Castle Dreams

Fifteen Mine

They found ammunition in a crossing tunnel, and there was plenty of it, leading Sativa to speculate that the mine concealed one of the biggest Irregular Forces weapons caches along the Thread.

“They wouldn’t use this good a hideout just to store slug throwers,” she said.

“Slug throwers. Aren’t these beam weapons?”

“No. Magnetically impelled projectile rifles. Standard close-combat weapons.”

“Oh, well, I sorta thought, you know — ray guns.”

“Ray guns? Oh, coherent-energy weapons? Spacecraft use them, of course. Do you realize how much raw power it takes to operate a typical particle-beam battery?”

“Not offhand.”

“It draws from a string of nuclear pulse reactors hooked up in parallel.”

“Oh. No “set phasers on stun’ in this universe, eh?”

“Whatever that means.”

“So you think there’re other sorts of arms here?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. Let’s move.”

“Rations, too, do you think?” Gene asked hopefully as he trotted after her.

“Certainly.”

“Then we could hole up here quite a while. This place is cavernous.”

“I can’t do that. I must find some way back to the Dominion and report this. It’s my duty.”

“Right.”

The mine was cool and extremely dry; perfect storage conditions. They discovered more military equipment, tons of it: guns, ammunition, artillery rounds, missiles, and other weapons Gene had trouble identifying. Some things seemed to be light artillery, mortars and such. Other stuff Sativa identified as “smart” mines (capable of distinguishing friend from foe), “electrogravitic” field generators, and “friendly” bombs. (What these last were capable of he never found out. Maybe, Gene thought, they took their targets to lunch before blowing them up.)

Many of these weapons had miniature nuclear warheads, some with yields as low as.01 kilotons — more simply, equivalent to 10 tons of high explosive.

“The big weapons are probably on another level,” she conjectured.

“Big nukes?”

“Large-yield fusion and fission devices, surely. But I’m talking about singularity devices.”

“I think I can grasp what those might be.”

“Planet-breakers.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Never been used in actual warfare, but they’ve been tested.”

“Wait till Greenpeace hears about this.”

“What?”

“Never mind. What do you want to do? Go back to the surface?”

“The only chance we have is to try to steal one of their ships.”

“No. The only chance we have is getting back to the castle.”

“Whatever are you jabbering about?”

“I’m talking about finding the interdimensional gateway between this world and the one I came from. Actually, it’s not a matter of finding it — I know where it is. The trick would be getting there without getting blasted or picked up.”

Sativa stared at him for a moment. “You are serious about this.”

“Absolutely. I don’t have a ship.”

“And this … gateway. It’s some sort of spacetime anomaly?”

“You could think of it as such. Yes.”

“And there’s magic involved?”

Gene sighed. “Look, I’ve never been able to understand it myself. The castle is a huge source of power. I’ve been given to understand that this power has its source in something supernatural. Beyond that, I really don’t know much. All I know is it works. I can get you out of here. We can return to my world for a while until the coast is clear. Then you can come back here and either repair your ship or get that super-radio in the administration building working, so you can send for help. How does that sound to you?”

“Fantastic.”

“I don’t think you mean “wonderful.” You mean you can’t believe it. Right?”

“I think the whole notion is a fantasy. I think you’re balmy. I thinkI’m balmy. I’m really dreaming this — still back there pinned in that wreckage.”

“No, you’re not.”

Gene slung his futuristic rifle over his shoulder.

“Let’s get up to the surface,” he said.

“First let’s load up with whatever we can find in the way of advantages down here.”

“More guns?”

“Grenades, maybe a hand missile-launcher.”

“Good idea.”

They rummaged through the crates until they found such. The grenades were unbelievably small, little more than the size of golf balls. To arm them, one simply pushed in an easy-to-push tab.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“They know when and when not to go off.”

He did a double take. “Huh? How could —?”

“They’re very aware. They can read your emotional states, the surroundings.”

“I don’t get it.”

“And they just won’t go off near the hand that arms them.”

“No kidding. What will they think of next.”

Brilliant missiles, apparently. She showed him how to work the launcher. The missiles themselves were miniature, yet carried a fission micro-warhead.

“I don’t believe it. I just can’t believe these are nukes.”

“Just barely. Cobalt core, barely explodes at all.”

“Oh, well, cobalt …”

The launcher was ultralightweight and could be carried strapped across the back. From what Sativa hastily explained, he gathered that aiming was automatic, and that the missile could maintain its own course — not trajectory, as it was more or less a cruise missile — stay on target, and make corrections for evasive action along the way. And do all brilliantly.

“Not bad for a Mattel toy,” he said, which was exactly how the whole affair struck him.

“I’m going to stop asking about these obscure allusions of yours. You’ve convinced me that you’re from another world. No one would go to all that trouble making up background detail.”

They moved off into the darkness, heading back the way they had come, toward the freight elevator. On the way, Gene still marveled at the detail his eyes now picked out, the massiveness of the overhead trusses, the level floor, the way rock was sheared clean and smooth, the general cleanliness of the place. The design seemed to preclude the usual dangers associated with mining: cave-in, explosion, and lethal gases. The whole operation seemed to say, very clearly: SAFETY FIRST.

Now, had the Irregulars done most of this, or was the mine intended to be this way? He inclined toward the latter possibility. It looked like a mine, not just a storage facility. There were many more tunnels and shafts than a mere underground warehouse would warrant, most of them empty. No, it would not be wise of the Irregulars to put all their explosive eggs in one basket. The mine preexisted; the rebels were only squatters.

He was about to comment on all of this, when Sativa suddenly halted and he had to skid on the linoleum-like floor to keep from colliding with her.

“What —?”

Her hand shot up to muffle him.

She whispered in his ear, “I heard something.”

They retreated.

Soon, at their backs came voices. Barked orders. Echoing footsteps.

Turning left at the next crossing tunnel, they hurried along as fast as they could, passing stacks of crates. They made another turn farther along, then were faced with a decision: Go toward the central shaft, into the thick of their pursuers, or away, toward a possible and even probable cul-de-sac.

They chose the dead end.

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