Edge of the Wire, page 19
“Yeah, maybe,” said Waverly.
Neither man was sure what things would be like once they got inside the tank interior. They advanced until a massive white hexagonal wall finally began to loom ahead. The lower half of the wall was almost totally coated with buttons—now lightless, gray, and dead—and sockets for electrical devices. A series of doors, each bigger than the last, was set into the center of the wall; a door within a door within a door, many times over. But the smallest of these doors—just big enough for a human to pass through—was located at the very base of the wall. And it was ajar . . .
Rowe and Waverly looked at one another. Then, once more, Rowe turned back to Collins.
“Y’all want us to go on in?” he called.
Collins and her team were perhaps fifty feet back.
“Yes, but wait for us inside,” she called in reply.
Rowe nodded.
“Canary in a coal mine,” Waverly said quietly.
“Me first,” said Rowe.
Rowe pushed at the metal door; it swung easily the rest of the way open. Beyond was a giant room of stark blackness. Rowe could see no more than ten feet ahead. He turned up the green lights of his enviro-suit as bright as they would go, and stepped through.
He was in a massive emptiness that felt like an unused soundstage—all tinted olive green by his light. It just went on and on. There was only blackness on the horizon ahead, and the ceiling so high above them.
Waverly stepped through behind Rowe.
With the noise and light of Collins and her team momentarily cut off by the wall, the men felt abruptly alone.
“I’ve never been inside something so large,” Rowe whispered. “It’s like being in an empty sports stadium. One that you snuck into after midnight with your friends.”
“What are we really gonna do if that thing’s here?” Waverly asked.
“I don’t know,” Rowe replied. “Let’s wait for Collins. I’ve been thinking some things over. I want to talk to her about that very question.”
They stood just past the door at the edge of the vast black and green emptiness until Collins and her team arrived. As each team member stepped through the doorway, the light inside the storage vault increased. The tint changed from artificial green to artificial daylight.
Waverly clapped his hands very hard, just once, to listen for an echo. The response did not disappoint. In the enclosed space, the report was like a gunshot, and the noise careened the length of the vault, seeming to go on and on forever.
Waverly looked around and smiled. After the echo faded entirely, he opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by another sound.
The low creaking moan—distinct, clear, and now very close—came back from the dark end of the vault as if in answer. It was deep and ominous and nearly deafening. The Silkworms could feel it vibrating their entire bodies.
Waverly reflexively raised both of his hands, spread his fingers, and froze—signaling that he would do nothing of the sort again.
Collins nodded to her team. Two of them—a man and a woman—activated mechanisms on their suits that spawned bright blue neon coatings down their right arms. As Rowe and Waverly watched in surprise, the suits worn by these Silkworms transformed until the arms became what anyone, on any planet, would immediately recognize as an enormous gun. Rowe and Waverly had never seen weapons like these, but they certainly looked more powerful than standard issue enviro-suit railguns. The blue gun-arms thrummed with power and danger, like hives of angry bees.
“These are Mackley and Wilbourn,” Collins said softly. “They will accompany you and your friend. ‘Friends’ I should say, for I want Noyes alert and at your shoulder. Talk to him if you like, but I want you talking as you proceed toward the end of the vault. You’re narrating, get me? Anything the Goo tells you, or anything you see in your display, you are talking about it. Anything Noyes identifies, you are talking about it. Anything you see, you say it aloud. Have you got me?”
“Sure, but . . . um . . . can we just hang on a second?” Rowe said.
“What?” said Collins, growing stern and impatient. “Was something I just told you unclear?”
“No,” said Rowe. “I mean . . . yes. What do you know that I don’t? I don’t feel like I have the whole story here.”
Collins projected barely-contained outrage.
“Silkworm, this is not a situation—here, on the precipice of an interaction with an undiscovered alien life form—where how you feel enters into it,” she said. “I require you to follow my commands. I am literally your commander. I command. You obey.”
“But I don’t understand why we are doing things this way . . . or even what we are doing,” Rowe replied. “The Goo wants to understand what is happening, yes? And it needs us to wire the planet. I get all of that. But it feels like there are a million simpler ways to reach that goal than me walking into this darkness to antagonize . . . whatever this is. I can’t see the new information that the Goo up above the clouds gave you, but if it has new models of this situation, then I think we deserve to know what they are. I think we deserve—”
“Mackley, Wilbourn,” Collins barked. “You will shoot Mister Rowe if he fails to obey my commands.”
“Yes ma’am,” they returned in near-unison.
“What the fuck is this?” Waverly objected, stepping in front of Rowe as if to shield him. “What did he do?”
“Shoot the other one as well, if you need to,” Collins added.
Mackley and Wilbourn shared an expression that said it would be their pleasure.
“It’d only take a moment to tell us what is going on here . . .” Rowe objected, utterly flummoxed. “If we knew the situation, our ability to assist you would only be improved.”
“Now, now,” Collins said. “As every Silkworm learns in the Academy, you can’t serve the Goo if you’re dead. And you want to serve the Goo, don’t you?”
“I’m already dead, almost,” Rowe pointed out.
Collins opened her mouth to engage with this point, but thought better of it.
She collected her thoughts for another instant, then simply pronounced: “Do what I say—right now—or these Silkworms will kill you—right now. And if you try to do anything to them, I will kill you personally.”
Collins pressed a button on her suit near the hip. A spring-loaded compartment opened, and from it she withdrew a weapon Rowe had never seen before.
“What the hell is that?” Waverly asked as Collins raised it up. “A museum piece?”
“This is a 1911 automatic handgun that fires bullets propelled by gunpowder,” Collins said, pointing the barrel in their direction. “An antique, but it works just fine. Best of all, it relies on no technology, AI, or battery power in order to kill you.”
“Shoot that thing in here, and the creature’s going to charge us immediately,” Waverly said. “Is that what you want?”
“Maybe it is,” Collins replied. “But you’ll be dead, so you’ll never know, will you?”
Collins contorted her face into the sternest of glowers. She looked back and forth between Rowe and Waverly, as if to ask if they had anything more to say.
Apparently, they did not.
“Okay then,” Collins said. “Conversation over. Now walk.”
Mackley and Wilbourn gave them a prod with their vibrating blue guns.
Rowe and Waverly started walking. Slowly. Mackley and Wilbourn joined in beside them.
“Some nice pea shooters you got there,” Waverly said, inclining his head to examine the glowing blue weapons. “Sure look like they sure could vaporize an alien. Or an enviro-suit.”
Mackley and Wilbourn both smiled, perhaps to say that was the idea.
“You will initially attempt to communicate with the creature,” Collins ordered, still with the 1911 leveled at Rowe’s back. “Attacking it is a last resort.”
“It looks like we’re really well prepared for the last resort, is all I’m saying,” Waverly said.
“Walk faster,” ordered Collins. “Only when something seems out of the ordinary should you stop. And you aren’t talking yet, Mister Rowe. Start talking! Tell us about what you see and hear and feel. You see anything that looks alive? You tell us that too. The rest of my team will wait here with me. You have a very long way to go into that darkness, I expect. Pick it up.”
“But we’ll move out of your earshot . . . won’t we?” Rowe said as he paced forward.
“Our enviro-suits are different than yours,” Collins said. “Our hearing amplifiers are better. Just continue speaking in a normal voice, and we’ll hear you fine.”
Rowe did not know what to say.
Normal.
No part of this was normal.
“Pagebrin, gentlemen and lady,” Collins said seriously.
Now this . . . This made Rowe want to vomit.
How did Collins see fit to invoke that most ancient and essential language? How, at a time like this? How, in such corrupted and perverted circumstances?
How, with a Colt 1911 pointed at another Silkworm?
Yet the answer to the call was ingrained. An automatic reflex. Probably impossible to fight.
“Pagebrin,” they returned. Even Rowe said it.
Then, four abreast, the Silkworms headed off into the darkness.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WAVERLY ACTIVATED THE RAILGUN ON HIS SUIT AS THEY WALKED. ROWE lifted his head and looked back and forth quickly. Mackley and Wilbourn remained silent.
“She didn’t say for us to do that,” he whispered.
“She didn’t say not to do it either,” Waverly replied. “It makes me feel better. What if I have to protect myself? Anyhow, shouldn’t you be narrating?”
“Yes,” Collins called. “He should be.”
Rowe glanced back. Collins worked her fingers in anticipation around the pistol’s grip.
Rowe had seen recordings of wine sommeliers who could taste a wine and speak about its characteristics—more or less nonstop—until their free flow of adjectives allowed them to hit upon the grape, region, vintner, and even production year. It was a remarkable skill that had always impressed him. He thought of this now as he began to speak freely, and wondered if his own words would similarly cause him to arrive at some determination or conclusion that had not yet come together in his mind.
He wondered if he would like it when he got there.
Rowe took a deep breath and began.
“We’re walking . . . We’re walking . . . Do I need to say that we’re walking? Maybe I’ll do that if there’s nothing else to say. We’re walking. Still walking. I can see the darkness ahead of us. I can see to the edge of where our lights go. There’s nothing so far. Nothing beyond that. We’re walking. There is nothing. There is still nothing. There is . . . There is grit and dust and gravel on the floor. It’s just at the edge of the darkness ahead. There is grit and gravel on the floor of this vault. Not a lot of it. Wait. Wait. Okay, now there’s a lot of it. Not piles or mounds, but a thin layer across the floor. Enough to almost entirely coat the floor. The grit is gray and there are small bits of green. Small bits of shining green that reflect in our lights. It’s like what I think would happen if you took the ground outside and dug it up and smashed it and spread it out down here. Does that make sense? I’m going to assume that makes sense and just keep talking. We’re walking and I can’t see anything else in the darkness above the grit on the floor. There’s just darkness above and ahead. We’re close to it now. Close to the grit. It will be underfoot soon. One moment. Okay, we’re stepping onto it now. It’s a lot like the ground outside. It’s . . . Hang on, I see something big. I’m going to walk just a little more slowly. I’m walking slowly already, but let’s just downshift a little more. I’m downshifting. I’m walking . . . I’m walking . . . I’m looking while I’m walking. There’s . . . It’s a boulder ahead. A big rock. Maybe three, four feet tall. Now there are more of them. Is it like a forest of them? No. I think no. It’s more like a cluster, all of them the same size. One cluster. I don’t see anything else. We’re gonna go really slow and train our lights on the cluster.”
The Silkworms focused their beams on the rocks, but the illumination revealed nothing further. The shadows danced and played behind the boulders whenever their lights moved.
Waverly whispered: “How would the thing look if it were sleeping or resting? Does it sleep with the five wheels on its side?”
“I don’t think that’s the thing,” Rowe answered. “I think that’s just rocks.”
“Okay,” said Waverly. “But my question stands. How will we know it when we see it?”
“I’m wondering if the thing has taken soil from outside and made this—made its own habitat down here,” Rowe said. “Those boulders are big, but you could fit them through some of the doorways. Is it trying to hide here? Or is it a bird decorating its nest?”
Waverly shrugged.
Rowe returned to his narration.
“We’re moving deeper in. We’re walking. We’re walking. We’re walking past the cluster. We’re walking and looking at the boulders and also looking in front of us. Picking up speed again now. Going at a good clip. Now there is what I think is another cluster up ahead. A group of more boulders. We’re gonna head over toward it. We’re walking. Getting nearer. Still getting nearer. Still getting nearer . . . Yep, it’s another cluster just at the edge of darkness. I’m looking closely and I’m not seeing anything.”
Then the cat got Rowe’s tongue, for he saw a sight that he hesitated to describe. His gait slowed to no more than a crawl.
Eventually, he found the words.
“I think I’m seeing something that looks like a person in an enviro-suit . . . or a person wearing some kind of big coat or overcoat. It’s definitely the outline of a person. The person is standing. I can’t see any details. It’s just a shadow. No face. Not moving. Wait. Wait, there are more of them . . . Okay, now I see three human outlines. One, two, three. They’re standing and not moving. I can’t tell which way they’re facing. I can’t tell their fronts from backs. They’re like permanent shadows. They don’t appear to have features. I . . . I’m going to try to talk to one, I guess. I can’t think of what else to do. I’m going to walk up and try to talk to it.”
Rowe took a proper step forward, yet even as he opened his mouth to speak, he froze like a mannequin.
When he did speak again, it was very softly.
“Okay, I see it. I see the thing of five wheels. These three figures are sort of standing equidistant around it, like triangle points. Like they’re guarding it. The thing is in the center. It doesn’t look the way it looked before. It’s stacked. The wheels are stacked up like a column. But I—I’m pretty sure this is it.”
Waverly and the other Silkworms paused and regarded the beast as well. They focused their lights upon it. (Rowe had time to wonder if concentrated light might awaken or arouse it, but before he could worry about that, it was already done. The illumination had happened.)
The thing of five wheels rested on the ground. The wheels, no longer moving, had been rotated, and they sat horizontally. Something invisible and softly vibrating still separated them. The thing still rippled with life. A translucent force around the wheels was moving like a flow of water; subtle, but certainly there.
The other two Silkworms, Mackley and Wilbourn, raised their crackling blue gun arms.
Rowe lifted a hand to say Stop.
“Let’s at least wait for Collins,” he told them in a whisper.
There was a familiar unbuckling noise.
“What are you doing?” Mackley asked.
Rowe looked over and saw that Waverly had removed the helmet of his enviro-suit.
“Fuck this,” Waverly whispered, continuing to disrobe.
“What are you doing?” Rowe asked.
“Those standing figures aren’t real,” Waverly announced. “They’re being projected into our Goo by that thing. Something to scare away enemies while it sleeps or rests.”
“No,” Rowe said confidently.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Waverly whisper-shouted back. “With my helmet off, I can’t see them. Try it yourself.”
Rowe realized his friend had misunderstood him.
“No, it’s not asleep,” said Rowe. “It’s in wait. Those aren’t guards to ward away enemies. They’re lures.”
“What?” said Waverly.
“It’s not asleep,” Rowe carefully reiterated. “In fact, I expect it is very aware right now.”
As if sensing his words, the three shadowy figures began to shift on their feet. They were like security guards who had been standing for a long time and were now moving their weight around. It was a subtle but effective maneuver. Jiggle the bait to make it look alive.
Rowe risked a glance back over his right shoulder. He saw Collins and the rest of the Silkworms walking toward them now. They looked silent and intense. They were not close yet, but quickly gaining ground.
Rowe swiveled his head back toward the thing of five wheels . . . and suddenly things seemed to happen with incredible intensity and at surreal speed.
The thing of five wheels raised itself up—gradually attaining the height of a man, and then slightly more than that. Its discs began to rotate thoughtfully. It hesitated an instant. Bobbing up and down. Looking for a target.
And then Rowe’s reality began to explode.
A great noise like a primal scream assailed his ears. The visual display within his enviro-suit conjured a strange and ecstatic horror. Waves of images came at Rowe like race cars on a track, each so fast that it was almost impossible to identify distinct shapes. Yet they grew larger and larger until Rowe understood that they fell into two categories. The images in the upper half of his display were eyes—monstrous, aware, and bloodthirsty—and the ones in the lower half of his screen were mouths full of teeth.
See the food; eat the food.
The arch-fear. The fear of eld. The most primal fear.
The fear that you were about to be another creature’s meal.
One thing was true all across the known universe: Everything had to eat, and there was always a chance that you were the food.
