“All right, I’m convinced. And not only is it exothermic, I think the property’s variable. The temperature of the metal is just high enough to hold back the ice without melting a big hole in the ice cap.”
“Maybe,” she said quietly, “this installation was built before the ice cap moved so far south. Maybe the glaciers moved over and around it, burying it here.”
“That would make this place a minimum of ten thousand years old, given what little we know of Tslamaina’s geological history.” She said nothing.
They continued their examination, but they found nothing to suggest the nature of the builders. Everything was a solid mass, seemingly formed whole from molds. They found no doorways and no windows, nothing to hint at the builders’ size or shape. Only smooth-sided featureless geometric forms. Equally striking was the absence of visible controls.
“If this is a fully automated installation,” Lyra pointed out, “designed to function for a long period of time without supervision, there would be no reason to expose sensitive controls to the cold.”
“Possible. We’d have a better idea if we could tell whether it’s operating now, or dormant, or kaput.”
“Instruments,” she murmured. “Sit down and rest, Etienne. I’ll be back in a minute.” She turned and jogged toward the hydrofoil, gathering up the two Tsla as she ran.
With their help she set up several sensitive probes next to the hull, aimed them at their discovery, and began to take readings. Some of the instruments operated efficiently from a distance while others required her to pass among the structures with remote sensors.
Except for the heat emanating directly from the metal, from the standpoint of radiant energy the enigmatic erections were dormant. The residual readings that appeared on the instrumentation matched the output of their flashlights and the hydrofoil’s batteries. Though the examination could hardly be considered exhaustive, considering the limitations of their equipment, the Redowls agreed that regardless of what the constructs had been designed to do, they weren’t doing anything now.
A library search informed them that self-exciting exothermic metal alloys had existed only in theory—until then. As for the machines themselves, their design did not match the technological architecture of any known civilization.
However old it was, most of the alien technology seemed to be in excellent condition. Though fragments littered the ground, there was no evidence of extensive degeneration within the metal or ceramics themselves.
While they couldn’t give a date to the installation or a name to its builders, they could determine the composition of the materials used. In addition to iridium, Etienne noted the presence of two dozen alloys that defied chemical and spectroscopic analysis, including one thin metallic whip that the computer insisted was an alloy of metallic sodium, despite the fact that in the damp air of the cavern there wasn’t the slightest evidence of oxidation on its shiny surface. When they dipped it in the river and nothing happened, the Redowls thought they could hear Homat’s beloved spirits move a little closer.
Much of the spirit boat was still strange to Tyl, and he was having trouble finding the fresh lightning pack that Lyra called a battery cell. He rummaged carefully through the storage bay, trying to disturb as little as possible. A noise overhead caused him to pause.
Curious, the Tsla climbed the walkway. His snout was extended, the tip probing the air. The sounds drew him up from the hull, through the second deck and onto the upper. He walked past the humans’ sleeping quarters, past the place of food they called the galley, until he was standing in the passage that opened into the open bubble of the cockpit. He stared for a long moment before speaking.
“What do thee here, Mai?”
Startled, Homat spun around. When he saw who confronted him he relaxed. “I am simply curious. We Mai are always curious about new things.”
Tyl gestured with his snout, a mildly insulting display. “Thee should be outside helping our friends.”
“I know, I know. I’ll be there again soon. But it’s so cold out there, so cold.” He shivered.
“I am cold outside also, but the coldness is settling now inside me.”
“I don’t understand you, meditator.”
“Thee linger too long and too frequently over the important places of this craft. For several days now I have noticed this. Thee have always stared as our friends worked here, but never more so since the attack by the Na. I think that this interest has escaped the attention of our friends, who though sophisticated in many ways are childishly naive in others. They are preoccupied with their study of our world and ways. But I am not so occupied, nor so naive. This unnatural interest of thee must be remarked upon.” He turned to leave.
“Stop there, meditator!” The chill had suddenly slipped from Homat’s body into his voice.
Slowly Tyl turned. His gaze fell to the device the Mai clutched firmly in his left hand. It was heavy for the six-fingered grip and Homat had to support part of it with his other hand. But the correct end was pointed at Tyl. He had seen the device in operation often enough to know that much.
“Mai,” he whispered, managing to combine a whole paragraph of insults into the inflection he wrapped around that single noun.
Homat was neither impressed nor intimidated. The Tsla usually overawed the Mai, but not him, not Homat. The hairy ones were bigger and stronger, but not necessarily smarter. No, size was no indication of intelligence, as he fully planned to prove.
“Do you know what this is?” he said, enjoying himself thoroughly as he gestured with the device he held. “This is the humans’ lightning thrower. I have seen it operate many times. It may be difficult to build, but it is very simple to use.” He pointed toward the clip holsters attached to the lower part of the control console.
“They sit there in their little homes, drawing strength from the spirit world until they are ready to serve the humans. These spirits are stupid. They do not respond to sacrifices or prayers or offerings, but will serve any who learn the rituals of operation. I have made an extensive study of such rituals these past many months.”
“To what end?” Tyl inquired softly even as he estimated the distance between them.
“You have seen the sunit that sleeps here, and the other metals. Enough wealth to buy half the world.”
“I am sure,” Tyl said carefully, “that the humans would not object to thee returning with enough of the gray metal to make thee wealthy until thy passing.”
“I’m sure they would allow me to bring a small amount, but not any more than would interfere with the plain rocks de-Etienne has already collected, for example. Why should I bow and scrape for a beggar’s pouchful when I can have all that the spirit boat can carry?” He produced a thin Mai smile. “I can have the spirit boat itself. The sunit will make me master of Mai. This vessel can make me master of the Groalamasan.”
Tyl’s initial anger dissolved into sadness and pity. “Poor Mai. Thy dreams are so much larger than thy body.”
“Are they?” said Homat hoarsely. “I planned to wait, but you push me toward delightment. The Tsla have always pushed the Mai. In the end we will overwhelm you. See, how simple the humans’ spirit devices are to work? You just touch this little round thing here …”
Etienne looked up from the base of the metallic mass he was studying, using the crutch Lyra had fashioned for him from a scoop net, and glanced back toward the boat. The glare from the two powerful spotlights made him squint.
“Did you hear something, hon?”
Lyra lifted her eyes from her work. She was trying to decide if some scratches they’d discovered on one wall might be writing. “Hear what?”
“The boat. I thought I heard something arc.”
She shrugged. “Missed my ears.”
He thought a moment, glanced to his right. “Yulour. Did thee hear anything from the spirit boat?”
The patient Tsla was sitting on the ground, playing with some colored stones. “I heard nothing, Teacher.”
