There was a spring nearby, and it seemed a good time to quit for the day. Chaka spotted some quail and went off to hunt down dinner while the others unloaded the horses and made camp.
The forest was a conglomeration of sycamore and birch, pine and maple. Clusters of daffodils and mayflowers had bloomed, and marvelous white-leafed flowers with white and orchid-colored blossoms grew in moist shady soil, usually near trees. She was looking for a good place to set up when she came face to face with a turkey.
The bird squawked and tried to clear out, but Chaka had her rifle at the ready.
As she recovered the animal, a break in the trees revealed a disk, very much like the ones they’d seen at the Devil’s Eye and the maglev station. It was about a half-mile away, and she stood watching it change colors in the setting sun.
They baked bread and added some carrots and berries to the turkey, and washed everything down with Jeryk’s wine. The wine might have been exceptionally good, or it might have been too long since their last round. In any case, they enjoyed dinner thoroughly. After they’d washed up, Quait suggested they take a closer look at the disk. Flojian reluctantly agreed to stay with the horses. “Be careful,” he said. “I don’t want to be left alone out here.”
The sun was down and the forest had grown dark and restless. It smelled of pine and fresh clay and old wood. Occasionally, the gleam of their lamps caught eyes which blinked and were gone. The ground was matted with dead leaves and straw. The wind moved above them, through the night.
It took almost an hour to find it in the dark. When they did, Quait said that it was bigger than the other disks. Certainly the design was different, but it was quite obviously of the same family of objects, although this one was on the ground rather than on a roof. It was seated in a huge metal mount, several times Chaka’s height, and angled toward the sky. The lower sections were encrusted with vines and vegetation. If it had been designed to move, it clearly had not done so for a long time.
They saw another reflection in the treetops directly ahead, which turned out to be a second disk. It was identical to the first, roughly six minutes away. Another lay six minutes beyond that. And a fourth stretched out to the flank. All separated by the same approximate distance.
Chaka and Quait kept close together. Although they believed that they held enlightened views, and would have indignantly rejected any charge they were superstitious, they nevertheless found the combination of dark forest and alien symmetry disquieting. The pattern of the objects, and the fact that they seemed pointed toward the heavens, suggested that the area had been used for religious services.
They were about to concede there was little more they could do in the forest at night when they saw a brick building among the trees. It was a bleak, worn structure, three stories high, ugly, squat, unadorned. Most of the windows were out. A small disk, different in design as well as size from the ones in the woods, was mounted on the roof. It rose just above tree level, and had a clear view of the moon. In front, a fountain had gone to dust.
There was a set of double doors in the rear. Someone had painted MOLE LOVES TUSHU across them. The words were faded, and very old.
The doors in front were made of heavy glass set in pseudo-metal frames. One of them was on the ground, the glass still whole.
Inside, a plaque read:
THE PLANETARY SOCIETY
2011
They passed through a set of inner doors. Stairs mounted to the upper floors; a desk was situated on the left; and a long corridor ran to the back of the building. Several rooms opened off the passageway.
They looked into the first. The lamplight fell across several chairs and a desk. Windows were missing. An old carpet had turned to dust. The place smelled of the centuries.
They moved from room to room. Near the far end of the corridor the floor gave way beneath Quait and he bruised a shin. The noise set something outside fluttering.
He rubbed the injury, leaning against a wall. “If there’s a hole,” he said, “I’ll find it.”
She laughed and suggested they go back to camp.
But he covered his lamp and she followed his gaze. Ahead, near the end of the corridor, there was a glow. Coming out of one of the rooms.
They approached and looked in cautiously. The light was amber, and it came from one of the gray boxes that always seemed to be around when magic happened.
“I don’t think it was there when we first came in the front door,” she whispered.
Quait unslung his rifle.
Nothing moved.
They played the beams from their lanterns around the room. It was filled with pseudo-glass screens and metal boxes. Chaka took a deep breath. “Is anybody here?” she asked.
“Professor Woford?” The voice seemed to come from the top of a desk. “Is that you?”
“No.” Reluctantly. “My name is Chaka Milana.”
“It’s good to hear from you again, Professor. It’s been a long time.”
There was a glossy black pyramid on the desk. Quait bent over it. It seemed to be the source of the voice. “Are you in the building somewhere?” he asked.
“Please restate your question.”
“Never mind.”
“Who are you?” asked Chaka.
“Please restate your question.”
Quait rolled his eyes. “This one’s as crazy as the one at the bank.”
“Just a minute,” Chaka told the pyramid. “Can you tell me what place this is?”
“You know the answer to that, Professor Woford.”
“Please answer my question.”
“This is Cayuga.”
“And what do we do at Cayuga?”
“Can you be more precise, Professor?”
“What is the purpose of this facility?”
“We have several purposes: We operate the array, we receive incoming traffic from Hubble Five and Six, we correlate the results from both sources, and we analyze the resulting data.” While Chaka tried to formulate her next question, the pyramid spoke again: “I wish to remind the Professor that repairs have still not been effected for the array, and all units remain nonfunctional.”
“What about Hubble Five and Six?” asked Quait.
“Hubble Six continues to forward telemetry. Hubble Five has been offline for 741 years, nine months, and eleven days.”
Chaka and Quait exchanged puzzled glances. “You said we’re analyzing data,” said Chaka. “To what does the data refer?”
“You know very well, Professor.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“The data constitutes a record of radio surveys made of 148,766 targets, as of midnight zulu last, in an effort to find patterns that suggest artificial transmissions.”
The desk seemed stable, so Chaka lowered herself carefully onto it. “What is ‘radio’?”
“Radio is the term used to designate electromagnetic disturbances, in motion, whose frequencies lie from about 20 kilohertz to somewhat over 300 gigahertz.” It sounded bored.
“Round and round,” said Quait. “Are you getting any of this?”
“Not much,” said Chaka. “If you succeeded in finding patterns that suggest artificial transmissions, what conclusion would we draw?”
“That we are not alone. That there is intelligent life elsewhere.”
Chaka thought she understood. “You mean other than on Earth?”
“Of course.”
Quait sighed. “How could that be possible?”
“Maybe on the moon,” said Chaka. “Or on the planets.” She spoke again to the pyramid. “And what has been the result of our analysis to date?”
“To date, Professor, we have confirmed artificial signals from seventeen sites. The most recent occurred just last year, on the day after Christmas. I would remind you that you have not yet authorized me to reply.”
“You want to say hello to whoever’s out there?”
“That would seem to be the most appropriate way to start a conversation.”
&n
bsp; “Then do it.”
“Can you restore full power?”
Chaka looked at Quait and shrugged. Outside, the crickets were loud. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll try to make do. May I also remind you again that the array needs major repairs. You might even wish to add the enhancements which I’ve recommended in my analysis PR-7-6613/AC. We could, with a little effort, increase our definition considerably.”
Chaka thought she detected a note of disapproval.
24
They exhausted a second wedge fighting off another bear. The bear scattered the horses; and either it was too strong for the wedges or the units were weakening. Quait, who never felt comfortable on the trail without a rifle slung over his shoulder, put three rounds into the beast while lying on his back.
“I told you so,” he said.
Chaka’s admiration for his skill under duress was seasoned with amusement at the changes in Quait’s behavior. He had apparently begun to see himself as the new Jon Shannon. He unconsciously imitated Shannon’s loose-hipped walk, he insisted on riding at the point (“in case we get attacked”), his voice seemed to have become slightly deeper and more deliberate, and his sense of humor developed a fatalistic edge. But these were tendencies that time mitigated, and within a few days the original Quait had more or less returned. Except that he continued to insist on staying up front.
The highway had also returned. Roadmaker towns of varying sizes became more frequent. They found occasional signs, still legible, directing them to Burger King and Power Lift Recharge and the Hoffman Clock Museum. Chaka, whose experience with mechanical timekeeping devices was limited to hourglasses and waterclocks, commented that she would have liked very much to spend an afternoon at the latter establishment.
They passed a sign directing them toward the International Boxing Hall of Fame. They knew what boxing was, but were puzzled by the rest of the inscription. “They must have taken sports seriously,” said Chaka.
“Sounds to me,” said Flojian, “like the boating business.”
Eventually the canal came back down from the north. They celebrated its return by fishing in it. But a rainstorm blew up and they took shelter in an old barn. The structure was from their own era, but was nonetheless close to collapse. Chaka stood by the open doorway watching the rain when she saw something floating over the treeline.
“What?” asked Quait.
She pointed. The object was round at the top, and orange-colored. A basket hung from its underside.
“It’s a balloon,” said Flojian. “But it must be a big one.”
It was off to the southwest, running with the storm. Coming their way.
The basket carried a rider. Reflexively, Chaka waved.
The person in the basket waved back. It was a man.
They watched the thing approach. The image of a hawk was drawn on the balloon. It was moving quickly and within minutes passed overhead. Lightning flashed through the storm clouds. The man in the basket waved again.
“He’s going to get himself killed,” said Flojian.
The wind carried him rapidly away, and within a short time he’d vanished into a dark sky.
In the morning, the highway emerged from the forest into plowed land. Cultivated fields were arranged in squares, and the squares were often divided by water channels. There were cottages and sheds and fences.
“Civilization,” said Quait.
It was a good feeling.
After about an hour, they saw their first inhabitants. Four of them were conducting an animated conversation outside a house about fifty yards off the road. Two men were on horseback. The others, an old farmer and a young woman, stood by a pile of wood. One of the two horsemen looked far too heavy for his mount. He wore a buckskin vest and a sidearm, and he was jabbing a finger at the farmer while he talked.
“That looks tense,” said Chaka.
Before anyone could reply, the man in the vest drew a gun and fired. The horses reared, the farmer staggered backward and collapsed, and the woman screamed. The gunman was about to fire a second round when the woman seized his arm and tried to drag him out of his saddle. The other horseman rode casually over and hit her with a rifle butt.
Without a word, Quait spurred Lightfoot forward and unslung his own rifle. Chaka sputtered an uncharacteristic oath and followed, leaving Flojian to hang on to the horses.
The woman started to get up, but the second horseman, who was long and lean, with red hair the same color as Chaka’s, slid out of his saddle and kicked her in the ribs. Quait fired off a warning shot.
The man in the vest turned around shooting. Quait reined up, took aim, and nailed him with the first round. The redhead grabbed the woman and drew his pistol. He put it to her temple.
He was motioning for them to stay back. Quait slowed down but kept moving forward.
“Careful,” screamed Chaka. “He’ll kill her.”
“He knows he’s dead if he does.”
The redhead was looking around, weighing his chances. Abruptly, he pushed his captive away, leaped onto his horse, and galloped for the woods. Chaka raised her rifle and tracked after him but Quait put a hand on the barrel. “Let him go,” he said.
She shook her head. “He’ll be back.”
“You can’t kill a man who’s running away.”
She glared at Quait, but before she could make up her mind a shot rang out and the redhead spun out of his saddle. Her first thought was that Flojian had done it, but she didn’t waste time on the details. Instead, she spurred Piper forward and jumped down on the ground beside the woman, who was now crouching over the victim’s body and screaming hysterically.
He was dead, the ground drenched with blood. Judging from their apparent ages, she suspected he was her grandfather. The woman was not much more than a girl. Maybe eighteen. Chaka put a hand on her shoulder but made no move to draw her away.
The shooter, who lay sprawled against a downed tree trunk, moaned and looked up with glazed eyes. He tried to recover his gun, which had fallen a few feet away. Chaka kicked it clear and showed him her own weapon. “Wouldn’t take much,” she said.
He grunted, said something she couldn’t understand. Blood was welling out of a shoulder wound. His face was distorted with pain.
Two men rode out of the woods, rifles cradled in their arms. They wore dark blue livery, closely enough matched that Chaka knew they were troopers or militia men.
They were both big, one dark-skinned, one light. The light one stopped to look at Red and shrugged. His partner came the rest of the way in to the house. He stared down mournfully at the man on the ground. “Sorry, Lottie,” he said. “My god, I’m sorry.”
The girl knelt beside the body, sobbing hysterically. They let it go on for a while. The partner tied the hands of the wounded man, and secured him to a hitching post. Then they all stood in a circle around the body, and finally Chaka eased Lottie away.
She took her inside and waited for her to calm down. She told her it was all right, that her friends were here and would take care of her, and that Chaka and her fellow-travelers would do whatever they could for her. She got a damp cloth so Lottie could wipe the dust and tears from her face.
The others brought the body in and placed it in a bedroom. “Best you come with us, darlin’,” said the dark trooper.
“No.” She shook her head. “This is my home.”
“You’ll be back. But we can’t leave you here alone now. Why don’t you come along, stay with the Judge tonight? Till we can get things straightened out.”
Lottie was attractive in the way of all young women. She was blond, with expressive eyes (although they were now bloodshot), graceful limbs, and a smile that almost broke through her grief.
“No,” she said. “Please.”
“You have to, Lottie,” the dark trooper said. “It’s all right. We’ll have somebody come over. Meantime, Blayk’ll stay with him.”
He glanced at his partner. Blayk nodded.
“Yo
u’re sure, Blayk?” she asked, between sobs.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s okay. You get out of here for now.”
She held her hands to her lips for a long time. “Yes, all right. I’ll go. Thanks, Blayk.”
Blayk was tall, lean, quiet. There was a palpable weariness in his features, as if he’d stayed in too many houses under these circumstances. “It’s okay, Lottie. Least I can do.”
She looked around the room, suddenly at a loss again. “I’ve got a jacket here somewhere.”
Chaka got up and took her in hand. She found a liquor of unknown type in a kitchen cabinet, poured her a drink, and poured herself one. She left the bottle for anyone else who wanted any, and looked at Blayk’s partner. “I’ll ask you to wait a little bit, Trooper.”
“We’re rangers, ma’am,” he said.
“Forgive me,” Lottie said. “This is Sak. And that is Blayk.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Chaka introduced herself and her partners. Then she escorted Lottie out of the room. When they came back, twenty minutes later, Lottie was cleaned up and in fresh clothes.
Chaka walked her out onto the porch. Sak held the door for her and for the Illyrians. “I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if you folks would come along, too. I think the Judge’d like to meet you.”
“Of course,” said Quait. “Who’s the Judge?”
“Local law and order.” He told Blayk when he could expect to be relieved, and collected the prisoner. They mounted their horses and rode out east along the canal.
“Where you from?” asked Sak.
“Illyria,” said Flojian.
Sak frowned. “Never heard of it.” He looked about thirty-five, but Chaka sensed he was considerably younger. He had weatherbeaten skin and a thick black mustache.
The prisoner rode beside Quait. “In the old days,” said Sak, “we’d have just shot him here.”
“I wish we could have gotten here a little sooner,” said Chaka. “What was it about?”
“Slavers,” said Sak. “We’re gradually getting rid of them. Aren’t we, crowbait?” He poked the wounded man with his rifle.
Eternity Road Page 27
