David Galouye: Dark Universe

Pausing beside the hanging needle of rock, Jared tapped it with his lance. Precise, staccatolike tones filled the passageway.

“Hear it?” he coaxed. “It’s right up ahead.”

“I don’t hear a thing.” Owen edged forward, stumbled and fell lightly against Jared’s back. “Nothing but mud and hanging stones.”

“No pits?”

“None that I can hear.”

“There’s one not twenty paces off. Better stick close to me.”

Jared tapped the rock again, inclining an ear so he would miss none of the subtle echoes. There it was, all right — massive and evil as it clung to a nearby ledge listening to their advance.

Ahead were no more needles of rock he could conveniently tap. The last echoes had told him that much. So he produced a pair of clickstones from his pouch and brought them together sharply in the hollow of his hand, concentrating on the returning tones. To his right, his ears traced out great formations of rocks, folded one over the other and reflecting a confusing pattern of sound.

Owen clutched his shoulder as they pressed forward. “It’s too smart We’ll never catch up with it.”

“Of course we will. It’ll get annoyed and attack sooner or later. Then there’ll be one less soubat to contend with.”

“But Radiation! It’s pitch silent! I can’t even hear where I’m going!”

“What do you think I’m using clickstones for?”

“I’m used to the central echo caster.”

Jared laughed. “That’s the trouble with you pre-Survivors. Depend too much on the familiar things.”

Owen’s sarcastic snort was justified. For Jared, at twentyseven pregnancy periods of age, was not only his senior by less than two gestations, but also was still a pre-Survivor himself.

Drawing up beneath the ledge, Jared unslung his bow. Then he handed Owen the spear and stones. “Stay here and click out some distinct tones — about a pulse apart.”

He eased forward, arrow strung. Now the ledge was casting back sharp echoes. The soubat was stirring, folding and unfolding its immense, leathery wings. He paused and listened to the evil form, audibly outlined against the smooth, rock background. Furry, oval face — twice as large as his own. Alert ears, cupped and pointed. Clenched talons, sharp as the jagged rocks to which they clung. And twin pings of reflected sound brought the impression of bared fangs.

“Is it still there?” Owen whispered anxiously.

“Can’t you hear it yet?”

“No, but I can sure smell the thing. It—”

Abruptly the soubat released its grip and dropped.

Jared didn’t need clickstones now. The furious flapping of wings was a direct, unmistakable target. He drew the bow, placing the feathered end of the arrow against his ear, and released the string.

The creature screamed — a piercing, ragged cry that reverberated in the passage.

“Good Light Almighty!” Owen exclaimed. “You got it!”

“Just punctured a wing.” Jared reached for another arrow. “ Quick — give me some more echoes!”

But it was too late. The thrashing of its wings was carrying the soubat off down a branch passage.

Listening to the retreating sound, Jared absently fingered his beard. Cropped close to his chin, it was a dense growth that projected bluntly forward, giving his face a self-confident tone. Taller than the span of a bowstring, he was lancelike in posture and his limbs were solidly corded. Although shoulder length in the back, his hair was trimmed in front, leaving ears unobstructed and face fully exposed. This accommodated his fondness for open eyes. It was a preference that wasn’t based on religious belief, but rather on his dislike for the facial tautness which came with closed eyes.

Later, the side passage narrowed and received a river that flowed up out of the ground, leaving only a thin strip of slippery rock for them to tread.

Gripping his arm, Owen asked, “What’s up ahead?”

Jared sounded the clickstones. “No low rocks. No pits. The stream flows off into the wall and the passage widens again.”

He was listening more intently, though, to other, almost lost echoes — minor reflections from small things that slid into the river as they retreated from the disturbing noise of the stones.

“Make a note of this place,” he said. “It’s crawling with game.”

“Salamanders?”

“Hundreds of them. That means decent-sized fish and hordes of crayfish.”

Owen laughed. “I can just hear the Prime Survivor authorizing a hunting expedition here . Nobody’s ever been this far before.”

“ I have.”

“When?” the other asked skeptically.

They cleared the stream and were back on dry ground again.

“Eight or nine pregnancy periods ago.”

“Radiation — but you were a child then! And you came here — this far from the Lower Level?”

“More than once.”

“Why?”

“To hunt for something.”

“What?”

“Darkness.”

Owen chuckled. “You don’t find Darkness. You commit it.”

“So the Guardian says. He shouts, ‘Darkness abounds in the worlds of men!’ And he says that means sin and evil prevail. But I don’t believe it means that.”

“What do you believe?”

“Darkness must be something real. Only, we can’t recognize it.”

Again Owen laughed. “If you can’t recognize it, then how do you expect to find it?”

Jared disregarded the other’s skepticism. “There’s a clue. We know that in the Original World — the first world that man inhabited after he left Paradise — we were closer to Light Almighty. In other words, it was a good world. Now -let’s suppose there’s some sort of connection between sin and evil and this Darkness stuff. That means there must be less Darkness in the Original World. Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then all I have to do is find something there’s less of in the Original World.”

Clickstone echoes traced out a massive obstruction ahead and Jared slowed his pace. He reached the barricade and explored it with his fingers. Rocks, piled one upon the -other, stretched completely across the passage, rearing up to his shoulder.

“Here it is,” he announced, “ — the Barrier.”

Owen’s grip firmed on his arm. “ The Barrier?”

“We can make it over the top easily.”

“But — the law! We can’t go past the Barrier!”

Jared dragged him along. “Come on. There are no monsters. Nothing to be afraid of — except maybe a soubat or two.”

“But they say it’s worse than Radiation itself!”

“That’s what they tell you.” By now Jared had him halfway up the mound. “They even say you’ll find the Twin Devils Cobalt and Strontium waiting to carry you off to the depths of Radiation. Rot! Compost!”

“But the Punishment Pit!”

Scrambling down the other side, Jared rattled his clickstones with more than one purpose in mind. Besides drowning out Owen’s protests, the clatter also plumbed the passage before them. Owen had somehow gotten in front and the close-quarter echoes were clearly transmitting sonic impressions of a stocky body, alert with tension and protected by outstretched, groping arms.

“For Light’s sake!” Jared rebuked. “Get your hands down! I’ll tell you if you’re going to bump into anything.”

The next echo crest caught the other’s shrug. “So I’m no good with dickstones,” he gruffed, stepping off in a resentful stride.

Jared followed, appreciating Owen’s pluck. Cautious and hesitant, he took things reluctantly. But when the final click fetched its impression of an unavoidable situation with natural foe or Zivver, there wasn’t a more determined fighter around.