“What’s this? Like a radio? Mike and speaker. Couldn’t we try to raise War Wag One?”
“It’s about a thousand miles out of range, Finn,” the Armorer said.
Finnegan poked at a row of buttons and switches, one of which brought a startling howl of feedback that made everyone jump. Ryan was about to yell at Finn to leave it alone when the howling stopped, replaced by a faint crackling. And in among the tumbling static, it sounded almost as if there were words. Finnegan shouted in delight.
“Fucking sheep shit on a stick! You hear that? There’s someone out there.”
“Tune it in, if you can, Finn,” Ryan called out, joining the others around the radio. “That dial there. Turn it real slow and easy.”
The crackling came and went as though a directional antenna was turning. The words were sporadic and indistinct. There was an eerie quality to it that made the short hairs rise at the back of Ryan Cawdor’s neck. He half turned and saw that Krysty’s beautiful angular face was blanked with doubt.
“Something’s not right, lover,” she whispered to him.
He could feel it. He didn’t have her power of seeing but there had been times that his life had been saved by some sort of second sight. A feeling for danger. A kind of prescience.
And he felt it now.
“signalhelptunedtowillinghelpfrequency follownorth fall”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Jak Lauren spat. “Load garbage. Waste time.”
Suddenly Finn’s seeking fingers found precisely the right spot on the radio dial. The voice was clear, the message ungarbled.
“Anyone receiving this message who requires any assistance in any matter of science or the study of past technical developments will be aided. Bring all your information and follow this signal where you will be given help. Stay tuned to this frequency.” It began to fade. “North of Ginnsburg Falls where receiving matter of”
It was gone, though Finnegan frantically kept twisting the dial. The banshee howl of the static faded away, and the set was silent.
“Equipment malfunction,” J. B. Dix said. “Probably not used in a hundred years. Burned out.”
“But the message. North of Ginnsburg Falls. Where that paper came from. We follow it and mebbe pick it up again. Fuck it!” He banged his hand against the table, making the lights flicker. “Just another couple of minutes. We could of talked back to ’em.”
“Loop-tape, Finn,” Ryan said quietly. “Could have been set on automatic fifty years back. Mebbe even programmed with its own generator before the Big Wars.”
“They offered scientific help,” the Armorer said, rubbing a finger across his stubbled chin. “They might know how the gateways work. Couldn’t they, Doc?”
“It’s a possibility, Mr. Dix. I would concede that to you. But”
His voice trailed away like the radio broadcast.
Ryan was tempted to hope. Was there someone who still had the skill and knowledge to operate the gateways properly? Or was it a voice from the tomb?
He couldn’t even decide which he’d preferto find some place of long-dead science, or to find that scientists were still practicing their murderous skills.
THE LEVER THAT OPENED the main doors into the gateway complex was stiff. At first Ryan couldn’t get it to move at all, then he threw all his strength against it and it grated upward. There was the sound of hissing hydraulics and gears meshing, somewhere buried deep within the reinforced walls.
As the doors began to move, Ryan turned to give the usual reminder to his group about taking all possible care. He was aware of the widening gap out of the corner of his eye with someone standing in the narrow corridor beyond.
Someone standing in
Someone
He swung around, his Hamp;K swinging with him. A small man, in furs, face swarthy. Blaster of some sort at his hip, muzzle like the mouth of a bell. Too slow, too late.
Ryan started to say, “Fuck,” which wouldn’t have meant much in the pantheon of famous last words.
The boom of a gun, deafening him.
A scream, shrill and terrified.
And a heavy blow that spun him around so that he banged the side of his head against the wall.
Ryan was oddly grateful to reach and embrace the swimming blackness.