Cyborg 03 - High Crystal

by Martin Caidin

  They heard a wordless cry from him. Not of fear or shock, but of disbelief. In the chamber, lit by a single beam of sunlight from an aperture in the ceiling, resting on a pedestal in the center of the room, was a toy of exquisite manufacture. They crowded behind Jennings, who saw nothing of the bas-relief in the room, the carved inscriptions. Only that dazzling, beautiful object. He leaned over it, blew away the covering dust.

  “It’s . . . it’s not a toy,” he said. “It’s . . . incredible.”

  They saw what he meant. No toy, it was an exquisitely handcrafted model, a scale model, it seemed, of a strange vehicle. Four seats. A control lever of some sort.

  No wheels. A tubular arrangement, beneath. It gleamed and sparkled with the tiny jewels used in its making. Jennings moved his hand forward to touch this incredible thing—

  Yavari started forward, called out, “Dr. Jennings, don’t . . . the writing tells—” Jennings didn’t hear Yavari. He heard and saw nothing but that presumed key to some wondrous unknown past.

  He picked up the jeweled model.

  A beam of ghostly blue light stabbed into being. It seemed to come from a tiny hole drilled in stone on the side of the room away from Dr. Jennings.

  The beam passed through Jennings’s heart, winked out. As if it had never been there.

  Jennings lay on the floor, a perfectly formed hole starting in his chest that continued through his heart and out his back.

  CHAPTER 17

  “I—I warned—I shouted to him. I said wait . . .” Dr. Yavari turned to his daughter, then to the others. “It is there,” he said, pointing at the inscriptions carved into the stone wall behind where Jennings had stood.

  “What in God’s name does it say?” Rudy Wells demanded.

  Carla Yavari answered for her father. “It is a warning that the . . . I don’t have the word but it must mean that model or whatever it is that he picked up . . . a warning never to touch or to move it when . . .” Her voice faded.

  “When what?” Rudy was nearly shouting at her.

  “When . . . there is daylight in the sky.”

  They stared at her. “That’s crazy,” Mueller said.

  “Is it?” Rudy said. “I’ll tell you what’s crazy.” He pointed to the body crumpled on the stone floor. “He’s got a perfectly round hole running from his chest to his back. His heart happened to get in the way so it’s been drilled, too. Just as if a laser had done the job. Only there are no indications of charring on his clothes and no burns on the skin. Now that’s what’s crazy.”

  Phil Wayne stooped, examined Jennings, and looked up at Rudy. “He—he didn’t know what happened, did he, doc?” There was pain in Wayne’s eyes. He had become fond, protective, of the scientist.

  “Phil, this man was dead before he could blink his eyes. He never felt a thing,” Rudy said. “But I wonder what that thing was.”

  Wayne straightened. “Well, I can tell you this—I agree it was like a laser beam. You know, the pale light, the coloration. Except I never saw a blue laser beam. Red, yellow, white; even a green laser for underwater work. But not blue. It’s possible, of course, but any laser needs a power source and there isn’t any here. It just came out of that damn hole in the wall. What’s more, it had a discrete range, it didn’t damage anything on the other side of the room. I just checked. And that light, or whatever it was, hit Dr. Jennings the moment he picked up the model . . . there’s got to be a triggering device from the pedestal to wherever this thing is directed.” He was shaken. “But you people said no one’s been in this place for thousands of years. You can’t keep something like a laser apparatus on tap for a long period of time . . . And the power . . .”

  Steve turned again to Carla. “You said the warning tells whoever’s in this room not to pick up that thing while there’s daylight—”

  “Daylight in the sky, yes.”

  “Could that mean sunlight? Not just daylight?”

  She glanced at her father and he nodded. “It could, of course. We are not expert at—”

  “I understand,” Steve said quickly. He glanced upward. “Something connects from this room to whatever’s waiting for us upstairs. Some sort of direct line into here.”

  “That’s impossible!” Wayne said, near to shouting in his frustration. “That would mean these people had electricity. And an advanced state of electronics . . . and there isn’t a sign of that anywhere.”

  “Right. It’s impossible. And Jennings has the neatest hole drilled through him you ever saw. Maybe it isn’t electronics, Phil. You could be right.”

  “Then what—”

  “We won’t find out by standing around here and guessing,” Steve said, harsher than he intended. But they all needed a jolt to shake them away from Jennings’s death. “Okay, then, we find the way to get upstairs. But we don’t need any more lessons in not moving hastily. Agreed?”

  Moments later, as they began to pick up their gear, they heard another deep, booming explosion. The sound reached them as a muffled roar, but the signs were unmistakable. Explosives. Big enough to jar the structure itself. Dust shimmered in the air from the vibration.

  “Colonel, I think we’d better go down there and check on them,” Steve said quickly to Viejo. He bent to his pack, started removing certain items. “The rest of you get moving. If you come to any forked passages, Rudy, leave a marker for us.”

  He started back down the stairs that had brought them into this chamber, Viejo at his heels. Their flashlights bobbed in crazy flashes as they descended and came to a halt with the huge stone block facing them at the bottom. Viejo pointed to the block. “We must take the chance,” he said. Steve knew too well what he meant. He pressed his ear against the stone. Another muffled sound, but he couldn’t tell if it came from a distance or was simply muted by the great stone before them.

  “We’ve got to open it,” he said, and Viejo nodded. “If someone’s out there they could start shooting as soon as this thing moves. Well, at least we’re in the dark. The moment I hit the level, get flat on that floor. I’ll be right with you. If there’s trouble, we could just have a slight advantage.”

  He pressed against the stone by Rudy’s marker, instantly dropped flat, his rifle ready. The stone rumbled to the side. No one in the room. Viejo moved out cautiously. Steve closed the stone behind them; no use leaving a sign pointing to where the others had gone. Another blast, much louder now, spun them around. “The corridor,” Viejo said. “They’re trying to blow the entrance open.”

  “Which means they don’t know how to work those pressure points.” Dust rolled toward them from the corridor they had taken when they first entered the temple. “Well, that shows they’ve broken through,” Steve said. “They’ll be coming in here soon.”

  “We will welcome them,” Viejo said.

  “Let’s do that,” Steve agreed. Viejo was a bantam rooster, spoiling for a fight even now.

  Steve reached around for his pack and the surprises he had brought along. Their best tack was to convince Fossengen’s men that coming into the temple along any of the corridors was the same as suicide. That meant hitting them hard and confusing the survivors. And then, if they could surprise them . . .

  Another thundering blast, and they saw a flash of daylight at the far outside end of the corridor. Steve and Viejo went prone, each to a side of the corridor, their rifles on automatic and pointing into the corridor. When it was time, no need even to aim. Another wave of choking dust boiled from the corridor into the big chamber. They waited, muffling coughs with their hands. Footsteps. Two or three of them, by the sound of it. They still waited, until Viejo motioned for Steve’s attention, pointing. A bobbing light; a flash held in a man’s hand as he walked. They heard low voices. They still waited, until the first forms were visible. Viejo looked at Steve and he nodded. They opened fire.

  Short bursts, hammering bullets into the corridor under high velocity. Screams, the continued shattering roar of the rifles. The corridor became a wasp’s nest filled with
whining lead creatures, ricocheting off the corridor walls, continuing the length of the long passage, tearing and chopping into anything that came within reach. Their clips were empty. They slammed in fresh clips. Steve reached into a pocket, pulled out a smoke grenade. He jerked the pin and threw the grenade as hard as he could into the tunnel. Before it hit the floor, thick, acrid, orange smoke billowed out. “That’ll slow anybody,” Steve said.

  They moved swiftly. They’d come into the temple from its southwest corner. There was the chance they could provide another surprise to the opposition, make them think Steve’s people had left some covering firepower outside. They ran steadily along the corridor leading to the northwest corner of the temple. At the end, as Viejo gasped for air, Steve flashed his light on a bas-relief he expected to find by the stone. It was there. “Wait”—he looked to Viejo—“the tunnel . . . we have been running, yet there have been no deadfalls.”

  Steve also had forgotten completely . . . but then he realized the traps would be set for someone coming into the tunnel, not leaving. Still, Viejo was absolutely right, they’d better keep it in mind on the way back. But what about those men who’d come along that first corridor? Well, it was obvious they hadn’t reached its deadfall yet. Maybe their next group would . . .

  He pressed against the stone. The huge block moved aside slowly, creaking. He placed his hand against the exposed side, pushed as hard as he could. The stone moved halfway, stopped, jammed, but they had enough room to get through. They moved outside, crouching, facing a growth of tall grass and vines. Good cover. “Colonel, stay under cover here and keep an eye on me. I just might need some help.”

  Before Viejo could protest, Steve was gone, staying close to the huge temple flank. He reached a low hill on which great stones and boulders had tumbled. The cover he needed. Crouching, he broke to his right to reach heavy undergrowth. He moved closer to where they had first approached the temple.

  He froze. Ten? Fossengen had more than twenty men with him, a group milling around the corridor entrance. Steve saw the opening. They had blasted their way in. He studied the cover about him. He set the rifle carefully and squeezed off five quick shots. Two men spun about and fell. The rifle reports were still echoing off the temple when he ducked low and ran with all the speed he could manage in the undergrowth away from where Viejo waited. He threw himself prone, saw the others, under cover now, firing into the growth from where he had just fired. He aimed carefully, squeezed off three rounds, saw another man tumble to the ground. Again his speed was his only defense, and he was back into the growth. He stopped once, fired a long burst at the group, kept on going. If the reaction was as he hoped, then Fossengen had to figure on a pretty substantial force of unknown size to his rear. He couldn’t leave himself without cover in that direction, and that would cut his forces even more. Steve kept on running, reached the hill with its haphazardly strewn boulders, and broke back toward the base of the temple. Shots cracked from behind him and buzzed by his ears. Another bullet spanged off rock just over his head. He kept running. Almost there. Viejo came into view, on one knee, firing single rounds one after the other, covering him.

  They tumbled through the narrow opening back into the corridor. Steve’s chest heaved as he fought to breathe. He didn’t try to talk, gesturing instead at the door control. Viejo got to his feet, pressed. The stone rumbled part way, then stopped. Bullets slammed into the stone from the other side. Steve and Viejo glanced at each other, then at the stone block. At its base was a spent cartridge, jamming the bottom of the groove along which the stone moved. Viejo banged his hand against the release and the stone opened. Quickly he slammed the door control again, then stooped to brush aside the empty cartridge. The doorway was half closed when a burst caught Viejo in the neck and chest, hurling him back into the corridor. He tumbled twice, came to rest in a heap, half his neck shot away.

  Steve was hardly aware that the stone block had slid back into its resting place, sealing off the corridor from the outside. For a long moment he stared at the man who had become his friend. He removed the cartridge belt from Viejo’s body. He turned and started back along the corridor, running steadily. Barely in time he remembered, slowed his speed, used his flashlight to search for the bas-relief on the wall. He found it, pressed, watched the handle emerge. He pulled it down and felt it lock in place. It was now safe to continue.

  He found the central chamber still empty. Orange smoke hung in the air. That same draft from unknown places stirred it slowly. Steve crossed the chamber, worked the door control to the stairway that led to the group waiting for him in the room high in the temple.

  He told them how Viejo had died. And the rest of it, including the size of the force Fossengen had brought with him. “It’s getting late,” he finished, “we’ve got to get set for the night . . . higher than we are now. There’s still a lot of temple above us.”

  Rudy Wells pointed to one of the panels. “Right there,” he told Steve. “We found it while you were gone.”

  “Where does it lead to?”

  “We didn’t go up. Figured it was best that we wait for you. Dr. Yavari thinks it’s the main room of the temple. The high point. Probably some way of looking out over the local countryside from there.”

  Steve nodded. “We can use that. All right, everybody be ready to move out of here.”

  At least the Caya followed the principle of repetition. Each doorway worked as the others. The expected stone block slid aside, and their flashlights showed a curving stairway of stone. But the width was less than the others, and the curvature tighter.

  Exactly half as many steps as the first stairway. Sixty-four smoothly cut ledges of stone fitted together perfectly. Steve stayed in the lead, his rifle held loosely. He figured it wouldn’t be of any use against whatever the Caya might have left behind. He walked slowly, carefully, the searching light in his hand prodding the way for him. He stopped and looked back to Mueller. “I see it,” Mueller said. “Another chamber, it looks like from here.”

  Steve nodded. “Maybe the chamber.”

  They moved slowly from the stairs just as the sun was slipping beneath distant peaks. The deep red wash of sunset etched its way through the jagged gorges, stabbed at the great western flanks of the temple. But up here, as Yavari had anticipated, there was light.

  Steve looked at the thin line of sunlight showing through one wall. He turned the flash on it, saw a stone fitted perfectly for a window space shoved partially into the chamber. So that was how they worked it. They had no glass and yet they needed protection from the elements up here. High winds, torrential rains. Over each slot, carved, burned through the stone with a convergence, another stone was suspended, to be moved into its matching slot like a heavy plug when desired. With all the slots so fitted, or plugged, the high chamber was sealed off from the world. Whatever had been used to suspend the window stones had been gone for thousands of years. Rotted away. Only the stones remained, all of them in their slots. Except the one dislodged by wind, or tremor, or lightning bolt. It didn’t matter. Steve leaned his rifle against the wall, lifted the stone free, brought it gently to the floor. The last touch of sunset poured into the room.

  Aaron Mueller gasped, a sharp intake of breath, and Steve turned around, ready for whatever—

  He froze. In the center of the room, concealed within shadows until the stone was removed from the window slot, now catching and reflecting the last rays of the sun, above their heads, impossible, magnificent, iridescent from a thousand twists of light within its substance.

  The high crystal.

  CHAPTER 18

  Eight feet high. Five feet across at its widest point. Multifaceted. Impossible. In the chamber, the window slot closed off so no light from their battery lamps would show, they stared and spoke in quiet tones to one another. It was hypnotic. Centuries gave off their own aura. It overpowered them with its presence and what it meant in terms of time and a vanished race. It answered questions, gave basis to a thousand rumors, posed te
n thousand questions more. It pushed their physical trials from their minds, banished the deaths of Jennings and Viejo to another plane of thought.

  The questions poured at them. “Notice the sloping sides of the thing?” Rudy said, pointing with his flashlight. “No dust . . .”

  Heads turned to Phil Wayne. “The only reasonable answer,” he said slowly, “is that the crystal has some electric field property. Electrostatic . . . whatever it is it rejects anything, including dust settling on it.”

  “Hey, over here!” They joined Aaron Mueller studying a neatly drilled hole, round, extending into the floor. There were eleven others, equally spaced about the room, “Now we know how Jennings was killed,” Mueller said. “That cavity you see there must extend into the chamber where Jennings picked up the model.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Carla protested. “The light that killed him was horizontal. This is perhaps seventy or eighty degrees.”

  Wayne came closer. “No, he’s right. In that chamber below us there’s either an optical reflector system or another, much smaller crystal. You could bend that kind of beam thirty or eighty degrees without any problem.”

  “Optics?” Rudy Wells said. “That means grinding, lenses, understanding the optical properties. They didn’t have optics.”

  “Right, doc. You show me there isn’t any crystal in this room either, and I’ll sure agree with you,” Wayne said. “It also means that each chamber has this same kind of booby trap built into it. Maybe worse.”

  “Don’t blame them,” Carla said. “They protected what they left behind. That’s all. And gave every one of us a clear warning. Dr. Jennings couldn’t wait. If only he had waited just another few seconds . . .”

  Steve forced himself to sound harsh, and worried he’d overdone it. “Tomorrow is what concerns me now, and it should concern all of you. Viejo’s dead too, and that wasn’t accidental.” He looked up, studying the curving upper walls of the dome. “Phil, you’ve got work to do. We need every one of those diagrams in the stone photographed. Don’t leave out anything.” The stone panels were perhaps even more important than the crystal, for they broke down the crystal design from all sides, showed how it received sunlight, how it could be beamed. “You’ve got two cameras,” Steve went on. “Shoot one series in color and one in black-and-white.” Wayne nodded. “When you’re finished, seal the color in a watertight bag and give it to me. You keep the black-and-white the same way. Rudy, stay with Phil. Use that tape recorder. Make any notes you think are pertinent. Start over there. Mark it panel number one and go clockwise around the dome. The sooner we get this on film and tape the better.” He looked at them all. “We may have to execute that well known maneuver of getting the hell out of here, and soon. Fossengen and his crew are likely to get impatient.”