He had to ask, but he knew the answer. He had known it, really, ever since he had woken from the “dream” of a world destroyed.
The emperor must have seen it in his face. He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Your friend is merely sleeping. Do you want us to wake him up?”
Valerian glanced again at the commander, and started to grin when he heard Filitt’s soft snoring.
“It can wait. And I wouldn’t call him my friend.” Valerian gazed intently at the emperor, sobering slightly. “Where do you come from?”
“Ah, I thought you had worked that out.”
He had. But it was one thing to think it, another to speak it.
“Planet Mül,” Valerian said quietly.
Laureline’s eyes were wide. The emperor continued to speak, and as he did so, Valerian saw in his mind, as real as if it were all playing out before him in reality, everything the Pearl said.
“Our planet was a true paradise, in which we lived in harmony with the elements.”
Valerian saw the Twelve Wise Sisters, as the Pearls called the dozen moons that orbited their world, hovering protectively over their child, the sea. Fishermen were hauling nets swollen with pearls, which they spread on the sand and, laughing, began to sort.
“Our main activity was fishing for the pearls which possessed phenomenal energy. They fertilized our lands, controlled the winds and tides…”
Carrying woven baskets of the precious objects, the Pearls strode inland, heading to a small crater. They upended their baskets, pouring thousands of harvested pearls into the crater’s mouth.
“Three times a year, we gave to the earth what the sea had given us. And so we had lived, in harmony, for centuries incalculable.” His voice turned heavy. “Until the day it all ended.”
Valerian tensed. He did not want to see this again. Did not want to see laughing children, chasing one another along the white sand beach, stop and stare as a meteorite streaked across the heavens, followed by thousands of others.
“In the sky over Mül,” said the emperor, “other people blindly fought out a brutal war. A war that wasn’t ours.”
“Your daughter died during the battle,” Valerian said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” said the emperor, his voice heavy with sorrow. “She died… along with six million others.”
There was silence. Laureline stared in horror, then chugged her cocktail. Valerian peered at her. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” Laureline replied, defensively. “I… I was thirsty! Can I get another wonderful house cocktail please?” She didn’t look like she thought it was wonderful. She looked sick and shaken by the realizations that were coming thick and fast.
And Valerian realized that he, too, could use a drink.
Noïntan Okto-Bar prided himself on being in control and operating by the book. No flashy, dramatic gestures, just hard work, a keen eye for gathering the up-and-coming as staff members, and a cool head when things got hot.
But now, though, he found himself holding an empty shot glass that had very recently contained Scotch to calm nerves that were more jangled than he could ever remember. He stared dolefully at the screen, resisting the temptation for another drink. One shot steadies nerves, a second gets on them , he told himself.
All at once, streams of data flashed on the screen.
“We have contact, General,” Neza informed him. He looked as pleased and relieved as Okto-Bar felt.
About time , the general thought. He plunked the empty shot glass down and straightened.
“All right, Captain Kris,” he said, his voice as calm and steady as ever, “we are locked onto you.”
“We see no signs of radiation or contamination,” came Kris’s voice. “Can you confirm?”
Okto-Bar’s gaze moved over the screen. “Sounds crazy, but yes… confirmed. Zero trace of either.”
“Make note that we are proceeding without our gas masks. Moving forward.”
Okto-Bar’s eyes flickered to the empty glass, then back to the screen. What the hell is going on down there?
* * *
The Pearls had brought Valerian and Laureline more drinks. They were cool, and sweet, and soothing, much like the Pearls themselves, and Valerian and Laureline drank gratefully. At last, Valerian asked, “What happened after the explosion? How did you survive?”
“We drifted in space for many years, in a spaceship that wasn’t ours. To survive, we needed to learn. So we studied your civilization, down to the smallest detail, searching for anything that could be of use, that could keep us alive. We found a portion of the ship that housed living plants. And so, we planted shoots, collected droplets of water on leaves. We analyzed your computer, and learned by trial and error how to operate it.
“Then, one day, we were picked up by scrap dealers traveling the galaxies. After a few years, their hold was full, and they went off to sell the cargo on a huge construction site.”
“Alpha,” Valerian breathed.
The emperor nodded. “The city of a thousand planets, where for hundreds of years so many species have shared their knowledge and intelligence with each other. Patiently and discreetly, we learned from each of them, and we pieced together our own vessel. Our planet is gone forever, but now, we are able to virtually reconstitute our world.”
“Amazing,” Valerian exclaimed.
“There are only two things that we lack,” the emperor continued.
“A Mül converter,” Laureline said.
“And a pearl,” said Valerian.
“The only one Tsûuri managed to salvage,” the emperor said.
Valerian was starting to fill in the blank spaces in the narrative. “So, a year ago, you signal your existence, and you make contact with us,” he said, working it out.
Laureline was piecing it together, too. “And the only thing you ask for in compensation for all you have lost is the last converter alive in order to mass-produce your pearl,” said Laureline.
“Yes,” replied the emperor. “That was all. We could do the rest.” A shadow settled upon his beautiful face. “But during the handover, things did not go as planned.”
“What happened?”
He paused for a moment, clearly still feeling the pain of what happened. “A unit came to negotiate with us outside the wall—where you stood just now. Tsûuri stepped through the wall to speak with them. We were all so pleased that, at last, we could honor those who had died by rebuilding the world we had so loved.
“A young captain met us there. He had a metallic box at his side—we believe it was the converter. He seemed uneasy, and spoke to someone who was not present. This person— the commander of the mission—asked how many of us there were. When the captain replied, he gave his orders.”
The emperor paused. “The commander of the mission said, ‘I want no survivors. Annihilate them all!’”
Valerian and Laureline stared at him. Valerian didn’t want to believe it. His people? Why?
The emperor smiled sadly. “The unfortunate captain looked confused, but he obeyed his order. Many of my people were fatally wounded. A few, including Tsûuri, managed to make it back through the wall alive.
“What… why…” Laureline stammered, shocked beyond the ability to form a coherent question.
The emperor continued. “After—after the attack, we continued to observe what was happening on the other side of the wall, hoping we could somehow rescue our injured brethren. But we could not—and we were not the only ones who were betrayed that terrible day. The poor captain received another transmission. The commanding officer spoke. ‘I said: no survivors. Annihilate them all!’ And so, the captain and his men fell—killed by hidden black-armored robots, tall, sleek, and merciless.”
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