“But you still think the experiment is worth trying?”
Ambrose nodded. “It’s got one thing going for it that I can’t ignore.”
“What’s that?” Snook paused in his chores to concentrate on Ambrose’s answer.
“The Avernian himself seemed to think it would work.”
When the party set out for the mine in pre-dawn blackness. Snook noticed that Prudence had remained behind in his bungalow, and it intrigued him that neither she nor Ambrose had made reference to this fact. They had driven into Kisumu in the afternoon for a meal and a change of clothing at their hotel, and had returned looking like newly-weds. Since then there had been lots of time for discussion of the various arrangements, and yet Prudence’s non-participation had not been mentioned, in Snook’s presence anyway. It could have been a commonsense decision to avoid possible trouble with the soldiers at the gate, but Snook suspected she had no wish to take part in an event where he was to be the central figure, especially as she had been openly scornful of his running away the previous time. Snook knew he was being reduced to childishness again, but he was perversely pleased at what was happening because it showed she had singled him out, that there was a continuing personal reaction—even if a negative one.
The four men—Snook, Ambrose, Quig and Culver—were met at the enclosure gate by George Murphy, who was already talking to the guards. Murphy came forward to meet the group.
“I don’t want any more days like yesterday,” he said. “I’m just about wrecked.”
“You look okay to me.” Snook had never seen Murphy look more assured and indomitable, and he drew comfort from the big man’s presence. “What’s been happening to you?”
“Been sitting in on arguments. Cartier keeps telling the workface crews that the ghosts don’t exist because they can’t see them any more, and that they weren’t ghosts anyway. The miners keep telling him they know a ghost when they see one, and even when they can’t see them they can feel them. I think Colonel Freeborn is turning up the pressure on Cartier.”
Snook fell into step close beside Murphy as they were passing through the gate and spoke to him quietly. “I think he’s turning up the pressure on everybody. You know, this thing isn’t working out the way we hoped it would.”
“I know that, Gil. But thanks for doing what you’re doing.”
“Isn’t there any way you could convince the miners that the Avernians can’t do them any harm?”
Murphy remained silent for a moment. “You’re convinced, but…”
“But I ran. Point taken, George.”
As they reached the dimness beyond the gatehouse Snook saw two fully-manned jeeps parked in the same place as before. He put on his Amplites, creating for himself a bluish radiance in which he was able to identify the same haughty young lieutenant he had already encountered. The lieutenant’s eyes were hidden by his Amplites, standard issue for soldiers on night duties, but his sculpted ebony face gave an impression of fierce watchfulness. It was a look which caused the old stirrings far back in Snook’s mind.
“The lieutenant over there,” he said. “Is he related to the Colonel?”
Murphy slipped his own magniluct glasses on. “Nephew. That’s Curt Freeborn. Stay out of his way. If possible, never even speak to him.”
“Oh, Christ,” Snook sighed, “not another one.”
At the same moment the jeeps’ engines roared into life and the spotlight beams lanced through the group of walkers, streaming them with long shadows. The two vehicles rolled forward and began slowly circling the group, sometimes coming so close that one or more of the men had to give way. With the exception of the young lieutenant, the soldiers in the jeeps grinned hugely throughout the manoeuvres. None of them made any sound.
“Those are open vehicles,” Murphy said. “You and I could easily yank the drivers out.”
“You and I could easily get shot. It isn’t worth it, George.” Snook kept walking steadily towards the mine head and eventually the jeeps pulled back to their former positions. The group reached the sodium-lit hoist shed and Ambrose set his radiation generator down with a thud.
“First thing in the morning,” he said indignantly, “I’m going to report that harassment to the authorities. I’m running out of patience with those bastards.”
“Let’s get underground,” Snook said, exchanging glances with Murphy, “to the devil”we don’t know.”
“And I told you that’s the wrong sort of thinking.” Ambrose picked up his black box and led the way to the hoist.
The cavern-like tunnel of Level Three did not unnerve Snook as much as he had expected, mainly because he felt himself part of a group which was acting in concert. Ambrose stalked about purposefully, examining luminous crayon marks he had made on the rock floor, setting up his machine, and flicking his fingers over a pocket computer. Culver occupied himself with the pulse code modulator, and Quig with cameras and magniluct filters, while Murphy pottered about clearing small pieces of debris away from the scene of expected action. Snook began to feel unnecessary, helpless.
“About ten minutes to go,” Ambrose said to Snook, looking up from his computer. “Now remember. Gill, you’re not being pressurised in any way. This is actually just an auxiliary experiment—I’m pinning my faith on the pulse code modulator—so just take it as far as you feel you are able. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Right. Keep on the look-out for some sort of roof structure coming up into yiew. From what you told us, you missed that yesterday, and it will give a good advance warning.” Ambrose raised his voice, beginning to sound happy again. “If you have time, make sketches on the pads I gave you. The design of a roof will also tell us things about the Avernians themselves—say, whether they have rain or not—so everybody keep their eyes open for details.”
Leaning against the tunnel wall and watching the final preparations, Snook took out his cigarettes only to have Ambrose give a warning shake of his head. He put the pack away resignedly, wishing he was in another part of the world, doing something else. For instance, lying in a peaceful room, in parchment-coloured shade, with Prudence Devonald’s head cradled in his arm, the left arm—as decreed in the Song of Solomon, Chapters Two and Eight, so that his right hand would be free to touch…
A luminous blue line began to appear on the rock floor of the tunnel. Within seconds it had risen to become a triangular ridge and Snook, chilled to the core, moved to his designated place. The floor was strangely transparent.
He was so intent on the materialisation that he scarcely noticed George Murphy at his side. Murphy’s large dry hand sought his and slid into it a tiny whitish object which felt as though it was made of polished ivory.
“Take this,” Murphy whispered. “It might help.”
Snook was baffled, mind-numbed. “What is it? An amulet?”
“I’m not a bloody savage.” Murphy’s voice was amiably aggrieved. “It’s chewing-gum!”
He retreated to the sidelines as a faintly glowing roof structure gradually emerged from the solid rock, looking surprisingly Earth-like in its arrangement of rafters and ties.
Snook put the gum into his mouth and was grateful for its commonplace minty warmth as he found himself sinking into a vaguely seen square room where three Avernians waited for him, slit mouths curving and contorting. Two of the translucent beings carried oblong machines, and suddenly there were noises—sad, mewling, alien noises—coming from the direction of the corresponding machine held by Culver. A human voice sounded too, but Snook was unable to identify the speaker, nor to comprehend the words, because the third Avernian was coming towards him with its arms outstretched.