The Dig

by Alan Dean Foster

  "As for myself, there is nothing more I can do for them. I did too much while I was alive. My punishment is that I am not to be left in peace. And yet, perhaps I may be of assistance to you. Not out of any personal fondness, you understand, for you are nothing to me but an inconvenient interruption, but because your departure would assure my continued rest."

  "Help us," Low urged the alien, "and I swear we'll never bother you again." It was an easy promise to make.

  "Your desire to return home." The enfeebled scientist engineer strained to remember distant schematics from an even more distant time. "I recall the activation mechanism that was used on the probes. I believe it involved...," and a long string of untranslatable engineering terms followed.

  A brief physical description, however, left no doubt as to what the Cocytan was referring to.

  "The four plates," Robbins told an expectant Low. "It's describing the four-plate system."

  "We have three. Tell it we have three." She did so.

  "Then the matter is simple. I would think there would be others here, in this spire. Before it became my resting-place, it was a museum of travel. Search near the entrance. I think you will find what you are looking for."

  So saying, it raised its feet from the floor, leaned back, and resumed the traditional Cocytan resting position, prone on its back, winglets outspread to both sides.

  "I tire of this new life, as I have tired of all that have gone before. I choose not to think. Leave me now, and if you would respect my intelligence as I have respected yours, do not inflict the pain of consciousness on me again. It is time for me to not be." The slim, magisterial head turned slightly toward them.

  "Go now, and I hope you find your way home. My entire species could not."

  "We don't know how to thank you." Robbins spoke quickly, conscious of the gravity of the moment.

  Eyes full of wisdom flickered as the life force began to wane. The voice was an echo of what it had been earlier. "You are not home yet. When you reach your destination, thank me then." Eyes closed, the voice silenced and breathing ceased. Once again, the great scientist-engineer was not.

  Robbins wiped at her eyes. "I hope we didn't impose on it too much. I wouldn't like to go away thinking we'd caused it any pain."

  "I wouldn't worry about it." Low was firmly prosaic. "It's dead now. Again. That's what it wanted." He turned to look in the direction of the exit. "Now maybe we can get what we want."

  They left the tomb then—a silent, lifeless, hut somehow not at all tragic place. They were forced to pause for a while in the passageway while the contentious guardians fought their way across the central chamber. As they sprinted across the deserted floor, Low wondered if the two combatants would fight until their internal mechanisms ran down, or if one would finally succeed in overpowering the other. It might happen tomorrow, next week or next year. Or the salutary effect of the life crystals might simply give out. It didn't matter, since he hoped he would never have to return to this island.

  It took less than twenty minutes to find the necessary fourth plate. As soon as they had it safely extracted from the exhibit in which it had been half buried, something deep inside moved him to turn and face the pyramidal sarcophagus. Raising the edge of his stiffened right hand slowly to his forehead, he snapped it down smartly in the first formal salute he had performed in many years. Then he turned to Robbins.

  "Right. We can go now."

  Low hefted the precious plate as they made their way back to the transport tunnel. By now he felt as comfortable in the rolling sphere as he did on the subway back home. No, that wasn't quite true, he corrected himself. He felt more comfortable. There were no aggressive panhandlers, no forlorn students, no gang-bangers and no graffiti.

  As they raced silently and comfortably toward the central island, he stared through the transparent wall of the spinning sphere and squinted, half imagining he could see destination signs painted on the dark walls. It was an ephemeral, childish fantasy, but one he was able to enjoy for several minutes.

  An unusually pensive Robbins interrupted his reverie. "You know, Boston, we were pretty selfish back there, all wrapped up in trying to figure out a way to get back to Earth. There were so many questions we could have asked the Cocytan. So many things people have wondered about for thousands of years that it probably could have resolved with a shrug or a few words."

  "Like what?" He continued to squint at the tunnel walls.

  "Oh, like, what is the meaning of life? How big is the universe?"

  "Where are the cookies?" he added, making her smile. "I didn't know telejournalists pondered such weighty matters. I thought if it wasn't sexy, or with it or of the moment, then it wasn't relevant. Reflection isn't something I associate with modern news coverage."

  If she was hurt by his appraisal, she didn't show it. "It has nothing to do with modern news coverage. Those are questions I would've asked, if I'd thought of them in time."

  Low shook his head dubiously. "I never heard a journalist ask questions like that."

  "Who would you ask them of?" She reminisced. "The people I'm told to interview, the stories I'm assigned to cover, don't have much in common with the great questions. All I'd have to do is devote one show to a story on 'the meaning of life' and I'd find myself back in Topeka reading the morning farm reports so fast, it'd make your head spin. Which is where and how I got my start, by the way.

  "The network isn't interested. They don't like for their reporters and anchorfolk to appear too much smarter than the individual on the street. You think an audience would watch?" She didn't wait for him to respond, and he knew that he wasn't expected to. "That doesn't mean that I can't be interested."

  He opened his eyes all the way. The fanciful station signs for Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown, the Financial District, Berkeley and points east vanished from his imagination and his inner eyelids at the same time.

  "I'm sorry, Maggie. I've been underestimating you and over-categorizing you ever since the start of the mission."

  "Forget it. Not only am I used to it, I'm guilty of it myself. For example, when we started out, I thought you were a stiff, humorless, dry, emotionless robot. Now I see that you're not dry at all." She grinned and he returned the favor.

  She had a beautiful smile, he decided. Perfect teeth, as you would expect from an internationally famous telejournalist. Accumulated grime and sweat couldn't detract from the beauty of her skin. Her hair was a mess, but her eyes glistened like sapphire cabochons. Her lips were...

  He turned away. Light had appeared at the end of the tunnel, signifying their approach to the central island.

  Among the millions of monitoring thought-forms confusion, surprise and jubilation reigned in equal measure.

  "They have spoken with the Creator and have found the fourth plate! They will use it to return to their world, and all will be as it has been."

  "Perhaps," cautioned the iconoclastic first. "Have patience. We have been patient for hundreds of years. Time yet to see."

  "Truly," chorused ten million supporters. "Patience we have in infinite quantity. Time still to dream."

  "Let us again discuss the physics of luck," suggested ten thousand, and that prompted a renewal of an earlier debate.

  The keen buzz that unexpectedly filled the sphere confused and startled its passengers, not to mention interrupting Low's contemplation of Robbins's features. Then he realized that the sound arose from their pen communicators. They were being called.

  Pulling the unit from his belt, he spoke sharply into the pickup. "Ludger?"

  "It would have to be, wouldn't it, Commander?" The scientist's words were labored and weak. "I regret to report that I am experiencing some difficulty."

  Low exchanged a glance with Robbins before replying. "Take it easy. We're on our way back to the main island. What's wrong? Did you misplace one of your precious crystals?"

  "No." Clearly Brink was under too much strain to respond to Low's sarcasm. "But I was about to, and that is the sourc
e of the problem. I find myself unable to move. I am also," he added tersely, "in considerable pain."

  "Hang on. Our sphere is arriving."

  It took only a moment for the transport to dock at the station. The door cycled open and they exited hurriedly. Brink wasn't waiting to greet them.

  Low raised the communicator. "We're here. Where are you?"

  There was no sign of the scientist. Wind whispered through the gigantic chamber, a querulous intruder from outside.

  "I am on the surface," came Brink's reply. "Afraid we might be overlooking important external sites in our preoccupation with what we found below, I decided to hike out and survey the area immediately surrounding the opening into the large chamber. I should have been more careful."

  "You still haven't told us what's wrong."

  "You will see. Climb out and I will give you directions."

  "We're on our way."

  Together he and Robbins struggled up the rubble pile and managed to make the jump from its peak to the nearest solid ground. It felt strange to be back in sunlight after being so long underground. After hours spent in the company of mysterious alien artifacts, relentless organic guardians and the resurrected Creator, he experienced the plain wind-swept rocks and low scrub as heartbreakingly normal. Squinting at the sky, he found himself speculating on the length of a Cocytan day.

  "All right," he informed the communicator, "we're out." He oriented himself. "We're facing the setting sun."

  The scientist's reply was shaky. "Turn forty-five degrees to your right and you will be facing me. I am not far. Please hurry."

  It took a bit of scrambling up a broken slope. Nothing difficult, which they both managed with comparative ease.

  "There he is." Robbins spotted their errant companion first.

  As they approached, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Brink was lying on his left side against the rocks, his right arm resting against him, looking for all the world as though he was relaxing and enjoying the view. But as they drew near, they saw there was no sign of his left forearm. It was hidden by the crack in the hillside into which the scientist had thrust it. They hurried to his side.

  "What's wrong, Ludger?" Even as she asked, Robbins was straining to see for herself.

  Sweat dappled the scientist's face, though the temperature was on the cool side. "As you see, my hand and wrist have become stuck."

  "How did you manage that?" Robbins tried to find a better angle.

  "I was holding one of the life crystals." He smiled weakly. "If you just hold them gently and don't press them against your body, you can feel their warmth without absorbing them. It is a most invigorating sensation.

  "Climbing this slope, I slipped slightly and lost my grip. The crystal fell into this hole. It isn't deep, and I thought I could dig it out. When I attempted to do so, the rocks above shifted and, as you see, pinned my arm. I cannot pull free. Every time I try, the rocks above slide down a little more. It really is very painful. I am afraid that most of the bones in my left hand are broken to one degree or another.

  "Fortunately, I was able to reach my communicator with my other hand."

  Low had completed a circuit of the scientist's predicament. "Just hang in there, Ludger. We'll get you out."

  But try as they might, with both of them digging, they were unable to free the scientist's pinioned arm. When Low tried to use a long, narrow rock to lever the others, it only made the situation worse. The hillside immediately above was unstable. If much more rock shifted, the scientist's neck as well as his arm would be at risk.

  "I am afraid I cannot contain myself much longer." Brink was trembling now, and perspiration had enveloped his entire body.

  "Go ahead and scream if you want," Robbins told him tightly. "In my work I've had to listen to plenty of screams."

  "It's not that," Brink wheezed. "Nothing so melodramatic. I am just afraid that I am going to pass—"

  He slumped back against the hillside before he could finish the sentence.

  Low straightened. "We've got to get him out of there. I'm worried about steady bleeding. But if we're not careful, this whole section of hillside is going to come down. Then we're liable to have to dig ourselves out."

  Robbins wiped sweat from her forehead and looked up at him. "One of the alien machines from the museum?"

  "This isn't a complex piece of engineering. We ought to be able to make do without anything that exotic. Besides, he's already in shock. By the time we figured out what device to bring and got it back here, he's liable to be dead. What we need is a big jack, and I don't remember seeing anything that straightforward. For all we know, there might be half a dozen portable antigravity lifters waiting in crates by the entrance, but it could take weeks to find one and puzzle it out."

  Robbins put her ear against the scientist's chest. "He's still breathing, but not well." She straightened. "You're right, Boston. We need to do something quickly."

  Instead of rapid excavation they tried removing the confining rock slowly, one handful at a time. Occasionally Brink would regain consciousness, but he was no longer coherent. Raving in three languages, he would moan and flail about with his free hand before relapsing into a coma.

  It didn't matter whether they removed a little dirt and detritus at a time or a lot. Whenever it seemed they were making some progress, more rock would suddenly slip down to mock their efforts. Blood was now visible on the scientist's left arm, seeping up from the breaks below to stain the sleeve.

  "It's no good." Low sat back, weary from his efforts. "We've got to get him out of there now, or he's going to bleed to death. Do you hear me, Ludger? Do you understand? We don't have any more options."

  The scientist's eyes flickered unsteadily.

  "Ich ... verstehen. I understand, Commander. Do what you have to do." Low and Robbins might be tired, but the scientist was completely drained.

  Low bent close. "If we don't do something right now, Ludger, you're going to bleed to death."

  "Don't want ... to die." Somehow he summoned a feeble grin from the depths of his distress. "As you Americans say, been there, done that."

  Removing a small packet from his belt, Low tore it open and pressed two tiny pills against the other man's lips. "Can you swallow these? I'll find some water if you need it."

  "No water. Need schnapps." Opening his mouth and making a great effort, Brink leaned forward slightly and sucked in the pills. Low and Robbins looked on as he swallowed.

  "Concentrated general anesthetic," Low told her. "Part of every suit's emergency kit."

  "What now?" She eyed him expectantly.

  "We build a fire." In response to her look of confusion he added, "I'll need something to cauterize the wound."

  "Cauterize...?" Her eyes widened. "You're not kidding, are you?"

  Low met her gaze without blinking. "You got a better idea?"

  She shook her head slowly. "Not only don't I have a better idea, I don't have any ideas at all. You're sure you know what you're doing?"

  "No," he replied curtly, "I'm not." He pulled a coil of glossy alien metal from a pocket. Unfolded, it was roughly two inches wide, a foot long and honed on one edge.

  "Used this on the glue strands when we rescued you from the spitter-crab. Thought it might come in handy later." His gaze shifted back to Brink. The scientist was resting peacefully, the powerful anesthetic having already started to work. "This wasn't what I had in mind." He began to remove the top of his flight suit.

  "What are you doing?"

  He bunched the material tight. "I don't know what the alloy is, but this strip is plenty sharp. If I tried to hold it with both hands and saw away, I'd cut my own fingers to ribbons. I think it will work. It'd better. Let's try to find some debris that will burn."

  "You know, I think I do have a better idea," she murmured. "What about using one of the crystals ... after you're through?"

  Low considered, then nodded admiringly. "Should've thought of that. All right, you stand by with a crystal. But I
want a fire going in case it doesn't work."

  Once they had a fire blazing hot, he inserted one end of the long lever stone he'd used earlier into the glowing coals and waited for it to heat up. When he was satisfied, he picked up the strip of alien metal, using his bunched-up shirt and undershirt in lieu of gloves.

  "You sure that will cut ... through?" Robbins asked quietly.

  "It'll cut, all right. I just hope it doesn't snap when I'm half done." Approaching the motionless Brink, he took up a predetermined position, nodded at Robbins and went to work. She waited nearby, cradling in both hands one of the life crystals they'd taken from Brink's overfull pockets.

  Working as fast as possible, Low had no time to wonder how his companion was coping with the gory spectacle. She claimed to have been in numerous wartime situations and seen much worse. He hoped she'd been telling the truth.

  Despite the tourniquet they'd tightened around Brink's upper arm, blood came fast and copiously. The metal strip cut cleanly until he reached the bone, then more slowly. His hands were growing slippery from the blood and he was afraid of losing his grip. Then he was through the bone and sawing rapidly again.

  "Finished!" Exhausted, he flopped back against the rocks. Robbins immediately jammed the glowing green crystal against the bloody stump and held it there.

  Mere seconds passed before the journalist felt the shard beginning to flow between her fingers. Drawing back, she watched in awe as it seemed to melt into the open wound. Pale-green light enveloped the scientist's severed arm from slice to shoulder. Bleeding slowed, then stopped altogether.

  "It's working!" More than anything, the process reminded her of the time-lapse photography she'd seen used on occasion by the news division's editing team. "I can see it healing."

  A weary Low spread his bloodstained shirts out on the rocks to dry. "Don't jump to conclusions."

  "I'm not," she objected. "Come and look for yourself. It's like magic."

  "Runes of the witch doctor." Low mumbled to himself as he struggled over to join her.