Collision with Chronos

“The Titans have a secret research establishment there,” the Chairman divulged. “They guard it so jealously that we haven’t been able to find out what goes on in the place. But the fact that Rond Heshke may now be on the staff would confirm that it’s connected with the alien interventionists in some way.”

“And the aliens are also of interest to us,” murmured Sobrie, nodding.

“Correct. We, as much as anyone else, would like to know who they were, where they came from, and what kind of beings they were. It’s possible that racial fanaticism on Earth results from the antagonism between man and the alien. If so, our psychologists say that fear of the alien will have to be rooted out before hatred of other subspecies dies away.”

Heads nodded. This theorem was known to them all. It did not, in fact, take a psychologist to be able to see it.

“I mention this only because we’d like more information, and it’s proving hard to obtain directly,” the Chairman ended airily. “Pass the word through your networks: does anyone know of any supplies being sent to the Sarn Desert? If so, what sort of supplies? By the way, the situation is made to look more interesting by the dramatic way Rond Heshke was suddenly picked up from Hathar.”

The masked man gave a hollow laugh. “That means nothing. The Titans love drama.”

“Yes, perhaps –” The Chairman turned suddenly as the door opened behind him, a pistol leaping into his hand.

But it was only the guard. “There’s a report of Titan patrols in the area, Chairman. Thought you had better know.”

“Thank you. You’d best get away, and tell the street observers to do the same.”

The door closed behind the guard. “We’ll wind it up now, for safety’s sake,” the Chairman ordered quickly. “Is anyone without a cover?”

Sobrie held up his hand. Being an artist, he was generally obliged to travel without being able to supply any particular reason. The others would all have equipped themselves with business or personal cover-motives for being in Cymbel. Most of them would be attending the World Economic Integration Conference Preliminary Hearings – the reason why Cymbel had been chosen for this meeting.

“Right, you leave first,” the Chairman ordered. “If the guard’s still here ask him to guide you past the patrols, and leave the city right away.” He glanced around the table. “You’ll all be notified of the next meeting.”

Without ceremony Sobrie left the room. The others would follow at ten-minute intervals, the masked man leaving last of all.

The guard had already vanished. Sobrie checked the alley outside, then slipped from the derelict building. He strode quickly, almost running, until he reached the narrow defile that gave out on to a main thoroughfare.

The Titans had probably cottoned on to the fact that planet-wide conventions were a good opportunity for clandestine meetings, he thought. The Chairman would have to think of something else.

He saw one or two uniformed Titans about, but guessed that most of them were in civilian clothes. It was not hard to spot the tall, fair-haired young men by the cold, supercilious way they scanned the faces of passersby. Probably there were some people known to them that they were hoping to find.

He forced himself not to cringe as he walked by them. He was still worried by his obvious association with his own brother. But that had been weeks ago, and there had come no knock in the night. He could only presume that he had covered his tracks well. And the one track he had not covered, Blare had covered for him. With an s-grenade.

He arrived at Cymbel’s large transport field and bought a seat on the next rocket to Sannan. He had over an hour to wait, so he had a drink to calm his nerves, then decided the reception lounge wasn’t the best place to be hanging around. He went into the district adjoining the field, wandered around for a few minutes and went into a public drinking lounge. After a couple more drinks he felt better.

There was really nothing to be afraid of, he told himself. The Chairman was simply being overcautious – a wholly admirable strategy. The Panhumanic League hadn’t gone through over a century of experience without learning how to survive.

Several drinks later the rocket roared off from the transport field with Sobrie aboard. During the two-hour flight, arcing up above the best part of the atmosphere, he tried to sleep; but his head ached and he thought constantly of his brother.

It was an autumn evening when the rocket planed down into his native city of Sannan. It was a beautiful city, untouched by the dev wars. Rows of apartment blocks marched across the skyline, shining with muted colours in the slanting sunlight. Challenging them for prominence were the domes and towers of cathedrals, once centres of the old religions for which Sannan had been famous. These religions had been discouraged and were practically defunct now; the cathedrals were used for Titan pageants and for ceremonies revering the Earth Mother.