by Thomas Stone
“I was more aggressive.”
“We both had plenty of aggression. Look…” Harry pointed his light at the far wall. “You could get a running start and step into my hands on your last step. Then I could catapult you up. Super boost.”
Fagen looked at Harry and almost laughed, then looked at how much running room there was. He looked up and measured the space in his mind’s eye before agreeing to try it.
They set up the lights so that one pointed toward the ceiling and the other lit the path Fagen was to run. Harry made him rehearse twice before agreeing to a live attempt.
“I don’t want to miss and drop from five meters…”
“I understand,” said Harry. “It’s going to work. When you go through, I’ll jump in after you.”
“That’s the plan,” as he backed up for the run, “don’t just toss me up there. Throw me through the portal.”
“Yeh, yeh, I got it.”
Fagen found his mark and asked Harry if he was ready.
“Anytime.”
Fagen took a breath and bolted from his spot, stumbling in the dark on his second step and ending up face down in the dust. He got up slowly. “Couldn’t see the ground.”
Harry adjusted the light.
“That‘s better,” said Fagen, “only not in my eyes.”
Harry adjusted the light again.
“Ok, that’ll have to do,” said Fagen backing up to his start again. “This is going to work,” he muttered more to himself than to Harry. As before, he inhaled deeply prior to toeing his mark. He did not stumble as he began his run and by the time he reached Harry he had momentum. With his right, he stepped into Harry’s intertwined fingers and with Harry’s enhanced assistance launched himself toward the vaulted ceiling. He stretched his fingers toward the portal but there was plenty of room and more than enough momentum. In an instant, he was gone inside a flash of light. All that remained was a wisp of smoke.
Harry nodded to himself, bent and scooped up the lights lying on the floor. He turned one flashlight off and stashed it in a utility pocket, then shined the light back overhead. The portal rippled then bent in upon itself. In an instant, it was gone, the last of it sucked down into another place. “Uh-oh,” whispered Harry.
*
Fagen landed on his face in sand. Shaking out his clothes and gear, he got to his feet, shielded his eyes against the sun, and took a look around. As far as Fagen could see were sand dunes, big ones, an ocean of rippled waves pushed by wind. On the ground were more tracks leading away in a straight line over the dune in front of him. Fagen looked to the top but there was nothing to see. Following the tracks, he started up. Halfway there he stopped and looked back. At the spot of the portal was nothing except the beginning place for all the tracks. Fagen watched for a moment to assure himself it was still there. A moment turned into minutes. It dawned on him the portal had closed. Harry wasn’t coming; he was stuck in the chamber, wherever it was. Fagen turned uphill. Bobbi and Kathleen were somewhere in front of him. They needed his help.
The climb up was strenuous. The sand was very loose and his footing slid away with every step. The morning sun was not high yet but the air was already getting warm. As Fagen approached the top, he paused to check his equipment. He was wearing a desert suit, no armor to speak of. He had his stunner but no Vimbacher – he’d left that with Harry. He had a transceiver but it was still not working due to interference. He looked at the clear sky and wondered how the kitzloc could block transmissions without radio gear. Apparently, with their minds, like everything else they did. It occurred to him that even if he found the women, there was no way he could challenge such power. Maybe with Harry, he’d have a chance, but otherwise…
There was nothing else to do but move forward. Fagen trudged the remaining steps to the top of the dune and looked down to where the tracks led.
At the end of the trail, situated between dunes, was a stack of rock slabs with a darkened opening. Cautiously, Fagen made his way down, sliding in the loose sand.
The opening was triangular, at least two and a half meters in height. The tracks led inside. Fagen stooped to take a closer look. At the opening, the sand was packed hard and the tracks were more prominent. It was the first good look Fagen had of a kitzloc imprint. It was a taloned foot, some eighteen centimeters in length. The other marks were where the women had been dragged, their heels leaving ruts in the sand. The ruts were not even and there were places where the lines were interrupted as if both women had kicked out in their struggles. It was a sign of life and it gave Fagen hope. He entered the opening and flicked on his light.
The path led down and Fagen stepped with care, wondering what sort of alarm systems the kitzloc utilized, if any. Maybe they already knew he was there. Fagen figured it was even likely. The truth was, he was walking into a trap without any backup and without a plan except to find Bobbi and Kathleen. What then? Get out without being killed or infected.
Fagen ran a gloved hand along the tunnel wall. The rock was smooth and free of dust without markings of any kind, nothing to indicate intelligent beings inhabited regions below. Fagen shined his light on the path. Three meters from the mouth of the cave, the rock floor was clear of dust. Fagen backed up until he saw where the blowing sand stopped in a line two meters from the entrance. At that point, on one side of barrier, sand was piled several centimeters high along a razor sharp line. On the other side of the line there was no sand at all. There was an invisible barrier. Fagen reached but felt nothing. Scooping a handful of sand, he stood behind the line and let the sand stream from his fist. Instead of falling to the floor, the sand moved laterally through the air until it passed the invisible barrier where it then dropped to the ground. There was no wind he could ascertain. An indication of technology or some unknown natural occurrence?
His flashlight illuminated the darkened path and Fagen stepped forward. The tunnel was quiet, no indication of anything ahead or behind. The air was cooler than outside with a hint of moisture. It smelled like water.
The path took a ninety degree turn to the right followed by an almost immediate ninety degree turn back to the left before continuing its way down. After Fagen negotiated the turns, he could no longer see the opening or any light from the desert surface. Ten more steps and he flicked off his light.
For a moment, the darkness surrounded him, nearly suffocating in its completeness. Fagen closed his eyes for a moment to allow his pupils to adjust, then slowly opened them again. Before him was a faint glow that shimmered from moment to moment. Fagen strained to hear any sound, but there was nothing. He began to move again along the path toward the glow. The farther he went, the greater the light grew and finally Fagen could see to walk without the aid of his flashlight. As he negotiated a last corner, the source of the light was revealed. Thick, photoactive lichen grew at the edge of a great pool of water illuminating the interior of a grand-sized room whose far sides reached into giant shadows where the water disappeared into an inky black. At the bottom of a stairway of natural steps was a beach of powder red-yellow sand that ran into the water. The algae did not grow at the water’s edge, rather it started on the rocks some half meter above and spread upward covering the bouldered walls and stalactite encrusted ceiling. The growth shined, offering the effect of looking at a star-strewn sky at night. Fagen stepped down to the beach and walked through the sand until he was halfway to the water. There, in the middle of the beach, he stopped and slowly turned around taking a good look at his surroundings. The cavern was immense. It dawned on Fagen the cavern was one of the great natural cisterns under the Wahabi. Pure water and clean air. He looked back to the shadows. The acoustics were superb but the silence was like that of a tomb. Nothing moved, nothing disturbed the peace save the padded footfalls of his boots. If Harry came the same way, Fagen was certain he would hear his approach.
He released the pack from his shoulders and let it drop to the sand then propped himself beside it. There was no trace of the women, no tracks on the sand
y beach, nothing to indicate where to go. Without a better course of action, Fagen waited.
*
Harry rocked back on his heels where he squatted and let his mind play over the scenario in which he found himself: trapped inside an ancient structure without a way out. Would Fagen wait for him? That depended on what he found on the other side of the portal. He shined his light around the inside of the room. Did the kitzloc construct the building somewhere in the distant past? No, they built nothing, they had no need to. The Tec’Lissir? Had they constructed the chamber on one of their visits to Mirabel? It didn’t look like something the aliens would build. It looked like something else altogether. Something a human hand would construct.
Harry leaned against the wall and allowed his consciousness to float away. Beneath him was his body, squatting on his heels, head bowed. He continued to float up through the ceiling, through sand and into sunlight, higher still until he could see the surrounding terrain. A barren desert landscape filled his mind’s eye. His attention was drawn a kilometer away to an area that looked remotely familiar. It was the underground Braithwaite complex. There was no activity. At least he now knew where he was. His consciousness gently dropped back to his body.
Harry stood and walked to one of the supporting columns, shining his light over the rounded sides. He ran his hand over the stone and years of dust accumulation dropped away. Underneath were markings. Harry’s prime academic interest was piqued and he began rubbing away more dust, uncovering more markings which Harry recognized as language. Growing excited, Harry shined his light against the closest wall and rubbed great swaths across the stone walls, uncovering entire drawings and more text. Harry suddenly stopped. Peering intently at the wall, he stepped back to illuminate his work. The text was standard English.
Harry stared at the wall for a long time. Dust drifted through the beam cast by Harry’s flashlight. He turned and walked across the room to the opposite wall where he also wiped dirt away. After he had cleared a portion, he stepped back, shined his light on what was uncovered and read aloud, “…light years takes a toll. Imagine a lifetime among the stars. To dream, to do, to be, to always strive to understand more about the universe and the self and the relationship between the two. This is what led us here. And that is who we are.”
There was more written below. Harry bent to brush the dust away. Two familiar names were imprinted. In astonishment, Harry abruptly stood and took a step backward. Behind him and above, there was a short, sharp sound of stone grating against stone and then, as Harry was turning, a large rock slab dropped from its place in the ceiling to crash atop the floor. It fairly exploded; the impact showered Harry with shrapnel and blew him backwards as dust filled the room.
When Harry cleared his eyes, before him was a pile of sand reaching nearly to the ceiling. Above it, light streamed from an opening where the slab was originally set. Harry went to the edge of the sand pile, shaded his eyes and looked up the open shaft. Handrails were inset along the sides. Harry gathered what gear wasn’t buried under the sand and started up to the shaft. He paused a moment and looked toward the text on the wall. He shook his head in disbelief, then turned and leaped to grab the handrail before pulling himself up the open shaft.
*
Bart sat next to Arai. “Mind if I plug in?”
“Jump in, the water’s fine,” said Arai.
“Everything going all right?”
“Everything is just swell, Bart. The Braithwaite ship has no idea where we are, but we’re still out of comms with Fagen and Harry. I guess that’s actually half-swell. But, I must add, this is more fun than I could ever have imagined. I used to wonder why you liked to go inside so much.”
“Yeh, well, so now you know.”
“And this ship – it’s great. Well, I guess it is because I don’t really have much to compare it with. But all you have to do is think through the correct interface and it’ll do anything. Oh, but you already know that.”
Minerva sat beside Arai. Arai peeked from under his VR lens. “What is this? A palaver?”
“Nice word,” said Minerva.
“I picked it up recently. I like it.”
“Bart thinks we should get to know each other.”
Arai glanced at Bart. “Bart knows me.”
“Well, he knows the old you.”
“The old me was as good as the new me and furthermore, the old me is still here.”
Bart leaned in. “That’s my point. We all have a bit of adjusting to do to fit into our new paradigm, so to speak. We need one another’s help in this adjustment period.”
“I don’t know,” said Arai, “I must have a natural bent toward VR because I’m catching on pretty quickly. But I understand where you might need a little R&R. Actually, Bart, some exercise would do you good.”
“That’s a little rude.”
“Not among friends. When this is all over, I think we should take a vacation.” Some place nice with big trees.”
“Oh, I want to go to the beach,” said Minerva.
Bart ran a hand through his thinning hair and plugged into the ship’s computer. He checked on system status which indicated everything functioned normally, then attempted to access the communications logs, but could not. “I’m locked out of the comm logs.”
“Yeh, well, sorry about that. I’ll fix it for you. There you go. Done.”
Bart accessed the comm log directory and scanned for recent messages.
“Nothing but the last message from Harry. Out of the blue, that one was.”
“Am I going to be locked out of some areas? Is this going to be a problem?”
Arai pretended to be busy.
“Please don’t ignore me. I’m sitting right here.”
“There are some areas that are locked. Harry left it for me to decide which to unlock for you.”
“Left it for you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me something.”
“Yes.”
“Was Harry angry with me for something in particular? Have I failed in some way to serve my purpose as the operator of this ship? Or was it just a blatant display of what he’s capable of? Hmm?”
Arai turned to Minerva, away from Bart. “I think he’s getting excited again.”
“He’ll be all right. Talk to him.”
“I’m sitting right here,” protested Bart.
Arai faced forward again at his console. “It would be of interest for you to know I am also locked out of some of the new areas. Areas where Harry has modified code are simply beyond my understanding anyway.”
Bart leaned forward again. “See there, I can help you. I’m sure I can access the code, see what it does…”
“Minerva told me you’d say that.”
“She was right.”
“I’m always right,” chimed in Minerva.
“I have no inclination to figure out what Harry’s done to the computer. I think what Harry’s done is a good thing.”
“But what if something went wrong with an interface, what if anything went wrong? What if you needed to change something?”
“All right, all right,” said Arai, holding up his gloved hands. “If something goes wrong, I’ll ask for help. But until then you’ll have to be satisfied with the areas you can access.”
“See,” said Minerva, “that’s coming together. Making agreements. Making friends.”
Bart sniffed. “At least you can tell me what all this new programming has accomplished?”
“You already know. The simulator. The wishing machine. It’s our own kitzloc Crevah.”
“All the changes have to do with the simulator? The Crevah?”
“The wishing machine.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“Why not?”
“How could such a thing work?” Bart’s hands waved in the air as he spoke, “I mean, what we’re talking about here is manipulation of not only time and space but multiple dimensions. It’s mind-boggling. How can the computer take in the c
ontext of the entire universe? I’d love to see the model. Harry must have created a model.”
“I have no knowledge of such documentation or where I might find it.”
Minerva leaned to Arai. “Maybe we should let Bart into the simulator.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No, it might be good for him. It’s been good for us.”
“Wait a minute,” protested Bart. “I don’t think I want to have that program work me over. There’s nothing I want anyway, unless you count wanting things to return to how they were.”
‘Well, that isn’t going to happen,” quipped Minerva.
“Come on, Bart,” urged Arai. “Isn’t there something you’d like? Something you’ve always wanted?”
“He’s always secretly wanted to be thin,” said Minerva.
“I have not.”
“Oh please Bart, we’ve shared the same space for years. I know you. You want to be thin and athletic. Like Harry and Fagen.”
“I have no need to be thin and athletic. I am perfectly happy with my body.”
“Curious that you said perfectly happy. You’ve never been happy about anything.”
“We’re getting very personal here and I don’t care for the turn in this conversation.”
“Well, pooh,” said Minerva.
“The Crevah could fix all that for you,” added Arai.
“I don’t need to be fixed. If we can fix things so easily, why don’t you go in there yourself and wish that Harry and Fagen were safely back here. And while you’re at it, you can wish that Harry is cured.”
Minerva looked at Arai. “I don’t think that’s part of the plan.”
“I don’t think so either.”
“What plan?” asked Bart.
“Harry’s plan.”
“Did Harry mention anything else about this plan of his?”
“Well, I don’t know if we should call it Harry’s plan exclusively. I mean, the kitzloc seem to have something to do with it.”
Bart pulled on his hair. “We’ve been compromised by an alien species and you two act happy about it.”
Minerva and Arai looked at one another and shrugged. “We haven’t been compromised and we’re not pod people…”