World of Chance
Page 15
* * *
It was a building. A structure of some kind, resting on the smooth surface ahead; a sphere of some dull metal, without features or ornaments. Frozen crystals drifted and blew round them as they apprehensively approached the sphere.
"How do we get into it?" Konklin wondered.
Groves lifted his weapon. "I don't see any other way." He squeezed the trigger and moved the muzzle in a slow circle. "This thing may be man-made."
Through the sizzling rent, Konklin and Groves crawled, a dull throbbing reaching their ears as they climbed down to the floor of the globe. They were in a single chamber of whirring machinery. Air shrieked past them as they stood peering about them. Together they managed to get a patch over the leak their weapon had cut. Then they turned to examine the humming bank of mechanism and wiring.
"Welcome," a dry voice said mildly.
They spun quickly, the weapon high.
"Don't be afraid," the voice continued. "I'm only another human being like yourselves. I am John Preston."
Konklin's teeth began to chatter. "You said his ship was destroyed. Look at him; he must be a million years old." He steadied his nerves and went on: "This is your ship——"
"We represent the Preston Society," Groves said awkwardly. "We're following your work. Are you——"
"Something's wrong!" Konklin snapped fearfully. "Something's the matter with him!"
Konklin moved towards the banks of machinery. "This isn't a ship. It's similar to one but it isn't one. I think———"
"I want to tell you about Flame Disc," John Preston interrupted.
Konklin was feverishly examining the smooth inner surface of the sphere. "This has no drive jets! It can't go anywhere!" He leaped away from the machinery. "Groves, this is a buoy!"
"You must hear me," Preston was saying.
Konklin moved away, towards the rent they had cut. "It's not alive. That isn't a nourishing bath. That's some kind of volatile substance on which a vid image is being projected. Vid and aud tapes synchronized to form a replica. He's been dead a hundred and fifty years."
There was silence, except for the whispering voice. Konklin tore away the patch and scrambled out of the sphere. "Come on!" he signalled to the others. "Come in!"
"We got most of that on our phones," Jereti said, as he struggled into the sphere. "What was it all about?"
He saw the replica of John Preston and his voice stopped.
The others scrambled in after him, excited and breathless.
One by one they came to a halt as they saw the old man, and heard the faint words whispering through the thinning air of the sphere.
"Seal it up," Groves ordered, when the last of the Japanese optical workers was in.
"Is it——" Mary began doubtfully. "But why's he talking like that? Just sort of—reciting."
Konklin put his stiff pressure-glove on the girl's shoulder. "It's only an image. He left hundreds of them maybe thousands, scattered through space to attract ships and lead them to the Disc."
"Then he's dead!"
"He died a long time ago," Konklin said. "You can tell by looking at him that he died a very old man, probably a few years after he found the Disc. He knew ships would one day be coming in this direction. He wanted to bring one here, to his world."
"I guess he didn't know there would be a Society," Mary said sadly. "He didn't realize anybody would actually be looking for the Disc."
"No," Konklin agreed. "But he knew there would be ships heading out this way."
"It's sort of—disappointing."
"No," Groves corrected. "Don't feel bad about it. It's only the physical part of John Preston that's dead."
"Listen," Konklin said softly.
They all became silent.
The old man gazed at the group of people, not seeing them, not hearing them, not aware of their presence, and he seemed to speak to listeners far away. "The highest goal of man is to grow and advance, to find new things, to expand, to push aside routine and repetition, to break out of mindless monotony, and thrust forward."
THE END
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Document ID: c281b263-e6cb-43d3-ac55-042027ec458f
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 01.06.2008
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