The upper half of each wall was clear, so that I had an unobstructed view when I was not being tossed to and fro. I saw the crowds below, milling, not marching, point upward as we appeared. Whence the earlier gunfire had come I could not see, and none greeted us now. I breathed a sign of relief that these were only onlookers, either drawn here by the noise, or else driven here from elsewhere by the riot, but in either case not part of it. I looked down at my prisoner to see how he was faring and thus missed the command to fire.
The sizzling shrieks of weaponry and the screams of the trapped people below hit my ears at the same time. I leaped for the window to see every man on deck, weapon to shoulder, knuckles white from effort, firing randomly and at will at the crowd.
I tried to get outside, hoping somehow to ameliorate the slaughter even if it meant my own life. I was partly responsible for this. It was my pursuit of the Silver Man that had attracted the Nuum's attention. But the pilot threw the ship into another dive, swooping over another part of the crowd to afford easier shooting, and I was slammed against the opposite wall, where I slumped, senseless.
When I woke a Nuum helped me swallow something for the pain, and bade me lie down. But I couldn't. The noises of the crowds, the high far-off cries that had echoed in my mind at the height of the madness, had stopped. I staggered to my feet; I needed to see again the devastation, the dead, innocents and rioters alike strewn about like just another kind of garbage to be swept up by faceless men in the pre-dawn darkness. The dead, who would be walking still had I not brought down on them the wrath of their conquerors.
That was what I feared to see; the truth was much worse.
The Nuum had brought in even greater weapons. They left no bodies, nothing but dust; the silent streets were seas of black ash, stirred occasionally by the breeze, piled against an overturned vehicle or the cracked walls of high semi-transparent buildings now stained by the shadow-bodies of atomized souls. Nothing else moved. The weapons of the people into whose hands I had stumbled left little trace of those who fell before them.
The central and highest tower of the entire city lay directly before us, its sparkling spire silhouetted against the low clouds that I had never seen so clearly—or so near. Away from disturbances, the sensation of flight that had unnerved me earlier now seemed so smooth I felt no fear. Perhaps my emotions had simply been drained out of me. They might have thrown me from the top of the tower and I wouldn't have felt a thing.
They flew directly into the building. Inside it was completely normal and visible. The hangar must have occupied an entire level, and was several floors high, with flying craft of all sizes and descriptions squatting on platforms on varying heights. Many of the one-man flyers were in use as elevators. The room buzzed with so much activity I wondered how they could dart about without mishap, but gradually the design of the place became clear and I could see that horizontal flight was allowed only at certain levels, and through defined corridors. It was as if bees had been gifted with human intelligence without sacrificing their organization. It was a Jules Verne novel come to life.
My return to reality was quick and sudden. Someone clapped me lightly on the arm.
"Let's get this prisoner of yours put away." The Nuum commander shifted his weight slightly from side to side, as if eager to get away. The adrenaline of the hunt wearing off, he was reluctant to look me in the eye. "Then I'll see you down to the doctor."
The Silver Man lay where he had slid up against a wall during our aerial maneuvers, to all appearances still unconscious from his injuries. For all we knew, he could be dead, but the commander seemed oblivious to his plight. Between us, the commander and I hoisted the prisoner so that we could drag him along to the elevator.
Please make your floor selection. The words sounded mechanical, even in my mind. This elevator is in service.
"Detention," said my companion to the air. The doors obediently slid closed and there was a faintest sense of downward movement. We stood without speaking, the Silver Man hanging limply between us. I found the silence most anxious, but at the same time I was praying for it to continue. If the Nuum exhibited the slightest curiosity—about me, or about the prisoner, what would I say? I had an assumed name, but no serial number, no unit, no idea how to answer any one of a thousand innocent questions he might pose.
For all I knew, if he asked, and I could not answer, the elevator itself might reach out and render me as helpless as the man we carried.
Sub-level four, the disembodied voice announced. Detention.
“Let’s get him settled so you can see the doctor.”
"No, thanks,” I grunted as I rearranged our burden. “I'll be all right. I can get there by myself." Five minutes' examination by a doctor and I'd never leave this building.
He sighed heavily, giving me a grieving look.
"No, look, really," I said. I lowered my voice. "What are they going to think if you have to help me? What kind of duty do you think they're going to give me? It’s just some scrapes. I don’t want to be stuck in bed for a week."
He stood there for a minute. We were two trench veterans with the same disdain for the rear echelons. Wherever you go, men fight. And wherever men fight, some things don't change.
"All right," he said at last. "But I’ll take him the rest of the way. You get back upstairs and get some sleep. That’s an order."
I walked away and let myself breathe. It was a short reprieve. Within sixty seconds I had gotten into trouble again.
I wasn't lost…exactly. I knew where I was; I simply didn't know where I wanted to be. This is a fine distinction that can only truly be appreciated by those who have experienced it.
I had put aside for the moment any thought of the massacre I had lived through. It wasn't the first; it might not be the last. But those who dwell on such things do not survive long.
Thinking there might be some way to track my movements, I had returned to the hangar, whereupon I had strolled straight into a corridor which lead directly to another elevator. For those few seconds while I waited for a car, I struggled to stand nonchalantly while the spot between my shoulder blades itched intolerably in anticipation of a sizzling red beam that could turn me into dust before I could blink.
When the doors opened and I was still alive, I stepped into the car and said: "Lobby."
Obediently, the car took my weight away as it dropped through the shaft hundreds of feet toward the ground. This made me much more nervous than flying, and I tried not to think about how fast I was going. Not as fast as the last fall I'd had, certainly! And with less worry about stopping, to boot.
Then some hideous demon inside me changed my life forever and I could only watch in horror as I heard my own lips form the word:
"Stop."
I have mentioned how in moments of extreme duress my mind unhinges itself from conscious control of my body and allows itself to be taken for a ride. This was one of those moments. My brain had formed one rebellious thought, fed it into my nervous system, and stepped back to watch the fun…
I might never be in this position again. The Nuum were the overlords and guardians of all technology and science on this world. If there were answers, they would be found here, in their headquarters. If I had left then, I might have returned to the home of Bantos Han, washed the dye out of my hair, and sought work with the garbage collectors. How my life would have been different!
Would I have made same choice, had I known that the fate of two worlds rested upon it? There are very few truly courageous men. Most of us simply rise to an occasion when we have no other choice, and if we live through it, we are hailed as heroes. But how many of us ever do something like that again?
Had there been another option, I feel sure I would have taken it. Unfortunately there was not: Necessity is a poor substitute for courage, but a compelling one nonetheless.
Please make a selection. This elevator is in service.
The mechanical voice shocked me out of my introspection. It was time to make a dec
ision.
"Sub-level four."
Had I been so naive to think that the events of the past few days—or even the past few hours!—had been sufficiently astounding as to subdue my capacity for surprise, the detention section would have steered me straight from the moment I walked through its unlocked doors.
Yes, I said "unlocked." That was only the first surprise to greet me, but in a way it was very nearly the last of my life. Before I was to learn that valuable and dangerous lesson, however, I was to see and hear things that would age me a great many years and threaten to obliterate my very sanity.
I quickly forgot about the curiously inviting door when I stepped through and found myself in a medieval dungeon. Having imagined this scene a great many times in the course of my history researches, I think I might be excused for saying that this discovery stopped me dead in my tracks.
The change was immediate and total. Far from the gently gleaming white walls of the administration building with their indirect lighting and pristine floors, this corridor reflected the most primitive imaginable surroundings. Narrow and low-ceilinged, the corridor didn't so much "stretch" before me as yawn like the decaying maw of a beached leviathan. The walls were narrow, dank with ground water and slimy moss. Wet straw coated the slick floor, doing nothing to soak up the muck but contributing a great deal to the smell.
Light was provided by widely-spaced ill-smelling torches whose flickering created more shadows than it dispelled. The Nuum had gone to great lengths to create as disagreeable an atmosphere as possible, a trait I was to learn was popular among them. As my eyes became more accustomed, I was able to pick out darker packets of shadow at regular intervals, midway between each pair of torches. The distances had been cunningly calculated so that the light never reached the doors themselves, never presenting even a symbolic ray of hope to the wretches entombed behind.
But the prisoners themselves were silent. As the muffled booming of the door behind preceded me down the haunted hallway, I heard nothing else but my own breath. I had lived this tableau in fiction and study so many times that I expected them to start wailing whenever someone came near. But where I would have anticipated the pleas of the wrongfully taken and the moaning of failing sanity, there was nothing but dying echoes and the belated fear that I might have trapped myself alone in hell.
9. The Dungeon
The itch between my shoulder blades was beginning to seem like an old friend. At that moment it was telling me that if the door should open and someone should find me standing here, I would have a very hard time explaining myself. That thought communicated itself to my reluctant feet, and I stepped into the dungeon.
As I advanced the floor dropped in a gentle incline that ended just short of the first cell, where the floor leveled once more. At the same time, the temperature rose uncomfortably. The moss on the walls grew more lushly here, droplets of moisture gleaming even in that uncertain light, and the straw underfoot was little better than mud. The architect of this dungeon had gone his forebears one better: He had designed the entire floor to flood at regular intervals, transforming a hot, dismal cell into a steaming jungle with a locked door.
Inside the first cell I heard something move.
True to form, the doors appeared to be fashioned from thick beams with only a head-sized barred opening. As I stuck my torch near the opening I could smell the rotting wood adding its own aroma to the miasma of muddy straw and perpetual dankness.
"Hello? Who's in there?"
"It's still me," grunted a surprisingly strong voice. "I haven't escaped since you put me in here."
I could have danced. It was he! I'd found the Silver Man! Only now, in the excitement of my discovery, did I realize that I had no idea how I planned to convince him to tell me what I needed to know. If he was trapped inside, I was no less trapped outside. And he could at least explain to the Nuum why he was here…
I only had one card, so I played it.
"I've come to get you out of here," I hissed.
That provoked a reaction. I heard the sound of a body moving across fabric, as though he'd been lying on a bunk, then his footsteps, and then his face appeared in the opening.
"Quick," he whispered. "Open the door. There are no keys; it's only locked on my side." When I didn't reply, he got excited. "Hurry up! They might come back."
"First we have to talk." I fetched a torch and placed it so that he could see my face. His voice flattened.
"What do you want?"
"I want some answers. You want to get out of here. Can we make a deal?"
He backed away, but not before I saw all the hope drain from his face.
"Wait!" I brought the torch back to where I could see into the cell, but it didn't help much. "Do you want to spend your life in there?"
"No, but I don't think you're going to do anything about it." I could almost hear his shrug. "'Course, if you want to stay, I could use the company."
I nearly cursed his obstinacy until I realized its inspiration. He thought I was a Nuum. No wonder he wouldn't talk to me.
"Listen! I'm not who you think I am."
"Oh? Who are you?"
"I'm the man you've been chasing."
After a moment he returned to the door. I held the torch so that he could see my face again. He stared at me hard.
"Okay," he said uncertainly. "What's the deal?"
"I told you. I need some answers. If you give them to me, I'll get you out of here."
"Then talk fast. I want to be out of here before they come back."
"All right. First: where am I? Is this Earth? Am I on some other planet?"
He stared at me a moment and sighed deeply. "You do get right to it, don't you? No, you're not on another planet. Do you know what time travel is?"
I think that in some deep portion of my soul I was actually relieved. At least I was still on Earth! To answer his question, I nodded.
"I've heard of it."
"Well, you're a time traveler. And I think you set a record. I don't know what you did to the displacement grid, but I don't think anybody's ever gone this far before."
I am proud that I kept the trembling from my voice. "How far?"
He sighed again. "Near as I can tell, about 900,000 years."
It was too big a number; I couldn't focus on it. It was more than astonishing that I could believe in time travel! I passed on to the more important question.
"How do I get back?"
"Sorry. You don't."
"What do you mean? Aren't you going back?"
"Well, yeah, course we are," he replied, scratching his head. "But not until you're dead."
For some reason this seemed far less an impediment to my would-be assassin than it did to me.
"Tell you what," he said in a tone as normal as if he had not just pronounced my death warrant. "You let me out of here, and then we'll talk."
I believe I was excused to stare. "Are you mad? Why should I let you out at all?"
He actually laughed. "God, you're paranoid. Listen, I'll answer all your questions as soon as we're both outside this cell. But I just showed you my good faith by telling you why I was here, so now it's your turn to show me some. How do I know you won't just leave me here?"
Someday, when the final horn sounds and the multitudes of Mankind gather around the Lord's throne for judgment, He will rise up to His full magnificent height, and He will point His majestic finger, and He will say:
"Behold the irony of Man, that I should grant him reason, and he should squander it."
And He will be pointing at me.
The cell door, I was told, would resist a lifetime of effort from inside the cell, but like the door at the dungeon entrance, could be opened at a touch from the outside. I tried it, and it was true. The door swung open, the prisoner offered a friendly handshake, and I instinctively returned it.
That's when he hit me.
10. The Library
As glib as he was, I didn't trust the Silver Man any more than I did the H
un. So when he hit me, I was waiting for it. I grabbed his arm as I fell into the cell and in the struggle one of us kicked the door closed.
Now we were both trapped.
I came up fast, mindful of his intent to kill me, but he was standing at the door again, looking through the bars. After a moment he spoke.
"You would have let me go, wouldn't you?"
I backed up until I felt a wall behind me. "Yes, of course. I said I would."
"Damn!" He hit the door with his fist. I winced. "Well," he said, "we might as well get comfortable."
I watched him as he sat down on what I presumed was his bunk, though I couldn't see it in the dimness. For several minutes we sat silently. He seemed to have nothing else to say and I doubted that he was going to answer any of my questions now.
"What do you want to know?" he asked abruptly.
I swallowed my surprise and tried to order my thoughts. He had already disclosed my location, but it was so fantastic that I don't think my mind had yet embraced it. I tried to force myself to concentrate on practical considerations.
"How did I get here?"
His face barely glowed white in the shadows; his words appeared almost as if from a medium's spirit. It seemed altogether too apt for this setting.
"From what I know, you accidentally screwed up a historical survey mission. You weren't supposed to see anything, but the rain in your location was heavier than anybody thought it'd be, and it must have shorted something. Nobody knows why you went through the co-continuum."
"What's a co-continuum?"
He snorted. "I knew you were gonna ask that. I haven't the slightest idea. It's the interface between time periods. The door you went through is technically called a displacement grid. It lets you go from one time period to another. That's what the survey team was doing in the middle of your war."
The Invisible City Page 6