Planet Of No Return, page 12
part #2 of Brion Brandd Series
Enough! He was suddenly angry at himself for this stupidity. What was he doing here risking his life without reason? He had passed the war machine safely. All he should have done was continue on his way, to get as far away from the thing as he could. He kicked out at the steel side with disgust at himself, then jumped down and ran steadily up the valley, never looking back.
This was one more puzzle to add to the rest of the puzzles that seemed to make up this deadly world. And none of these puzzles would be solved unless he discovered the origin of the army that had passed them. He ran on.
He was still moving when darkness fell, but he kept running steadily, the ground clearly visible by starlight. It was a merciless grind even for him, and long before the night was over he stopped for a rest. Then another one. Fatigue was slowing him when he reached a narrow side canyon. He got down on his knees to examine the ground carefully, but were no track marks leading from it. The canyon should provide a safe place to rest. He walked into it, until he was well out of sight of the valley below, then found shelter between two large boulders and was instantly asleep.
Sometime later a disturbance drew him from his deep sleep. The stars shown brightly above, stretching from horizon to horizon. He could hear nothing from the valley but far distant the sound of jet engines was clearly audible, dying slowly away. It had nothing to do with him. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again the sky was grey with dawn.
He was tired and chill, his muscles sore. The water was icy in his mouth and he resisted the. urge to drink more than a few carefully rationed sips. And he was hungry. He had expected these reactions so he determinedly forced his attention away from such weaknesses. The job still had to be done. Once he started moving he would warm up; thirst and hunger could be lived with. He must press on.
When the valley began to widen out he stayed close to the eastern wall, moving through the shadow. This might provide him some protection if he should meet more of the machines. The valley began to grow level, becoming wider at the same time, the surface growing harder as he went. Changing from packed soil and rock to something harder and smoother. He bent to examine it.
It was solidified molten rock. Not rounded and lumpy as it would have been had it been formed by natural volcanic action, but smooth and level. It had been melted by fusion guns, then levelled into place.
The surface of the valley was artificial.
The sun was higher in the sky now and was clear of the shadowing ridge. It lit up the entire valley floor, revealing its artificially smooth and flattened surface. Brion walked over it cautiously, examining the rocky walls on both sides at the same time. They were completely smooth and solid, without openings of any kind, even at the valley end.
Nothing. The rock walls were ancient, natural. This was a dead end. A box valley that began here and extended down to the plains. A rock-walled slice through the mountains with only the single exit.
Yet he knew that a mighty mechanical army had poured out of this valley. He had seen it himself and backtracked it to this spot. How could there be nothing here? It was impossible.
He walked slowly over to the rock wall and reached up and touched it, then beat against it with the hilt of his knife in frustrated rage. It was solid. This just could not be possible. Yet it was.
When he turned about to look back down the valley he saw the dark column for the first time. It was less than four feet high and stood about ten yards out from the rear wall. He walked slowly towards it, around it then reached out and touched it. It was metal, an alloy of some kind, slightly worn by time, with its surface lightly tarnished. It had no markings, could have no function that he was aware of. He could scratch it with the tip of his knife; it left a bright line when he pulled it across the rounded top. As he put the knife carefully back into the sheath he felt his anger and frustration rising.
“What is it?” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “What is the meaning of all this?”
His words echoed and bounced from the rocky walls and died away until the valley was still again.
16: Secret of the Black Column
In a rage of impotent fury, Brion kicked out at the dark column. This produced only a dull thud and a sharp pain in his foot.
“Very impressive, Brion,” he said aloud. “The considered reactions of an intelligent man. Feeling better? Now that you have gotten rid of your temper and have a sore foot to prove it isn’t it time to give a little thought to this problem? It is. Now what do you know? To begin with, point number one,” he raised a finger, “the mechanized army came out of this valley. There can be no doubt about that. The tracks I followed all led to this spot. There were no turnings or alternative routes. Which leads to conclusion number two the machines must have come from here, from this end of the valley, the area right here where I’m standing. The cliffs and the ground appear to be solid but maybe they are not. To be examined. But what about a closer look at this column first? It is artificial, made of metal and the chances are a hundred to one that it has something to do with this problem. So, number three, examination of column is on top of the list.”
Something was nagging at his memory. What was it? When he had kicked the column, aside from hurting his toe, there had been something about it? But what? Yes, of course, it had sounded as though it might have been hollow, giving out more of a ring than a thud when his boot had hit it.
Brion took out his knife and reversed it. Holding it by the blade, he rapped the pommel on the top of the column, where he had scratched the metal. This produced a solid thud. But when-he tapped it further down it rang loudly. It was hollow!
Which instantly prompted a second question: was it a hollow shell with something inside of it? A decided possibility. He must look for some way to open it, to get inside.
Brion ran his fingers slowly down the side of the column; it was smooth and unmarked. He got down on his knees to examine the lower half, then lay flat on the ground to look at the bottom. Was that a hairline crack around the base? He pushed hard with the tip of his blade and it went under the metal! The crack was there, running all the way around the base. Although the column was apparently sunk into the solid stone in reality it appeared to have a casing that rested on the surface. As he straightened up something caught his eye, a silvery glint of light, about a foot above the ground.
It was a scratch in the metal.
A closer examination revealed the fact that the scratch had been caused by something that had been fitted into a slot about an inch long a slot with a scribed circle around it.
“A screw head! It looks just like a large screw head. And screws are meant to be turned.”
The only tool he had with him was the knife: it would have to do. He pressed the sharp tip into the groove, then pushed down on the handle. Nothing happened. Harder. He could feel his muscles knot with the strain, could see the knife blade bend. It might snap. That didn’t matter. Harder still …
With a metallic creak the circular piece of metal rotated a fraction of an inch. When he ran his finger over the surface he could feel that it projected slightly; a metal plug, no longer flush with the surface. Now that it had been started, it turned more easily. Around and around, until the head was clear and he could see the shining screw threads below it. More and more so loose now that he could turn it with his fingers. He twisted it out and dropped it to the ground, then bent over and peered into the opening. Blackness, nothing visible. But the bolt must have had some function. Did it hold something in place? What?
He raised the knife to probe the opening with the tip, then thought better of it. It would be far wiser to use his brains than just to probe at random. What had the function of the plug been? Was it designed to cover an opening, with a control of some kind inside it? Possible, but highly improbable. Perhaps it held the outer tube of the column into place? That seemed like a more reasonable possibility.
He bent over and jammed the knife blade against the bottom of the metal tube and managed to force it under a bit, then pulled up. It moved!
By levering back and forth, Brion managed to push the knife blade in as far as it would go, about a half an inch. The tube must now be free to move up and down. He left the knife in position and leaned over to embrace the foot-thick tube, bending his knees and wrapping his arms about it. Holding it to him as tightly as he could he slowly straightened his legs.
Something moved. The metal tube had lifted slightly from the ground. He looked down and saw that it was a good half inch off the stone surface now, still supported by something on the inside. Moving precisely and carefully, so the thing would not drop back, he shifted his grip down and lifted again.
It rose slowly, an inch at a time, until he had raised it a good foot above the ground. He caught a glimpse of a shiny metal surface inside.
Bit by bit he lifted it higher, until he could get his fingertips under the bottom edge. Once this grip was secure he bent his legs until he was squatting on his thighs, took a deep breath and straightened up, lifting smoothly. The metal tube rose up and up then dropped suddenly sideways as it came free.
Brion jumped back as it clanged down on the stone surface. Breathing deeply as he looked at what had been revealed.
Fitted inside a shiny metal frame was a compact electronic apparatus of some kind. There were familiar looking circuit boards with memory nodules, amplifiers and transformers, and all of it connected together by a network of wires. A thick cable emerged from a junction box, and he traced it with his eye down to the solid bulk of an atomic battery that was fitted into place at the base. It was a heavy duty battery which meant that if the drain wasn’t too great this machine might be able to function for years without attention. But what was its function? Almost all of the components were familiar, resembling closely some he had worked with himself. As he looked at it, Brion became aware of a slight humming emanating from the device. Was it functioning? He walked around it and, yes, there were LED displays on the far side, flickering with swift-changing numbers. So it was working, fine. But what was it and what possible connection did it have to do with the war machines?
Brion bent and picked up his knife, then stepped back to look at the thing again. It was an absolute mystery. He raised the blade and aimed it, filled with the sudden impulse to jam it deep into the works. He resisted. That would accomplish nothing, other than his possible electrocution. Could there possibly be any nameplates or identification marks of any kind on the thing? As he bent over for a closer look loud explosions boomed out close behind him.
Reflex sent him hurtling to one side, rolling as he fell, turning and raising the knife before him.
Three men stood there, facing him, men who could not possibly have been there an instant before.
Three men dressed completely in black, with heavy boots and thick pressure suits. Their features were concealed by helmets with reflecting faceplates. All of them carried metal cases of some kind, and they did not appear to be armed. They must have been equally surprised to see him, for they recoiled back from the threat of his knife. Brion straightened slowly and slid the knife back into its sheath and took a step towards the nearest man. The man stepped back and pressed a control at his waist. There was a sharp bang and he vanished just as suddenly as he had appeared.
“What’s happening here? Who are you?” Brion called out, walking forward. The two remaining men fell back before him just as explosions sounded for a third time. They were cracked out in rapid succession as, one after another, and at least a dozen more men appeared dressed in the same outfits.
But these men were armed. Their heavy rifles were raised and pointed in his direction. Brion stood still, making no movements to alarm them. The man in front, with identifying stripes of some kind on his arms, lowered his weapon and touched his helmet. His faceplate opened.
“Who are you?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
17: The Killers
The other armed men were opening their faceplates now.
“Does he understand you, sergeant?” one of them called out.
“That’s a wicked looked knife he’s wearing.”
“Tell him to drop it.”
Brion understood well enough; they were speaking Universal Esperanto, the interstellar language that everyone used in addition to their native tongue. He raised his hand slowly and placed it carefully on his knife. “I’m going to put this on the ground. Just keep your fingers easy on those triggers.”
The Sergeant watched closely, gun pointed, as Brion dropped the knife. When it was on the ground he lowered his gun and stepped forward. He was a grim looking man with slitted eyes, his skin pale above the black smudge of his unshaven jaw.
“You’re not a Gyongyos tech,” the Sergeant said. “Not in that outfit. What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same question, Sergeant,” Brion said. “Explain yourself. I have more questions than you do …”
“Not for me you don’t. I don’t like this at all.” He called back over his shoulder, “Corporal. Jump back and get a pressure suit, a big one. Tell the captain what we’ve found, tell him to let the War Department know at once.”
The crackling explosion sounded again. Brion realized it had something to do with their appearance and disappearance, as though they moved so fast they displaced the air, or left a vacuum like a lightning bolt. Military ranks, reporting to the War Department they must surely have some connection with the mechanized army that had originated here. Perhaps the machines had materialized just the way they did!
“You’re responsible for the tanks and all the armoured vehicles, aren’t you?”
The Sergeant raised his gun. “I’m responsible for nothing except following orders. Now just shut up until you are off my hands. If you want to talk, talk to Intelligence. That’ll make everybody happy.”
Despite the threat of the guns, Brion was overwhelmed by a feeling of success. There had to be a relationship between these people and this embattled planet. The solution was close at hand; he must control his impatience. He watched intently while the technicians, the first group to arrive, worked on the instrument that had been concealed in the heart of the metal column. They hooked leads and meters to it, and appeared to be testing various units and functions. It must have operated correctly because they quickly disconnected their machines, then lifted the metal cover back into place. When it was seating firmly they aligned the opening, then replaced the sealing bolt he had removed. Brion itched to question them, but forced himself to silence. The opportunity would come soon enough. He turned as the familiar crackling bang sounded again. The Corporal had returned with a bundled suit under his arm.
“Lieutenant says to bring him in, got a reception waiting. Here’s the suit.”
The promised reception sounded ominous, but Brion had little choice under the muzzles of the pointing guns. He put the suit on as directed, sealing himself into it. The sergeant slammed the faceplate shut and reached for one of the controls on at Brion’s waist. There was a twisting sensation, impossible to describe, and everything changed on the instant. The valley and the soldiers were gone and he was standing on a metal platform. Bright lights glared down and uniformed soldiers were running towards him. They unsealed the suit and stripped it from him under the supervision of a young officer.
“Come with me,” he ordered Brion. There was no point in protesting at this point; he went quietly. He had a quick glimpse of massive machinery, with heavy wires looping from insulators as thick as his body, before being hustled through a metal door and down the corridor beyond. It was painted a neutral grey, with a number of doors along its length. They stopped before one labelled CORPS 3, opened it and waved Brion inside. He went in and heard it shut behind him.
“Sit in that chair, if you please,” a man said in a quiet voice. He was in a chair of his own, no more than two yards away from Brion. A thin man with pale, drawn skin, his cheekbones clearly outlined below his deep-set eyes, dressed in neutral grey. He smiled at Brion, but it was only a gesture, a movement of the face with no warmth or sincerity behind it. Brion could hear him clearly although they were separated by a transparent wall that divided the small room in half. Brion lowered himself into the chair, the only object of any kind on his side of the barrier.
“I have some questions for you,” Brion said.
“I am sure that you do. And I for you. Shall we do our best to satisfy one another? I am Colonel Hegedus, Opole People’s Army. And you?”
“My name is Brion Brandd. Do I take it then that Corps 3 is military intelligence?”
“It is. How very observing of you. We have no intention of causing you any harm, Brion. We are just very interested in what you planned to do with the Delta Beacon that you had dismantled.”
“Is that what it is called? I was investigating it because I thought it might have something to do with the war on Selm-II.”
“Are you telling me that you are a spy of some kind?”
“Are you telling me that there is something on this planet for me to spy upon?”
“Please, Brion, don’t let us play games. The area where you were found is of great strategic importance as you well know. If you are with Gyongyos intelligence you had better tell me you know how easily we can find out the truth from you.”
“I’m afraid that I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about. The truth is that I am completely mystified by what has happened. I arrived on this planet in the midst of a devastating war …”
“Excuse me, but there is no war on this planet, you know that…” For the first time real emotion shown on Hegedus’s face; sudden shock. “No, you don’t know that, do you. You still think you are on Selm-II. You are not from Gyongyos …”
He reached a sudden decision and leaned over to press a button on the instrument console near his chair. Brion was aware of a sudden jab of pain in his forearm and jerked it upwards. Too late. The gleaming needle sank back into the arm of his chair, its work done. He tried to stand, then realized that he could not. Nor could he keep his eyes open. He plunged into blackness …
