by Andre Norton
“Tell him how you were led through the lairs—”
Reluctantly Furtig added that piece of information.
“Not so strange.” For the first time the metal-handed Elder commented. “We have long known that certain of us can be so guided—”
“But the point Foskatt would make,” Gammage said, “is not that Furtig was guided, but that he used it with one he did not know, had had no contact with before. So it would seem his use of that talent is also different. If such a change breeds true, we can hope for much in the future. Yes, Furtig, our brother here has been right to urge you to tell us this. Now, what else can you see—perhaps here in the lair?”
Furtig took the box. The picture of Eu-La had vanished in the fog. Should he try to see an unpeopled place—or one with people? He tried to fasten on the prison room in which he had found Foskatt, but the box remained dark.
“It will not show me a place without people,” he reported.
Gammage did not seem in the least disappointed. “Then your ability must tie with a living thing. Well, can you think of a person in the lairs—”
Furtig chewed his lower lip and thought. Then an idea flashed into his mind. It would be the highest test of his ability. He summoned to mind the picture of the second Ratton guard he had seen before the prisoners' cell.
To his surprise and delight the fog gathered. The picture which emerged was blurred, but not so much that he could not distinguish part of it. And small sounds from two of those with him indicated that they saw also.
There was the Ratton. But he lay on the floor of the guard room. A piece of rubble, probably dislodged by the battering of the servant, pinned his leg to the floor. However, he still lived, for reddish eyes glinted and Furtig saw his mouth open as if he called for some help that would never come. Perhaps his fellows had left him to die because he was now useless.
“The Ratton guard!” Foskatt cried out. “Him I have seen! And that place—”
The blurring was complete, the scene vanished.
“That was one of the guards who held me!”
“So it would seem you can pick up other than our own people!” Gammage was excited. “Yes, these boxes, if others can learn to use them so, will become far more than just something to amuse younglings. Lohanna, would it not be well to check immediately on all those who have used them idly to see whether they were thinking of anything when they did so, or if they had any control over their viewing? If they can control it—or only a small number can control it—”
“Scouts,” the warrior broke in. “Send scouts and turn this on them—you could have instant warning of what they viewed. We could prepare for attacks in good time.” He raised his false hand and used its harsh talon tips to scratch his chin.
Lohanna was already at the door. “You shall have the answer as soon as possible, Elder,” she assured Gammage.
“Lohanna knows very much about the learning machines,” the Ancestor told Furtig. “I only wish we had more of the ancient records—”
Foskatt stirred. But Gammage was continuing: “Do not take those words of mine as a complaint of your failure to find such records. We had no idea the Rattons had invaded that section of the lairs in force. It is a great danger that they have. We dare not underestimate them in any way. They breed in greater numbers than we do. Though the same illness which changed us in the beginning also cut the numbers of our litters, the Ratton females have many offspring in a single season.
“And among the Rattons are those whose cunning has greatly advanced, so that they have their own seekers of Demon knowledge. Being small, they can slink along ways we cannot follow. It would be very difficult to seal off any part of the lairs so that they could not find their way in. Also, they have their traps.
“We have certain Demon weapons. But, like the servants, those are uncertain as to performance and to depend upon them in time of need and then have them fail—” He shook his head. “But still, the records we have found reference to—they must lie in the very territory the Rattons have invaded. Should they find them first—and I am firm in the conviction that they have among them those who are able to put Demon learning to use—then we may be in a very dangerous position. Time—we have so little time!”
8
There is only one thing to do,” Foskatt said slowly. “I shall try again. Though this time, being warned, I do not think I shall be entrapped.” There was dour determination in his voice.
Gammage shook his head. “Remember, younger brother, you are but fresh out of the place of healing. Your wound may seem closed, but if you were put to some severe test this might not hold. Do you not remember what happened under similar circumstances to Tor-To?”
For a moment Furtig thought Foskatt would protest. Then his tribesman gave a sigh. “But who then can go? And if the Rattons have taken over that part of the lairs, will we ever be able to reach the records if we wait longer?”
“He is right,” the deeper half-growl of Dolar rumbled. “Were I but able—” His speech became a full growl, and he brought his metal hand down upon the edge of a table with such force that the claws left deep indentations in its surface.
“Dolar, my close-brother, were you able, yes. But this needs youth and quickness of body such as we have both long since lost.”
To his inner astonishment, some other seemed to take over Furtig's voice then, for he heard himself saying:
“I am warrior trained and skilled, Elder. Also I have the homing sense which before led me through unknown ways. Let me know just what to search for and—”
“No!” Gammage was emphatic. “We must have you here, to work with the box, to learn how you are able to do this. Can you not see that is of the greatest importance?”
“More,” Dolar asked, “than saving records from the Rattons? We have but six now of the warrior Out-World breed, and the other four are abroad on missions to contact tribes. If Foskatt cannot go, dare we send an In-born? They cannot learn the ways without many journeys under guidance. Those we cannot give them. But now this matter of boxes—let Foskatt and this young warrior try between them such sendings. If they find they can use it as a scout might, then there may be a way out of this difficulty.”
His sensible suggestion carried, and so for the rest of that day and part of the night, taking only short rests and eating the trail rations they carried with them, the two played a hunt and search game through the echoing corridors of the aboveground lairs. When Furtig set off to wander, Foskatt sought him with the box. At first they were defeated over and over again, Foskatt seemingly unable to pick up any clear picture. Though once or twice the mist formed, enough to encourage him to keep on trying.
Just as they were ready to surrender to disappointment, Furtig, returning to the point where he had left his partner, discovered Foskatt wildly elated.
“You stood in a room where there were shining strips on the walls!” he cried out hoarsely. “And then you went and put your hands against one of the strips. On its surface was a second you who also put forth his hand to meet you palm to palm!”
“That is right.” Furtig slumped against the wall. “That is what I did just before I started back. Then it works for you, too!”
When they returned with the news of this small success, they were greeted with a disturbing report from another scout. He had tried to reach one of the tribes of the People reputed to have hunting grounds to the north, only to be cut off by a pack of Barkers who, it appeared, were settling in.
Gammage paced up and down as if his thoughts would not let him sit still. His tail switched and his ears were a little flattened. Had not Furtig known that in the lairs Trials were forbidden, he would have believed the Ancestor was preparing to offer challenge.
“In the records there is proof that the Barkers were, even more than we, the slaves of the Demons, licking the ground before their feet—which the People, owned though they were, never did! I had hoped—But that is another matter. If the Barkers now ingather about the lairs, can we
believe that is a sign pointing to Demon return? Perhaps the Demons have in some secret manner signaled the Barkers to them. Though if the Barkers remembered the Demon end here as well as we do, they would not be so quick to answer such a call.”
“The Barkers,” offered Dolar, “are rovers, not liking settled lairs. Other times they have come near, but they never stayed for any length of time.”
“Hunting parties, yes,” Gammage agreed. “But this time they bring their females and young. Ask of Fy-Yan, who has been three suns watching them. We must have knowledge—”
“Which perhaps we can gain for you, Ancestor,” Foskatt said. “We can use the box. I have seen Furtig afar in it.”
Gammage turned with the quick grace of one seasons younger. His yellow eyes glowed.
“Sooo—” In his mouth the word became a hiss, almost akin to the warning one uttered when entering a hunting country. “Let us lay hands upon those records and perhaps we can hold the lairs. Even if the Barkers continue to be our enemies.”
“Continue?” Dolar clicked his claws. “Think you it can be otherwise? Do you also fear that they might swear truce with Rattons?”
“Not impossible. In times of war it is best never to say in advance this can be, that not. Be prepared for any danger. And I say to all of you, though perhaps I have said it so many times before that the words will have no effect, with Rattons one cannot be sure of anything! Remember that well, Furtig, if and when you go into ways where they can be found.”
Furtig thought he needed no warning. His hatred for the creatures, together with his earlier brush with them, had been enough to arouse all his caution. No warrior ever trusted anyone or anything, save his own clan brothers and the lair which gave him shelter.
He listened, impatiently but curbing the outward show of that, to all the information and instructions which those who had explored the ways could provide. Foskatt gave him directions—vague enough—as to what he sought. He was to watch for certain marks on walls—which might or might not be there—and would have the use of a secondary guide.
This was a cube similar to that with which Foskatt had summoned the rambler. But its buzzing had another use. They had discovered a season back that this sound was emitted when the cube was brought near Demons' record disks.
With this instrument, and trail supplies, Furtig at last descended to the lower runways of the lairs. As yet they had no knowledge as to how far the Rattons had penetrated, though they had stationed scout-guards at important checkpoints to warn of any spillover into their home territory. Metal servants of the Demons could also be used for this service and Furtig passed some of these on the way.
At last he slid into the dark of those tunnels, which could be runways for either the People or their enemies. There were doors here, but he wasted no time in exploring. This was not the area of the reputed cache. He moved noiselessly along, depending upon both ear and nose for warnings. The smell of Ratton he would never forget, and that warning the enemy could not conceal.
As a hunter he knew that many of the wild creatures had senses of smell far superior to his own. The Barkers did. But his hearing and his sight, which was hardly limited by the dim grayness of these ways, were his own weapons.
There was not complete darkness here. At long intervals small vertical bars were set in the walls to emit a dull light. Whether those had once been brighter and had dimmed through the years was not known. It was enough that the light aided the sight of the People.
Furtig had eaten, drunk, and slept before he had set out on this quest. At his belt a packet of food was balanced by a container of water. They did not expect him to be away too long, but he was prepared for possible delays.
Under his feet dust formed a soft carpet, but he trod so lightly that little of it was disturbed. His one hand was never far from the butt of a new weapon Dolar had given him out of their small store. The difficulty was that it was too big to handle with ease, having been fashioned to fit a hand much larger than his own. In order to use it at all (one leveled the barrel and pressed a firing button on the butt), Furtig had to discard his familiar and useful claws.
But having seen it demonstrated, Furtig was certain that the results might well outweigh those disadvantages. For when the button was pressed a vivid crackle of white (as if the Demons had indeed tamed lightning and compressed it into this weapon) shot forth like a knife of light. What that touched ceased to exist at all! It was indeed a fearsome thing. But, like all the Demon treasures, it was erratic. Explorers had found many of these, yet only a small number worked. It was as if they had been drained of life during the long time they had lain unused.
Furtig turned from the main passage into a narrower one and began to count the dim lights in the wall. At the fourth he stopped to look down. There was a grating such as had given him entrance to free the prisoners—that was Foskatt's first guidepost.
Kneeling, Furtig slipped on his claws. With their added strength he was able to hook into the grating, work it out of place. Foskatt had warned him how sound carried and he was sure it had been his own handling of that grating which had alerted the Rattons, so Furtig moved very slowly.
As he worked he thought about Foskatt, hoping that their practice had proven the truth: that the other was now picking up the picture of where he was. Having held that concentration on his part as long as he could, Furtig found the grating loose, laid it on the floor, and ran his hand into the lightless space beyond.
It was large enough for him to crawl into, but Furtig hesitated. If the Rattons were suspicious, they might well have rigged another trap. Yet this was the only known way in since the fall of roof and walls had closed off the corridor passages ahead.
Carefully Furtig lifted the grating, fitted it back into place. He had made his decision. To follow exactly in Foskatt's path was folly. During his time of instruction in the lairs he had been shown various types of Ratton traps. Some of them were practically undetectable. Therefore he must find another way in. Or Foskatt must be able to suggest a possible other trail, knowing the ways of the lairs.
Furtig squatted on his heels and once more concentrated on a mental picture, this time not of what he was doing, for Foskatt's pickup, but of Foskatt himself.
The picture was vivid in his mind. Furtig closed his eyes—now, he might be looking directly into the other's face. He shaped his need for further information. This was something entirely new he was trying. Could he communicate this way—even with Foskatt's see box as an aid?
Ways—
Furtig could not be sure of that. Was he receiving a message from the other, or was it only that he wanted an answer so badly that his mind deceived him?
“On—right—down—”
Furtig opened his eyes. He was certain that was not his own thought. On—right—down—On along the passage, right—down—Well, it was either believe that to be a message or try a passage which could be a trap. And of the two alternatives, he would rather believe that he had received a message.
So he left the grating that had been Foskatt's entrance and padded on. The passage ran straight, with no breaks except a few doors. Then Furtig could see a wall at the end—a dead end with no turn right or left, only a last door to his right.
Furtig turned in there. The room was bare of any furnishing. The only break in its walls was the door through which he had entered. There were two floor gratings; a distinct current of air flowed from one of those. Furtig went to his knees to better sniff at it.
No Ratton stench, nothing but the acrid odor common to all these levels. There was a good chance that he had bypassed the dangerous territory. At least he must now chance this or fail without even trying.
The grating resisted his efforts to free it. Furtig had to use force with his claws to lever it out. When he lowered it to the floor and swept his hands within, he discovered that this was even more spacious than the area beneath the first grating.
He crouched for a long moment before he entered, once more making a picture
that Foskatt might or might not be able to pick up. Then he took from his belt one of the tools Gammage had provided. It was no longer than the palm of his hand when he pulled it from the loop, but when he pressed it here and there it unfolded longer and longer, until he held a slender pole twice his own height in length. This detect was his only protection against traps, and he must use it with all the skill he could.
Resolutely he crawled into the duct. The interior was large enough for him to go on hands and knees, but it was too dark for his sight to aid. Instead he must depend on that thin rod as he edged slowly forward, sweeping it back and forth, up and down, to test for any obstruction. Explorers had used these successfully to set off traps in confined spaces. But they had failed, too. And at that moment such failures were to be remembered vividly.
Suddenly the point of the device struck against solid surface ahead. A crosswise sweep, a second vertical one met opposition all the way—There was a wall ahead, yet air continued to flow—
Side walls? Furtig tapped right and left: only solid surface. Which left only up or down—and down had been Foskatt's message. Furtig slid the detect along the flooring of the duct. There was an opening. By careful tapping he measured it to be a wide one. He edged closer, hanging his head over the rim, trying to discover the length of the drop, what might be below.
He folded the detect, put on his claws, and swung over. There were places in the walls to set claw tips so that he did not slide down too fast. But it was a chancy trip, and he had no idea how long that descent lasted. It seemed to his aching arms, his tense body, far too long. Then he came, not to the end, but to another cross passage leading in the right direction.
Thankfully, Furtig pulled into that and lay panting, his whole body sweating and weak. It was not until some small measure of strength returned that he pulled out the detect rod, stretched it again to explore by touch.
The new passage was smaller than the one from which he had come. It was necessary to wriggle forward on his belly. But it pointed in the right direction, there was no smell of Ratton, and he had no excuse not to try it.