“Problem solvers. They must be problem solvers, or they would not be here.” Curious, several new individuals joined the convocation of thought-forms.
“As were those who preceded them.” The loudest font of negativity sounded tired. “It will make no difference. A diversion only. Remembrance brings pain.”
“Pain can be tolerated and is a concept only,” insisted the discoverer. “Even pain is variety, and that is something I still value.”
“Then you are a fool,” insisted the other. Together it drifted away with its companions of like perception, leaving only a few behind to maintain the discussion.
These continued to observe the newcomers: from above, from the sides, from below, from inside their bodies, the detailed examination taking place without the examined aware they were being probed. No great revelations were forthcoming. Structurally the bipeds were unexceptional.
Maggie Robbins put a hand to her stomach. “Didn’t you feel something just now?”
Preoccupied with his inspection of the terrain, Low replied absently. “What? No, nothing.” If this world was inhabited, he thought, the locals were keeping to themselves. Their works were self-evident—those spires towering above the other islands—but of the builders themselves there was no sign. Had they died out, leaving only their buildings and machines behind? If so, how long ago had it happened? Perhaps they might find something useful.
They damned well better, he told himself. Any hope of returning home lay locked within alien structures and alien artifacts. He wasn’t even sure how to start looking. An experienced archaeologist would have known where to look, where to dig. Would have known which building to start with and which to avoid. He’d been exposed to very little archaeology while in school. Did you dig up or down, plan a search grid first or just start in on the most likely structure? With no convenient text to refer to, they were going to have to improvise as they went along. Improvise, and hope they didn’t make too many mistakes as they learned.
Especially of the fatal kind, he thought. While some alien relics might prove useful, others could as easily possess less benign functions. How to tell which from what? He’d always been a supporter of hands-on learning, but right now he wished fervently for some simple visual aids.
One thing he was certain of: This was no dream. The ocean smelled too strongly of salt, the air too pungently of growing things. His companions were real enough, as was the pain he felt when he bit his lower lip.
So much, he mused, for the easy way out.
He sucked oxygen-rich air into his lungs, grateful for small favors. The world on which they had been dumped might have differed only slightly if they’d been unlucky. Same rock, same ocean, same sights, hut an atmosphere of methane. Or an ambient temperature of a hundred below. Things could be worse.
They had air. Potable water next, then edibles. Only then would he devote his energies to finding a way home. The water and liquid nutrients in their suit systems, even if carefully husbanded, wouldn’t last more than a day or two. They were intended for day use, not long-term camping. In crude confirmation of higher thoughts, his stomach growled.
Brink sidled over to the journalist. “Spirits, Maggie? Ghosts? Ubermenschen?”
“What? I don’t know any German, Ludger. You know that.” She turned away. “I just thought I felt something, that’s all.”
“Gas,” he suggested pithily. “Wind on your cheeks within and without.” His gaze roved the landscape. “We are blessed beyond all scientists since the world began. You wanted an alien artifact, Maggie Robbins. You have been given an entire world.”
“Right now I’d trade it all for a cheeseburger and a lift home.” She sniffed a strange odor, like burnt cinnamon.
“Stick out your thumb.” Brink chuckled. “You never know.”
“Very funny.” But when he’d turned away and when she was sure Low wasn’t watching, she did exactly that, feeling foolish as she did so. She only did it once, and then not for very long.
“It is clear that the object we believed to be an asteroid is in reality some kind of automatic transport. When activated, it returns automatically to this place. We found the key and unwittingly engaged its systems.” Brink knelt to examine a white rock full of tiny clear crystals. “It brought us here.”
“Fine. So we’re the greatest explorers since Columbus. I’d still like to know where ‘here’ is.” She tried not to think of food.
“Columbus?” Brink looked up from the crystals. “Columbus was a neighborhood layabout compared with us. This is the find of the ages. What we have done ranks with the discovery of the wheel, of fire.”
The journalist eyed a tree that was short on leaves and long on spray-tipped needles. “I’d rather discover a cheeseburger.”
“We may need wheels and fire before we’re through here.” Low leaned back to study the cliffs before them. None appeared insurmountable, but it would be easier and smarter to find a way through or around instead of trying to go over. He had no idea what he hoped to find, only knew that it was better to be searching than to stand around waiting for fate to intervene.
“Patience, Commander.” Brink held the cluster of crystals up to the light. “I share your anxieties, but can you not take a moment to contemplate the wonder of what has happened to us? We have accomplished a marvel.”
“Have we? I’m not so sure we’ve done that much. Given enough time, rats in a maze eventually find the bait, but it still doesn’t make them anything more then clever rats. It’s not like we found plans and built a space drive.”
Brink was not discouraged. “Then let us at least explore the maze.” He smiled thinly. “Perhaps we may find the bait.”
“That’s what I had in mind.” So saying, the Commander turned and started off toward the cleft in the rocks.
Robbins lengthened her stride to catch up to him. “We’re stranded here, God knows how far from home. Doesn’t Brink care?”
“Sure he cares, but I know scientists. There’s something that kicks in when they’ve made a new discovery.” He nodded back at their companion. “Some gene or something. Give them a new discovery to study and they’ll walk till they drop of dehydration or starvation, a precious weed or bug clutched in their dying fingers. Not only that, they’ll die happy.”
“Sorry. To me that’s a contradiction in terms. First thing I’d like to find is some water. You sure we can’t drink what’s left in our suits?”
Low shook his head. “Not yet. That’s our last option. You’re not really thirsty yet. Your mind’s just trying to fool your body.”
“Well, it’s doing a damn good job of it.” Robbins licked dry lips. “Won’t it just evaporate if we don’t drink it?”
“Suit supplies are sealed against evaporation. When you start staggering, we’ll discuss making use of the last of our known supplies. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t panic. The plant life hereabouts looks pretty lush. We’re sure to find drinkable water nearby.”
She stared back at him. “You really believe that?”
“I could lie, but actually, I do. Might as well, because we have to find water.”
She acknowledged the truth of this, glanced skyward. “I wonder how far we are from Earth? A light-year? Two or three? A thousand?”
He considered. “Maybe at night there’ll be some constellations we can recognize, but I wouldn’t count on it. A thousand’s more likely than two or three. Might be ten thousand. Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.”
“Better keep your eyes open. If I have Brink pegged correctly, he’ll be spending his time staring at the ground instead of looking for food and water.” He glanced significantly at her left arm. “You didn’t bring your camera.”
“It’s a lot heavier down here than it was in space. After we’ve found water, I’ll come back for it.” She pointed to her eyes, then the side of her head. “Until then I’ll use these cameras and this recorder. They’ve worked well enough for me in the past.”
He smiled condescendingly. “I hope they find what we’re looking for. Four loose plates would be nice.”
She nodded agreement. “How about a pair of ruby slippers?”
“Hey, right now I’d try anything.” He took a deep breath. “At least it doesn’t smell bad.”
“You sure it isn’t poisonous?”
He shrugged. “I checked your gauges. You had four minutes of air left in your suit when we cracked our helmets. It’s not like we have any choice. If there are dangerous trace elements in the atmosphere, they’ll save us the trouble of trying to find a way home. Meanwhile, you might as well relax and inhale.”
She sniffed. “Cloves?”
“That’d be about right. We’ll find a hundred different kinds of spice, and nothing to put it on. I’ve always felt that irony was one of Nature’s specialties.”
“Man, you are a congenital pessimist!”