Гарри Гаррисон - Planet Of No Return

Sometime later a disturbance drew him from his deep sleep. The stars shown brightly above, stretching from horizon to horizon. He could hear nothing from the valley — but far distant the sound of jet engines was clearly audible, dying slowly away. It had nothing to do with him. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again the sky was grey with dawn.

He was tired and chill, his muscles sore. The water was icy in his mouth and he resisted the. urge to drink more than a few carefully rationed sips. And he was hungry. He had expected these reactions so he determinedly forced his attention away from such weaknesses. The job still had to be done. Once he started moving he would warm up; thirst and hunger could be lived with. He must press on.

When the valley began to widen out he stayed close to the eastern wall, moving through the shadow. This might provide him some protection if he should meet more of the machines. The valley began to grow level, becoming wider at the same time, the surface growing harder as he went. Changing from packed soil and rock to something harder and smoother. He bent to examine it.

It was solidified molten rock. Not rounded and lumpy as it would have been had it been formed by natural volcanic action, but smooth and level. It had been melted by fusion guns, then levelled into place.

The surface of the valley was artificial.

The sun was higher in the sky now and was clear of the shadowing ridge. It lit up the entire valley floor, revealing its artificially smooth and flattened surface. Brion walked over it cautiously, examining the rocky walls on both sides at the same time. They were completely smooth and solid, without openings of any kind, even at the valley end.

Nothing. The rock walls were ancient, natural. This was a dead end. A box valley that began here and extended down to the plains. A rock-walled slice through the mountains with only the single exit.

Yet he knew that a mighty mechanical army had poured out of this valley. He had seen it himself and backtracked it to this spot. How could there be nothing here? It was impossible.

He walked slowly over to the rock wall and reached up and touched it, then beat against it with the hilt of his knife in frustrated rage. It was solid. This just could not be possible. Yet it was.

When he turned about to look back down the valley he saw the dark column for the first time. It was less than four feet high and stood about ten yards out from the rear wall. He walked slowly towards it, around it — then reached out and touched it. It was metal, an alloy of some kind, slightly worn by time, with its surface lightly tarnished. It had no markings, could have no function that he was aware of. He could scratch it with the tip of his knife; it left a bright line when he pulled it across the rounded top. As he put the knife carefully back into the sheath he felt his anger and frustration rising.

“What is it?” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “What is the meaning of all this?”

His words echoed and bounced from the rocky walls and died away until the valley was still again.

In a rage of impotent fury, Brion kicked out at the dark column. This produced only a dull thud and a sharp pain in his foot.

“Very impressive, Brion,” he said aloud. “The considered reactions of an intelligent man. Feeling better? Now that you have gotten rid of your temper — and have a sore foot to prove it — isn’t it time to give a little thought to this problem? It is. Now what do you know? To begin with, point number one,” he raised a finger, “the mechanized army came out of this valley. There can be no doubt about that. The tracks I followed all led to this spot. There were no turnings or alternative routes. Which leads to conclusion number two — the machines must have come from here, from this end of the valley, the area right here where I’m standing. The cliffs and the ground appear to be solid — but maybe they are not. To be examined. But what about a closer look at this column first? It is artificial, made of metal — and the chances are a hundred to one that it has something to do with this problem. So, number three, examination of column is on top of the list.”

Something was nagging at his memory. What was it? When he had kicked the column, aside from hurting his toe, there had been something about it? But what? Yes, of course, it had sounded as though it might have been hollow, giving out more of a ring than a thud when his boot had hit it.

Brion took out his knife and reversed it. Holding it by the blade, he rapped the pommel on the top of the column, where he had scratched the metal. This produced a solid thud. But when-he tapped it further down it rang loudly. It was hollow!

Which instantly prompted a second question: was it a hollow shell with something inside of it? A decided possibility. He must look for some way to open it, to get inside.

Brion ran his fingers slowly down the side of the column; it was smooth and unmarked. He got down on his knees to examine the lower half, then lay flat on the ground to look at the bottom. Was that a hairline crack around the base? He pushed hard with the tip of his blade — and it went under the metal! The crack was there, running all the way around the base. Although the column was apparently sunk into the solid stone — in reality it appeared to have a casing that rested on the surface. As he straightened up something caught his eye, a silvery glint of light, about a foot above the ground.

It was a scratch in the metal.

A closer examination revealed the fact that the scratch had been caused by something that had been fitted into a slot about an inch long — a slot with a scribed circle around it.

“A screw head! It looks just like a large screw head. And screws are meant to be turned.”

The only tool he had with him was the knife: it would have to do. He pressed the sharp tip into the groove, then pushed down on the handle. Nothing happened. Harder. He could feel his muscles knot with the strain, could see the knife blade bend. It might snap. That didn’t matter. Harder still …

With a metallic creak the circular piece of metal rotated a fraction of an inch. When he ran his finger over the surface he could feel that it projected slightly; a metal plug, no longer flush with the surface. Now that it had been started, it turned more easily. Around and around, until the head was clear and he could see the shining screw threads below it. More and more — so loose now that he could turn it with his fingers. He twisted it out and dropped it to the ground, then bent over and peered into the opening. Blackness, nothing visible. But the bolt must have had some function. Did it hold something in place? What?

He raised the knife to probe the opening with the tip, then thought better of it. It would be far wiser to use his brains than just to probe at random. What had the function of the plug been? Was it designed to cover an opening, with a control of some kind inside it? Possible, but highly improbable. Perhaps it held the outer tube of the column into place? That seemed like a more reasonable possibility.

He bent over and jammed the knife blade against the bottom of the metal tube and managed to force it under a bit, then pulled up. It moved!

By levering back and forth, Brion managed to push the knife blade in as far as it would go, about a half an inch. The tube must now be free to move up and down. He left the knife in position and leaned over to embrace the foot-thick tube, bending his knees and wrapping his arms about it. Holding it to him as tightly as he could — he slowly straightened his legs.

Something moved. The metal tube had lifted slightly from the ground. He looked down and saw that it was a good half inch off the stone surface now, still supported by something on the inside. Moving precisely and carefully, so the thing would not drop back, he shifted his grip down and lifted again.