Planet Of No Return

15: Canyon Quest

There was no logical reason to hesitate at the mouth of the canyon — but logic had nothing to do with this. Brion jumped down the last few feet from the terraced hillside — then stopped. Unmoving. Listening to the silence. On each side of him the high walls of stone rose up to form a natural corridor that sliced deep into the hillside. He could see about a quarter of a mile ahead before a turn in the canyon concealed the rest of it from sight. The ground before him had once been covered with grass and shrubs, but these had long since been pulverized and ground into rutted soil. Only a few bits of greenery remained close to the rocky walls. The rest had been churned up and destroyed under the tracks of the advancing army. Machine after machine had chewed into the stony ground until it was a tumbled sea of overlapping tracks. When Brion looked down he saw that he was standing in one of the deep marks, an indentation that was more than a yard square. And this was just one part of the track of the gigantic machine — that in itself was only one of a legion. And army of machines had passed this way, and for all he knew more of them could be coming towards him at this very moment. And he was going to tackle this machine army — single-handed?

“Yes!” he shouted aloud, smiling wryly at the same time. The odds weren’t too good — but they were the only odds that he was going to get. And with every passing instant that he stood there they were getting longer, since the chance that he might meet the enemy in this narrow canyon grew more and more possible. He started forward at a faster ground-eating trot.

The rocky walls of the canyon slipped steadily by; the churned up ground was rutted and uneven underfoot. After almost an hour of steady running he found that he was beginning to breathe heavily, so he slowed to a fast walk. He continued this way until he had got his wind back, then increased his pace again. The miles passed, one after another, the canyon was featureless and unchanging. It was mid-afternoon before the walls of rock receded as he emerged into a rocky bowl in the mountains.

This was a good opportunity to take a break. For the first time he left the well-marked track and clambered up the grassy patches between the tumbled boulders. From here the churned highway was clearly visible, crossing the bowl and disappearing into another valley mouth on the far side. After drinking a few mouthfuls of water he lay back and closed his eyes. An hour’s sleep, then he would go on. It was getting more chill at this altitude so it might be more comfortable to do his sleeping during the day, then keep going through the night. He knew that his personal metabolism could easily adapt to this. At home, on Havrk, food had to be gathered during the brief summer to prepare for the very long winter. He had gone four and five days without sleep and knew that he could do it again any time. The grass was soft, while the niche in the rocks was protected from the wind and warmed by the sun. He settled down and was asleep within a few moments.

At the appointed time his eyes opened and he looked up at the cloudless sky. The sun had dropped behind the hills and it was growing cool in the shade. The track below him was still empty. He seated his knife comfortably on his hip, took the smallest sip of water — and went on.

This canyon was wider now, but the bends were sharper and prevented him from seeing very far ahead. He slowed down for each corner, going around it cautiously — until he realized that he was wasting too much time this way. What would happen would happen, he could not avoid it. He had to press on and be more fatalistic about the future.

The floor of the valley had changed to hard rock, scratched and gouged by the steel treads, but still far smoother than the ploughed-up soil below. As he adjusted to the rhythm of the constant motion he found his progress steady, his breathing strong and regular. Almost relaxed. He pounded steadily around a sharp bend and saw the armoured vehicle just a few yards ahead.

It had a machine’s reflexes. The four-gunned turret had been pointed towards the sky. Now, with frightening speed it slewed about and pointed directly at him. Even as he dived back for the shelter of the rock he saw those four dark mouths gaping. The shells would strike him in the back, they could not miss ….

He landed and rolled and pushed himself against the unyielding stone, surprised that he was still alive. Nothing had happened. The guns had not fired.

Brion lay there, his breath rasping hard, waiting for the clank of treads as the machine started forward. He knew that he could not outrun it. Could he climb out of this trap? No, the valley walls were smooth and precipitous. There was no escape.

The sound of its motor was loud and harsh. Metal screeched and echoed and the motor raced unevenly.

Then the sound died away leaving an aching silence. The thing wasn’t coming for him — but it was still blocking his way. Why had it stopped?

Brion took a deep and shuddering breath, then climbed slowly to his feet. He had been spared — but for how long. What was he to do? It would be dark soon. Perhaps he could get by the tank in the dark. No, the darkness would mean nothing to the machine; it senses would be just as alert then. Go back? He could — but it would mean the end. Giving up. He had come too far to do that now. And why hadn’t the thing fired at him? Curiosity got the better of caution.

Ever so slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he crawled forward over the rocks. Raising his head over the top…

Falling back as he found himself looking directly into the muzzles of the guns.

Yet still they hadn’t fired. The thing knew that he was here — so why was it hesitating? Some sort of cat and mouse game? No, it wouldn’t be programmed for anything except destruction. Then what should he do?

He picked up a fair-sized rock, drew it far back — then hurled it up and out with a straight-armed grenade throw. It hit the ground with a resounding crash and he raised his head again as it did.

Gears ground as the gun turret pointed at the rock, then whined again as it spun back to sight on him. This time he did not move. The machine already had had two chances to kill him — and nothing had happened. This was the third. If it fired now at least he would never know it.

One second, two, then three slipped by. The guns were still silent. Emboldened he stepped out from behind cover and started forward. The guns turned slowly, never leaving him as he advanced.

Brion stopped as the engine rumbled again and the tank vibrated, clanking forward a few inches, then stopped. That was when he noticed for the first time that it had shed one of its tracks and could not move.

If he could get past the thing it would not be able to follow him! He ran, straight up the valley, painfully aware of the guns tracking him every inch of the way. Only when he was even with the machine, passing it, did the guns suddenly stop moving. Then the turret ground slowly around and the guns drifted back to the vertical. Brion stopped as well and looked at the thing.

It was ignoring him now. He must have passed out of range of the forward-facing sensors and his presence had been wiped from its memory banks. Should he take the time to go closer, to examine it?

There was no way he could justify the action other than curiosity. The release from tension, and the fear of certain death that had so recently overwhelmed him, had made him almost light-headed and fearless for the moment. He had to get closer to the thing, to look at it. It might reveal something, or nothing, it didn’t really matter.

He approached it, step by cautious step, but the machine paid him no need. He was close enough now to see the weld marks on its metal hide, to put one foot on the shining metal of a bogey wheel and clamber up its side. There was a hatch on top, just behind the gun turret, with a single locking handle. He hesitated a second — then reached out and pulled down on it, hard.

Soundlessly and effortlessly the hatch swung open.

Nothing else happened. Brion heard his heart hammering loudly as he leaned forward and looked in. The tank was empty of life. Instruments glowed in the half-darkness; somewhere a servo motor hummed and then was still. Festoons of ammunition rose up to the guns beside him. They were armed and ready to fire. Then why hadn’t they fired at him?

Enough! He was suddenly angry at himself for this stupidity. What was he doing here — risking his life without reason? He had passed the war machine safely. All he should have done was continue on his way, to get as far away from the thing as he could. He kicked out at the steel side with disgust at himself, then jumped down and ran steadily up the valley, never looking back.

This was one more puzzle to add to the rest of the puzzles that seemed to make up this deadly world. And none of these puzzles would be solved unless he discovered the origin of the army that had passed them. He ran on.

He was still moving when darkness fell, but he kept running steadily, the ground clearly visible by starlight. It was a merciless grind even for him, and long before the night was over he stopped for a rest. Then another one. Fatigue was slowing him when he reached a narrow side canyon. He got down on his knees to examine the ground carefully, but were no track marks leading from it. The canyon should provide a safe place to rest. He walked into it, until he was well out of sight of the valley below, then found shelter between two large boulders and was instantly asleep.

Sometime later a disturbance drew him from his deep sleep. The stars shown brightly above, stretching from horizon to horizon. He could hear nothing from the valley — but far distant the sound of jet engines was clearly audible, dying slowly away. It had nothing to do with him. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again the sky was grey with dawn.

He was tired and chill, his muscles sore. The water was icy in his mouth and he resisted the. urge to drink more than a few carefully rationed sips. And he was hungry. He had expected these reactions so he determinedly forced his attention away from such weaknesses. The job still had to be done. Once he started moving he would warm up; thirst and hunger could be lived with. He must press on.

When the valley began to widen out he stayed close to the eastern wall, moving through the shadow. This might provide him some protection if he should meet more of the machines. The valley began to grow level, becoming wider at the same time, the surface growing harder as he went. Changing from packed soil and rock to something harder and smoother. He bent to examine it.

It was solidified molten rock. Not rounded and lumpy as it would have been had it been formed by natural volcanic action, but smooth and level. It had been melted by fusion guns, then levelled into place.

The surface of the valley was artificial.

The sun was higher in the sky now and was clear of the shadowing ridge. It lit up the entire valley floor, revealing its artificially smooth and flattened surface. Brion walked over it cautiously, examining the rocky walls on both sides at the same time. They were completely smooth and solid, without openings of any kind, even at the valley end.

Nothing. The rock walls were ancient, natural. This was a dead end. A box valley that began here and extended down to the plains. A rock-walled slice through the mountains with only the single exit.

Yet he knew that a mighty mechanical army had poured out of this valley. He had seen it himself and backtracked it to this spot. How could there be nothing here? It was impossible.

He walked slowly over to the rock wall and reached up and touched it, then beat against it with the hilt of his knife in frustrated rage. It was solid. This just could not be possible. Yet it was.

When he turned about to look back down the valley he saw the dark column for the first time. It was less than four feet high and stood about ten yards out from the rear wall. He walked slowly towards it, around it — then reached out and touched it. It was metal, an alloy of some kind, slightly worn by time, with its surface lightly tarnished. It had no markings, could have no function that he was aware of. He could scratch it with the tip of his knife; it left a bright line when he pulled it across the rounded top. As he put the knife carefully back into the sheath he felt his anger and frustration rising.

“What is it?” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “What is the meaning of all this?”

His words echoed and bounced from the rocky walls and died away until the valley was still again.