Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

There was also a barn and a greenhouse, of more recent vintage. But they too looked long abandoned.

“Ever been inside any of them?” asked Quait.

Shannon shook his head. “Bad luck, inside the loop.”

“You don’t really believe that,” said Chaka.

“No. But that’s what the Tuks say.” He shrugged. “I never saw any reason to go in.”

Quait was beginning to steer them toward it. “I wonder what its purpose was,” he said.

“Religious,” suggested Avila. “What else could it have been?

Still, it doesn’t make much sense, even in those terms. It’s not very inspirational, is it?” She shook her head, puzzled. “You’d expect that any ceremonial use would take place at the center. It would be, what, twenty-some miles across? So from the center, even assuming the trees didn’t block your view, you still couldn’t see the ridge. The effect at best would be that of standing in an open plain.”

The ground dropped away again and the ridge reappeared. Silas spotted a spring and reined up. “Why don’t we break off for the day?” he said.

“It’s a little early,” suggested Shannon. “You don’t really want to stop here, do you?” He did.

Quait was reluctant. Not because he was superstitious; he just didn’t believe in pushing his luck. He would have been perfectly happy to get well away before dark. But he didn’t want to give in publicly to fright tales. And apparently neither did anyone else, although the horses seemed unsettled.

Finally, Chaka took the plunge. “It might be haunted,” she said. “It’s possible.”

Silas smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right, Chaka.” He glanced around at the others as if he expected their moral support. “There’s nothing here to worry about.”

They all looked off in different directions. So they made camp at the foot of the ridge, and within the hour were seated around a fire, finishing off venison that had been left over from the noon meal. The night had grown cool, and the general mood was subdued. There was no loud talk; Quait’s Walloon stayed strapped to a saddlebag; and the occasional laughter had a hollow ring. Silas tried to lighten the atmosphere by commenting on how easily people are taken in by their own fears. If anything, his remarks deepened their gloom. Quait sat during the evening meal facing the long wall so nothing could sneak down on him.

The buildings were hidden by a combination of forest and ridge.

“Does anybody know anything more about this place?” asked Silas. “How about you, Avila?”

Avila shook her head. “The official position of the Order is that the Devil’s Eye is of no consequence, an artifact like any other artifact. But we know that some of the Roadmaker ruins retain a life force, that there are stirrings, and possibly unholy activity. The common wisdom, although no one in authority will admit it, is that there might well be a diabolical presence.” She tried a smile. “I don’t want to unnerve anyone. But the Mentors would be horrified to know that we were here.”

“Damn,” said Shannon. “That’s just what I was trying to tell you.”

“What about it, Silas?” asked Quait. “Are there devils in the world? What do you think?”

“No,” he said. “Certainly not.”

Flojian was sitting wrapped in a blanket, his face moving in the firelight. “The truth is,” he said, “that we don’t know the way the world works. You’d like a nice mechanical cosmos. Silas. Cause and effect. Everything very mathematical. Supernatural forces need not apply. But we don’t really know, do we?”

The fire crackled and the trees sighed.

Quait wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but he was suddenly aware of Chaka shaking him gently.

“What is it?” he whispered.

There was a glow above the ridge. Barely discernible, but it was there. “There’s a light in the glass building.”

He climbed out of his blanket and pulled on trousers and a shirt.

“What do we do?” she said.

“What would you recommend?”

“I think we should clear out.”

Quait tried to look amused and confident. “There’s a natural explanation.” He strapped on his holster. “But I think we better wake the others.”

Minutes later, they all stood on top of the ridge, looking at two illuminated ground floor windows.

“Something’s moving in there,” said Flojian.

The angle didn’t allow them to make out what it was.

“Let it go,” advised Shannon. “It has nothing to do with why we’re here.”

“It has everything to do with why we’re here,” said Silas. “We’re here to learn about the Roadmakers.”

“Silas,” he said patiently, “it’s probably just a couple of people like us, holed up. You go in there, it might be a fight.”

“The ridge,” said Silas. “Maybe there’s a connection with the ridge.”

“That’s unlikely,” pursued the forester.

“But who knows?” Silas started down the side of the hill. “I’ll be back.”

Chaka joined him. Quait asked them to wait and went back to the campsite for a lantern, which he left dark.

“All right,” Shannon said, checking his weapon and shoving it into his holster. “Let’s go. But I hope nobody gets his idiot head blown off.”

“No, Jon,” said Silas. “If we walk into something, I’d rather some of us be outside. And I’d like you to be in a position to lead the rescue. Okay? Stay here. If we don’t come back, use your judgment.”

Shannon looked unhappy.

It was dark on the hill. Quait stepped into a hole and Silas tripped over a vine. Nevertheless, they made it safely to the bottom of the ridge and crossed the fifty yards or so that separated them from the buildings.

A dozen stone steps, bordered by a low wall, led up to the terrace. “Horses in the barn,” said Quait, detouring to take a look. There were three. With a wagon.

They crept up to the lighted windows and looked in.

The lamp was bright, and it burned steadily. It stood atop a side table, illuminating an armchair. But they saw no sign of a flame. There were several other pieces of furniture in the room, including a sofa. A cabinet held a set of unbound books.

“What do you think?” said Silas. His fingers lingered near his gun. He wasn’t used to the weapon, and Quait had noticed he walked with a mild swagger when he wore it. Tonight, though, the swagger wasn’t there.

Quait tried the windows. They were locked.

“I’d like to know how that lamp works,” said Chaka.

They watched for a while, but the room stayed empty. They returned at last to the front, climbed the steps, and crossed the terrace. There’d been four doors. Three were still in place; the fourth was missing, its space protected by a piece of thick gray canvas. Beyond, Quait could see a shadowy lobby, and the silhouettes of chairs and tables.

An inscription was engraved across the face of the building: THE RICHARD FEYNMAN SUPERCOLLIDER.

“Who was Richard Feynman?” Chaka asked.

Silas shook his head. “Don’t know.”

Quait glanced back up at the ridge. Shannon and the others were invisible, but he knew they were there watching. “Stay put,” he said, and padded over to the sheet of canvas.

Chaka and Silas were already following him. He tried unsuccessfully to wave them back, and slipped through the opening.

Had Chaka not been present, Quait would have looked a bit more, hoping to find a less direct way in. But the horses in the barn suggested the occupant was human rather than demonic. He wasn’t going to pass up a chance to play a heroic role by fumbling around looking for back doors.

A long counter stretched half the length of the rear wall. He moved a few steps away from the entrance, away from the glass so that he was not silhouetted against the stars. The floor was thick with dirt and leaves. There were two other doorways leading into the area and a staircase immediately to the left.