Flint looked at the tracks. There was no question: There were three wheel-treads and one pattern of splotches formed by the motion of the Antarean. Polaris had come, gone, and come again, while Antares had come—and stayed. It looked bad for the Polarian: no other tracks, and the Canopian saucer too wide to enter the tunnel.
“It is my turn to remind you that we approached operative Ancient machinery,” the Polarian said, applying his ball to his own suit. “That airlock could have opened in my absence…”
“Does anyone on the ground have a power weapon?” Flint inquired. “If that portal should open again—”
There was no response. He knew why: Personal defense was now critical, and a hidden weapon could be more effective than one that was known. “Well,” he continued, “be ready to fight or flee, all of you. I’ll have my spear, but it has limits.”
They entered the tunnel. The Spican began to glow, illuminating it; so did the Polarian. Flint walked first, spear poised, with the Spican close behind; Nath was third, Polaris fourth, and Mintaka brought up the rear.
The passage curved, and terminated at the lock. There was the body. The Antarean’s spacesuit had been punctured, just like the suit of Mirzam, and the creature’s gelatinous substance had burst out through that round aperture. Explosive decompression, quickly and horribly fatal.
“As you can perceive, I lack the capacity to make a wound of that nature,” Polaris said.
“Your ball could vibrate rapidly, abrasively, against a given spot,” Spica said. “It would take time to make a hole of that size, but if Antares were unconscious—”
“My spear might make a similar hole,” Flint pointed out. “Or a laser beam. Or a conglomeration of sharp little hooks.”
“Could Canopus have dismounted from his craft?” Spica asked. “While Polaris was absent?”
“Yes,” Flint said. “And Canopus may be able to fly on his own. He is of insectoid derivation, with wings—”
“Not in vacuum,” Mintaka pointed out. That popped that bubble. Mintaka had a way of doing that; very sharp mind. Wings needed atmosphere in order to function.
“But a jet pack?” Flint inquired.
“Then we all remain suspect,” Nath said. “Any one of us could have hidden a flying device.”
“Not so,” Polaris said. “Such devices create turbulence, especially in confined spaces, and the prints are undisturbed.”
“It becomes difficult to separate circularity from suicide,” Nath remarked, since the Polarian seemed to have brought suspicion on himself again. “But I believe I can exonerate Polaris. I noted three wheel-tracks. Do your perceptions concur?”
“Yes,” Flint said. “What’s your point?”
“There should be four.”
“That is correct,” Polaris said. “I arrived with my companion, left to notify Canopus of the route, re-entered to discover the murder, and reemerged. Four tracks.”
“Prior to our present entry,” Flint agreed. “You must have used one track twice.”
“I did not. The taste of one’s own trail quickly palls. That is a maxim among my kind, with philosophic undertones but nevertheless also literally true. My wheel is encased in its own suit, but it is not my habit to repeat a specific route exactly. I made four trails.”
“Yet there are only three,” Nath clicked. “Therefore one must have been erased.”
“How could that happen in this dust?” Flint asked. “And why would anyone bother?”
“Perhaps it was the killer’s own trail being erased, and the Polarian’s trail was coincidental. Sonic application could do this.”
Flint’s eyes narrowed. “Could you do it?”
“Yes.” And Nath demonstrated by clicking his hooks together in such a way as to cause the nearby dust to jump and resettle around it, wiping out its own trail.
“But Nath did not,” Mintaka said. “He remained with me—and there are no gaps in his own trail.”
“More than can be said for mine,” Spica said. “My partner carried me partway.”
“We now have a possible method,” Flint said. “But it doesn’t help much. Any of us, including Canopus, might have done it; it is evident that we hardly know enough about each other’s capacities to be assured otherwise.”
“Were I the guilty party,” H:::4 said in their translators, “I could bomb the entrance to the tunnel and destroy you all. I admit the capability; I deny guilt or intent. Judge me unfairly, and you only strengthen the position of the actual spy.”
“Maybe we’d better agree that there is an Ancient robot stalking us,” Flint said, glancing nervously at the tunnel entrance. He had thought they would be safe from Canopus here, but obviously they weren’t. There was no way out but forward—through the Ancient airlock. “It killed Mirzam, but could not catch the rest of us alone, until it found Antares. It is now outside, having erased its trail, waiting for us to separate again.”
“This seems to be a satisfactory hypothesis,” Mintaka flashed. “But it does not alleviate our peril. If it has laser armament, even Canopus is not safe.”
“Why wait for it to strike again?” Flint asked. “Let’s force open this lock and plumb its secrets. We have nothing to lose.”
“Pull-hook.”
“Concurrence,” Mintaka said.
“Agreement,” Spica finished.
“I, too, am amenable,” H:::4 said. “I shall remain on guard. My apologies to Polaris; my suspicion was premature.”
“Circularity.”
Flint examined the lock. “This is a simple gear-and-pinion system,” he said, glad of the dull training he had been given on Earth. “The Ancients must have had hands like mine.” Could the Ancients have been humanoid? No, that was too much to expect of coincidence. He took hold of a half-wheel and turned.
To his surprise, it moved. Something clicked; then a blast of air shot out through a vent, almost knocking him over despite the baffle that inhibited its force. “Depressurization,” he said. “For three million years it held its air—that’s some mechanism.” Truly a Titan, he added mentally.
“Evidence that the Ancients can retain operative mechanisms today,” Mintaka said. “We are surely very close to significance.”
Now the lock swung open to reveal a fair-sized inner chamber. “Canopus, we are entering the inner sanctum,” Flint announced. “If our communications cut off, you had better return to your Sphere and issue a report.” And if you are our spy, we are safe from you, he thought. And you won’t get the secret of the Ancients. That’s why none of us can afford to go home: We might miss the crucial discovery of the millennium.
“Understood. I will maintain contact if this is feasible. Under no circumstance will I dismount from my craft.”
“Right.” They crowded into the lock, and Flint pulled the door closed.
Immediately the locking mechanism clicked it tight. Air hissed in, pressurizing the chamber. “But let’s keep our suits on,” Flint said.
“It is helium gas, almost pure,” Nath said. “Inert, but not suitable for normal life processes.”
“I thought as much,” Flint said. “Normal atmosphere on any world has corrosive properties.”
“Sentience is corrosive,” Mintaka remarked.
When pressure was up to about twenty pounds per square inch, making Flint feel as if he were in water, the hissing stopped. He worked the half-wheel on the inner door, and it opened.
It was a large chamber, illuminated by a gentle glow from the walls, with several passages radiating out from it. In the center was a circular platform enclosed by a pattern of wire mesh. There seemed to be an elevator or hoist within it, the cage suspended about twice Flint’s height above the floor. That was all.
“Empty,” Flint said, disappointed. “They must have cleaned it out before they closed up shop, after the wipe-out. Took all the bodies and equipment.”
“Yet machinery below and around us is functional,” Spica said.
“Oh? Where are the machines?” Flint
asked. “I mean, specifically.”
“Below me, here. Operative but not mechanical,” Nath replied.
“Electrical in nature,” Spica said. “I regret I am unable to utilize the full propensities of this body. The native Antarean could have read the flux precisely.”
“You can perceive magnetic flow?” Nath asked.
“Yes. And the finer manifestations such as the Kirlian aura. Not merely as a presence, but as a specific pattern, typical of any given entity. This is a good body.”
Something fell into place in Flint’s mind. Sphere Antares had possessed the secret of natural transfer for centuries, so would be long familiar with related nuances. “Can you distinguish between a native entity and a transferee?”
“This is simple for Antares. Difficult for me, since—”
Flint kept his body relaxed, his voice casual, but he was ready to explode into action. “Are any of us transferees?”
“No. Only myself. My friend Antares verified this at the outset, and intended to inform you, being concerned that—”
“Including Canopus?”
“Canopus is native. This is assured.”
So there were no transfer traitors among them after all. They were all the creatures they appeared to be. Had the Spican been the spy, it would have accused one of the others instead of exonerating them.
“Caution,” Mintaka flashed. “Antares was within range of operative Ancient circuitry, detecting its function and pattern. The Ancient equipment should similarly be able to detect capacities in us. Antares was quickly killed. You, Spica, may now be in similar danger.”
“We’re all in danger,” Flint said. “But I agree we’d better keep close watch on Spica.”
“Triple appreciation,” the Spican said. “I shall try to analyze this alien field further. I do not think it is capable of physical action, however.”
Such as puncturing a spacesuit? That was certainly no magnetic phenomenon. Unless: “Electric engines are magnetic, and we have magnetic pistols in Sphere Sol. Could an Ancient circuit have—?”
“That was one of my considerations,” Spica said. “As I orient on the fields of this site, I verify: The operative element is not capable of physical action. The currents are very fine, akin to those of living nervous circuits. No motors or heating units.”
“Surely the Titan wasn’t a pacifist!” Flint murmured dubiously. But he remembered those fascinating stars, obviously esthetic rather than practical, there in the dome. Had the Ancients’ culture been as far beyond the contemporary scene as their technology?
“The system is”—Spica paused in evident surprise—“is Kirlian.”
“Jackpot!” Flint exclaimed. “The Ancients did have advanced Kirlian technology—and now it is ours!”
“We should not tabulate our gains until hooked,” Nath warned.
“Canopus, can you hear us?” Flint asked.
“I hear you, Sol,” H:::4 replied immediately. “And I now confirm with the instruments aboard my craft that there is a diffuse Kirlian aura emanating from that region. It does not pulsate in the manner of a living aura; it appears to be inorganic. Inanimate.”
“But the Kirlian aura is a function of life,” Mintaka protested. “This is the distinction between life and death.”
“Not any more,” Flint said. “So now we know the Ancients had the secret of inorganic Kirlian aura generation. I’m not surprised. I’ll bet this is what Andromeda is using against us. They are able to imbue matter and energy with a Kirlian field, then transfer that field to their home galaxy. Now we will be able to stop them. This is exactly what we have been looking for.”
“Concurrence,” Mintaka said. Something nagged at the fringe of Flint’s awareness. It was the second time the creature had used that expression. But of course it was only a translation. None of these entities used human idiom or construction; its translator did that. “We must investigate this equipment thoroughly, and make report to our Spheres.”
“This has the aspect of a Tarot temple,” Nath remarked.
“Tarotism has spread to Sphere Nath?” Flint asked, surprised.
“And to Sphere Bellatrix,” Nath said. “Perhaps further. I understand it originated in your Sphere.”
“Yes, about five hundred years ago, in the time of Sol’s ‘Fool’ colonization period. We almost bankrupted our origin planet, Earth, mattermitting the entire population to other worlds, as though that would solve the problems of increasing population and wastage of natural resources.” He was merely parroting part of the indoctrination he had received after making his report on his experiences in Sphere Polaris. But it was amazing to discover how fast and far this cult had spread, more than humanity’s own interstellar explosion. Would it survive mankind, as Christianity had survived the Roman Empire?
Flint continued: “One planet had a natural animation effect that a religious scholar, Brother Paul of the Holy Order of Vision, investigated and described. He had no intention of starting a pseudo-religious cult, but the notion of animation captured the popular fancy, and it went on from there.”
“This Sibling Solarian of the Arrangement of Hallucination must have been a redoubtable figure,” Nath said. “Tarotism has much pull in our Sphere, and we honor it without ridicule. And perhaps the Sibling is serving us well now, for animation is a function of the Kirlian aura. I suggest that we may profit most rapidly by drawing on the Ancients’ equipment from this vantage.”
“This might in fact be a communications station,” Polaris agreed. “Perhaps we can animate the presence of an actual Ancient. This would be most circular.”
“Amen,” Flint agreed. “In fact, I would even call it ‘most direct.’ But we run the risk of evoking the killer who is stalking us—if it really is that Ancient ghost.”
“At risk of antagonizing,” Spica said, “I reiterate that the killer strikes by direct physical means, and this is not within the compass of the Ancient mechanism.”
“Unless the Ancient mechanism generates a Kirlian field of sufficient power to override that of a living entity,” Mintaka flashed. “It could then temporarily preempt or transform the individual consciousness, or otherwise influence it to implement physical action, even as your own transferred identity controls your Antarean host.”
“This is most perceptive,” Polaris said. “Sphere Mintaka, so new to transfer, has been remarkably quick to appreciate its intricacies.” Flint had thought the same, and recognized this as a roundabout challenge.
“Merely ordinary intelligence that would have occurred to you in a moment,” Mintaka flashed. “However, we have long been aware of transfer, and have maintained a cadre of potential hosts, hoping for the technological breakthrough. We are a large Sphere, and normal means of maintenance are cumbersome. Thus when the envoy of Mirzam came, we were very quick to implement the information provided. Though at present we know of no involuntary hosting, if this is indeed possible, it would seem to have been within the capability of the Ancients.”
The Mintakan was very well coordinated, intellectually, Flint thought. But of course all the Spheres would have sent smart representatives, as well as Kirlians. This was a most select archaeological group, well versed in everything but archaeology.
“We become enmeshed in dialogue,” Nath clicked a bit impatiently. “We are naturally hesitant to pull on the main problem—but pull we must. I suggest that two of us explore the Ancients’ Kirlian arena while three maintain guard. Assuming that the aura is hostile, it still does not seem to strike openly. We may be able to ascertain what we wish without further loss if we act boldly and carefully.”
“I agree,” Flint said. “If the Ancient force can take over an individual life form and use it to kill, there are still certain limitations. Spica cannot readily make the kind of puncture we have noted, unless it carries a weapon we have not perceived, and I think similar attack would be difficult for Nath, and not easy for Polaris. That leaves Mintaka and me—”
“And me,” Canopus said f
rom the translator. “I am compelled to advise you that if I should be taken over, I possess enough weaponry in my craft, including pain-generating units and explosive devices, to eliminate all of you and destroy the site. I would not voluntarily employ it, but faced with this potential, I can only recommend that you treat me as a potential enemy of most serious nature.”
Friendly advice—or a threat? “We are all potential enemies,” Mintaka pointed out. “We may be forced to destroy the Ancient site in order to escape it. But first we must understand it, or our mission is pointless.”
Flint was paying lip-service to the Ancient-malevolence theory, but he was skeptical. Why hadn’t Canopus already been taken over, if that were possible? And why should the Ancients set such a boobytrap? All he really knew of them was their star-dome, but that indicated that they had been artistic, philosophical, peaceful entities, not warriors. Spica had said the equipment could not act violently, and Flint had the impression that included taking over the mind of another entity by force. It was safer to assume that one of the creatures here was an Andromedan spy. By elimination, he had a strong notion of who that was. Except that it had an alibi.
“Pursuing my prior line of reasoning,” Flint said, “I suggest that those of us most able to kill in the fashion shown should be most suspect, and should therefore be treated with utmost caution. So Mintaka and I should enter the animation arena—if that is what it is—and try to make contact with the Ancients. The others should maintain close perception, and if only one of us emerges, that one should be immediately incapacitated, or killed if necessary.” That put it on the line. If the Mintakan balked…
“An excellent suggestion,” Mintaka flashed. And rolled toward the great central plate below the suspended cage.
So much for that ploy! Flint suddenly realized that if Mintaka were the spy, it could try to kill him in the guise of self-defense, claiming that he, Flint, had attacked it, so Flint must have been the spy. Or that one of them had been taken over by the Ancient aura. Who would be able to prove otherwise? By a similar token, if Mintaka were the spy, and attacked him, and he killed it he would be suspect as the survivor. He had fashioned a trap for himself! But he was committed now, and hurried after. Together they entered what they presumed to be the animation arena.
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