Barrington Bayley - Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus - The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

‘Here is the path taken by the discontinuity. Now, the issue revolves around Rolce’s information that the body was secretly taken aboard the chronliner Queen of Time . Later this gilt-edged information was contradicted by the direct observation – and this has been verified by agents equipped with orthophases – that the body was not taken aboard. This anomaly suggests that time had mutated in a nonuniform way, leaving traces in the environment of both versions of history. Typical of a causal hiatus. The body is neither in Chronopolis, nor was it removed from Chronopolis. The perfect dilemma.

‘Now what became of the princess during the first version? There are six stops where the Queen of Time could have off-loaded the body, presuming it was not discharged into the strat in transit. We reason that the body must have been taken off the ship before the hiatus occurred, otherwise it would still be here in Chronopolis and indeed might still be resting in the mausoleum; there would be no anomaly. On the other hand, it had probably been offboard for only a short time when the hiatus occurred. Transition from one resting place to another would seem to offer the most likely circumstance for the dislocation of the cause-and-effect relationship.’

Mayar paused to catch his breath. This argument had been worked out between himself and Rolce, and it had cost them considerable mental effort.

‘Now look again at this discontinuity line,’ he resumed. ‘We find that it answers our deductions in every respect. It comes very close to intersecting the point in space and time when the chronliner was due to arrive at Umbul, Node Six. To be precise, it intersects Node Six just five hours after the Queen of Time docked.’

‘Umbul,’ breathed Vro. ‘The Holy City.’

‘We conclude that Umbul is where the princess was taken, and probably is where she still lies.’

‘Archivist Mayar has even pinpointed the streets and buildings through which the discontinuity passed,’ Rolce informed in a dry voice. ‘It sounds incredible. Nothing, an investigator’s void, and then, suddenly, clues begin again. The trail starts out of thin air.’

The prince rounded on him. ‘You believe you can take up the trail again – in Umbul? You can find my beloved Veaa using your normal methods?’

‘If our conclusions are correct, Your Highness, I feel every confidence.’

‘Then you and I will both depart for Node Six, Rolce. I will order my private yacht to be readied tonight. Go, prepare yourself. Your instruments, your gadgets, whatever you will need. Can you manage it alone? Or do you need your agents?’

The detective shifted his feet. ‘One or two men, perhaps.’

‘Whatever you need. Go, now. Return as soon as you can.’

With a bow the detective departed. Prince Vro flung himself into a chair and lounged there, relaxed. For the first time in many months his manner was almost cheerful.

‘Well, Archivist, I hear your establishment has been moved into the strat. A wise measure, perhaps.’

‘It was deemed so, Your Highness.’

‘And so how does it feel to visit the world of we mortals?’

Prince Vro’s tone was amicably sardonic; in point of fact Mayar found the necessity for the visit far from pleasant and he longed to return to the safety of his vaults. His department’s deployment into the strat had increased the sense of separation and isolation pervading the archives, and he had had to conquer a very considerable fear in order to make the trip to the Imperial Palace. Nothing but a command from a member of the imperial family was enough to persuade him to venture forth these days.

‘It feels unsettling, Your Highness. The world is in a far from happy state. It has lost stability. Who can tell what will happen?’

‘So you still feel it is all a dream, eh? Perhaps you feel you only wake from this dream when back in your archives.’

‘Something like that.’ Mayar licked his lips. ‘Your Highness, since you are going to accompany Perlo Rolce in the search for Princess Veaa, let me entreat you to take care. The Traumatics are highly dangerous people. They are afraid of no one.’

Vro laughed. ‘Why, I had thought you were well on the way to becoming one yourself!’

The archivist looked puzzled. ‘I, Your Highness?’

‘But of course! Surely you realise that all this gloomy talk of yours about time being a dream, and that only the strat is real, is part of the Traumatic heresy? That it conflicts with the doctrine of the Holy Trinity? You should be careful who you speak like that to. If Arch-Cardinal Reamoir were to—’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ Mayar muttered uncomfortably.

‘Probably, like me, you have no time for religion. And of course you avoided the misfortune of receiving a prince’s education. I know every aspect of Church doctrine by heart; it was drummed into me from infancy.’

‘My work is more scientific than religious,’ Mayar admitted. ‘I was brought up in the tradition of the Church, of course, but I cannot say I have made a study of heresies. It is not encouraged in a high official.’

‘Just as well, or you would probably be too frightened to indulge in your present freedom of thought.’ Vro swung a leg negligently from the arm of his chair. He seemed amused. ‘You are definitely heretical. Compare your frame of mind with the Church’s teaching on the Holy Trinity. God is the Father, the world of orthogonal time is the Son, and the strat is the Holy Ghost, by means of which the Father creates the Son. According to the Church the orthogonal world is real, palpable, actually existing, while the strat, or Holy Ghost, is less real because it is spiritual and potential. It’s a sort of median between the real world and God, who transcends reality.’

‘I know my catechism,’ Mayar muttered, a trifle put out by the lecture. Vro, however, continued. He enjoyed such discussions; although he was privately an atheist, theology fascinated him.

‘Your own beliefs come closer to those of the Traumatics,’ he repeated to Mayar. ‘The world is unreal, or relatively so, and the strat is real. According to them the world is created by Hulmu, their god who dwells in the deeps of the strat, and he creates it by projecting it on to a screen, exactly as in a cinema. Its entire purpose is to comprise a sort of picture show for him. That’s why their emblem of the creation is a hologram projector and why one of their ceremonial names for Hulmu is “the Projector Operator”.’

‘Strange that an organisation with such horrible practices should support them with so philosophical a doctrine.’

‘Oh, the cult of Hulmu is not new. It is at least as old as the Church. Some say it challenged the Church for supremacy in the early days.’

‘You mean it sprang from an independent source?’ Mayar frowned. ‘I always thought it was founded by renegades.’

‘The origin of the Traumatic sect isn’t quite clear,’ Prince Vro admitted. ‘But the Church’s own doctrine has been modified over the years. In the beginning it was somewhat closer to the Traumatic beliefs. God was deemed to dwell in the uttermost depths of the strat. The Holy Order of the Chronotic Knights even organised deep-diving expeditions to try to find God, but they all came to grief. Later the Church’s theology became more sophisticated and now it is taught that God cannot be found in any direction accessible to a time-ship. Seeking for him by entering the deeps of time is regarded as a trap for the ignorant, for it harbours not God but the Evil One.’

‘Hulmu.’

Vro nodded. ‘Officially the Traumatics are devil-worshippers. Hulmu is identified with the Adversary. It’s rather interesting that even the Church doesn’t dismiss the sect as simple foolishness. In the Church’s eyes Hulmu really exists, though he deludes his followers into believing him to be the creator.’