As Humphries listened to their maddening reports and waited impatiently for the IAA to organize its hand-picked team of scientists he ordered his security manager to get a squad of hired personnel to the asteroid as quickly as possible. From corporate facilities on Ceres and the moons of Mars, Humphries Space Systems efficiently brought together a brigade of experienced mercenary security troops. They reached the asteroid long before anyone else could, and were under orders to make certain that no one was allowed onto the asteroid before Martin Humphries himself reached it.
“The time has come.”
Elverda woke slowly, painfully, like a swimmer struggling for the air and light of the surface. She had been dreaming of her childhood, of the village where she had grown up, the distant snow-capped Andes, the warm night breezes that spoke of love.
“The time has come.”
It was Dorn’s deep voice, whisper-soft. Startled, she flashed her eyes open. She was alone in the room, but Dorn’s image filled the phone screen by her bed. The numbers glowing beneath the screen showed that it was indeed time.
“I am awake now,” she said to the screen.
“I will be at your door in fifteen minutes,” Dorn said. “Will that be enough time for you to prepare yourself?”
“Yes, plenty.” The days when she needed time for selecting her clothing and arranging her appearance were long gone.
“In fifteen minutes, then.”
“Wait,” she blurted. “Can you see me?”
“No. Visual transmission must be keyed manually.”
“I see.”
“I do not.”
A joke? Elverda sat up on the bed as Dorn’s image winked out. Is he capable of humor?
She shrugged out of the shapeless coveralls she had worn to bed, took a quick shower, and pulled her best caftan from the travel bag. It was a deep midnight blue, scattered with glittering silver stars. Elverda had made the floor-length gown herself, from fabric woven by her mother long ago. She had painted the stars from her memory of what they had looked like from her native village.
As she slid back her front door she saw Dorn marching down the corridor with Humphries beside him. Despite his slightly longer legs, Humphries seemed to be scampering like a child to keep up with Dorn’s steady, stolid steps.
“I demand that you reinstate communications with my ship,” Humphries was saying, his voice echoing off the corridor’s rock walls. “I’ll dock your pay for every minute this insubordination continues!”
“It is a security measure,” Dorn said calmly, without turning to look at the man. “It is for your own good.”
“My own good? Who in hell are you to determine what my own good might be?”
Dorn stopped three paces short of Elverda, made a stiff little bow to her, and only then turned to face his employer.
“Sir: I have seen the artifact. You have not.”
“And that makes you better than me?” Humphries almost snarled the words. “Holier, maybe?”
“No,” said Dorn. “Not holier. Wiser.”
Humphries started to reply, then thought better of it.
“Which way do we go?” Elverda asked in the sudden silence.
Dorn pointed with his prosthetic hand. “Down,” he replied. “This way.”
The corridor abruptly became a rugged tunnel again, with lights fastened at precisely spaced intervals along the low ceiling. Elverda watched Dorn’s half-human face as the pools of shadow chased the highlights glinting off the etched metal, like the Moon racing through its phases every half minute, over and again.
Humphries had fallen silent as they followed the slanting tunnel downward into the heart of the rock. Elverda heard only the clicking of his shoes, at first, but by concentrating she was able to make out the softer footfalls of Dorn’s padded boots and even the whisper of her own slippers.
The air seemed to grow warmer, closer. Or is it my own anticipation? She glanced at Humphries; perspiration beaded his upper lip. The man radiated tense expectation. Dorn glided a few steps ahead of them. He did not seem to be hurrying, yet he was now leading them down the tunnel, like an ancient priest leading two new acolytes—or sacrificial victims.
The tunnel ended in a smooth wall of dull metal.
“We are here.”
“Open it up,” Humphries demanded.
“It will open itself,” replied Dorn. He waited a heartbeat, then added, “Now.”
And the metal slid up into the rock above them as silently as if it were a curtain made of silk.
None of them moved. Then Dorn slowly turned toward the two of them and gestured with his human hand.
“The artifact lies twenty-two point nine meters beyond this point. The tunnel narrows and turns to the right. The chamber is large enough to accommodate only one person at a time, comfortably.”
“Me first!” Humphries took a step forward.
Dorn stopped him with an upraised hand. The prosthetic hand. “I feel it my duty to caution you—”
Humphries tried to push the hand away; he could not budge it.
“When I first crossed this line, I was a soldier. After I saw the artifact I gave up my life.”
