The Defiant Agents Read online

  12

  Travis had taken a direct cross route through the heights, but notswiftly enough to reach his objective before nightfall. And he had nowish to enter the tower valley by moonlight. In him two emotions nowwarred. There was the urge to invade the towers, to discover theirsecret, and flaring higher and higher the beginnings of a new fear. Washe now a battlefield for the superstitions of his race reborn by theRedax and his modern education in the Pinda-lick-o-yi world--half Apachebrave of the past, half modern archaeologist with a thirst forknowledge? Or was the fear rooted more deeply and for another reason?

  Travis crouched in a hollow, trying to understand what he felt. Why wasit suddenly so overwhelmingly important for him to investigate thetowers? If he only had the coyotes with him.... Why and where had theygone?

  He was alive to every noise out of the night, every scent the windcarried to him. The night had its own life, just as the daylight hoursheld theirs. Only a few of those sounds could he identify, even less didhe see. There was one wide-winged, huge flying thing which passedacross the green-gold plate of the nearer moon. It was so large that foran instant Travis believed the helicopter had come. Then the wingsflapped, breaking the glide, and the creature merged in the shadows ofthe night--a hunter large enough to be a serious threat, and one he hadnever seen before.

  Relying on his own small defense, the strewing of brittle sticks alongthe only approach to the hollow, Travis dozed at intervals, his headdown on his forearm across his bent knees. But the cold cramped him andhe was glad to see the graying sky of pre-dawn. He swallowed two rationtablets and a couple of mouthfuls of water from his canteen and startedon.

  By sunup he had reached the ledge of the waterfall, and he hurried alongthe ancient road at a pace which increased to a run the closer he drewto the valley. Deliberately he slowed, his native caution now incontrol, so that he was walking as he passed through the gateway intothe swirling mists which alternately exposed and veiled the towers.

  There was no change in the scene from the time he had come there withKaydessa. But now, rising from a comfortable sprawl on theyellow-and-green pavement, was a welcoming committee--Nalik'ideyu andNaginlta showing no more excitement at his coming than if they hadparted only moments before.

  Travis went down on one knee, holding out his hand to the female, whohad always been the more friendly. She advanced a step or two, touched acold nose to his knuckles, and whined.

  "Why?" He voiced that one word, but behind it was a long list ofquestions. Why had they left him? Why were they here where there was nohunting? Why did they meet him now as if they had calmly expected hisreturn?

  Travis glanced from the animals to the towers, those windows set indiamond pattern. And again he was visited by the impression that he wasunder observation. With the mist floating across those openings, itwould be easy for a lurker to watch him unseen.

  He walked slowly on into the valley, his moccasins making no sound onthe pavement, but he could hear the faint click of the coyotes' claws asthey paced beside him, on each hand. The sun did not penetrate here,making merely a gilt fog of the mist. As he approached within touchingdistance of the first tower, it seemed to Travis that the mist wascurling about him; he could no longer see the archway through which hehad entered the valley.

  "Naye'nezyani--Slayer of Monsters--give strength to the bow arm, to theknife wrist!" Out of what long-buried memory did that ancient plea come?Travis was hardly aware of the sense of the words until he spoke themaloud. "You who wait--_shi inday to-dah ishan_--an Apache is not foodfor you! I am Fox of the Itcatcudnde'yu--the Eagle People; and beside mewalk _ga'ns_ of power...."

  Travis blinked and shook his head as one waking. Why had he spoken so,using words and phrases which were not part of any modern speech?

  He moved on, around the base of the first tower, to find no door, nobreak in its surface below the second-story windows--to the nextstructure and the next, until he had encircled all three. If he were toenter any, he must find a way of reaching the lowest windows.

  On he went to the other opening of the valley, the one which gave uponthe territory of the Tatar camp. But he did not sight any of the Mongolsas he hacked down a sapling, trimmed, and smoothed it into ablunt-pointed lance. His sash-belt, torn into even strips and knottedtogether, gave him a rope which he judged would be barely long enoughfor his purpose.

  Then Travis made a chancy cast for the lower window of the nearesttower. On the second try the lance slipped in, and he gave a quick jerk,jamming the lance as a bar across the opening. It was a frail ladder butthe best he could improvise. He climbed until the sill of the window waswithin reach and he could pull himself up and over.

  The sill was a wide one, at least a twenty-four-inch span between theinner and outer surface of the tower. Travis sat there for a minute,reluctant to enter. Near the end of his dangling scarf-rope the twocoyotes lay on the pavement, their heads up, their tongues lolling fromtheir mouths, their expressions ones of detached interest.

  Perhaps it was the width of the outer wall that subdued the amount oflight in the room. The chamber was circular, and directly opposite himwas a second window, the lowest of the matching diamond pattern. He tookthe four-foot drop from the sill to the floor but lingered in the lightas he surveyed every inch of the room. There were no furnishings at all,but in the very center sank a well of darkness. A smooth pillar, glowingfaintly, rose from its core. Travis' adjusting eyes noted how the lightcame in small ripples--green and purple, over a foundation shade of darkblue.

  The pillar seemed rooted below and it extended up through a similaropening in the ceiling, providing the only possible exit up or down,save for climbing from window to window outside. Travis moved slowly tothe well. Underfoot was a smooth surface overlaid with a velvet carpetof dust which arose in languid puffs as he walked. Here and there hesighted prints in the dust, strange triangular wedges which he thoughtmight possibly have been made by the claws of birds. But there were noother footprints. This tower had been undisturbed for a long, long time.

  He came to the well and looked down. There was dark there, dark in whichthe pulsations of light from the pillar shown the stronger. But thatglow did not extend beyond the edge of the well through which the thickrod threaded. Even by close examination he could detect no break in thesmooth surface of the pillar, nothing remotely resembling hand- orfootholds. If it did serve the purpose of a staircase, there were notreads.

  At last Travis put out his hand to touch the surface of the pillar. Andthen he jerked back--to no effect. There was no breaking contact betweenhis fingers and an unknown material which had the sleekness of polishedmetal but--and the thought made him slightly queasy--the warmth and veryslight give of flesh!

  He summoned all his strength to pull free and could not. Not only didthat hold grip him, but his other hand and arm were being drawn to jointhe first! Inside Travis primitive fears awoke full force, and he threwback his head, voicing a cry of panic as wild as that of a huntingbeast.

  An instant later, his left palm was as tight a prisoner as his right.And with both hands so held, his whole body was suddenly snappedforward, off the safe foundation of the floor, tight to the pillar.

  In this position he was sucked down into the well. And while unable tofree himself from the pillar, he did slip along its length easilyenough. Travis shut his eyes in an involuntary protest against thisweird form of capture, and a shiver ran through his body as he continuedto descend.

  After the first shock had subsided the Apache realized that he was nottruly falling at all. Had the pillar been horizontal instead ofvertical, he would have gauged its speed that of a walk. He passedthrough two more room enclosures; he must already be below the level ofthe valley floor outside. And he was still a prisoner of the pillar, nowin total darkness.

  His feet came down against a level surface, and he guessed he must havereached the end. Again he pulled back, arching his shoulders in a finaldesperate attempt at escape, and stumbled away as he was released.

  He c
ame up sideways against a wall and stood there panting. The light,which might have come from the pillar but which seemed more a part ofthe very air, was bright enough to reveal that he was in a corridorrunning into greater dark both right and left.

  Travis took two strides back to the pillar, fitted his palms once againto its surface, with no result. This time his flesh did not adhere andthere was no possible way for him to climb that slick pole. He couldonly hope that at some point the corridor would give him access to thesurface. But which way to go--?

  At last he chose the right-hand path and started along it, pausing everyfew steps to listen. But there was no sound except the soft pad of hisown feet. The air was fresh enough, and he thought he could detect afaint current coming toward him from some point ahead--perhaps an exit.

  Instead, he came into a room and a small gasp of astonishment was wrungout of him. The walls were blank, covered with the same ripples ofblue-purple-green light which colored the pillar. Just before him was atable and behind it a bench, both carved from the native yellow-redmountain rock. And there was no exit except the doorway in which he nowstood.

  Travis walked to the bench. Immovable, it was placed so that whoever satthere must face the opposite wall of the chamber with the table beforehim. And on the table was an object Travis recognized immediately fromhis voyage in the alien star ship, one of the reader-viewers throughwhich the involuntary explorers had learned what little they knew of theolder galactic civilization.

  A reader--and beside it a box of tapes. Travis touched the edge of thatbox gingerly, half expecting it to crumble into nothingness. This was aplace long deserted. Stone table, bench, the towers could survivethrough centuries of abandonment, but these other objects....

  The substance of the reader was firm under the film of dust; there wasless dust here than had been in the upper tower chamber. Hardly knowingwhy, Travis threw one leg over the bench and sat down behind the table,the reader before him, the box of tapes just beyond his hand.

  He surveyed the walls and then looked away hurriedly. The ripplingcolors caught at his eyes. He had a feeling that if he watched that ebband flow too long, he would be captured in some subtle web ofenchantment just as the Reds' machine had caught and held the Tatars. Heturned his attention to the reader. It was, he believed, much like theone they had used on the ship.

  This room, table, bench, had all been designed with a set purpose. Andthat purpose--Travis' fingers rested on the box of tapes he could notyet bring himself to open--that purpose was to use the reader, he wouldswear to that. Tapes so left must have had a great importance for thosewho left them. It was as if the whole valley was a trap to channel astranger into this underground chamber.

  Travis snapped open the box, fed the first disk into the reader, andapplied his eyes to the vision tube at its apex.

  The rippling walls looked just the same when he looked up once more, butthe cramp in his muscles told Travis that time had passed--perhaps hoursinstead of minutes--since he had taken out the first disk. He cupped hishands over his eyes and tried to think clearly. There had been sheets ofmeaningless symbol writing, but also there had been many clear,three-dimensional pictures, accompanied by a singsong commentary in analien tongue, seemingly voiced out of thin air. He had been stuffed withragged bits and patches of information, to be connected only by guesses,and some wild guesses, too. But this much he did know--these towers hadbeen built by the bald spacemen, and they were highly important to thatvanished stellar civilization. The information in this room, asdisjointed as it had been for him, led to a treasure trove on Topazgreater than he had dreamed.

  Travis swayed on the bench. To know so much and yet so little! If Ashewere only here, or some other of the project technicians! A treasuresuch as Pandora's box had been, peril for one who opened it and did notunderstand. The Apache studied the three walls of blue-purple-green inturn and with new attention. There were ways through those walls; he wasfairly sure he could unlock at least one of them. But not now--certainlynot now!

  And there was another thing he knew: The Reds must _not_ find this. Sucha discovery on their part would not only mean the end of his own peopleon Topaz, but the end of Terra as well. This could be a new and alienBlack Death spread to destroy whole nations at a time!

  If he could--much as his archaeologist's training would argue againstit--he would blot out this whole valley above and below ground. Butwhile the Reds might possess a means of such destruction, the Apachesdid not. No, he and his people must prevent its discovery by the enemyby doing what he had seen as necessary from the first--wiping out theRed leaders! And that must be done before they chanced upon the towers!

  Travis arose stiffly. His eyes ached, his head felt stuffed withpictures, hints, speculations. He wanted to get out, back into the openair where perhaps the clean winds of the heights would blow some ofthis frightening half knowledge from his benumbed mind. He lurched downthe corridor, puzzled now by the problem of getting back to the windowlevel.

  Here, before him, was the pillar. Without hope, but still obeying someburied instinct, Travis again set his hands to its surface. There was atug at his cramped arms; once more his body was sucked to the pillar.This time he was rising!

  He held his breath past the first level and then relaxed. The principleof this weird form of transportation was entirely beyond hisunderstanding, but as long as it worked in reverse he didn't care tofind out. He reached the windowed chamber, but the sunlight had left it;instead, the clean cut of moon sweep lay on the dusty floor. He musthave been hours in that underground place.

  Travis pulled away from the embrace of the pillar. The bar of his woodenlance was still across the window and he ran for it. To catch thescouting party at the pass he must hurry. The report they would make tothe clan now had to be changed radically in the face of his newdiscoveries. The Apaches dared not retreat southward and withdraw fromthe fight, leaving the Reds to use what treasure lay here.

  As he hit the pavement below he looked about for the coyotes. Then hetried the mind call. But as mysteriously as they had met him in thevalley, so now were they gone again. And Travis had no time to hunt forthem. With a sigh, he began his race to the pass.

  In the old days, Travis remembered, Apache warriors had been able tocover forty-five or fifty miles a day on foot and over rough territory.But perhaps his modern breeding had slowed him. He had been so sure hecould catch up before the others were through the pass. But he stood nowin the hollow where they had camped, read the sign of overturned stoneand bent twig left for him, and knew they would reach the rancheria andreport the decision Deklay and the others wanted before he could headthem off.

  Travis slogged on. He was so tired now that only the drug from thesustenance tablets he mouthed at intervals kept him going at a doggedpace, hardly more than a swift walk. And always his mind was haunted byfragments of pictures, pictures he had seen in the reader. The big bombhad been the nightmare of his own world for so long, and what was thatagainst the forces the bald star rovers had been able to command?

  He fell beside a stream and slept. There was sunshine about him as hearose to stagger on. What day was this? How long had he sat in the towerchamber? He was not sure of time any more. He only knew that he mustreach the rancheria, tell his story, somehow win over Deklay and theother reactionaries to prove the necessity for invading the north inforce.

  A rocky point which was a familiar landmark came into focus. He paddedon, his chest heaving, his breath whistling through parched, sun-crackedlips. He did not know that his face was now a mask of driven resolution.

  "Hahhhhhh--"

  The cry reached his dulled ears. Travis lifted his head, saw the menbefore him and tried to think what that show of weapons turned towardhim could mean.

  A stone thudded to earth only inches before his feet, to be followed byanother. He wavered to a stop.

  "_Ni'ilgac_--!"

  Witch? Where was a witch? Travis shook his head. There was no witch.

  "_Do ne'ilka da_'!"

&
nbsp; The old death threat, but why--for whom?

  Another stone, this one hitting him in the ribs with force enough tosend him reeling back and down. He tried to get up again, saw Deklaygrin widely and take aim--and at last Travis realized what washappening.

  Then there was a bursting pain in his head and he was falling--fallinginto a well of black, this time with no pillar of blue to guide him.