Planet Of No Return

16: Secret of the Black Column

In a rage of impotent fury, Brion kicked out at the dark column. This produced only a dull thud and a sharp pain in his foot.

“Very impressive, Brion,” he said aloud. “The considered reactions of an intelligent man. Feeling better? Now that you have gotten rid of your temper — and have a sore foot to prove it — isn’t it time to give a little thought to this problem? It is. Now what do you know? To begin with, point number one,” he raised a finger, “the mechanized army came out of this valley. There can be no doubt about that. The tracks I followed all led to this spot. There were no turnings or alternative routes. Which leads to conclusion number two — the machines must have come from here, from this end of the valley, the area right here where I’m standing. The cliffs and the ground appear to be solid — but maybe they are not. To be examined. But what about a closer look at this column first? It is artificial, made of metal — and the chances are a hundred to one that it has something to do with this problem. So, number three, examination of column is on top of the list.”

Something was nagging at his memory. What was it? When he had kicked the column, aside from hurting his toe, there had been something about it? But what? Yes, of course, it had sounded as though it might have been hollow, giving out more of a ring than a thud when his boot had hit it.

Brion took out his knife and reversed it. Holding it by the blade, he rapped the pommel on the top of the column, where he had scratched the metal. This produced a solid thud. But when-he tapped it further down it rang loudly. It was hollow!

Which instantly prompted a second question: was it a hollow shell with something inside of it? A decided possibility. He must look for some way to open it, to get inside.

Brion ran his fingers slowly down the side of the column; it was smooth and unmarked. He got down on his knees to examine the lower half, then lay flat on the ground to look at the bottom. Was that a hairline crack around the base? He pushed hard with the tip of his blade — and it went under the metal! The crack was there, running all the way around the base. Although the column was apparently sunk into the solid stone — in reality it appeared to have a casing that rested on the surface. As he straightened up something caught his eye, a silvery glint of light, about a foot above the ground.

It was a scratch in the metal.

A closer examination revealed the fact that the scratch had been caused by something that had been fitted into a slot about an inch long — a slot with a scribed circle around it.

“A screw head! It looks just like a large screw head. And screws are meant to be turned.”

The only tool he had with him was the knife: it would have to do. He pressed the sharp tip into the groove, then pushed down on the handle. Nothing happened. Harder. He could feel his muscles knot with the strain, could see the knife blade bend. It might snap. That didn’t matter. Harder still …

With a metallic creak the circular piece of metal rotated a fraction of an inch. When he ran his finger over the surface he could feel that it projected slightly; a metal plug, no longer flush with the surface. Now that it had been started, it turned more easily. Around and around, until the head was clear and he could see the shining screw threads below it. More and more — so loose now that he could turn it with his fingers. He twisted it out and dropped it to the ground, then bent over and peered into the opening. Blackness, nothing visible. But the bolt must have had some function. Did it hold something in place? What?

He raised the knife to probe the opening with the tip, then thought better of it. It would be far wiser to use his brains than just to probe at random. What had the function of the plug been? Was it designed to cover an opening, with a control of some kind inside it? Possible, but highly improbable. Perhaps it held the outer tube of the column into place? That seemed like a more reasonable possibility.

He bent over and jammed the knife blade against the bottom of the metal tube and managed to force it under a bit, then pulled up. It moved!

By levering back and forth, Brion managed to push the knife blade in as far as it would go, about a half an inch. The tube must now be free to move up and down. He left the knife in position and leaned over to embrace the foot-thick tube, bending his knees and wrapping his arms about it. Holding it to him as tightly as he could — he slowly straightened his legs.

Something moved. The metal tube had lifted slightly from the ground. He looked down and saw that it was a good half inch off the stone surface now, still supported by something on the inside. Moving precisely and carefully, so the thing would not drop back, he shifted his grip down and lifted again.

It rose slowly, an inch at a time, until he had raised it a good foot above the ground. He caught a glimpse of a shiny metal surface inside.

Bit by bit he lifted it higher, until he could get his fingertips under the bottom edge. Once this grip was secure he bent his legs until he was squatting on his thighs, took a deep breath and straightened up, lifting smoothly. The metal tube rose up and up — then dropped suddenly sideways as it came free.

Brion jumped back as it clanged down on the stone surface. Breathing deeply as he looked at what had been revealed.

Fitted inside a shiny metal frame was a compact electronic apparatus of some kind. There were familiar looking circuit boards with memory nodules, amplifiers and transformers, and all of it connected together by a network of wires. A thick cable emerged from a junction box, and he traced it with his eye down to the solid bulk of an atomic battery that was fitted into place at the base. It was a heavy duty battery which meant that if the drain wasn’t too great this machine might be able to function for years without attention. But what was its function? Almost all of the components were familiar, resembling closely some he had worked with himself. As he looked at it, Brion became aware of a slight humming emanating from the device. Was it functioning? He walked around it and, yes, there were LED displays on the far side, flickering with swift-changing numbers. So it was working, fine. But what was it — and what possible connection did it have to do with the war machines?

Brion bent and picked up his knife, then stepped back to look at the thing again. It was an absolute mystery. He raised the blade and aimed it, filled with the sudden impulse to jam it deep into the works. He resisted. That would accomplish nothing, other than his possible electrocution. Could there possibly be any nameplates or identification marks of any kind on the thing? As he bent over for a closer look loud explosions boomed out close behind him.

Reflex sent him hurtling to one side, rolling as he fell, turning and raising the knife before him.

Three men stood there, facing him, men who could not possibly have been there an instant before.

Three men dressed completely in black, with heavy boots and thick pressure suits. Their features were concealed by helmets with reflecting faceplates. All of them carried metal cases of some kind, and they did not appear to be armed. They must have been equally surprised to see him, for they recoiled back from the threat of his knife. Brion straightened slowly and slid the knife back into its sheath and took a step towards the nearest man. The man stepped back and pressed a control at his waist. There was a sharp bang — and he vanished just as suddenly as he had appeared.

“What’s happening here? Who are you?” Brion called out, walking forward. The two remaining men fell back before him just as explosions sounded for a third time. They were cracked out in rapid succession as, one after another, and at least a dozen more men appeared dressed in the same outfits.

But these men were armed. Their heavy rifles were raised and pointed in his direction. Brion stood still, making no movements to alarm them. The man in front, with identifying stripes of some kind on his arms, lowered his weapon and touched his helmet. His faceplate opened.

“Who are you?” he said. “What are you doing here?”