Chapter Twenty One--THE SOLSTICE CELEBRATION
Precisely as planned, the navigator landed the ship on the flat surface of the tall five-sided pyramid. Even Nor was awed by it. Nor paid homage to his host. “It is a magnificent edifice.”
Celarius nodded graciously, accepting the compliment. A more conscious being would have hung his head in shame. Celarius held a deep secret about the landing pyramid. He could not rightly claim its creation, only its discovery and modification. Finding what eons of red dust had hid and flattening the top to modify it for spaceship landings would have been accomplishment enough for most men. Celarius was not one of them. He secretly counted the leveled-off pyramid among his creations. He surveyed the red sands of the planet, as a captain viewing the shifting seas that upheld his vessel. The massive carved head was his ship — the red rocks and fathomless drifting sands his sea.
The pilot broke into his thoughts. “Zelus just landed. Your AG bubbles await you.”
While Nor and Zolar were loaded into their bubbles, Celarius sped off to greet the other dignitaries. Then he returned, meeting them again half way to the Head. He greeted them, facing head on, bubble to bubble with Nor, Zolar, and Zelus. Due to the tight time schedule, his informal greeting was acceptable.
Speeding bubbles shimmered with soft melodic hums as they cruised northeast to the head, a wave of dignitaries following Celarius. Nature put on a display of its own that rivaled Celarius’ unequaled showmanship. In the distance, small pieces of asteroids burned up, disintegrating into smoldering oranges and gold as they crashed into giant lakes. Sprays of glowing cadmium yellow shot up as molten rock was flung into the air by a ring of volcano’s gushing across the horizon. The active volcanoes, sending up a constant shower of sparks, were 16 kilometers high. There were many large shield volcanoes. Some were over 24 kilometers high, releasing gases and heat far above the extensive lava plains they created.
Admiring the spectacles the Red Planet afforded, the dignitaries followed in the wake of their Leaders’ bubbles. Nor, Zelus, and Celarius knew they were at center stage even though physically isolated. Everyone tuned to their conversation.
Celarius was master of ceremonies. “I suggest you turn on your SES. It will filter the fog and red dust for a perfect image.”
A 4-D view appeared from the front of each bubble. An interface panel surrounded the occupants with views from different angles.
Celarius was in his element. “Since natural observation is a goal for many of you, you may want to take a look with the SES turned off. You will see that to our north, a large body of water about a quarter kilometer away is reflecting the sunlight, making it difficult to see through the dust.”
“Besides being beautiful, the lakes of the Red Planet are most interesting to scientists like me,” Zelus volunteered. “Water accumulated in large lakes and massive oceans to the north of the Cydonia region during the wet phase of the 105 year climatic cycle. This produced algae and in turn oxygen. Near the lakes and oceans, some plants related to algae evolved. These floating weeds were pink, red, and yellow. They account for part of the Red Planet’s coloration.”
As Zelus reviewed the evolution of the area, Celarius looked toward the Head. The object of his search was hidden by the swirling red dust that was eternal on the Red Planet. This morning it was mixed with patches of frost and fog. It was far too early in the morning for it to have burned off.
Celarius hoped the weather would cooperate. Using his SES, he checked. A mechanical voice responded. “At 6:18 A.M., due to a light breeze, viewing around Reception City and the Atlantian Head will be optimal.”
Now that he knew he had good news to share, Celarius had the SES repeat its auspicious prediction to the other bubbles.
Nor responded ceremoniously. “The atmosphere itself is cooperating to unveil your sculpture.”
“We’re in luck. The smoldering craters of volcanos and asteroid impacts make the atmosphere thick and warm.” Celarius used the SES interface to show a colorful 4-D atmospheric breakdown in all the bubbles. It showed 79% carbon dioxide, 13% oxygen, 2% nitrogen, 3% methane, 2% ammonia, 1% hydrogen and 2% water.
“We are lucky, indeed,” chimed in Zelus. As Chief Scientist, he felt it was his duty to elucidate. “The Red Planet can be extraordinarily violent. The temperature changes cause killer windstorms and 322 kilometer per hour winds can happen any morning. They’re worst during the climatic shifts every 105 years. Winds blow at different speeds in different places depending on the elevation. Frost and ice near the northern areas around the polar caps melt and freeze again during the climatic changes. Mornings can produce fog and frost in the north as they have today.”
“We’re all glad to hear it will clear,” said Nor, returning focus to the Head. “Celarius, tell us more about what we’ll see.”
“The Atlantian Head is more than art. It’s also a Red Planet solar calculator and Atlantian DNA projector. Given the good weather we’re blessed with, the Sun will shine through the back of the head and out the eyes. The projected beams will be viewed best within 100 meters of the head.”
Nor sanctioned Celarius’ role as co-narrator by nudging him on. “This is amazing. Please, tell us how you accomplished this feat.”
“I cut the head from an extinct volcano using a Convergent Radiation Plasma Bubble (CRPB) vehicle. I safely rode it into the volcano. The CRPB is the size of two large elongated anti-gravity bubbles. It is equipped with four long hollow tubes in front that give off special cool green plasma blasts. These cut, shape, and smooth the hardest rock easily.”
This time it was Zelus who gifted Celarius with honest admiration. “The plasma blasts may be a wonderful artist’s tool, but the results depend on the talent of the being who wields them. A fantastic result on a scale like this requires skill and artistry. In addition, you had to sustain that effort. You cut through miles of extinct volcano. How long did it take you?”
“Three years -- twelve Atlantian hours a day, seven days a week.”
The tribute Nor paid him was well deserved. “You have earned this celebration a thousand times over.”
Celarius dipped his bubble in a silent eloquent bow of thanks.
“Some viewers may think that the canals were also plasma blasted,” said Zelus. “Actually water evaporated due to a global axial swing that caused temperatures to heat the polar caps. A constant runoff of precipitation and sapping by subsurface waters produced large 32 kilometer deep valleys. The extensive erosion formed deep canals were all cut over time by running water. Volcanoes and falling asteroids exposed and drained large pockets of underground water. Nature’s sculpting is also impressive.”
Celarius bubbled into the most advantageous viewing position. Anticipation hung more heavily about them than the planets atmosphere as the bubbles buzzed into place. No sooner had the last bubble arrived than the sun played its heavenly appointed role. Two golden beacons lit the massive stone face. It was as though the divine spark of life had struck, illuminating it from within and flooding out across the crimson land. The light played with waves of shadow, deepening and enriching the patterns in a sea of scarlet sands.
The hum of the bubbles resonated within an awed silence. They felt they had witnessed the first dawn. Celarius emphasized the hush of appreciation by breaking it. He suddenly zoomed up close to the head, knowing everyone would follow. He held poised in one key position after another to show its gigantic features to the best advantage. After the bubble completed several close-up inspection tours, Celarius banked sharply and pivoted away. He trimly brought his ship around, leading the others.
He adroitly flew around the massive head, then aimed the ship directly at the solid rock that formed the back of the Head. Nor, Zelus, and a few close enough to see, expected him to slow and hover to inspect the surface details. Instead Celarius accelerated. They gasped a collective gulp of fear, expecting a burst of flames. Instead, Celarius’ bubble vanished.
Approaching cautiously, they saw the ship had not dissolved into thin air. It had gone into an entrance hidden in shadow. They entered the opening where moments ago the sun had seemingly penetrated stone and caught up with Celarius. As they tunneled into the cavernous inner skull’s corridor, sunlight filtered in behind them. Bouncing off various skillfully carved walls, it created a kaleidoscope of light and a prism of rainbow-reflected colors. As they flew deeper inside, it grew brighter.
Celarius spoke like a tour guide. “That mass of rope-like material is the DNA projection activated by the solstice light, front and back.”
Zelus muttered, “Goodness, look at the detail! What? O-Prophesy!”
“What is it, Zelus?” Nor’s voice was edged with sharp expectation of trouble. “First, disengage link.”
“Done.” Zelus studied the roped DNA. “Look closely at the detail. Count the strands of DNA.”
Nor, muttered, “O-Prophesy! Similar to the Ancient Ones! Don’t let on now. We’ll deal with this later. Engage link.”
Celarius cruised on, leading the bubbles toward the front of the head. His words swelled with pride. “Here is the area behind the eyes. I like to think these eyes will look out at the universe forever projecting Atlantian genealogy.”
“Maybe they will, my friend. Maybe they will.” Zelus’ voice was low with reverence. Beholding the massive carving was a soul-shaking experience for him. He felt that all who entered here would shiver up against a divine spark. Some would snuff it out with their cold spirits, others would ignite.
Celarius took them to every corner of the cranium, from nose canal to brain. He speeds up slightly as he flew through the capacious internal structure. The tunnels of carved rock surrounding them compressed their perception of time as well as space, making their passage seem thrilling and risky. Celarius paused to punctuate that effect, then zoomed out into the vastness of the sky, following on the last fading beam of focused sunlight. As the sun and Celarius exited through the stone-walled eyes, the rest of the bubbles followed. When all flew back into bright sunshine, the silence was palpable.
Less than modest, Celarius basked in the hushed silence. Yet despite his pride, he wondered if they felt true respect and awe.
Zelus was ecstatic, gushing with enthusiasm in a way that leading scientists seldom do. “More people must see this. Not just by SES but in person.”
Nor’s voice was touched with sad irony. “Perhaps we should colonize The Red Planet.”
“Colonize the Cydonia region of The Red Planet! How impossible it would be to relocate here! This is part of the fretted terrain. There are many lakes and oceans, in fact the deepest lakes out there are 837 meters deep. And algae are common near water. But this algae produces only a little oxygen in the thick atmosphere — not enough to breathe properly. This particular Red Planet algae is prized for unique properties that produce high-grade oxygen. They work well enough in our climate control systems. Through DNA manipulation they can produce grade ‘A’ oxygen for our systems, but we could not produce enough to create a livable atmosphere.”
“Even in our climate control systems, the air feels synthetic,” Nor commented. “I can tell the difference.”
“Grade ‘A’ oxygen is just that, whether generated by atmospheric conditions or bottled up algae.” Zelus responded. Realizing he had just publicly contradicted the Supreme Magistrate, Zelus gushed out a stream of details as if seeking to wash away his faux pas. “Regardless of the quality of the atmosphere, other things disqualify The Red Planet as a candidate for colonization. There are large swings in the axial obliquity every 105 years which cause great climatic variations -- the wind storms and polar variations we discussed earlier.”
Nor saw that they were about to descend into Reception City. “Given how inhospitable the surface of the planet is, we are all the more privileged to indulge in the luxuries that await us inside.”
--
Arriving first at the reception area, Celarius landed his bubble lightly. A Crystal Intelligent appeared immediately, glad to serve a creative genius. The SIC parked it quickly, making room for the other dignitaries. Soon a galactic fleet of two and three-seated bubbles would form as the guests arrived.
Celarius did not pause to survey Reception City as he skittered nervously around the entrance. The great artist paced back and forth, awaiting the other Atlantian dignitaries. The solstice viewing and the inner tour of the head’s DNA strands had been flawless. The reception, however, was similar to performance art. Arranging it as a sensory experience was complex. To Celarius’ regret, living beings were more unpredictable than even the turbulent surface of The Red Planet. He could not always sculpt them to conform to his convictions.
The army of SIC’s waiting to serve remained out of sight. As he nervously walked the empty massive halls, Celarius might have been the only being on the planet. He did not relish the solitude. Celarius should have been aglow with pride in his achievement. Words of praise from the Supreme Magistrate and Zelus were as scarce as Smilodon teeth. No greater honor was possible. His Atlantian Head was a triumph, the crown jewel of a life devoted to art as he knew it was a lie. Although he felt the glow surrounding him, he did not feel comfortable in it.
Before getting out of their bubble, Nor and Zelus had a discussion. “The planning holograms did not do this justice,” announced Nor.
“A virtual map might show you six pyramids with five sides and that they are within an area 13.2 kilometers wide by 5.1 kilometers long. It would even give you a suspicion of their 1,012 meter height. But looking up at the real thing is quite different.”
“You are right. I can easily count the ten clear enviro-bubbles that shelter them and know from a virtual map that they are massive. That does not convey how they shimmer in the sun reflecting swirling red dust.”
“I’d venture to say, they dwarf even a Supreme Magistrate.”
“You would be right.” Stated Zelus, continuing, “the configuration of the DNA strand was not Atlantian but of Star Trader. I wonder if Celarius has dwarfed himself and his reputation.” Nor replied, “we will soon see if others will make that case.”
--
As planned, the first one out of his two-seater bubble was Nor. He was ushered by SICs to Celarius. Although they had just shared a ship and had met on other occasions, Celarius was again impressed by the bearing and stature of the Atlantian Leader. Any Leader could seem formidable in the confines of the customarily small control deck of even the largest spaceship. Celarius remembered on the ship how Nor impressed him. From the SES, he had recreated and viewed the bubble-enclosed pyramids and the Atlantian Head they framed. Only Nor could remain compelling when such massive buildings and monumental art filled the background.
As he approached Nor, a big smile grew on Celarius’ face. The lie cast aside, he advanced his large, calloused hand. ”Mr. Administrator, thank you so much for coming.”
At the moment, the crowd swept in like the storm-driven sea. They were quickly surrounded by those wishing to reach greatness by nearing those who truly had it.
Nor smiled, returning the artist’s greeting. Those who saw this rare expression from their Leader were stunned by the sincerely, the inner light, the sheer benevolence of his smile. The political game began. “How could I not come, Celarius?” His hand swept across the spectacular view. “What you have done makes the word ‘extraordinary’ seem completely hollow.”
Nor walked with Celarius as he spoke, discouraging the milling throng from taking the liberty of greeting them. As they moved through the room, he admired how Celarius had created different angles in the walls that encouraged different views of the art work. Since the top officials were slated for the celebration in this dome, it had the best vantage.
Nor gathered an aging Yutan to his side. “Remember Zelus?”
Celarius enthusiastically cupped his hands in the manner traditional at formal gatherings. He held his hands in front of his face, just below his eyes. Zelus followed suit. They looked into the eyes of the other and touched finger tips. It was as if they held a sphere, encompassing all that would pass between them. This ancient tradition symbolized a continuous exchange of catching, receiving, giving. Both parties symbolically exchanged sprits.
“It has been a pleasure,” Zelus intoned. “But no one in Atlantis could not know you as the renowned scientist, Celarius. Especially today.”
Celarius responded ardently. ”It is truly an honor to be with the inventor the Graviton particle.”
After only a moment, Nor was spirited away by another dignitary. Zelus accepted a SIC waiter’s offer of a specially prepared black wafer and DNA-enriched blue Bilberry tea. Each was designed to taste richly bittersweet, produce instant refreshment, and a euphoric lift. Celarius also took one of each.
As they munched and sipped decorously, Zelus walked him away from the mob. ”I’m truly impressed by your achievement. I’m curious. Why did you base it on an ancient solstice? Why create a solar calculator that only marks every 330,000 solar years?”
Celarius had a vacuous answer ready. He replied without giving anything away. “My art is a vision. Light seals and reveals. It is what it is. A paradox, perhaps. It is only my interpretation.”
Zelus didn’t stop at the verbally-drawn boundary of artistic privilege. He knew when he had stumbled upon false modesty. “All things are what they are. The DNA projection for example.”
Celarius had not expected a direct comment of this nature. He weighed his response. He thought Zelus must have immediately recognized the carved head and DNA strands projected inside as the Ancient Ones’ creation.
Zelus flared his ferociously furry eyebrows. “Do you know about the secret DNA strand?”
Celarius was curious. Thinking down deep, he felt a hint of danger within this odd question. “DNA is indeed a mysterious miracle.”
They were no longer beyond the edges of the crowd. It had quickly engulfed them with a motion of clangorous chatter. This particular noisy crowd was almost entirely made up of Yutans. It was Zelus they wanted to be near, not Celarius.
Celarius began a lengthy explanation of the sculpting process, prolonging the conversation. He hoped to extract information, not give it. “Plasma jets are as exciting to work with as they are powerful.”
“They have cut close enough to ancient secrets. Are they strong enough to shear through to the truth?”
“Only that buried in rock, not in the mind of any being.” Celarius chattered on about cutting through rock.
The two might as well have been dueling with plasma jets. Each tried to cut through to the other’s inner meaning, while revealing nothing.
--
At the far left of the reception area were two of Zelus’ fellow Yutan scientists. They were not radicals, but they viewed the head with deep reservations. Their race had almost died because of activities similar to those connected with Celarius’s artwork. Yutans who had changed their former wasteful ways found in Celarius’ projects a shaming reminder of their wanton past.
The Yutan with eyebrows even bushier than Zelus’ arched them disdainfully. ”I’m all for art. Culture is the keystone of civilization. But . . . ”
“Ah, the ‘but’,” his elder replied. “Like what he did on the Striped Planet.”
“Yes. The pink vortex.”
“A 410 kilometer per hour cyclone in the upper atmosphere. It was elevated 9.3 kilometers above the surrounding cloud deck by an upward convection of warm gases from below.”
“I understand that the pink color came from condensation of phosphorus in the cloud tops and contamination by organic molecules synthesized by lighting deep in the planet’s atmosphere.”
“That’s true. He used the Quantum Solar Force Field.”
The scientist took a sharp bite from his wafer. “That produced the 13,998 kilometer wide great pink spot. It was supposed to look like an eye. Instead it bore witness to destruction.”
“His supposed genius, didn’t prevent that problem with the Quantum Solar Force Field.”
“That’s right. The eye-wall stayed active after the field was turned off. They had to shorten that reception when the eye wall reversed.”
“That’s not the worst of it. The spot forms and disappears every three hundred years. I doubt that’s beneficial to the planet’s environment.”
“No doubt, it’s harmful. Then there was that project on the Hazy Planet.”
They were joined by another scientist, who was rather tall for a Yutan. His stature marked him as a hybrid. He was one of many hybrids who denigrated Celarius because he reminded them of their self-destructive past. “I couldn’t help overhearing, gentlemen. I believe Celarius is more attuned to his works than most artists. Actually, he is a kind of Yutan antihero. While we love his art work, many of us deplore the damage to the atmospheres he manipulates. On the Hazy Planet you mentioned, he used Binary Magnetic Fields to create a 13-kilometer vortex. It pulled in 13 kilometers of atmosphere to fill the void every four seconds. The blinking eye he created in one day required seven years for the planetary atmosphere’s recovery.”
“Did you hear what many elder Yutans did? There may have been a storm of angry letters and threats toward him and what the elders called “uncivilized half-bred children.” But that is nothing but words. Threats without action are empty.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s a decade later and he gets at least one detailed death threat a week. That has to wear at anyone.”
“Erosion is slow. They need to be purged. The quick flash of a backfired plasma jet would be far more effective.”
Vicious though these comments were, they were neutral compared to the corrosive conversation across the reception room. Away from crossbreed Yutan ears, two pure elder Yutans talked secretly.
“I notice his so-called impure wife isn’t here.”
“It should be death for all Yutans like Yanna’s to marry a filthy Atlantian like Celarius. These Atlantians contaminate our pure heritage, they lord him over us for his artistry, when in reality he’s a destructive barbarian.”
“It should be illegal for any Yutan to marry an impure foreigner. Such a marriage attempts to sanctify what cannot be made holy. Half-blood is an abomination.”
“Their crossbreed brats should be crushed and burned alive.”
“I agree. The offspring of a defiled outsider and a Yutan pollutes our Yutan purity. We should be doing more than a hate mail campaign toward the traitor Yanna and her half-breed brats.”
“I hear we have already acted on this atrocity.”
They were careful that no one overheard their bitter invective. The equally venomous remarks by some Atlantian citizens were less covert. For if there was one thing that some Yutans and Atlantians might agree upon, it was that SIC's were insignificant. Bigotry was rampart at all levels of society.
No sooner had a SIC graciously served a prosperous Atlantian couple, than they felt compelled to fuel each others sense of superiority by disparaging the SIC.
“Those things have chosen a life of servitude. Clearly it should be viewed as a slave not a citizen.”
“Things like them certainly aren’t meant to be free independent Atlantians like us.”
The wife studied the wafer the SIC had ceremoniously offered her. “Do you think these are safe to eat? It wasn’t wearing gloves.”
The husband dropped the wafer to the floor and ground it underfoot. His gesture of disgust went largely unnoticed by the 410 dignitaries, a score of council members, and variety of Atlantian citizens.
“Look over there,” said his wife, dropping her wafer as though it were filth. “Some of those things are here as guests.”
She had spotted a small group of SICs on the crowd’s perimeter. Some were hovering, others walking. Since they had their choice of plastic forms, they could choose any shape for this occasion, the way others might select clothing.
A SIC that had duplicated Atlantian form, hovered as no Atlantian could. “How dare a thing like that take on our form? Slaves should look like slaves. If they must mimic other forms, let them look like Yutans.”
A pure Yutan who was secretly in attendance was equally disgusted. He saw a SIC in Yutan form, bend to wipe up the trampled crumbs. This put him at the feet of the complaining Atlantians. The Yutan could barely mute his outrage. But keeping it to himself he parroted the common attitude. “How dare a thing like that take on our form? Slaves should look like slaves. If they must mimic other forms, let them look like Atlantians.”
Both the pure Yutans and the Atlantians would have been appalled had they known they had shared essentially the same words. Their hatred toward the SIC’s and each other seemed intensified in the presence of the head. It was as if its monumental size made them smaller. Petty beings are diminished by greatness and seek to destroy it to restore themselves. The shadow of the head penetrated many secrets.
--
Just when Celarius and Zelus were nearing a stalemate in their war of inquiry and non-disclosure, Celarius was distracted by his Yutan assistant. Everyone was aware that something exceptional must have happened for him to interrupt their conversation.
He mouthed his apology and cut to the point. The aide whispered in his ear, “There is a Vid-com call from Atlantis for you. It’s your wife.”
Celarius excused himself. He passed some guests who nodded their greetings as he strode past. The shadow of the head darkened as he marched down one of the long chains of small bubbles connecting with the next reception bubble.
“He’s not a happy being,” Zelus pronounced to the startled aide. “He builds monuments more easily than his life. A career based on bettering one’s last creation is driven by a need for adulation and approval. He will never find self-respect if he continues to look outside himself.”
The assistant skittered away. He felt that the social order had been breached by such a confidence.
--
As he walked, Celarius made a Vid-com connection to Yanna. The connection was completed, projecting her image. Celarius continued to make his way through the bubble chain. Her image trailed slightly as if in pursuit, always just far enough away so that he could not touch it if he had reached out.
Along with Yanna’s image came a flood of sensations, the rush of dashing water falls, the cool shine of marble floors, the heady, creamy fragrance of magnolias. Amid the cascading sensations, he finally admitted the image of her face into his consciousness. He wished that he had continued to evade her.
Her face was distorted by tears, as if they were acid that had melted her flesh.
“Yoris?” Celarius asked. His missing son’s name cut through him as he spoke it.
Yanna’s eyes were deep as a grave. “Shaika. She took her own life.”
The silence sculpted into a deep hollow by his lack of response was intolerable. Yanna filled it with words of her own. “I’ve been trying to reach you for three hours. I knew you wouldn’t accept calls until your work was finished. But you needed to know. I need you here.”
Celarius nodded vaguely. “I’ll be home within eight hours.”
She was adamant. “Celar, I need you home now. Damn your dignitaries! Their reception is our child’s funeral feast.”
The bombardment of threats over the years had struck home. The eroding fear of the terrorist’s weapons had been as effective as a plasma blast after all.
“Now,” he lamented. “This had to happen, now?”
“Of course. You think your absence was insignificant? If you’d been here, perhaps she could have borne Yoris disappearance. If you’d been here, you might have driven out nightmares of what the Yutan terrorists could be doing to him. If you’d been here . . .”
“This was my moment. A single day of glory and celebration. Should not genius be admired? This is my time.”
Well-deserved accolades became lingering, moldering dust in his ears. “I wasn’t worried about Yoris. How could I know Shaika would be so weak?”
Yanna recoiled. Celar had always been selfish, but this was beyond forgiveness. There was no point in replying, even if she were able. Her Vid-com image slipped further away, evading a touch that was not extended. She disconnected the transmission.
Celarius was not even mindful of her disappearance. The indisputable facts worked like a subtraction problem in his mind, presenting a terrible remainder. His beautiful and loved daughter was dead. Only his son was left.
For the first time in his life, panic ran over Celarius, stampeding him with unanswered questions about his only surviving sibling and grieving wife. Where? How? Why?
Celarius decisively returned to the main reception. He was nearly there when he sent out a Vid-com message. “Yanna, I promise you, I’ll leave before the reception ends. I’ll be back in Yutanius and home no later than eight zero zero.”
As he approached the main reception area, Nor and Zelus intercepted him. They had ventured a bit into the bubble chain, seeking deep privacy.
Zelus began matter-of-factly. Had not his importance halted Celarius, his sincerity would have caused him pause. ”I almost wish I’d chosen art as a career rather than science.”
Low though he was in spirt, Celarius was nonetheless honored. “You make science into an art.”
Zelus felt the strain in the words. “Something’s disturbing you.”
Unable to dissemble, Celarius explained.
Nor and Zelus offered a moment of respectful silence. Then Nor leaned over, resting his hand on Celarius’ arm. He confided, hiding some truth, ”My own son, Ari, and Zelus’s daughter, Yutana, are searching for Yoris at this moment. We will spare no effort to find him.”
Zelus nodded his silent agreement.
Celarius tendered a wan smile in thanks.
Nor and Zelus took the guest of honor by the elbow and steered him to a quiet alcove. They did not want their absence from the reception noticed.
“Celarius, I will understand completely if you choose not to stay for the rest of the ceremonies. I can imagine how you must feel. Let me again reassure you that we will spare nothing to find your son. Your work itself will speak for you. I and all Atlantis appreciate what you have done for us. None will fault you for leaving.”
Celarius seemed stunned. His demeanor grew somber. “Thank you, Mr. Administrator.”
Sympathetic though he was to another father’s plight, Zelus had to press his advantage. “What inspired the strands of DNA? It certainly is not Atlantian.”
Celarius let his grief deflect the question. “Mr. Administrator, I am taking your advice and following my own instincts. I must leave now. Please excuse me. I must prepare for my immediate departure.”
Nor and Zelus were stunned by the arrogance of Celarius bluntly cutting off the question. Nor let it ride. He took Celarius’ hand. “That is a wise decision. Have a swift and safe trip home.”
Celarius abruptly turned and fled down the chain as quickly as his dignity would allow. As the beset artist disappeared from view, Nor uttered a decree intended for the future. “That question cannot be ignored. He will answer.”