Once more he surveyed that assembly of empty seats. Almost he could people it. But those he summoned to sit there could not be the ones who had once done so. The men of Terra had been gone too long—were scattered too far—
He walked slowly down the center of the hall. The Zacathans and Fylh had drawn apart. They must have watched with amazement the actions of the humans. Now Kartr tried to explain.
“This is Terra—”
But Zicti knew what that meant. “The ancient home of your species! But what an amazing discovery!”
What else he might have added was drowned out in a shout which drew all their attention to the dais again. Dalgre stood at the left of it beckoning to them. Rolth and Smitt had disappeared. In a body they hurried to join Dalgre.
The new discovery was behind the dais, hidden by a tall partition—and it covered most of the wall. A giant screen of some dark glass on which pin points of light made patterns.
Below it was a table top of which was inlaid with a paneling of switches and buttons. Smitt crouched on the bench before it, his face intent.
“A communication device?” asked Kartr.
“Either that or some kind of a course plotter,” Dalgre answered. Smitt merely grunted impatiently.
“Could it still be in working order?” Zacita marveled.
Dalgre shook his head. “We can’t tell yet. The city functioned again after they pulled the right switches. But this”—he indicated the giant star map and the intricate controls on the table—“will have to be studied before we can push the right levers. Why, we don’t understand any of their wiring methods—”
The techneer, any techneer, might possibly put the machine into working order again. But, Kartr knew, such a feat was totally beyond the rangers. He studied the star map slowly, identifying the points he could recognize. Yes, here was the galaxy as it appeared from this ancient planet close to its rim. He noted the brilliance of Sarmak, moved on to Altair and the others. Had this board once plotted the course on which man went out to those far-off suns and the worlds they nourished?
It was growing darker as the evening closed down. But even as the light faded from overhead, a soft glow outlined the star map and illumined the table—although the rest of the hall remained shrouded with shadows.
Kartr moved. “Shall we camp outside or return to the hills?” he asked Zicti.
“I see no reason for returning,” the Zacathan replied. “If all the natives have withdrawn, as they apparently have, surely there can be no objection to our staying—”
Behind him Zinga laughed and pointed a talon at Smitt. “If you think that you can drag him away from here even by force, you are sadly in error, Sergeant.”
Which, of course, was true. The com-techneer, confronted by a mysterious device in his own field, refused to leave even for food, preferring to gulp down a cup of water and chew on a piece of tough meat absently while his eyes were busy with the marvels before him.
They chose to drag their bedrolls into the hall when the full night fell, putting out their cooking fire and lying closely together below the empty seats of the vanished colonists.
“There are”—Zicti’s voice boomed through the emptiness—“no ghosts in this place. Those who gathered here once were already voyaging on in spirit, even as they sat here, eager to be gone. They have left nothing of themselves behind.”
“In a way,” Rolth agreed, “that was also true of the city. It was—”
“Discarded.” Kartr produced the right word as the Faltharian hesitated. “Discarded as might be a garment grown too small for its wearer. But you are right, sir, we shall meet no ghosts here. Unless Smitt can awaken some with his tinkering. Is he going to stay there all night?”
“Naturally,” Zinga replied. “And let us hope that he will not raise any voices out of the past—even out of your human past, friend. I have an odd desire to spend this night in slumber.”
Kartr awakened twice during the night. And by the faint glow which crept around the edges of the partition he saw that Smitt’s bedroll was still unoccupied. The com-techneer must be hypnotized by his discovery. But there was a limit to everything. So, at his second awakening, Kartr pulled himself out of the warmth of his bed with an impatient sigh, shivered in the chill, and padded on bare feet across the cold stone. Either Smitt would come willingly or he would be dragged to bed now.
The com-techneer was still on the seat, his head thrown back, his gaze fixed on the star map. In the reflection of the light his eyes appeared sunken and there were dark shadows like bruises along his cheek bones.
Kartr followed the direction of the other’s set stare. He saw what held Smitt fascinated, blinked, and gave a gasp.
There was a red dot on the black glass surface, a dot which moved in a steady curve.
“What is it—”
Smitt replied without taking his eyes from the traveling dot.
“I’m not sure—I’m not sure!” He passed his hands across his face. “You do see it, too?”
“I see a red dot moving. But what is it?”
“Well, I’ve guessed—”
And Kartr knew the nature of that guess. A ship—moving through space—headed in their general direction!
“Coming here?”
“It’s on a course—but—how can we tell? Look!”
Another dot had sprung into being on the screen. But this moved with a purpose. It was on the track of the first, a hunter on the trail. Kartr pushed down beside Smitt on the bench. His heart was thumping so that he could feel the sullen beat of blood in his temples. It was very important—that flight and pursuit—somewhere within him he knew that—so important he feared to watch.
The first dot was moving in a series of zigzags now.
“Evasive action.” Smitt mouthed the words. He had served on a battle cruiser, Kartr knew.
“What kind of ships are they?”
“If I understood this”—Smitt swept his hand over the controls before him—“maybe I could answer that. Wait—!”
The first dot engaged in a complicated maneuver which had no meaning as far as the sergeant could see but which flipped it back on a level with its pursuer.
“That’s a Patrol ship! It’s offered battle—but why—”
They were even, those two dots. And then—a third appeared on the board! It was slightly larger and moved more slowly, avoiding the two which would shortly be locked in combat. And, in making the arc to avoid the fight, it headed straight toward Sol’s system.
“Covering action,” Smitt translated. “The Patrol is covering for this other ship! A suicide mission, I think. Look—their battle screens are up now!”
A faint, very faint orange haze encircled the two dots near the outer verge of Sol’s system. Kartr had never been in space action, but he had heard enough tales, seen enough visigraphs, to be able to create in his mind a picture of the struggle now beginning. The larger dot had no part in the struggle. Instead it crept at its snail’s pace on and on, away from the dead-locked fighters.
Pressure—pressure of screen against screen. And when one of those screens failed—flaming and instant death! That was a Patrol ship out there holding the enemy at bay while a defenseless prey escaped.
“If I could only read this!” Smitt smashed his fists against the edge of the table.
On the board a tiny bubble of light blazed suddenly to light.
“Set off by the ship coming this way?”
Smitt nodded. “Could be.” He leaned forward with quick decision and pressed his finger on the button set under that pinprick of light. There followed sound—a vast roar as of rushing winds. They stared at the map almost deafened. And then through the roar came the chatter of something else, a sharp clicking which formed a pattern. Smitt jumped to his feet.
“Patrol summons, Patrol summons—TARZ—TARZ—”
Kartr’s hand reached for a blaster he was not wearing. The old call to action for the Service! He heard amazed cries behind him. The others were up, crowding around the partition to see and hear what was happening.
The beat of the summons echoed hollowly through the building. It might go on until the end of that battle or until there was some answer. But no answer came. The haze about the dots thickened until they were completely hidden in it and each spot was a stationary fire.
“Top pitch—!” that was Dalgre breathing the words down Kartr’s back. “Reaching overload fast. They can’t take that much longer—they can’t!”
“Tar—”
One spot swept from orange to yellow—to incandescent white. It was an instant of splendor and then it was gone. They blinked blinded eyes and looked again. But there was nothing—nothing at all of the two fiery spots. The dark glass of the screen where they had been was as bare and cold as the wastes of outer space it represented.