Robert Silverberg - The Man In The Maze

Boardman came into the dome. It amazed Rawlins how durable and tireless the old man was. Boardman said, laughing, “Tell Captain Hosteen he lost his bet. We made it.”

“What bet?” asked Antonelli.

Greenfield said, “We think that Muller must be tracking us somehow. His movements have been very regular. He’s occupying the back quadrant of Zone A, as far from the entrance as possible—if the entrance is the one he uses—and he swings around in a little arc balancing the advance party.”

Boardman said, “Hosteen gave three to one we wouldn’t get here. I heard him.” To Cameron, who was a communications technician, Boardman said, “Do you think it’s possible that Muller is using some kind of scanning system?”

“It’s altogether likely.”

“Good enough to see faces?”

“Maybe some of the time. We really can’t be sure. He’s had a lot of time to learn how to use this maze, sir.”

“If he sees my face,” said Boardman, “we might as well just go home without bothering. I never thought he might be scanning us. Who’s got the thermoplastics? I need a new face fast.”

He did not try to explain. But when he was finished he had a long sharp nose, lean, downcurving lips, and a witch’s chin. It was not an attractive face. But it was not the face of Charles Board-man either.

After a night of unsound sleep Rawlins prepared himself to go on to the advance camp in Zone E. Boardman would not be going with him, but they would be in direct contact at all times now. Boardman would see what Rawlins saw, and hear what Rawlins heard. And in a tiny voice Boardman would be able to convey instructions to him.

The morning was dry and wintry. They tested the communications circuits. Rawlins stepped out of the dome and walked ten paces, standing alone looking inward and watching the orange glow of daylight on the pockmarked porcelain-like walls before him. The walls were deep black against the lustrous green of the sky.

Boardman said, “Lift your right hand if you hear me, Ned.” Rawlins lifted his right hand. “Now speak to me.”

“Where did you say Richard Muller was born?”

“On Earth. I hear you very well.”

“Where on Earth?”

“The North American Directorate, somewhere.”

“I’m from there,” Rawlins said.

“Yes, I know. I think Muller is from the western part of the continent. I can’t be sure. I’ve spent only a very little time on Earth, Ned, and I can’t remember the geography. If it’s important, I can have the ship look it up.”

“Maybe later,” said Rawlins. “Should I get started now?”

“Listen to me, first. We’ve been very busy getting ourselves inside this place, and I don’t want you to forget that everything we’ve done up to this point has been a preliminary to our real purpose. We’re here for Muller, remember.”

“Would I forget?”

“We’ve been preoccupied with matters of personal survival. That can tend to blur your perspective: whether you yourself, individually, live or die. Now we take a larger view. What Richard Muller has, whether it’s a gift or a curse, is of high potential value and it’s your job to gain use of it, Ned. The fate of galaxies lies on what happens in the next few days between you and Muller. Eons will be reshaped. Billions yet unborn will have their lives altered for good or ill by the events at hand.”

“You sound absolutely serious, Charles.”

“I absolutely am. Sometimes there comes a moment when all the booming foolish inflated words mean something, and this is one of those moments. You’re standing at a crossroads in galactic history. And therefore, Ned, you’re going to go in there and lie and cheat and perjure and connive, and I expect that your conscience is going to be very sore for a while, and you’ll hate yourself extravagantly for it, and eventually you’ll realize that you’ve done a deed of heroism. The test of your communications equipment is now ended. Get back inside here and let’s ready you to march,”

He went alone only a short distance this time. Stein and Alton accompanied him as far as the gateway to Zone E. There were no incidents. They pointed in the right direction, and he passed through a pinwheeling shower of coruscating azure sparks to enter the austere funereal zone beyond. As he negotiated the uphill ramp of the entrance, he caught sight of a socket mounted in an upright stone column. Within the darkness of the socket was something mobile and gleaming that could have been an eye.

“I think I’ve found part of Muller’s scanning system,” Rawlins reported. “There’s a thing watching me in the wall.”

“Cover it with your spray,” Boardman suggested.

“I think he’d interpret that as a hostile act. Why would an archaeologist mutilate a feature like that?”

“Yes. A point. Proceed.”

There was less of an air of menace about Zone E. It was made up of dark, tightly-compacted low buildings which clung together like bothered turtles. Rawlins could see different topography ahead, high walls, and a shining tower. Each of the zones was so different from all the others that he began to think they had been built at different times: a core of residential sectors, and then a gradual accretion of trap-laden outer rings as the enemies grew more troublesome. It was the sort of thought an archaeologist might have; he filed it for use.

He walked a little way, and saw the shadowy figure of Walker coming toward him. Walker was lean, dour, cool. He claimed to have been married several times to the same wife. He was about forty, a career man.

“Glad you made it, Rawlins. Go easy there on your left. That wall is hinged.”

“Everything all right here?”

“More or less. We lost Petrocelli about an hour ago.”

Rawlins stiffened. “This zone is supposed to be safe!”

“It isn’t. It’s riskier than F, and nearly as bad as G. We underestimated it when we were using the probes. There’s no real reason why the zones have to get safer toward the middle, is there? This is one of the worst.”

“To lull us,” Rawlins suggested. “False security.”

“You bet. Come on, now. Follow me and don’t use your brain too much. There’s no value in originality in here. You go the way the path goes, or you don’t go anywhere.”

Rawlins followed. He saw no apparent danger, but he jumped where Walker jumped, and detoured where Walker detoured. Not too far on lay the inner camp. He found Davis, Ottavio, and Reynolds there, and also the upper half of Petrocelli. “We’re awaiting burial orders,” said Ottavio. Below the waist there was nothing left. “Hosteen’s going to tell us to bring him out, I bet.”

“Cover him, at least,” Rawlins told him.

“You going on into D today?” Walker asked.

“I may as well.”

“We’ll tell you what to avoid. It’s new. That’s where Petrocelli got it, right near the entrance to D, maybe five meters this side. You trip a field of some kind and it cuts you in half. The drones didn’t trip it at all.”

“Suppose it cuts everything in half that goes by?” Rawlins asked. “Except drones.”

“It didn’t cut Muller,” Walker said. “It won’t cut you if you step around it. We’ll show you how.”

“And beyond?”

“That’s all up to you.”

Boardman said, “If you’re tired, stay here for the night.”

“I’d rather go on.”

“You’ll be going alone, Ned. Why not be rested?”

“Ask the brain for a reading on me. See where my fatigue level is. I’m ready to go onward.”

Boardman checked. They were doing full telemetry on Rawlins; they knew his pulse rate, respiration count, hormone levels, and many more intimate things. The computer saw no reason why Rawlins could not continue without pausing.