Питер Филлипс - In Space No One Can Hear You Scream

“There is,” Danestar agreed. “It’s not very big, but the specimen won’t work without it. And when those things in the Pit realize it’s gone, they won’t be able to replace it.”

“Very dirty trick!” Wergard said approvingly. He glanced at the valise. “Supposing we manage to get out of this alive—how useful could the item become?”

“Extremely useful, if it gets to really capable people. As far as I could make out, it must embody all the essentials of that system.”

Wergard nodded. “We’ll hang on to it, then. As long as we can, anyway. We may have to destroy it, of course. Think the thing could spot there’s a part missing?”

“It could if it has a way of testing it,” said Danestar. “But if the specimen’s been reassembled and resealed, nothing will show. . . . There the creature comes now!”

They watched its emergence from the main building. It poured out of the landing lock area, swung west across the central square, moving swiftly. It might be carrying the specimen with it, as it had carried the shuttle.

“Coming back here!” Wergard remarked some seconds later. “And if it can open sectional barriers, it can open the main Depot lock in the control building. . . . ”

Danestar knew what he meant. The Pit creature might believe it had achieved its objective in regaining the lost signaling instrument and simply leave now. She began to feel almost feverish with hope, warned herself it was much more probable it did not intend to let any human being in the Depot remain alive to tell about it.

Her gaze shifted again to the patterns in the projection field. No further changes had been apparent, but a sense of dissatisfaction, of missing some hidden significance, still stirred in her each time she studied them. I’m not seeing everything they should tell me, she thought. She shook her head tiredly. Too much had happened these hours! Now her thinking seemed dulled.

She heard Wergard say, “It’s stopped for something!”

It had come to an intersection, paused. Then suddenly it veered to the right, moved swiftly past three buildings, checked again before a fourth. A probing fire tentacle reached toward the building, and defense barriers promptly blazed into activity.

The creature withdrew the tentacle, remained where it was, half-submerged in the street. Activated by its proximity, the defense field continued to flare while one or two minutes passed. Then the field subsided, vanished. The creature moved forward until some two-thirds of it appeared to be within the building. Barely seconds later, it drew back again, swung away. . . .

“It caught somebody inside there!” Wergard said. “It couldn’t have been looking for anything else. How did it know some poor devils had holed up in that particular section?”

The intercom signal on the viewscreen burred sharply with his last words, then stopped. They stared at it, glanced at each other. Neither attempted to move toward the switch.

The intercom began ringing again. It rang, insistently, jarringly, with brief pauses, for a full minute now before it went silent.

“So that’s how!” Wergard said heavily. He shrugged. “Well, if it—or a section of it—can manipulate a barrier lock and reproduce shortcode impulses, it can grasp and manipulate an intercom system. Not a bad way to locate survivors. If we don’t answer—”

“We can’t stay here, anyway,” Danestar told him, frowning at the projection field. She had spoken in an oddly flat, detached manner.

“No. It’s mopping up before it heads home—and now it can apparently cut off every sectional barrier that isn’t locally maintained directly from the control building. It won’t be long before it discovers that—if it hasn’t already done it.” Wergard picked up the energy gun. “Grab what you need and let’s move! I’ve thought of something better than trying to make it to the Keep and playing hide-and-seek with it there. With the tricks it’s developed, we wouldn’t last—” He looked over, said quickly, sharply, “Danestar!”

Danestar glanced around at him, bemused, lips parted. “Yes? I . . . ”

“Wake up!” Wergard’s voice was edged with nervous impatience. “I think I can work us over to the section the thing just cleared out. If we leave the barrier off, there’s a good chance it won’t check that building again. Let’s not hang around here!”

“No.” She shook her head, turned to the instruments on the shelf. “You’ve got to get me to our quarters, Wergard—immediately!”

“From here? Impossible! There’re several stretches—over three hundred yards in all—where we’d be in the open without the slightest cover. It’s suicide! We—” Wergard checked himself, staring at her. “You’ve thought up something? Is it going to work?”

“It might, if we can get there.”

He swore, blinked in scowling reflection.

“All right!” he said suddenly. “Can do—I hope! Tell me on the way or when we’re there what you’re after. We’ll make a short detour. There’s something I could do to keep our friend occupied for a while. It may buy us an additional twenty, thirty minutes. . . . ”

Hurrying up a narrow dim passage behind Wergard, Danestar felt clusters of eerie fears hurry along with her. Wergard swung on at a fast walking pace. Now and then she broke into a run to keep up with him; and when she did, he slowed instantly to let her walk again. It was sensible—they might have running enough to do shortly. But staying sensible wasn’t easy. Her legs wanted to run.

They were blind here, she thought. Her awareness of it was what had built up the feeling of frightened helplessness during the past minutes to the point where it seemed hardly bearable. She couldn’t use her instruments, and the sectional barriers in this area were turned off; they were also deprived of that partial protection. As Wergard had suspected, the alien had discovered the force fields could be operated from the central control office. The Depot was open to it now except in sections where human beings had taken refuge and cut in defense barriers under local control. Such points, of course, were the ones it would investigate.

And they might encounter it at any moment, with no warning at all. Whether they got through to their quarters had become a matter of luck—good luck or bad—and Danestar, who always prepared, always planned, found herself unable to accept that condition.

Wergard halted ahead of her; and she stopped, watched him cautiously edge a door open, glance out. He looked back, slid the energy carbine from his shoulder, held it in one hand, made a beckoning motion with the other. Danestar followed him through the door and he eased it back into its lock. They had come out into one of the Depot’s side streets. It stretched away on either side between unbroken ðbuilding fronts, a strip of the dull black dome of the main barrier arching high above.

They darted across the street, ran fifty feet along the building on the far side before Wergard stopped at another door. This one opened on a pitch-dark passage; and, a moment later, the darkness closed in about them.

Wergard produced a light, said quietly, “Watch your step here! The section was sealed off officially fifty years ago and apparently hasn’t been inspected since.”

He moved ahead, rapidly but carefully, holding the light down for her. They were some five minutes from their starting point. Beyond that, Danestar did not know what part of the Depot they’d come to, but Wergard had told her about this building. It had been part of the old fortress system, cheaper to seal off than remove, an emergency unit station which operated the barrier defenses of the complexes surrounding it. If the equipment was still in working order, Wergard would turn on those barriers. Approximately a tenth of ðDepot would again be shielded then, beyond manipulation by the control office. That should draw the creature’s attenðtion to the area, while they moved on. Their living quarters were in a building a considerable distance away.