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  “That’s why we insisted on the development and incorporation of an artificial transceiver, so that we could maintain contact with each other throughout the ship and even with Scouts outside the vessel, once we arrive on–”

  “And that’s why I have temporarily turned the transceiver off,” he smiled coldly. “The others were told, no doubt, that you would warn them if I became unmanageable. Then they would come to your aid. I WILL HAVE NO SUCH TREASON HERE!” Vochan approached the couple slowly. Richard could see a vein pulsing high on the forehead of the Commander, and a sheen of perspiration had appeared. “You will obey me,” he concluded, his voice now so quiet that it could hardly be discerned.

  “Let it be shown on the ship’s log that Scouts Sheldrif and Melleny on assignment with Commander Vochan are convinced that the Commander has shown himself unfit for duty,” Sheldrif continued clearly, his voice cold as ice. “We request that the ship’s computer analyze the–”

  Suddenly the image disappeared and the moss-like walls of the room seemed to reform around them. Karen turned to Richard, her eyes brimming over; he slipped his arms around her and held her close. Karen’s emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he struggled and finally succeeded in maintaining a semblance of balance. When he felt that the worst of the crisis was over, he cleared his throat.

  “Tutor, why did the play-back stop?” he asked hesitantly.

  “I am sorry;” Tutor paused. “Some sections of the record have been lost due to extensive storage system failures.”

  Richard wondered for a moment at the phrasing of the response, then he dismissed it from his mind. He looked at Karen, noting that she was more in control of her emotions, and that she was able to give him a weak smile of reassurance. He decided to direct Tutor to continue with whatever was available.

  A moment later they were drenched in brilliant sunshine. Scout Craft Seven sat near the summit of a well-treed hilltop on a bare patch of rich, dark soil; there was no sign of the fake battlements that were to give the ship the flavour of a medieval castle at a later date. Instead, the earth was piled up roughly, and formed a ramp around most of the ship, covering the bottom third of its curved surface. As they studied the scene, three men, which they both concluded to be a part of the contingent of the Scouts accompanying the Commander, shimmered out of the ship and looked around uncertainly. After a moment more of hesitation they wandered off, down the hill, out of the picture.

  The scene changed to sunset; a red glow hung over the ship, giving it a slightly unreal appearance. Huge blocks of light-coloured rocks were stacked around on the ground, and a few patches of grass could be seen, where the soil had lain undisturbed for an unknown period of time. A low hum announced the arrival of what Richard instantly dubbed an ‘anti-gravity sled’, piloted by the Commander. He landed it close to the ship and jumped down, clambering over the blocks towards one of the spherical ends. As he climbed up onto one of the blocks nearest to the black surface of Scout Craft Seven and leaned up close to it, a loud growl was heard. Vochan spun around, inadvertently losing his balance. He slipped off the rock and fell out of sight, hitting the ground, or more likely one of the other blocks, with an audible crack. At that moment a cougar came into the field of view and bounded over to the place where the commander had fallen. There was a brief scream, then all was peaceful once more.

  The stars reappeared and Tutor broke the stunned silence:

  “According to the written log, Vochan selectively blocked all the pre-arrival memory patterns of his crew before the ship landed; this technique of mind manipulation was also used to cause blocks in various thought-processes, severely limiting the Scouts’ ability to draw conclusions from data. Once he had landed the ship, he revived the Scouts and sent out some of them to gather data on the local inhabitants, whom you would know as First Nations – he recorded that they were termed ‘Indians’. The others were kept on site to help him camouflage the ship. What made him plan to disguise Scout Craft Seven as a castle is not recorded. However, the records indicate that he directed Gartnal, the Senior Scout, to set up a disinterest zone for the area.”

  “What do you think was the reason, Tutor?” Richard prompted, after a moment’s silence.

  “It might be concluded from the amusement evident on the log voice track that he thought it suitably ridiculous and demeaning to the Scouts to use the tremendous power of the mind, amplified of course by a computer, to make the totally out-of-place Citadel, disguised incongruously as a European castle, appear to be of no consequence to anyone who might happen across it.”

  “How could anyone as paranoid as Vochan ever get appointed as the leader of such an expedition?” Karen demanded, her feelings very much on the boil. “My parents never stood a chance!”

  “My analysis suggests that factors such as racial, tribe or class prejudice, feelings of inadequacy and jealousy may not have been included in any calculations made to determine the appropriateness of the Commander. Perhaps there was a cultural void between those of your ancestors who had the mind powers, and those who did not. The history of this planet is full of such problems.”

  Karen was quiet for a while, as she tried to come to grips with the enormity of what she had just learned, and what Tutor had surmised.

  “Wait a minute, Tutor,” Richard began, a hint of confusion in his voice. “Vochan didn’t have any real need to be concerned about the appearance of Citadel, anyway. He had just come for a short stay, just to ‘observe the natives’ for a while - no more than a couple of years, anyway. He didn’t intend to…” Richard’s voice faded away as some of the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place, making a totally unexpected image. He looked up, astonished. “Now, hold on! Didn’t you mention something about ‘natives’ meaning ‘Indians’; what about the second and third generation locals from Europe? Hadn’t they been here long enough to be considered natives? And just when was this, anyway? Didn’t I hear the computer mention some kind of date at the start of this play-back?”

  “Fourteen twenty-six was the ‘planet local year’, according to the record,” Tutor replied, matter-of-factly.

  “But that’s over five hundred years ago!” Richard exclaimed. “Are you telling me that Karen’s Dad lived for over half a thousand years?”

  “Uncertain. Records do not indicate how old the crew was at the start of the voyage, so I cannot be more accurate,” Tutor apologized.

  Richard laughed. “I guess the fact that this is a bit longer than the usual ‘three score years and ten’ doesn’t figure much to your ageless artificial intelligence, huh?”

  “What do you mean, Richard?” Karen asked, puzzled. “What’s this ‘three score ten’ business?”

  “Richard is just pointing out how much I have left out of your education, Karen,” Tutor explained. “The average life of an inhabitant of this planet is less than a hundred years, and it’s usually referred to as seventy years; a ‘score’ is old-fashioned English for twenty, hence ‘three score and ten’ is seventy. In contrast, your parents lived something in excess of five hundred and ninety earth years, as they were clearly adults at the time of their arrival here.”

  Tutor continued, after a short pause to allow this to sink in.

  “They would still be alive now if they had been allowed access to the full medical facilities of this Scout Craft, facilities that Vochan denied them in his paranoia.”

  The silence that followed this statement was heavy with unspoken potential, and continued for some time. Finally it was broken by Tutor’s hesitant announcement that further playback scenes were available for viewing. Richard and Karen exchanged glances, then nodded.

  The next view was of Sheldrif, sitting in the Moss Room; the familiar starry background was visible over his shoulder. This was not, however, what caused Karen to grip Richard’s hand more tightly than ever. Her father’s face was partly covered by a bandage, and one leg was propped up in front of him, wrapped in a black, shiny, film-like substance.

  “We buried
the Commander today, or what was left of him,” he began, fatigue causing his words to slur slightly. “There was nowhere to keep the body, and it had begun to smell strongly, so we dug a hole in the new soil around our home and put the body in it. One of the wild animals came back during the ceremony, and we had to kill it. Hamgern and Nichton were due back with Gartnal three days ago, but we have not seen them. Rictoner and Helnert came back yesterday with the last of the rocks for this structure, but the floating sled does not move very quickly any more. We are sure there must be a way of fixing this, but have been unable to find it.” He shifted his leg slightly, wincing as he did so.

  “Helnert has figured out a way to raise the rocks onto the structure. Once they are in place they seem to be automatically held there.” He sighed. “After we complete the rock-fringe we will be on our own. No further orders were left for us. None of us can remember what happened before the day that the Commander sent Gartnal and the others off somewhere. He did not tell us what they were supposed to do.” He coughed, holding one arm across his chest and revealing a further bandage that was partly hidden under the upper portion of his torn coverall.

  “We have decided to study the area and learn all that we can about it. Perhaps we will be able to deduce the reason for our presence.” He looked around at the starry background and the moss-like walls.

  “We don’t even know what the purpose is for this place we call home. Obviously it hasn’t been here for very long, and the floating sled suggests to us that perhaps even this huge rock-like thing could be moved. Melleny will try to obtain more information from the record system, but we are not hopeful. The system works well for recording, but access is limited to records we have stored recently, and a few basic study guides on computing and local geography. Even our own log is automatically transferred to a long-term system after sixteen days, and lost to us. Once again I request help, this is an emergency.” He paused, obviously hoping for something to happen, but there was no response. “Sheldrif, signing off.”

  They watched other records, punctuated by gaps that Tutor said were due to the presence of more damaged memory storage components. Eventually the marooned Scouts completed Scout Craft Seven’s disguise, without even knowing the true character of the habitation they were disguising, and the bare patches greened over in time. Many years passed and first natives and then settlers came to the area. Citadel’s disinterest zone worked perfectly; no one even noticed that the place existed.

  Sheldrif, Melleny and the other two remaining scouts quietly went about doing what they had deduced or inferred was their business, learning from the travellers who passed through the area and from the natives whom they befriended, aware always that they must remain a mystery to these visitors, and being far more of a mystery to themselves, as the true visitors – to Earth.

  They compiled a record of Earth’s history, and much later, when the Europeans finally arrived, the sciences were (re-) learned by the ever-curious Scouts. Sometimes principles and concepts seemed startlingly familiar, as if they had somehow known them before. Learning the local languages was an easy task with their talent at connecting with the minds of others, and they tried to become friends to all who passed through the area, as well as the natives in their tribal homes. Many squabbles – some between natives and settlers, some within each group – were smoothed over by the Scouts, and the area became quite popular, as its peaceful reputation became known.

  Access to the records was improved somewhat, but the existence of the Control Centre where Sheldrif and Melleny had confronted Vochan, the records from the period before their arrival on Earth, the secrets of the propulsion system, and the ship’s permanent log with all its star maps and planetary data, was never revealed or even surmised.

  Gartnal, Hamgern and Nichton never returned from their undisclosed mission, and the other Scouts, Rictoner and Helnert, died fairly soon after the first settlers arrived, one in an accident while out fishing in a small boat and the other to a mysterious disease, despite what Melleny and Sheldrif tried to achieve with the limited medic system accessible to them in the Pool Rooms off the Moss Room.

  The years passed. Centuries slipped by. Sometimes it seemed like the little part of the planet that could be seen from Citadel never changed; then came the ‘horseless carriage’, the ‘flying machine’ and finally the ‘men on the moon’. Sheldrif and Melleny recorded it all faithfully, never able to use the information, always hoping that someday things would become clear to them.

  After many such scenes had passed as if American history were repeating itself before their eyes, the next scene showed Melleny, laid out on a mossy couch, her skin tinged grey and her eyes sunken into her face. Again, Richard was nearly overwhelmed by the flood of emotions from Karen.

  Her mother made a great effort, and spoke, her voice so feeble that every word seemed to hang on her lips before falling like the lightest of snowflakes to the floor, where each instantly melted away.

  “Tell her it was… right,” she whispered, as Sheldrif walked into the field of view, carrying a bundle of blankets containing a newborn baby – the future Karen. “Tell her that I really wanted to –” She broke off, collapsing as she was overwhelmed by a fit of coughing, her whole body racked by the attack.

  “Tell her… I love her,” was all Melleny managed to say before she broke out coughing once more. She sank back into the soft surface below her, exhausted. Sheldrif laid the baby next to her, leaning the tiny head in the crook of her arm; she seemed to draw some strength from her daughter, as she was able to continue after a few moments.

  “Tell her how we gave meaning to our sojourn… by helping… all living things. Tell her she brought much more sense…” Melleny’s eyes closed, and she lay still.

  Sheldrif sat next to her, laid a hand on her head, stroked her pale, pale hair and rested the back of his hand against her cheek. He seemed to be almost mesmerised by the two girls in his life, close together before him, but separate now. It was clear that this was a moment that he had anticipated for so long, but it was bittersweet now that it was drawing so quickly to an end. The baby’s eyes were closed too – calmly unaware, and Sheldrif tensed as he maintained that physical link and prepared for the golden triangle of his family to become a duet again.

  After a long period of silence, where Richard almost thought the recording had paused, the slightest hint of movement indicated that Melleny was still there.

  “There must be a deep purpose for our existence, a reason for us being here on Earth.” She ventured in a still smaller voice.

  Sheldrif moved closer beside Melleny as her eyes opened for the last time, his other hand helping her raise her head so she could look at her baby, the child that would one day choose to be called Karen.

  “Tell her never to despair…” The beautiful blue of her eyes started to darken, going from brilliant blue, deepening in a few seconds almost to black. At this point her gaze flickered between Sheldrif and their new infant. Her final words were like the sound of a distant flute, almost lost in the farthest reaches of a thick, silent forest. “You will not fail… I wait for you… beyond the… starsss…”

  The room reformed around them, revealing Karen clinging to Richard and sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder.

  After a few minutes, Tutor spoke hesitantly. “There is… one further segment…”

  “Show it,” Karen cried brokenly. Richard nodded his agreement as he swallowed hard.

  Sheldrif was in the Moss Room alone, or almost so. In a mossy nook behind him a small form with pale, almost white hair slept, quiet and serene, under a silky covering. As Sheldrif leaned closer to the recorder, his features were revealed clearly, he looked stretched out, tired, old. Only his eyes were still the same, vital and dynamic.

  “This is my final report,” he whispered. “Citadel is still protected by the disinterest zone, and so my daughter is safe, at least for the moment. I am dying, I don’t know what of. The Pool Room medic system can do nothing, except tell me
that I have only a few weeks left. Since I discovered that my life is fading, I have struggled with the problem of my daughter’s future. She is only five, and needs someone to care for her. I have considered several possibilities, but rejected them all, until finally I came up with what I believe is the best solution. By using all I have learned about computers, and adapting much of the memory capacity of the short-term log, I have created a ‘Tutor’ for my little girl. I thought that the best I could achieve was to build a progressive lecturer and tester, but I seem to have developed a self-correcting and improving system. Now I can rest a little easier, knowing that this ‘Tutor’ is the next best thing to staying with her until she is grown. How I wish I could do that.” Sheldrif sat back, his face very pale in the silvery light.

  “She has taken the name of Karen for her own; it is the nearest English name that I could find… Karen wants to remember her heritage, I think, even while being inconspicuous.” He smiled faintly. Glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping child, he paused for a moment, lost in thought.

  “In about a week’s time I think that the Tutor will be sufficiently developed to look after Karen; at least by then it will be able to control the food mechanism and run the diagnostics on the Pool Medic system. Then I must leave, so as not to create any problems that might draw attention to my little girl and to Citadel, and, more importantly, so as not to cause my dear Karen any more pain than can be helped. The old car which Melleny and I were given in nineteen fifty-two will take me far enough away from here to ensure that no one connects my death with this sleepy little town.” He leaned forward, grimacing as the movement provoked pain from his unknown ailment.

  “Of all the things that I must trust in, I’m most worried by the Disinterest Zone. It takes so much power to maintain, and the energy reserves shrink each year as more power systems fail due to extreme age and what must be a lack of maintenance. The maintenance process has eluded me for countless years now; I am sure that this should have been easy to accomplish, but nothing I have tried has made any difference in this area. As for the concept of a Disinterest Zone, and the mind powers that can generate such a Zone, I have tried to leave instructions for the Tutor, but I have been unable to find a way to describe such an abstract idea in computer code. Once Karen reaches the age of eight or nine, she will begin to (unconsciously) demonstrate the process for the Tutor, and, hopefully, analysis will suggest a solution to my problem. Also, I must be honest and admit that my calculations might be in error; there appears to be a much greater drain occurring than could be caused by the Disinterest Zone alone. Once again, my limited understanding has left me frustrated. Sometimes I feel like I am about to discover the truth, but then the moment never comes,” he sighed.