Айзек Азимов - Before The Golden Age

Beltan’s tone was sharp, quick. “Have you any proof of that?”

“None whatever,” Sam admitted. “Call it intuition if you like, or merely the memory of somewhat similar propaganda methods in my own twentieth century.”

The flame that lifted in Beltan’s eyes died. “In any event,” he said dully, “there is no way of ever finding out. The neutron walls cannot be pierced.”

Kleon had been singularly silent. His fair brow was furrowed; he seemed plunged in profound thought. Now he raised his head suddenly. “Is there,” he demanded, “a mountain, within the confines of Hispan where the Titans are wont to groan uneasily?”

Beltan stared. “I do not understand.”

“He means,” explained Sam, “a volcano.”

“No; there is not.”

“Then,” shouted Kleon, “by the one-eyed Cyclopes, there is a way of escape.”

“What the devil--” Sam cried.

“Listen to me,” the Greek said fiercely. “The pyramid Hotep built for me to sleep into this stupid future lay close to the flanks of such a volcano.”

“That’s true,” Sam averred. “I remember it. But what of it?”

“This! According to the formula of the gymnosophists I required the gases from the smoking mountain for my chambered sleep. I drew them in by cunning vents which pierced the central fires. These opened to the day at the top of the mountain. Stones, nicely pivoted, sealed the vents after the gases poured into the chamber. Only I know the secret of their presence, of the springs by which they may pivot once more. The pyramid is within the city; the burning mountain is without. We shall escape by means of those passages which lead far underground from one to the other.”

Sam pounded the Greek’s shoulder. “Kleon, you are a genius.” Then a thought struck him, clouded his joy. “Out of the frying pan into the fire.” He grimaced. “Your passages lead to the central fires, you say. That means to the inner crater. We’d suffocate or frizzle to death.”

“The mountain may have ceased its complaining long since,” Kleon answered calmly. “And brave men die but once.”

“Right!” Sam chuckled. “We start at once. We still have the gadgets that Tomson gave us. They’ll drop us down the shaft.” He stuck out his hand to Beltan. “Good-by,” he said. “Thanks! You were the one bright spot in Hispan.”

The Olgarch’s eyes were inscrutable. “Warnings of your descent down the conveyor tube will be signaled back to Gano from every level,” he said. “You’ll never reach your buried pyramid.”

“We’ll chance it,” Sam retorted.

“I won’t permit such chances.”

Sam looked at him incredulously. “You mean you’re backing down? I thought you were our friend.”

“I mean,” Beltan replied quietly, “I am going with you. The levels will respect my presence.”

“You’re a good egg,” Sam said with feeling. “But it’s no go. You’d only get into a mess of trouble when you come back.”

“I’m not coming back,” the Olgarch retorted patiently.

“Huh! What’s that?”

“I mean I’m going out into the strange new world with you.” He smiled quizzically. “Didn’t you say a little while before that we three, given the chance, could conquer the universe?”

“But—but--” Sam spluttered. “Why, damn it, you can’t do this. The chances of our getting through, or of survival even if we do, are a thousand to one. Why should you give up everything-”

“Because I am tired of this life; because in rawness and chaos I may find again that soul you spoke of; because—I am your friend.”

The three men, products of three different ages, stared at one another with level brows. Sam felt an unaccustomed lump in his throat, spoke gruffly. “Then we’d better get started—before Gano gets on our trail.”

It was easier than they had anticipated.

Under Beltan’s guidance they darted in his conveyor car for the tube, bailed into the great shaft with swiftness and dispatch. Down five thousand feet they catapulted, meeting Technicians and Workers on their way, getting humble salutes because of the Olgarchic presence, curious glances as they whirled ever downward.

Then the final excavation, the still-yawning chamber which the blasters had laid bare. Harri, back on the job, looked up in alarm at this unprecedented invasion of an Olgarch. But Beltan took the trouble to explain. The sleepers, he said, were going to disclose to him the method by which they had slept intact these many ages. In the meantime, it was unnecessary for Harri and his corps of Workers to remain. And they were, he added with authority, to hold their tongues.

In seconds the final level was clear.

“Now”—Sam grinned—”strut your stuff, O Kleon.” He had noted Beltan’s anxious glances at the visor screen implanted in the upper shaft.

It was an even more anxious moment before the Greek found what he was looking for. A tiny, almost imperceptible depression in the ancient wall. A simultaneous exhalation of withheld breath burst from three pair of lips as the section of the wall turned on itself, disclosed a dark hole within. Sam, remembering his former experience, would have held back to determine if hot, volcanic gases would belch forth. But the Olgarch had cried out sharply. “Quick, run! We’re discovered!”

They dived headlong into the baleful opening. Kleon flung around, thrust his shoulder against the massive stone. It swung smoothly and soundlessly back into position. They crouched, panting, in utter darkness.

Just in time, too! For at that moment there was a low, humming sound that rose swiftly to an unbearable scream. “Gano has turned on the blasters,” said Beltan with a groan. “They’ll shear through this thickness of rock in two or three seconds.”

But the scream of rushing power gave way to a mightier roar. There was a huge crash, a tumbling, grinding noise. The solid rock swayed crazily underfoot. Then there was silence.

“The pyramid has fallen,” Kleon told them shakenly. “There must be a hundred feet of earth and rock and stone behind. All return is blocked.”

“Then the answer is forward,” Sam responded with a cheerfulness he did not quite feel. If the volcano was still active, if, in the course of long centuries, the crater had become clogged with lava--

It was a long, steep, arduous climb in total darkness—silent, except for grunts and low curses as they bumped blindly into jagged edges. Up, always up, in fetid, clammy atmosphere-

Then the path widened suddenly and they were at the bottom of a huge bowl. Sam looked up fearfully, then let out a great shout that brought the echoes tumbling about them. “The stars! I see the stars!”

High overhead, framed in limited blue, were tiny pin points of light, peering down incuriously upon them. There followed a mad scramble, a clawing and backward slithering in crumbling, weathered lava flows of an ancient epoch. The volcano was extinct. The air was foul but breathable.

Then they were out, staring with avid eyes upon the enveloping scene. It was night and the fresh breeze stirred their hair, ruffled their clothes. Three men, of different civilizations, clad in different habits, united only in a common bond of escape, emerged into an incredible world!

To one side, framed by the heights of the Sierra Madre, reared a vast, light-quenching surface. Five thousand feet it sprang, massive, somber, swinging over the plain to either side as far as the eye could reach. The neutron-walled city of Hispan!

To the other side, past the mountains, a great wilderness stretched interminably without end, without beginning. There was no sign of life, of human habitation, of anything but tangled, savage-crowding trees. There wasn’t a light, an airplane, not even a boat on the tideless darkness of the ocean beyond. Even the stars were strange, the old configurations gone.