessly, clubbing women and children along with men who fell bleeding in the gutters as the mob scattered.

The squat figure of Pablo, close up and easily identifiable, appeared from a shop doorway and stood in the street, evidently waiting for someone, as he kept looking anxiously in the direction of the approaching crowd. As it drew near, a woman broke away and dashed across to him.

He pulled her into the doorway, but not before a law enforcer saw what had happened and chased after her. He caught her inside the shop, smashing a glass counter in the process as he proceeded to club her. Pablo, desperately tugging her arm, suddenly gave up and grabbed an axe from a display of gardening tools.

Advancing on the agent, he raised his new weapon threateningly. The crimson clad bully reached behind him for his gun, holstered on the back of his belt, but before he could draw it, Pablo swung the axe, catching the man behind the ear. He dropped to the floor. Pablo and the woman ran out of the doorway, stepping over the bleeding body of the cop and straight into another uniformed man who had seen what was happening through the window.

The picture jumped wildly as the three of them collided with whatever supported the cameras recording the scene. As it stabilised again, Pablo was holding his axe, threatening the other man, identified by Tin-kelto as a Neighbourhood Watchman, a sort of local auxiliary law enforcement agent. This man, too, was armed with a gun and before he could raise it, Pablo had swung his axe again and a second body hit the floor.

The two of them hesitated this time before exiting the shop. As the street cleared, they moved off in the opposite direction, towards the origin of the disturbance and disappeared into the streets of Vorkuta City.

“You want to see how they distort things?” Tin said. “This was the original surveillance record the law enforcers used to identify Pablo. They used a doctored version later as evidence to go after him. He realised he had no chance. He wisely left for this planet as soon as he could. Fortunately, the agents know their limits and haven’t chased him. We would have turned them back as soon as they left Vorkuta, as we’ve done before. They know they may not cross their boundary again. They’re very wary of the network anyway, for a number of reasons, not the least of which is our control of the way they’re routed from Vorkuta.” He touched another pad.

“Here’s their version of the events,” he said as the scene replayed, with significant differences. This time Pablo was standing outside the shop as before, but there was no sign of the woman. Instead, as the law enforcer and Watchman approached slowly down a deserted street, he beckoned them into the shop and butchered them with the axe as they entered. It was well doctored, but someone with the right skills could do that with a minimal amount of work. It would have condemned Pablo to summary execution, according to Tin-kelto.

“So, as usual there are always two sides to every story, sometimes three or more. The Herre decided to grant Pablo sanctuary on the evidence obtained from a compatriot of his who sent this recording to us prior to his arrival.

“Pablo was an agent, vouched for by Vorkutans already here. Contrary to legend, we don’t shelter criminals on the run. They do turn up here, of course. With our reputation it’s quite common, but they’re always sent right back as soon as we verify their status.”

Brad relaxed. The scenes portrayed had keyed him up, and the relief that his quarry evidently no longer qualified as an interloper eased his mind greatly. He felt Linda relax as well – her emotions mirrored his almost all of the time.

“So, Brad Coulson, and Linda of course, this is what we are and what we can do. Your assigned task was to follow Pablo here, but that wasn’t the primary reason. The charade I mentioned. You’ll find that out soon enough – tomorrow in fact. And so, what now?”

“Tin, you’re the real man in charge here, aren’t you? So what about the Herre? How does he fit in? And the man who met me at the entrance, John Smith – is there really a Council of Four doing all the actual work, as he told me?”

“Brad, the Herre is a titular post, a mark of respect for the previous inhabitants. Ingolfur Sigurdsson is a very useful right-hand man to me. He has a vast knowledge of this planet and how we can best utilise the existing equipment for our purposes-”

“Which are?” Brad interrupted.

“As you saw – the rehabilitation of this planet as a first step. Your GSA has similar projects, on a far grander scale, but our objectives are the same. It’s just that we work independently of them.”

“Why? You know of our work – you say you know most of the Caretakers, yet you work on your own here. Why don’t you join forces with us? With your obvious and extraordinary talents, it would make sense to pool our resources, don’t you think?”

“You’ll come to see why in a little while, Brad. There’s more I have to show you,” Tin said. He paused for a moment and then continued, looking up questioningly.

“You say Kahana and the Section Master for this Sector are aware of your operation here. You sure of that? That both of them know? I would imagine Kahana gave you the assignment, but did you hear it from the Section Master himself?”

“Actually, I haven’t met the Section Master yet. Not officially. I met him briefly when my wife and I were given Misra to colonise, over fifty years ago.”

“Interesting. What did you make of him, then?”

Brad paused, taking a deep breath. He thought hard for a minute, feeling Tin’s probing as he did so. He gathered his thoughts and spoke again.

“Kelahaan asked me the same question. Well, I really don’t know what he looks like, for a start. He appeared in a number of different guises – all people I knew, people of authority.”

“Yes, Linda is telling me the same thing, but of a more religious nature – the visions, I mean. So, you’ve not met him since joining the Service. Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

“I don’t question a Section Master, Tin. They’re very powerful individuals.”

“They are, and don’t feel badly about how Kahana neglected to fill you in on the details of Phoenix, especially when he knew you were coming here. He wanted you to see it without any preconceptions – through fresh eyes.”

“But why? I can’t understand why there’s all the mystery. Is there something else I should know about here?”

“Yes, there is. But first, I want you to mix with the locals, get a feel for the place, and then let’s talk. I’m very keen to hear your impressions and observations. You’re not in any hurry to get back, are you? The Caretaker in Service HQ on Prime is a member of Kahana’s group and he cleared it with me a while back, incidentally, so they know where you are and why.”

“How did you contact him? There’s no Gateway down here?”

“Brad, there are a lot of things that will become clearer as time goes by. Just take it easy – settle in for a while. There’s accommodation arranged for you - you’re tired. I can feel it. John Smith will show you around, and when you’re ready, please come back here and we’ll talk.”

“You’re not coming?” Brad asked.

“I very seldom leave this office,” Tin replied. “I’ve been in here mostly, ever since I arrived on Phoenix. There’s no need for me to leave – everything I have is here.”

“Explains why it’s such an effort to move,” thought Linda.

“Correct, my dear. No, don’t worry, I’m not offended,” he replied, sensing her embarrassment. “I have everything I could want right here. I travel the universe at will, look into the future or the past, plan for projects like this planet and generally keep myself busy hardly ever leaving this desk – these quarters.”

“Tin,” Brad asked aloud, “I asked you earlier about your particular evolution – you’re humanoid, I accept that. But your powers – those are too far advanced for any of our present cultures. You never mentioned where you originated, only what planet you arrived from. Are you, in fact, from some distant future?”

“‘Too far advanced for our present cultures’ you say. But who are we - and what is the present?” He smiled, and then continued without waiting for a reply.

“Well, Kahana said your powers of deduction are sharp,” he replied. “Yes, Brad, I’m from a future time - a long way into it. Further than you would imagine, but I’ve also come from the past,” Tin-kelto replied with a smile. The implications of that statement hit Brad hard, but he didn’t have time to pursue it.

“And now, John Smith’s at the door, waiting to show you to your quarters. I look forward to hearing what you see.”