The Engines of God

by Jack McDevitt

  It was a difficult climb with only one foot available. But Carson, supported by Maggie from below, and pulled by Hutch, and perhaps encouraged by the whisper of moving grass, negotiated it, although not without losing more blood. Once he was up, however, Janet became an easy proposition.

  Hutch did a quick survey out across the top of the wall to assure herself there would be no surprises. Satisfied, she sat down and got out the medikit. “Let’s have another look at everybody,” she said in a flat voice.

  Janet appeared to be going into shock. Hutch got her legs up, propping them on a mound of earth, removed her own jacket, and drew it over her. Carson was in better shape. When she had done what she could for both, she looked at Maggie’s mutilated hand.

  “How does it feel?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hutch said. “I really didn’t mean what I said back there.”

  “I know.”

  She changed the dressing. But tears continued to roll down her cheeks and she kept getting everything wet. Maggie had to finish the job herself. Carson hobbled over and sat beside her.

  Hutch stared into the dark. The fires had burned out, and the night was growing cool. A crescent moon floated in the trees. “He’s gone,” she said.

  Carson put an arm around her, but said nothing.

  “I don’t—” She stopped, pulled back, and waited until she had control of her voice. “I don’t want to leave him out there.”

  “We’ll get him back,” Carson said.

  Janet did not look good. We need to keep her warm. Maggie contributed her jacket. Hutch gathered some branches and built a fire. The wind began to pick up, and the temperature was dropping. Carson looked pale, and Hutch feared he might go into shock. “It’s going to get cold,” she said. “We don’t want to spend the night out here.”

  Carson gazed wearily into the fire. “I don’t see what choice we have.”

  “We can get the shuttle.”

  “How do we do that? I can’t walk back there. Neither can Janet, for God’s sake.”

  “I don’t mean everybody. I mean me.”

  “And what would you do after you got there?”

  “Bring it here.”

  The treetops were tied together and shut out the sky. “And do what? You can’t get through that.”

  “Sure I can. If we remove a tree or two.”

  Carson’s eyes found hers.

  “It’s all we’ve got,” she added.

  “Wait for daylight.”

  “We may not have until daylight. Janet’s not in good shape.”

  He glanced at Maggie. “What do you think?”

  Maggie’s eyes were wide with fatigue and horror. “I think it’s her call,” she said.

  She hasn’t forgotten what I said. Hutch felt desperately tired of it all.

  It would have been best, of course, if she could start at once. But there were things that had to be done first.

  She needed to find the right tree to take down. She thought they could get away with one, and she found it well out along the wall, past the ruined stairway. It was close enough that they could reach it with a pulser; and she judged that it would leave a hole big enough to get through with the shuttle. That latter point was touch and go, but she was hopeful. If it didn’t, they’d deal with it when they had to.

  Next, she selected a pickup site, and helped get Janet and Carson to it. Just the use of the term seemed to revive their spirits. Once there, she rebuilt the fire. They were far out over the valley now, and close to the treetops. Branches and leaves reddened in the glow of the flames.

  While Hutch got ready to leave, Maggie wandered to the edge, studied the target tree, and looked down. It was about five stories.

  “You know what to do now?” Hutch asked.

  “Yes. We’ll be waiting when you get back.”

  They had only two functional pulsers left. But Maggie’s had gone red. Hutch had the remaining one. She held it out.

  Maggie shook her head. “Take it with you. You might need it.”

  “You need it to take the tree down. Anyhow, I’m not going to shoot it out with the little bastards.” Janet’s breathing didn’t sound so good. “Got to go.” Their eyes caught and held. “When we get out of here,” she said, “I’d like to buy you dinner.”

  Maggie smiled. It was an uninhibited smile, ringed by tears. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

  “Be careful,” said Carson.

  She strapped the lamp to her wrist and started back along the top of the wall. The night closed over her.

  The smell of the sea was strong, and the woods below were full of the sound of insects. George’s final cries echoed through her mind, and she was desperately afraid.

  Her mind would have conjured up images of his last moments had she allowed it to. But she let the shock effect numb her imagination. She tried to concentrate only on what needed to be done, to push her fears and her loss aside.

  She hurried back along the wall, watching the forest floor rise. Ahead, shrubbery blocked her view of the glade.

  And she heard them. Directly ahead.

  Below, the forest floor was quiet.

  Bushes swayed in the wind. She held the lamp up, played its beam across the top of the wall. Everything looked clear. She passed into the screening bushes and emerged in the glade.

  They were on the lower level.

  She glared down at them.

  They were pushing leaves and dirt toward the base of the wall. A chill worked its way up her spine.

  Hutch picked up a rock and threw it at them. Incredibly, it missed. But the work stopped momentarily, and eye-stalks swung toward her. Several peeled off and moved into the underbrush on either side of the wall. The others began to back away, and withdrew beyond a distance that George would have recognized.

  She opened a channel on her link. “Maggie.”

  “Here.”

  “They’re out here at the end of the wall. Building a ramp.”

  She heard a sharp intake of breath. Heard Maggie relay the warning to Carson. “Maybe we should try going down the staircase,” Maggie said.

  “No,” said Hutch. They would never make it. “You’ve got time yet. Just be ready to go when I get back.”

  “Okay. Hutch?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m looking forward to that dinner.”

  “Me, too.”

  She retreated back through the shrubbery, and looked down. It was a healthy jump, about five meters. But she saw only one crab.

  She sat down, swung round, and hung by her hands. The thing below began to move. She pushed away from the wall, and let go. The fall took an ungodly long time. While she dropped, she held the lamp away from her body, where it was less likely to get broken or cause injury. She was aware of the wind, and the smell of the woods, and of filtered moonlight.

  She hit harder than she’d expected, rolled to her feet, and, without wasting time looking for the brachyid, took off.

  The route they had blazed was to her right, uphill, but she thought it wise to stay off it for a while. She chose a parallel course, and resolved to cut over when she was safely away from the area. She had decided she would give the little bastards full credit for military capabilities.

  There was no sound of pursuit.

  “I’m clear, Maggie,” she said into her commlink. “And on my way.”

  She did not run all out. Something had happened to Jake. Keep that in mind. But time pressed. She hurried on, and plunged through blinds and into vegetation that she might otherwise have avoided.

  Gradually, she angled uphill, expecting to find the trail.

  She didn’t. She reached the top of the ridge without knowing where she was. Son of a bitch.

  She’d missed it. Gone right past it.

  Don’t panic. She called the wall. Pause. Give her a chance to regroup. “Maggie?”

  “Here. How’s it going?”

  “Still moving. I’m okay.”

/>   “Be careful.”

  “I will. How are you doing with the tree?”

  “Slow. The range is a little long.”

  “Stay with it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Five minutes later, she stumbled across blackened shrubbery. Okay. This was the way they had come. But the trail barely existed, and her notion that she could sprint back to the shuttle vanished. She realized how little attention she’d paid coming out. And they’d made no effort to mark their passage. No one had considered the possibility of a problem getting back; after all, at worst, it would only be necessary to home in on Jake’s signal.

  She made several wrong turns. Each time, she retraced her steps and conducted a search. At one point, she came out of the woods and found herself looking across open, moonlit water. The collapsed bridge they’d seen from the air lay in the shallows like a sleeping dinosaur.

  The tree did not fall.

  Maggie had cut completely through the trunk, but it only leaned to one side, hopelessly tangled in the web of branches. Leaves and broken wood rained down on her, and some went over the side and took the long plunge to the forest floor.

  But the canopy was as solid as ever.

  “What now?” she asked Carson. She had exhausted her pulser. Only Hutch’s weapon remained. She took it out of her belt.

  Carson surveyed the trees. “Over there,” he said. Cut that one. It was the same width, but about four meters farther out. At the extreme limit of the weapon’s range. “Get that one, and they might both come down.”

  She looked at him unhappily.

  “It’s all we’ve got, Maggie.”

  She crept to the edge, and reached out. Get as close as possible. She pulled the trigger.

  Hutch had no idea where she was. There were no stars to guide her. No landmarks. Nothing. She saw no sign of their previous passage, no hill or tree that stirred memory.

  She had triangulated on Maggie’s link, which sent out a continuous signal. That told her where she was in relation to the wall, and allowed her to estimate generally where the shuttle should be. It was in this area somewhere. But where? She worried that she had already passed it, that it lay behind her.

  “Look out.”

  The trunk tilted toward them. That shouldn’t have happened: Maggie had angled the cut away so it would fall in the other direction. But instead it came down slowly in a cacophony of splintering wood. She scrambled back from the edge. Twigs and leaves and vines came with it. The trunk slammed into the wall, and the entire structure shuddered. The general tangle fell across Maggie, a vast leafy net, knocking her off her feet. Branches cracked and the trunk kept rolling until it slipped clear and started a long, slow descent into the abyss. And Maggie realized with horror that she was going with it.

  She was dragged relentlessly toward the edge of the wall. She tried to free herself. Find something to hold onto. But everything seemed to be going over the side.

  The world was filled with broad flat leaves and a terrible grinding sound. She heard Carson calling her name. And it occurred to her that she was not going to find out about Oz. Not ever. Nor why the Quraquat had identified the Monument-Makers with death.

  Made no sense.

  The tangle paused, balanced high over the forest floor, allowing her a final glance at the sliver of moon. Mercifully, it was too dark to see how high she was.

  Sorry, Hutch.

  “Hutch.” The voice was frantic.

  “Go ahead, Frank.”

  “Maggie’s dead.”

  The words hung on the night air. Her eyes slid shut. She had left the lake front, and was struggling through flowering plants and oversized ferns. Utterly lost.

  “Hutch? Did you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “How? What happened?” It did not seem possible. Maggie had been fine. Was too smart—

  Carson told her. His voice was thick with sorrow. “I found her pulser,” he added. “She dropped it.”

  “You’re sure she couldn’t have survived?”

  “Hutch, she went over the side.” Pause. “Did you get to the shuttle yet?”

  “No, Frank. God help me, I have no idea where I am.”

  “Okay.” Carson’s voice was gentle. “Do what you can. We’ve got a hole now. You can get in when you get here.”

  In the dark, she stared straight ahead. “Out,” she said quietly.

  Janet had slept through the disaster. Carson looked at her. She seemed unchanged, and her pulse was steady. He sat beside her, grief-stricken. Her eyes fluttered and she touched his wrist. He smiled. “We’re doing fine,” he said to her unspoken question.

  “Can I help?” He had to lean close to hear.

  “Not now. Later, maybe.” She drifted back to sleep.

  Carson buried his head in his hands.

  Truscott was listening to several of her passengers outline the future assignments they were expecting when they got home, when Harvey, wearing an irritated frown, asked if he could speak with her in private.

  “We’ve lost contact with the landing party,” he said.

  That should be no cause for concern. Commlinks failed. “How long?”

  “Last check was due forty minutes ago.”

  She thought about it. “It’s a little early to push the button. What do you think? Equipment failure?”

  “Unlikely. They would have to be aware of it, though. And the shuttle has several communications methods available. Morris is worried.”

  “Last status was—?”

  “Still on the ground. Carson and the Academy team went off somewhere to look at ruins. They left Jake with the shuttle.”

  “When were they expected back?”

  “Before sunset. It’s been dark there for over an hour.”

  She leaned against the bulkhead. “What options do we have?”

  He looked at her. “I hoped you might be able to think of something.”

  Hutch was back out on the shoreline, looking at the downed bridge. Here, at least, she had a decent idea which way she wanted to go. But once in the woods, there was no guide. No way to check her course. And she could pass within ten meters of the shuttle and fail to find it.

  West. It was toward the west.

  She started off, striving to remain within sight of the water.

  Earlier, nothing had seemed familiar. Now, she felt as if she’d been everywhere. She moved with frustrated abandon. The brachyids she had feared so much at the beginning of the odyssey had drifted to the back of her mind. Where was the shuttle?

  Carson’s voice broke through the stillness. “Any luck, Hutch?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m in the neighborhood—”

  “Okay. I think we’re out of time up here. I can hear them coming.”

  She did not know what to say.

  “I’m going to take Janet down the stairway.”

  The stairway. It wouldn’t work. Probably wouldn’t even support their weight. “Don’t do it, Frank,” she said.

  “I’m open to suggestions. We’ve got maybe ten minutes. At best.”

  Her lungs heaved. The forest went on forever, trunks and underbrush and roots pushing up through the soil and deep grass and rocks and cane plants.

  “Frank.”

  “Yes?”

  “Say something to me. Loud.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Hello.”

  “Louder.”

  “Hello.”

  “Shout it, damn it.”

  “HELLO!”

  “It might work.” Jake could not have been attacked unless something got into the shuttle, or he went for a walk. In either case, a hatch, at least, had to be open. Most likely, the cockpit canopy. “Frank, switch to the shuttle’s channel, and make as much noise as you can.”

  She broke contact and listened.

  Nothing.

  But it was somewhere up ahead. Had to be.

  Frank Carson understood that once he left the wall they were dead. Even
if he made it down that impossible stairway, they would have no chance. Hutch would not be able to get to them with the shuttle.

  Consequently, he bellowed into the commlink. Sometimes he called her name. Sometimes, “SHUTTLE, ONE TWO THREE.” Sometimes, “GODDAM, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?”

  He had stationed himself ten meters in front of Janet. There was still life in the pulser, so they could put up a fight. Ahead, he heard the sound of crustacean claws on rock.

  “What’s going on?” Janet’s voice. She didn’t try to move.

  Carson explained, in as few words as he could.

  “No way off?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Where’s Maggie?”

  There was no way to soften it. “Dead,” he said. He described how it had happened.

  He listened to her breathe. “Little bastards,” she said. “Do we have another pulser?”

  “No.”

  She struggled to her feet. Fresh blood welled out of the packing on her ankle. She sorted among broken branches, and picked up one that she could handle.

  Carson began talking to the shuttle again. “WE COULD REALLY USE HELP, HUTCH.”

  Janet stationed herself directly below the opening in the overhang. “If they get here before she does,” she said, “I’m going to follow Maggie.”

  Hutch was fording a stream when she heard it. A whisper, far off, carried away on the wind.

  It sounded like: “—Bitch.”

  She broke into a run.

  Carson understood the simple ferocity of a beast looking for its dinner. But there was something else at work here. They had expended too much to get him. He wondered at their singlemindedness. Almost as if they perceived the humans as a threat. Was it possible they had dim recollections of the city’s former inhabitants, and had made some sort of connection?

  Whatever this was about, he was pleased to discover that they hesitated when he showed himself. And there was another piece of good fortune: the brachyids were no quicker on this battered surface than he was. He watched them come, climbing over broken concrete, sliding helplessly into cracks and crevices. One fell off the wall.

  He stood adjacent to the stairway. Parts of a handrail had survived. He heard wings, and a large dark-green bird settled on it. The handrail trembled. The bird watched the crabs with interest. Its head bobbed, in the manner of terrestrial avians. It had the wingspread of an eagle, and it leaned forward, made several threatening starts, and suddenly plunged among the creatures. It seized one in outstretched claws, holding it at an angle that prevented the scalpel-claw from doing any damage. The brachyid shrieked, and the bird cackled and rose into the night.