by Robyn Miller
The massive slab of stone was lifted on four huge pulleys and lowered—the thick hawsers straining at the weight—onto the floor of the hall. Then, and only then, when it was safely down, did Atrus turn and contemplate the inner chamber.
The fire-marble they had fired into the chamber still glowed, but shadows gathered at the edges of vision. The far end of the chamber was dark, the doorway—if door it was—hidden from view.
A dozen or more pillars ranged along each side of that narrow chamber, set back into the walls, their marbled surfaces covered with strange markings. Stepping out between them, Atrus raised the lamp, then walked over to one of the pillars. He stood there a moment, staring up at it, then turned.
“Oma … come here.”
Oma hastened across.
“What do you make of these?”
Oma stood there a while, studying the carvings. They looked like the signs and symbols of some ancient language.
“I … don’t know.”
“Esel?”
Esel shook his head. “I’ve never seen their like.”
“No,” Catherine agreed, “and yet they look familiar.”
“Familiar?” Atrus turned to her. “You think you’ve seen these somewhere before?”
“Yes … but I can’t think where.”
Atrus turned back, then, stopping across, reached up and put his fingers into the groove of one of the more complex characters. The cuts were deep and smooth, each edge and surface finely polished. As for the symbol itself, it had the definite, finished shape of a letter in an alphabet yet at the same time it also suggested a picture.
Atrus stepped back, lifting the lantern, trying to see if there were any other markings farther up the pillar, but what the lamp revealed was not more markings but Books, thousands upon thousands of Books, on shelves recessed into the walls high up and back from the pillars.
No wonder they hadn’t seen them at first.
Oma gave a cry of pure delight, while Esel turned, looking to Carrad, his long, frowning face filled with a sudden urgency. “Carrad … Irras … bring ladders. Quickly now!”
They were back within a minute, Irras scrambling up onto the ledge, then hurrying down again, one of the ancient, leather-bound Books clutched to his chest.
As Oma carefully opened the page, they gathered round.
“Look!” Esel said. “It’s the same script as on the pillars.”
“It looks very much like it,” Oma agreed. “And the panel …”
“Do not touch it,” Atrus said quietly. “There is no Guild of Maintainers seal. And who knows how old these Ages are, or if they are stable or otherwise.”
Atrus stared at the page, unable to decipher that ancient script, yet there was something about it that was familiar. Looking up, he raised his lantern once again, astonished by the sight. If they were all like this …
He walked on, slowly, the lamp held up before him, the darkness receding before him. Wall after wall of Books met his gaze, until he felt quite overwhelmed by it all. Then, lowering his eyes, he turned away … and stopped dead.
Just ahead of him, through a low arch flanked by pillars, was an anteroom. He stepped through, into a small chamber with four tiny alcoves leading off. The floor was marble, the low ceiling a concave circle of mosaic. His lamp blazed in that tiny space, and as he looked about him, Atrus realized that in each alcove the character that had appeared on the very first pillar was repeated.
And at the very center of the door, the character that had appeared on the very first pillar was repeated.
Atrus stared a moment, then turned, looking back toward where the others were still huddled about the ancient Book.
“Irras! Bring Master Tergahn! Now! Tell him we have need of his services once more!”
ATRUS TOOK HIS EYE FROM THE LENS OF THE scope, then straightened up. He nodded to himself, as if some guess of his had been confirmed, then turned and gestured for Catherine to take the sample capsule from the shaft.
While Catherine tested the air sample of the second chamber, Marrim studied the surface of the nearest pillar. Like all of the others, its surface was completely covered in the strange, ancient markings. Esel and Oma had already begun the task of copying down the symbols, and though they had progressed little beyond the first two pillars, that had not stopped them from speculating upon their possible meaning.
Oma was of the opinion that this was an early form of D’ni, if only because of its age and location, but Esel was not so sure.
Marrim, looking at them once more, was struck by how beautiful the markings were.
Catherine came across, showing Atrus the sample. “It’s safe.”
“Good.” Atrus turned and looked across the room. “Irras, bring me a cutter.”
THE BOOK WAS HUGE, MUCH BIGGER THAN A normal D’ni Book, the leather of its cover as thick and hard as slate, but strangest of all was the writing, for like the carvings on the pillars it was in a language none there recognized, though aspects of it were familiar.
For thousands of years the Book had lain there, sealed into the alcove at the far end of that ancient hidden hall. Now, seeing it there, the descriptive panel on the right-hand page glowing softly in the half-light, Marrim felt something between awe and a sheer superstitious fear of it.
Atrus, careful as ever, forbade any of them to touch it. He was determined to find out all he could before they used it.
That was, if they used it at all.
“Burn it,” old Tergahn said, on looking at that strange, alien script. “That’s what I say. If our forefathers thought to bury these chambers and seal the doorways up, then no good can come of it. Burn it, Atrus! Burn it, then seal these chambers up once more.”
“I agree,” Atrus said. “The Book is far too dangerous.”
But Esel and Oma argued otherwise.
“We should copy it,” Oma said. “See what sense we can make of it. In all likelihood it’s related to the markings on the pillars. If we can find a clue to reading it …”
Atrus hesitated. “All right,” he said, after a moment. “But you will take the utmost care in copying it.”
“I still say burn it,” Master Tergahn said, shaking his head, a sour look on his heavily lined face.
“It may well come to that,” Atrus said, glancing at the old man, “but it won’t harm to take a look. That is, if Oma and Esel can unlock the meaning of that script.”
“Burn it,” Tergahn said, more determined than ever. “Burn it now, before any harm is done.”
But Marrim, watching Atrus’s face, saw that Atrus was not about to bow to the old man’s superstitious fear of the Book.
“I hear you, Master Tergahn, and I note what you say. But I shall burn no Book without good cause.”
“Then you’re a fool young Atrus,” Tergahn said, and without another word he stalked away, the sound of his footsteps fading as he vanished into the darkness at the far end of the chamber.
Atrus stared a while, then turned, looking to Oma and Esel once more. “Begin at once,” he said. “The sooner we know what this means, the more comfortable I’ll feel.”
OMA SAT AT HIS MAKESHIFT DESK INSIDE THE inner cell, dressed in one of the dark-green decontamination suits, complete with gloves and visor. The ancient Book lay to his left, open, the top two pages protected by a thin transparent sheet.
From his position on the other side of the bars, Esel looked on. He, too wore protective garb.
“Well? Is it the same?” he asked, waiting for Oma to check back in his notes.
Oma ruffled through the pages, then stopped, having clearly found what he was looking for, and read through the earlier passage. Half turning, he shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s almost the same …”
“Almost?” Esel’s heavy eyebrows went up.
For the last hour or so the two brothers had been debating a passage partway through the text that seemed to have no correlation with the normal, expected structure of such Descriptive Books. In it, many of the ea
rlier passages they had already translated seemed to be repeated, yet with minor changes of phrasing and emphasis.
“The changes are so minor … It’s almost as if the writer is trying to reinforce the earlier phrases.”
“Hmmm …” Esel frowned deeply. “Reinforcement, yes. But to what purpose?”
“To make it more stable, perhaps?” Atrus said, coming across from where he had been checking one of the big E.V. suits.
“Then why not a direct repetition?”
“Because that would be redundant. By making such subtle changes in the repeated phrases, the writer may have been attempting to make the Age he was writing more specific.”
Oma had turned to face Atrus. “But why not simply put in those subtleties first time round?”
“As I said. To make it all more stable. I know from experience that the more subtle you try to be, the more specific, the more unstable your Ages are likely to be. It was the one great flaw with the worlds my father wrote.”
“Then why did the practice cease?”
“Who can say? Things change. Perhaps they felt it was redundant and let the practice lapse.”
“Maybe,” Oma said. “Yet I rather like it. That is, if it is what you think it is, Master Atrus.”
“And I,” Atrus said, smiling. Then, changing the subject, “Are you still having problems with the phraseology?”
Oma grinned and looked to his brother. “We were, but we think we’ve mastered that now. Most of the oddities are simple structural inversions in the individual sentences. They probably accord with standard speech patterns of that time.”
Atrus nodded. They knew now, for certain, that the underlying basis of the ancient script was D’ni, for the primitive forms matched the modern ones virtually one-to-one.
“So how long do you think it will take you to complete the work?”
Oma looked to his brother. “Two days? Three at most.”
“Then keep to it. And Oma …”
“Yes, Master Atrus?”
“You might ask Marrim and Irras to look at the characters you have not yet managed to translate. They have a fresh eye to the language, and who knows if they might not see what more familiar eyes would overlook.”
“I shall prepare a page for them.”
“Good. Then I shall leave you to it.”
IT WAS TIME, ATRUS DECIDED, TO MAKE A DECISION.
For the best part of a day he had sat alone at his desk, reading through the translated copy of the Book.
“Well?” Catherine asked finally, taking a seat across from him.
Atrus considered a moment, then answered her. “It is phrased so strangely. Unlike the D’ni Books we are used to. There is a certain … ambiguity to it. And yet, on the surface, it seems a safe and stable world. Those reinforcing phrases would seem to make it so. Yet what if there’s something we’ve overlooked? Some small yet crucial detail.” He shook his head. “I can’t risk one of our people being trapped there.”
“Then do as Master Tergahn said. Burn the Book. At least that way you’ll remove the temptation.”
Atrus laughed. “You think it is a temptation, then?”
“Of course it is! The young people think of nothing else … talk of nothing else. Why, they are so curious about what lies on the other side of that page that they would link at once, if you gave permission, without a moment’s thought for their safety.”
Atrus stared at her. “I didn’t realize.”
“On the other hand …”
“What?”
Catherine looked down, a strange smile on her lips. “You or I could go.”
“And take the risk?”
“Or destroy the Book.”
They stared at each other a moment longer, then, with a tiny shrug, Atrus reached across and took one of the last of their small store of blank Linking Books from the side.
“Okay,” he said, glancing up at her. “I’ll write a Linking Book. But I go, understand? No one else.”
“Yes, my love,” she answered, watching him open the slender Book then reach across for the pen. “You alone.”
WHEN IT WAS DONE, ATRUS GATHERED TOGETHER the small team who had been working on the project and told them the news. There were grins and cheers and then, strangely, silence, as the full implication of what Atrus had said sank in.
“But you can’t!” Irras said. “The risk’s far too great!”
“No greater than for any of you,” Atrus answered, determined not to be swayed by any argument of theirs. “I’ve made up my mind and it won’t be changed. I link through, tomorrow morning, once everything’s in place. Carrad, Irras, you’ll be responsible for the suit, all right? Catherine will run the laboratory. Marrim … you’ll assist her. Master Tamon …”
“Atrus … Irras is right. You cannot go. You’re far too important. If anything went wrong …”
“Precisely. If anything went wrong it would be on my conscience, and I cannot have that.”
Tamon shrugged, then bowed his head.
“Good,” Atrus said. “Then you, Master Tamon, have a special task. If there are … complications, you will take the Book and burn it. Understand me?”
“Atrus …”
“No arguments,” Atrus said, with a finality that silenced the old Master. But looking around the circle of friends, it was clear to him that none of them were happy with the arrangements.
“Until the morning, then.”
IT WAS LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN THEY RETURNED. Irras led the way, a veiled lamp held up before him as they made their way along the corridor that led to the Guild cell.
Just behind Irras came Marrim and Carrad.
“I really don’t like this,” Marrim whispered, for what must have been the dozenth time.
“You want Atrus to risk himself?” Irras hissed back at her, attempting to be angry and quiet at the same time. “There’s no other way, and you know it. We must test the Age before Atrus links through.”
“But Irras …”
“Irras is right,” Carrad hissed, turning to look back at her. “We owe Atrus everything. If we were to lose him, then we ourselves would be lost.”
Marrim looked down, chastised. But she wasn’t finished yet. “It isn’t right, going behind his back like this.”
“Maybe not,” Irras conceded, “but he would never allow us otherwise. You heard him earlier. He was adamant.”
Marrim sighed. “Okay. Then I will go.”
“You can’t!” Carrad and Irras said as one.
“Why not? I’d be missed less than you two.”
“Nonsense,” Irras said. “I’d miss you dreadfully.”
“And I,” Carrad said. “But that’s beside the point. Irras is going.”
Irras turned, wide-eyed, to face him. “What?”
“You heard,” Carrad said. “Or have you learned how to operate the suit since last we used it?”
“No, I …”
“Then it’s decided. Unless you don’t want to go.”
“I’m not afraid, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then it’s decided,” Carrad said, and, turning back, headed swiftly along the corridor, leaving the other two to catch up as best they could.
“ARE ALL THE SAMPLING CAPSULES FITTED, Catherine?”
“They’re all in place. And there’s extra oxygen in the cylinder on your back. Just in case.”
Atrus’s eyes followed Catherine as she busied herself at the laboratory bench. Sensing he was watching her, she looked up. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her face showing no emotion; as if this were a purely routine matter.
Carrad looked to Catherine, as if about to say something, but Irras frowned at him. “Come on, Carrad. Help me with the helmet now.”
And then all was ready. Slowly, like some great mechanical thing, Atrus stepped into the cage, his back to the inner cell. The door clunked shut behind him, the seals came down. Slowly the cage revo
lved.
“Good luck!” Catherine called.
With a clunk the bolts slid back again and Atrus stepped out, into the inner cell.
Slowly he turned until he faced them again, then, raising his right glove, he brought it down on the back of his left.
The suit shimmered and then vanished.
Marrim looked across at Catherine, seeing the tension in her, the momentary fear in her eyes, and looked down.
Two seconds later the suit was back.
At once they were swarming about it, reaching through the bars to pluck the sampling capsules from their niches, even as the decontamination unit lowered itself over the suit, spraying Atrus with a fine mist of chemicals.
“Well?” Master Tamon asked. “What did you see?”
Atrus laughed. “Rock … I was surrounded by rock.”
Marrim, looking to Irras, gave the faintest smile.
“Rock?” Master Tamon queried, surprised to find Atrus so excited about mere rock.
“Yes, and there’s another doorway,” Atrus went on excitedly, “like this one, but it, too, is sealed. And there’s a Book … almost identical to the one we found! In the same ancient script!”
“A Book!” Master Tamon looked about him, seeing the sudden excitement in every eye.
“Yes,” Atrus said. “And if my guess is right it links back here. But come, let’s get on with it. Irras, set the timer for five minutes. I want a much better look this time.”
THERE WAS BARELY ROOM IN THE ALCOVE TO turn, let alone set up the portable drilling machinery, but somehow it was done. Irras, his movements clumsy in the suit, made the first test bore, alone in that distant Age, sensors on the special suit ready to activate his return should there be any sudden change in atmospheric pressure or temperature.