Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  “Okay, calm down, Cathi,” she chided herself. Taking a deep breath, she carefully removed the power pack from the laser and attempted to fit it in the empty space. It was too large. “Damn!” she yelled aloud.

  Think. Think. Again using her knife, she pried open the transponder in her pack and snipped two short pieces of wire from its connections. “There goes our signal,” she muttered under her breath.

  After securing the wires to the power cell terminals, she inserted one end of the positive wire into the slot’s positive connection. The other, the ground wire, she held above the metal box.

  “Here goes nothing,” she said to Anderson and smiled, then winced from the pain it brought to her parched, swollen lips. She touched the wire to the slot’s ground connection. Sparks flew as a jolt of electricity traveled up her arm to her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Still, the door did not budge. She marveled at the numbness in her arm and at her own stupidity for failing to ground herself properly. She was ready to give in to her failure. She could do no more.

  “The transponder power cell,” Anderson gasped out through swollen lips. “More power.”

  “Yes,” she answered as she grasped his meaning. Why had she not thought of that? If her mind was too numb to figure out a simple door mechanism, how could she hope to contact the Baldry? The laser’s nearly depleted power cell was not strong enough, and she did not want to dismantle their only working laser. She removed the transponder’s power cell, added it to that of the laser’s, and tried again. More sparks flew, but this time she avoided touching the naked end of the wire with her bare hand. Instead, she used the plasticized waterproof backpack as a glove. She juggled the rapidly heating power cells in her unprotected hand until they became too hot to hold. Just as she was ready to drop them, a loud click came from within the door, and it began to slide aside. It shuddered as hydraulic servos forced it from its centuries-long rest. The low rumble reverberated throughout the large cavern revealed within. Rust and dirt fell from the door and clouded the air around them. The screeching of metal against metal became a shrill cry.

  As the door slid open, a rush of cooler air washed over them like a balm to their aching, scorched bodies. It rattled to a halt after moving only a few feet, but that was enough. Summoning a reserve of strength that she did not know she possessed, she helped Anderson to his feet and, with pains shooting through her slowly reawakening arm, half-dragged him into the cool relief of the building.

  At first, she could see very little of the building’s cavernous interior, but slowly, as her sunburned eyes grew accustomed to the faint light, she began to make out the familiar hulks of great throbbing machines standing in rows along the walls. “Pumps!” she exclaimed, recognizing them as enormous versions of the water pumps in the Baldry’s hydroponics section. Her jubilant echoing voice bounded down the length of the building – “Pumps-umps-mps!” As her voice faded away into the depths of the building, another sound broke the silence: the slow, steady drip of water. Excited, she cupped her ear to pinpoint its source over the throbbing of the pumps and the pounding of her heart. She located the drip beneath one of the pumps along the wall. Letting Anderson slump gently to the floor, she forced her feet to carry her the thirty meters to the pump. It felt like thirty kilometers.

  She watched a small drop of precious water gather on a pipe above her head and fall to the floor. A small splash brought her attention to a water-filled depression in the concrete floor. Over the centuries, the relentless force of dripping water had carved out a small bowl. In another million years, it might carve out a canyon. In spite of her tremendous thirst, she removed a chemical test strip from her pack and placed a drop of water on it. Almost pure. Just a littledirt. She laughed at the thought. She would be more than willing to squeeze water from mud and be thankful for every drop. She wet her hand in the small pool and touched it to her dry lips. The pain was sharp, but it still felt wonderful. Carefully, she filled her canteen and carried the water back to Anderson. She poured some over his brow and slowly dribbled it down his throat. After a few minutes, he was able to sit up and hold the canteen himself, if with somewhat unsteady hands.

  “Drink slowly, or you’ll throw up,” she advised him.

  He laughed softly. “My throat is so swollen I can barely manage a dribble,” he squeaked out. He took another small swallow and handed the canteen back to her.

  She took one small gulp, then another. Heeding her advice for moderation, she poured a little water over her face before replacing the canteen’s cap.

  “First we sleep. Then we look for food.” She looked over at Anderson, who was already fast asleep. She lay down beside him, and soon she, too, was in heavy slumber.

  *

  By her chronometer, they had slept only four hours when a noise awakened her, but she felt as if she had been asleep for days. Her back ached horribly, and all of her muscles quivered as she tried to stand. The days of walking through the desolate lands torn asunder by the hand of both man and nature had taken a terrible toll on her body. She glanced over at Anderson, still sleeping. He was emaciated and frail. I probably look just as bad, she thought. He had never been in great physical shape, preferring to remain aboard ship most landfalls. She owed him a lot. In spite of the deaths of Whitehall and Pegari and the loss of the shuttle, he had followed her lead without complaint.

  The noise, a low whirring sound farther down the line of pumps, repeated. She hobbled toward it on aching legs. As she came even with one massive pump, she spied a repair drone at work on it. A multi-task tool on the end of one of its appendages removed the bolts securing a gasket frame. Then, it deftly removed the torn gasket and replaced it with one it pulled from a drawer in its belly. It re-secured the frame and moved the body of the pump, where it inserted a telescoping rod into a receptacle and turned it. The pump switched on and began throbbing as water coursed through its impellers. Its task completed, it rolled past her without noticing her and disappeared through a maintenance opening in the wall. The automated repair drones had kept the pumps working for centuries. She assumed the leak that had saved her life had not reached the critical point of needing repairs.

  She returned to the door opening mechanism and retrieved her power packs. The power cell for the transponder was fried and melted, useless. The pack for the laser had only a small charge remaining. She noticed a sign above the inside lintel of the door she had missed earlier – Mount Thunder Pumping Facility# 2. The builders of Denver Dome designed the facility to bring water from the mountains to the dome. The station had stood untouched by human hand for centuries, lasting longer than the dome it supplied. If there was power for the pumps, there should be sufficient power to boost her communicator. First, though, they needed food. She began to explore.

  The pumping station was half a kilometer in length and two hundred meters across. The ceiling was almost invisible in the shadows thirty meters above her head. A system of rails for lifting the heavy pumps for repair created a spider web lattice across the ceiling. Ladders provided access to catwalks above the pumps. She noticed openings in the floor at intervals, stairways to lower levels. The building contained no other rooms.

  She rummaged through her pack and found one small package of dehydrated fruit she had set aside for an emergency. Their weakened condition constituted such an emergency. She poured in a little water and allowed it to rehydrate. She and Anderson would need the energy to explore the station. She gently awakened Anderson and spoon-fed him the fruit, leaving herself only a small portion. Anderson’s condition was worse than hers. They quenched their thirst and filled their canteens. The flashlight had died days earlier. Using only the feeble glow of the flashlight function of her wrist chronometer, they marched in single file into the blackness of one of the stairwells.

  She counted one-hundred-fifty winding steps before they reached a level floor. The faint sound of a pump throbbed far off in the distance. She used the sound to guide them. Ten paces along the corridor, she spied a faintly g
lowing pad on the wall. She waved her hand over it. Very dim at first, but then quickly increasing in intensity, a row of lights burst into life overhead. She shielded her eyes at the sudden burst of radiance. Several banks of light were out, but enough remained to illuminate the corridor. She decided to let Anderson rest while she scouted ahead, first checking that their communicators still worked.

  She located the pump five hundred meters down the corridor. It switched on and off twice during her journey, cycling water through the massive pipes above her head to prevent stagnation. It had been operating for centuries without human maintenance, a remarkable feat of engineering by her ancestors. It was evident that not all the best of Earth’s people had left during the Great Migration. She felt a great kinship with the people who had designed the pumping station. They would have felt at home in the engine room of the Long John Baldry.

  A small alcove held tables and chairs, or rather the remains of them, as if once a break area. Now, the contents were piles of dust and rust. A row of corroded metal lockers lined one wall of the alcove. Most of the lockers were empty or contained only rusted parts or other unidentifiable objects, but upon opening one locker, she hit the jackpot. Inside were half a dozen vacuum-sealed jars constructed from a type of ceramic-metal alloy that had endured the passage of centuries unscathed. Curious, she broke the seal of one. It produced a slight hiss as the lid peeled back, revealing its freeze-dried contents. Moisture oozed from the sides of the container and mixed with the desiccated mixture. After a few seconds, the jar began to warm in her hands, producing the tantalizing aroma of vegetable soup. The smell sent her empty stomach rumbling, and her smile broke open a couple of blisters on her chapped lips. She tested the jar’s contents with her bio-kit.

  Two or three hundred years old and still edible, she marveled. These Earthers were wonderful. By comparison, her people had stagnated for centuries during the middle part of the Scattering. Freed from the period of enforced cooperation during the Great Migration outward, cultures had once again splintered, and the inevitable wars over habitable planets, trade, and religious differences had decimated populations wasted valuable resources. It had taken them centuries to regain what they had lost. Earthers had adapted to their harsh environment and advanced until their downfall. Even the survivors on Mars barely maintained the level of technology they had brought from Earth. Earth could become a source of wonderful finds for her people, if she ever got back to them to announce her discoveries.

  She hurried back to Anderson with her precious find. They feasted on the soup, a medley of vegetables, many she did not recognize, in a light broth. It was delicious, made even more so by their desperate hunger. Still famished, she opened a second jar, revolted by its contents.

  “This one is meat,” she complained. She was not a strict vegetarian, but she preferred the cultured protein available on the Baldry, not the chopped up muscles of slaughtered animals.

  Anderson was not as picky as she was. He used two fingers to pull a chunk of hot stewed meat from the jar and placed it in his mouth. “Not bad. A little tough, but it is protein.”

  “It’s meat from some hapless animal,” she said, squeamish at watching him eat.

  “Protein is protein,” he countered, “like from our culture vats.”

  “That’s different. It … it was never a living creature.”

  Anderson licked his fingers. “We’re starving. You can either eat this or take your squeamishness to your grave.”

  He handed her the jar and waited until she took it. He watched as she placed a small piece of meat in her mouth and swallowed, fighting the reflex to regurgitate. In spite of her revulsion, it tasted remarkably like the cultured protein from the Long John Baldry she was used to. In fact, she admitted to herself, it was delicious. She chose a larger piece.

  “See. Not so bad after all.” Anderson grinned and joined her in finishing the jar’s contents.

  After eating, Anderson handed her the laser. “I used parts from the other laser to repair it while you were gone. I won’t guarantee more than two or three shots before the circuits fry.”

  She was satisfied. At least they had a means to protect themselves should they encounter more of Toothless’s people. They had water, food, shelter, and weapons. Now, she needed only to find some way to communicate with the Baldry. Overlooked in their earlier descent, she now noticed a small doorway set in the wall behind the stairwell. It was rusted shut and took both of them to force it open enough for entry. A bank of lights along the ceiling illuminated the room and the various pieces of electronic equipment lining its walls. Some looked inoperable, but a couple still had rows of dim lights blinking on their panels. Their purpose was a mystery, but further search failed to locate any type of communication equipment or power source. Curious, she removed a lighted sconce from the wall. The light did not connect to any type of circuitry or contain an independent power source. She suspected that microwaves broadcast from some central source powered it, another marvel of Earth engineering – broadcast energy.

  The room provided more sealed jars of food and dehydrated packages in a small cupboard. It appeared that workers ate at their stations rather than make the long journey to some central cafeteria. They added their find to their growing larder and moved down the opposite end of the corridor from the pump. It proved to be much longer and devoid of any lockers or rooms. By her estimation, the corridor headed straight into the heart of the mountain. They walked for over a hour before stopping to rest.

  “I feel like we may get out of this now, lieutenant,” Anderson confided to Cathi. “My stomach’s full, and it’s only slightly a cheerful roasting temperature in here, much better than outside.”

  Cathi marveled that Anderson still could maintain a sense of humor after all they had been through. She had also noticed the drop in temperature as they progressed down the corridor. In addition, she noticed an appreciable rise in humidity the deeper they traveled into the pumping facility. Her limp, dry hair was beginning to curl at the ends. That meant water ahead. The corridor gradually began curving to their left, limiting their vision. Worse than that, many of the lights were no longer functioning, forcing them to rely on the feeble light provided by her chronometer, which slowly grew dimmer as they exhausted the power from its tiny solar battery. If they did not find the end of the seemingly endless corridor soon, it would be necessary to turn back and retrace their steps in the dark.

  The temperature had dropped by nearly ten degrees during the last kilometer. She detected a slight, moist breeze blowing down the corridor, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of water. She licked her dry lips at the prospect of a bath, or at least enough water to rinse her face. A week’s worth of dirt and perspiration made her feel as grubby as the creatures who had captured her. A patch of light ahead of them grew brighter as they approached. Soon, they had to shield their eyes against the glare.

  The corridor ended abruptly at a wide causeway carved from the solid stone of a mountain overlooking a massive lake several hundred meters below. A massive concrete dam over a hundred meters high and spanning the entire valley held the water in place. Tall, snow-capped peaks enclosed the valley. Openings identical to the one in which they stood dotted the length of the causeway. Higher up the peaks, a series of terraces designed to collect snowmelt before it evaporated channeled it through giant pipes to the lake below. They had located the source of water for Denver Dome. The reservoir, when full, could have held enough water to supply ten Denver Domes. Properly functioning, the entire region around the ruins could once again become a garden supporting millions of people, returning life to a decimated wasteland.

  First things first, though, she thought. They still needed rescue. After marveling at the view of the lake from their high perch, they continued along the broad causeway. At one time, it must have been beautiful with rows of trees, beds of flowers, benches, and statues, a regular pedestrian boulevard. Now, once smooth surface had succumbed to the weather with pits and cracks in wh
ich weeds flourished. Weeds had also taken over the gardens, but to Cathi they were beautiful after days of marching through a land seared of almost all life. The stone statues were weather worn and barely recognizable as manmade objects.

  The vast area surrounding the lake had its own thriving ecosystem, an oasis in a planet-sized desert. Species of birds and mammals had migrated from many kilometers to reach this haven from desolation outside the valley. Small trees and plants had taken root along the shoreline, creating habitat and food for a myriad of creatures. She stood mesmerized by the sight so reminiscent of the home she had left many years earlier. Birds flew overhead, and fish splashed in the clear, blue waters. She spotted a family of small mammals playing in the water near a copse of trees and recognized them as otters.

  A few low clouds drifted by overhead, creating shade from the sun. To her utter amazement and delight, a brief rain began to fall as they strolled along the causeway. She turned her face toward the downpour and luxuriated in the feel of cold water caressing her parched skin, ignoring the pain of her blisters. The rain lasted only a few minutes, but it had revitalized her body and her soul. She badly wanted to find a way down to the lake, to submerge her filthy body in the refreshing water, and wash away the layers of accumulated stench.

  Why not?

  She ignored Anderson’s questioning stare, as she stripped off her jumpsuit and walked to the edge of the causeway.

  “It must be fifteen meters to the water,” he warned. “You’ll break your neck.”

  She smiled. “Maybe so, but you can bury a clean corpse.”

  She raised her arms into the air and left the ground. She knew she was taking a risk. She didn’t know how deep the water was or if a dangerous predator lurked just beneath the surface. She felt a few seconds of invigorating freedom as she soared through the air, and then a moment of resistance as she sliced cleanly into the water. She could feel her body soaking up the moisture. She wished she had soap, but she made do by briskly rubbing her skin with her hands, reopening her cuts and blisters. The pain brought tears to her eyes, but it was momentary to the joy of swimming and floating. The water washed the weariness from her muscles and buoyed her spirit.