Artifact

by Gregory Benford

  John stood and walked toward the body, pebbles grinding under his feet, careful to stay out of view of anyone farther up the shaft. He was at a bad angle here but there was something about the body that he didn’t understand.

  The fatigues were blackened over her back and shoulders. And her hair—there wasn’t any. He remembered she had long black hair, but this stuff was a stubble.

  Then he caught the smell. An acrid, sour stench. The sharp bite of it made him wrinkle his nose and step back. Her face was red on the side he could see, and as she turned the movement brought around stretched, blackened skin, cracked and pitted.

  One eye oozed a clear fluid. It ran down her nose and dripped from the end. He stepped back again, horrified, not wanting it to spatter his feet.

  Her face was cut in several places. At the neck were several deep gouges. Blood still trickled from them. Below, her uniform was sopping with it.

  About four feet above the body, the rope was burned partway through. His eyes traveled to the side of the shaft and there he saw a small circular pattern, brown at the outside and black at the center. Opposite it, on the other wall about ten feet away, was a similar bull’s-eye.

  The flare. Not set off by Arditti, no. Arditti had been dead by then.

  The brilliant flare must have been the passing of the singularity. It had come right through the rock side and across, frying Sergeant Petrakos with radiation, singeing the rope.

  It must have struck the rock with terrible force, spraying shards. That would explain the cuts on the body.

  He studied the two circular holes. One was about half a foot below the other. As soon as the thing left the wall, gravity would pull it downward. To drop half a foot, while it flew across about ten feet of open air…He calculated swiftly. The thing had been moving about sixty miles an hour.

  All right. That disproved the minority theory, which held that the singularity would not return along its earlier channel, and therefore would meet more resistance. They had calculated an exit velocity of about twenty miles per hour. Clearly wrong.

  On the other hand, the singularity had returned earlier than the majority thought it would. Maybe it had been moving even faster than the seventy or so miles per hour they had predicted.

  That meant it had spent a lot of the return taking the easy route, along the evacuated channel. Okay. John felt better if the numbers matched up, more or less, with their expectations. Except that the crucial prediction—when the thing would return—had been off by enough to kill them all.

  Arditti and the others hadn’t died from that, though. Politics had killed them.

  So when the singularity came roaring through here, it caught only Sergeant Petrakos. And why had she been here? Kontos must have guessed there was something important left in the tomb site, and come to look.

  Which meant Kontos was probably up there in the tomb Kontos hadn’t heard the shooting, or else he’d be down here now.

  Behind him, the cave brightened. He whirled, sending gravel rattling against the walls.

  The black water glowed. It cast a diffuse orange on the worn, wet rock walls.

  The singularity was being drawn upward. Coming for him.

  Of course. The helicopters were above now, and the initial momentum of the singularity had been spent. Now it was eating its way toward its brother. With him in the middle.

  Abruptly the orange light dimmed. He stood stock still, hoping it was going away. It was possible that some of his deductions were wrong, after all. Kontos wasn’t necessarily up in the tomb. The sound of helicopters had probably drawn the man away. The way might be clear.

  Then he heard humming, faint at first. A vibration in the rock. It grew and added an overtone of something he remembered, a strange combination of liquid sounds and a memory….

  A dentist’s drill. That high, shrill whine.

  Suddenly a hammer-blow of light and noise burst into the cave. John crouched, scrambled behind a rock. He saw it for only an instant, before the yellow flare blinded him. The singularity emerged from the rock a few feet below the water line, jetting steam. It made an eerie sucking sound. Then it began to fall, casting long shadows with its watery light, and struck the far wall in a shower of blue and yellow sparks.

  He blinked. It was gone. His eyes slowly grew accustomed to the flashlight beam.

  Close, too damned close, and he had probably gotten another dose of gamma radiation. The water had stopped most of the other stuff, the x-rays and ultraviolet that had seared Sergeant Petrakos.

  The singularity must be following the ’copter, and he had no way of knowing which direction that was. But why was it bobbing in and out of this cavern?

  The ’copter must be moving erratically, over land and sea.

  Added into the attraction between the singularities was the force from sea currents carrying it to and fro down there, acting as a drag, occasionally letting it cut through the shoreline.

  And he was trapped down here with it.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  Claire struck at Kontos. The heel of her hand smacked his cheek. The flashlight veered away, throwing splashes of light high into the dome of the tomb.

  Kontos had an automatic weapon in the other hand. She snatched at it. He chopped it down across her wrist. Sudden flaring pain cut through her, forcing a startled cry.

  Kontos backed away. His face flushed and he shouted between clenched teeth, “Stop! I will use this!”

  He leveled the weapon. It had a long, curving clip and the muzzle seemed huge when it pointed at her. She suddenly knew without doubt that he would fire if she made a threatening move.

  “Back! Back outside.”

  “But there are—it’s dangerous—napalm—I—”

  “Out!”

  She turned and Kontos shoved her from behind, making her stumble through the doorway. His flashlight had robbed her of her night vision and she stepped gingerly forward, nearly tripped, and he shoved her again.

  “To the end! I wish your helicopter to see what I have caught.”

  “Look, there is something coming, it’s dangerous—”

  “We make it very dangerous for you, yes.” Kontos chuckled. “You thought the war would make me forget. I heard of your ship movements, that told me.”

  “Something’s coming—”

  Kontos prodded her with his gun and she edged forward. The helicopter engine revved up in the distance. She reached the end of the limestone blocks and could see it lift off, its engine roaring.

  “They leave you!” Kontos cried angrily. He braced his gun on a ledge and fired a burst at the helicopter. Quick, rattling reports came from the brush down the valley.

  Claire ducked behind stone shelter. Kontos shouted in Greek. “Bastards!”

  The ’copter soared, the crate below swinging wildly. She saw that the ground fire could hit the crate, damage the magnetic traps. “Kontos, don’t shoot at the—”

  Her words were drowned out by the thundering of the ’copter’s heavy machine gun. A horrible, anguished scream came from the brush. Kontos heard it and fired a long burst at the ’copter, with no visible effect. Each loud report sent a bright burnt-orange streamer leaping into the night.

  Claire crept backward, away from Kontos. She felt the stones behind her and her wrist turned painfully against them. If the ’copter located him by his muzzle flash—

  Kontos whirled and pointed the gun at her. “Stay! Your friends do not want you, but I will take you to Athens, show the world what—”

  The ’copter swooped toward them and they both ducked. It gained speed and its machine gun hammered at targets down the valley. More screams.

  Kontos ripped off a long burst again—a loud, metallic chattering. It jerked in his hands so much she wondered how he could hit anything.

  There was less rattling gunfire from the brush now. The ’copter turned and passed noisily over them again. It was cruising back and forth along the ridgeline of the hill, where it could command a good field
of fire both down the valley and to seaward.

  Claire crouched down against the limestone. Kontos fired a clip and reloaded, swearing. She could scarcely make out his silhouette.

  “Colonel, we’ve got to get away,” she said carefully. “That helicopter is carrying something that is very dangerous right now.”

  “My artifact, that is what it is, yes?” His voice was excited, tense as he slipped rounds into the clip.

  “Yes, and there is something inside it, a nuclear—”

  “I know, a valuable something. I read the notes of the man Sprangle. The cube contained it all the time, eh?”

  “Listen, there’s another. It—”

  “I want no other. Only want mine, my country’s.”

  “Country doesn’t matter in this, Colonel. That thing—”

  “You always have a higher motive when you come in your helicopters.”

  “But we do…”

  The ’copter roared overhead, firing incessantly into the valley. There were few answering spurts of gunfire. The screaming had stopped, too, and she was glad of that.

  “Your men down there, not many are shooting,” she said.

  “There have been losses,” Kontos said automatically. “But we will hold here.”

  “For how long? Look, all we want to do—”

  “I could get only two squads but there will be more from the towns nearby, soon. Do not think you will get away.”

  “You called them?”

  He grunted. His transmission would be easily picked up by the Watson, she realized, and help sent from the Sixth Fleet. Soon.

  The helicopter pounded away at something nearby. She could hear heavy thuds as rounds smacked into rock, and the spang of a ricochet. Kontos jammed the clip back into the breech of his weapon and braced to fire at the ’copter.

  “Wait! They’re armored, you can’t get through the sides of it with that gun of yours.”

  “They cannot be armored everywhere.”

  “They’ll see the flash, you’re practically the only one left firing.”

  “Silence!” He fired once at the ’copter, which was hovering over a flat area to the south. He took aim again and abruptly the ’copter surged up into the air and banked, heading back toward the tomb.

  “Let’s get inside!” Claire shouted. “Please!”

  The roar of the engines and the sudden menacing turn seemed to have daunted Kontos. She tugged at his sleeve. “Come on!”

  He stared at the approaching craft, stepped back in hesitation, and then turned to stride rapidly back into the tomb. The heavy machine gun barked and rounds slammed into the limestone blocks lining the passage.

  They ran to the back of the tomb. The ’copter passed overhead, paused for a long moment, and then banked, pursuing some target to the west. Its distant drone was now the only sound from outside. No more stuttering barks came from the brush.

  Kontos swore to himself in Greek. Claire wondered if she could slip away in the inky darkness, find a place to hide. She breathed in the cold tomb’s dank smell shallowly, desperately, as she heard Kontos shuffle impatiently near the entranceway. Somehow she had to get away.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  John had had a bellyful. He cast his flashlight beam upward, where the cord stretched amid shadows. It had regular knots in it to aid climbing. Thick and rough, it seemed suddenly enormously inviting. If he could get past the burned spot.

  But would he be safer up there? The singularity was sinking now, sure—but the helicopter would eventually draw it to the surface. It had been quite fatal when it was moving fast—Petrakos’s bloody uniform implied that she died from the rock cuts. Now that it was slowed, radiation was the main threat.

  He could hear it coming through the rock. On the rope he at least had some vertical freedom of movement.

  Right. Climb, then.

  He picked up one of the automatic weapons. It was heavy but cradled easily in his arms. He imagined his father saying in his thick drawl, “Situation like this, man ought to have a piece.”

  He slung it over his shoulder and grabbed the rope where it coiled on the pebble beach. He should tie the end around his waist, in case he slipped. But then, there was the Sergeant to get past, caught in her harness. No, better he stayed free.

  Off to the side, he noticed, lay shards of the old crate, the one he had pursued down here at the beginning of all this, months ago. The crate had smashed here, he remembered, and tumbled across the pebble beach, down to the water.

  He gripped the rope and boosted himself up, trapping the lowest knot with overlapped feet. The rope groaned with the added weight. He did not relish the idea of working around Petrakos. Her body swung as counterweight to his, making her arms wave, giving her hands a weird animation. He climbed to just below her and tried to reach around. He grabbed the harness line and went up it hand over hand. It was awkward but he got his arms by without touching her upper body. As he wormed past he had to place his feet against her for a moment, and the contact gave him shivers. His distaste drove him upward, upward.

  He remembered doing this in football workout on rainy days back in Georgia, exercising in the gym, wearing cotton sweat pants to keep the chill from tightening up his muscles. It had been easier then. He hadn’t had to do it in a wet suit after swimming hundreds of yards. And, yes, he was a decade younger then. Already he felt a seeping weakness in his arms, and in the gut muscles which had to pull up the legs as they pawed the air, searching for purchase. The rope stung his water-softened hands.

  He went perhaps fifty feet before he saw the second set of holes in the cave walls. They were blackened and, hovering a few feet away, he caught an acrid stench. So the singularity had shot through here more than once. This time he could not see any difference in elevation of the holes. The thing had been moving even faster when it made this wound. So he had been wrong about the lower two holes. They had come later. The singularity was wandering, sometimes rising in response to the upward attraction, usually falling under gravity.

  He pulled upward, letting his legs do most of the work. The flickering beam of his flashlight at his belt cast deceptive shadows on the damp stone.

  He reached the big rock ledge. His arms trembled and the gun over his shoulder banged against stone, echoing. He hauled himself up a last few feet and hooked a foot over onto the ledge. Slithering off, onto the slick wet shelf, was a tremendous relief. He lay there for a moment, letting the shakes seep out of his muscles. He cast a flashlight beam across the narrow cavern and saw the side passage, remembering the blue light he had seen there months ago. The walls were glassy now, not at all the way he remembered. He knew immediately that the singularity had been this way.

  He rolled over and shone the red beam behind him. There was a small blackened hole in the rock, and around it a glassy brown stain. Fragments of chipped rock littered the ledge beneath.

  The singularity had come through at high speed here, shattering the rock with shock waves even as it chewed its way through. This must have been where it returned, heading back from somewhere under Europe, just as Carmody had hoped. But too soon. Perhaps an hour ago, or more. It had made a blistering track through here…and probably attracted the attention of Sergeant Petrakos.

  Then it kept right straight on, heading for the Watson and its twin. Only the helicopters lifted off about then, and so the singularity turned about and shot back to the cavern, killing Petrakos, and finally emerged onto the sea bed. The difference in height of the two holes was where it had risen, following the helicopter, before falling into the sea when the helicopter turned out to sea. It had been wandering around since then, buffeted by water currents, passing into the hill and crisscrossing through this cavern.

  That explained something he recalled from last autumn—the blue light he had seen down a side cranny. He had thought it was the radiance of dawn, refracted through the blue Mediterranean waters. It must have been the aura of the second twist as it digested some tidbit of shale or lim
estone, far down below. The blue glow he had followed was dawn…but not the other one.

  He smiled. That seemed so long ago. Such a simple observation had brought forth a simple, ordinary explanation.

  Wearily he searched the ledge. There were the shattered bits of the old crate, lying as he remembered them. Apparently Sergeant Petrakos had left everything undisturbed.

  A faint strumming sounded up the cavern. John rolled back from the edge, seeking shelter.

  The humming came. He backed against the wall of the ledge. A shrill, greedy whine, much worse now than a dentist’s drill. The sucking sound was like a rising wind, a consuming voracious firestorm. He felt a pulse of heat in the air. A brilliant flash. Not pure orange now, there was a blue cast to it—and then it was gone, the shrill angry sound diminishing as the thing found its way into rock.

  He breathed deeply, his heart thumping, waiting for the red retinal image to fade. Limestone, falling into the singularity, gave off a blue spectrum. Sea water had produced orange. The twin had been ingesting a varied diet of rock for these past months, while its brother was isolated in the magnetic trap of the cube; this gave them different emission signatures. He would be intrigued, ordinarily. In these circumstances, though, the point seemed less than fascinating.

  The singularity was rising up through the Earth, drawn by its twin above. So the twin must be nearby.

  He had to get out. Since the thing was rising, odds were that each time it passed through this area it would be higher. It might never return this way, but if it did, an instant’s close exposure would kill him.

  He grabbed the rope and pulled himself up rapidly. A panic seized him, but he knew how to use it, let the fear sing through his blood and give more power to the work. He struggled up, ignoring the rope biting into his palms, the sharp pains in his thighs, concentrating on making each grip secure, each knot reached a small victory. Only a bit more to go. He peered upward and saw the edge only twenty feet above.