“They must have put a false set of co-ordinates on purpose,” suggested Rip.
But Dane, remembering that earlier trail which had ended in the same fashion, stepped around Shannon and pressed his palms against the slimy, wet surface of the rock. He was right!
Fainter than it had been in that other valley, the vibration crept up his arms into his body. Not only that, but it was building up, growing in strength even as he stood there. He could feel it now in the ground, striking through the soles of his boots. And the others caught it too.
“What in the—!” exploded Wilcox who had hitched forward on the crawler to copy the experiment. “This stuff must be hollow—that installation Tang talked about—”
That was it, of course, the installation which the com-tech was sure must rival Tarra’s largest computer, was broadcasting—not only in the sound waves picked up on the Queen, but through the stuff of Limbo itself! But what was that vast power being used for and why? And what was the trick which could send a crawler through solid rock? For Dane did not agree with Rip that the radar guide had been tempered with. If that had been done it would have been more sensible to set it on a point far out in the barrens, leading any would-be trackers into the midst of nowhere.
“There’s a trick in this—” Wilcox muttered as he moved his hand with patting motions across the stone.
But Dane was sure that the astrogator was not going to spring any hidden latch that way. His own examination of that other wall in the bright light of day had taught him the futility of such a hunt.
Kosti leaned against one of the caterpillar treads of the crawler. “If it went through there once, it isn’t going to do it now. We don’t know how to open the right door. A stick of thorlite might just get us in.”
“Now that’s a course I can compute, man.” Rip hunkered down, running his hands along the ground line of that exasperating cliff. “How big a stick would do it, do you think?”
But Wilcox shook his head. “You don’t lift ship without coordinates. Here,” he swung to Kosti, “link com-units with me and let’s see if with double power we can raise the Queen.”
The jetman unhooked the energy core of his helmet com and joined it to Wilcox’s in an emergency linkage.
“The installation is picking up voltage,” Dane warned, judging by the vibration singing through his finger tips. “Do you think you can break through the interference, sir?”
“That’s a thought.” Wilcox pulled at his mike. “But they’ve never been on steady. We can wait for a break in their broadcast.”
Rip and Mura came back to the wall. The vibration was a steady beat. Dane walked along to the right. He found a corner where the narrow valley went on—masked by the fog. And he was sure that as he shuffled along, his hand against the stone as a guide, that beat grew stronger. Could one by the sense of touch trace the installation? That was something to think about. What if they unfastened the ropes which had linked them to the crawler and made one long cord of them—an anchorage for a man to explore north-east? He retraced his path and reported to Wilcox, adding his suggestion.
“We’ll see what the captain says,” was the astrogator’s answer.
The chill which was part of the fog struck into them now that they were halted. Dane wondered how long Wilcox proposed to linger there. But through their touch on the wall they became aware that the beat of that distant discharge or energy was lessening, that one of the silent intervals was at hand. Wilcox, his fingers on the wall, adjusted the mike with his other hand, determined to make contact the first instant that he could.
And when all but the faintest rumble was gone from the rock, he spoke swiftly in the verbal short-hand of the Traders. Their discoveries among the ruins were reported, as was the present impasse.
There followed an anxious wait. They might be out of range of the Queen, even using the stepped-up com. But at last, through the crackle of static, their orders reached them—to make a short exploration along the valley if they wished. But to start back to the ship within the hour.
Wilcox was helped from the crawler before they man-handled the unwieldy vehicle around and re-set its dial for the return journey. Then they tied the ropes into two longer lines for the explorers’ use.
Dane did not wait for orders—after all, this was his project. He knotted one of those lines about his middle, leaving his hands free. Just as matter-of-factly Kosti took up the other, almost out of Rip’s hands, nor did the jetman pay any attention to Shannon’s protests.
“It’s starting up again,” Mura reported from beside the cliff.
Dane put his left hand on the wall and started off, with Kosti falling into step. They rounded the bend Dane had discovered into the continuation of the valley which was still packed with the cotton wool of the fog.
It was plain that no crawler had ever advanced this far. The narrow way was choked with piles of loose debris over which they helped each other to keep their footing. And the vibration in the wall grew stronger as they went.
Kosti thumped his fist against the stone as they paused for a breather.
“Those drums—they sure keep it up.”
The distant beat did carry with it some of the roll of a heavy drum.
“Kinda like the Storm Dancers on Gorbe—just a little. And that’s devilish stuff, gets into your blood ’til you want to get out and prance along with them. This—well, it’s nasty down deep—plain nasty. And you get to believing something’s waiting out there—” the jetman’s hand indicated the fog, “just waiting to pounce!”
They kept on, climbing now as each ridge of rubble they surmounted was a little higher than the preceding one. They must have been well above the surface of the valley where they had left the crawler when they came upon the strangest find of all.
Dane, clinging to an outcrop in the wall to retain his balance, teetered on the top of a mound. His boot slipped and he tumbled forward before Kosti could snatch him back, rolling down until he brought up with a bruising bump against a dark object. Under his clawing hands he felt, not the rough gravel and earth of the valley, but something else—a smooth sleekness—Had he come upon another ruined building this far from the city?
“Are you hurt?” called Kosti from above. “Look out, I’m coming down.”
Dane backed away from his find as Kosti came down feet first in a slide, his boots ringing against that buried thing with the unmistakable clang of metal.
“What the—!” The jetman was on his knees, feeling over that exposed surface. And he was able to identify it. “A ship!”
“What?” Dane crowded in. But now he was able to see the curve of the plates, various other familiar details. They had come upon the wreckage of a crash—a bad crash. The ship had jammed its way into the narrow neck of the valley as if it were a cork pounded into a bottle. If they were to go any farther they would have to climb over it. Dane took up his helmet mike and reported the find to the three at the crawler.
“The wreck of that ship you heard coming in?” Wilcox wanted to know. But Dane had seen enough to know that it was not.
“No, sir. This has been here a long time—almost buried and there’s rust eaten in. Years since this one lifted, I think—”
“Stay where you are—we’re coming up !”
“You can’t bring the crawler, sir. Footing is bad.”
In the end they did come, supporting Wilcox over the worst bits, keeping contact with the crawler by rope only. In the meantime Kosti prowled around and over the wreck, trying to find a hatch.
“It’s a rim prospector of a sort,” he reported as soon as Wilcox was settled on a rock to view the find. “But there’s something odd about it. I can’t name the type. And it’s been rooted there a good time. That hatch ought to be about here.” He kicked at a pile of loose gravel which banked in one side of the metal hulk. “I think we could dig in.”