Knowing that the two humans inside deserved to know what was going on, he turned away from the Vrizan so that his communicator was shielded by his body. He stared at the device. The signal that had earlier reached to and from the depths without any difficulty was now failing to make contact. Were the Vrizan blocking it? There was no obvious reason why they should be doing so.
He was trying to decide what to try next when the peculiar half-ring, half-thump of a Vrizan shock cannon letting loose commanded his attention and he put aside his concern over the inability to make contact with the two humans.
When the blast ring struck the barrier, the resulting concussion stunned the aural organs of everyone present. Bac’cul found himself flinching as he turned his head sharply away from the physically painful reverberation. When he rotated it back, he saw that the barrier had not been so much as dented. It was as if the Vrizan weapon had not fired at all. In the distance the commander was railing at her crew as they prepared to fire again. This time Bac’cul and his team members would be prepared for the consequences. Hearing organs were shielded. A number of the more painfully affected had opted to retreat into the driftec in search of additional protection.
As he waited for the next burst to be unleashed, Bac’cul was accosted by one of his techs. Silently the intermet held up one of several small field monitors. Though the instrument was highly compact, its floating readouts were bright and easy to see. Besides monitoring such mundanities as temperature, moisture levels, solar radiation, and more, one glowing graphic indicated the strength of any nearby ambient energy. On a developed world like Myssar, it would be displaying a rainbow of colors. On Earth, one or two minimal indications might appear when the instrument was in the presence of not-quite-dead automatics or other machinery. Bac’cul understood the readout he was seeing even though he could not comprehend it.
The information being displayed indicated that the levels being detected exceeded the device’s measuring capacity. This impossibility was the last thing the researcher remembered seeing before he lost consciousness.
When he regained his senses and was able to finally stand on three shaky legs, he saw that he had been blown off his feet several body lengths from where he had been standing. Whistling in pain, the technician with the monitor was struggling to rise nearby. Similar high-pitched whines of distress came from other mission personnel as they slowly recovered from the shock wave. They were being helped and treated for their mostly minor injuries by colleagues who had taken early refuge on the driftec and had thus been shielded. The driftec itself had been shoved several lengths backward, leaving a shallow trough in the soil and snow.
Still unsteady on his feet, though far more stable than a human would have been if subjected to similar circumstances, he turned back toward the mountainside. The dark doorway that blocked access to the tunnel and the mysteries beyond was intact and undamaged. The Vrizan weapon was… gone. So was the team responsible for its operation, along with their commander, Zizanden. So was the Vrizan air transport craft. A handful of Vrizan lay scattered about, struggling to recover from the concussion. Some of those who had been standing closer to the shock cannon were missing important body parts. Myssari from the driftec rushed to help them.
Where the heavy weapon had been emplaced there was now a bowl-like depression in the earth, as smooth as if it had been scooped out and then polished to a high shine. A similar indentation in the ground occupied the place where the Vrizan transport had been parked. There was no dust in the air, no smoke, no evidence of an explosion. Stumbling over to the nearer of the two depressions, Bac’cul sank down and cautiously ran the three fingers of one hand over the edge. The smooth curve was warm to the touch. As he recalled his own team’s initial attempt to blast through the tunnel door, a chill ran down his spine.
He hurriedly readjusted his communicator’s settings. It was with considerable frustration that he finally set it aside. Communication with the two humans was still interdicted. As he stood surveying the destruction, he could only wonder if the blockage was involuntary or not. Pivoting, he moved to check on the condition of his injured colleagues and the surviving Vrizan. His body was still stunned but his mind was working furiously.
As a scientist engaged in cutting-edge research, he favored the predictable. It was therefore disconcerting to have to consider the possibility that the subjects of his research might now be in control of it.
20
The overriding sensation was as if they were now standing in an amorphous container filled with colored fire. Except the temperature was unchanged and the brilliant lights remained constrained within the surrounding walls, floor, and ceiling. It was a cold conflagration. Feeling his age as well as his ignorance, Ruslan turned to the ever-ebullient young woman nearby.
“What do we do now?” He indicated his communicator. “We don’t know what, if anything, is happening up top. I can’t get in touch with Bac’cul or any other member of the expedition.”
Cherpa was grinning anew. Broadly, he reassured himself… not maniacally. “We warned the AI about possible danger,” she said. “I don’t hear any footsteps or voices. Until we do, I imagine we’re still secure down here. If it responded to a warning, maybe it will respond to a question.”
He frowned. “What kind of question? We don’t want to do anything hasty, Cherpa.”
“Of course we do. She who hesitates stays immobile. As to what kind of question,” she added teasingly, “you just formulated it.” Once again she raised her voice, though this time not as piercingly as before.
“Hey, whatever-wherever you are! What do we do now?”
That a response was forthcoming was gratifying. That it was no more than a repetition of what had gone before was more than disappointing.
“Install pattern number one?”
They had no idea what that meant nor to what the unseen AI might be referring, but by now there was no stopping the irrepressible Cherpa. Before Ruslan could caution her further, she had already replied, energetically and authoritatively.
“Yes!”
No verbal response was forthcoming—but the pulsating aurora that surrounded them underwent an immediate and perceptible shift in hue. New colors appeared, while old ones faded away. Configurations changed, roiled, darted through the walls. Cherpa did not have to point at their focus: Ruslan saw it, too.
The capsule containing the static human form had become enveloped in a refulgence so intense they had to squint in order to be able to look directly at it. Searching for change, Ruslan thought he could see the clothed chest within starting to rise and fall, but he couldn’t be certain. Nor was he sure he saw the closed eyelids fluttering.
Further speculation was rendered moot when the top half of the capsule abruptly opened to one side and the figure within sat up. As soon as it stepped out and away from the transparency, the lid reclosed and a new shape slid into the vacated space. The replacement was female, as were four of the nine figures that now occupied the remaining and heretofore empty cylinders. They reposed face up, fully clothed and unmoving.
The intense illumination in which the first capsule had been bathed rapidly subsided to its previous state. As an awestruck Ruslan and Cherpa looked on, the individual who had emerged slowly turned a complete circle. Apparently satisfied with his surroundings, he finally focused his attention on the other occupants of the chamber. The unaltered voice of the AI echoed softly through the underground.
“Install patterns numbers two through eleven?”
Ruslan was having a difficult time dividing his attention between the revived man and the female shape that now occupied the nearest of the ten capsules. She looked to be about his age, perhaps slightly younger. Long-buried yearnings began to flicker within him. Would she, could she, be revived as rapidly and apparently as successfully as her male predecessor? If so, how might she respond to him? How might he respond to her? Save for Cherpa, his whole life had been bereft of female companionship. For an entirely selfish moment the future of his species seemed incidental to long-suppressed personal considerations.