The Dig by Alan Dean Foster

She struggled futilely in its grasp. The grip around her waist was painful and she was having trouble breathing. At any moment she expected to disappear headfirst down that alien gullet. To her great relief, her captor shifted its grasp as it stepped over a floor-mounted, cylindrical exhibit, allowing her to inhale freely once more.

The largest of the openings in the wall loomed near. Low’s voice continued to yammer at her from the communicator. The creature ignored it, and with her arms pinned at her sides she was unable to reach the send switch and respond. She could only listen helplessly to the Commander’s frantic entreaties.

“Maggie, dammit, come back!” Low tried everything he could think of to reestablish contact, but all indications were that her unit was operating properly. Then why didn’t she respond?

He broke into a run. She was in some kind of trouble, but what? Had she fallen through another weakened ceiling like Brink and left her on-line communicator behind? Was she lying unconscious somewhere, unable to respond to his entreaties?

Unpleasant realization struck home. Had she encountered a guardian?

He slowed as he approached the intermediate chamber, the location of his own near demise. For an instant he heard nothing. Then the blunt, dull sounds of bodies striking each other reached him, and he cautiously leaned forward to peer out.

The two guardians were much as he’d left them, inextricably entwined and battling relentlessly. One was missing half a limb while the other bled from several deep wounds. Neither showed any sign of letting up or slowing down.

He waited until they had rolled into the farthest corner of the chamber before slipping out of the passageway. Keeping low and moving fast, he covered the distance to the other tunnel without being noticed. Or perhaps they both detected motion and chose to ignore his presence. If either let down its guard, its opponent would not hesitate to seize the opportunity. Evisceration and dismemberment would surely follow.

Elated at his escape, Low entered the smaller, narrower outer tunnel and resumed his flight. When he finally emerged back into the clear light of the spire, he nearly collapsed from relief.

No time for self-congratulation, he thought sternly. Disdaining rest, he turned and raced for the transport tunnel. Whatever trouble Maggie was in, he doubted it would wait days to be resolved. She needed help now. As much help as he could muster.

That meant involving Brink.

If he couldn’t persuade the scientist to put aside his obsession with the life crystals in order to go exploring, he could damn sure do so with Maggie’s well-being at stake. And if Brink wouldn’t be persuaded, he could be dragged, pushed or shoved.

Ahead, the transport sphere gleamed on its track like a giant pearl.

CHAPTER 16

It bore him swiftly back to the central island and the main chamber. There was no sign of Maggie, nor had he realistically expected her to magically appear before him, safe and sound beside the ceiling collapse. A check of the pertinent tunnel confirmed what he already knew: The transport sphere for the museum island was missing. More apprehensive than ever, he returned to the main chamber.

He didn’t have to go hunting for Brink. He knew exactly where to find the scientist.

“Ludger.”

The other man reclined in the rear of the storeroom where they’d first found the supply of life crystals, basking in their combined warmth. He’d removed them from his pockets and spread them out to form a narrow enclosure. Like a wizard on holiday, he lay in the midst of the pale-green framework, hands behind his head and eyes closed.

Low advanced. “Ludger, Maggie’s in trouble. I’m not surmising, I just finished speaking to her via the communicators. She was talking to me and her voice went dead, like she’d been cut off. But her unit’s still operating. Something’s happened to her. She’s in big trouble.” He nudged a couple of crystals with his foot. “I need your help, Ludger. Maggie needs your help.”

Exerting himself, Brink opened his eyes and sat up. Relaxed and content, he struggled to return from his self-imposed sedation. As he spoke, he rubbed slowly at his eyes, like someone awakened from a deep sleep.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

“I told you.” Low fought to curb his exasperation. “I don’t know. We have to find out.”

“Ah, but we don’t, Commander. You handle it. I’m sure you’re much better at this sort of thing than I am.” He waved diffidently as he sank back to a reclining position. “I am occupied with reflection and study.”

It was clear the scientist wasn’t interested in helping Low, Maggie or even himself. All that mattered to him anymore was remaining close to his beloved crystals. His condition was recognizable enough: He had become addicted.

Great, Low rumbled silently. He had two companions on this world. One was in God knew what kind of trouble, and the other had turned into the first extraterrestrial junkie.

For all Low cared, once they had rescued Maggie, the scientist could spend the rest of his life in rapt contemplation of the crystals until both body and mind wasted away. But right now he needed him.

At least he’s coherent and responsive, the Commander thought. Was there something in the appearance of the life crystals, in the warmth they gave off or their slightly slippery feel, that drew people inexorably to them? If he could figure out their attraction, he might be able to counteract it. Of course, if the addiction was connected to the fact that Brink had absorbed one into his body, then there wasn’t much Low or anyone else could do.

Silently the Commander tried to count the number of crystals arrayed around the scientist’s prone form. There seemed to be the same aggregate as before. That meant that whatever their attraction, it didn’t require absorbing or consuming more of the crystals on a regular basis. The residual effect was external. In many ways that made it even more insidious.

“Look, Ludger, you can come back when we’re through. I just need you to help me help Maggie.”

“Sorry, Commander, but I have found all the help that I need,” Brink responded with languorous indifference. “You know, there is a device here that I believe is designed to produce additional crystals.”

“Now, how,” an impatient Low inquired, “without any knowledge of the local written language, did you manage to figure that out?”

The scientist’s eyes blinked open to stare up at him. Had they acquired a faint greenish cast, Low wondered, or was it only his own imagination working overtime?

“It seems fairly straightforward. There are an abundance of illustrative glyphs on the machinery. The mechanism itself appears to have been designed so that even the simplest of fools can operate it. Perhaps even such as you or I.”

Low passed on the implied insult. “So how come you haven’t switched it on and buried yourself up to your tuchus in crystals?”

“I tried, Commander. Believe me, I tried. However, when I passed my hands over the appropriate grooves, following the pattern indicated in the glyphs, nothing happened. I tried this several times and am quite sure I proceeded correctly. My conclusion is that there is something mechanically wrong with the device. I believe the problem is not insuperable.” A tautness had crept into his voice.

“Think of it, Commander! Think of what it would mean to bring such a machine back to Earth. Resurrection on demand. Alleviation of all the life-threatening diseases that have forever plagued mankind. Put in a coin and receive life. A miracle machine.”

“Right: if it works on everybody, and every medical problem. Meanwhile, Doctor Faustus, I’m sure nobody will touch your precious medicinal Mephistopheles if you take a few moments to aid Maggie instead of Moloch.”

“Why, Commander! You are better read than I would have expected.”

“Thanks. I’d like to add that I also hold a second-degree black belt in Tae Kwan Do. So get your tired Teutonic butt up off the floor and lend me a hand.” As he reached for the scientist’s boots, Brink quickly drew back his legs.

“It will do you no good to threaten me, Commander. Go and seek out our wayward journalist if you must, but leave me in peace.”

“She’s not wayward. I told you, she’s in trouble.”

“Journalists are always in trouble. They revel in it. From trouble they derive stories, the way a fish extracts oxygen from seawater.”

Low bit down on his lower lip before replying, his words carefully spaced and intense. “Listen to me, Ludger. There are creatures on this planet that aren’t cute, ground-dwelling critters. I know; I had to deal with two of them in the last spire I visited.”

“Then I am certain you can deal with this crisis as well.” Brink drew his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, looking for all the world like a six-year-old trying to hide in a closet. “It is more important that I remain here to look after the life crystals while I try to unearth the secret of this machine’s operation.”

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