by E. C. Tubb
A plan he had made and devices he and the engineer had worked on while the others rested. The navigator was dead-left or buried, to him it was the same, but the living still faced a problem.
"Do you think they'll work, Earl?" Timus looked dubiously at what they'd made; soft hemispheres of rubber backed by a stronger layer and fitted with loops. Gekko pads to fit to wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles, any six of the suction cups sufficient to hold his weight.
"It's a chance," said Dumarest. "The wall is smooth and the cups should hold if we figured right."
"If they don't we're stuck, Earl. I don't know what else we can do. Jarv was right in a way. We need rafts and special equipment. Sufan Noyoka should have thought about it Well, it's too late now, but maybe Jarv had the right idea. You burying him?"
"Marek's seeing to it." Dumarest anticipated the obvious question. "No sign of what killed him, but he went peacefully."
"His heart must have given out." Timus rubbed his hand over his chin. "He was always sniffing at that pomander and it was only a matter of time before the drugs got him. "Two down," he said. "And it's my guess the old woman will be next."
Pacula was with her, sitting beside the cot, bathing the raddled face with water. Usan's breathing was labored, her fingers twitching, plucking at her dress. Weakly she tried to smile.
"Age, Earl. It's beating me. Jarv?"
"Dead and being buried. His heart must have given out. There was no sign of any attack." Dumarest touched the woman's throat, his fingers resting on the pulse. "We don't want you going the same way. It would be best for you to sleep for a while. Pacula?"
"I'll see to it. Earl."
"No!" Usan clenched her hands, eyes brimming with tears at her own weakness. "Damn this body! I don't want to sleep. I want to see what's in the city."
"If we manage to get inside you'll be with us. That's a promise."
"You're kind," she whispered. "I'll hold you to that. But can you get inside?"
Dryly he said, "There's only one way to find out."
Sufan Noyoka's dry voice issued a list of instructions as they headed toward the wall.
"Remember to fix the rope as soon as you reach the top, Earl. Make no attempt to get into the city until I am with you. Are you armed?"
"He's armed." Timus handed Dumarest a machine gun. "Hang this around your neck, Earl. It's cocked and ready to fire on full automatic."
Dumarest weighed it in his hand then handed it back.
"I'll pull it up if and when I reach the top," he said. "I've enough weight to carry as it is."
His own body, the pads, the rope wrapped around his waist, the grapnel swinging between his shoulders. Reaching the foot of the wall he looked upward. Every spot was the same and one was as good as another. As the others watched he stepped close to the smooth expanse, lifted his arms, slammed the pads against the wall, followed with a leg. With the pads holding he lifted his free leg and set it higher than the other. Then an arm pulled free, lifted and made fast. The other leg. The other arm. A leg again.
Slowly, sprawled hard against the wall, each limb moving in turn, he inched upward.
He could see nothing but the wall inches from his eyes, feel nothing but the drag at his arms, the awkward twist of his legs. Each time he freed a pad meant a cautious twisting, to fasten them a careful movement Sweat began to run from his forehead into his eyes and he felt the clammy touch of it beneath his clothing.
Grimly he climbed on, inches at a time, muscles aching in thighs and groin, cramps threatening his shoulders and calves.
From below came the encouraging voice of the engineer.
"Keep going, Earl! You're doing fine!"
"How high am I?"
"Maybe thirty feet!"
Less than a third of the distance covered. Thirty feet out of a hundred and already the strain of hauling his body up the sheer wall was beginning to tell. Pausing, Dumarest hung to rest, turning his head to see the sea of vegetation, the ship rearing against the sky. The light from the suns was dazzling, reflected from the wall it hurt his eyes. Closing them he released one leg, flexing it to ease the strain.
"Up!" snapped Sufan Noyoka. "Earl, what are you waiting for?"
Dumarest made no answer, easing each limb in turn, then doggedly continued to climb. At sixty feet progress slowed, the pads seeming to slip, and after another five feet he was sure of it. Watching, he placed his arm into position, heaved, saw the attachments move down the wall as if they glided on oil.
Cautiously he moved to one side, tried to climb again but with no better result. Tilting his head he looked at the top of the wall. He was two-thirds of the way up, a little more and he would be home, but the last few feet were impossible to cover.
Timus caught him as he dropped from the wall.
"Earl? Are you all right?"
"Cramp." Dumarest doubled, kneading his legs. His shoulders ached and his arms burned. He had climbed mountains with less bodily fatigue. "Maybe something in the wall. I don't know."
"So you failed." Sufan was bitter. "A few more feet, couldn't you make it?"
"I tried." For too long and too hard. The red sun was setting, the yellow taking its place. "The wall won't hold the suction cups up there. They slip."
"And?"
Dumarest shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Marek has an idea."
* * *
He sat as usual in the salon, toying with his cards, his face smooth, apparently unconcerned, but one whose brain was never still. A man who had boasted of his talent, one who had now to prove his claims.
"A problem," he said. "A puzzle, and each tackles it in his own way. Acilus tried brute force, you were more subtle, Earl, but with no greater success. Yet such attempts had to be made and the use of suction cups was clever. A lighter person, perhaps? But no. You alone have to have the physical attributes necessary for such a climb. What else? Well, first let us study the situation."
"We've done that," said Sufan curtly. "A city locked behind a wall."
"Exactly, a wall." Marek turned some cards, his eyes bland. "Now, what is a wall? It is a barrier set to keep others out. But that same barrier will keep others in. Perhaps the city is a prison built to contain some criminal form of life. A possibility, you must admit, and one which must be considered. For while every prison must have a key it is equally true to state that no prison can be entered without it having a door."
"I have no patience to listen to abstruse meanderings, Marek."
"Yet patience in this matter is essential. Earl advised it, Acilus rejected it, and by so doing, lost his life. Jarv also was impatient and Jarv is dead." His voice hardened a little to take on an edge. "I have no wish to join them, Sufan. Not yet. And not because you refuse to wait."
"Then tell us how to enter the city."
"Find the door."
"What?" Sufan frowned, his eyes coming to rest, sharp in their anger. "I warn you, Marek-"
"Again a warning!" Marek threw down the cards. "I grow tired of warnings. You have seen what I have seen, know what I know. The city is an enigma. To understand it I must study it. Why are the mounds set in such a fashion? What is the purpose of the spire? Why is the wall so high and why does its surface alter toward the summit? Why the clearing?"
"That is to keep the vegetation from growing too close to the wall. That's obvious."
"But not necessarily true." Marek leaned back, resting the tips of his fingers together, an attitude Dumarest found at variance to his character.
He said, without irony, "Is the puzzle too simple, Marek?"
"Earl, you have it! What could be more simple than an apparently impenetrable wall? You, at least, do not fall into the common error of believing that complexity makes for difficulty. The reverse is true; the more complex a thing, the more parts there are in relation to each other, the more simple it is to determine an answer. Find me the door and I will lead you into the city. But first I must locate the door."
"But how?" Timus was baffled. "We've looked, there
is no door. Earl?"
Dumarest said, "You think about it, Timus. I need a shower."
Embira was waiting as he stepped from the cubicle. She wore a close-fitting gown of silver laced with gold, a perfect accompaniment to her skin and hair. She moved toward him, one hand trailing the wall.
"Earl?"
"Yes." He took her hand. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was, but I've rested long enough. Take me outside, Earl. The metal," she gestured toward the hull, "cramps me."
Outside the air was brooding with a heavy stillness, the sky painted with a profusion of light. The red sun was low on the horizon, the yellow on its upward climb, the blue barely visible. Three suns that bathed the city with light. From the summit of the mound Dumarest looked at it, then at the girl. She was frowning.
"Something wrong?"
"What is out there, Earl? What do I face?"
"The city. You have seen-faced it before." Curious, he added, "Can you krang the wall?"
"The wall? No. There is only something-" She broke off, shivering. "Something I don't understand. It isn't familiar, Earl. I don't like it."
"The wall, Embira." He took her head between his hands and guided her sightless eyes along its length. "Can you isolate it as you can the hull?" He frowned at her answer. "No?"
"No, Earl. But there is something there." She pointed with her arm. "I can krang it. It isn't like what lies beyond." She added uncertainly, "I can't remember it being there before."
A manifestation of the triple suns? If so, time was limited, there was no way of knowing when all three would be in the sky at the same time again. A mistake? If so, nothing could be lost by trying.
Back at the ship Marek said incredulously, "A door? Earl, are you sure?"
"No, but it's worth the chance. Embira spotted something, an alteration. We must investigate. Get the others and follow."
"But-"
"Hurry! The red sun's setting. Once it has gone the chance could be lost!"
A chance which seemed less possible the closer they approached the wall. It hadn't changed. At close hand it seemed as firm and as unbroken as before. To normal eyes, at least, but Embira lacked normal vision. Walking steadily in the lead she made directly toward a certain point. Dumarest, Usan Labria cradled in his left arm, followed. From the rear of the little column the engineer voiced his doubts.
"A door? Earl, that wall's solid. How the hell can we pass through it?"
"Walk. It's a chance, but what have we to lose? Embira will guide us. Touch the one in front, close your eyes, and follow." Dumarest set the example, resting his free hand on the girl's shoulder. Behind him Pacula sucked in her breath and he felt the touch of her hand.
"Like this, Earl?"
"Yes. All in contact? Then close your eyes."
The dirt underfoot was smooth, there was no danger of stumbling, and Dumarest made a conscious effort to forget the presence of the wall. It didn't exist. Nothing existed aside from the warmth of the flesh beneath his hand, the body of the girl in the lead. The blind leading the blind-but she had her talent, and without vision, they were more crippled than she.
Five steps, ten, twelve. Dumarest concentrated on the girl. Another three steps, five, seven-and he felt a mild tingle. Eight more and the girl halted.
"Earl. It's behind us. The thing I could krang."
A risk, but it had to be taken. Dumarest opened his eyes.
Behind him he heard Pacula gasp, Marek's voice, high, incredulous.
"By God, we've done it! We've passed through the door! We're in the city!"
Chapter Thirteen
They stood in a vast chamber, the curved roof high above suffused with an opalescent sheen of light; colored gleams which filled the place with broken rainbows. The floor was smooth, polished, made of some adamantine material, seamless and traced with a pattern of sinuous lines. The curved wall was pierced with a rounded opening several times the height of a man.
"The entrance hall." Marek's voice was clear, the place devoid of echoes as it was of shadows. "The area beyond the door, and we're in it."
But not all. Dumarest said, "Where's Timus?"
"He was behind me." Sufan Noyoka looked up, around, down toward the floor. "I felt his hand slip from my shoulder. I don't know just when."
Before he had reached the wall, his own eyes and disbelief maintaining the barrier. In Dumarest's arms Usan Labria stirred, muttering, still fogged with sleep-inducing drugs. Her eyes cleared as he held a vial beneath her nostrils, crushing the ampule and releasing chemical vapors to clear her blood.
"Earl?"
"It's all right," he soothed. "We're in the city."
"The city!" She freed herself from his support and stood, looking around. "Yes," she whispered. "We must be. You kept your promise, Earl. My thanks for that. But how?"
"Embira guided us."
"Blind, she couldn't see the wall," explained Marek. "But she sensed the presence of a force field of some kind. A means to open the matter of the wall, perhaps, while maintaining the illusion it was solid. A door built on a unique pattern. One which-" He broke off, shrugging. "Does it matter? We're inside, that's all that counts."
"Inside!" She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, summoning the dregs of her energy. Impatiently she brushed aside Pacula's hand. "Don't coddle me, girl, I'll be all right. Stay with Embira, she'll need a guide." She frowned, aware of the absence of the engineer. "Timus?"
"He isn't with us," said Sufan. "He must still be outside, but it is of no importance. Alone he can't handle the Mayna. All he can do is wait."
Wait as the colored suns traced their path across the sky, alone in the brooding silence, faced with the blank enigma of the city. How long would he remain patient? Dumarest lacked Sufan's conviction that the engineer was helpless. A clever man could rig remote controls and, desperate, Timus might try to navigate the Cloud on his own. A gamble which he couldn't win, but one he would try given time enough.
Stepping to the wall, Dumarest rested his hand on the surface. It felt as before, neither hot nor cold, the material solid against his pressure.
"Embira, has anything changed?"
"The aura has gone, Earl." She faced him as he stood against the wall. "I can krang another, more distant."
The bulk of the vessel containing the residual energies of the field. While she could discern it they had a point of directional reference-but until the door opened again they were trapped unless they could find another way to leave the city.
Sufan shrugged when Dumarest mentioned it.
"We'll find a way, Earl. Now let us see what is to be found."
"But with caution," warned Marek. "The door could have given an alarm and the city might still contain some form of life. It would be as well to move carefully."
A conclusion Dumarest had already reached. All, aside from Embira and the old woman, carried packs, canteens, and were armed. He checked the gun hanging on its strap from his shoulder.
"If we see anything hold your fire. If we are attacked wait until I shoot. Marek, you take the rear, Sufan, you stay with the women."
"I will-"
"Do as he says, Sufan," snapped Usan. "One of us at least must keep a clear head. We've come too far to be beaten now and an error could cost us all our lives." She sucked in her breath and fumbled at her locket, slipping a pill between her lips. "But hurry, Earl. Hurry!"
They moved toward the opening, feeling like ants in a cathedral, stunned by the vastness of the chamber. Another opened beyond, smaller, set with an opening through which smooth ramps led up and down. Their roofs were of some lustrous substance which threw a nacreous glow. The air was thick, slightly acrid. Dumarest could see no trace of dust.
"An entrance hall," mused Marek. "Ramps which must lead to other chambers. Assuming this place held life similar to ours there will be living accommodation and recreational areas."
"Up or down?"
"Up, Earl. Below must lie machines and storerooms, cess pits, perha
ps, a means of sewage disposal. Already the pattern begins to take form. Give me time and I will draw a map of the city."
"We want the treasure," said Usan Labria. "Just the treasure."
"Then we must head toward the central spire." Marek stepped toward one of the openings. "This one, Earl."
A guess, but it was as good as any, and Dumarest led the way toward it. The ramp rose steeply after a hundred feet then leveled as it broke into another chamber also set with openings. A series of them so that, within minutes, they passed through a maze of connecting rooms all appearing exactly alike.
Pacula said uncertainly, "We could become lost. How can we be sure of finding the way back?"
"We're not lost." Marek was confident. "Always we take the central opening and climb upward."
"This reminds me of something." Usan looked around, frowning. "A bee hive? No. An ant hill? An ant hill! Earl! This place is like an ant hill."
Short passages and endless chambers all alike, none with distinctive characteristics. A prison was like that, a place built for a strictly utilitarian function without concession to artistry. The mere fact of living in such a place would mold the residents into a faceless whole, all individuality repressed by the endless monotony of the surroundings. Men, held in such an environment, would become abnormal.
Had the city been built by men?
There was no way of telling. A single chair would have given a clue as to shape and form, a table, a scrap of decoration, but the chambers were devoid of all furnishings, the openings providing the only break in the seamless construction, the sole decoration that of the sinuous lines.
They ran thin and black against the pale gray of the floor, following no apparent order, twisting to bunch into knots, opening to splayed fans.
Directional signs? A means to tell the inhabitants exactly where they were in the city?
"It's possible, Earl," admitted Marek when Dumarest spoke of it. "We have street signs and numbers, insects have scent-trails; whoever built this place could have had their own system. But to break the cipher would take too long. And it isn't necessary. All we have to do is to reach the spire."
And the treasure if treasure was to be found. But five hours later they were still no closer to where it might be.
