“I am not your traveler.” Al declared. “I’m just Al Clark—an explorer—and I am visiting new places and documenting my findings.”
“How is it we found you inside the chamber that cannot be opened?”
Now it was Al’s turn to give an explanation.
“Your ‘sacred chamber’ is a long distance teleportation device, designed to transport people and material from planet to planet. My last trip put me where there was nothing but desert. It is where I found Falkor.”
“There are more places such as this?”
“Yes, my friend, there are many places like this. The stars in the sky you marvel at have many worlds circling them—and there are billions of stars.”
Dusty sat in his chair with his mouth open, his young mind so occupied, he did not think to close it.
Al learned he was on an island, the oceans surrounding it too vast to be explored by the primitive boats of the people inhabiting it.
The natives called it Thera, and it resided in a temperate zone where the weather was almost always pleasant. It was ten miles wide, and thirty miles long, with an ancient mountain at one end. The town grew around the base of the small alp, with close to six hundred people calling it home.
The islanders discovered the temple many years ago when most preferred the forests and meadows at the far end of the atoll. When word spread about the sacred place found inside the mountain, on the slopes of the giant mound called Vision Peak, the migration began. A town was born.
The holy temple faced towards the large end of the land mass, which made it the perfect location for observation, and was originally meant to monitor the activities of those that lived here. Like the rest of the alien research outpost’s, for some unknown reason, the facility was abandoned, making Al the first person to use the teleporter in an extremely long time.
King Agenor had complete control over the inhabitants of Thera. No one was allowed to visit the site unless requested by the king and sometimes the summoned never returned. He decided what products were produced inside the temple and traded them as payment for labor. The people could not grow enough food, or catch enough fish on the limited resources of the island, so one-third of the food came from the facility that overlooked the town, and in payment, they worked for the tyrant who held it.
There were unique items that trickled out on occasion; glass for windows, pocket knives, rings, ink pens with paper, and cooking stoves that required no fuel and lasted for years. Miracles of technology the townspeople could never hope to reproduce. Some of the products given as presents and some sold at exorbitant prices.
Darius paid dearly for the tiny portable light he gave his son for his twelfth birthday, and still had a week’s worth of work ahead to pay for it. He had a neighbor that showed him one. The man knew somebody that knew someone else and only paid two chickens and a knife. It was that bright slim lightstick that inspired him to give Dusty a gift worthy of the occasion. He did not, however, have the proper contacts to receive the deal his neighbor did. He paid the high price the man in the dark alley asked, without question, and without regret.
Royal coins, produced inside the temple, were used as currency. Unfortunately, on their one day off the citizens were required to attend church and pay tribute to the place where the traveler would return. Money was in short supply. It was a forced symbiosis, where the monarchy fed off the needs of the townspeople.
The king convinced enough people that everything he did was for the greater good of the kingdom, and these people are now his guards and entourage. Recently he began posting guards outside the temple at night. King Agenor grew up having his way and relished the power provided him with being king. His citizens now worked to surround his temple with a stone castle; to hide it from the world. Building his castle was all they did for six days a week.
Al stayed in the house the first two days, afraid of too many questions from the curious townsfolk who might recognize him as an outsider. He and Falkor reluctantly stayed in the house, awaiting the return of the occupants. Dusty brought him a book produced by the enlightened scholars in the temple that was supposed to be based on historical fact, but struck Al more as flowery propaganda. On the second night at dinner, he had more questions.
“Has anybody ever come from across the ocean?”
“No,” replied Darius. “We have stories, but none that can be proven. The King would have us believe we are the chosen ones and keepers of this world.”
“Did you know that the actual history of your people is inside your temple?”
“Many have suspected such. Only the scholars of the King are allowed to study the ancient writings.”
Al was still undecided about how much he should tell these hard-working, kind benefactors. He had solid reasons for keeping his mission a secret, but there were things they needed to know.
“Your ‘Temple,' as you call it, is an alien research outpost established by a race that seeded many worlds with humanoid life. They brought your people to this world, and a big part of your history is recorded and stored in the temple.”
Dusty was a good listener and brighter than the average twelve-year-old. He only spoke when he had a valid question. He said, “This place we live is called Thera. The name comes from inscriptions inside the temple, and tells us what to call our home—may I ask—where you are from?”
“Originally, I am from a planet called Earth.”
From that humble beginning tumbled Al’s story. He needed an ally if only to operate the controls to get home, but there was something about their nature that made him want to trust them. He also thought they could help each other, so he told them everything—well, almost everything.
He told them a fantastic story of colonial starships, with rows and rows of people in a deep sleep that lasted for decades. He described his rude awakening and the events that followed. How he and Chris began the process of waking the ship. He recalled with fond memory the party they had when they saw Avalon for the first time through the observation window, slowly turning below, and realized they were already home.
He spoke of how the colonists had befriended the natives, and when he and Liz almost bungled first contact. How they arranged Camelot and worked tirelessly to create a pleasant place to live and how the predators of Avalon attacked them, shattering their endeavor for happy, peaceful lives; forcing them into the cramped basement of the Caretaker outpost.
“You wish to bring your people here?” asked Darius.
“Well…yes. Maybe not here on the island, but here on this planet.”
“There is no place other than this. We have found only water as far as our boats can take us. You would have to live here. How many are there?”
“Four hundred and fifty-two colonists, plus twenty natives.”
“That is all that remains from the one thousand on your ship?”
“Yes. Some we lost getting here, and the Riktors got the rest.” Al felt he needed to explain, “The beasts were smarter than we gave them credit for…than
I
gave them credit for.”
They talked until early morning, trading questions and answers. Al did not, however, mention his special abilities, or his heroics and the people he had managed to save. He thought it best they found out in their own time. Then he would try to explain himself.
He spent a week hiding in the Foreman house during the day, and after their overnight talk began to go out at night to survey the countryside. He left on his first trip before sunset, wearing a hooded jacket like many of the townsfolk wore he walked past the outskirts of town and then ran. Following the shoreline, he avoided the temple and then scrambled up to the top of the mountain.
It was a good run, even in enhanced mode. His augmented vision helped, and his legs made quick work of the distance. It was twilight, and the sun was setting over the water when he arrived to find the top of the mountain was not flat, but concave, with steam rising from the bottom of a pit two hundred feet below.
At the highest point available he swept the horizon, and from his vantage point, he saw no sign of land in the distance. All he saw was rippling water, as far as the eye could see. In the morning, he asked Darius about the mountain. “How long has it been steaming like that?”
“It has always had a mist above it, and sometimes there are visions. That is how it got the name Vision Peak.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“No, it does not. The mountain sleeps, and will continue to. That is how it has always been.”
On his second trip out, he took Falkor with him. It was time the lizard with wings got out and stretched them. He waited until dark before leaving, and the little dragon was so excited he was bouncing off the floor. When Al opened the door and let him know it was okay to go outside, he immediately took to the skies. He was visible when moving against a variable background, but against the black of night, he simply disappeared.
His mission this evening was to see more of the temple. The information from Darius and Dusty about the king troubled him. One man with dubious intentions should not have complete control over the information and technology contained inside the outpost.
There were guards posted outside, but they were farmers and hunters, converted to the teachings of the king, and were not very alert. He kept to the shadows and worked his way to the door they used on his arrival, to find it locked. A solid shove told him he would leave significant damage were he to force it. He could get in, but he did not want to leave traces of his visit. Al moved on through the scaffolding and construction, looking for an entrance.
On both worlds he visited in the past, the outposts were embedded into the ground. One under a desert, and one inside a mountain. This research facility was no different and resided inside Vision Peak. The castle was a farce. A structure built to protect a place that did not need protection. The work forced on the townspeople was performed to inflate the ego of King Agenor, and a way to control the economy of the island.
Al wanted to procure a data block. Something they could use to gain clues to the history of Thera. His bionic legs allowed him to move quickly and silently, propelling him to a ledge with a ventilation screen hidden in a recess. In one fast motion, he ripped the cover from its fastenings and set it aside. His plan was to replace it when he left.
The metal shaft was a tight fit and required Al to crawl on hands and knees. It was an intake vent, with the night air whistling into the tunnel behind him. Unsure if the sound of the wind masked his movements or carried his noises ahead of him, he moved quietly and took his time.
The ventilation shaft he crawled through went straight for two hundred feet and then branched in three directions. He had no idea where he was, and left, right, or straight ahead made little difference.
His night vision revealed only ductwork in all directions, so he stopped for a moment to listen. While enhanced, Al could adjust his hearing to be quite sensitive, and faint voices from the duct to the right pulled him in that direction.
The tunnel came to another tee; the increasingly more distinct whispers turning to language as he reached the center of the junction. An opening in the floor, covered by a two-foot grate, looked down upon a royal guard’s ready room.
It was a small room, and Al could see the entire floor. Two men were sitting at a battered table having a discussion, with two more sleeping on unkempt beds. Extravagant uniforms hung on the wall along with a rack for charging a dozen laser pistols, with only half of the slots empty. In the corner stood two longer, much more deadly, laser rifles.
They are armed similarly to us. I wonder what other technologies they have managed to find inside the temple?
He heard part of the discussion, “…he has to maintain order. If he doesn’t, they will ask more of him than he can give. His generosity is well known.”
“Generosity? He could stand to do more for the townspeople. I do not like that we must collect tribute from people that can ill-afford it.”
“Tributes are required to support the kingdom. King Agenor has explained this many times.”
“Still…it does not feel right.”
Time was passing, and Al had to move on. As quietly as possible, he continued down the main vent while pondering the exchange, and thought it a sign of discontent in the ranks; which might work in his favor.
The next grate he came across was the main reason for his visit. Although there was only the soft glow of the indicators on the data cube readers, he could see glass cabinets surrounding the workstations that held the one-inch cubes used for the Caretaker’s data storage.
The cover was hinged and accessible from inside, which meant this passageway was intended for use when circumstances demanded it. The original occupants of the temple were smaller beings, and the opening was a tight fit, but Al slipped through and dropped to the floor with little difficulty.
He knew there was order to the database, and the beginning of Thera’s history would be on one end or the other. Al chose the end with the most dust and slipped the first in line into his pocket. He had what he needed.
Now to get out.
He had to crawl backward until he reached the intersection. With no room to turn around, his progress was slow. When he could turn around, he thought he heard music coming from one of the branch ducts and decided to investigate.
He was heading back in the direction of town and was surprised at what he found. Spread out below him was an observation room, converted to an elaborate throne room. One entire wall was a viewing screen centered on the town, and sitting on an ornate throne facing the screen was a man that had to be King Agenor.
Dressed in royal trappings, he snacked from an assortment of delicacies laid out on a side table and watched his kingdom. The music was unusual, and electronic, and flowed up and down the scale to follow the tune of its creator, long since gone. To complete the picture of decadence, a frightened young girl danced half-heartedly to its haunting melody.