by J. N. Chaney
“I see an old building and some junk,” Conover said. “That’s it.”
Dash glanced at Leira. The wary look in her eyes told him she’d already had the same, alarming thoughts he had. He gave her a slight nod and pulled open the flap of his satchel.
“No,” the boy said, “past all that. Over there!”
Dash sniffed. Totally a set up. Any second now, the trap would—
“Oh, I see it,” Conover said.
Dash narrowed his eyes. What?
Oh. Partly blocked by the cargo pod he could just see another, smaller building. Sure enough, it looked different—more like a bunker, with a sturdy-looking door set into what must be a pretty damned thick duracrete wall. The sides were scarred by time, streaked with jungle molds as a bright green ivy tried valiantly to pull the tough building down, like a swimmer who refused to go under.
Dash glanced at Leira, who shrugged, then he started that way, pushing into the scrub and bushes. Leira and Conover followed, but the boy didn’t move.
“There’s usually somebody there,” the kid said. “Anyway…” Then he turned and, without another word, scampered off back the way they’d come. Wraith-like, he made no sound past ten meters, leaving them alone with the rustling growth and bullying wind.
Dash frowned at his retreating back. None of this ruled out an ambush, or something similar, so he thought to hell with it and pulled out the slugger. Leira did the same. Conover looked from one to the other, his eyes going wide, and said, “Wait, are you guys expecting trouble?”
Dash gave him a level, patient look. Conover was incredibly smart—but also sometimes incredibly, naively dumb. “Where have you been since we took you off Penumbra, kid? Trouble has pretty much become what we do these days.”
They shoved their way through the greenery and emerged into the clearing. Dash saw another cargo pod alongside the ramshackle building, just beyond a length of security fence. Most of the fence had long ago given up and slumped off its posts, giving them easy access to a decrepit yard surrounding the husk of an ancient warehouse. A thin, oily reek, like old hydraulic fluid, fumed the air. Leira smiled as she took it in.
“Why do I suspect Amy would feel right at home here?” Dash asked.
“Because it’s her natural habitat,” Leira said with a tight smile.
Dash headed for the bunker and stopped in front of the door. It could have been any of thousands of secure storage facilities squatting on planets around the galactic arm—but it wasn’t. He pointed at a faint line of symbols across the bottom of the door, almost obscured by dust and grime. “That’s Unseen writing. It says Within here, we wait.”
“You’re certain?” Leira asked. It was less challenge than amazement.
“I am.” He looked at the others. “This would seem to be the right place.” He pointed the slugger forward at a low angle, ready to fire if needed. The heft of it in his hands was scant comfort, given the presence of Unseen writing and a growing sense that there was more to this place than met the eye. Hell, he knew it wasn’t a cluster of gearhead monks living in a shack. It was far more than that, and only going forward would reveal what they needed.
Conover squatted and brushed at the dirt. The symbols were engraved into the metal of the door, a tough alloy that must have needed a lot of work with a grinding tool—because they clearly had been carven into the door sometime after it had been installed.
Which made no sense. Whoever was carving things rendered in the Unseen language into mundane doors had the time and will to do a job that had no obvious purpose, and to Dash that smelled of religion.
“The boy mentioned something about monks, didn’t he?” Leira asked.
“We should find out who these monks are and see what they know,” Leira replied.
Dash gave a terse nod, then turned to the others. “All very well, but we don’t have time to go hunting around for monks. All we have to go on is this door. And I suspect, even though it looks like just an ordinary door, it’s not. Maybe Unseen tech can make itself resemble more…uh, primitive tech, I guess, around it, and the other outposts we’ve found didn’t have to bother because they stood all by themselves.” He looked at Conover. “Anyway, kid, since you seem to have figured out how to look at Unseen stuff without going comatose, how about you use your fancy eyes and see what they can tell you?”
“Not much point.”
Dash frowned. “Really? Because this is our only lead.”
He stopped as Leira tapped him on the shoulder, then pointed behind him. Dash turned.
The door stood open.
Dash led the way, slugger in one hand, lamp in the other. A dank corridor went a short distance, angled right, then descended down a ramp. It opened into a small, square room, which in turn opened into another corridor. This second corridor was definitely of Unseen origin. Dash could tell even without the benefit of Sentinel, but he reached out, regardless, hoping their link would work. Before he could ask the question, Sentinel spoke. “The Meld transcends real space and extends through the Darkness Between. The Creators contrived this to facilitate communications among their far-flung outposts. It is, therefore, right next door, as you might say.”
“So distance isn’t a factor?”
“Not a significant one, no.”
Dash could only shake his head. Real-time communications through UnSpace were possible, but only over limited distances. If the Unseen could do it across their galactic arm-spanning outposts, then he could do it, too, and that would be an invaluable tool down the road when war returned.
“Back to this place. Thoughts?” Dash asked. “It’s old, but not Unseen years old, in my opinion.”
“I have no record of a permanent facility here, other than the core’s presence. Do you see human levels of technology?” Sentinel asked.
“Duracrete and—yeah, well built, but purely human,” Dash said.
“You may find some crossover between our technology. Proceed with care, Messenger. When ancient ideas are put to new use, things can go badly,” Sentinel said.
“Did you just make that up? Sounds like old advice.”
“Any advice I give is old. I’m old. Not in your sense, but you should still listen to your elders. Like me,” Sentinel said.
“I accept your advice. My eyes are open,” Dash said.
“Thank you,” came the reply, and Dash swore Sentinel sounded the slightest bit smug.
As they moved forward, Dash ran a finger over the construction. The walls had that strange appearance that bridged metal and ceramic, a surface like no other—unless you considered Golden tech as well.
“Well,” he said, his voice somehow both flat and muffled, but also ringing with a hollow echo, “this looks promising.” Water dripped in a staccato beat, plinking around them in sharp echoes.
“Are we closer to the core?” Leira asked
Dash nodded. “Much. I’m still having trouble telling just what direction, though. It’s—it’s here. Close.”
The corridor wound on, sometimes easing through a gentle bend, other times turning an abrupt right, but steadily descending. Leira had produced a data-pad and, just as she had in the Forge, used it to map out their path. They reached the start of a slow, graceful curve in the passage, then Conover stopped and looked from side to side. Dash saw nothing but blank walls.
“What? What is it, kid?”
“I see other corridors. And chambers. Lots of them, all around this one. They seem to go on pretty much as far as I can see.”
“This must be a whole underground complex,” Leira said.
Conover nodded. “How did all those tech hunters miss this?” He gestured at the right-hand wall. “That way, the tunnels and rooms must go right under the city. And we’re still not more than…what, maybe thirty or so meters underground?”
“I suspect that if Unseen tech doesn’t want to be found, then it won’t be,” Dash said.
“If that’s true,” Leira replied, “then it must have wanted us to find it. Or y
ou to find it, anyway, being the Messenger and all.”
Dash could only agree in silence before they resumed their way. But his spirits sank. Finding this place was a victory—of some sort—but if it was as big and complicated as Conover said, then finding the core might be nowhere as easy. All he knew was that it was tantalizingly near. He still couldn’t tell what direction, though. It might take them days to search what was rapidly becoming a huge maze—and they didn’t have days. They barely had hours.
The concept of monks lingered in Dash’s thoughts—and then the tunnel abruptly ended.
Dash shone the light around, but saw no openings, no door, not even anything to indicate it was possible to go any further. He looked back at the others. “Did we miss a side tunnel, or another door or something?”
Leira held up the data tablet. “No. This tunnel has done a lot of turning and winding, but we’ve followed a single path, with no other branches.”
Dash shone the light around again, then shook his head. “Well, I’m stumped. Even if there’s something down here meant specifically for the Messenger, I sure as hell don’t see it.”
“There is another chamber right behind here,” Conover said, pointing at the blank wall against which the tunnel ended. “And more beyond that.” He touched the wall. “I’m not sure if it would work, but maybe we could get Amy or Viktor to bring one of those plasma pistols, or some explosives or something, and we could try blasting through.”
Dash was pretty sure nothing they had would break through a wall made of Unseen construction, but he had nothing better to suggest. “Might as well give it a try.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a new voice said, making Conover yelp and all of them spin around. Dash and Leira raised their sluggers, fingers touching the triggers.
Their light illuminated a man—middle-aged, somewhat pale, with striking blue eyes and thinning, reddish hair. He wore dark robes, the color of which Dash couldn’t quite make out, carried a staff, and had a small pendant hanging around his neck. An air of patient authority clung to him like a second skin, and he was very still.
“I know why you have come, Messenger,” the man said. “Allow me to guide you to that which you seek.”
14
The man had said it to Conover.
Dash lowered the slugger, but not all the way. “Actually,” he said, “he’s not the Messenger. I am.”
“Oh? My apologies!” A genuinely shocked and embarrassed look flashed on the man’s face, making him look both younger and far more human. “What a mistake.”
Dash shrugged. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Apparently, you do not have the look of the Messenger about you,” Sentinel suddenly said.
Dash gave the man a look as he considered Sentinel’s words. “Can they hear you as well?”
“If you wish. I would caution against too many people in our loop, as we may need channel security later,” Sentinel said.
“Understood. Just us, then.”
“Dash?”
He blinked and looked at Leira. His whole exchange with Sentinel had happened non-verbally, and in the course of just a few seconds, but from her perspective, he’d apparently gone silent and still. “Sorry. Sentinel is rather chatty.”
Leira’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but he raised a hand and said, “We can talk about that later. Right now, let’s address other things.” He turned back to the newcomer. “Who exactly are you?”
“My name is Kai,” the man said. “I could tell you much more, but I believe it would make more sense to take you to the thing you’re seeking and offer more explanation there.” He stepped toward them and they tensed, but he smiled and pointed at the blank wall terminating the corridor. “I must open the way.”
They stepped warily aside. As Kai passed him, Dash noticed that the pendant around his neck was a small device of some sort. Before he could ask about, though, Kai began to speak, touching the wall as he did. Dash’s eyebrows raised when he realized Kai was speaking in the tongue of the Unseen—albeit awkwardly, with clumsy grammar and wooden pronunciation. His words were also nonsense, strung together for rhythm and pitch rather than meaning, but that didn’t seem to matter as the musical babble flowed from him in an even baritone.
A rectangle, glowing a soft purple, appeared on the wall, outlining a door that swung silently open. Kai gestured them through, then followed and spoke again, causing the door to swing closed behind them and disappear.
As Kai moved past them to take the lead, Dash gave the others a confident smile, waving them forward. He’d made his decision about Kai, and the facility, and the value of the core. Simply stated, it was a done deal, and if Kai turned out to be duplicitous in any way, Dash would be the hammer that set him right. They were at the nexus of war, technology, and religion, and a lot of what he was going to see wouldn’t make sense to him. Yet. For now, he knew the goal was closer at hand, and he moved with a confidence that he hoped would infect the others, there underground in the damp and dark.
“We have been waiting for you, Messenger,” Kai said, glancing back as he led them along the passage. “For a very long time.”
“Define a very long time,” Dash replied.
“Almost two hundred years.”
“Wait—you’re two hundred years old?”
Kai laughed. “No, I’m forty-two. Our order is two centuries old, though.”
“Your order?” Leira asked. “So you must be the monks the boy told us about.”
“We’re known to the people of Featherport as monks, yes. They believe we are simply a hermetic order, devoted to worshipping the ancient technology of the Unseen. There have been a number of such groups across Shylock, and they believe us to just be another of them.” He glanced back again, this time with a grin. “And they believe we’re deluded, possibly dangerous, or maybe not unlike harmless idiots who chant and pray to gods from an earlier time, although our gods are made of metal and not songs. What they do not realize is that, when it comes to the Unseen Order, they’re wrong. It’s useful, though, to let them go on believing we’re just a gathering of like-minded crackpots, so we make no effort to convince them otherwise. To disabuse them of that notion would open us to even more intense scrutiny from the pirates who come to dig among the stones.”
“Okay,” Conover said, “assuming what you’re saying is true, and you really are able to somehow work with Unseen tech—”
“I think it’s pretty obvious that that part’s true,” Leira cut in, gesturing around them.
“Well, yeah,” Conover said. “So how did this all come about? What happened two hundred years ago that made you into a religious order, or whatever?”
“Kind of wondering that myself,” Dash said.
“Helping the Messenger is why we exist.” He turned along a side passage. Leira kept careful eye on her data-pad, making sure it was keeping an accurate map as they walked. “Two hundred years ago, a tech hunter named Bayard discovered this place. He kept it to himself, thinking to exploit whatever it contained. He did retrieve and sell a few minor artifacts, but when he discovered the Orb, he was awakened to a new and much more expansive reality. He became the founder of our Order and used his newfound wealth to establish it, while taking measures to protect the Orb and the great catacombs that contain it.”
“He must be the one who set up that bunker and blast door up above,” Conover said.
Kai nodded. “Truly, and at first, Bayard, and those he carefully selected to join his cause, knew there was a purpose to all of this but didn’t understand what it was. Over time, successive generations of the Order have slowly been able to translate some of the language of the Unseen, and piece together at least some of what that great purpose is.”
Kai stopped and looked at Dash. “The Order of the Unseen exists to help the Messenger, a being chosen by the Unseen to use the Orb, to defeat the Enemy of All Life.”
There was a moment of silence as that sank in, then Leira asked, “Okay, ho
w did you know the Messenger was here? You were obviously expecting us. Does the boy who showed us how to get here work for you? Is he part of your Order?”
“No. I have no idea who that boy might have been, other than one of the many street urchins that wanders around Featherport.” He looked at Dash again. “It was the Orb that told us the Messenger was here. It began to glow several hours ago, which I suspect probably corresponds to the time you arrived in the Shylock system.”
Dash nodded. “Pretty much.”
Kai turned and resumed walking. “Our studies of the Unseen and their works have revealed a great deal about the coming war against the Enemy of All Life, and some things about the role of the Messenger in it. However, we have many gaps, and there are numerous things we don’t understand. I am hoping you can give us insight.”
“How many of you are there?” Dash asked.
“Ten, including myself.”
“But you haven’t been living down here, right? You must have homes up top somewhere.”
Kai shook his head. “No. We avoid contact with others as much as possible. The less interaction we have with those not of our Order, the less likely we are to inadvertently trigger interest in us and our works that could prove troublesome.”
“You do live down here?”
“Indeed. Most of us were born in these catacombs and have lived our lives in them.”
“So you’ve been waiting, year after year, for two centuries, just for me to come and pick up this so-called Orb?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, man, am I ever sorry to hear that.” Dash ran a finger along the wall, then gave Kai a level look.
“Please, don’t be. We consider it a sacred honor. Moreover, our purpose is about to be fulfilled, at least as far as we understand it. I consider myself very fortunate, actually.”
Dash said, “Huh,” but that was all, because there was nothing else to say in the face of such dedication to something he was only beginning to grasp. Frankly, he considered the whole thing insane—but also very humbling, knowing that people could be this devoted to a cause that was entirely abstract and might very well not even resolve itself in their lifetime, or their children’s, or their children’s, or ever.
