The plain was dark, not a hair away from pitch-black. The giant shadow of the Massarat range had plunged the Great Desert into essential night. Only the sky directly above held any hint of quickly fading gray.
Number Two sat stolidly at the base of the mountain, the gleaming of its hull quenched, its thirty meters made infinitesimal next to the twenty-kilometer-high peak. The plain was lightly covered with snow, representing what little moisture the air on that side of the mountain had managed to sneak over some of the lower peaks. The wind whipped it into snarls, curled and tightened it around the jagged rocks that littered the plain. Sand, too, was lifted by the wind and hurled against the shuttle with the snow. Pike listened, hypnotized, to the incessant assault on the hull. He would alternately nod off to sleep, lulled into drowsiness by the level rat-a-tat-tat, only to be awakened abruptly by a sudden gust of wind escalating the fierce clash of quartz and silicon against tarnished metal.
He finally stood and switched on the front beam, pointing it up the slope. The light was lost on the rocks. It could have been ten meters or a hundred, even a thousand, and he wouldn’t have been able to tell how far he was seeing.
Paddelack paced the cabin in such agitation that one might have thought it
feigned. I don’t understand you,
he said, as
he had said many times before. First you risk our
necks getting us out of Konndjlan, then we almost get killed trying to land
in that incredible wind, and now you want to have us surely done in by
climbing back onto that fortress. If we don’t freeze on the mountain or
blow off in this hurricane—the most likely thing that will happen—the
Gostum will certainly have our heads once we find a way in.
No. If I am correct, they want us more than that.
If you are correct? Have you forgotten that they
did their best to kill us when we tried to get out the first time?
Are you sure? Were they trying to kill us, or just
keep us at Konndjlan?
Paddelack spun around. Those wounds were
certainly real!
he shouted, waving his arms. And what about Barbalan? Do you know what they will
do to her? Do you have any idea?
He was standing without a shirt on,
and his ribs looked as if they were doing their best to break through his
skin.
Pike sat down again in the chair, letting his chest collapse in long
exhalations. I will take responsibility for
Barbalan—
Empty promises! What good is responsibility if
they kill her? What good is your fancy responsibility then?
If they want us as much as I think they do, they will
forgive Barbalan. In fact, I will make that a condition for our help.
Let me find out how she feels about this,
Paddelack said as he turned to Barbalan, who sat on the floor plaiting her
long, shiny black hair. Her slender fingers ran through it unhindered,
skillfully weaving and twining the strands. When she had braided up fully
half her hair, she would just as dexterously untie it and begin again. She
had said little since they left Daryephna, even less than usual, and when
questioned about the strange room she had found and what Paddelack had
taken to be the source of the Fear itself, she would—or could—say nothing.
Now, when questioned about her probably fate, she shrugged. He may be right. If he isn’t, I will certainly die,
but then I have little choice, do I? So what matters it?
They why did you help us?
Pike asked after her
words had been translated. Because of Paddelack?
Paddelack asked her. Barbalan did not stop unbraiding her hair. Indeed, it
seemed as if that were her primary concern, not answering questions put to
her. She did smile, faintly, to herself. Amusement. Boredom, perhaps. What is one to do as a
Gostum other than train to fight unseen enemies? Why not put the training
to use? What difference does it make? I got you out, now you go back.
Pike grinned. Well, I think it is time we got ready to
climb. Rope, lights, tents, parkas…they’re all in those storage cabinets. I
am prepared.
That’s mighty fine. It’s been cooling off here in
the shade; night comes quickly over a desert, and I suspect it is fairly
negative by now. Let’s hope we can stand up in the wind.
Let’s hope.
For every meter they rose vertically, Pike estimated that they must have walked at least three times that horizontally, which made Konndjlan farther away than straight up. Barbalan had assured them that they were indeed on the path to Konndjlan, that she had recognized the narrow path that cut up the mountain. How she could be so sure, with the only evidence being some rocks under a lantern beam pointing the way, Pike did not know. How they had managed to find the right mountain in the fading light, Pike was not so sure, either. He was sure that they had been walking for hours. That was about the only thing of which he was certain, except that gravity was acting against them and that it was dark above and dark below. The wind was impossible, shrieking in their ears, making every step a dangerous one. The snow, whipped by the wind, was blinding. Pike was beginning to take for granted the frequent slips of feet on ice, and the aches in his bruised legs were no longer novel causes for complaint.
Finally, hours after they had begun the climb, Pike collapsed. Enough for tonight,
he shouted to Paddelack, tugging
at the rope that attached him to his companions. I
can’t go any farther.
The night will still be with us when we’ve
rested.
Paddelack began unfastening the tent from his back. But you’re right, enough for now.
Pike tried to release the rope, but his hand stayed clenched around it, cramped or frozen or both. He was beginning to understand. Paddelack found a relatively quiet space between two large rocks that was sheltered from the wind, and pitched the tent. The tent, made of several layers of reinforced aluminized mylar, the same that Two-Bit Transportation used to ship liquid helium. It held heat well. Inside, Pike loosened his clothing, took off his boots, curled up into a corner, and fell asleep. Paddelack and Barbalan soon joined him.
Indeed, when Pike awoke and cleared his eyes, the night had not left
them. He knew by now, of course, that it would not leave them for more than
another six months, maybe even seven, but the thought still made little
sense to him. He tried to stretch his legs and found an almost paralyzed
thigh. But as another pair of legs was lacking, these would have to do, and
he set about exercising them. He broke open an unlabeled food packet and
began munching on a crunchy wafer. Tell me about the
Gostum, Paddelack.
Paddelack yawned. All I know is that the Gostum
were evicted from Triesk by a group led by a certain Lashgar. Evidently
there was a split over where to set up the main base while waiting for the
Polkraitz to return. Most of the Gostum, who originally seemed to have had
some power over the Trieskans, were killed, but those that weren’t came
south to Liddlefur, the other colony that had been set up down here. Which
means they must have had shuttles of some kind. Anyway, the Liddlefurans
who were here already didn’t seem to get along with the Gostum too well,
either, so the Gostum moved over to Konndjlan, where they have been ever
since. Up at Triesk? Who knows? I wonder if the place still exists. How
would you like to face Patra-Bannk after a war when probably half your
people are dead? Triesk probably died of exposure the first Patra—if not
the first Bannk.
And the Polkraitz themselves? The rulers, I take
it. Who were they?
I guess those originally in charge of the
operation here. Rulers? I don’t know if that’s the best term. But they
left, that’s for sure. The Gostum like to think the Polkraitz were on their
side in the matter of where to maintain the base, but I don’t know if
that’s true at all. Dates tend to blur when we look back, especially on
Patra-Bannk, and I see no reason to view the Polkraitz and the Gostum as
necessary contemporaries. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. The two
factions at Triesk could have developed after the Polkraitz left. Trouble
with Polkraitz theorizing is that there’s no evidence. You can make up any
story you like and no one can disprove you.
Does she know who they were?
asked Pike, ignoring
Paddelack’s admonition.
Paddelack relayed the question. Barbalan shrugged. Who cares? They seem to have brought us to
Patra-Bannk a long time ago and are not here any longer. Does it really
matter?
Pike twisted his face in annoyance. It matters if we
are to find out what that city means. It matters if the Gostum think we are
Polkraitz—
Does it?
Barbalan asked.
What do you mean?
I don’t think you are Polkraitz, whatever the
Golun-Patra and other prophecies foretell. May people must think you
Polkraitz, perhaps not. Even Fara-Ny, who is wise with age, who knows? But
I tell you this: above all, anyone who survives on Patra-Bannk must be
practical, and the Gostum are more practical people than those of
Liddlefur and Massarat. Your presence will be made the most of, that I can
foretell. So what matters it if you are really Polkraitz?
Doesn’t anything matter to you?
Pike snapped. You help us escape Konndjlan seemingly just for fun, in
disregard for your own life, come back in even more disregard, sit quietly
while we abandon you for a city, get lost for weeks and think nothing of
it, and now you say your entire history is of no consequence. What matters
to you, anyway?
Barbalan chuckled, almost giggled. What you say
may indeed be true, but only because it is so nonessential. I sit at
Konndjlan and see the mountains rearing up mightily over my head and the
Great Desert extending to the horizon and no doubt far beyond. You show me
a Polkraitz map which shows that Triesk is one hundred thousand kilometers
north of here, and then take me across an ocean half again as far as
that. Some of the older Gostum argue the world is flat, even though the
younger think otherwise because of that same map and the secret of the
Fairtalian; at least this I am told. Flat or round, the size of Patra-Bannk
is to me inconceivable. What does one hundred thousand kilometers mean to
me? I have a hard enough time feeling the distance to the ocean, which is
only several hundred. And yet, in addition, I am told the Polkraitz built
great cities, like the one we saw, and roamed the Universe like
yourselves. All this makes me feel even more insignificant, that nothing I
can do really makes any difference whatsoever.
I’m afraid that all sounds very negative and
fatalistic,
interjected Pike thoughtfully.
Not at all. That is what is essential. My
insignificance gives me the freedom to do what I like, unencumbered by
worries of consequences. Knowing I mean so little frees me from fear of
death, as my death means no more than the death of an ant.
Barbalan
paused now, almost out of breath. She didn’t think she had ever spoken so
much at one time before. But I must admit that now
I must stay alive and will have to be careful.
Why is that?
I must get you two to Konndjlan.…
And?
Barbalan lowered her head and released her hair, dropping her hands to the
ground between her crossed legs. That is all.
The climb continued. Pike counted five hours in his head, but his body counted a hundred. Neither estimate made any sense. The path grew steeper, until it was becoming a real climb and not a walk. Snow was piled in drifts here, alternately covering and unveiling the sharp edges of rock and flat gray faces.
Suddenly Pike felt a tug on his rope and heard a shout near him. The path is ended. Rocks and snow block it. We have to
make our own path here.
For a brief moment Pike thought that he was crazy trying to climb a mountain in the dark, in gale-force wind or greater, and in such biting cold. He tightened the hood around his face and made sure there was no exposed skin for the wind to make numb.
A little while later, Paddelack scrambled to the top of a ledge with Pike’s
help, sat down, collapsed in a heap, and grumbled aloud: Has it occurred to you that we might miss
Konndjlan entirely? We could already be on top of it for all I know.
Pike leaned over and touched heads so that he could be heard without
screaming his lungs out. Have some faith, Paddy.
Faith in Lashgar? Certainly not in Sarek.
Faith in Barbalan and that she knows where she is
going, I’d say.
Barbalan?
Paddelack looked around. Where is she?
A little ahead, I assumed.
Paddelack grabbed the rope that attached Pike to Barbalan and pulled. It
came away slack. What the—
He pulled again
until he reached the end of the rope, clip and all. It didn’t break—how could this stuff break?—it’s
unfastened.
Paddelack scanned the rock wall with his lantern. Snow
here, snow there. Just rock and snow. He rushed ahead, unthinking. More
snow. Barbalan! Can you hear me? Barbalan!
There was no answer except the shriek of the wind.
He knelt at the snowbank and found a small hole from which he had pulled
the rope. He began digging. Pike bent to his knees and flung the snow out
behind him, only to have it blown back by the wind. The snow was soft,
loosely packed. Could there have been a slide? Paddelack became frantic. He
cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted: Barbalan, if you can hear me, try to move. Maybe the
snow will shift and we will see where you are.
They dug for a telclad
more and found nothing.
I don’t think she is here,
Pike announced flatly
as he sat back against the ledge.
Where else could she be? There might be a deep
gulley here. She could have fallen in and then the snow piled on top of
her.
I don’t think it is that deep,
Pike shouted back
over the howling wind. I think she is gone. She was
worried about what might happen to her at Konndjlan. Perhaps she just
unfastened the rope and ran away, Paddy. That is conceivable, her cockeyed
philosophy notwithstanding.
A Gostum? Even with her philosophy, a Gostum
afraid of death? Gostum are afraid of little, least of all dying.
She did say she had to stay alive.
I didn’t understand that at all.
Pike shrugged. Look, she’s either dead or gone. You
can’t have it both ways. And in either case, there is nothing we can do
about it. I suggest we settle down for a few hours and see if she comes
back.
Pike brushed the snow off himself, found a sheltered position
under an overhang, and began unpacking the tent.
Paddelack said nothing as he climbed in. He took off only his hood and fell into a fitful sleep.
When Pike awoke, his companion had evidently been long up. Pike took some food from his pack and ate in silence.
Doesn’t it even bother you that she’s gone?
Paddelack finally broke out, close to tears.
Pike cleared his throat. Of course. She was very
helpful and I certainly appreciated her company. But she is gone now and I
don’t see what we can do about it, except go on.
Go on? Go where? We don’t have the faintest idea
of where we are going! We could climb forever and miss that fortress in the
dark.
We will go on and try to find Konndjlan.
You can kill yourself for all I care, but I won’t
let you kill me! This is a wild-goose chase.
You know I’m doing this for your own good. This is the
only way to get to what we seek: the metallic hydrogen, and the only way to
get you off Patra-Bannk. But look, I’ll trade a bronze with you; first
we’ll look for Barbalan again. If we don’t find her, we continue for…for
one more day. If we don’t sight Konndjlan today, we turn back.
Today? Do you mean a Patra-Bannk day?
Don’t go nonlinear! Do you think I like putting up
with your blatherings? Within the next six hours, or whatever the
equivalent.
Paddelack began to tremble. Long ago I forgot
what an hour was.
Barbalan was dead or missing. That was an easy conclusion to reach, as there were no other possibilities. Paddelack became deadly silent and would not speak at all. Pike wandered about with his lamp, trying to find a way out of a dead end in which they had trapped themselves. He passed the beam over a rock wall and spotted a small chimney extending upward.
I think there is a path less than ten meters above
us,
he said, grabbing Paddelack. Pike wasn’t sure he believed it
himself.
Pike wedged himself in the chimney and began to shinny up with short thrusts of his legs. Paddelack followed, moving slowly. Pike bent to give him a hand as he emerged, struggling, from the top.
Pike’s eyes met another rock wall, this one extending upward indefinitely. He heard himself sigh. The snow was piled high in places or blown away completely. The beam cut through the swirling white, seemed to bend itself in the terrific gale. Pike swung once and back again. The light caught a tall, cylindrical object and separated it out from the gorge wall. The guard turret. The road to Massarat. They were at the Konndjlan gate. Pike remembered his swift ride in the opposite direction several months earlier and smiled in a brief moment of nostalgia for adventures past.
We were right underneath it all the time!
Paddelack exclaimed. I’ll bet Barbalan went on
ahead.
Pike didn’t bet.
Another swing of the light showed that the gate was open. Curious that they should leave it open, wouldn’t you
say?
Hmm,
Paddelack replied, not so sure. They wouldn’t have been expecting
invaders now—if they ever do; the drawbridge is open, anyway, probably to
keep the weight of the snow off it.
Perhaps you’re right.
Pike walked through the
gate, untrusting eyes on the slab hanging above his head. The slab let him
pass unharmed. No Gostum leaped out to attack him. The only sound was the
whipping of the wind through the narrow gorge. Now,
how do we get across that gap?
he mumbled, already knowing the answer.
The same way we did last time.
Paddelack
unslung the rope from his shoulder.
Thanks.
If Barbalan came this way,
Pike said once he
was on the other side of the crevice, then she walked
very lightly—
—or the wind blew away her footprints.
Believe what you like.
Within a moment they were at the lift. Even in the dark the cliff wall didn’t look as high as it did when the Gostum had descended with them. They went up, cranking away at the winch—obviously repaired in their absence. The lift jerked to a halt at their destination.
Well, here we are, do you believe it?
Pike turned
to enter the tunnel was was confronted by a massive wooden door strapped
with iron and impregnated with bolts. It was not a door to be broken. They
searched for an opening mechanism. But if one existed, it was well hidden
in the dark.
Should have expected this, I supposed,
Paddelack said as he sat down on the lift. Can
always blast it out if you’re anxious.
Not very elegant, I’d say.
We haven’t been elegant in anything we’ve done so
far; why worry about it now?
One is elegant when the situation presents itself for
an elegant solution.
And how do you know when that occasion arises?
Take this situation, for instance. It seems to me that
an elegant solution will present itself shortly, so I shall just wait for
it to come to me.
Paddelack leans back against the wall. Good
luck,
he said dryly.
Just then the door swung open in the middle and two armed Gostum, clothed in heavy parkas, appeared. Paddelack jumped up, his hand on his holster. Pike remained motionless.
Hold on,
he said, steadying Paddelack.
The Gostum motioned the two men to enter and did nothing to harm them.
How did you know?
Paddelack gasped.
To quote an oft-repeated phrase by a well-known
colleague: They’re Gostum, aren’t they?
Pike grinned under his hood. Elegant enough for you? Try being a poet occasionally; it
will do you good.
Paddelack remained thoughtfully silent and followed the Gostum into Konndjlan.
The guards were silent as they led the Aliens through two more doors and finally up the moving floor.
They really are concerned with security,
Pike
remarked as they passed through a third door. He unzippered his hood.
No, just insulation.
The stables were filled with hundreds of grask and the balcony above was lined with Gostum, all dressed heavily. Pike could see his breath expand into the cavern. The old leader called Fara-Ny shuffled forward, burdened by clothing as well as by age. The other Gostum parted as he walked down the ramp, and he brushed them aside with a long sweep of his hand. The young blond-haired Effrulyn was never far from his side, but his eyes were never near.
Let me admire your escape,
Fara-Ny said. Such has rarely been accomplished.
Pike glanced at Paddelack.
He says he liked our escape,
Paddelack told
him.
At least he has good taste.
Has Barbalan returned here?
Paddelack asked
carefully.
No, she has not, and it is well for her that she
has not,
Fara-Ny leaned on his walking staff, the two-meter-long rod
that stood taller by an arm’s length than Fara-Ny himself.
Tell him that we have come to give consideration to
the Triesk matter.
Paddelack translated.
Fara-Ny did not change his expression; he stood there as if he had heard
nothing. We expected as much. Is he the
Commander?
he asked Paddelack, pointing a long fingernail at Pike.
Paddelack smirked. Yes.
Good. Let us then adjourn to warmer quarters where
the fires are burning and our breath is invisible.
Paddelack and Pike were taken to the same room in which they had been kept before. A great fire burned in the corner, funneling its suffocating smoke up a chimney to places unknown. Nonetheless, a small bird was caged near the fire to serve as an early warning for any troubles. Pike walked slowly to the pool and removed a soiled glove and dipped his hand into the blue-tinted water. It was heated.
Suitable clothes will be brought for you here,
Fara-Ny said, and left them alone.
A splendid prison, didn’t I tell you?
Much better than the Crimson for the Patra,
and I think we might enjoy it this time, if we don’t get
claustrophobic.
Even better than Massarat, and I hope we know
what we are getting into.
Pike stretched out on one of the large red cushions and sank down as to
become almost invisible. Look,
he said, voice
rising out of the valley, we want to get to
Triesk. Staying here is better than staying on the Crimson or, as
you said, Massarat. When the Patra is over, we’ll fly up there for a few
days and find out whatever it is that they want us to find out.
Pike
thought about the ships under Daryephna. Did that make sense? Yes, he
thought it did. There may be nothing there that can be
useful to the Gostum, but it is worth the winter here to satisfy their
curiosity.
Paddelack swirled the water in the pool and rubbed his legs with a coarse
sponge. He spat out a mouthful of water. I’ve
told you before not to underestimate the Gostum. I’m telling you that again
right now. I don’t know what is at Triesk; I don’t know if anything is
there at all. But I do know that the Gostum won’t stop looking for it until
Triesk is a heap of ashes.
Don’t be nonsensical…
Pike said absently, and
began to fall asleep.
When he awoke he was surrounded by three male Gostum, including the mathematician. The blond-haired boy scowled when Pike winked an eye at him and motioned the others to put down their heavy burdens. Paddelack got up when two servants approached him, and he let them dress him. His attendant took a long tunic of gray off his right arm, placed it over Paddelack’s head, and tied it in front. The tunic was coarse and scratchy, and Paddelack hitched his shoulders in an attempt to remove the discomfort. The Gostum then unfolded a long blue robe, deep inky-blue edged with elaborate golden embroidery. The gold was tinged with red, flames that shot up into a late-evening sky. Paddelack was pleased as he slipped his arm into the loose sleeve. Slippers: wooden, soled hard, but with sewn-in socks and laced with leather. Paddelack wished he had a mirror in which to admire himself, until he saw Pike.
An emerald-green robe hung heavily from his companion’s shoulders, trailing on the floor but not concealing the outline of his muscular body. The green became crisscrossed with gleaming metal as, with infinite care, a shimmering net was lowered over his neck. On his back was placed a grask hide, the strands of the rare black breed falling across his shoulders down to his forearm.
The two men stared at each other with eyes wide open, not laughing, not believing, either. Effrulyn beckoned them toward the doorway. Paddelack took a step in that direction, but Effrulyn’s hand stayed him until Pike had passed.
The passageway was lined with torches. A draft carried their sooty smoke with it. Below each torch stood a Gostum, each one silent, their faces craggy landscapes in the flickering orange.
Effrulyn led them past the torches, through recently familiar corridors to the big council chamber. The line of Gostum stretched off behind them, each guard taking his place in the march as Pike and Paddelack strode by.
Pike glanced at Paddelack for some information, but Paddelack only shook his head.
They entered the hall and Pike once again noted the relief carved around the upper perimeter. Figures crouching at one end, a formless mass, growing more distinct and standing apart as the scene progressed along the wall. Always clusters of one, two…seven, Pike counted. Now Fara-Ny stood opposite him, beckoning with a gnarled finger, surrounded by cross-legged Gostum seated on the floor. Behind Fara-Ny two clocks were now raised. One Pike had seen before, short and squat, lying on a table; the other was new to him, tall and slender, marked by a slowly swinging pendulum. Effrulyn took his place next to Fara-Ny and dropped the Angles on their special stand. He bent down to them, head out of sight, and remained obscure until his nod was seen by Fara-Ny.
You will both stand here,
Fara-Ny said.
And you will translate as well,
Paddelack
heard the whisper in his ear.
Softly at first, invisibly slowly, Pike heard the pulse begin. Thump thump thump, then again; three distinct pitches: low, high, down a little. Thump thump thump…Now a change: thump space thump thump, all the same pitch. Then both together, and the cycle repeated itself after an undetermined time. The torches continued to flicker undisturbed.
Fara-Ny put out his hand toward the two men and began a chant, in curious asynchronism with the drums, in constant opposition to the click-clack of the great pendulum clock, all pounding in Pike’s head. Paddelack whispered after Fara-Ny, first out of rhythm, then catching up, then falling behind once more.
Pike felt as if he were suspended in space and time, unable to move. A ruby
ring was thrust upon his finger, scraping the skin. A golden bracelet,
thick and heavy, was placed round one wrist. His throat was encircled by a
dull gray necklace, bound with a stab of fire searing the neck. Into his
right hand was thrust an iron spear, rusted, corroded with age. A helmet
encrusted with jewels was placed on his head. And at the end, after
uncounted ages, a black ring of uncut obsidian found its place on his
forefinger, and the word Commander
rang in his ears.