Dark Universe

CHAPTER THREE

At the entrance to the Upper Level, the unfamiliar tones of the central echo caster brought Jared crude impressions of a world much like his own, with grottoes, activity areas, and livestock compounds. In addition it had a natural ledge running along the right wail and sloping down to the ground nearby.

Waiting for his reception escort, he turned his thoughts grimly back to the discovery of Owen’s weapons on the other side of the Barrier. All he could think of then was that the evil creature had been a punishment sent by Light Himself for his sacrilegious rejection of established beliefs. Certainly he had been wrong. The Barrier had, after all, been erected solely to protect man from monster. Yet, he knew he would not forfeit his quest for Darkness. Nor would he let the uncertainty surrounding Owen’s fate rest for very long.

“Jared Fenton?”

The voice, coming from behind a boulder on his left, took him by surprise. Stepping out into the full sound of the central caster, the man said, “I’m Lorenz, Adviser to Wheel Anselm.”

Lorenz’s voice suggested a person of short stature, small lung capacity, depressed chest. Added to this composite was the indirect sonic impression of a face whose audible features were rough with creases and lacked the soft, moist prominences of exposed eyeballs.

“Ten Touches of Familiarization?” Jared offered formally.

But the Adviser declined. “My faculties are adequate. I never forget audible effects.” He struck off down a path that coursed through the hot-springs area.

Jared followed. “The Wheel expecting me?” Which was an unnecessary question, since a runner had come ahead.

“I wouldn’t be out here to meet you if he wasn’t.”

Detecting hostility in the Adviser’s blunt responses, Jared turned his attention fully on the man. The caster tones were being harshly modulated by his expression of resentful determination.

“You don’t want me up here, do you?” Jared asked frankly.

“I’ve advised against it. I don’t hear where we can gain anything through close association with your world.”

The Adviser’s sullen attitude puzzled him for a moment — until he realized unification between the Upper and Lower Level would certainly affect Lorenz’s established status.

The well-worn path had straightened and was now taking them along the right wall. Residential recesses cast back muffled gaps in the reflected sound pattern. And Jared sensed rather than clearly heard the knots of inquisitive people who were listening to him pass.

Presently the Adviser caught his shoulders and spun him to the right. “This is the Wheel’s grotto.”

Jared hesitated, getting his bearings. The recess was a deep one with many storage shelves. In the space before the entrance there was a large slab with adequate leg room carved in its sides. From its surface came the symmetric sounds of empty manna shell bowls, giving the over-all impression of an orderly arrangement for a meal that would accommodate many persons.

“Welcome to the Upper Level! I’m Noris Anselm, the Wheel.”

Jared listened to his more than amply proportioned host advance around the slab with arm extended. That the hand found his on first thrust spoke well for the Wheel’s perceptive ability.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, my boy!” He pumped Jared’s arm. “Ten Touches?”

“Of course.” Jared submitted to exploring fingers that swept methodically across his face and chest and along his arms.

“Well,” said Anselm approvingly. “Clean-cut features — erect posture — agility — strength. I don’t guess the Prime Survivor exaggerated too much. Feel away.”

Jared’s hands Familiarized themselves with a stout but not flaccid physique. Absence of a chest cloth, clipped hair and beard, suggested resistance to the aging process. And lids that ificked their protest to his touch signified abiding rejection of closed eyes.

Anselm laughed. “So you’ve come with Declaration of Unification Intentions in mind?” He led Jared to a bench beside the slab.

“Yes. The Prime Survivor says-“

“An — Prime Survivor Fenton. Haven’t heard him in some time.”

“He sends-“

“Good old Evan!” the Wheel declared expansively. “He’s got a likely idea — wanting the two Levels closer. What do you think?”

“At first I—”

“Of course you do. It doesn’t take much imagination to hear the advantages, does it?”

Abandoning hope of completing a sentence, Jared accepted the question as rhetorical while he concentrated on faint impressions coming from the mouth of the grotto behind him. Someone had moved out into the entrance and was silently listening on. Reflected clacks fetched the outline of a youthful, feminine form.

“I said,” Anselm repeated, “it doesn’t take much imagination to hear the benefits of uniting the Levels.”

Jared drew attentively erect. “Not at all. The Prime Survivor says there’s a lot to be gained. He—”

“About this Unification. Figure you’re ready for it?”

At least Jared had managed to finish one answer. But there was no point in pushing his success, so he simply said, “Yes.”

“Good boy! Della’s going to make a fine Survivoress. A little headstrong, perhaps. But you take my own Unification…”

The Wheel embarked on a lengthy dissertation while Jared’s attention went back to the furtive girl. At least he knew who she was. At the mention of the name “Della,” her breathing had faltered and he had heard a subjective quickening of her pulse.

The brisk, clear tones of the Wheel’s voice produced sharpsounding echoes. And Jared took note of the girl’s precise, smooth profile. High cheekbones accentuated the self-confident tilt of her chin. Her eyes were wide open and her hair was arranged in a style he hadn’t heard before. Swept tightly away from her face, it was banded in the back and went streaming bushily down her spine. His imagination provided him with a pleasing echo composite of Della racing down a windy passageway, long tress fluttering behind.

“…But Lydia and I never had a son.” His garrulous host had gone on to another subject by now. “Still, I think it would be best if the Wheelship remained in the Anselm line, don’t you?”

“To be sure.” Jared had lost track of the conversation.

“And the only way that can come about without complications is through Unification between you and my niece.”

This, Jared reasoned, should be the cue for the girl to step from concealment. But she didn’t budge.

The Upper Level had recovered from his arrival and now he listened to the sounds of a normal world — children shouting at play, women grotto-cleaning, men busy at their chores, a game of clatterball in progress on the field beyond the livestock pens.

The Wheel gripped his arm and said, “Well, we’ll get better acquainted later on. There’ll be a formal dinner this period where you’ll Familiarize yourself with Della. But, first, I’ve had a recess prepared for your convenience.”

Jared was led off along the row of residential grottoes. But they hadn’t gone far when he was drawn to a halt.

“The Prime Survivor says you have a remarkable pair of ears, my boy. Let’s hear how good they are.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Jared turned his attention to the things about him. After a moment his ears were drawn to the ridge running along the far wall.

“I hear something on that ledge,” he said. “There’s a boy lying up there listening out over the world.”

Anselm drew in a surprised breath. Then he shouted, “Myra, your child up on that shelf again?”

A woman nearby called out, “Timmy! Timmy, where are you?”

And a slight, remote voice answered, “Up here, Mother.”

“Incredible!” exclaimed the Wheel. “Utterly incredible!”

As the formal dinner neared its end, Anselm thudded his drinking shell down on the slab and assured the other guests, “It was quite remarkable! There was the lad, all the way across the world. But Jared heard him anyway. How’d you do it, my boy?”

Jared would have let the matter drop. He’d had his fill of uneasiness, each guest having taken the full Ten Touches.

“There’s a smooth dome behind the ledge,” he explained wearily. “It magnifies the tones from the central caster.”

“Nonsense, my boy! It was an amazing feat!”

The slab came alive with murmurs of respect.

Adviser Lorenz laughed. “Listening to the Wheel tell about it, I’d almost suspect our visitor might be a Zivver.”

An uncomfortable hush followed. Jared could hear the Adviser’s complacent smile. “It was remarkable,” Anselm insisted.

There was a lull in the conversation and Jared steered the talk away from himself. “I enjoyed the crayfish, but the salamander was especially good. I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”

“Indeed you haven’t,” Anselm boasted. “And we have Survivoress Bates to thank. Tell our guest how you manage it, Survivoress.”

A stout woman across the slab said, “I had an idea meat would taste better if we could get away from soaking it directly in boiling water. So we tried putting the cuts in watertight shells and sinking them in the hot springs. This way the meat’s dry cooked.”

On the edge of his hearing, Jared sensed that Della was listening to his slight movements.

“The Survivoress used to prepare salamander even better,” offered Lorenz.

“When we still had the big boiling pit,” the woman said.

“When you still had it?” Jared asked, interested.

“It dried up a while back, along with a couple others,” Anselm explained. “But I suppose we’ll be able to do without them.”

The other guests had begun drifting off toward their grottoes — all except Della. But still she ignored Jared.

The Wheel gripped his shoulder, whispered “Good luck, my boy!” and headed for his own recess.

Someone turned off the echo caster, ending the activity period, and Jared sat listening to the girl’s even breathing. He casually tapped the slab with a fingernail and studied the reflected impressions of a creased feminine brow and full lips compressed with concern.

He moved closer. “Ten Touches?”

There was a sharp alteration in the sound pattern as she faced the other way. But she offered no protest to Familiarization.

His probing fingers traced out her proffie first, then verified the firmness of her cheekbones. He explored further the odd hair style and her level shoulders. The skin there was warm and full, its smoothness harshly broken by the overlay of halter straps.

She drew back. “I’m sure you’ll recognize me the next time.”

If he was going to be stuck with Unification, Jared decided, he could fare worse by way of a partner.

He waited for the feel of her fingers. But none came. Instead, she slid off the bench and walked casually toward a natural grotto whose emptiness reflected her footfalls. He followed.

“How does it feel,” she asked finally, “to have Unification forced on you?” Her words bore more than a trace of bitter indignation.

“I don’t much care for it.”

“Then why don’t you refuse?” She sat on a ledge in the grotto.

He paused outside, tracing the details of the recess as relayed by her rebounding words. “Why don’t you?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. The Wheel’s made up his mind.”

“That’s tough.” Her attitude suggested that the whole arrangement was his idea. But he supposed she did have a right to be indignant. So he added, “I guess we could both do worse.”

“Maybe you could. But I might have my pick of a dozen Upper Level men I’d prefer.”

He bristled. “How do you know? You haven’t even had Ten Touches.”

She scooped up a stone and tossed it. Kerplunk.

“I didn’t ask for them,” she said. “And I don’t want them.”

He wondered whether a few swats in the right place wouldn’t soften her tongue. “I’m not that objectionable!”

“You — objectionable? Paradise no!” she returned cynically. “You’re Jared Fenton of the Lower Level!”

Another pebble went kerplunk.

“’I hear something on that ledge,’” she mocked his earlier words. “’There’s a boy lying up there listening out over the world.’”

Della threw several more stones while he stood there with his ears trained severely on her. They all went kerplunk.

“That demonstration was your uncle’s idea,” he reminded her.

Instead of answering, she continued tossing rocks into the water. She had him on the defensive. And if he chose to strike back it would only seem he was in favor of their Unification, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Unification and the obligations it brought would mean an end to his search for Light.

Della rose and went to the grotto wall where a group of slender stones hung needlelike from the ceiling. She stroked them lightly, and melodious tones filled the recess with vibrant softness. It was a wistful tune that sang of pleasant things with deep, tender meaning. He was stirred by the girl’s sensitive talent as he was by the sharp contrasts the music showed in her nature.

She slapped several of the stones in an impulsive burst of temperament, then scooped up another pebble. Whispering through the air, her arm arched out to toss the rock as she turned and strode defiantly from the grotto.

Kerplunk.

Curious, he went over to explore for the puddle. He was concerned over the fact that he hadn’t detected the liquid softness of water in the recess. He found the pool a moment later, however. A deep, almost still spring, it had a surface area no larger than his palm.

Yet, over a distance of thirty paces, Della had casually cast more than a dozen stones — detecting and hitting her target with each one!

Through much of the ceremony the next period, Jared found his thoughts returning to the girl. He wasn’t as much disturbed by her arrogance as he was by the possibility that her pebble-throwing demonstration may have been calculated. Was she merely belittling his ability? Or was the performance really as casual as it had seemed? In either case, the capacity itself remained unexplained.

Wheel Anselm moved closer to him on the Bench of Honor and slapped his back. “That Drake’s plenty good, don’t you think?”

Jared had to agree, although there were several Lower Level Survivors who could hit more than three out of nine arrow targets.

He concentrated on the reflected clacks of the central caster and listened to Drake draw another arrow. An anxious silence fell over the gallery and Jared tried unsuccessfully to pick out Della’s breathing and heartbeat.

Drake’s bowstring twanged and the arrow whistled across the range. But the muffled thud of its impact revealed that it had missed the target and dug into earth.

After a moment the Official Scorer called out, “Two hand widths to the right. Score: three out of ten.”

There was a burst of applause.

“Good, isn’t he?” Anselm boasted.

Jared became more aware of Lorenz’s breathing as the Adviser turned toward him and said, “I should think you’d be eager to get in on these contests.”

Still smarting from Della’s insinuation that he was conceited, Jared said noncommittally, “I’m prepared for anything.”

The Wheel overheard and exclaimed, “That’s fine, my boy!” He rose and announced, “Our visitor’s going to lead off the spear-throwing competition!”

More applause. Jared wondered, though, whether he had detected a feminine breath escaping in contempt.

Lorenz brought him over to the spear rack and he spent some time selecting his lances.

“What’s the target?” he asked.

“Woven husk discs — two hand spans wide — at fifty paces.” The Adviser caught his arm and pointed it. “They’re against that bank.”

“I can hear them,” Jared assured. “But I want my targets thrown up in the air.”

Lorenz drew back. “You must want to hear how big a fool you can make of yourself.”

“It’s my party.” Jared gathered up his spears. “You just toss the discs.”

So Della was certain he had an exaggerated opinion of himself, was she? Riled, he broke out his clickstones and retreated to the fringe of the hot-springs area. Then he began a steady, brisk beat with the pebbles in his left hand. The familiar, refined tones supplemented those of the echo caster. And now he could clearly hear the things about him — the ledge on his right, the hollowness of the passageway behind him, Lorenz standing ready to cast the discs.

“Target up!” he shouted at the Adviser.

The first manna husk disc swished through the air and he let a spear fly. Wicker crunched under the impact of pointed shaft, then disc and lance clattered to the ground together.

Momentarily, he sensed something was out of place. But he couldn’t decide what it was. “Target up!”

Another direct hit. And then another.

Exclamations from the gallery distracted him and he missed his fourth shot. He waited for silence before ordering more discs into he air. The next five shots found their mark. Then he paused and listened intensely around him. Somehow he couldn’t ignore the vague suspicion that something wasn’t as it should be.

“That was the last target,” the Adviser shouted.

“Get another,” Jared called back, letting his remaining spear lie on the ground.

An awed silence hung over the gallery. Then Anseim laughed and bellowed, “By Light! Eight out of nine!”

“With that kind of ability,” Lorenz added from the distance, “he must be a Zivver.”

Jared spun around. That was it — Zivvers! He realized that for heartbeats now he had been catching their scent!

Just then someone shouted, “Zivvers! Up on the ledge!”

Disorder swept the world. Women screamed and scrambled for their children while Survivors bolted for the weapons rack.

Jared heard a spear zip down from the height and clatter against the Bench of Honor. The Wheel swore apprehensively.

“Everybody stay where you are!” boomed a voice Jared had not forgotten from previous raids-that of Mogan, the Zivver leader. “Or the Wheel gets a shaft in the chest!”

By now Jared had pieced together a more or less complete auditory composite of the situation. Mogan and a score of Zivvers were spaced along the ledge, the central caster’s tones rebounding clearly against their raised lances. A lone Zivver guarded the entrance, standing next to the large boulder.

As gingerly as he could, Jared stooped to retrieve his spear. But a lance hissed down and stabbed into the ground in front of him.

“I said nobody moves!” Mogan’s menacing voice poured down.

Even if he could get his hand on the spear, Jared realized, the ledge would be out of range. The rear guard at the entrance, however, was a different matter. And there was nothing but boiling pits and manna plants between him and the man. If he could make it to the first spring, none of the raiders would be able to ziv his progress through the heated area.

He traced the flight of another spear from the ledge. It sank into the echo caster’s shaft, wedging itself against the pulley. And the Upper Level was thrown into stark silence.

“Take what you want,” the Wheel quavered, “and leave us alone.”

Jared sidled toward the first hot spring.

“What do you know about a Zivver who’s been missing for the past twenty periods?” Mogan demanded.

“Nothing at all!” Anselm assured him.

“Like Radiation you don’t! But we’ll find out for ourselves before we leave.”

Moist warmth swirled against Jared’s chest and he lunged the rest of the way into the vapors.

“We don’t know anything about it!” the Wheel reiterated. “We’ve had a Survivor missing too — for over fifty periods!”

Clicking his teeth faintly to produce echoes as he crept through the hot-springs area, Jared pulled up sharply. A Zivver missing? One of the Upper Level men too? Could there be any connection between those two occurrences and what had happened to Owen? Had the Original World monster crossed the Barrier after all?

Mogan barked, “Norton, Sellers-go search their grottoes!”

Jared cleared the last boiling pit and stepped soundlessly over to the boulder. Now only the big rock stood between him and the raider guarding the entrance. And the man’s breathing and heartbeat clearly divulged his exact location. No one had ever enjoyed such an advantage of potential surprise over a lone Zivver! But he had to strike fast. Norton and Sellers were already trotting down the incline and would, in the next three or four breaths, pass within a few paces of the boulder.

More things than he could keep track of happened in the next instant. Even as he started his lunge around the rock, he caught the horrible stench of the thing from the Original World. It was too late, however, to check his charge.

Then, as he broke around the boulder, a great cone of roaring silence screamed out of the passageway. The incredible sensation struck him squarely in the face with deafening force. It was as though obscure regions were being opened in his mind — as though thousands of sensitive nerves that had never been stimulated before were suddenly flooding his brain with alien impulses.

In that same instant he heard the zip-hiss that had sounded in the Original World just before Owen collapsed. And he listened first to the Zivver crumpling before him and then to the frantic cries of distress rising from his rear.

Whirling to flee before the monster and the terrifying noise that he could neither hear nor feel, Jared was only vaguely aware of the Zivver spear that was screeching in his direction.

He tried to duck at the last heartbeat.

But he was too late.