The Dig by Alan Dean Foster

“I would not worry about her overmuch, my friend. I suspect she has survived worse than this.”

“How would you know?”

Brink eyed him uncertainly. “I am not sure that I follow your meaning.”

“Never mind, it’s nothing. You’re probably right, Ludger. I’m driving myself nuts worrying about her while she’s probably off somewhere divining alien secrets and wondering where the hell I’ve been. We’ll find her soon enough.”

As on previous occasions, the door to the sphere cycled silently shut behind them as soon as both were properly seated on the passenger bench. For the second time, Low found himself wondering how many Cocytans the transport was designed to hold. A dozen, or one unimaginably large one? His contemplation was cut short as the sphere began to roll.

“I’ve been wondering about these tunnels.” Low spoke as the two men sat side by side, staring ahead, waiting for the inevitable light. “Been wondering about them since the first time I saw one. Wondering about them now.”

Brink replied tolerantly, since it was obviously expected of him. “And what have you been wondering, Commander?”

“If they’re all intact. If any of them happen to have ceilings as weak as the one doming the big chamber we just left. It collapsed and killed you.” He glanced significantly upward. “A breakdown here would kill both of us, and even if Robbins figured out how to use the crystals, it wouldn’t do any good. I don’t think the crystals are capable of resurrecting pulp.”

“For a supposedly phlegmatic type, your images are very vivid, Commander.” Brink considered the possibility. “I would think that the engineers of this world would have ensured that any type of undersea excavation would be built to far more exacting standards than simple land-based edifices. In my opinion, these tunnels are probably the sturdiest structures we are likely to encounter. In addition, they are doubtless equipped with any number of fail-safe and backup systems designed to deal with the first sign of structural failure.

“For example, at the first hint of flooding I would expect these spherical transports to be shut down. Therefore we may assume that so long as we are moving, there is no structural danger.” Low was about to comment, but Brink forestalled him.

“Nor do I believe that conclusion means that I am ‘thinking like a human.’ I would expect sensible engineering to transcend species.”

“Sounds good to me.” The seat quivered ever so slightly beneath Low’s backside. “Unless the fail-safe mechanisms have failed first. Then there’d be no warning.”

“I can see why they made you a shuttle commander, Boston Low. You worry not only about the obvious but about the invisible. I suspect that if you were sitting motionless in a completely empty dark closet, you’d find time to worry about the makeup of the atmosphere within.”

“Shoot, I do that all the time. Comes from spending so much of my professional life carrying my own air around with me. Your nose gets real sensitive and you find yourself starting to question individual molecules.” He lapsed into silence, staring down the tunnel.

Having completed two successful journeys via the spherical transport system, they felt comparatively confident when they stepped out for the third time. As expected, there were no surprises waiting for them. The transport station was a duplicate of those at the map spire and museum spire, and the large portal on their left stood open and inviting.

The interior of the new spire was considerably different, however. Careful inspection revealed it to be absolutely empty, a vaulted cylinder harboring smooth, bare walls and nothing else. There weren’t even any of the distinctive protrusions that commonly bulged from floor and siding. Not an artifact, not a console, not a pile of sealed containers: nothing whatsoever. The spire of the third island was barren.

Low studied the floor. Like all Cocytan paving, it was subtlely reflective. You couldn’t see your face in it, only vague outlines. Most certainly it was composed of the same material he and Brink had encountered everywhere else.

“Looks like a dry hole, as they say in Texas.” A disappointed Low started forward. “Might as well make sure.”

As they entered, their booted feet made soft padding sounds on the polished surface. By what mechanism these ancient monuments remained free of dust and dirt they couldn’t imagine. Low hypothesized tiny cleaning robots that emerged from concealment only when necessary, while Brink opted for some kind of inbuilt electrostatic repulsion system. They argued as they strolled bemusedly toward the center of the room.

“I don’t get it.” Low didn’t know what to expect, only that he’d expected to find something. Especially given the profusion of wonders they had encountered in the other two spires. “What was this place?”

“Who can say? Possibly it was never utilized, or perhaps the Cocytans emptied it out before their unknown fate befell them. It could have been intended for use as a storeroom that was never needed. We might as well return to the central island and try the last spire.”

“In a minute. There’s something wrong here.” Something about the meticulously maintained emptiness continued to bother him. “It’s too clean, too spotless. Maybe the Cocytans were cleanliness fanatics, but we’ve found debris elsewhere. Why would they devote so much energy and engineering to maintaining an unused building in immaculate condition when both of the other two spires show routine signs of neglect? Look at this floor.” He scuffed the glossy surface with his boot. “Can’t even raise a whiff of dust. It doesn’t make sense.” His gaze roved the walls and ceiling.

“This place still has a purpose.”

Brink was unconvinced. “Yes. To mystify curious visitors, for one thing. I see nothing unnatural in a fetish for hygiene. In Hamburg and Kiel there are unused shipping warehouses that are maintained spotlessly.”

“I don’t doubt it.” They had almost reached the center of the spire. “But those are kept clean in expectation of eventually receiving sensitive cargo. If that’s the case here, then why keep the sphere transport system running to this island? Why not shut it down until needed?”

The scientist shrugged. “Perhaps the Cocytans were profligate with their resources. It is possible that…”

The room vanished.

Though he was among the handful of his kind trained and mentally equipped to deal with such a dislocation, such as when an orbiting shuttle might lose all power and light, Low still swallowed hard when the spire’s primary function engaged. There had been no warning. But then, none would have been necessary for the Cocytans, who came to this island familiar with its function. They would have known what to expect, would have know that standing in the exact center of the room was all that was required to activate the concealed equipment.

The abrupt transformation was much harder on Brink. Gasping involuntarily at the sight that now confronted them, the scientist mumbled something in German and stumbled into Low. Reaching out, the Commander got a firm grip on his companion’s arms and managed to steady him.

“Take it easy, Ludger. It’s just an illusion, a projection of some kind. You can still breathe, can’t you? Gravity’s still at work. We’re not falling. It only looks that way.”

“An illusion.” Brink found in the Commander’s calm expression an island of stability amid utter distortion. His gaze kept returning for reassurance to that composed visage. “I am used to witnessing illusions, not to being a part of them.”

“It’s a complete experience,” Low agreed. “Nothing left out.” He turned a slow circle. “All-encompassing. It doesn’t move with you. I know a couple of astronomers who’d give up five years of their lives for the chance to spend a week in here.”

They were floating in space. Stars, nebulae and other stellar features surrounded them. Some types were utterly unfamiliar, each representing a new astronomical discovery hitherto unknown on Earth but presented within the spire with the assurance of long familiarity.

Close to Low’s face hovered a star and four planets. The sun blazed in spectacular miniature, periodically casting off minuscule prominences, while the planets slowly rotated in their orbits. Low wondered if the star would be warm to the touch. Squinting and leaning close, he could see individual cloud formations moving within a pair of tiny atmospheres. As he stared, a typhoon the size of a pinhead slowly rotated into view.

He reached toward the diminutive globe and saw it expand in response. Now it was the size of a tennis ball, individual land-masses and seas standing out clearly. The nearer he moved his hand, the larger it became, until the globular projection had expanded to where its diameter was twice his height. One region in the eastern ocean particularly attracted his attention.

“See there, Ludger. There’s the main island and the surrounding islets. It’s Cocytus.”

Overwhelmed by the simplicity of the planetarium’s design as well as by the technology that made it possible, Brink could only murmur in amazement.

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