The field team, led by an indefatigable sailor with black hair and eyes named Enlil-second lieutenant under Momoko-returned two hours after Ada and her companions had departed. In the chart room, he spread out his own 2D survey, which clearly showed the finely drawn geometry of the Xeno city: concentric circles around a funnel-shaped structure.
"Like an inverted tower, but hollow," he said. "Our attention turned to the center-the deepest point. There isn't a single Xeno down there, yet access isn't forbidden either."
"Don't make us wait any longer," said Andreï. "What did you find?"
He turned his head toward Pallas, but she only seemed tired.
"A vast and solid structure."
He displayed a photograph: a circular bunker with seemingly thick walls. A double metallic door appeared to seal it hermetically. Enlil stood before it, dwarfed by the sheer scale-the door was three times his height. At a glance, the bunker seemed about fifty meters in diameter.
"We probed the interior. There's a wall roughly four meters thick, made of concrete with chemical binders from the planet, and an airlock of another four meters, with a new door and a new wall. And after that-mystery."
"Impossible to scan?"
"It's possible, but the inner zone gives us nothing-not even emptiness. The instruments return display artifacts. Two more things-look here."
He pointed with his finger at an inscription in stellar language above the door.
"PILGRIM TOUCH…," translated Andreï, "…I'm missing the last glyph. A triangle?"
"And this."
He showed a photo of the ground near the bunker. He zoomed in-again, and again. And then, in the dried mud… a human footprint, bare.
"A good size 42, human make. Rain doesn't fall here, because there's a shield above the pit, but sunlight does."
"The Aleph."
No one else commented. Andreï rose and declared he would go down there with Pallas, while Momoko and Enlil would guard the pit from above. He suggested that a quartermaster propose to the crew to stretch their legs on the planet. Pallas seemed indifferent to all this, and if Andreï noticed, he made no remark.
They stopped by to see the Xeno on board, also named Alpha, who knew the glyph. He answered cautiously: THE THREE-SHAPED FORM.
"Does that word have a special meaning, Alpha?" asked the captain.
"We are somewhat afraid of it… but it is not fear. Captain, I don't have the word."
"For what reason?"
"Geometric forms, my captain. The mark of the gods."
The crossing of the Xeno city was disorienting to the highest degree. The monolithic metal architectures seemed drawn straight from a book of mythology, the creatures from a work of fantastical fiction, and their occupations were steeped in mystery. They operated machines or pushed others toward unknowable purposes. The cries of birds and the clattering of the Xeno crowds plunged them into an alien world-yet the simple rain and the songs of brooks reminded them that they were still within reality.
Separated from the rest of the team, they descended along a gently sloping path that led toward the bunker.
"You seem weary, officer."
"That is an accurate observation, captain."
"Perhaps you would care to confide in me?"
She remained silent for a moment, then said simply, her eyes unfocused:
"Life is made of hope and disappointment. Disappointments break us. We heal, but often by growing back differently, like a broken plant. The wise and the psychologists call that growing up. But I don't believe we grow. I don't believe we become stronger."
"I agree. Pallas, hold on. Great things await you."
"Only the present matters, captain."
The bunker, from a distance, looked like some beast of the primordial night clutching a galactic secret between its jaws. Andreï made a detour to lean over the footprint.
Pallas followed him and ran her hand along its contours. Psychometry. She declared:
"Garen was indeed here. He thinks: I escaped death, the beasts, the Xenos. The Grip guides me. This vast, civilized construction. There are secrets. Weapons. Vessels. The key to my survival and my vengeance. The Grip guides me."
They advanced toward the door. Immense-it seemed as though they could never quite reach it, as if the place stretched space itself-and then, finally, they stood before it. Like a beast of the night of time, yet submissive, its gates opened slowly at the mere detection of their presence. Everything was dark, so they switched on their shoulder lamps.
The corridor was bare. Another identical door. They approached, and the first door closed as the second one opened. An airlock. To isolate the inside from what?
The door opened-they entered-and it closed behind them.
A nearly empty circular chamber. A black floor, streaked here and there with gold along arcs that followed the curvature of the room.
At the center, luminous, floated a triangle of three sides-thick, as tall as a man, motionless.
"It has all the marks of a Transient artifact," said Pallas, fascinated and seemingly revived.
"The Three-Shaped Form, literally."
"The pilgrim touches the Three-Shaped Form…"
"Yes, Pallas. Yes, we should assemble a team of scientists drawn from the five major worlds, who would, over years, negotiate with the Xenos to secure their consent for the establishment of research here-which would mean learning their culture to ensure they understood our intentions. Yes, over years they would painstakingly analyze the composition and dating of the concrete, the doors. The HS would raise billions of thalers to create new analytical machines, and the Transients would, of course, get involved, impose moratoriums lasting centuries while pretending to deliberate, all the while hiding what we mustn't uncover too soon. And finally, after placing a thousand safeguards, after evacuating the planet and covering it in sensors, an Android would touch the Three-Shaped Form. But alas, we must move quickly. I am like that adventure-novel hero who does foolish things with the great secrets of the universe. So let's go straight in."
"And besides, the Aleph did it before."
He nodded.
He approached the Three-Shaped Form and extended his hand. His hand passed through. There was nothing inside the Three-Shaped Form. Pallas suggested he try from another side.
"Which side?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"Any side will do."
He moved his hand slowly toward the left side. No heat. Not quite shadow, either. He touched-it was almost material, like a solid breath. A sudden, brief humming sound. And then nothing.
Had something changed? He asked Pallas to take readings.
The door opened again. They turned around. Human silhouettes. But they would see no more.
Before continuing the singular account of this episode, it is fitting to recall a general fact about the world of physics. There exist laws of physics-already well known by the twenty-first century, and perfectly mastered by the twenty-ninth-but which divide into three great domains: those that govern the infinitely small, under the name of quantum mechanics; those that govern the macroscopic world, more or less at human scale, under the name of classical, Newtonian, or Einsteinian mechanics; and finally, those that govern galaxies and great stellar clusters, known as hypermechanics.
The fact is that these three models all work perfectly, but in radically different ways. Why, scientists throughout human history wondered, should what is true for an atom not be true for a human or for a galaxy, when all are subjected to the same forces? Why had the great Creator of the universe divided the world into three parts-nested within one another-and why did each obey different rules than the others?
That was what the New Horizon expedition, had it occurred as planned, was meant to discover.
The strange fantasy of humankind wishing to reconcile these three bodies of laws had never been realized-and its underlying cause, as we shall see, might perhaps have been revealed in the years to come, had those scientists ever had the chance to study the bunker.
The human silhouettes behind the great door were those of Andreï and Pallas. Indeed, by touching the left side of the Three-Shaped Form, Andreï had reversed the linear flow of time within the chamber. They had arrived at the precise moment when, only minutes earlier, they had entered the room.
However, this new situation was impossible, for when they had entered the chamber, it had been empty.
When such a situation occurred, the scientists who might one day unravel the riddle of the bunker would explain, the universe automatically corrected itself through an effect of chronological censorship. It erased the segment encompassed by the paradox.
Thus, reality returned to the moment when Andreï and Pallas entered the room-at the same instant, in the same place, to the very second and millimeter. Yet since the situation was identical, the same events would unfold identically once again, recreating the same conditions. Andreï would deliver his monologue on theoretical procedure, attempt to pass his hand through, and-due to the cultural bias of a civilization that had retained and universalized a left-to-right writing system-touch the left side of the Three-Shaped Form, and revert backward in time.
And so it happened, looping millions of times-without Andreï, Pallas, or any sentient creature in the universe being aware of it.
However, what is true for the macroscopic world-the position of bodies, their speed, the perception of colors and sensations-is not as deterministic in the world of the infinitely small, due to the breaking of rules between the macroscopic "human" world and the infinitesimal one.
When the universe reset itself to the origin of the paradox, and up to its end, atoms, electrons, and particles had trajectories and positions that were slightly different, for such is the uncertainty granted by quantum mechanics. And electrons are, after all, what travel through our neurons to make decisions.
That is the universe's protection system, preventing it from becoming trapped in a time loop: the separation of physical phenomena by scale.
The universe therefore looped and reset itself millions, perhaps billions of times. Yet among those billions, there were one or two occurrences where, through a strange impulse, an abnormal configuration caused by an alignment of electrons, the captain hesitated-or decided to place his hand elsewhere. Sometimes he touched the right side. Without knowing it, he restored the natural flow of time, and, finding no result, would eventually touch the left again, and the paradox resumed.
And then-though it wasn't very natural-he placed his hand on the base of the triangle. The humming again, the click, and then the room suddenly filled with light. Panels reflected very fine rays, sometimes colored. Andreï and Pallas recognized a computer operating on a basis of light rather than electronics, yet of a size and design never before seen-except perhaps in the After.
At the center of the triangle, the glyph "LOVE" appeared in stellar language.
"ME LOVE YOU," signed Andreï while murmuring the words aloud in the human dialect.
Quite surprisingly, the machine adapted and continued, speaking in that very same language. Its voice was gentle, masculine, sometimes hoarse, with certain moments of excited inflection, and carried an accent from a century past.
"Greetings, pilgrims. Welcome to the Hall of the End of Time."
"It speaks our language!" exclaimed Pallas. "I detected no psi intrusion."
"It's Garen's voice," said Andreï.
"That's how it learned to speak our tongue. Uh… machine? What should I call you?"
"I am the Beacon of Perpendicular Time."
"Beacon will do. Beacon, I suppose it was Garen Antor who taught you our language?"
"That is correct."
"Beacon, how long ago was that?" asked Pallas.
"A few minutes ago."
Andreï and Pallas looked at each other, bewildered.
"Beacon, is Garen here?" asked Pallas, surprised.
"He is not in the Hall of the End of Time."
"Beacon, according to our perception of events, Garen Antor was with you some time ago-at least a year, Prospero-time, if you have that notion."
"We are within Perpendicular Time: on the left side of the triangle, time runs backward in relation to your arrow of time; on the right side, it is restored. At the base of the triangle, we move within Perpendicular Time, which flows only when activated and is orthogonal to the natural arrow of the universe's time."
"I have an idea," said Andreï.
"Beacon, if we press on the left side of the Three-Shaped Form-the triangle-and wait long enough, could we meet Garen Antor?"
The Beacon of Perpendicular Time briefly explained the paradox that such an action would create, and how Andreï would thus find himself in this very situation. Pallas made a vivid recording of this conversation, which would one day revolutionize science, though neither of them truly understood it.
"Beacon, what is your function?" asked Pallas.
"I have awaited the Pilgrim. I gave him That Which Can Destroy the Beast."
"And the Pilgrim-was that Garen Antor, Beacon?"
"He was awaited. He was received. He accepted this charge and the associated gift."
"What beast are you speaking of, Beacon?" asked Andreï, concerned.
"The Beast That Devours Entropy, placed by the enemies of the Travelers upon the Gates of Empyrea."
"The further this goes, the more cryptic it becomes," admitted Andreï.
"The Travelers, my captain! The Xeno religion!"
"So the Travelers truly exist, then! Coming from the end of time… of course-the Hall of the End of Time. Beacon, it was the Travelers who built this place?"
"They do not call themselves so, but sentient beings name them the Travelers. They require a Pilgrim to destroy the Beast and activate the Three-Shaped Form upon the Gates of Empyrea. For the Travelers come from the end of time, and they need a Pilgrim who follows the so-called original direction of the arrow of time-upon which the Beast dwells. A Pilgrim who knows where the Gates of Empyrea are."
"That Which Can Destroy the Beast-is that some kind of power?" asked Pallas. "Does that power allow one to do great things, like… travel among the stars?"
"Yes-through the manipulation of quantum vacuum."
"And other things?"
"All things that a Traveler can do."
"More powerful than the Transients…" murmured Andreï.
"Could you grant us an equivalent power?" asked Pallas, her excitement barely contained.
"I could establish only a single link between the Pilgrim and the source. But be reassured: the Travelers have determined that one Pilgrim is enough."
"You chose poorly, Beacon," said Andreï flatly.
"Be reassured. That choice is the Travelers'. The Pilgrim is necessarily the right one," affirmed the machine with composure.
Andreï turned toward Pallas and murmured:
"The Travelers wage their war, or pursue their plans, and we are but ants to them. Let the Aleph crush half the insects of the Earth-so long as their design is fulfilled and their mysterious Beast destroyed, they do not care."
"So Garen Antor happens to end up here, and he discovers this sanctuary that grants him the power of a god-and more than a god-to slay some mysterious creature. He either does it, or doesn't, and then goes on to conquer the sentient universe with that power. A power that cannot be bestowed again, that was given only once, to a single being. So the plan to come here and find a way to counter him seems doomed."
"What an adventure. I fear Garen, and I want him incapacitated at any cost. But what a journey. He was already half-convinced he was the heir to the Council of the HS-he must now sincerely believe he has met the Blind Gods for real. But Blind Gods or Travelers, the result is the same. Yes, Pallas, the expedition is a failure… or almost. We must find the Travelers. With this chamber… there must be a way."
He turned back toward the machine:
"Beacon, where are the Travelers?"
"At the Gates of Empyrea."
"And these Gates of Empyrea-where are they located?"
"I regret to repeat myself: At the Gates of Empyrea. That is the place."
"It's a planet, then? Where is it?"
"The one who bears the link with the source knows it. The Pilgrim knows, therefore. Ask him. He is one of you."
Andreï exhaled slowly, turning over in his mind the idea of sending a message through the LE to Garen Antor, hoping for a reply.
Pallas placed a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling too.
"My captain, I know where they are-the Gates of Empyrea."
Andreï looked at her in astonishment.
"Gorylkin learned from the Xenos the location of those Gates… and I read it in her thoughts. To tell you the truth, she took a Raven from the Alké to go there, with the crew's blessing."
"That girl always seems one step ahead of us, despite our brilliant minds and Herculean efforts. One might think that in our rational world, ordered by science, there truly exists such a thing as destiny, gods, saints, and chosen prophets. So, Pallas-must I beg you? Where are the Gates of Empyrea? On what planet did she go?"
Pallas stepped back two paces, clasped her hands behind her back, and replied with the pride of one who knows:
"Caliban, my captain. The planet of war. The Frontier with the League. The one upon which the Transients, under the peace treaty between the HS and Antioch, imposed a century-long prohibition of visitation. Caliban-the system where Gorylkin was born, saint of the Xenos. Caliban… our next destination, I suppose?"