by Allen Steele
“Are you okay?” Sean called down.
“Yeah, I think so.” Kyra clumsily pulled herself to her feet, planted her back against the wall. “It’s not a solid surface. You’ll make a soft landing.”
Sandy was the next to go; she balked at the last moment, but when the guards once more began to move forward, she saw that it was either this or be on the receiving end of their javelins again. Standing unsteadily on top of the garbage, Kyra reached to catch Sandy as she slid down the funnel, then grasped her by the waist and helped her stand up.
“She’s right,” Sandy said, calling up to Sean. “There’s just a lot of crap down here. Nothing solid to stand on.”
Sean turned to look one last time at the taaraq chieftain. It regarded him with its implacable gaze, and he wondered what was going through its mind. One of the guards made an urgent motion with its javelin, so Sean bit off whatever useless remark he was tempted to make and carefully lowered himself into the pit. Its walls were smooth and made slick by slime; he knew at once that it was impossible for them to climb back out. Yet he could do nothing but let go and slide down the funnel.
His boots sank up to his ankles as soon as he landed, and when he moved to get up, he found himself sinking even farther into the muck. All he could do was lie against the pit’s sloping wall and brace his feet against the surface material; it seemed to be floating on layer upon layer of debris, and there was nothing beneath the filth except more filth. Much of it appeared to be vegetable matter—rotting weeds, shredded bark, something that looked like an enormous banana peel—but he noticed what appeared to be a taaraq carapace and pieces of chitin lying nearby. A chill went through him; apparently this was also how the inhabitants disposed of their dead.
“Great. Just wonderful.” With Kyra’s help, Sandy had managed to struggle to her feet. Both women stood with their backs against the funnel wall. Her eyes were accusing when they turned toward Sean. “I told you we shouldn’t have . . .”
“Shut up. He knows.” Kyra was still holding her up, her legs continually moving as she struggled to keep them from sliding farther into the reeking waste. She looked at Sean. “What now? Any ideas?”
Sean said nothing as he made his way over to them, careful to keep his back against the wall. Once he was beside Kyra, he looked up at the top of the pit. Dozens of taaraq peered down at them, but the chieftain had vanished and it seemed to him that the chittering and clicking of their voices had diminished in volume.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but if they lose interest and enough of them leave, we might try . . .”
All of a sudden, something was tossed over the side. Sean caught a brief glimpse of the transceiver before it fell into the pit’s center about four yards away.
“The radio!” Sandy yelled. “Sean, can you . . . ?”
Before he could even think about retrieving it, though, it sank into the morass at the center of the pit. For an instant, he heard a tinny voice—“. . . to Survey One, please respond . . .”—coming from its speaker, then it disappeared from sight.
“The radio!” Ignoring her injured leg, Sandy lunged forward, desperately reaching out with both hands. “Somebody get the radio!”
Kyra grabbed her by the shoulders, hauled her back. “It’s no use. It’s gone.”
“But . . . !”
“Don’t even try. It’s like quicksand over there.” Frustrated, Sean slammed the back of his fist into the wall. If only the transceiver had come down a little closer . . . “Maybe someone will be able to home in on its signal. If it’s still functioning, that is.”
“I don’t understand.” Sandy shook her head. “Why take away our radio, then throw it back to us again?”
Sean didn’t reply. Instead, he looked to Kyra for an explanation. “I don’t understand either,” she said quietly. “It’s almost as if they didn’t know what it was, so they got rid of it. But that doesn’t make sense, either. They’re supposed to be a starfaring race . . . at least they were, before they went extinct.”
Despite himself, Sean laughed out loud. “They don’t seem very extinct to me.”
Kyra sighed. “That’s what Dr. D’Anguilo told us at the university. The taaraq were the very first extraterrestrials we encountered, back when we found Spindrift. There were millions of them in long-term biostasis, with little chance that they’d be revived anytime soon. The rest of their race was dead, their homeworld destroyed by the Annihilator. Technically, that makes them extinct.” She paused. “Tom’s going to be surprised when he finds out otherwise.”
If he ever does, Sean thought, although he refrained from saying so. “Maybe others of their kind survived and managed to find their way here. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Uh-huh.” Kyra continued to backpedal in an effort to keep from sliding farther into the pit. Sean realized that he was having to do the same as well; it was as if the pit’s contents were constantly subsiding beneath his feet. “But the taaraq we found in Spindrift were able to build a starship out of an asteroid. The ones here didn’t even recognize a radio. They’re more . . .”
She stopped, as if searching for the right word. “Savage?” Sean asked.
“Yeah. Savage.” Kyra glanced up at the handful of taaraq still watching them. “I wonder if they even know where they are.”
“Sure they do,” Sandy murmured. “They’re home, and we’re the . . .”
“Uh . . . guys?” Kyra’s voice had become quiet as she continued to stare upward. “I don’t like to mention this, but . . . I think we’re sinking.”
Sean followed her gaze and saw that in the few minutes they’d been in the pit, its walls had become slightly higher, if only by a few inches. Looking down near his ankles, he examined the point on the funnel wall at which the floor began. A faint stain, brown and wet, showed the level where it had once been.
Kyra was right. The waste material upon which they were standing was sinking farther into the pit. That couldn’t be possible, though, unless . . .
He peered more closely at the center of the pit. It was hard to tell, but it appeared as if there was a faint depression in the middle of the garbage, showing the presence of . . .
A hole.
Now he knew what was going on. The pit fed into a giant funnel, and at the bottom of that funnel was a hole that in turn dropped underground. Gravity, along with the sheer mass of the material thrown or piped into the pit, would eventually drag everything in the pit to the hole. But where did the hole go?
He then remembered how Mark Dupree’s and Amerigo Cayce’s bodies had been dissolved by microassemblers when laid upon bare ground in the arsashi biopod, and how Lusah Sahsan had told him that they’d been claimed by tanaash-haq. So if Hex broke down waste matter, then it only made sense that there would be pits much like this one, where its inhabitants could safely dispose of their garbage. Or their dead.
Or even unwanted visitors.
“Stick to the wall,” he said, scrambling backward to keep himself out of the trash as much as possible. “Try to stay on top of the trash and don’t let yourself get dragged down.”
“Why?” Sandy asked. “What did you . . . ?” Then she looked at the center of the pit, and suddenly she understood. “Oh, God,” she breathed, her eyes going wide. “Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .”
The three of them planted their backs against the sloping funnel wall and backpedaled with their feet, struggling to keep on top of the morass even as it continued to sink beneath them. But the funnel wall was slimy with sewage, with more coming in from the openings above their heads; there was almost no traction to be found, and every time Sean looked up, it seemed that the pit’s edge was getting farther away.
Inch by inexorable inch, they descended into the pit. Sean’s legs were getting tired; to make matters worse, he and Kyra had to hold up Sandy, who couldn’t support herself because of her wounded leg. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to exhaustion, but he also knew that if they stopped to rest for
even a moment, they’d fall into the garbage and wouldn’t be able to pull themselves free before they were dragged down into the hole at the bottom of the pit.
Sean gradually became aware that the light was fading. Although he couldn’t see the biopod ceiling, he realized that it was beginning to polarize. In only an hour or so, night would come to the taaraq habitat. Even if he’d managed to keep his flashlight, it wouldn’t have done them much good; indeed, Sean wondered if it wouldn’t be better that they didn’t see the end when it came.
By then, only a couple of taaraq were still present. The rest had disappeared, as if indifferent to the fate of their captives. The two that remained behind as guards stood at the pit’s edge, javelins in hand as they quietly observed the three humans struggling below. Again, Kyra tried to make them understand, as best as she could with hand signals, that she and her companions meant no harm and that they’d come in peace. There was no sign that the guards understood . . . or if they did, that they even cared. As twilight set in, all they could see of the guards was two strange silhouettes against the dark grey sky.
Sean’s thighs and calves felt as if they were made of lead; it took all his strength just to keep them moving. He’d pull himself an inch or two up the funnel wall, only to slide back down again. Next to him, Sandy’s breath was coming in ragged gasps; she’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, but the occasional snuffle from behind her airmask told him that she was weeping. And although Kyra bravely continued the fight to stay on top of the refuse, he knew that she was just as exhausted as he was. And just as scared.
This is it, he thought. We’re going to die. No one will ever know how, or even where. Maybe the Corps will remember us as three more explorers lost in the line of duty, but . . .
From somewhere not far away, an abrupt rumble of thunder, close enough that Sean heard it reverberate off the pit’s far wall. A storm must be coming. Which only made sense; it was humid enough . . .
An instant later, another thunderclap. This time, though, it didn’t sound natural. More like a bomb going off. Kyra heard it, too, because she looked up. “Did you hear that?” she gasped, her voice ragged. “Some sort of explosion?”
“I heard it, yeah.” Sean peered up at the edge of the pit. As the echoes of the second explosion died away, he heard the guards chittering to each other. Then they disappeared from sight, as if running off to see what had happened.
Oh, please, he thought. Let this be what I think it is . . .
A handful of seconds went by, then he heard motion just beyond the pit’s edge. At first he thought it might be the guards returning. Then a flashlight beam suddenly lanced down into the pit, traveling across the funnel walls until it found the three humans trapped below.
“Sean? Are you all right?”
The voice that softly called to him was his mother’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
UNTIL SHE ACTUALLY SAW HIM, ANDROMEDA WASN’T SURE Sean was in the pit. The radio direction finder that Rolf had found among the Corps supplies in the Montero had made it possible for Zeus, D’Anguilo, and her to track the location of Survey One’s transceiver, but she’d known that it was always possible that Sean might have lost it. So it wasn’t until her flashlight beam revealed him and his companions at the bottom of a pit half-filled with muck that Andromeda allowed herself a moment of relief.
She quickly tamped down her emotions. So long as they were still in taaraq territory, they were all in grave danger. “Sean?” she called down to him, trying to be as quiet as she could. It wasn’t hard; the airmask she wore muffled her voice. “Are you all right?”
For a second or two, he simply stared back at her, apparently astonished to see her there at all. It wasn’t until Sandy made an excited whoop, and Kyra hastily shushed her, that Sean responded. “We’re okay,” he said, then seemed to change his mind. “No, we’re not. Sandy’s injured, and this pit . . .”
“We’re sinking.” Kyra was also careful to keep her voice low. “There’s a hole in the bottom, and everything down here is falling into it. We need to get out of here.”
“We’re working on it.” Still kneeling beside the pit, Andromeda looked to her right. “Tom . . . ?”
D’Anguilo had been at her side only a few seconds ago, but he was no longer there. Peering over her shoulder, she saw him scurrying toward one of the trees at the edge of the jungle through which the two of them had just hacked their way. He was carrying the long coil of rope they’d brought with them from the ship; as she watched, he looped it twice around the base of the tree’s trunk.
“Mother?” From the pit, Sean called up to her again. “Whatever you plan to do, you’d better hurry. We’re running out of time.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered, too quiet for him to hear. At least he’s no longer calling me “Captain,” she thought, although the realization gave her little satisfaction. As she waited for D’Anguilo to finish knotting the rope, she touched her headset mike. “Zeus, do you copy?” she said softly. “We’ve found ’em. Where are you?”
“Back where I dropped you off.” The chief petty officer’s voice was a whisper that she had to strain to hear. “I’ve planted another charge, right where you told me to.”
“Good,” she replied. “Don’t blow it until I give the word. Stand by.”
Andromeda had gambled that two half-pound plastic explosives would draw the inhabitants’ attention. After Zeus had dropped D’Anguilo and her off on the riverbank about a quarter of a mile from the source of the transceiver signal, he’d crossed the river and, after tying up the boat, made his way through the jungle to plant the charges across from the taaraq settlement. He had set them off by radio detonator once Andromeda had located the pit where Survey One was being held captive. The third charge was a precautionary backup she hoped they wouldn’t have to use.
She turned her head to peer at the waterfront. The place looked as if it was on fire. The bombs had ignited the dense foliage on the opposite side of the river, and silhouetted against its rising flames were the insectlike forms of the taaraq. They appeared to be in a state of confusion, even panic; clicking and chittering madly, they ran back and forth, trying to make sense of the calamity that had just struck their home. The river would prevent the fire from reaching their village, of course, but the taaraq hadn’t yet realized that. So far as they were concerned, this was the wrath of whatever gods they worshipped.
They were distracted from the pit, which was what Andromeda wanted. Nonetheless, the taaraq were only a few hundred feet away, and there was still some daylight remaining in the biopod. If any of them happened to think about checking on their prisoners . . .
Hearing something move toward her, she looked around again to see D’Anguilo returning to the pit, crouching low as he laid out the rope behind him. Andromeda took the rest of the coil from him and yanked at the length he’d tied to the nearby tree. Two sharp tugs were enough to convince her that it was firmly anchored.
“All right,” she said, quietly calling down into the pit again, “we’re going to drop you a line. Who’s coming up first?”
“Sandy, you better . . .” Sean began.
“No.” Sandy’s voice quivered with fear, yet she was adamant. “You first, then Kyra. I’m in no shape to climb, and they’re going to need both of you to help drag me out of there.”
“But you’re hurt. You need to . . .”
“I don’t care which of you comes up first,” Andromeda hissed, “but hurry the hell up.”
That was a lie; she wanted Sean to be first out of the pit, if only for selfish reasons. Andromeda dropped the rope over the side, and watched as her son reached out to grab it. He hesitated, then gallantly offered it to Kyra, murmuring something that Andromeda couldn’t hear. The young woman shook her head, and he reluctantly turned his back to her and braced his feet against the pit’s sloping walls. Bending almost double and pulling at the rope with both hands, he began to climb upward.
Although he had only about fif
teen or sixteen feet to climb, it took a long time for Sean to escape from the pit. He frequently paused to catch his breath, and Andromeda could tell that he was exhausted. The last seven feet were the worst; there the funnel ended and the vertical walls began. By then, though, Sean seemed to have tapped some inner reserve of strength; he started climbing hand over hand as fast as he could.
As soon as he was near the top, Andromeda lay flat on her stomach and reached down to him, with D’Anguilo pushing down on her ankles to keep her from falling in. She first managed to grab hold of his forearms, then his shoulders, and finally his belt; her son clambered the rest of the way out, his mother hauling at him every inch of the way, until they lay beside each other, panting for breath.
“Sean . . .” Andromeda started to reach for him, wanting nothing more than to take him in her arms.
“Thanks.” He allowed her the briefest of hugs, then impatiently sat up and, squatting on his knees, pulled the rope out of the pit. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to do this?”
“Sorry.” Andromeda stared at him, mildly irritated. “Some of us didn’t get Corps survival training.”
“You should just be happy she thought to bring a rope,” D’Anguilo added.
Sean didn’t reply. Instead, he twisted the end of the rope around and tied it off to form a loop. “Put this around you, Kyra,” he said as he dropped it over the side again, then he looked at his mother and D’Anguilo. “Get ready to pull her up.”
It took only a few minutes for the three of them to haul Kyra from the pit. Once she was with them, she helped the others bring Sandy up. She was nearly helpless; as soon as Andromeda saw her leg, she knew that it was infected. They’d need to get her to the ship as soon as possible if they were going to save it . . . But just then, that was the least of Andromeda’s concerns.