Cauldron

by Jack McDevitt

  “Brisk,” said Antonio.

  Matt looked eastward across the broad plain. It looked cold. “The suit’ll keep you warm,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

  They might have been three guys dressed for a spring concert, all casual, all in short-sleeve shirts, with dark lenses and hats to keep the sun out of their eyes. Matt wore a baseball cap; Rudy looked like a golfer; Antonio had a safari hat, and he was also decked out in khaki shorts. Matt had that figured out. It clashed a bit with the snow, but it would look great on the newscasts.

  Without instruments they would never have known there was a building buried here. They trudged first to the tower. It was black metal, nothing fancy, a collection of struts and beams, some crosspieces, a stairway, and a platform near the top.

  “What do you think?” asked Antonio.

  Rudy struggled up to it through snow that seemed to be getting deeper. He touched it. Looked up at it. Looked downslope. “Could be anything,” he said. “Maybe they used to fly a flag up here.”

  “Or worship it.” Antonio took more pictures. He got shots of Rudy standing near the base. Pictures of Matt gazing at the sky, looking like Captain Rigel. And of himself, with a foot on the stairway, testing it.

  Matt opened a channel to the Preston. “Hutch, we’re at the site.”

  “Very good, Matt. See anything we missed?”

  “Negative.” Rudy was pulling on one of the crosspieces. Apparently to find out whether he could break it loose. “It was probably just a ski lift.”

  Skiers. Matt looked downslope again. It made sense.

  “You don’t see anything else anywhere in the neighborhood?”

  He stared around him. Unbroken snow all the way up to the peak. More snow downslope for another few miles. The plain. A few scattered patches of trees. “Not a thing.”

  “What next?” asked Antonio.

  Rudy suggested they get a sample of the metal. “We can use it to date the thing when we get back.” Matt selected a likely spot and used the laser to collect a small piece. When it had cooled, he placed it in a utility bag.

  Rudy was staring downhill.

  “What?” asked Antonio.

  “I thought I saw something.”

  Matt stood for several moments, watching. Nothing down there but snow.

  HUTCH DIRECTED THEM to a spot that, she said, was right above the building. “How deep?” asked Matt.

  Rudy was still looking around, keeping an eye on the mountain.

  “I’d say about three feet.”

  Rudy, wasting no time, got his spade out, struggled to get it locked in place. Antonio showed him how to turn it on, did the same with the second spade, and everybody stepped back as they began digging.

  The snow was dry and granular, and the work went quickly. Within minutes, the shovels reached the roof and shut off. Matt climbed down into the hole, cleared off the last of the snow, exposing the roof, and used the laser to cut through. Then he dropped to his knees and aimed a lamp inside.

  “What’s there?” asked Rudy.

  The floor was about thirteen feet down. “Looks like storage,” he said. Lots of shelves and boxes. Remnants of what had probably been bedding. And, in the middle of the room, an iron contraption that had to be a stove.

  Hutch, watching through the imagers they had clipped to their harnesses, broke in on a private channel: “Matt, you’re going to use the cable to get down there, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can imagine either Rudy or Antonio climbing back out on a cable.”

  “Trust me, Hutch. We’ll be fine.” His tone must have carried a hint of annoyance because she said nothing more.

  He cut a second hole in the roof, about a meter away. This one was only an inch or two wide. He looped the cable through both holes, and dropped the ends into the building. Then he looked up at Rudy and Antonio. “Wait,” he said.

  He lowered himself through the hole, let go, and landed on a frozen surface. His feet went out from under him, and he fell with a crash.

  He got the predictable cries from everyone. Was he okay? What happened? You sure you’re all right, Matt?

  “I’m fine,” he said. He was picking himself up from an icy carpet, flashing his wrist lamp around the room, across shelves, wooden boxes, and cabinet doors. He saw tools, fabrics that had long since rotted away, dishware that was cracked and broken from the cold. A variety of knives. Pots and cabinets and frozen paper pads. Everything was made a size or two larger than would have been comfortable for him. And it was all buried under a thick layer of dust.

  “Hey!” Rudy’s voice. “What are you doing down there?”

  “Okay, guys. Just a second.” He went back to where the cable dangled from the holes in the roof, and held one line while Rudy climbed down the other. He dropped onto the floor and got awkwardly to his feet, smiling the whole time, the way people do when they’re trying to look casual and relaxed.

  And, finally, Antonio.

  While the others poked around the storage area, Matt found an open door and looked into the next room. He saw two chairs, a cabinet, a table, another stove, several doors. Lots of ice and snow on the floor where windows had broken. One door opened onto a corridor. Another was frozen shut. Several unidentifiable objects lay on the floor.

  He stepped out into the corridor. “Hutch,” he said, “are you reading this?”

  No response.

  The cabinet was secured to the wall, or possibly had become a permanent part of it. He put his lamp down and went back to the cables. “Hutch,” he said, “do you copy?”

  Hutch’s voice broke through: “Lost you for a minute, Matt.”

  “The signal doesn’t penetrate.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “I’ll call you when we’re clear.”

  HE TRIED TO open the cabinet, but nothing had any give. There were curtains in the room, stiff as boards and in places inseparable from the ice and the walls.

  The mantel and the doorframes were all ornately carved. Everything, the furniture, the windows, the doors, was heavy. The place had a Gothic feel to it.

  The corridor was lined with doors. Some had been left open, revealing spaces that looked as if they’d once been living quarters. Two were filled with snow.

  Antonio and Rudy came out behind him. Antonio was talking about the furniture, how everything was on a slightly larger scale. As it had been on the station. “What do you think these things looked like?” he asked.

  “Obviously they were bipeds,” said Rudy, adopting his professorial tone. “That means they had to have chairs.” He shook his head. “I wonder what they talked about.”

  They looked into the open rooms and saw little other than frozen debris. In some, beams had collapsed and ceilings given way.

  At the end of the corridor, a stairway descended deeper into the building.

  They paused at the top and looked down into another corridor. Matt tried the first step. It was long, and slippery, but the stair felt solid.

  The next step down was almost half again the height to which he was accustomed. Taller creatures, longer legs, longer feet. It was tricky going. There was a handrail, a bit higher than was comfortable. But he put it to use and kept going.

  Some ice had gotten onto the stairs, making them still more dangerous. They crunched and cracked under his weight, so he directed the others to wait until he got to the bottom. Then they followed. They all had trouble negotiating the ice, but everybody made it down in good order.

  More doors. And another staircase, continuing down into a large room. A lobby, he thought, or maybe a meeting room or dining area. He could see tables and chairs. He was about halfway down when he heard a noise.

  The others heard it, too. Above them.

  Everyone froze.

  It had been barely discernible, but there had been something. Like a branch falling somewhere.

  “Wind,” said Rudy.

  It had sounded inside
the building.

  They listened to the silence, sweeping their lamps across the walls and along the passageways and up and down the staircases.

  Antonio finally started breathing again. “The place is oppressive,” he said.

  Whatever it had been, it was gone. They went the rest of the way down the lower stairway, this time together, Matt leading the way, Antonio at the rear.

  It had been a dining room at one time. Several of the tables had been set with plates, cups, and knives. No spoons or forks. The dinnerware was cracked and broken.

  “The place is not that old,” said Rudy. “Not like the space station.”

  “How much you think?” asked Antonio.

  “I don’t know. Frozen the way it is, I just don’t know.”

  One wall had a fireplace.

  Antonio began wandering around, talking to himself, wondering aloud how to capture the mood of the place. How to make people feel the claustrophobia.

  Matt went through a large open doorway. The adjoining space, which might have been the area inside the front doors, was half-filled with snow. A set of windows had given way.

  At the edge of the snow, and partially engulfed in it, was a cluster of carved wooden chairs arranged around a central table. Two of the chairs had collapsed. The furniture showed decent workmanship and had padding that still looked soft but was, of course, rock hard. Two rectangular blocks lay on the tabletop. And a pitcher.

  He gazed at the blocks. Saw symbols on them.

  Books.

  They were books.

  Both were bound in black, and both were frozen to the surface.

  He wiped the dust from them and saw more symbols on the spines. He called Rudy over.

  “Beautiful,” Rudy said. “We have to take these back with us.” When Matt demonstrated that they were frozen in place, he frowned. “Careful. Don’t damage them.”

  Matt used the laser to remove the legs from the table, then to cut around each book, reducing the tabletop to two manageable pieces. He handed one to Rudy and took the other himself.

  “How advanced you think these people were?” asked Antonio.

  “They had the printing press,” said Rudy.

  “Ah, yes.” Matt looked down at his own ghostly hand. “The printing press again.”

  Rudy pointed at some wiring hanging down from the ceiling. “Looks as if they had electricity, too.”

  Antonio touched one of the books. Reverently. “You were right, Rudy. This was a resort hotel. The tower was a ski lift.”

  Matt backed out of the room. Despite the e-suit, he was beginning to feel cold. “If we scan under the snow,” he said, “we’ll probably find a couple more towers upslope.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Antonio was shaking his head. “What kind of alien uses a ski resort?”

  “The Noks like skiing,” said Rudy. “And on Quraqua—”

  Matt heard another noise. Above them.

  They all heard it. A whisper. A sound like a wet sack being dragged across a floor.

  Antonio raised both hands, palms wide, behind his ears. “Something’s up there.”

  They pointed the lamps back the way they’d come and played the beams against the foot of the staircase. “The building’s old,” Matt said. “It probably creaks a bit from the weight of the snow.”

  Antonio removed his laser from his harness. “It’s probably vermin.”

  And they heard it again. Louder this time.

  “That sounds like a big rat,” said Rudy.

  A chill slithered up Matt’s spine. “I think we better clear out.” He discovered he’d already slipped a shell into the rhino gun and was holding it straight out. At home, weapons simply short-circuited the nervous system. They rendered people, or animals, incapable of response. The rhino was designed for use elsewhere, on different kinds of life. It was simple and, one might say, old-fashioned. The metal projectiles it used had explosive tips.

  Matt had never fired one beyond the range. At the moment, it provided a marvelous sense of security, except that it might bring the house down. He started back toward the staircase. “Let’s go,” he whispered. Sound had no trouble penetrating the Flickinger field, so they could be overheard. “Stay behind me.”

  Antonio took the remaining book from him. “I’ll carry it,” he said. “If you have to use that thing, you might want to have both hands free.” They moved quietly across the ground floor until they stood at the foot of the staircase. There was nothing on the stairs, and nothing at the top.

  “Stay put for a minute.” Matt started up. He felt exposed because he had to keep looking at the stairs themselves to be sure he didn’t trip. So he took a step and looked up. Took another and looked up again. Finally, he reached the top. Looked to his right, down the corridor. Checked the flight to the third floor. “Okay,” he said. “Come on.”

  Antonio missed a step and delivered a low expletive. But Rudy caught him, kept him from falling.

  “Damned things were built for basketball players,” Antonio grumbled.

  “Shush!” hissed Rudy.

  They got to the second floor and crowded in behind Matt.

  “Everybody okay?” he asked.

  “Let’s keep going,” said Rudy.

  Matt started up the second flight. Antonio and Rudy followed. But Matt waved them back. “Best if you wait till I take a look,” he said.

  Antonio didn’t like the idea. “The noise might have come from down there.” Behind them.

  “Okay.” Matt conceded the point. “Let’s go.”

  HAD THEY ASKED his help, Jon would not have hesitated to have gone down with them. But he was glad to have escaped a task he considered dull and onerous. He could have gone over to the Preston and spent the day with Hutch, but he was not much for trying to keep up one end of a conversation. So he’d stayed on the McAdams, knowing that, when the operation ended, they’d all gather on one ship or the other, and he could do his socializing then.

  He was half-asleep in the common room. He had no interest in old buildings, nor for that matter in cultures that had gone away. He was glad to be alone for a few hours, to have Matt out of the ship. He was okay, but he was a bit too driven for Jon’s tastes. The guy was so caught up in the mission that he had lost all sense of proportion. He couldn’t relax. Couldn’t talk about anything else.

  A flight that goes on for the better part of a year needs to be thought out more carefully than this one. For one thing, it should have had more people. Hutch had asked him repeatedly, had asked both him and Matt, whether they’d be all right locked up together. So it was his own fault. And they were okay, really. Matt wasn’t a problem. It could have been worse. He could have been on the same ship as Antonio, who talked too much and was cheerful enough to drive anyone around the bend.

  Rudy would have been good. At least they had some common interests. From here on, he thought they should scramble things a bit. Maybe he’d suggest he exchange places with Antonio. He sensed Matt would like a change, too. Antonio could sit up on the bridge with Matt for weeks at a time, chattering away. And Jon would get access to Rudy. And Hutch. She wasn’t exactly the life of the party either, but at least she’d be someone different. And it’d be nice to have somebody good-looking on board.

  When he got home, he would form a corporation to license the drive. That had been Matt’s idea. It would allow him to keep control of the system. Rudy had been concerned that he would sell it outright to Campella or one of the other major corporations, which would proceed to deny its use to all but those in a position to pay substantial sums. That would effectively eliminate blue sky exploration. Ships would go on missions, but only those fueled by a profit motive.

  He thought he’d name his company for Henry, maybe call it Barber Enterprises. Although DeepSpace, Inc. appealed to him. He was getting sleepy and the world was beginning to fade when Jim brought him back. “Jon, we have a relay from the lander. It looks urgent.”

  What the hell was a relay from the lander? “
You mean Matt wants to talk to me?”

  “No. It’s literally from the lander. The onboard AI. I’m running it now.”

  The main screen came on and he was looking at a snowfield. The countryside was barren, cold, desolate. In the distance, he could see a few misshapen growths. Trees, possibly. It was hard to tell. “What am I looking for, Jim?”

  “It’s coming into the picture now, Jon. Be advised there’s a forty-three-second delay.”

  Abruptly, without warning, a reptilian head appeared. It was as white as the snowfield. “My God,” he said. “How big is that thing?”

  “The head is almost a meter across.”

  “Where’s Matt? And the others? Are they back on the lander?” He’d followed the first few minutes of the conversation between Matt and Hutch, had gotten bored, and shut it down.

  “Matt, Antonio, and Rudy dug their way into the buried building. They are in there now. If you look carefully, directly ahead, you’ll see where they entered.”

  He saw the hole and the shovels. The snake was moving directly toward it, and as it passed the lander, he got a better sense of its size. “Is Hutch getting this?”

  “Yes.”

  “That thing’s a monster.”

  “It is large.”

  “Jim, put me through to Matt.”

  “Unable to comply. The link won’t penetrate into the building.”

  The creature reached the hole and paused. It looked in. Then, to his horror, it started down.

  “Jon,” said the AI. “Hutch is on the circuit. Audio only.”

  “Hutch,” he said. “You see this?”

  “I’m headed for the lander now.”

  “Pick me up. I’ll go with you.”

  “No time, Jon. I’ve got a window, but I have to hustle.”

  “Hutch, you can’t take that thing on alone.”

  “There’s no time, Jon. We should be all right. I’m armed.”

  “They’re armed, too. But I doubt they’re all right.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can.”

  “Hutch, this is not a good idea.”

  “Which part of it?”

  HE’D TOLD MATT that he didn’t think going down was very smart. Just checking groundside, Matt had called it. Jon had refused to use the official terminology. There was a pretense there somewhere, with Matt behaving as if he’d been doing this sort of thing all his life. Matt had heroic inclinations built in, but the truth was nobody here had any training in this sort of thing. Except Hutch, and she’d been away from it too many years.