Burton could not resist running toward the illumination. He burst into a very large dome-shaped chamber and almost stepped on a human skeleton. It lay face down, its right arm-bones stretched out as if reaching for something. He picked up the skull and looked within it and at the floor beneath it. There was no tiny black ball.
The light came from huge metal balls, each on one of nine black metal tripods about twelve feet high. The light looked cold.
There were ten black metal boats on V-shaped supports and one empty support. It had held the vessel that the Egyptians had used to get to the tower.
The boats were of various sizes, the largest able to hold thirty people.
At the left side were metal shelves holding gray tins—the Americans would call them cans—each about ten inches high and six inches wide.
It was as Paheri had said it was.
Except that three human skeletons clad in blue clothes lay by one of the large boats.
The others moved in, talking in low tones. The place was certainly awing, but Burton ignored its effect to examine the unexpected remains.
The clothes seemed to be one-piece suits, pocketless, seamless, and buttonless and with pants legs. The material felt glossy and filled out where his fingers had depressed it. He rolled the skulls to one side and shook the bones from the garments. One individual was tall and had heavy bones and a thick supraorbital ridge and heavy jaws. He had probably been an early paleolithic. The bones of the other two were of the modern type, and the pelvis of one was a woman’s.
Inside each skull was a very tiny black sphere. If he hadn’t been looking for them, he wouldn’t have noticed them.
There was no evidence of violence. What had struck these agents down?
And what vehicle had brought them here?
He would have expected one of the flying vessels he’d glimpsed many years ago. But there had been none outside the cave mouth. Could it have floated away?
What or who had interrupted the three? Why hadn’t the people in the tower come after them after a certain amount of time?
They hadn’t because they were having troubles of their own.
Or they were dead, slain by the same thing that had felled these three.
X had to be responsible for this.
Burton reasoned that the same event that had downed these three had also resulted in stranding X and all the other Ethicals and agents in The Valley.
That meant that no craft could fly out from the tower to pick them up. Nor could the renegade fly one of his hidden vessels to the tower. He’d been forced, as Barry Thorn, to go on the airship built by Firebrass. And he’d failed to get in the tower.
From Burton’s viewpoint, the event had made certain advantages for him and for X. The agents had obviously discovered the cloth-ropes hanging down from the cliffside and the tunnels, and they’d found out that the very narrow ledge had been used by people from The Valley. They had probably found the cave last, after trying to make sure that passage would be impossible for any more of the unauthorized.
If the three hadn’t been killed, the cave entrance would be plugged up.
He strode to the shelves filled with tins. At the corner of each shelf was a plastic sheet about twelve inches by twelve inches. On it were figures of a man demonstrating how to open the tins. Burton didn’t need the pictures since he knew from Paheri’s story what to do. He passed a fingertip completely around the upper rim and waited for a few seconds. The top, seemingly of hard metal, quivered, shimmered, and turned into a gelatinous film. His finger penetrated it easily.
Burton said, loudly, “X forgot all about eating utensils and plates! But that’s all right! We can use our fingers!”
Famished, the others quit looking at the objects in the cave and followed his example. They scooped out the beef stew— warm—with their fingers and, from the tins marked by a bas-relief of bread, brought out loaves. They ate voraciously until their bellies were stuffed. There seemed no reason to ration themselves. The supply was more than plentiful.