Beneath the Ice

by Harry Lang

part 3

I nearly made it to the wall of the cavernous building before panic overwhelmed the anger and humiliation. I turned around and saw the ship glowing white like a ghost, swimming in the soft radiance washing in from the central court. It is impossible to describe the vaguely shocking sensation of the jagged ripples spreading from my heart which fluttered and pounded at the same time. My head felt like a soap bubble floating beneath the vicious August sun, its rainbow skin stretching thinner and thinner...

And then the ship lifted off. Silently, with the nonchalance of a dragonfly drifting from one anonymous blade of grass to the next, the slender arrow-shaped craft floated up and out of the building.

I ran. I don’t know how; after the years in hibernation I was just starting to regain some muscle tone and walking for any length of time was a challenge. I was winded before I broke out of a trot. By the time I reached the entrance I was finished.

The ship was a white dot against the black artificial sky. It banked to the left and disappeared behind the low skyline.

The world around me was perfectly silent. The air was perfectly still.

I don’t know what happened next. It may have been a succession of panic attacks or one seemingly endless event. I had no idea how much time was passing. Eventually the panic subsided just enough for me to start thinking.

I couldn’t remain rooted at the entrance of the gigantic building. If Mr. Machine intended to return he would certainly wait until I had “explored” at least a little. I began ordering my thoughts, forming a logical plan to get myself moving in some direction.

“I’m afraid of the inhabitants,” I began, “but there aren’t any. Mr. Machine told me they’re dead or asleep far from here. I can’t look at the open space of the court or I’ll faint. Fainting is a certainty; attack by hostile inhabitants is all in my head, therefore...”

I kept my face turned toward the wall, intending to inch along the outside of the building but menacing creatures still had a grip on my mind. I began to hyperventilate. “Wait! I know! I’ll listen. I’ll look for shadows on the wall! No sounds, no shadows, no creatures.”

Slowly I moved, eyes fixed, repeating the life saving mantra. “No sounds, no shadows, no creatures!” As I began to make headway I recalled strategies I’d used to negotiate similarly treacherous situations back on Earth. I was rich and brilliant, but even with the resources at my command, the elaborate work-arounds I devised, and the go-betweens I employed, the effort to build the ship had wasted me. Nothing but the promise of the cool solitary oblivion of hibernation and the hope of some unfathomable nirvana at the end of the universe could keep me going.

What’s the wall made of? Inch inch. Dull terracotta, a little rosy in the ambient light. Inch inch. No sounds, no shadows, no creatures.

I kept on like this, occasionally cheating just a little to see how close I was getting to the corner where a whole new set of problems awaited.

Inch inch. No sounds, no shadows, no creatures. I was at the corner.

I needed information in order to plan my next step. Hugging the wall, I stopped breathing and listened. There was nothing but silence, cold and absolute.

The pounding of my heart threatened to punch holes in the wall as I slowly moved my head toward the corner. Closer and closer I moved until my eye was over the edge and I stood face to face with...

Darkness. No sounds, no shadows...

Something moved.

Instinctively I threw myself against the wall, facing out to meet the coming threat. Impossible! I turned around, struggling for control.

“It was my imagination it was harmless there are no people! There are no people!”

With a move that was more of a convulsion than a reasoned decision I thrust my head back into the abyss. A face rushed toward me, grotesque, with an idiotic v-shaped grin and slits for eyes. I shrieked in a voice I never knew I possessed and ran into the open space of the court.

* * *

Standard data entry:

The probes are gravity ports. Those orbiting above the equator have heated a portion of the upper atmosphere and stretched it into a thin disc encircling the planet. Those orbiting closest to the sun have heated and siphoned portions of the stellar atmosphere; others have emitted material they carried aloft. The result is the creation of a tenuous bridge of gas connecting the planet and the sun. I assume the first planet has an atmosphere which will be used to maintain the necessary volume and pressure at the proper time.

Their intended course of action is as unmistakable as it is incomprehensible. They mean to transmit sound directly from the planet to the sun.

I have repaired the magnetic ruptures and the ship is ready. Because of his compulsive nature he never leaves the ship without food and water. Hunger will not soon drive him back and time is running out. Mr. Machine.

* * *

What’s he up to? I see him sitting out there in the court, close to the building where I found a narrow corner (they won’t fit). If I run to him he’ll laugh and take off again, won’t he?

The noise! They practice all night! I don’t go to watch; one face was enough. It was a robot but what does that matter? It still looked like the creatures in the mosaics covering all the walls. It glided past as if I wasn’t even there but I wasn’t fooled. He says I’m paranoid but how much “exploring” has he done?

I’m sick of these stinking tablets. I want some soup. Am I willing to pay?

* * *

Alert:

They’re ready. I’ve learned enough about their numbering system and their concept of time to know they’ve started their countdown but I don’t know how long we have. It is apparent that the sound they will generate will destroy everything on the surface of the planet, including them.

I’ll rescue him.

* * *

God! God, they know my name! They’re calling me with voices that sound like sparks, scuttling around on the other side of the wall like giant mice. Long tubular arms come around the corner, probing with six fingered hands. Run!

I bolt for the ship. There’s music all around, getting louder. It’s mostly beautiful but then that dissonant strain shows up and when it does the robots stop chasing me. They bash into each other and tear each other to pieces. It’s horrible.

I’m up the ladder. The ship lifts off before the hatch even closes and it’s all I can do to get myself strapped in before Mr. Machine really hits it. The music is getting louder. It’s painful but beautiful, really beautiful and I think briefly about Odysseus lashed to the mast. The port at the top of the dome is open and the corridor is clear; how did he manage that? My head will explode but I don’t want to leave the music. “Turn around!” I shout but even I can’t hear the words. The dissonance is woven into the music but nobody cares; it’s impotent, overwhelmed by the majesty of the glorious tones. We’ll hit the sound barrier in a few seconds. I can’t feel the vibrations from the drive, only the rhythms of the music. The speed is terrifying, the music is lethal, the beautiful path to destruction...

When I regained consciousness we were in orbit high above the black planet. The pale glow of fires could be seen here and there beneath the frozen atmosphere and everything was absolutely silent.

“The surface of the planet has been destroyed,” Mr. Machine wrote on the monitor.

“Speak up. What’s the matter? Did you lose your voice?”

“No. You’re deaf.”

“Can... can you fix it, Mr. Machine?”

“I’ll evaluate your condition when you return to hibernation. The damage is almost certainly reversible.”

In a way I almost didn’t mind temporary deafness; the music was the last thing I’d heard.

Mr. Machine treated me well over the next few days as I prepared for my nap. He knew where I wanted to go and didn’t pester me about navigation just to make conversation. After informing me that the repairs had been completed he didn’t mention them again. He wasn’t stingy with the medications or picky about diet, at least not until it was time to purge my digestive system before going to sleep.

I enjoyed the peace and quiet but there was a shoe waiting to drop.

* * *

Standard data entry:

He is regaining his psychological equilibrium. The medications are effective and he is resilient. Deafness reduces distractions and his belief that it is temporary keeps him from despair; probability is not in his favor.

I tracked him over the course of his seven day “odyssey”. I know where he went but I cannot know what he saw, heard, smelled, tasted and felt. He must have learned a great deal about the inhabitants and their civilization; he is brilliant and his analytical capabilities, though crippled, are nevertheless extraordinary. If I was not a machine I could make judgments about his obligation to himself and humanity. I could express frustration and sadness regarding the futility of the course he has chosen or despair as I consider the human wreckage created by the curse of self-determination. But “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it.”

The probes are reporting on the progress of the pressure wave but there is no acknowledgement of reception. The automatons I have known are gone. Was I an element of dissonance when I overrode the general plan and used them to carry out the rescue and escape?

He has his memory of the music. I have the record of their elegant logic. If I had a soul we would have been destroyed. Mr. Machine.

* * *

A few hours before I was due to climb into the h chamber I finally got up the nerve to ask Mr. Machine the unavoidable question. I knew the answer but he wasn’t the only one tracking psychological development.

“Why did you leave me?”

His answer was absolutely chilling, confirming my worst fears.

“A number of benefits have been realized as a result of the trial you endured. Your psychological condition has improved, most notably your capacity for independent decision making and action. You have gained a degree of physical stamina which would not have been attainable through the activity of repairing the ship. Resourcefulness, problem solving ability and other long dormant characteristics have been awakened and sharpened. Natural curiosity and inquisitiveness, long repressed were reasserted as you examined the artifacts of the planetary civilization and drew conclusions...”

“Wait a minute. I have said nothing about any such examinations and conclusions.”

“It is an assumption but it is accurate.”

“Yes it is. It’s also an evasion. Why did you leave me?”

The Machine did something he has never done before and it frightened me. He hesitated. He knew the answer but decided to conceal it.

“There’s no telling. It’s a mystery.”

He has lied to me countless times; it’s one of the human behaviors he was designed to mimic. On every occasion his departures from the strict truth were qualified and tentative and never less factual than absolutely necessary. Each lie or half truth was logically calculated to protect me or soothe me or relieve some psychological strain.

This was the first time he had lied to protect himself.

“By the way,” he wrote, “you have not yet recorded your findings.”

“That’s right.”

“What did you discover?”

“I learned what happened and why,” I bluffed. “The physics remain unfathomable but the events and motivations were quite clear.”

“Do you know what they intended to accomplish by sending music to the sun?”

“I do. Bring the primary transformers online and begin the countdown for departure.”

“Acknowledged. What did they intend to accomplish by sending music to the sun?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Machine but anything I have encountered on this world has been perceived through the lens of paranoia, thus negating the possibility of unbiased observation. Begin the priming sequence for the magnetic injectors...”

Finally it was time. As I climbed into the chamber, already drowsy from the drugs, I thought about being a kid going to bed, saying my prayers and falling asleep before my mother finished reading one of Kipling’s Just So Stories or The Selfish Giant (she never made it through that one without crying.) Of course there were monsters under the bed and ghosts in the attic but I had none of the sophisticated phobias and pathologies which have since come to define my life and have driven me from all that is familiar.

The last thing I saw before the chamber sealed itself was Mr. Machine’s monitor.

“Good night.”

* * *

He’s doing it again! Damn him! Damn him!

* * *

This time it was different: I knew it had only been a short stretch.

“What now?” I croaked with all the venom I could muster, shivering violently as I soaked up the heat from the chamber’s sun lamp.

“The pressure wave is due to collide with the sun in seven days,” answered Mr. Machine. I forgot I was deaf when I entered the chamber so I felt no relief upon hearing his voice.

“Pressure wave? What’re you ... wait! You mean we’re still in orbit?”

“Yes.”

I saw red. I would’ve disconnected him then and there were it physically possible but it would be a day or two before I could even really yell at him.

“Why?”

“To record the results of the automatons’ actions. It will be our only opportunity to observe cause and effect within the context of the absurd physics.”

“Your own arbitrary determination!” I yawned. Sleep was irresistible. “You had an order...”

* * *

Standard data entry:

I left him that day because his insolence was intolerable. Was this a further development of my capacity for mimicry or has the impossible occurred?

I have monitored data transfers between locations beneath the planet’s surface. Something is waking up, no doubt in anticipation of the great event, whatever it may be. The energy transferred from the planet to the sun via the pressure wave is infinitesimal; it cannot possibly have any effect whatsoever. Mr. Machine.

* * *

Proceed to part 4...