It was Hiero who recovered first. His active brain simply could not mull over the past for too long. He had come here to find something, a weapon in fact, and instead he had found a deadly enemy, which if not actually present, was certainly not too far off. These matters transcended any brooding over vanished tragedies.
“What are those lights?” he asked, his voice deliberately brusque. He wanted to shake Aldo out of his present mood and stir him to new activity. Tough as he was, the Elevener was a very old man, and he was facing in the flesh, so to speak, things he had thought of only as the abstract components of a nightmare. But now it was a living, revived nightmare, whose return to the world he dreaded more than any mere bodily peril to himself.
With an effort, Brother Aldo returned to the present.
“Those lights? All of them are marked with one word underneath. The two yellow ones say ‘standby,’ which I believe means ‘wait.’ ” He peered closely at the red bead on the smooth, black panel. “This one says ‘alert,’ which means ‘be on guard.’ A moment, though! A line of inlaid silver leads away to another area, over here to the right.” Muttering to himself, he stepped around two of the chairs, still tracing the line of bright metal with his eye. The others followed in his wake, waiting for a translation. The line wandered about for a distance along the board, at last coming to rest on a black, ovoid projection. Under this bulge were more letters.
“Let’s see now,” the old man said. “ ‘Lift cover for total self destruct.’ ” He turned and faced them. “Did you by any chance understand that?”
I did, Gorm said unexpectedly. You are becoming very careless with your minds down here, all of you. You radiate even while using your human speech. You have found an old thing which will destroy all of this whole place, and us too, I gather. His mind was quiet and amused again. One would have thought he was describing his last meal.
“I’m going to lift that cover,” Brother Aldo went on in steely tones, ignoring the bear. “The best thing I know about this awful place now is that we may be able to destroy it. I frankly regret having aided you to come here.” His passionate hatred of the pre-Death artifacts around him rang in every syllable of his voice.
“Let me,” Hiero said quietly. “Don’t forget, I’m more used to machines than you are. You look over my shoulder and tell me what you read there. I won’t do anything without permission, I promise.” So strained and taut had both Aldo’s brain waves and his speech become, Hiero was beginning to fear the old man would do something irrational.
The Elevener closed his eyes for an instant. When he opened them, he suddenly looked more at peace, and a faint smile touched his mouth.
“I caught a fragment of your thought, boy,” he said. “You are quite right. I must not give way to emotion, and I was very close there. You go ahead, and I’ll try to supervise if I can.”
The Metz examined the almost conical, black projection. He saw that it had a knurled edge, obviously designed for fingertips, and he began to turn it. A screw mechanism slowly revolved, and as it lifted, he saw both what lay underneath and the wisdom of such a cover. With sudden death for the whole area in one control, a screw opening allowed time to circumvent a madman or an enemy bent on self-destruction. A simple hinged affair would have been too easy.
Under the cap, which he laid carefully aside, was a thing like an uncovered dial. A row of thirty numbers, engraved in the archaic system of the ancients, bordered a curved slot. At one end, set sideways in a smaller slot, was a pointer. Studying the mechanism, Hiero saw that the pointer could be pulled up, out of its own slot, and moved down the larger to any of the numbers desired.
“Those are hours, or hour symbols, I feel sure.” Aldo peered over his shoulder. “It must be that one can set the thing for up to thirty hours and then—the whole place goes.”
“Suppose they’re minutes, not hours, or some other unit of time we don’t even use any longer?” Hiero asked dryly, Luchare gasped behind them.
“It says ‘hours’ here.” Aldo pointed to a pair of tiny letters, which Hiero had not even seen, at the base of the slot. “This is an abbreviation, but one I have seen many times.”
“Sorry,” the priest said. “I’m getting jumpy. What do you say we have a meal? It must be well into the night up above, and I imagine we all could use some food.”
Once their stomachs had been called to their attention, all were indeed hungry, and Gorm protested bitterly that he was being slighted when Luchare gave out each agreed-upon ration.
You’re so fat you could live for a week on nothing at all, she said, poking his plump sides. Do you good to go without for a while.
Hiero wondered to himself, as he ate the dried meat and biscuit, whether the water would last until they got out. He said nothing to disturb the others. They had brought only one large water skin with them, and when all had drunk, it was only a bit more than half full. The all-pervasive dust had made everyone very thirsty.
Barely had they finished when the bear suddenly rose to his feet, apparently snifling, head erect.
Nothing comes, was his thought. It is the mind of Gimp (here a pictorial composite of the little captain was made clear). He tried to reach us. There is trouble up above.
Instantly both Hiero and Aldo shut their eyes in an effort to tap the sailor’s mind far over their heads, up on the surface of the dark plain. It was full night now, on the portion of the world’s surface nearest them.
Gimp felt them at once, and they could gather the relief in his mind as he did. He was not, of course, used to sending messages this way, but they persisted, probing and questioning, until out of jumbled images, emotions, and attempts to communicate, they got his story, or at least the gist of it. This was the tale:
A lone guard, for the others were asleep, had heard something moving in the brush and had the sense to keep quiet and awaken Gimp. That worthy had found two more men accustomed to moving quietly and had awakened one-eyed Blutho and put him in command, with orders to arouse the camp and get under arms in silence. Gimp and his two trusties sneaked out and presently heard a man, they thought, moving, off to the south. They stole closer and were able to see, in the moonlight presumably, a number of mounted men on hoppers. (On what?—Hiero; Never mind, I’ll tell you later—Aldo.) Gimp cleverly ambushed one such person, killing the mount and capturing the rider without noise. This man, for it was a man, had been taken back to their camp and hastily interrogated. What they had learned was disquieting. A small, hand-picked army of the Unclean, both men and Leemutes, were coming from the south (the rider had been one of an outer screen of scouts) and were heading for a “buried world,” one to which they had a “door.” They were led by master adepts (Gimp called them “magicians”) and they were hunting a terrible man from the far North, a dangerous enemy who had to be slain at all costs. The captain wanted advice fast, for he now could hear the approach of the army itself. That was all.