Алан Дин Фостер - Relic

“Something’s happening. I wish we knew what.” Remembering his communicator, he attempted to call Bac’cul. His efforts met with silence. He contemplated the information displayed on the readout before glancing up. His voice was grim.

“We’re being blocked.”

“You cannot do this. We had an agreement.”

The Vrizan Zizanden did not look down at the Myssari researcher. Her attention was on the tech team that was positioning the shock cannon they had unloaded from their transport.

“Our agreement was to share information about this archeological site. This will be done. But in order to share information, we must first acquire it. Whether in response to an action by the female human or something else, the entrance to the site is now shut. Since it cannot be opened by pacific means, we will open it by those means that are available to us.”

“But the doorway itself is an artifact!” A protesting Bac’cul waved all three arms in the direction of the heavy weapon. “ ‘Opening’ it in this fashion will render it useless for study.”

“It is a door,” Zizanden observed curtly. “It is not unique.”

Seeing that he was making no progress with the headstrong Vrizan commander, Bac’cul backed away and moved to rejoin his equally aghast colleagues. He did not need the situation explained to him. By forcing an entrance to the site while simultaneously insisting they would “share” any discoveries, the Vrizan hoped to conduct a preliminary survey and exploration of their own before the Myssari could conceal or mask anything of special significance. Had their positions been switched, Bac’cul might have felt similarly. Except no Myssari would resort to so crude a means of gaining entrance to a blocked site. Outnumbered and heavily outgunned, his team could do little except retreat to the vicinity of their driftec. From there they could wait, watch, and wonder if the Vrizan weapon would succeed in penetrating the barrier when their own less powerful devices had failed.

Knowing that the two humans inside deserved to know what was going on, he turned away from the Vrizan so that his communicator was shielded by his body. He stared at the device. The signal that had earlier reached to and from the depths without any difficulty was now failing to make contact. Were the Vrizan blocking it? There was no obvious reason why they should be doing so.

He was trying to decide what to try next when the peculiar half-ring, half-thump of a Vrizan shock cannon letting loose commanded his attention and he put aside his concern over the inability to make contact with the two humans.

When the blast ring struck the barrier, the resulting concussion stunned the aural organs of everyone present. Bac’cul found himself flinching as he turned his head sharply away from the physically painful reverberation. When he rotated it back, he saw that the barrier had not been so much as dented. It was as if the Vrizan weapon had not fired at all. In the distance the commander was railing at her crew as they prepared to fire again. This time Bac’cul and his team members would be prepared for the consequences. Hearing organs were shielded. A number of the more painfully affected had opted to retreat into the driftec in search of additional protection.

As he waited for the next burst to be unleashed, Bac’cul was accosted by one of his techs. Silently the intermet held up one of several small field monitors. Though the instrument was highly compact, its floating readouts were bright and easy to see. Besides monitoring such mundanities as temperature, moisture levels, solar radiation, and more, one glowing graphic indicated the strength of any nearby ambient energy. On a developed world like Myssar, it would be displaying a rainbow of colors. On Earth, one or two minimal indications might appear when the instrument was in the presence of not-quite-dead automatics or other machinery. Bac’cul understood the readout he was seeing even though he could not comprehend it.

The information being displayed indicated that the levels being detected exceeded the device’s measuring capacity. This impossibility was the last thing the researcher remembered seeing before he lost consciousness.

When he regained his senses and was able to finally stand on three shaky legs, he saw that he had been blown off his feet several body lengths from where he had been standing. Whistling in pain, the technician with the monitor was struggling to rise nearby. Similar high-pitched whines of distress came from other mission personnel as they slowly recovered from the shock wave. They were being helped and treated for their mostly minor injuries by colleagues who had taken early refuge on the driftec and had thus been shielded. The driftec itself had been shoved several lengths backward, leaving a shallow trough in the soil and snow.

Still unsteady on his feet, though far more stable than a human would have been if subjected to similar circumstances, he turned back toward the mountainside. The dark doorway that blocked access to the tunnel and the mysteries beyond was intact and undamaged. The Vrizan weapon was… gone. So was the team responsible for its operation, along with their commander, Zizanden. So was the Vrizan air transport craft. A handful of Vrizan lay scattered about, struggling to recover from the concussion. Some of those who had been standing closer to the shock cannon were missing important body parts. Myssari from the driftec rushed to help them.

Where the heavy weapon had been emplaced there was now a bowl-like depression in the earth, as smooth as if it had been scooped out and then polished to a high shine. A similar indentation in the ground occupied the place where the Vrizan transport had been parked. There was no dust in the air, no smoke, no evidence of an explosion. Stumbling over to the nearer of the two depressions, Bac’cul sank down and cautiously ran the three fingers of one hand over the edge. The smooth curve was warm to the touch. As he recalled his own team’s initial attempt to blast through the tunnel door, a chill ran down his spine.

He hurriedly readjusted his communicator’s settings. It was with considerable frustration that he finally set it aside. Communication with the two humans was still interdicted. As he stood surveying the destruction, he could only wonder if the blockage was involuntary or not. Pivoting, he moved to check on the condition of his injured colleagues and the surviving Vrizan. His body was still stunned but his mind was working furiously.

As a scientist engaged in cutting-edge research, he favored the predictable. It was therefore disconcerting to have to consider the possibility that the subjects of his research might now be in control of it.

The overriding sensation was as if they were now standing in an amorphous container filled with colored fire. Except the temperature was unchanged and the brilliant lights remained constrained within the surrounding walls, floor, and ceiling. It was a cold conflagration. Feeling his age as well as his ignorance, Ruslan turned to the ever-ebullient young woman nearby.

“What do we do now?” He indicated his communicator. “We don’t know what, if anything, is happening up top. I can’t get in touch with Bac’cul or any other member of the expedition.”

Cherpa was grinning anew. Broadly, he reassured himself… not maniacally. “We warned the AI about possible danger,” she said. “I don’t hear any footsteps or voices. Until we do, I imagine we’re still secure down here. If it responded to a warning, maybe it will respond to a question.”

He frowned. “What kind of question? We don’t want to do anything hasty, Cherpa.”

“Of course we do. She who hesitates stays immobile. As to what kind of question,” she added teasingly, “you just formulated it.” Once again she raised her voice, though this time not as piercingly as before.