The humans stuck close to the Enshari. He steered Mmok. Mmok steered the robots. Spotlights popped from the crab robot’s bodies lighting up the area. The spacers saved their torches and lanterns for later need. The robot’s power supplies were more than adequate for months of such use.
As Duna had promised, the lights proved unnecessary. The bioluminescent panels the Enshari were so fond of dotted the roof of the tunnel, though the light was dimmer than humans liked. As they crunched through a vast bone yard, hunting an enemy that might form around them in a nightmarish second, they were happy for the spotlights.
Shellycoats were not the only enemy to be feared. They faced bad footing, flooding, and decay in the city itself. Barjan had suffered many fires. Without intelligent agency to stop them, the fires caused widespread damage.
The smell of old smoke filled their noses, as did the smell of damp and rot. These eased only when they passed a shaftway. Fortunately, shaftways were common both for light and ventilation. Some penetrated only dozens of meters. Others dropped off to unguessable depths.
They wound down the roadway until they reached a collapsed section. Then Duna began to take them down the side streets of the city. As they moved, Shasti drew luminous ranger marks at every turn. The robots and Mmok could find the way back with ease, but Fenaday wanted to take no chances of becoming lost.
Animal life constantly skittered away from them. Enshar’s equivalents of rats, mice, bats and other burrowing life had moved unchecked into the city’s corpse. Mmok’s robots could sense further than the humans and were programmed to fire on moving targets closing on them or standing their ground. The non-enhanced members of the group found themselves starting at sounds, snapping up weapons at any sound or movement. Fenaday finally ordered everyone but Shasti to shoulder their weapons for fear of wild shooting.
“I thought it would be silent,” said Shasti, at one rest stop.
Fenaday looked at her in surprise, realizing she was correct. His brain had tuned out most sounds, other than those of the animals. Barjan was far from silent. Metal creaked and groaned as it expanded and contracted. Water dripped. Air currents wafting past them emitted a soft sound as well, nearly flute-like. He looked up to see a small bundle of pipes on the ceiling.
Duna caught his gaze. “My people developed in caves and caverns,” he said, “the song of wind through rocks is almost lulling, part of the ambiance.”
“My people feel the same way about wind chimes,” said Li, from his seat on a small powered cart.
“On Denla we prize the sound of the ocean,” Telisan said. “We make many different types of machines and waterfalls so that the sound of rushing water is always near.
“What sounds are the Irish fond of?” Telisan asked.
Fenaday thought a moment. “Potatoes growing.”
Shasti sighed.
“Now, Captain, you know it’s the bagpipes that make the sound of Eire,” Connery said.
“What does that sound like?” Duna asked.
“Imagine a man strangling a cat,” replied Li, “while biting it on the tail.”
“I will try,” Duna said dubiously.
Fenaday smiled. “It’s time to go.” He turned to Duna. “Which way?” he said, looking at the bewildering maze of tunnels and caverns around them.
“We designed our cities for mass transit,” Duna said, standing and brushing dust off his uniform, “with an abundance of walkways and trams. None of these still operate though. I fear we must simply travel by the underground streets.”
The streets started off as broad thoroughfares in the commercial areas, where small carts supplemented pneumatic tubing as a means of delivering goods. As the spacers moved into residential districts in their downward course, they began to narrow. On either side of them, stacked up in the thirty-meter diameter passageways, stood Enshari apartments. Occasionally, a well-off family had a separate, circular home, with a small garden of fungus or other dark-loving plant life.
The thought of all the slaughtered families lying in the underground apartments nearly broke their nerves. They forged forward, close to each other, casting anxious glances in all directions. Only Shasti and Mmok seemed unaffected by the oppressive atmosphere. Mmok idly kicked bones out of his path in a move that made Fenaday’s teeth grate.
“Have a care with your feet,” he finally snapped at the cyborg.
“Quit giving me orders, pirate.” Mmok glared contemptuously. “I work for Mandela.”
Fenaday felt his own temper flash in response. He dropped a hand to brush the holster of his weapon. Mmok’s single eye noted the gesture. He smiled coldly. His wolfish grin dimmed as he noticed Rainhell’s weapon already on him. Shasti smiled back equally coldly. The robots stopped moving.
“I fear,” Duna said, “that you are not seeing Barjan at its best. It was not always such a darksome place. It was filled with light and laughter when I was here last. Very reminiscent of your Paris, Captain.”
“Never been there,” Fenaday said tightly.
“You should go, when we get back,” said the little Enshari, as if nothing were wrong. “Mr. Mmok, if I read my map right, we go down this spiral stairway to the next level.”
Mmok and the robots started moving again.
Fenaday spotted Telisan. The Denlenn had drifted to where he had a clean shot at Mmok. His heavy laser pistol sat in its holster, but Fenaday spotted something small and black in Telisan’s long-fingered hand. The Denlenn palmed the device and walked up to pat Fenaday on the shoulder.
“He is good. Is he not?” Telisan said.
“He’s got my vote,” Fenaday whispered back.
Their larger feet managed the broad, shallow Enshari stairs easily and they dropped another level. The side of the combination road-stairwell opened to the left. As if to back up Duna’s earlier assertions of Barjan’s beauty, it yielded a view of a wide cavernous space. In it they could see a formerly prosperous section of Barjan, lit by Mur’s light pouring down the shaftways. Arches buttressed the roof sections. Hundreds of the larger Enshari domes dotted small plots of lawn, like delicate mushrooms in creams and gold. A fountain sparkled under a shaft of sunlight, too far away to be heard. Fenaday wondered what kept it going. Perhaps it was gravity fed, like the embassy. There was a hushed, cathedral-like feeling to the scene. It looked as if any moment, people would begin to stream, quietly and orderly, into view. The space was large enough for a cold wind to be blowing.
“Tis a damned shame,” Connery said suddenly. Li nodded and zipped his jacket against the breeze.
“Yes,” Fenaday agreed, shivering despite his jacket.
“Thank you, my friends,” Duna said, his voice low.
“We should get moving,” Mmok said. “We have to settle the hash of whatever did this so it does not happen again.”
Fenaday looked at him. “No argument there.”
They continued down the broad staircase with glances at the ruins of Barjan. The next level was particularly dark, and they moved through it cautiously, splashing through ill-smelling puddles when they could find no way around.
Duna turned, coming out of a narrow side street onto a broader roadway. “We are just above Barjan Old Town now. The area will be, for the most part, smaller and older. In some places, it will be uncomfortable for you, Shasti, because of your height. The temperature should remain fairly steady. Do not fear its older appearance. The area was always well maintained. Modern engineering supports the roof sections.
“I hope to reach the area of new construction soon. It will be more comfortable for you large folk. It will also mean we are near the site of the archeological dig. They were erecting new homes when they found the vault.”
“We are going to feel real damn silly,” Mmok said, “if we get there, and there is no bogeyman.”
“It’ll be worse than that,” Fenaday added. “Where do we go looking for our enemy then?”
Mmok grunted.
They walked into the oldest section of a city buil
t before the other species of the Confederacy discovered fire. An atmosphere of age was omnipresent. Carved or painted decorations covered every square inch of the walls around them. Smaller Enshari structures served as museums or shops. Fewer Enshari dead lay underfoot. The spacers saw no evidence of powered vehicles. Here and there, a cart or pedicycle stood among the bones of its former owner.
The team walked on for the better part of an hour, descending through levels in various stages of preservation.
“These levels were once very near the surface,” said Duna, “back in Barjan’s youth. Like Earth’s Troy, the city has been built and destroyed several times and settled in on itself. The original rock and wood would have made for perilous mining, but there are no greater subterranean engineers than the Enshari. Look up.”
They all gazed at the ceilings. Broad beams of metal ran through them, with spider webs of thinner metals radiating off them.
“Engineered lattices of nuclear dense metals,” continued Duna, “indifferent to loads, hold up the city above. It is a very good thing that tectonic plate movements on Enshar are so docile. The rare earthquakes that have happened were utter disasters in our history, and one of the reasons the city had been rebuilt and re-dug several times.”
The team broke out into a wider, open section, lit by the ever-present bioluminescent panels.
“Here is the new section I promised,” said Duna. “You can see the homes here are of different styles than the usual domes.”
“Yes,” said Telisan. “I see one that looks like a Denleni design.” He pointed to an elven construction of delicately carved wood and stained glass against one wall.
Fenaday saw a house that looked vaguely Colonial-human. The Enshari who had sought to recolonize the preserved and abandoned old town area were non-traditionalists in every sense.
“Open up your intervals,” Mmok growled. “One grenade would get all of you.”
They spread, out glad for the space. Mmok sent Vermilion, fleet and silent, ahead to scout. They walked on, alert, moving slowly.
Suddenly the robots stopped. Mmok raised a hand in a signal, sinking to one knee. Everyone’s hands flew to weapons as they leapt for the nearest cover. Fenaday squatted next to Mmok. The man turned his metallic, artificial eye toward Fenaday. “I am looking through Vermilion’s scanner. I see open ground and digging equipment.”
“We have arrived,” Fenaday whispered.
Chapter Seventeen
Ahead of them lay an area of flat, scraped ground over a thousand meters long and nearly as wide, dotted with construction equipment and small trailers for workers and archeologists. The cavern was dimly lit, more so than any other section they had been through.
“The bioluminescent-panels here are obviously temporary,” said Mmok. He pointed. “Look, cart-mounted power generators. Bet they’re dead though.”
“Have the crab robots illuminate the area with red light,” Fenaday whispered. “I don’t want our low-light vision screwed.”
Combined with the bio panels, the robots gave sufficient, if bloody, light to the area.
“I don’t see anything,” said Shasti. She had the best night vision of any, save Mmok with his artificial eye.
“There is a depressed area in the far distance,” said Mmok. “The ground slopes down behind it.”
“Send an HCR forward,” Fenaday ordered.
Mmok nodded. His throat moved as he subvocalized to Vermilion. The HCR went forward without hesitation. Smooth and noiseless, the machine dropped into a crouch the humans couldn’t match, keeping its Gatling tri-auto at the ready. Vermilion could barely be seen as the HCR approached the far area.
Mmok spoke up. “This must be the place, raw earth and a huge pit area. I see a wide, flat, metal section in the center, with a hole in the middle of a metal panel. Near that is a tall metal obelisk, I guess. It’s huge. There’s a derrick over a hole. It looks like it was used to drop people in… wait a minute.”
“What?” Fenaday demanded.
“Ah,” Mmok said, “Eureka, I have found it. I have the image from your computer video, Duna. This is the spot. I can project a side-by-side comparison from memory. This is where Creda’s call came from.” The half cyborg hesitated for a second, then continued diffidently. “More confirmation. I found Creda. The clothes are intact enough for an identification. Sorry.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mmok,” Duna said. “I knew he would be here.”
Mmok looked at Fenaday, as did Shasti and the others. Fenaday hated this part. As if I know what the rules are, he thought. “OK, let’s go in. The objective is the pit area. Spread out, but always keep everyone in sight. Duna, stay next to Telisan and right behind me. We’ll need your knowledge.”
“Such as it is,” replied Duna.
They started across the cavernous space, relieved to have a roof farther away from their heads. Small trailers and various pieces of digging equipment provided cover as they moved over the underground field. The ground ahead consisted of unrefined dirt and rock, clearly the site of the archeological excavation. Dig sites pockmarked the area, small depressions with grids of wire and hand tools nearby.
A vertical slab of dark metal, ten meters tall dominated the area. It appeared to be covered by some form of script. Gleaming in the half-light, it looked new enough to have been placed there only yesterday. Yet, as they approached it, Fenaday felt an overwhelming impression of age.
Fenaday leaned against a trailer that might have belonged to Creda and looked up at the obelisk. “Can you read it, Belwin?” Obviously the product of a high technology, it showed every sign of having been there since this level of Barjan Deep was inhabited. The bottom of it was not fully excavated. A resemblance to a grave marker suddenly struck him.
“A little,” said the excited Enshari, back in his field again. The expedition was both a joy and a curse to the scholar. “It speaks of the burial of a great being. There is something I cannot translate, maybe a name. ‘We could not destroy he who was the greatest of us.’ More I cannot read. Ah, wait, this says, ‘He saved us from darkness.’”
“Darkness,” came the word, rumbling through their minds, accompanied by a sound like a waterfall in the distance. They spun back to back, hearts pounding, mouths open, eyes searching the dark. The robots did not react, though the HCRs turned toward the spacers, as though puzzled by their sudden movement.
Fenaday looked at the others. “You heard it too?”
“Yes,” said Duna, Shasti and Telisan simultaneously. Li and Connery nodded, eyes darting around as they stared at the shadows beyond the reach of their lights.
“The robots,” said Fenaday.
Mmok looked at him. “They didn’t hear it,” he hissed. “They report no sound, no spoken word.”
Cobalt stood next to Fenaday.
“Confirm,” Fenaday demanded of the robot. “Did you hear a non-team member speak the word, darkness? Do you hear a sound like a waterfall?”
Cobalt turned soulless doll’s eyes to him. “There have been no such sounds,” replied the robot in its flat, metallic tones.
“Darkness,” it came again, stronger. In their minds, faint and fuzzy images began to form. Words and concepts tumbled in a bewildering kaleidoscope. Fenaday saw a towering figure, almost glowing, standing on a rocky plain. He could not see any detail to the giant. Huge bolts of raw power rolled from the figure, filling up the sky, boiling away clouds and air.
Words came too. “Darkness, darkness closes, the end draws near. Made the change, became the One. Raised the soldiers of light and air from my new mind. Slew the Others, the Dark Ones, drove them from our worlds. The final battle, the madness, the madness, the madness.”
It faded. For a second, Fenaday became aware of himself again, crawling on the floor like a child. He steeled himself to resist, but his consciousness fled as the thing spoke again.
“Madness… destroyed my own. Captured, buried.” Suddenly it became a scream. “Buried. The little people, deaf to me, buried, worse
, worse… forgotten.” A blast of hatred filled him, a hatred of the Enshari. Suddenly, as if a switch were thrown, the psychic barrage ceased. Fenaday and the others lay on the floor, gasping for breath. The presence they felt was gone. No, not gone. As they struggled to their feet, they could hear the distant waterfall-like projection. It faded, quickly becoming so dim as to be nearly unnoticeable.
The robots, standing over the humans, aware of the assault on their soft-skinned companions, couldn’t detect either a vector or a means. They could launch no counterattack.
Mmok began to update the machines. He was clearly rattled and whispered instead of subvocalizing. “Telepathic assault from the pit. No counterattack at this time.” The robots accepted the impossible with mechanical equanimity. Extra-sensory perception was the stuff of labs and telepathy only a word, until this moment
Fenaday looked at Shasti. She nodded back, her usual equanimity reasserting itself.
“Everyone else, stay where you are, especially you, Duna.” Fenaday turned toward the hole. With Shasti on his left side, he approached the section where a hole had been bored through into the chamber below. They slid on their bellies as they reached the spot. Then, with a last look at each other and a nod, they peered over, shining their battle lanterns at the widest beam.
A Titan’s corpse lay on a platform twenty-five meters below them. Had it stood, its head would have poked out of the hole. A head the size of an aircar, or a small truck. It had gone to bone an eon ago. Its skull looked up at them, from three empty eye sockets big enough for a man to step through. It had been bipedal, but nothing about the skeleton was familiar. Arms reached past the knees, the feet ended in disc-like hooves.
This was no ordinary casket. The chamber below them stretched out for at least tens of meters, from all sides of the platform. Lights and mechanical movement played around some of the perimeter and near the platform.
“Perhaps,” whispered Shasti, “it’s some form of suspended animation or stasis. It has the look of such equipment from the early days of spaceflight.”
Was Once a Hero Page 22
