by Allen Wold
He opened the covers of the book. There were no pages. The inside surfaces were white, and glowed very faintly. "Each one a separate title. Lavish display of wealth, up there, in the city. This equipment would have cost a fortune. Printed books would be a lot cheaper, but look." He touched a corner of the opened cover. The page on the right formed an image, characters in an unreadable alphabet, an obvious title page. Droagn touched corners, stroked edges. The "pages" changed. Mostly they were text, once a table of some kind, mostly on just the right-hand surface, sometimes across both surfaces. Once he got a kind of command line at the bottom, but he couldn't bring it back a second time.
"So you'd consult the librarian," Grayshard said, "and check out your own electronic copy."
"Exactly. These would be the classics." He closed the book, turned it over. The cover was plain. He opened it up, upside down, and turned it on again. The text appeared right side up. He closed it again and looked at the spine. A row of small symbols was etched into the surface.
"You've handled books like this before," Rikard said.
"Once or twice." The inner surfaces of the book began to fade. The characters disappeared, and then the surfaces went dark. "You can get a couple million words into one of these. Actually, the ones I saw were sort of miniature libraries in themselves. This could be the equivalent of an encyclopedia. You can recharge it of course. That's part of what this place is all about." He tapped the panels. "On full charge it should last, oh, upward of a year."
"We've got to take a few of these," Rikard said.
"Absolutely. But which ones?"
"Does it matter?" Grayshard said. "Take random samples."
"I guess we'll have to. How far does this place go?" Rikard peered on down the sequence of chambers. "Let's go see, and get our samples on the way back."
The library in fact extended only twenty-five chambers in all. In the last one Rikard, following Droagn's instructions, took out a book and opened it. The alphabet used in this one was different from the first.
"Far more recent," Droagn said, "no more than a half a million years old, I'd guess. That's Tashique, a dead language in my time."
They worked their way back toward the entrance. In each chamber, each of them selected a book. Droagn carried those Grayshard picked out. At first, Rikard wanted to open each one, for just the few moments that its power remained, but Grayshard urged him to just bring them along.
But there was no stopping him when they got back to the first chamber. The panels here were oversize, as were the books they produced. Rikard opened one, and it was filled with graphics. Not exactly art, nor electronics diagrams, nor business charts, but something else. The color faded and the images faded and the surfaces went dark before he could begin to get a grasp of it.
"I think we'll take a couple more of these," Droagn said.
"You pick them out, I'll take these to the case." He relieved Rikard of his burden of books and went back to where the case was lying, still open, on the far side of the museum workroom.
"Just be quick about it," Grayshard insisted.
"What are you so nervous about," Rikard asked as he looked at another volume. It was an art book, and he'd seen some of the paintings up in the gallery above, so he put it back.
"Kath Harm," Grayshard said.
Rikard hurried. He had to just go by guess and hunch. These oversize volumes were designed to show their graphics to their best advantage, so they were quite large and rather heavy. He put back two out of three, but when Droagn returned he'd selected a dozen of the electronic volumes.
"Let's go," Grayshard insisted.
Rikard turned in place, so frustrated to have to leave so soon. It wasn't like he would get another chance to come down here again. His finger punched a lit symbol almost at random, and a large volume slid out.
He opened it, and stopped. The image that came up on the fifth press of his thumb was of a ruin, a photograph of some old building weathered by time and the elements. And a ruin like none he'd ever seen before.
"It's archaeology," he said.
"So take it," Grayshard said, and gently pushed him out the door.
Now Rikard hurried too. The more time they spent down there, the more time Kath Harin had to think about being cheated and plan some kind of retribution.
As quickly as he could he packed the books into the case. It nearly filled it. Then he closed it back up and hefted it. It weighed little more than it had empty, though it moved sluggishly. The weight was compensated for, but it still had inertia.
"All right," he said to Grayshard. "I'm ready."
"Then let's go."
From one of the other cases Droagn was carrying, Rikard took a cross-shaped object with a thickened intersection. He stretched out the telescoping legs of the cross until he could set his 4D box down on it with the ends of the cross just projecting beyond the sides of the case. Then he took a small remote control, pressed the on button, and the carrier rose up about twelve centimeters. Droagn picked up the rest of the equipment, Grayshard took the remote from Rikard, and they left the reserve museum with the gravity float following behind them.
They moved at a slow walking speed, and now had no interest in their surroundings whatsoever. It was all Rikard could do, in fact, to keep from running and shouting. He was already composing his acceptance speech for when the Society of Local Historians gave him the prize for prehistory research.
They came to the ramp and started up. They followed their own prints back through the power generators, water pumps, waste recyclers, air conditioners. But when they got to the top of the ramp at the next level, Droagn paused.
"We're not alone," he projected. He put down the equipment he carried.
"I told you Kath Harin would come back," Grayshard said. He pocketed the remote and drew his micropulse.
"No, not Kelarins. Humans."
"Damn," Rikard said. There were few enough Humans on Trokarion, so if there were Humans down here, they weren't just locals who'd wandered in by mistake.
"Shall I project?" Grayshard asked, referring not to the kind of one-way telepathy Endark Droagn exercised as his normal mode of communication but to a peculiar ability of his species, the Vaashka, to emit a kind of psychic scream enhanced by a chemical substance natural to them. The result was, usually, stark terror and panic in those within range.
"I'm not shielded," Rikard answered.
"Then it's my turn," Droagn said. They were in a semi-open space, the ramp behind them, arches ahead and on either side. There were conduits, ducts, large electronics panels here and there, more of them in the chambers beyond. Droagn looked first one way, then the other.
And then a woman's voice said, quietly but distinctly, "Just freeze."
3
Rikard's right hand was centimeters from the butt of his gun. Grayshard's micropulse was pointed vaguely at the ceiling. Droagn held only his staff. And then Rikard felt the edges of an Ahmear psychic attack, as Droagn yelled, a directed telepathic shout guaranteed to stun anyone within a hundred meters or more.
But at the same moment several figures, carrying laser rifles and wearing helmets with reflecting faceplates, stepped into view from either side. They were not affected by Droagn's projection at all.
"Nice try," the voice came again, from one of the archways directly ahead of them. A moment later, even as other armed figures came from the sides and ahead, a woman appeared, dressed much as Rikard was, carrying her helmet under her arm. She wore dark brown leather pants and a waist-length jacket, black calf-high boots and belt, with a 10mm unitron pistol in a black holster on each hip. Her hair was short and dark, with a touch of gray at the temples—Rikard guessed her to be not yet a century old. She was above average height, though still shorter than Rikard, with an athletic build and graceful movements. She was attractive, but her face was hard.
"And if you try anything, Vaashka," she said, "I'll just blow you away."
Grayshard slowly lowered his weapon and set it back into its
holster. All eyes were on him. And then Droagn's staff twisted in the air. One of the woman's companions fired, and the blue bolt of the laser struck the staff just above Droagn's hand. It went spinning out of his grip. The woman said nothing, but looked up at Droagn with a soft-hard smile. Droagn let himself relax, and smiled back at her.
The woman didn't seem to object to all the sharp teeth showing, and if her companions did they didn't show it. There were some two dozen of them, both men and women. Rikard wouldn't have time to even grip the butt of his pistol, let alone draw it. He slowly raised his hands.
The woman in charge made a slight motion with her head, and six of her minions slung their rifles over their shoulders and came up to Rikard and Grayshard and Droagn, and quickly and expertly relieved them of their weapons. They also kicked the equipment Droagn had dropped out of the way, and dragged the case Grayshard had been driving off to one side. One of the six held out her empty hand, palm up, in front of Grayshard. He said nothing, but after a moment handed the gravity float's remote control to her. The woman Watched, a faint smile on her face.
"You got down here awfully quickly," Rikard said to her.
"We took our time," the woman said.
"Did Kath Harm hire you before we came down?"
"I have nothing to do with him."
"I'm sure. He wanted to cover his desertion, take whatever we found, and he hired you to do it for him."
The woman just smiled, quietly self-satisfied. Rikard could see in her eyes that she was reading him even as he was trying to read her. And this woman was good. He smiled a bit himself.
Her smile broadened. "I've been following you for some time, Rikard Braeth," she said.
"Indeed. I'm flattered."
"Because of my attentions? Why not. You're getting quite a reputation for yourself."
"That's not necessarily a good thing."
"I agree. Which is why you'll not have heard of me. I prefer to keep out of the public view."
"So who are you then?"
"My name is Karyl Toerson. Mean anything to you?"
"Nothing at all."
"Good enough." She made a gesture with her right hand. Three of her minions stepped forward and took the black case with the microcutter, Droagn's red-blue lamp, and Rikard's recording helmet. They did not bother with anything else.
Toerson gave no further orders. Her people moved as if they had rehearsed. They split into three groups, one taking the lead, another guarding the rear, and the third with Toerson, Rikard and his companions, and the equipment in the middle. Rikard needed no instruction either. He went along with his guards.
"Why have you been following me?" he asked Toerson after a moment.
"You get into interesting places. And you find interesting things."
"You seem more than capable of doing the same yourself."
"Perhaps I lack a little something that you have," Toerson said. "I don't feel comfortable searching public records."
They went on in silence for a way, through the maze of the cellars to the steep ramp with its corrugated floor, and up that to the gallery.
"So what happens now?" Rikard asked.
"We go somewhere for a while, until I can clean this place out."
"Everything?"
"Most of it."
"And what about me?"
"You and your friends will be my guests until I'm finished here. Then I'll give you back what's yours and let you go."
"And how long do you figure that will take?"
"I don't really care." She turned to him and smiled.
Even though she was three times his age, he should have found her appealing, but something about her put him off... terrified him.
They passed through the corridor of decorative sculptures, through the hall of furnishings, then into the commemorative hall.
"Aren't you going to get any of this?" Rikard asked.
"Aside from what you have there," she gestured to the 4D case, "no. Right now I just want to get you out of here and to where I know you'll be safe. Then I can loot this place at my leisure, and not worry that you'll bring troops down here. The government up in New Darkon has known about this ruin since before their little civil war began, and they've done nothing about it for two hundred years. Of course, they don't know what was in it, or they'd have sealed it off, war or no. Serves them right if I take everything."
They came out into the high foyer, with the bas-reliefs over the alcoves. Two of Toerson's people closed the double bifold doors behind them. They went through the once-suspended walkway, the large open area with the sales counters, into the alcove and up the narrow service ramp to the upper-level cellars and the lobby beyond.
"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" Rikard asked.
"Because I'm not the only one who knows where you are, and if you suddenly show up dead, somebody will come looking for me, and I'd rather not hassle with that."
"But you're going to keep me locked up for an indefinite period."
"Sure. Just a hundred days or so."
They went back through lobbies, covered concourses, service corridors, up ramps, through tubular passages, up the lobby levels, up more ramps, and at last to the large six-sided chamber where the fathak had attacked. The bodies still lay there. The place was beginning to stink.
"How long do you think you can keep me?" Rikard asked quietly.
"I'm not going to fool with you," Toerson told him. "I'd rather not kill you, because it would hassle me, but if you hassle me, I will."
Rikard offered no trouble during the ascent, nor did his companions. Toerson had the upper hand now, but it might not always be that way.
They went up the tower, up the broad shallow ramp, through the chambers where the floor and ceiling met, past the open elevator shaft, through the maze of rooms and hallways. At last they came to the circular chamber at the base of the last long ramp to the top.
But instead of going up, they headed toward the door opposite the one by which they had entered.
"You didn't come down this way?" Rikard asked.
"This is only one of four towers," Toerson said. "You came in at the one under the old theater on Rebank Street. But there's too much fighting going on in that neighborhood for my taste. You're not the only one who can check the records, even though I don't like to do it. I found another tower had been run into when they laid the sewers out in the Wildercroft development. It's a lot quieter out there, and not really that far away from here."
They went through a series of chambers, completely empty except for the thinnest film of dust, until they came to the outer wall of the tower, where windows now blocked by lava shone black with white streaks through it. They turned left into the next chamber, and there, instead of one of the windows, was an opening in the outer wall. Beyond was a circular tube with a flat floor, once transparent but now crazed, twisted, charred black and white. It was wide enough for two Ahmear, so they could proceed four abreast.
It had once hung suspended between the great corner towers, though now it was completely encased by solidified lava. There were no breaches in the distorted glazing, but the tube dipped, rose, twisted, and in one place the sidewalls nearly came together. Droagn had to squeeze to get through.
At one time this tube would have been a shortcut from tower to tower. At that time the view must have been spectacular, with the city below them and the countryside spread around. Now it was just a long, narrow, dark tube, which seemed to go on for an awfully long time. Perhaps there had been a beltway in here back then, but if so it had been removed or destroyed along with everything else.
At last they came to the other tower, but the first chamber they entered was the most distorted Rikard had seen. The walls were all corrugated, the ceiling dipped low on either side and in the middle so that Droagn could not "stand" up straight, and the door tilted precariously to the left. Opposite the entrance from the tube was a doorway, which Toerson's people had cut through.
They passed throu
gh several other chambers, through doors that had been cut through or cut around. Rikard wondered where all the equipment was. Perhaps there had been others in the party who had done this work and then left when Toerson had found Rikard's tracks.
There were many intrusions here, even in some of the inner chambers. In some cases they were just thin curtains or strings, in others the lava half filled a room, or blocked most of a corridor and had been cut away.
They came to the far side of the tower and there took a ramp up one level. It was so distorted that sometimes it was hard to tell what had been floor and what wall. The floating 4D case got stuck once or twice here, as the gravity float was a simple warehouse tool and had never been intended for this kind of work.
At the top of the ramp they went through a door into a room, and from there out another door onto what had once been an observation deck. There was no glazing at all, and yet there was a bubble in the lava, which left most of the deck free.
From the sides of this bubble there were several small tubes going off in different directions. There was also a rather large natural tube going down, the origin of the bubble in which they now stood. Directly ahead of them, halfway up the side of the bubble on a sort of a ledge, was another, larger tube, angling up. The leaders of the group were already starting up the slope toward this tube, making use of footholds that they'd cut into the black lava when they'd come in.
But before they could reach the ledge, a head and torso very much like Droagn's, though smaller, came out of the larger tube, followed immediately by two more. Similar figures appeared in each of the other, smaller tubes. Rikard just had time to see that they, like his friend, had four arms apiece, and serpentine bodies below the waist, and then stone-tipped spears were flying through the air.
The armor Toerson's people wore should have been proof against the spears, but two of the men had taken their faceplates off and went down when they were hit in the face, and a third spear found a chink between a woman's helmet and her shoulder.