As was his duty, Pike stood on the windswept balcony from which he had first witnessed the great western desert. His cape blew violently behind him, tangling with that of Effrulyn, who held the Angles in thickly gloved hands. Fara-Ny, bundled up in great quantities of clothing, was unrecognizable. Karrxlyn stood by, too, only his eyes visible, and also one of the astronomers, who had one hand on a mounted stick and one eye on the mountaintops, kilometers above their heads. When the tip of the mountain turned white, the astronomer brought his attention to his transit and fixed his eye to the crosspiece.
The wait was agonizing. Eventually the astronomer mumbled, I think that might be it.
What was that?
Pike shouted into the roaring wind.
I said, I think that might be it.
You’re not sure?
Effrulyn asked.
It might just be a diffraction off the
desert.…Now, is that it? No, maybe now…
Oh, come on. Pick a time.
The astronomer paid no attention to Effrulyn. Suddenly everyone exclaimed
at once: Yes, there it is!
The astronomer looked up, startled. Yes,
I guess so.
He cupped his eye to his mouth and called down the corridor
that opened behind them: Sunrise!
The call was relayed to the great hall
and the clocks were set.
The clocks are set!
came the answering call.
How much was the new clock off?
Effrulyn
asked.
What was the error?
the astronomer
called.
Quarter of a beclad plus quarter of a telclad!
came the distant answer.
Not good,
the astronomer said.
But,
Effrulyn asked, by how much is the old master clock in error?
Again the call was sent after a moment the answer received.
A full beclad plus a telclad.
So let us look at these records.
Effrulyn
snatched the sheets the astronomer had kept since early Patra, when the
pendulum clock had been finished. Here is where
the final adjustments were made and the new clock set to the old, about a
quarter of the way into the Patra. Now we see a progressive discrepancy
between the old clock and the new as the Patra wears on. The discrepancy
seems more or less linear, so let us assume that the old one was off by a
quarter of a beclad when the final set on the new one was made. That means
the remaining quarter of a telclad is the error in the new. Not bad, I’d
say. But then this whole discussion is meaningless because it assumes that
the sun tells some metaphysical absolute time, and I see little
justification for putting so much confidence in the physical world. So you
astronomers and clockmakers can do as you will.
Effrulyn smiled at the
frowning astronomer and walked inside.
Later, when he passed through the great hall, the old clock had been removed, leaving the new pendulum clock on the dais alone, clacking away to disturb his thoughts.
The sun was not yet quite up and the sky was gray-clear, but that only made
it seem colder to Paddelack as he tugged and yanked the stubborn grask
along the road to Massarat. Finally the stupid animal refused to budge a
centimeter. You think I like this, animal?
Paddelack yelled. The grask didn’t answer, just knelt where it
was. Paddelack wasn’t in the mood to argue. He took a beclad’s worth of
provisions from the animal’s back. Your fur
should keep you warm! Bah!
He left the grask there.
The terminator was not a good place to be, Paddelack decided for the second time as he trudged on through the snow, the terminator where the cold hemisphere met the warm there and giant air masses clashed head-on. Of course, if the great Gostum debate didn’t finally decide that the planet was round, they would never begin to understand how weather worked—if it was possible to understand weather at all.
As he entered the gorge that cut through the mountain, Paddelack was first staggered, then felled, by winds roaring through at hurricane force. When he eventually managed to regain his feet while clinging to a rock, he could see that the highest peaks gleamed white. Soon the shadow began dropping away from the Massarat range, the light invaded the crags, and the desert became bright with the tangential rays of the rising sun. Paddelack stood and watched it happen, stubbornly slow. It happened so slowly that after the first beam flashing into his eyes, Paddelack swore that he could count the seconds before it crawled from the tip of his bird-beaked nose, across the snout of his oversized parka, and down his skinny legs to the heels of his tightly tied boots. He whistled through his teeth, waved to the newborn sun, and trudged on his way.
When Paddelack reached Massarat, no one was outside to greet him. Well, he
couldn’t blame them, could he? This he thought as he was blown over again
by the wind and received his nth bruise—where n is a very
large number. Paddelack climbed the iced-over steps, slipping twice, and
pulled the bell rope. Soon somebody opened the door a crack, and a single
eyeball peered out at him, gazing down the snout of his hood. Paddelack!
the voice exclaimed
after the delayed recognition. We
never expected to see you again! We thought you’d found the Edge or the
Bucket of Winds.
Well, I’m back. Don’t just stand there, let me
in! Or I’ll give you a fustigation that you’ll never forget!
The door swung wide, and Paddelack stepped in to see a torch being held
over his head and a stout man scrutinizing his face. Paddelack, Returned, you look pretty
much as you were.
What did you expect, that I’d turned into a
Gostum? Well, come on, get me something hot to drink—scalding, mind
you. I’m more dead than alive at the moment…One thing more: get the
nestrexam together.
Soon Paddelack was standing, still in his parka and with a hot drink cupped in his hands, in the middle of the nestrexam’s ancient assembly room, the largest of the communal rooms that dated from the age of the Polkraitz themselves. He addressed the large crowd that had gathered, briefly retelling what had happened since he and Pike had returned for Number Two. His face was still dirty and scarred from his trek over forty impossible kilometers during the most impossible part of the Patra-Bannk, and the merriment that he had feigned upon his miraculous arrival had vanished completely and absolutely.
Soon,
he said, the
Gostum will be arriving at our gate. They will try to enlist you in a war
they are planning against Triesk—
Triesk?
shouted a voice buried in the
crowd.
Certainly you have heard of Triesk, the ancient
Polkraitz city of the north.
Ah, yes. It is far away, isn’t it? Too far away
to have a war against.
No,
Paddelack replied with a shake of his
head. The Gostum not only have a way of getting
there but have the help of the Alien, Pike.
Vardyen, one of the old leaders of the Liddlefurans, stepped forward. He
had a square jaw and tufted gray hair. The same
Polkraitz is Returned on the Golun-Patra? The same who cleared the path and
escaped the Gostum fortress and visited the forbidden city across the
ocean?
The same,
Paddelack reluctantly admitted.
Hmm, a man worth heeding, one would think,
Paddelack. He is our friend.
No. You cannot help him in this war.
Vardyen thought a moment. I think you have not told
us the cause.
The Gostum think there are rockets at Triesk to
take us all from Patra-Bannk, and they believe that Pike will show us how
to use them.
If Pike is giving his aid in their quest, then he
must believe them.
But there is no definite proof, just some spy’s
word. You will all be killed. It is pointless, senseless, don’t you
understand?
Vardyen scratched his head. And what happens when
the Gostum come knocking at our door? What do you expect us to do, then? To
fight with them or against them, Paddelack Wise One, we are dead either
way.
Paddelack was silenced and sat down. After a few minutes he stood up
again. I have a hunch. Let us reconvene after
I’ve checked it out. Do you agree?
Vardyen nodded and Paddelack walked
out of the room. At the door he was accosted by his little friend Mith. Come on, Mith,
he said, taking the boy’s
hand. Let’s see what we can find.
Mith and Paddelack searched for so many telclads on end that it was closer to a beclad. Other than finding another way out of Massarat, Paddelack did not know what he had expected to uncover. They passed systematically through the communal rooms, the sleeping quarters, the workshops, the furnace rooms, all of which were familiar to Paddelack. They saw nothing, and no one could report any exit. They continued downward. An old wooden ladder marked the lowest point at which Paddelack had ever been, yet there was still more to Massarat. The air was musky, and the slightest sound caused Paddelack and Mith to turn around, startled.
After a beclad of fruitless searching, Paddelack was still convinced that there must be another way out of Massarat so that they could escape the Gostum if need be. When he finally found the exit, it was not what he had expected. The chamber was piled with litter, so old and rotted that it was half dust. The floor was strewn with loose rock, blown from the walls carved by the Polkraitz. A small furry animal scurried out from beneath the trash pile, and he kicked at it. It disappeared under a cracked slab and he pushed the cleaved pieces aside. Mith knelt with the lantern as Paddelack ran his finger around a hole whose existence, like most things in the world, seemed to have been forgotten at some point in the last millennium. They found concentric ridges of melted and rehardened metal, the kind of layers formed when one tries to cut through a piece of iron with a blowtorch whose flame isn’t strong enough.
Someone worked very hard to get through this,
Paddelack muttered as he dropped a piece of rock into the hole. It
clattered not far below. I’m going down. Get me a
long rope, Mith.
Soon they had a rope fastened to a solid support, and Paddelack lowered himself through the hole. Five meters down, no more, he stopped, toes touching bottom followed by heels.
He passed the lantern around. Above his head were four giant, flat hexagons. By his feet were four more. Connecting the top set to the bottom were thin rods on the perimeters of the hexagons, surely not strong enough to support what was above. As he neared one of the plates, the iron medallion that he had always worn was snatched from his neck and stuck fast to the hexagon. Paddelack tried hard to yank the medallion away, but it wouldn’t bulge. He walked forward a few steps until he met a wall blocking his way, but he found he could circle around it until he met another. He continued in this way, around walls and under, until he met another space with more giant hexagons on floor and ceiling. It was like a giant maze, a honeycomb. A space opened at his feet and he could see a wall below, as well as another unit of the construction.
Get me some paint!
he yelled up to Mith, his
crabby tenor resonating down the honeycombs. It was a telclad before he had
the paint in his hands and then marked his location. Mith held the rope as
Paddelack dropped down to the lower level. Still another level down and
several honeycombs away, Paddelack found a tube which sloped downward at a
shallow angle. As always when confronted with a gateway, he did not
hesitate. He jumped in and slid down, spiraling around with short pushes of
his hands. If the tunnel was in actuality made for a wheeled device, it
nonetheless made a serviceable sliding board.
At the bottom he emerged onto a wide concourse. He sighed. This time there
was a room nearby. At least it had a door in it and sat in the middle of
the otherwise empty concourse. Inside it was light. Naturally? At his feet
was—nothing. He shot back to the door. Then he realized how stupid he was
being; obviously, since he hadn’t fallen through, the floor was
solid. Below, spaced about the edge of the floor, beyond the glass
were seven or eight giant cylinders, each several meters long, pointing
down into the blackness.
Paddelack sat on the nonexistent floor and sighed again. At first he had though that finding the hole under Massarat was the sheerest of luck, one chance in a million. But then, for twenty years he had assumed that the planet might be some kind of shell, and in that case, the shell had to be beneath everything, and so the fact that it was indeed below Massarat should have come as no surprise.
However, he still faced another problem. Last Bannk at Daryephna, Pike had done his best to convince him that they had not come through the shell, that if the planet was a shell, it was a very thick one. Paddelack’s only alternative—improbable as it seemed—had been that the planet was somehow natural. But now, Paddelack decided, he had just come through the shell. He had seen the inner structure itself. He was underneath now, except for this thin floor. And there was still gravity, more than one Two-Bit gravity, much too much for even a planet-sized floor to produce. So his initial reaction had been, after all, correct: the planet was not a shell ten thousand kilometers thick.
Paddelack rose to his feet and readied himself for the long climb up the
tube. As he left the clear floor and circular room, he glanced over his
shoulder at the blackness below his feet. Something is down there,
he said aloud, And it’s mighty big. Maybe that’s where all the
people are.
Commander,
an angry Karrxlyn said to Pike a
beclad later, we have been to Massarat to request
aid from the Liddlefurans, but they refuse to come out of hiding. What
should be done?
Wait for them.
In the wind and cold?
Do it! We will starve them out. No need to use
force. In the meantime, I want to go to Triesk to deliver an ultimatum.
Do you think it is a good idea? Triesk is a
dangerous place for Gostum. Wait at least until we hear from the spy, a
Trieskan who is to meet one of our men within the beclad.
All right. Has word been passed to the north to begin
the search for new recruits?
It is being done now.
Good. Send out parties from Pant, Sect, all the other
places. Do it quickly before the Bannk gets hot. We’ll need everybody we
can get. Now, I want to see the stala myself, as soon as possible.
You will not desert us, Commander, I trust.
The statement was unexpected. Pike paused and put his hand on Karrxlyn’s
shoulder. Never doubt me, or you will regret it. Your
cause is mine. I will save the Gostum from Patra-Bannk, get the ships, and
teach you how to use them. I am Commander, am I not? Yes, I am
Commander. However, I do want to see the stala. I have my own work to
do.
Karrxlyn smiled but with a hint of doubt. Good. Then I suggest you wait out the beclad; the
winds will have quieted a bit and the trip will be slightly
easier. Effrulyn can take you. He does little enough around here.
Pike and his escort were almost upon the stala before he realized that they had arrived at their destination. He hopped off the kneeling grask, wondering what such a thing was doing in the middle of an orange desert, surrounded by walkways that led off to nowhere. What could the Polkraitz have had in mind by putting it there?
Inside, he was only half surprised at what he found. Effrulyn walked up behind him and pointed out two spots on the map.
Because of the Polkraitz chart, many believe the
lower point is Konndjlan and the upper is Triesk, and that of Pant in
between. I am skeptical.
Pike eyed the two dots, separated on this map by a ruler’s length, but
still one hundred thousand kilometers apart. How come
you are skeptical?
One sees a point, one presses a bar, one emerges
elsewhere. The identification of the Elsewhere is nontrivial. Does it
correspond to a dot? How does one know? How does one know whether he is
north or south or east or west? By the sun only, if one chooses to believe
the world is bent. I can tell you which bar to press to get to Triesk; that
one is right here, but as to exactly which dot represents Triesk, if any,
that is another story. Again, because of the old chart, Triesk is a
well-behaved case; others are singularly pathological.
Pike nodded as he saw Effrulyn’s finger point to the Triesk bar. His hand wavered above it, undecided.
I take it you have been warned against going to
Triesk.
Yes, I won’t,
Pike said absently. But must go elsewhere…to a place called Neberdjer.
I know of no such place.
This bar, here.
How Pike knew this, he wasn’t
sure.
Are you certain?
Yes. The word is in my head. I don’t know why. I think
the secret of the metallic hydrogen may be there. I must go and see.
The Fear is present at most of these Elsewheres,
that one in particular. We never go there under any circumstances.
Pike surveyed the rows of bars. There aren’t many
places to go from here.
Effrulyn nodded. And I have been told that most of
these bars do nothing at all.
Well, then, the choice is clear.
He touched the
Neberdjer bar and a door on his left slid open. Will
you come?
Effrulyn scowled. I have more important things to
do. If you will excuse me, I must get back to my lucubrations.
Then I will go alone. Get me my pack.
Effrulyn did so. Pike checked everything, shouldered the pack, and walked
into the waiting room. I will be back within several
beclads at the latest. Until then, I hope your lucubrations prove
fruitful…
The door slid shut and he disappeared.