Artifact 7/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
As the Jilectan dropped his arm, Matt Philips rolled sideways and scrambled to his feet. The blaster skidded away, described a neat arc in the air and smacked solidly into his palm. Lyla's work, he knew.
"Can we get out that way?" he demanded already half suspecting that she knew more about the doors than she had admitted. He started for the exit that led to the anteroom and thence to the Jilectan aircar. Lyla grabbed his wrist.
"No Matt! I think its coming from there! This way!" She pulled him toward the door on the far wall, and he went, unresisting. If Lyla thought they shouldn't go back the way they had come, he was willing to go along for now. They ran across the huge echoing room and, as they approached, the door groaned open reluctantly before them. It was as he had surmised, then. Lyla must have figured out how to open the doors.
"Telekinesis?" he panted out, as they went through the narrow gap opening before them and into the area beyond. Behind them, the door shut with a hair-raising squeal of protesting metal.
She shook her head. "Telepathic command."
How had the fortress' architects managed that? he wondered peripherally, but did not stop to question Lyla more fully. The explanation could wait. Before them lay a long, bare hall. Blank, grey metal rectangles lined it, and the floor was thick with a carpet of dust. They did not hesitate, but ran.
The corridor ended in a crossing corridor. They chose the right branch and ran again. They had gone barely four meters when a sudden whistling howl shattered the silence around them. The ear-piercing shriek continued for perhaps five seconds then cut off abruptly in a half-hiccup. Philips and Lyla looked at each other, but did not pause. If anything, they increased their pace.
"What was that, do you suppose?" Lyla panted.
"Got me," Philips said, breathlessly. "Alarm of some kind, I guess."
"For us?"
"Maybe. I wonder how many of these guys we have running around in here?"
Another T was reached. So far they had encountered no sign of life, but that alarm bothered Philips. Somebody had set it off, for some reason, and that reason might very well be them. They turned left this time and dropped to a walk.
Overhead, fresh air hissed from vents, and the dust that had coated previous halls was not as thick, thinning even as they looked. It was as if the whole place had been sealed off and shut down for untold ages and just now, for some reason, begun to operate again. The fortress was coming to life.
Ahead of them, one of the blank, featureless doors stood partially open, at least five centimeters between itself and the doorframe. They stopped and Lyla peeked through.
"Just a storage closet of some sort," she reported. "Heavy equipment. Of course," she amended, "what's heavy for us might not be heavy for them."
Philips peeked. Large, bulky pieces of unnamable equipment sat on shelves, all enclosed in some clear, plastic-like material. He shrugged. "Nothing of use, anyway."
Lyla was looking around the hallway as he drew back. "Matt, do you sense anything odd?"
He was instantly alert. "Odd? What do you mean?"
"We're not being watched anymore. The feeling is gone."
She was right. Now that she'd brought it to his attention he could feel it, too. The sensation of observation had vanished. He met Lyla's gaze.
"When did you notice it?"
She hesitated. "I'm not sure. After we left the stasis room, I think. I kept thinking something was different, and just now I realized what it was. I can't feel a thing. I'm going to drop my shields for a closer look."
"I'll do it," Philips said, quickly. "I've had more practice. Wait a moment."
Cautiously, he parted his shields and peeked between them.
Nothing. No slightest hint of a watching mind. He lowered his shields farther and "listened" intently, searching his mind for traces of the watcher. Still nothing.
Philips hesitated, then, with delicate care, extended a clairvoyant feeler.
The probe halted at the wall with an almost physical jolt. There was nothing there that his extrasensory ability could detect, but it was stopped dead. Curious, now, he tried again at another spot, then another. Every psychic probe was blocked.
"What is it?" Lyla asked, watching him intently.
"I don't know," he replied, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. "The walls seem to be psychic proof. I can't sense past them."
She was silent for a moment. "I didn't know that was possible."
"Neither did I." He stepped closer to the wall, probing with his clairvoyant sense. At that distance there was a faint sensation. It wasn't the wall, he decided after a moment, but an energy field running on the surface of the wall: a mechanically generated field, similar in nature to a mental shield. An artificial mind shield! The Centaurs, or whatever they really were, apparently understood psychic energy better than either Terrans or Jilectans. They would have to, to be able to do this. It was not a comforting thought. As far as Philips knew, the idea of artificial shields had never occurred to the Jils or the psychic researchers of the Terran Underground. He said as much to Lyla who stood beside him, alertly watching the direction from which they had come. To his surprise, he saw that she was holding an oversized blaster, encrusted with what looked like rubies. It had to be Linthvar's weapon, but when had she acquired it, and from where?
"So the Underground had no idea this could be done?" Lyla repeated, thoughtfully. "It seems there's a lot more to the subject than any of us knew. This could start up a whole new line of research. Of course," she added, "we don't have any idea how to do it, but we do know the most important thing, now."
"What's that?"
"That it can be done, of course. Once we know that, the rest is just a matter of time. I wonder why they found it necessary to shield the walls of their own fortress?"
That thought had already occurred to Philips. Several possibilities came to mind, and he voiced them as they started on again. "Well, no society is ever monolithic, you know. There are always factions competing with each other. In a telepathic race like this must have been, a privacy screen might be a very necessary thing. And maybe there's more. What if they can't mind shield? It would be a practical necessity."
"Has the Terran Underground ever met a species that couldn't develop shields?" she asked
Philips nodded. "The Elves," he said suddenly, on a note of discovery. "That's why we keep them on the main bases. They have no shielding, and they've never been able to develop any. If the Jils found out about them, with their small numbers, they'd decimate the species. I gather that they were actually pretty formidable way back when, but right now it wouldn't be a contest."
"Didn't you say they'd gone into stasis to escape another race of psychics that was trying to exterminate them? Could it have been this race? These Centaurs?"
"It's a long shot," he remarked, "but I admit the idea did occur to me. I suppose it's possible. In any case, if the one that's been watching us is representative of his species they must have been pretty aggressive critters. If they couldn't shield, they might have needed artificial shields as protection from each other."
"Uncomfortable thought," Lyla said. "But it fits. I got the distinct impression awhile back that he was a bit puzzled about how Linthvar and M'Lady managed to defend themselves from his attack."
"I noticed it, too. Do you know who she is, by the way?"
Lyla shook her head. "She's a noble, isn't she? And she looks familiar, somehow, but I'm sure I've never seen her before."
"You've seen her brother," Philips said. "That's the most noble Lady Tranthzill, full blood sister of the Viceroy."
"Oh?" Lyla's brows went up. "I recognized the House Insignia all right. But what's a sister of Halthzor doing in the boondocks hunting Terran psychics? I didn't think they let their Ladies do anything more dangerous than swimming in their private pools."
Philips grinned at her tone. "Usually they don't, but Tranthzill is a little different. She's ambitious, and holds a lot of power because of her position -- Assistant Chief of Viceregal Intelligence. According to our intelligence reports she's got her eye on her boss's job. That may be why she's here."
"A little palace intrigue?" Lyla speculated.
He shrugged. "Could be. It wouldn't be the first time an insecure boss tried to get rid of a rival by sending him -- or her -- on a dangerous job."
"Maybe it worked." Lyla glanced back the way they had come. "Do you suppose she's still alive?"
He shrugged. "I sort of hope not. Her chances didn't look too good." They fell silent, hurrying ahead, listening all the time for a sound other than their own footsteps and the soft hiss of the ventilators, but there was nothing. The dull, grey walls were featureless except for an occasional rectangle of lighter grey: doors in the wall.
The hall ended in another crossing passage. There must be some sort of plan to this, Philips thought.
On a hunch, he turned left again. The passageway continued on past several doors and ended suddenly at another door.
"Well, that's a change," Lyla said. "What do we do now?"
"Let's open it."
He shot a mental command at the door. *Open!*
With a creak and a groan, the grey panel began to slide sideways. Philips felt smug. The door stuck after half a meter, but that left them enough room to squeeze through.
Inside, the scene was enough to make them pause.
They were in a room perhaps fifteen meters by fifteen. Multicolored pinpoints of light flashed from floor to ceiling of all four walls except where space was taken up by four screens of various sizes, and a double door in the left wall. Here and there stood what might be desks for creatures definitely non-human in shape, and in the center of the room stood a nondescript, rectangular piece of furniture which might be anything but which Philips suspected could be a storage cabinet.
Lyla drew in her breath. "It looks like the Takeshita Video World on Earth."
Matt laughed. "It does, kind of." He looked back over his shoulder as the door creaked reluctantly closed. The doors here seemed to shut automatically after they were opened. He turned back to the bewildering array of pinpoint lights. On a panel to his right a patch of lights were unlit in sharp contrast to the glittering array around it.
"It may be a control center of some kind," he added. "Probably for this complex. Wish I knew what it all meant."
For several long minutes they stared around the room, reluctant to move. Then Lyla said, "I don't see any controls."
"Probably telepathically controlled like the other things we've seen here. The only manual controls we've seen were for the sleeper chamber and the door locks--those little buttons, remember? I suspect they didn't want to chance any telepathic meddling, there."
"Probably. Did you notice there's a button on the door behind us?"
He turned, and sure enough, on the door was the same panel bearing the little yellow button and the large, purple switch that had been on the doors of the stasis room.
"Better lock the door," Lyla suggested. "I'd hate to be surprised in here."
"Good idea." He touched the yellow button and the door gave a slight quiver as inner bolts shot into place.
Lyla gave a sigh of relief, and he saw her shoulders relax. "That's better. I'll admit I feel a little safer with that door locked."
"Let's see if we can lock the other one." Philips gestured to the double doors on the left wall.
There was another panel on one of the doors with the now familiar yellow button and purple switch. Philips was reaching out to touch the locking button when the doors began to slide open. Before they had even completed the motion, bodies were boiling through them on hands and knees, scrambling over each other in their efforts at speed -- six persons who sat on or lay about on the floor, staring up at them in varying degrees of astonishment.
XIV
Lady Tranthzill fought the cable with all her strength as it enwrapped her like a serpent. Her efforts were fruitless. The thing writhed as if alive, dragging her across the floor. Her opponent must be an incredibly powerful telekinetic, more powerful than her species had ever dreamed of. The thought flashed through her brain and vanished. Behind her was a squeal of protesting metal as the door started to open.
She tried to turn to face her tormenter, but the cable held her motionless, a prisoner.
Never had she felt so powerless! Tranthzill steeled herself to face death.
A peculiar, hooting whistle filled the room. The sounds behind her ceased abruptly.
She must have fainted, she thought. There was a moment of disorientation. When it cleared, the cable was gone. There was no sign of it. She picked herself up slowly, completely bewildered. What had happened? There was nothing to tell her.
Something -- the Centaur? -- had been coming for her, then the alarm had sounded and -- what? The attack ceased -- but who had removed the cable? Where had it gone?
There were no answers. The Jilectan Lady turned to look at the door. It stood open, perhaps two meters of space now clear. As she looked, it began to close.
She moved, glad for the advantage her muscles, attuned to a high gravity world, gave her. She went through the door, escaping the closing panel, although it caught the fluttering skirt of her robe. With an impatient gesture, she yanked it free, leaving a piece of it behind.
Where she was going she wasn't certain, but she had somehow been saved from an untimely end, and waiting for the unknown psychic to return to finish the job seemed foolish. Perhaps if she could discover some way out of the anteroom -- if necessary, somehow force the door -- she could yet make her escape. Let the Terrans flee into this alien fortress. Armed with her blaster or not, their survival against the deadly owner seemed unlikely. She would stay -- at a safe distance -- until she was reasonably certain of their demise, then go. There was no point in risking her life further. Later, she could bring back an investigative team -- composed of other Jilectans, and Arcturians.
Her chauffeur had seemed unaffected by the Centaur's psychic bolts. Perhaps, better armed and equipped, they could accomplish what her woefully inadequate expedition could not, and learn the secrets of this place.
She turned to examine the anteroom, and paused, the torn skirt of her robe still gripped in one, jeweled hand. The door, by which she and the Terrans had entered this place, stood partially open, apparently jammed. Evidently the creature had come through it after them, and the door, which had jammed before must have jammed again. She hurried to it, unable to restrain a quick glance over her shoulder, then turned to the partly open door. If the Centaur decided to return his attention to her there was little she could do, so forget it. Concentrate on the problem at hand.
Perhaps a fourth of a meter of space remained between the door and doorframe -- not adequate for her to squeeze through, but perhaps ... Tranthzill braced herself, her hands gripping the door frame, one foot against the door. She took a deep breath and shoved with all her strength against whatever mechanism was trying to force the door shut. For a long, agonizing moment nothing happened. Then there was a faint grating noise and the metal quivered. Surely the panel had moved -- no more than a fraction of a centimeter, perhaps, but it had moved!
Tranthzill knew that the wave of hope that shot through her was irrational, but she could deal with only one obstacle at a time. She caught another breath and put everything she had into the action. For another long moment nothing seemed to happen. Then, all at once, the thing gave. It shot backward into its slot and she almost fell through the door.
The squeak of moving metal alerted her as she lay gasping on the rocky floor. The door had begun to close. She pulled her feet out of the way, but it ground to a halt, jammed, with perhaps a quarter of a meter of space remaining between door and frame.
She sat up slowly. The roof had collapsed once in this place. Perhaps, however, with her strength, she could get through the debris. The door that had locked them in could well have been damaged by the cave-in. Perhaps she could force it as well. Tranthzill got to her feet and turned to survey the cave. For a moment she did not believe what she saw.
The aircar stood alone in the cavern. No rocks lay about the floor. As far as she could see, there was no evidence of the cave-in that had forced her into this alien citadel against her will. Nor was there any evidence of the door that had sealed them into this space. In the rear of the vehicle Linthvar sat, still utterly motionless, but just as certainly alive.
Her mind seething with conjecture, Tranthzill walked quickly to the aircar. Could the whole affair have been one gigantic illusion, or a dream? Could the watching, alien mind possibly be so powerful as to impose such a giant lie upon her consciousness? Such an ability had never been seen before in either the Terran or Jilectan species. If so, it could make this "Centaur" and his species a greater threat to the Autonomy than all the Terrans in the Sector.
Whatever the answer to this riddle, however, it could wait until she and her dear cousin were safe. It was truly unfortunate that his fate had not been so drastic as she had hoped. She would find it hard to forgive her adversary that omission.
Without an instant's hesitation she slid behind the controls and triggered the starter.
Nothing happened. Again she tried. Still nothing.
Tranthzill made several unkind remarks to the unresponsive vehicle, employing language, the use of which was generally discouraged among Jilectan females, and considered. This was almost certainly no accident. The car's engine must have been damaged by her wily opponent to prevent its quarry's escape in case one of them should slip past. Even if she had the knowledge to effect repairs -- which she did not -- she could not spare the time to try. Never had she so missed her efficient Zaggar! The Arcturian could have diagnosed the problem in five minutes, and probably fixed anything, barring major engine damage, in ten.
Tranthzill slapped an emergency button on the dashboard. From small compartments located in the armrests of the seats, grav harnesses popped out. She wasted no time on the ones in front. They were designed for the smaller frames of the driver and any possible bodyguard. She reached back and took the one meant for the Jilectan passenger. Linthvar didn't need it and she did. Then, without pausing, she slapped a manual lever on the door. Normally these things were automatic, but the manuals were provided just in case. A concealed panel snapped open and revealed a cavity wherein lay a standard, Patrol issue blaster. She seized it, thrust it into her empty holster, and left the car.
"Goodbye, dear cousin," she murmured, a little maliciously, to the uncomprehending creature in the rear set. "Next time you will know better than to get involved in these things." But, of course, she reflected, without regret, there would be no next time for Linthvar. Unfortunate. Dismissing him from her mind, she turned and ran down the tunnel toward the outside world.
**********
The Centaur had no audible name. To a species that communicated solely by telepathy, spoken names were unnecessary. He had awakened some time ago, aware that the time had arrived for action. The Citadel was in danger. The Guardian could not have awakened him prematurely otherwise.
The came the confusion. He had detected, with the acute telepathic senses of his kind, the minds of others with the Power, but they were not the minds of the enemy he had known. One mind, easier to sense than the others, was unquestionably alien and another, coming closer, though more difficult to detect, seemed similar.
There appeared to be at least two more, also dim and hard to touch, less distinct. They were not like the others and seemed, somehow, more familiar. Could they be of his own species? It seemed possible and so, when he struck, he struck at those minds that he knew to be alien. But he had not killed.
Whatever the species was, it appeared to be able to defend itself against the Mind Death. And so, instead, he had waited for them to approach, lured by what he sensed they wished to see, until his trap snapped shut.
But then, things went awry. The tiny bipeds, whose minds had so deceived him, learned too much and escaped into the shielded area of the fortress, then, just as he had meant to enter and kill the larger biped, the alarm went off -- a warning that someone had thrown the emergency locking switch in one of the Stasis Chambers.
The danger was immediate. He did not know, yet, how many of his people survived, but it was evident the mortality rate had been high; a threat to the survivors could not be ignored. Unable to scan mentally for them because of the Citadel's screens, he was forced to locate them on the viewer. He had seen the six bipeds in the Stasis Chamber two levels above and went to eliminate them, but they, too, escaped. He paused only long enough to assure himself that the four left alive in the Chamber had not been harmed -- discovering, to his surprise, that somehow the awakening sequence had been initiated -- then followed. He arrived in time to see the lift door close, and caught a wash of alien thought from five minds. That was a revelation; of the six bipeds, five possessed none of the protection he had begun to think standard in the ugly little creatures.
He called the lift back at once. It was imperative that he destroy them. Other creatures with the ability of rational thought were an abomination, to be annihilated by the Masters. They endangered the survivors in the Citadel here and now. None must be allowed to escape. Then, once he was rid of them, he and the others must contact the other Citadels throughout the Empire. It had been too long. He must find out how many, if any, of the others had survived. They must regroup, grow in numbers, and then retake their own. Surely by now the Parasites must be gone, and no other species of intelligent beings had ever been able to stand before the Masters -- not even the Barbarians, who had possessed a measure of their own power.
The lift had been on its way back, but then it had braked to a halt, two levels below. The presence of someone within its call field had summoned it -- someone in the Citadel's Command Center!
The Centaur knew a thrill of alarm. If the Invaders had reached the Command Center it could mean disaster. He must find out at once what was happening! But first he must immobilize the lift as he had the air vehicle to prevent the escape of his quarry.
The Centaur waited until the conveyance arrived on his floor and entered. On impulse, he stopped at the level of the Command Center but, as he had expected, the doors now refused to open. Those within must have locked it. He continued down another five levels, then exited and made his way to Auxiliary Command.
The creatures could not possibly understand the controls of the Citadel. Even the Barbarians had never been capable of that. The two species had never communicated. Of course not; the Masters did not communicate with animals, even animals who claimed intelligence. Reasoning animals were still only that, and the Masters had exterminated many such pretenders and would-be pretenders over their thousand year reign as the Lords of the Galaxy. Only the Parasites had ever been a real threat, and they were a special case. He must communicate with the Guardian Computer at once, and take steps against these invaders. It had been a mistake not to do so upon his awakening, however that could now be remedied.
The Centaur entered the Auxiliary Command Center.
**********
Lyla Cane wandered slowly around the computer room, opening oddly shaped drawers and cabinets, examining the often equally odd contents. Most of the items were unidentifiable, some surprisingly familiar, such as the thick, heavy, but otherwise ordinary stylus and a pad of quite plain, un-exotic notepaper. Well, the skeleton they had seen had definitely possessed hands, and the symbol on the door indicated some form of writing, so writing material was hardly unexpected -- except for the fact that it still existed at all. Now, that was more than surprising, considering the length of time that it had been here. The Centaur fortress must indeed have been shut down and in some kind of stasis of its own, unless the material was quite unusual, able to stand up to the inevitably corrosive effect of the oxygen in the air and all the other minuscule but over time destructive agents that, after long ages, wore down the hardiest structures.
Lyla felt the paper. It didn't seem any different from the stuff ordinary humans used. She glanced at Matt Philips. The man was still in conversation with the six intruders who had so unexpectedly arrived via the Centaur elevator. Lyla had been listening with half of her attention to the explanations being given. It turned out they were students from Midgard Planetary University on their Practical. Lyla found that quite believable; her own Practical had been grueling and took place in an environment as harsh as the one these kids were enduring. It was just bad luck that they'd turned up here, now. It figured, she thought, cynically. Murphy's Law had been riding their shoulders from the start. Why should the old guy quit now with a good thing like this going?
And that alarm awhile back hadn't been for her and Matt at all; the blond girl standing to one side, a little away from the rest, was responsible.
Lyla decided to keep an eye on that one. If she'd been foolish enough to mess around once with things she didn't understand, she could easily do so again. She opened a drawer near the bottom of the desk she was investigating. The inner space was partitioned off into square, box-like areas. In one section lay a dozen little silver cubes, each with a different symbol marked on one of the six faces. Computer chips?
They looked more important than anything she had yet seen, so she scooped them up and pocketed them. The next drawer yielded nothing of interest and, in some disappointment, she pulled at the last one in the desk. It resisted her efforts. Locked!
That caught her attention. None of the others had been locked.
She glanced at Matt and the students. They were still engaged in conversation, paying little attention to her. Lyla tugged again at the drawer, without result.
Well, she could forget about it, and she might eventually have to, but not before she had exhausted all her options. After all, what was the use of being a psychic if you didn't use your powers? It was sure worth a try, now that Matt had shown her how.
Meticulously, she extended her clairvoyant power, trying to visualize the lock. If it was too complicated she was sunk, but, after all, it was just a desk drawer.
Gradually the impression solidified in her mind's eye: a simple bolt mechanism. Keeping the picture clear in her mental vision, Lyla extended her telekinetic power.
Resistance for an instant, then the bolt snapped back in its slot with a sharp click. She opened the drawer.
At first she was disappointed; the two items that lay there didn't look all that valuable -- a small nondescript metal box about ten centimeters long by five wide, and perhaps three thick. Beside it lay a small metal oval about the size of a peanut. She picked them up, examining them more closely. The oval was heavier than it looked, and upon close scrutiny Lyla could see the faintest groove in the metal, barely more than a hair's breadth encircling it at its equator. Clearly it was not just a piece of debris. She slipped it into her pouch along with the cubes and turned to the box.
The catch was simple, and Lyla undid it with ease. The lid folded back. Inside lay a crystal perhaps the size of a tirret's egg, looking like nothing more than a chunk of cut and polished quartz. At first she thought it was only that. The stone was milky white, slightly elongated and faceted like a many sided diamond. It was surprisingly heavy and a sliced forefinger taught her the hard way that the edges were razor sharp. But the quality that caught her attention was not its appearance. It radiated power -- raw power. Here was pure psychic energy in a crystal half the size of her fist, ready and waiting to be used. Quickly, she snapped the lid shut. The aura of power was cut off as abruptly as a light going out. That was as interesting in its own way as the crystal itself. The box had its own psychic shield, and that made it worth taking along. Matt's people in the Terran Underground would certainly be interested in the mechanism. Lyla debated. The belt pouch was getting a bit crowded. She slid it into one of the pockets of her cape.
It was then that she became aware of the sensation of being watched, and she felt the prickle of the short hairs rising on her neck. The Centaur!
But it wasn't. Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't so. The mind watching her was quite different from the Centaur's. And then she knew. The hairs on her neck tried to stand up straighter, and in her own mind there was suddenly a question.
It was not actually in words, but rather in concepts. It was the mind of the Guardian Computer of the Citadel, and it wanted to know who she was.
For a moment panic tried to rise in her throat. A thinking, telepathic machine, a machine that had guarded this fortress for who knew how long, was talking to her, and she'd better have a good reply for it. What could she possibly tell it?
And then the answer hit her. Who would have authorized access to this place? The Centaurs here ... or higher-ranking Centaurs from somewhere else.
But where? Why ... the other Citadels, of course! For a moment she paused, to consider the source of that information. It had to have been from the Centaur's mind again, information filtering through, or perhaps from the information her psychometric ability had tapped. Thank heavens it could have picked up little information from her that would have been of much use. But what about Matt? What secrets of the Terran Underground could the alien have found? Probably more than Matt liked. Still, it might not matter, and in any case they could deal with the problem later. Again the question from the computer, stronger this time, and more suspicious. Who were they?
Lyla formulated her answer carefully, translating it into the concepts of the Centaur's communication system -- the Centaur language. Concepts, not words. They were from another Citadel, she thought out. They had awakened some years previously, and discovered that most of their personnel were dead. They had come to this one as soon as they could to determine its status, and to seek reinforcements for their depleted numbers.
The psychic energy readings she was picking up from the machine did not change. She realized it was testing her reply for acceptability. Lyla swallowed her nervousness and glanced at Philips. He was looking intently at her, an open question on his face. Behind him, the panel of unlit indicators had come to life. The machine mind must have picked up her psychic activity when she opened that drawer she reflected ruefully. Bad mistake? Or an opportunity?
The machines thoughts changed. Acceptance. Her reply made sense. The computer was now waiting for instructions. She told it to wait and walked casually across the room toward Philips and the students. The dark haired boy was examining the suddenly active indicators. He drew Philips' attention to them. Lyla had received an initially favorable impression of him by the way he had taken command of his group the moment following their precipitous exit from the lift. His name was Hildebrand Watson, a math major from Midgard Planetary University. His lieutenants appeared to be Maureen Hammond, a very tall, limber, pony-tailed brunette with freckles, and her sister Lara, a slightly younger edition of Maureen.
Both girls wore slings on their belts. The others were Jack Gorman, tall, blond and handsome, Gary Montez, tall, slim and red headed, and his sister Candy, the short, pretty blond with the bad judgment and sulky expression.
Philips glanced at the active lights and shrugged. "You got me, Brand. I'm not the technical type. But you say the door to the stasis room just opened for you, for no particular reason?'
"Not unless you count Candy pounding on it," Jack Gorman said, a little maliciously. Lyla saw Matt look suddenly at Candy, an odd expression on his face. She knew what he was thinking. Could the girl possibly be a psychic? Had she accidentally opened the door for them in her panic? But he didn't say anything.
Hildebrand shrugged. "Anyway, that's how we got here. What is this place, and who are you?"
Matt answered the second question first. "Confederation Geological Survey team. I'm Dr. Philips and this is Dr. Cane. We've been studying this whole area for the past three months because of its indications of high metal content. We stumbled across this place by accident."
"Do you know what it is?" the boy questioned, again. "We thought it might be a secret Jil base, but it looks like we were wrong."
Philips shrugged. "You weren't too far off. Dr. Cane and I have had a chance to investigate a little. It's a base, all right, but not Jilectan. This is a very ancient fortress of some alien species. The skeleton you found in the stasis chamber was one of them, apparently. We found another chamber very much like it. There's only one problem."
"What problem?" Maureen asked. The tall girl seemed uneasy.
"There appears to have been a survivor."
The expressions of the students ranged from interest to disbelief. Philips continued, "You attracted its attention when Miss Montez set off the door alarm. It now knows we are here. Dr. Cane and I had just discovered the computer room when you appeared so suddenly, and you can be pretty sure it knows where we are."
"Well, so what?" Candy Montez demanded, suddenly. "What difference does it make? We're on its property. It has a perfect right to find out what we're doing here. Once it realizes we're harmless we can probably make friends with it."
Lyla felt her jaw drop.
Someone laughed incredulously. Hildebrand Watson turned to her, his expression unreadable. "You saw the skeleton, Candy. Do you want to bet your life that it's friendly?"
Candy hesitated, and Philips stepped quickly into the break.
"It might be friendly, but as Brand pointed out, we can't know that. Whether it has a 'right' to find out what we're doing, or not, is immaterial. We also have a right, and a duty, to get out of here -- alive -- and report this place to the proper authorities. Does anyone dispute that?"
No one did. Lyla took advantage of the silence to attract Philips' attention. "Matt --" She beckoned to him. "I want to show you something. I think I've figured out part of this thing's controls." She waved her hand at a randomly selected panel. "Come look at this." Over her shoulder, she added, "Don't touch anything!"
"Don't worry," said Maureen with mordant humor, and a significant glance at Candy. "Nobody will."
Candy tossed her head pettishly.
"Look here, Matt." Lyla pointed at a row of lights on the panel, and added telepathically, *Did you catch that?*
He shook his head. *Only the tail end. What's going on? What were you doing?*
*The computer picked up on me when I opened a locked drawer,* she replied, ruefully. *It's a telepath, all right; apparently it's the guardian or caretaker of this place since it was built. It demanded to know who we were and why we were here.*
His expression didn't change. *What did you tell it?*
*I explained we were from another base like this one*. She went on to detail the exact events. Philips listened without comment until she finished. Then he grinned.
*Good story,* was his comment. *We'll make an Undergrounder of you yet. What's it doing now?*
*I put it on hold,* she replied. *It's waiting for instructions. And thinking*.
He raised an eyebrow. *Thinking?*
She nodded reluctantly. *Yes. I can sense its thoughts. It's like the Centaur. It doesn't think in words, just concepts. I'll bet the Centaurs don't even have a verbal language. You can't put this telepathic language of theirs into words.*
Philips pursed his lips. *You have no trouble understanding it? You can communicate with it?*
*Yes, of course. Concepts are easy to translate.* She added, *I'm very good at languages. I speak twelve besides English. I just have to listen to them for a little while and I start understanding them. Harris used to say it must be a trick memory.*
*It's a psychic talent! A rare one, too. You're a psychic linguist. We only have two others at the base*. He paused, added, *Most telepaths can understand each other with telepathic pictures and ideas, but they have a verbal language to build on. A psychic linguist is different. Man, what a stroke of luck!*
*What do you want me to do?*
*We need to find out exactly what's happening here. Does it need any recognition codes or anything?*
She shrugged mentally. *It doesn't seem to. I suppose when they went into stasis they couldn't know who was going to survive, so maybe...*
*They just instructed it to take commands from any Centaur? I suppose it's possible, even probable. Tell it to give you a status report. That should do the trick.*
*Good idea.* Lyla glanced at the students. * What about them?*
*I'll distract them. We can't just abandon them. They'll get killed.*
Lyla gave a silent laugh. *So might we*.
*True. But we have a better chance than they do. I'd guess you sensed more of the Centaur's mind than I did.*
*Maybe I was just able to translate more.*
*Maybe. But empathy is my strongest talent, and I could sense what it was feeling. These things don't accept any intelligent life but their own. Worse than the Jils.*
*Considerably,* Lyla agreed, emphatically. *All right, but keep your shields down. You may have to tell me what to do.*
Matt grinned cryptically. *Your confidence in me is flattering, my dear, but misplaced. I'll do my best. Go to it.* He walked back to the six students and began to speak. Lyla returned to the waiting computer mind.
It was alert. Lyla sensed expectancy, anticipation. As she had told Matt, the machine was actually thinking. It was not merely responding to programming, it was manufacturing thoughts, wondering what would happen now.
The realization was a little intimidating. She knew from various scientific publications that specialists in artificial intelligence had theorized a computer that could actually think on its own, but the reality, in a computer programmed by hostile aliens who would certainly regard them as the enemy, was chilling. Gingerly, the little doctor gathered her courage, and spoke to the machine.
**********
Hildebrand Watson waited while the two scientists conferred. They were both little people, considerably smaller than he. At first he'd thought them younger than himself, but closer observation had convinced him of his error. In this age of two-century life spans, appearance changed very slowly; a man of forty looked very little different from a man of twenty. It was generally other, more subtle differences that were markers of age.
Dr. Cane was indicating a row of lights to her coworker and he was nodding. Hildebrand guessed they must mean something to the scientists. The place was so much Greek to him. It looked like nothing so much as the giant Terran video amusement park famous throughout the Confederation: Takeshita's Video World, which covered more ground than the founder's home island.
Dr. Philips was coming back, a slightly pensive look on his face.
"Dr. Cane's the computer specialist," he explained. "She's going to try to get us some floor plans of this place. Have you kids had anything to eat today?"
Hildebrand's stomach growled reflexively. He shook his head. "We had some stale nutriwafers yesterday."
"Well, I'm afraid what I have isn't much better, but at least it's edible. Concentrated rations and a canteen of water." The man turned away and reached under his cape. The slight rounding of his shoulders turned out to be caused by a small backpack, from which he produced the promised concentrates. Hildebrand's mouth began to water and he could swear Jack Gorman was almost drooling. Philips distributed the dry cakes and Hildebrand crammed the first wafer into his mouth, heedless of the dry, powdery taste. He would always remember that meal as one of the most delicious he had ever eaten.
For several minutes there was no sound but the faint crunch of chewing molars. One of the screens on the wall lit up, but he couldn't make much sense of it. Dr. Cane apparently did, however, for she and Dr. Philips conferred in an undertone, their faces serious. The pictures shifted again, this time showing what appeared to be star maps. How Dr. Cane was operating the computer he had no notion. He'd handled plenty of computers but this one left him bewildered. None of the thousands of lights gave him any clue whatsoever about its inner workings.
He licked crumbs from the palm of his hand, savoring the taste, and swigged from the canteen. Then, feeling satisfied for the first time in days, he began to take an interest in the activities of the scientists. They were looking at one of the smaller screens now, and on it was the image of a milky, white ball about the size of an orange. Philips was staring silently at it. The picture changed, showing a small, elf-like humanoid with an odd bronze-green cast to its skin. Hildebrand wandered over to look.
"What's that?" he inquired.
Dr. Philips glanced at him. "Lyla apparently got into some historical records by accident. Those things were enemies of the Centaurs at some time in their history. See if you can get it to show you some floor plans of this place, Lyla, with emphasis on a way out: down to the canyon floor if there is one."
"I'm doing my best." The woman covered a light with her hand, then two more. Floor plans materialized on the screen and the picture flipped rapidly from one set to another.
"That's it," said Lyla, at last. "There are only three exits here that we can use. The rest are apparently sealed. There's the way we came in, near the falls, the one you kids used, partway down the canyon side, and one quite near ground level. Unfortunately, it's across the river. You have to take a tunnel to the other side."
The pictures made little sense to Hildebrand, but he'd never been very good at maps, especially when flashed past him at that speed. He opened his mouth to speak when Candy's voice interrupted him. "You people are no geologists. Just who are you, really?"
Philips turned to look at her, surprise evident on his features. "I beg your pardon, Miss Montez?" Dr. Cane also turned, her face a complete blank.
Candy moved to stand before them, her chin elevated in an attitude Hildebrand knew, one which invariably produced in him the, as yet, unsatisfied impulse to throttle her.
"Don't give me that nonsense about Confederation Geological Survey," she sniffed, staring Lyla Cane straight in the eye. The two women were exactly the same height, Hildebrand realized suddenly. Somehow Dr. Cane had seemed much larger. "You're carrying a blaster. No geologist would do that. Just who are you?"
**********
tbc
