“If you feel up to a short guided tour, we can check on your transportation home on the way,” he smiled. “My second and I’ve been working on your ship in our free time, getting it back together, and the only thing we haven’t done yet is reprogram your course computer.
You know, you really did a job on that ship. I don’t know how we managed to get you out of it alive.”
“Personally,” I said, getting to my feet, “I attribute it to my great mechanical ability, my unbelievable strength for survival and more luck than any ten people see in a lifetime.”
He chuckled his agreement and we left the terrace, but going back was an experience in itself. The terrace seemed to grow out of the mountainside, sheer gray rock stretching almost as far up as the ground below was down, and right in the center of the gray rock was a hazy golden doorway, through which the plain bed-room could be seen.
When we were both back through the tingling haze, Dameron touched the side of the doorway again, and in a matter of moments the doorway was once again a square. I chewed at the inside of my lip as I stared, knowing that you give away how much you know by the questions you ask, but the terrace question was one I couldn’t let slide. When Dameron began leading the way toward the sliding exit of the room, I made up my mind.
“The view from the terrace was magnificent,” I said as normally as I could as I followed him to the door. “If that’s what’s outside these rooms, I’m surprised you can keep anyone indoors.”
“I might have had a problem if that was what was there,” he agreed, slowing as he left the room to let me catch up. “But it happens that those terraces are nowhere near this base – or this volume of space.”
I tried not to frown. “That’s not what I would call an informative answer,” I protested, looking up at him as we walked. he chuckled at the irritation in my tone.
“I don’t have many details to give you,” be answered, sounding almost embarrassed. “The splinter terraces are something we use, but not because we understand them.” he sighed a little and shook his head.
“They were looking for a transportation breakthrough and found the Skytops instead. That’s what we call those mountains, and I’m sure you saw why. We built a terrace and anchored it in the rock, then used it as a base for exploration. None of the exploration teams or subsequent searchers were ever heard from again.”
His face was serious and his voice was quiet, the sort of quiet some people use when they speak of the uselessly dead. He’d stopped in the middle of the corridor and was staring down at the carpeting.
“Wherever that place is,” he continued heavily, “all we know about it is that the constellations are totally unfamiliar-when we finally get to see them. The days are very long-some fifty standard hours’ worth
- and the nights correspond. Our people had survival equipment and communication equipment, but we still lost them – suddenly and without explanation. The searchers who went after them were lost to – at a different point. And there’s the last thing to consider.” His eyes came back up to me, holding mine as if daring me to dispute him.
“Each time a new doorway is put into use, a new terrace has to be built. The terrace is always there after that, but a new doorway means a new terrace, and the view always seems to be the same. I don’t know how many doorways are in use, but no one has ever seen more than the terrace he stood on. You’re welcome to the information I have on the terraces, because they’re something I would personally like to see explained. I had a friend on the first ex-team that was lost.”
I nodded my head, understanding how he felt, and smiled faintly. “So they’re called splinter terraces because someone feels they’re parallel universes or some such. Do you put much stock in that?”
“Who knows?” he shrugged, starting to walk again. “It’s always a possibility, no matter how odd it sounds. We use the terraces in bases like these to keep the personnel from developing claustrophobia, but that’s all they’re good for.”
“You still haven’t said what’s outside,” I reminded him, pacing him down the salmon-colored corridor on dark green carpeting. There were doorways on both sides of the corridor, and up ahead, about twenty-five feet in front of us, was an airtight door that looked dependable.
“Outside is nothing but airless moonscape,” he answered. “This base is underground on Tildor’s nearer moon. When the Tildorani achieve spaceflight we’ll welcome them to the group, but we don’t want to be discovered by them before then.”
“Don’t blame you a bit,” I commented, looking around as I walked. The doors along the corridor were unmarked, but there were small, metal plates to the right and left of each door, each pair of plates having a symbol of some sort, the symbols on each door being different.
“This is our residential area,” Dameron supplied in true tour-guide fashion. “We have to pass through the work area to reach the docking facilities, so you’ll get to see most of the base. It’s a typical base in most respects, but we find it comfortable.”
I nodded again without commenting, and continued to look around. We passed through the airtight door into another corridor, making sure the door was properly sealed behind us, then paced the length of the corridor. The walls were a brisk electric blue here with bright rust carpeting on the floor – a combination which seemed to encourage bustle. People bustled out of one doorway and into another, not really rushing but certainly not taking their time, and through the open doorways I could see other people sitting at odd-looking cubes or standing near what must have been computer terminals. Everyone was busy, and Dameron gestured toward them.
“This is our work area, where everything gets done,” he explained.
“Detailed information about areas and people are constantly updated, reports are added to their proper places, supply lists are confirmed and filled, and placed-on-planet profiles are developed for each of our team people. Knowing that an advisor-agent is about to take a trip helps me to keep our barbarian-agents from attacking his escort-and also gives the barbarian-agents a chance to keep a protective eye on him. I don’t ever want to have to send a report to Absar Central telling them that half my field team just wiped out the other half.
Reports like that aren’t appreciated.”
“That’s one comment I can understand without details,” I laughed, still looking around. Everything seemed so familiar and home-like that it was beginning to disturb me. I know that humanoid cultures at certain levels will be basically the same even if they begin light-years away from each other, but the base was so totally non-alien that I was finding it hard not to think of it as an extension of home. If I had had to learn their language the hard way it would have been easier remembering that they were strangers and still-possible enemies, but the ease of communication worked against my trained instincts. If I didn’t find something really alien about these people, I might find myself in the trap of beginning to like them.
Almost in desperation, I turned my head to Dameron
“What are the people on the planet like?” I asked, hoping for something extreme.
“The Tildorani are just like you and me,” he answered without hesitation, taking time out from inspecting his work force to glance at me. “The humanoid form seems to be a popular one, and base personnel always look like the natives they’re Watchers for. You can never tell when some emergency will arise which will call for shuttling down most of us, and it’s best to be prepared.”
“You must have a large group of trained Watchers to be able to match every backward planet,” I commented. “Even among humanoids there can be a broad enough spread of variations to make a noticeable difference.”
“That poses no problem,” he said, stopping where he was again. “We have a simple answer for that based on…
There was a sudden shout of, “Dameron!” and we both turned to see a woman standing in a doorway on the righthand side of the corridor, about fifteen feet ahead of us. The woman was looking considerably upset, and Dameron didn’t hesitate. he headed for her immediately at a trot, with me right behind him.
“I’m assuming that that was a shout of joy, Gemiral,” he said as he reached the woman. “I left orders that there were to be no problems today.”
“If this weren’t so serious, I’d laugh myself silly over that,” the woman snorted. “You’d better come in here and hear the latest.”
Dameron frowned, but followed the woman back through the doorway she’d come out of. Being shy never pays, so I tagged along after them into what looked like a communications center. There were three men and two women seated at consoles, whisper mikes and ear discs in place, and one unoccupied console had a man standing next to it, a web-thin headset in his hand. he was big and dark-haired, wearing a uniform of a blue only slightly lighter than Dameron’s, and he gave me a curious stare before turning his attention to the Commander.
“Is Leandor’s team in trouble?” Cameron asked hina, frowning.
“Nothing that simple,” the big man answered, tossing the headset gently onto the console he stood near. “Post five just called to warn us that Clero’s up to something that will affect Bellna when she leaves for the capital to marry Prince Remo. They’ll call back when they have all the details.”
“I knew Clero would try something!” Dameron growled, smacking his open palm with a wide fist. “Just our luck that it took this long to find out what. We’d better have enough time to set up a counter-plan, or everything we’ve worked for will go right down the tubes.”
“It’ll be worse than that,” the big man said, shaking his head. “We won’t simply be back to square one, we’ll be off the board entirely.
If we lose Bellna, we have no one to replace her with.”
“I know, I know,” Dameron grumbled, gesturing a dismissal at the other man as he turned away from him. “It’s Bellna or nothing, and Clero’s trying to make it nothing. A lot he has to worry about, with five daughters to throw in the pot. If he loses one or two, he still has the others. Well, I’m not prepared to lose Bellna, and I wont lose her as long as I have enough information to plan with. Where the hell is post 5?”
He turned to stare at the silent console, his impatience willing it to come alive and tell him what he wanted to know, but it didn’t respond. The men and women at the other consoles paid only partial attention to the displays in front of them, most of their concern directed toward the same spot Dameron stared at. The woman Gemiral had reclaimed her seat and headphones, but her presence wasn’t doing any more than Dameron’s stare. The only one who looked at all distracted was the large, dark-haired man, who leaned against Gemiral’s console with folded arms, his eyes resting on me. I leaned back against the wall near the door and folded my own arms, absorbing the casual stare without acknowledging it. I didn’t want anyone demanding to know what I was doing there at least until I found out what the flap was all about, which meant that near invisibility was called for. I looked at nothing in particular and didn’t make a sound, and happily there were no demands coming my way.
My time sense isn’t too inaccurate, but a wait like that is hard to judge. Subjectively it felt like hours were passing, but objectively it couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes before the console began blinking a demanding orange. The woman Gemiral began removing her headset, but Dameron gestured impatiently and stepped forward to flip a switch.
“I’m right here, Eavamon,” he said to the now steady orange light.
“What have you got?”
“Not nearly enough,” a thin voice answered, sounding impossibly distant. “We’ve discovered there’s going to be an attempt and we know approximately when they’ll hit, but exactly who will be doing the hitting and what spot they’ve chosen is still Clero’s secret. He’s not taking any chances on a leak.”
“You’d better tell me everything you know,” Dameron said with a frustrated look on his face. “It may still be possible to do something.”
“There’s very little to it,” the thin voice answered. “Clero knows Bellna will be leaving for the capital soon, and has arranged it so that she never gets there. It would be harder for him if Havro planned on using his own men as an escort, but his own men are too deep in that fight on his western border. Grigon tells us that mercenaries have been hired, and you know what mercenaries are like.”
“Only too well,” Dameron muttered, then turned his head to the big man who stood not far from him.
“Valdon, how many men can we put together to be mercenaries if Havro’s bunch turn out to be useless or bought?”
“None.” The big man called Valdon shrugged. “All of you do. I don’t expect to lose, but if I do, the turn is all Natha escapade in post 9’s territory. With the number of barbarians in that area, pulling.
them out quickly is just about impossible. And forget about Leandor even before you ask. He’s Healed, but he’s nowhere ready to go back – if we ever intend seeing him again. But neither of you has heard the latest from the capital. Sardrin’s message came in a little while ago.”
“This time it had better be good news,” Dameron said, suddenly looking more alert. “Is it anything we can use?”
“Only if you’d like Bellna to have a King’s Escort,” Valdon answered with a grin. “King Naro has sent the Escort to deliver the dowry gifts and collect his son’s bride, and there are two hundred of them.
Can you see Clero attacking a King’s Escort of two hundred fighters?”
“Easily,” came the miniature voice of Eavamon from the console, putting a damper on the pleased grins Dameron and Valdon were showing. “He’d need two or three times their number in attackers, but the game’s worth it to him. When is the Escort due?”
“In a little less than a local week,” Valdon supplied, exchanging looks with Dameron. “Sardrin would have told us about them as soon as they left, but King Naro insisted that his most trusted advisers join him in the pre-nuptial religious ceremonies that are expected of him.
Sardrin thinks Naro wants him to come up with a way out of the need for ceremonies like that, and after going through one himself he’s more than willing. Why did you ask about the Escort’s ETA?”