Artifact: 6/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
A large, perfectly rectangular door blocked their way. Philips brought the Jilectan limousine to a stop.
The door was pale grey in color, perhaps three meters in height and three wide. The surface was absolutely featureless: just a flat, blank, grey rectangle of some unknown substance. There was no sign of latch or other opening mechanism to be seen.
The Jilectan's expression was unreadable. "Open it, Terran"
"I can't," Philips said. "I don't know how."
A narrow, delicate eyebrow rose. "Come now, Terran psychic. You were attempting to reach this location, were you not? Some kind of way station for the Terran Underground, perhaps? Open the door, or I shall contact my ship and simply order them to bomb the site from orbit."
Philips met her mocking gaze levelly. "Go right ahead, m'lady. I have no idea what this place is. On the other hand, if you choose to believe me, remember, there's still the matter of the unknown psychic who did that to him." He jerked his head at the motionless Linthvar. "The Terran Underground is hardly likely to mark the site of a way station for you with a campfire."
The Jilectan's expression did not change. She looked at him silently and steadily for several seconds.
"You are correct in your reasoning, Terran," she replied at last. "If this is not your trickery then I must not proceed farther. Nor can my men approach closer, lest they die." She paused, and a cold smile moved her lips. "I do not believe in wasting my servants, Terran. I will not order them into certain death unless there is significant gain. I did not reach my present post through stupidity. Reverse course. Back us out."
Philips started to obey. Again, he felt that faint sense of unreality. There was a clang of metal as a door, identical to the one before them, slid shut behind them. They were boxed in.
"If this is a trap of yours, Terran psychic," the Jilectan said levelly, "you shall die when I discover the truth. I shall not allow myself to be taken without cost."
"It's no trap of mine," Philips said. His hands were sweating, but he couldn't allow her to see how nervous he was. This was a trap, all right, a trap for them all by the unknown psychic who had hurled those mental bolts earlier. He could sense the eager anticipation of the mind on the other side of his screens, but there was still puzzlement there, too, and hatred. The emotion was clearer now. Philips' strongest talent, empathy, was, for once, working to his advantage. Hatred for all sentient creatures that were not of its kind -- whatever that was. Intolerance for all intelligent creatures, but especially those with the Power, in any form. And puzzlement; curiosity. What were these beings? He had never known creatures of this kind, able to block the Mind Death. How many were there? What was their origin? Could things have changed so much? The feelings came into Philips' mind as emotions, more than actual thought. They left him confused and knowing little more than he actually had already surmised. Whatever this thing was, he was certain it was nothing he had ever heard of before. Again he glanced at the door behind them, then turned quickly at the groan and squeal of metal. Slowly, slowly, the metal door before them was moving, sliding back into the wall. With a screech that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck, it ground to a halt, but now a gap two meters wide was left between the door and its frame.
Clearly it was an invitation to proceed. Philips felt vastly reluctant to do so. He looked questioningly at the Lady.
Tranthzill wasn't in any hurry, either. She stared for a long time at the open door, grey eyes narrowed at the corners, but the blaster in her hand, aimed at Philips, did not waver a centimeter.
"What now, M'lady?" he questioned, at last.
The Jilectan did not answer. There was a faint rattle of stone on the roof of their car. Philips barely restrained a start and he heard a tiny, indrawn breath from Lyla. The Jilectan glanced up.
More stones. A rock the size of a softball bounced off the windshield.
The Lady moved with that incredible speed possessed by her species. Almost in one motion she was out of the car, dragging Philips with her, and darting for the open door. She had obviously decided he was the more desired prize -- a member of the Terran Underground. Philips tried to twist free. Lyla! He couldn't leave her to die!
The Jilectan paid no attention to his struggles. In less than five seconds they were through the door.
"Lyla!" Philips yelled.
"Here, Matt." Lyla appeared beside him, brushing dust from her waterproof cape. Beyond the door was the roar of falling stone and the panel itself began to close. The metal squealed and grated to a halt with perhaps a fourth of a meter of space between its closing edge and the frame.
All at once Philips began to wonder. That cave-in had been awfully convenient. Part of the same illusion? He tried to strengthen his shielding, to block out any hint of his thoughts from the hovering mind. The screens thickened slightly and the watcher became less perceptible. He was still there, though. Abruptly, too, the feeling of unreality intensified; the scene wavered slightly. The door went into motion again ... or did it? It was as if he were seeing two scenes, one superimposed over the other. The one on top was of the now-closed door and rock dust coating their clothing and skin. The other ... less clear ...
The door remained open, perhaps a fourth of a meter, and beyond it, a tunnel in which the Jilectan air limousine sat, undamaged. There was no rock fall, and the door that had closed behind the car, trapping them ... there was a shadow of it, all right. But the picture beneath it ...
He strove to dismiss the illusion. Illusions were only the power of suggestion. He heard again the dry lecture room voice of Colonel Burke, the Head Coordinator of Psychic Instruction on Nova Luna Station. An illusion affected the mental processes by the power of suggestion, coupled with some subtle manipulation of the parts of the brain which interpreted what the sense organs told them ... a mental suggestion that told the brain something different than its senses did ...
But the suggestion was a lie! Philips concentrated on that. It was a lie! He must banish the suggestion, know it for the falsehood that it was. It was unreal. It did not exist! It was *not there*!
There was an instant when he saw double, one picture above the other. Then the false images ran like melting snow, and he was looking at a tunnel beyond the door, where a Jilectan aircar sat in lonely state. The door blocking its exit was completely gone. Most likely it had never been there at all.
"What are you staring at, Terran?" the Jilectan's voice demanded.
"Nothing." Philips shook his head. "It just seemed to me that rock fall was awfully coincidental."
"I do not believe in coincidences of that sort," Tranthzill replied, harshly. "Nor, I believe, do you, Terran. This is a trap for me, and it was not caused by a globe parasite. What is it that we face? It is evident to me that you sense more of it than I."
Philips hesitated, thinking fast. Tranthzill was known to be highly intelligent, not easily fooled, and evidently the reports were true. Few of her species would have been willing to admit that a Terran psychic could know more about any psychic phenomenon than a Jilectan. It made her doubly dangerous. He must be very careful. Tranthzill was watching him narrowly.
He shrugged uneasily and nodded. "I think so, M'lady. I think its wavelength must overlap mine somewhat more than your own. But it senses you."
"What is it?"
"I don't know." His flat answer carried the ring of sincerity. "Whatever it is, it's powerful. I can feel it watching me through my screens."
"You are able to see it through your screens?" The Jilectan's tone was skeptical.
"No. It's powerful enough to go through mine! And it's probably looking through yours at your mind, too!" He met the Jilectan's unreadable face squarely.
"Perhaps." Her voice was as unreadable as her face. "And perhaps you are lying to me, Terran psychic. Still, I do not believe you are responsible for this situation and the condition of my former cousin Linthvar speaks of tremendous power indeed. Therefore, you are in as much danger as I." She paused, obviously thinking, then continued. "The Terran telepathic range is higher than our own, but if this being can sense me, I can certainly sense it ... if I can find its range. I shall make the attempt." Abruptly she closed her mouth tightly, looking around. "What is this place?"
"Some sort of hidden fortress, built into the cliff," Lyla said. Her voice startled Philips. It was remote, distant, with a hard ring of absolute certainty. "It's been here a very long time." Abruptly she shivered. "Even through my shields," she whispered, "I can feel it. Old ... so old I can't begin to guess. Long ago there were creatures here ... intelligent ... powerful ... but not human or Jilectan. I sense ..." Her voice became softer. "I sense hatred and anger and arrogance ... and desperation. I sense loss. And then they went away. No. They went away, but they remained. I don't understand."
A light had dawned on Philips as she spoke. He had seen other psychics with this power; one of them her own nephew.
"What gibberish are you talking, woman?" the Jilectan demanded contemptuously. Philips answered her.
"Dr. Cane is a psychometrist, M'lady. She senses past events and emotions ..."
"I know what a psychometrist is," the Jilectan snapped. "It is a rare ability. I find it difficult to believe a mere Terran female capable of such a feat."
Philips didn't answer. In spite of the fact that she, a Jilectan female, aspired to high office, it was evident that some of the Jilectan cultural attitude toward females remained with Lady Tranthzill. Such an attitude, he knew, could be so ingrained in a culture that the people, themselves, were not aware of it. Lyla's unexpected talent had shown him a weakness in their opponent. Tranthzill underrated Lyla because of her gender. That might be a bad mistake -- if only they could take advantage of it.
Lyla cast a quick look at him from under her short, dark eyelashes. She had noticed it too.
The room in which they now stood was not large, perhaps four meters long by four wide, barely more than an anteroom, and starkly bare of any furnishing or distinguishing feature of any sort. The walls were a featureless grey. The sliding door at the other end was closed and, if he was any judge, probably airtight. Adorning it was an unreadable symbol. Lyla walked over to it and examined the mark intently, but said nothing. The Jilectan, however, did speak, voice like crystal and as brittle, but to Philips, with a faintly ragged edge. The sourish Jilectan body odor had become more noticeable even over the scent of her perfume -- a musky fragrance with undertones of turpentine. M'lady was neither as calm nor confident as she appeared. He noted a faint sheen of perspiration on her upper lip.
"Make no attempt to escape, Terran female."
Lyla's reply was nearly as chilly as the alien's. "I won't." She turned her back on Tranthzill, her body language almost contemptuous. Philips raised a mental eyebrow. What was Lyla up to? The woman was staring at that symbol and Philips could almost feel her mind working, and had to forcibly quell the sudden swell of hope under his breastbone. He must do absolutely nothing to alert the Jilectan if Lyla really was onto something.
Tranthzill propelled him ahead of her to the door. "What are you doing, Terran?"
"Nothing." Lyla indicated the symbol, etched in violet on the smooth surface of the sliding panel. "Have you ever seen this kind of writing before?"
Philips noted that she omitted the Jilectan's courtesy title and raised the mental eyebrow again. The Jilectan showed no sign of noticing, although Philips was sure she had.
The giant alien bent to examine the symbol. Philips did also. It reminded him vaguely of Chinese, but it wasn't. He glanced at Lyla. "No."
"Nor I." The Jilectan's grip on Philips' arm was as unyielding as a set of restrainers.
"Interesting." Lyla shot a glance at him. A warning. He willed himself not to tense. She was up to something, all right.
With a grating noise and a shriek of tortured metal that lifted the hair on Philips' scalp, the door stirred and began to open.
XII
Lyla Cane had been experiencing strange sensations, ever since, in the aircar, she, like Philips, had realized that the mind watching them was waiting for them to come closer. She had come to the conclusion, although she was unaware of it, at the same time, almost to the microsecond, as he had, and for a brief moment actually fought an internal battle with herself over the ethics of disclosure. She'd decided against it. The more uncertainties they could pile up against their alien captor the better, but she did finally make the decision to keep quiet. It bothered her conscience, but it would doubtless bother her more if they let the Lady return them to her camp and to captivity. Lyla clamped her jaw shut and tried to pinpoint the watcher.
Whether its attention was on all of them or just the Jilectan was a little hard to determine, but at last she decided it must be unsure of exactly who and what they were and was biding its time before it did anything permanent. Still, anything was better than being taken back as prisoners. As long as she and Matt could delay that, they might have a chance to escape.
The injured Jilectan in the seat beside her didn't stir, his glazed eyes staring blankly at nothing, the loose lips drooling spittle down his chin. His cologne or perfume, or whatever it was, was very strong in the closed aircar. His clothing must be absolutely impregnated with the stuff, Lyla thought. It made her slightly sick to her stomach. The scent was familiar, and after a moment she identified it. "Passion on Luna"; a Terran brand. She had never liked it much -- too much musk for her taste -- and within moments she decided she would never again be able to stand it on anybody, Jilectan or Terran. Years later a whiff of "Passion on Luna" would bring back vivid images of that nightmarish ride.
She wished Matt would turn on the ventilator, and almost on the thought, he did so. The heavy scent became fainter.
The Lady still held her blaster steady on him. The blaster! Memory struck her suddenly. When she had seen the male Jilectan before, newly felled by the psychic bolt, the holster on his hip had been empty. Their captor had not taken the weapon -- it had already been missing. She might have assumed they had removed it earlier, but they hadn't. Then where was it? Had he perhaps, been holding it for some reason when their mysterious enemy had attacked? If so, it might be right under her feet, unless the Lady had already found it.
With infinite caution she shifted her position, one eye on the Jilectan. If M'Lady suspected anything, the jig would be up.
But the Lady was keeping most of her attention on Philips -- a logical move, since he was the agent from the Terran Underground. Her attention was only marginally on Lyla.
Cautiously, she glanced down. For a moment she saw nothing and had almost resigned herself to disappointment when the swaying of the aircar caused Linthvar's knee to fall sideways against her own. The material of his robe slithered across her muddy cape leaving dark stains on the fine silk, but the movement drew her attention to the folds of green, iridescent material lying in rumples about his feet. Was that ...?
An instant later she was sure. Half beneath the seat ahead of him, nearly concealed by the soft layers of cloth, Linthvar's blaster lay less than a meter away.
But a meter, in this case, might as well be a kilometer. If she bent to get the thing, the Jilectan would undoubtedly realize what she was after. She must somehow discover a way to reach the weapon without alerting their enemy.
Cautiously, with every effort to keep her upper body motionless, Lyla stretched out a foot. Her toe barely touched the weapon, and it promptly scooted a few millimeters farther away.
Frustrated, she paused, considering.
She could give up.
She could wait, hoping that something would happen to distract the Lady, which didn't seem very likely, long enough for her to grab the blaster and come up shooting.
Or she could take a risk and reach for it now, not with her hands, but with her mind.
The Jilectan would not know. Her shields were almost certainly in place to defend her against the unknown psychic enemy. The only thing was, if Lyla dropped her shields she would be putting herself at risk.
But Matt, awhile ago, had flicked open his shields, looking for quick information. Could she do the same with a telekinetic thought and close her shields again before the enemy could strike? Lyla rather prided herself on her telekinetic skill; she was very accurate and knew it. Perhaps, if she just barely cracked her shields and left the enemy only a very little opening, she could manage it ...
Lyla gathered herself, planning what she was going to do down to the smallest detail. She bit her lip, then plunged. Her shield opened a crack.
For an instant she was strongly aware of a mind -- powerful, intelligent, but not human -- caught by surprise. Her telekinetic fingers reached out, grabbed, and yanked. She sensed an instant of puzzlement in the watcher, a wash of alien thoughts, gone in a flash, then her shields were in place once more and the enemy was back again on the other side, peering as through a translucent film at her mind.
Lyla sat still a moment, letting her alarm reactions subside. What had she felt?
The mystery psychic was no human; that was beyond doubt, and she was reasonably certain he wasn't a Jilectan either. She wasn't even sure 'he' was the correct designation, but it fit well enough. In it had been a wordless threat for any unlike itself -- whatever itself might be. He seemed supremely confident of his preeminence over other psychics and there had been unqualified hatred for others who dared to aspire to the Power of the Masters. Almost a xenophobic intolerance, Lyla thought, trying to make sense of the bewildering sensations she had experienced.
Then she glanced down. She had been marginally aware of it for several minutes. Linthvar's blaster lay under her right foot, with the sole of her boot resting on it. She need only reach a little way with her hand to seize it. Telekinesis was out of the question. She would not lower her shields again. One taste of the other mind's appalling power had been plenty, and besides, it was ready for her now. She sensed alert watchfulness in the tenuous mental touch.
She must wait for an opportunity, something -- anything! -- that would give her the chance to possess herself of the weapon.
And, as she thought this, the needed distraction arose.
Through the curtain of rain, the caves came into view. The Lady stared, her gaze fixed on the thin finger of smoke snaking its way up the cliff side to vanish in the open, a mere quivering of heat and steam amid the storm's precipitation.
Lyla pulled her hands under the cape, stooped fractionally, seized the weapon and straightened. In one smooth, unhurried motion, she slid the thing under Linthvar's left thigh. It was all over in a split second. Now, if only the Jilectan had not seen!
She had not. The alien was directing Philips to take the aircar toward that column of smoke.
Lyla released her breath softly. Sweat beaded her forehead and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She had made it. Unknown to their captor, one of her prisoners was now armed. Now she must await the right moment to use what she had acquired. The Jilectan's blaster was still centered on Matt; she could not bet his life on her speed. She was fast, but Jilectans hailed from a world both larger and denser than her own -- 1.54 times Terran gravity, if she recalled correctly -- and were faster still.
They moved toward the caves. The smoke disappeared as she watched and, now that she had time to consider, the question occurred to her as it had to Matt Philips. What was a campfire doing here? Unlike the Jilectan, Lyla had no reason to expect any signs of human life in Hel's Canyon.
There was a feeling of unreality about this that struck her forcibly as she watched the smoke vanish into the rain and spray of the falls. There was almost a sense of disorientation about the scene. Something didn't feel right. And suddenly she knew. There was no campfire and never had been. It was an illusion, a clever and multi-detailed illusion, just like the ones that Brenda could produce. Brenda Wilcox was not a powerful psychic -- in fact, her abilities were quite ordinary in all but one area. With illusions, she was an artist. She frequently used the ability on her patients and was known as a remarkable dentist. The town of Ragnarok was going to miss her. Whatever their enemy was, he could produce convincing illusions, and for more than one person, as it was obvious that Matt and M'Lady were seeing it, too. Even Brenda hadn't been able to produce illusions for more than one person at a time. The only reason she had detected it was undoubtedly the fact that the thing's contact with her mind was far from perfect.
They hovered before the cave and the Jilectan spoke suddenly. "Who is there?" She turned sharply in her seat to pinion Lyla with her gaze. "Your son?"
Lyla jumped guiltily, managed to camouflage the action under hesitation. "I don't know, M'Lady."
The Jilectan stared searchingly at her, and Lyla squirmed uneasily, then the alien turned away.
"Move the vehicle toward the cave, Terran. Slowly."
The moved closer to the cave, and Matt turned on their headlights, illuminating the interior of the cavern before them.
M'Lady spoke again. "A campfire's remains. Most interesting, Terran. I think the boy cannot be far. Move ahead into the cave."
Lyla's heart had begun to beat light and fast in her throat with her awareness of danger, but she did not speak. The hum of the aircar's engines intensified suddenly as they entered the confined space, reverberating eerily from the rock walls that enclosed them on all sides. Lyla sat statue still as Matt negotiated the passage, headlights illuminating the interior of the cliff passage, but her outward immobility was deceptive. From all sides she was bombarded with incredible sensations that might emanate from the very stone of the cliffs around them. It was a miasma that was almost tangible, reaching through her screens, dulled and distorted, but still powerful, as if a million ghosts plucked at her with formless fingers, spoke to her in phantom voices. The feeling of age assailed her, and loneliness, conflict, desperation, fear, anger and a belief of superiority so complete as to deny argument. The arrogance of a total lack of doubt. And loss, regret ... and a great blank nothingness. And yet something ...
The feelings were without number and never stopping, coming at her in bewildering, patternless disorder. She felt as if she would go mad, and barely restrained a scream of panic.
Battling the confusion that swirled within her brain, Lyla fought to defend herself against the formless attack. She must not lose her head or she and Matt were lost! Somehow she must find a way to protect herself against this shapeless terror.
The things could not be consciously aimed at her, she realized. In some way she was picking up the emotions and thoughts of the residents of this place -- but not from the present time. There was somehow an essence of age, of past time here. The sensations were old ... perhaps centuries old. Or millennia. Even that seemed inadequate to describe the age radiating at her from all directions at once. This had been a fortress, a citadel, a stronghold for creatures of great power and arrogance, who ruled without pity, without mercy, who tolerated no rivals, who ruthlessly exterminated that which might someday threaten their supremacy ... any vestige of life which showed the possibility of future sentience ...
How had she known that? Lyla fought back the waves of alien thought, struggling to maintain her own identity in the heart of the maelstrom. She must separate herself from it, hold it away from her. It was no more than an echo out of the past. It could not harm her if she didn't let it!
Somehow, then, there was an odd feeling of division. Whatever gift gave Lyla the ability to sense the ancient traces of life in this alien citadel also gave her the ability to control its effect on her. Abruptly it was as if the feelings and thoughts that she was receiving had been shut away by a pane of glass. They were still there, pounding on the windows of her mind for admittance but it was a feeble mutter in the background. And they could not enter -- not unless she permitted it!
It wasn't the same as mind shielding at all. Mind shields required no psychic power. This did. It was as if a psychic switchboard in her brain had suddenly channeled the invading echoes onto another frequency -- one equipped to handle them!
The relief was so sudden and intense that it left her momentarily confused and it was several seconds before she could assimilate the new situation. The aircar had stopped before a door -- a grey, metal door set into the living rock. As she realized this there came a metallic clang. Lyla twisted in her seat. A door, exactly like the one that faced them slid to behind the car. They were trapped.
The alien turned to Philips, her grey eyes unnaturally bright. "If this is a trap of yours, Terran psychic, you shall die when I discover the truth. I shall not allow myself to be taken without cost."
Lyla didn't hear his reply. She was staring at the door in sudden, wild surmise, gripped once again by absolute certainty. It was another illusion! It had to be!
The watching mind had not departed. Lyla was aware of its presence on the other side of her shields, waiting, eager. Malignant purpose reached her, mingled with puzzlement. These creatures were nothing he had ever seen before. From whence had they come? How could things have changed so much? The emotions came to her indistinctly, and alien thought that somehow became half-familiar as she touched it. Words, scattered fragments of sentences, half-incomprehensible, nearly understood ...
Before them, the door squealed and began to move; the shriek of protesting metal lifted the hairs on her scalp. It had opened perhaps two meters when it made a sound as if a child had scratched his fingers on a chalkboard, and halted.
Lyla stared apprehensively at the opening. The trap was beckoning to them, but she felt no urge at all to proceed. What would the Jilectan do now?
Matt was apparently wondering the same thing, for he looked sideways at their captor. Silence fell as she stared suspiciously at the opening.
"What now, M'Lady?" asked Matt, finally.
Somehow they were going to be forced to go in there, Lyla knew. When she heard the first stone rattle on the roof she was not surprised. Most likely it was another illusion.
The Jilectan was already out of the car with the almost unbelievable speed of her kind, bolting for the open door. How Alan had ever outdrawn one of these creatures was a mystery to her. For an instant Lyla toyed with the possibility of running in the opposite direction, but dismissed it almost at once. She couldn't leave Matt Philips at the mercy of the Jilectan, not to mention the hunter -- whoever he was -- and besides, there was a sheer cliff out there.
She could take the car, of course, but, again, she could not leave Matt. It would have to be both of them, or neither.
With that thought, she yanked the blaster from beneath Linthvar's thigh, shoved it into her holster, and followed.
The illusion was a good one. It contained tactile sensation as well as visual and sound. She was struck several times as she ran through the supposed rock fall into the room beyond.
"Lyla!" Matt shouted.
"Right here, Matt." She dusted what must be illusionary dust from her cloak, aware of the heavy Jilectan blaster knocking against her thigh. With one hand she pulled at the damp, muddy cloak to disguise its bulky outline against the thick material.
With a groan and a squeak the door behind them went into motion again, closing, then ground to a halt, leaving perhaps a fourth of a meter of space between itself and the doorframe. If they were to run now the two humans could still squeeze through, but M'Lady was certainly too large, and her grip on Matt's arm had not relaxed. Lyla might run, but he could not.
Again came the squeal and grind of the closing door, and the panel crunched shut. Lyla became aware of Philips staring fixedly at the door and was suddenly sure that he knew about the illusions.
It was a surge of relief. But with that relief, came the knowledge that she must learn as much about this place as she could if they were to escape and survive. And it appeared that she had one avenue of learning that Matt and the Lady either did not have, or had not thought of, and it was also evident to her that the Jilectan did not know that what she was seeing was at least partly illusion.
That puzzled her. Why had their captor not noted a fact that both she and Matt had discovered? M'Lady was obviously a very intelligent individual. Lyla could not put it down to mere inattention. Perhaps it had to do with some of the subtle differences between Terran and Jilectan psychic powers. In any case, whatever the reason, Lyla wasn't going to enlighten her.
The aura of the place was still battering softly at her mental windows. Lyla gritted mental teeth and let them sweep in on her.
Sensation swirled around her, blotting out the physical world, yammering, screaming, clawing at her mind. Much of it was meaningless, but in it somewhere was information -- there must be! Information that could mean the difference between life and death to them.
She stood it as long as she could, then, with a faint gasp of relief, closed her mind to them. Gradually, she became aware of the Lady's and Matt's voice in the background.
" ... Must be able to sense it -- if I can find its range." It was the Jilectan's crystal voice. "What is this place?"
Lyla found herself answering almost without her own volition.
"Some sort of secret fortress built into the cliff. It's been here a long time." She shuddered at the eerie feel of those soft, insistent voice still tapping at the recesses of her brain. "Even through my shields," she whispered, "I can feel it. So long ago I can't begin to guess, there were creatures here ... intelligent, powerful -- but not human or Jilectan. I sense ..." her voice became softer without her realizing it. "I sense hatred and anger and arrogance ... and desperation. I sense loss. And then they went away. No ..." She felt the wrongness of the statement. "No, they went away but they remained. I don't understand." She allowed her voice to fade, judging it the right moment to shut up. Let that shake up their captor! It didn't matter that it was the exact truth. It accomplished her purpose -- to unnerve the Jilectan.
"What gibberish are you talking, woman?" To Lyla's ears the alien sounded not only contemptuous but a little frightened. Good! The less confident she could make her, the better! Philips was staring at her in sudden comprehension.
"Dr. Cane is a psychometrist, M'Lady. She senses past events and emotions..."
"I know what a psychometrist is!" the Lady snapped, irritably. "It is a rare ability. I find it difficult to believe a mere Terran female capable of such a feat."
So it was a rare ability, huh? Then it was highly unlikely that either Matt or the Lady had her gift. Psychometry? Was that the name for it?
In any event, it had exposed the Jilectan's weakness -- one that Lyla had already suspected. M'Lady regarded females as less competent and capable than males -- a result of her culture, Lyla was sure. And, in the Jilectan culture, the opinion might be justified. She had heard of the pampered lives of most noble Jilectan Ladies. But their captor might learn differently of Terran females shortly.
She caught Philips' glance. So Matt had noticed the little slip as well. Good. Lyla turned her head, taking in the room in a quick once over. The space was about four meters by four meters with another large door at the other end of the room. On the door, in purple, was a symbol in no language she had ever seen before ... or was it? Somehow it looked vaguely familiar. Turning her back on the alien she walked over to examine it more closely. From behind her the Jilectan spoke.
"Make no attempt to escape, Terran female."
"I won't," Lyla replied, coldly. If the alien didn't like her tone, she didn't care. She owed M'Lady nothing. She turned her shoulder abruptly on her captor, studying the door symbol with sudden interest. There was meaning here! If what she thought she understood was true then perhaps she could provide the distraction they needed to catch the Jilectan by surprise. And the door ... why, of course she knew how to open it!
She did? How?
And suddenly she understood. If the enemy was picking up her mind, albeit imperfectly, through her shields, then she must be picking up parts of its thoughts as well, and perhaps her psychometric talent was assisting her understanding as well -- that, she didn't know. If they survived, perhaps Matt could tell her.
M'Lady shoved Philips up beside her and stood behind the two of them, looming nearly three meters tall, towering over the two Terran psychics. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing." Lyla indicated the symbol, stalling a little as she rehearsed what she must do. "Have you ever seen this kind of writing before?"
Both Philips and the Jilectan studied the mark.
"No." Matt turned a questioning look at her.
"Nor I," M'Lady admitted. She still had a firm grip on Matt's arm, Lyla noted. Well, they would see what could be arranged. She was playing this one by ear. There was no other way to play it.
"Interesting." She shot a warning glance at Matt, then, quick as lightning, cracked her shields, and shot a telepathic command at the door. *Open*!
With a tooth-grating squeal of protest, the door began to move.
XIII
Lady Tranthzill gripped the upper arm of the Terran male whom the female had called Matt, so that he should not escape her. As long as she held him prisoner, the female would behave; it was obvious to her that there was some attachment there, and the female Terran would not be likely to risk his life. It was a typical Terran pattern. If she'd held the female hostage the male might not be so amenable. Male Terrans tended to be more aggressive than their females, and, in addition, this one was a trained combatant, unlike the female, who had, so far, shown little defiance and less spirit.
And so far her judgment had proved correct. The situation remained under her control, if somewhat tenuously. If the woman's son was here, her control of his mother should give her control of him. As for the other problem, the unknown enemy seemed quite powerful psychically, but it appeared her mind shields offered partial protection -- enough, at least, to defend her from the psychic bolts it threw, and it remained to be seen if the Other could match her physically. As yet, the Autonomy had met only one species of intelligent life on a par -- or almost on a par -- with her own, physically, and the Raghiki, who hailed from a world of 0.92 Jilectan gravity, had not the least psychic talent. Only these irritating Terran psychics and the now very rare globe parasites could claim any extrasensory powers. And, in any event, whatever she faced, whatever the outcome, she still had her wits.
It was unfortunate she had not been able to bring any of her men with her, but, as she had remarked before, that would have been sheer waste. So, she had decided to try to capture the Terran boy by using his mother as bait. That might have been a mistake. If she had realized the unknown Enemy was waiting for her here she would have cut her losses, to use a Terran phrase, and gone back to camp.
Of course, the Terran male might be lying to her. He had been no danger to her so far, but the report from the Patrol corporal indicated otherwise. It was really too bad she was forced to keep her shields up. The fact made it more difficult to guard her captives. But now that the male Terran had drawn her attention to it and she was looking more closely, she was able to catch traces of an alien mind watching through her shields.
Part of the difficulty there, and one she would not admit to the humans, lay in the fact that the telepathic reception equipment of a Jilectan was not as sensitive as that of a Terran psychic. Telepathy was one of the strongest Jilectan talents -- ninety-seven percent of her species were powerful telepathic broadcasters. There had never been the need, until they met the Terrans, of highly sensitive telepathic reception equipment because of their ability to broadcast so strongly. Somehow her late cousin Linthvar -- a genetic sport if she'd ever seen one -- had possessed more sensitive reception ability as well as a wider operating band. Too bad it had been paired to the intelligence of a veek -- and a brain damaged one at that.
She examined the grey symbol on the paler grey of the door. Undoubtedly the symbol was in one of the color bands she could not see. Terrans were sensitive to a band of color above her own range, but the band below the one they called "red" was invisible to them. It was probable that the builders of this fortress had different color vision than her as well. The symbol reminded her of the writing of one of the ancient Jilectan cultures, but it wasn't Jilectan by any means. Nor was it Terran.
The Terran female indicated the symbol. "Have you ever seen this kind of writing before?"
The male leaned forward to study the symbol. "No."
"Nor I," Tranthzill replied, coldly.
"Interesting." She saw the female glance at her captive, then, with a loud, grating noise, the door began to retreat into the wall.
Tranthzill took a firmer grip on her prisoner with one hand and her blaster in her other. Perhaps the mysterious enemy would now reveal himself.
But the room beyond was apparently empty -- a large, echoing cavernous space with what appeared to be a door at the other, distant end.
The female Terran stepped through the new opening without hesitation. Seeing no alternative, Tranthzill did likewise, pushing the male with her. The door at once began to shut behind them, and a moment later was securely closed once more. She bent an icy stare on the female. "Do not do that again, Terran psychic, or I shall kill you outright. I shall not risk your escape. Do you understand?"
The Terran female glanced at her with an almost insolent gesture. "I understand you, M'Lady. But while you're deciding whether or not to kill me, look at that." She nodded at the wall through which they had come.
"Do not mock me, woman."
The creature actually laughed at her! "Look, M'Lady, whether I do or not won't make much difference! If you don't kill me now you will later. But I'm not 'mocking' about that!" She pointed right handed at the door, other hand holding the wet, dirty enveloping cloth of the cape up, away from contact with her body.
Tranthzill felt surprising, if reluctant admiration for her. The Terran psychic had courage, which was more than she could say for her late esteemed cousin, Linthvar. And she was wise enough to know that in the end it would make no difference.
The Terran male was looking, apparently with intense interest, in the indicated direction. Tranthzill glanced back.
The massive expanse of the wall through which they had come was covered to the lofty ceiling with tiny lights about the size of her smallest fingernail. Beside each was a miniature lever. All of them were burning with a greyish light, except one at about the level of her eyes. That one was out. The lights must number in the tens of thousands she thought but what were they for? The scene reminded her of something, somewhere -- a similarity she must have seen at one time -- but the occasion eluded her.
The female Terran looked at the one she had called Matt. "Do you know what this is?"
He was slow to answer. "I think so. But the ones I've seen are a different design."
"Do not talk in riddles," Tranthzill snapped, impatiently. "What is this place?"
The Terrans looked at each other, then the female spoke. "It's a sleeper chamber. A really big one."
"A ..." Tranthzill broke off, realization dawning suddenly. "A hibernation chamber?"
"More likely a stasis chamber," the man said dryly. "If it's been here as long as I suspect it has, hibernation wouldn't have been good enough."
The Jilectan stared at the lights, then around at the enormous room. Was it possible? She didn't know. Her scientific background was sketchy. She knew there had been traces of ancient civilizations discovered here and there during the spread of her species across the known galaxy. Archeologists, she had read somewhere, postulated an ancient interstellar empire about 1.5 million Home World years ago, which had fallen suddenly for no discoverable reason. Some of the more radical had suggested and pointed out so called evidence (rejected by the more sensible) that these unknown creatures had possessed and dealt with psychic powers. Now it wasn't looking so radical any more. At least to her.
"Are you certain?" she demanded.
"I've seen pictures of them," the female replied, absently. "In Terra's pre-interstellar period the old asteroid miners used them -- this looks something like them -- only much bigger. Only where are the compartments?" She surveyed the room thoughtfully, then walked over to inspect the walls more closely. "Wait, I see them. They're flush with the wall. It looks like they go all the way to the ceiling. Hundreds of them.
"Thousands, I'd say," the male replied.
Despite her resolve not to let the Terrans influence her, Tranthzill felt her interest quicken. Still gripping the Terran by his arm, she strode over to stand by the female, stepping over bits of litter that lay here and there about the chamber.
"Where?" she demanded.
"Here's one." The creature ran a slim, though stubby, Terran finger along an almost invisible seam that began perhaps half a meter above the floor and proceeded upward. Once her attention had been drawn to it, Tranthzill could see that it continued upward some two meters, then ran horizontal for another two and down again. There appeared to be no bottom seam. Curiously, Tranthzill pressed on the left-hand seam with the hand that held the blaster. The material gave slightly. She pressed harder. There was a sudden sound of breakage. The panel bowed inward on the left and the corresponding right edge bulged outward slightly.
The Terran male seized it with one finger and pulled. With faint puff of stale air, the door opened. From inside came the tinkle of some small broken part and the panel flopped downward. The three intruders stared into the interior of a stasis chamber. Tranthzill heard the female gasp and had to restrain the involuntary squeak that tried to rise in her own throat.
The inhabitant of the chamber had been dead for some time. Evidently, the stasis field had failed many years before, for all that was left was the skeleton -- but what a skeleton! Tranthzill felt the hair rise on her scalp in an instinctive, primitive fear reaction.
The alien skeleton certainly resembled nothing she had ever seen before. In life it must have weighed between eight hundred and a thousand kilos. The bones were massive, meant to carry considerable weight. It walked on four, heavy legs, pawed rather than hoofed, apparently on the palms of thick, powerful hands -- and the thumb and three huge toes were equipped with claws no less than six centimeters in length, and scalpel sharp. A torso reared up from the massive, semi-equine body, a huge, powerful trunk with large, heavy ribs that had apparently enclosed enormous lungs. Four arms, two per side, ending in clawed four-fingered hands, extended from the trunk. Judging from the size of the bones and the places the muscles must have attached, the thing was built for high gravity -- moreso than even her own species. The short, thick neck was almost buried between massive shoulder bones, and the skull ...
She swallowed. The skull was what was really different. It reminded her of a Terran cat, only, of course, much larger, and the muzzle was narrow and pointed. It was apparently a meat eater, too, with the sharp teeth of a carnivore. The thing's neck was evidently too heavy to allow it to turn its head far, for there were four eye sockets, two in the front and one on each side. Two tusks protruded from its lower jaw and extended upward perhaps twelve centimeters almost to the eye sockets. The Terran male whistled softly and Tranthzill felt a chill run up her back. If one of these creatures had survived and was hunting them, they stood little chance -- especially if it also possessed psychic ability of its own.
"It looks like a centaur," the female observed suddenly.
The male nodded. "It does, sort of. Look at the size of those bones! The live critter must have been as big as a brewery horse!"
Tranthzill seized upon that. "You have seen a creature such as this before?"
"No." The female was regarding the enormous skeleton with professional interest. "The centaurs were purely imaginary creatures out of ancient Greek mythology -- supposedly the combination of man and horse."
"Horse?"
"A four-legged Terran animal, similar to a Coralan keelor," the male supplied. "Used as a beast of burden, to pull wheeled vehicles and to ride -- before the age of automation. Now they're primarily used for sport on Terra and Bellian."
"We use them here on Midgard," the female interjected, quietly. "Ragnarok only got power in the last couple of years and there were only a few aircars in town. Horses don't need special power sources. Hay is a lot cheaper."
"I'd forgotten that, "the male agreed. "Several of the newer colony worlds still use them."
"Yes." Tranthzill nodded absently. "I believe I have seen the animal in question." She stared thoughtfully at the gigantic skeleton. "But this is neither a 'horse' nor a keelor. Tell me; could such a being as this must have been be the source of the psychic bolts?"
"Certainly." The male pointed at the huge, thick-boned skull. "Look at the brain cavity. The thinking apparatus was at least as large as a Terran's or a Jilectan's, and the forehead -- the cranium -- is high and round. It was plenty intelligent, and so far as we know, no unintelligent being has ever developed psychic powers. There are no psychic chickens or Jilectan veeks, for instance. Intelligence appears to be a prerequisite for the development of psychic ability."
Tranthzill raised a brow. "Obviously, Terran, your acquaintance with my dear cousin, Linthvar, was quite limited, however I take your point. So we may have a ... what did you call it, woman ... a live 'centaur' -- a survivor of this complex -- who apparently is equipped with psychic ability and regards us as the enemy -- and is spying on us mentally. Not a promising situation."
"That's one way to put it," the female said, ironically. Oddly enough, Tranthzill did not resent the tone. "It's still watching us, by the way."
The male's head was cocked in a listening attitude. Tranthzill wondered what he was sensing. She was aware, herself, of that faint, very faint, sense of observation -- as if it were watching her mind rather than her actions -- and she briefly envied the Terrans their greater receptive capabilities. However, nothing was to be gained by standing here. Better to be searching to find a way out. Still gripping the male's arm, she strode back to the door through which they had entered.
It was a blank rectangle of grey metal in the middle of which was a small panel containing a little button and a larger, grey lever. But if this was the method for opening the door, who had opened it?
Well, doubtless there was a remote method as well. After a moment's consideration, she reached out to touch the yellow button.
Nothing happened, except a tiny quiver of the metal, and the faintest of grating noises. A lock, she surmised. Once more she touched the button and the grating noise was repeated; the bolt had withdrawn.
Tranthzill stared at the door, nonplused. Surely there must be a way to open it.
She started to reach for the lever and paused. That thing had all the appearance of some sort of emergency switch. Should she touch it? So far nothing about this whole affair had gone as planned. Something brushed her ankle. Tranthzill glanced down. A length of cable lay in tangled coils on the floor by her feet. Odd, that she had not noticed it before ...
With that thought, alarm shot through her. She leaped backward with the lithe grace of her species, but the warning had come too late. The cable was already moving. With the speed of a striking serpent it whipped about her legs, binding them together with inexorable strength, and threw her to the floor, forming another coil to throw about her upper body as well. Struggling savagely, Tranthzill felt herself dragged down with unbelievable power. In desperation she twisted about, firing at the writhing cable.
The shot glanced off. Frantically, she dropped the blaster and the grip on her prisoner both to wrench at the cable two-handed. The Terran rolled sideways and the blaster skidded away, described an arc in the air and landed in his hands. The two Terrans ran.
Fighting, Tranthzill was dragged across the floor, wrapped almost to the waist in the constricting metal coils. There was the sound of voices; a door opened and shut, and she was alone.
XIII
Candy screamed. Inside the cavity revealed by the open door lay a gigantic skeleton. Maureen had never seen its like, but it was utterly tremendous. The huge skull was thick and catlike with wicked fangs and two vicious-looking lower tusks.
Whatever it was, it wasn't either human or Jilectan. Candy shrieked again, turned and ran madly toward the door. She came up hard against it, and pounded on it hysterically with both fists, screaming and sobbing by turns.
"Let me out! Oh, God, let me out of here!"
There was a scraping noise and the panel quivered. With slow, grinding sounds, as if it had not moved in ever so long, the metal door began to creep backward into the wall.
At its first motion, all of them deserted the massive skeleton and made a rush for the exit. At the same moment they became aware of noises from the other end of the room. The other door, too, was attempting to open, or someone was trying to open it. Maureen had no urge whatsoever to see who -- or what -- was on the other side. The grey metal door before them crept hesitantly, falteringly open, one agonizing centimeter at a time. Then, as if suddenly released, it shot instantaneously into the wall. They stampeded from the room in a mad rush. Behind them there was a hiss and a click. Maureen glanced back. The door was closed once more.
They did not pause, but ran on ahead. The corridor came to a T crossing. They charged to the right, and found themselves facing a blank wall.
But only for a moment. Doors in the wall parted, revealing a small room. Maureen hesitated, but pressure from the rear pushed her forward. She stumbled unsteadily through the entranceway.
It was a cubicle no more than four meters by four. As soon as the last of them had entered, the doors snapped shut, trapping them. Candy shrieked, beating on the door in sheer, mindless terror. With a jolt, the thing began to fall. Candy's scream escalated to ear piercing levels in the confined space. Belatedly, Maureen realized that they must be in an elevator.
"Shut up, Candy!" Hildebrand barked in exasperation.
Candy did not shut up. She continued to wail like a disaster siren.
The elevator descended with supersonic speed. Maureen actually felt her feet rise from the floor for an instant. Then they were slowing down as suddenly, and the elevator braked to a halt. Maureen sat down hard and the others did too, with equal suddenness. Even Candy, caught by surprise, landed with a thump on the floor. She ceased screaming abruptly as the air was jolted from her lungs. The doors popped open.
They looked out at a long, blank corridor. Hildebrand struggled to his feet. "Quick!" he wheezed. "Before it shuts again!"
As he spoke, the doors began to close and he tried to grab them. The panels paid no attention to him, but crunched solidly home, so that he had to jerk his hand back. With a whine, the elevator began to rise.
"No!" Candy cried. "Not again! Oh, why did I ever listen to you people? I want to go home! I don't like this place!"
"No kidding?" her brother said dryly. "Shut up and let us think, Candy. You're giving me a headache."
Abruptly the elevator altered its wild, upward pace as if it had suddenly lost its purpose. It decelerated so sharply that Maureen was glad that she had remained seated on the floor, and stopped. The doors popped open.
This time they were ready. In a scramble of arms and legs, Maureen and her companions exited the conveyance together.
And stopped.
Maureen found herself staring up from her hands and knees at two muddy, bedraggled people, a man and a woman, who stood looking at them in amazement.
**********
tbc
