The Krang found itself confronted with a Unique Circumstance. It would be forced to the ultimate mechanical decision. Taking the initiative. But it could not operate itself itself. The mind above was essential/needed/required. It probed gently. Once the blocks were removed . . . cooperation. . . .
ADJUST YOUR CELLS, ORGANISM . . . SO!
Gently, gently.
Above, the body of Flinx jerked once.
I can’t do that!
YOU MUST. IT IS . . . NECESSARY.
It hurts!
IGNORANCE HURTS. TRY.
Flinx’s inert body squirmed again. His head throbbed unmercifully, seeming to grow to impossible proportions.
I . . . can’t!
The Krang considered. Stronger pulsation could remove the blockage forcefully . . . and possibly destroy the mind forever. Consider alternatives. If blocked, how was the mind able to stimulate initial activation in the first place?
It required the fraction of a nanosecond to locate the answer. There was a catalyst mind nearby. That Explained. In referents the Krang was familiar with. Working swiftly through the moderating channels of the C-mind, the great machine made the necessary adjustments/tunings in the A-class brain. Gratefully, it sensed the barriers go down/dissolve. It was easy, this time. They had been weak and perforated to begin with. ETTA energies started to flow in the waiting floways. Further intervention was no longer required.
E*N*T*R*O*P*Y*R*E*A*L*I*Z*A*T*I*O*N.
In an instant of falling glass shards Flinx perceived the entire universe. It appeared as a very small, opaque ball of crystal. The instant passed, but he saw things clearly for the first time. Yes, much more clearly. He sensed things only half-noticed, suspected, before. And things not noticed at all. He saw the marvelous structure that was the Krang. He perceived the marvelous structure that was himself. Certain energies were required fully to awaken the instrument. Only a tiny part of it pulsed with awareness now. Here, and here, yes.
The Krang awoke. To full awakefulness for the first time in half a million years. Hymn-march. Glorianus! The threnody that flowed from the now attuned activator-mind was an unfamiliar one and crude in technique. But the Krang realized that in five hundred millenia tastes might have changed. The important thing was that the Screen had gone up automatically the instant the tune had supplied the necessary keying impulses.
The Krang’s sensors instantly scanned the sky for light-years in all directions. Since the activator had done nothing on an instructional level except to broadcast sensations of danger, the machine instituted a general optimum scan pattern and hoped it would prove sufficient. It recognized the activator now as a novice. He would have to be guided. Somewhere a minor circuit dutifully noted that a single ship of alien construct had been pulverized at the moment of Screen activation, caught as it went up. A close call! Again the Krang regretted it could operate at only partial consciousness until the moment of full stimulation. Fortunately, the vessel had not penetrated. No harm done. The activator was informed and concurred. Another ship—no, two—lurked just outside the Screen. Although it remained stationary and made no hostile gestures, the activating mind directed the Krang to focus on the area of space occupied by the larger of the two vessels. Obediently, the machine complied.
Its field of effective close-range focus was a minimum thousand-kilometer sphere. It would have no trouble impacting the single indicated craft while missing the other. Those incredible sensors could line up the necessary cone of projection within a meter of any desired point. That was far more than necessary. It drew the necessary information as to specifics from a now cooperating A-mind. If the Krang had had feet, it would have been tapping them.
Above, the rhythmic pulsations that were making a pulp of Tse-Mallory’s thoughts let up momentarily. They were instantly transformed into an utterly indescribable cross between a modulated screech and a bellow. The supersonic shriek of a bat amplified a million times and made audible, backed with electric trumpets and kettledrums. Even so, it did not press as intolerably onto his skull as had the other. The sociologist was able to roll onto his back and lie still, panting and gasping irregularly for the hostile air which seemed intent on evading his lungs.
Painfully, he turned his head. He fought to keep the skreeling moan from penetrating too deep, knowing that if he eased up and allowed it to gain deep purchase, the knife-edge of the sonics would begin slicing up the nerves and neurons therein. He was able to stave it off.
Apparently Malaika was stronger in his resistance than any of them. Somehow he staggered to his feet and began to lurch and sway in the direction of the platform. He had made half the distance when the building moved.
At the moment of the first thrum, Wolf had gunned the crawler’s engines and made a dash for the door. Fortunately the big cruiser had been pointing in that direction. When the first full note struck him he had tumbled from the control seat, clasping his ears. But the crawler, set on its course, continued on dumbly. As they had before, the great doors parted. The moment they closed behind the crawler, the torture stopped.
Wolf pulled himself slowly into the chair and managed to halt the machine’s headlong plunge before it sent them hurling over the bluff. He didn’t know what had happened—too quick! But he did know that the captain and the others were still inside. He made a quick check of the cargo area. Both women were sprawled among the supplies, mercifully unconscious— whether from the effects of the “thing” or their precipitous exit he couldn’t tell.
What to do. Sprawled helplessly on the floor of the crawler, beating at the metal in agony, he would be little help to the captain or anyone. For the moment, returning inside was out of the question. A try at the communits produced only an ocean of static. Maybe he could find something in the shuttle that would screen his mind enough to permit him to re-enter that hell. He wasn’t given time to ponder the problem.
The building, every million-ton of it, was shifting its position. It leaned backward and for a horrible moment he feared it was going to topple onto the miniscule crawler. It did not. It hung poised in the swirling sky for a second and then turned slightly to the south. It began to hum, deeply. The vibrations could be felt through the floor of the cab—or in one’s teeth. Miles up in the dust-laden air he could see the upper hundred meters or so of the structure begin to glow a rich ebony. He’d never seen anything glow black before and was fascinated by the phenomenon. It continued for some thirty seconds. The circular base on which the building rested also seemed to brighten slightly. The air for some distance around took on a momentary rose color. Then it stopped.
The Krang recorded the dispatch of the second vessel as matter-of-factly as it had the first.
The entire process, from initial activation to now, had taken a little under two minutes.
Impatiently the Krang waited for further orders from the activation Nexus. The directive to destroy the other alien spacecraft did not come. In fact, the mind then and there removed itself from control of the Nexus.
The machine debated with itself. It had been a long, long time since it had existed at full consciousness. It had discovered again that it rather enjoyed the sensation.
But its imprinted instructions were clear and left no room for logical evasions. In the absence of an activating mind it was to return to a state of powered-down dormancy. This meant deactivation of all but the most elementary maintenance functions. The Krang sighed. The purposes of its builders had often seemed at variance with their desires and it had not now been shown reason to change that opinion. But it knew what a Frankenstein was, if it utilized a different reference. The great vanes in the depths of the limestone caverns which channeled the planet’s unceasing gales began to shift down. The generators which drew power in countless ergs from the molten core of the planet throttled back, and the bubbling iron-nickel center calmed.
Slowly but efficiently, the Krang went about the necessary task of turning itself off.
Chapter Twenty-two
Flinx rolled
over and picked himself up. His head still throbbed but the actual pain had almost disappeared. He’d been drunk only once in his life. The memories of the monstrous hangover he’d suffered as a consequence came back to him now, incongruously. He stared around. After their close swing around the neutron star it had been his muscles which had been beaten and mauled. Controlled by the piano-string tautness of his outraged nervous system, it was now the marrow of his bones which vibrated in remembered sympathy with the ton-tones of the abruptly silent Krang. He looked inward, unconsciously rearranging certain cellular structures, fluids. The pain drifted away, leaving only a lot of light.
Aided by his friend, Truzenzuzex was slowly getting to his feet. Flinx didn’t care to imagine what the insect, with its unprotected exoskeleton, had gone through. Malaika had been thwarted in his attempt to reach the dais by the unexpected angling of the building. He was sitting on the edge of a bench now, rubbing a knee and carefully checking the ligaments and tendons to make certain that nothing critical had been damaged. Otherwise he seemed unharmed, for a multiplicity of oaths in a remarkable number of languages flowed in unceasing profusion from his thick lips.
Assured that his humanx companions were all right, Flinx turned his attention to his pet. The small, leathery body was curled tightly under the activation hood. It gave sign of neither motion nor life. Careful not to get his head under that quiet object, he lifted the solid little form from its resting place. Still it did not stir. With his newly stimulated mind he probed gently within the small body. He had been pushed, indeed shoved into a new and unfamiliar universe and was still a little uncertain (honest now, frightened) of his abilities. He probed deeper. The minidrag had served as a conduit for forces beyond its own capacity to handle. Like an overloaded capacitor, certain rearrangements and adjustments were in order.
Flinx set about making them.
The others had gathered together and were standing off to one side, watching silently and having the courtesy not to offer sympathy. With an unoccupied portion of his mind he searched theirs, briefly. All three were still stunned by the events of the past few minutes. Almost as much as he, he reflected wryly. He could feel the empathy radiating outward from them and it made him feel better.
A last readjustment, a stubborn artery . . . no, there! One thin eyelid flickered, raised. An oil-black eye peered out and around. It swiveled up to where it encountered Flinx’s own, was joined by its twin. In slow, jerky motions the minidrag began to uncurl. Flinx stuck out his tongue. Pip’s darted out to make contact with it in an old gesture of familiarity and affection. He could feel the tension begin to slip from the muscular coils, the life-pulse to strengthen.
He had dropped the habit of crying at about the time he had discovered it did nothing more than clean his pupils. Still, there was a suspicious moisture at the corners of his eyes. He turned away so that the others might not be offended by it. If he had remained facing the other way or had bothered to probe he might have noticed that Truzenzuzex’s expression was something more than merely sympathetic.
Chapter Twenty-three
The shuttle had not been harmed and they made the ascent into the upper atmosphere with more ease and certainty than they had managed the trip down. Atha and Wolf were at the controls. The others were in the rear cabin, their minds latent on the present instead of the future for the first time in some while.
“Well, sir,” said Truzenzuzex to Malaika, “we apologize. It seems as though your investment has proven singularly unprofitable. I confess that it was not really a concern of ours from the beginning. But after the expense and danger you have been through I do wish you could have realized something in the way of a more substantial increment from it.”
“Oh now, you are unnecessarily pessimistic, my hard-shelled rafiki.” The merchant puffed vigorously on an incredibly foul-smelling pipe. “I have a city that is no doubt filled to overflowing with priceless Tar-Aiym artifacts and inventions . . . if I can ever dig them out of that infernal sand! A fine, inhabitable planet. With a thriving native aqueous ecological system, probably compatible to the humanx norm. I think that this planet might even bring back the sailing ship, ndiyo!”
“The reference eludes me,” said the philosoph.
“I’ll show you trioids when we get back. One of the more poetic bits of man’s technological past. No, no, from the fedha standpoint I am not ready to count this journey a bust! And there is always the Krang to play with, je? Even if our young friend insists it was a freak accident that he had nothing to do with.” He looked questioningly at Flinx, who studiously ignored them all. “But for you two, I am afraid, it was a real disappointment. You must be even more frustrated now than when we landed, je?”
“It all depends on how you choose to view it,” said Tse-Mallory. “When we started on the trail of this thing we really had no idea what we expected to find, other than something big. When we found that, we didn’t know what we’d found. And now that we’ve left it . . . well, when you get ready to come back and dig out those artifacts,” he glanced at his ship-brother, “Tru and I will be more than happy to help you with the sorting, if not the excavating. And we still, as you say, have the Krang itself to ‘play’ with. It will at least form the basis for many a lengthy and infuriating scientific paper.” He smiled and shook his head. “The psychological and sociological implications alone . . . eh, Tru?”
“Unquestionably, brother.” The thranx tried hard to convey a human attitude of profound reflection, failed, and substituted one of nostalgic unconcern instead. The result did not quite come off.
“It seems as though the legends of both the Branner and our primitive hominids had some validity to them. Who would have suspected it? The Krang is both a weapon and a musical instrument.”
They had left the atmosphere now and Atha was setting an orbit that would bring them up on the Gloryhole from below and behind. The blackness poured in on one side while the sun, filtered down automatically by the photosensitive ports, lit them from the other. Despite the equalizing effects of the cabin lights, it tended to throw facial features into unnaturally sharp relief.
“It tells us a lot about the Tar-Aiym . . . not to mention going a long way toward explaining their interest in two such seemingly divergent fields as war and art. I can’t say that I care for their tastes in music, though. Myself, I prefer Debussy and Koretski. No doubt to their ears . . . or whatever they used . . . such sounds were pleasing and exciting, nay, patriotic.”
“Subtle sounds of death resound, and lyres smote as children drowned,” Tse-Mallory recited.
“Porzakalit, twenty-third sonnet,” said Truzenzuzex. “It would take a poet.”
“I may be overly dense,” said Malaika, “but I still don’t understand how the kelelekuu worked!”
“You are not alone in that respect, captain, but rather the member of a large minority. If you wish, though, I could hypothesize.”
“Go ahead and hypothesize, then!”
“Apparently,” continued the thranx, discreetly waving away the noxious effluvia produced by the carbonized weed in the merchant’s pipe, “the machine generates some form of vibration . . . I confess myself hesitant to label it ‘sound waves.’ Probably something partaking of those characteristics as well as those of wave forms we could not identify—although their effects were noted! You recall that on our initial passage through the atmosphere I remarked on the unusual density of the double layer of windglitter?” Malaika nodded. “Probably those layers are kept artificially reinforced. The wave forms—let’s call them ‘k-waves’ for want of a better, or more accurate, term—were generated by the Krang. These waves passed through the lower layer of the metallic windglitter but not the higher, denser one. Accordingly, they were then ‘bounced’ along between the two layers, as they were by now sufficiently weakened to be incapable of breaking back through the lower one. All around the planet, I’d wager. Perhaps more than once, constantly being rejuvenated by the generators of the Krang.”
??
?Oh, now I know they’re probably not sound waves,” said Malaika, “but planet-wide circulation in the atmosphere? From a single generating source— maintenance of a certain minimal strength—the power requirements. . . . You really think it possible?”
“My dear Malaika, I regard anything as possible unless clearly demonstrated otherwise . . . the more so when this machine is involved.”
“Even simple sound waves,” put in Tse-Mallory. “Back on Terra itself, old calendar eighteen eighty-eight, there was a volcanic explosion in the major ocean. An island called Krakatoa blew up rather violently. The shock waves traveled several times around the globe. The sound of the explosions—simple sound waves, remember—was heard halfway around the globe. Given the Tar-Aiym’s abilities and the fact that these were much more than mere sound waves, I should consider the production of such forms an elegant possibility. Besides, I should think you’d need little convincing after that highly spectacular demonstration we had.”
“A conclusion after the fact,” said Truzenzuzex drily. “Very astute of you, brother. However, as I am only slightly more knowledgable in this regard than you. . . .”
“Disputed!”
“. . . I let the matter drop. The Tar-Aiym were fully capable, as you say, of amplifying on nature—pardon the pun.”
“I would suppose that explains what became of our rafiki Nikosos, then,” murmured Malaika. “Once his shuttle entered the region of effective vibrations . . .”
“Destructive oscillation?” added Tse-Mallory.
“Shaken to pieces? Possibly,” said Truzenzuzex. “Or maybe they cause a breakdown or weakening of the atomic structure. Even in what was probably the safest place on the planet the vibrations—’music’ if you must—near to shook my skeleton off. Not an impossible device. Fantastic, yes, but not impossible. Myself, I am much more interested in the method used to eliminate their starship.”