Part 2

Benson grunted. "I did, once. Years ago. Tremendous! The scientific achievements they must have had! And nobody knows what happened to the Ancients. They just vanished, and their machines kept running till they'd used up their power--and stopped. So there's no trace left. We've located the fuel chambers, but in every case they've been empty. Experiments have been made--unsuccessfully."

"You still think my translation of the Harro Panel was wrong, eh?" Paula put in.

"I do," Commander Benson said. "It was a variable cipher. No one else agrees with you that it was a code map."

"Ever heard of a double code?"

"I'm sorry," Benson said shortly. "We've settled all this. The Black Forest is impassable. We can't risk our chance of success on a wild goose chase."

Beside the pilot, Garth's mouth twisted sardonically. He had an idea, now, what Carver Brown and Paula were after. The secret of the Ancients' power-source. Well, it might be found in the Black Forest. Anything might. Including the lost race of the Zarno, and.... His eyes went hard. Not yet would he let himself believe Doc Willard was still alive. The most he could hope for was an answer to that question--the tormenting problem of whether or not he had killed Willard.

Lost in his absorption, he snapped out of it scarcely in time as the truck-cat skidded on slick ice.

"Hard left! Sand the treads!" Instinctively his hand flashed to the right lever, releasing a sprinkling of sand that provided traction. He held it down while the pilot fought the wheel. They lurched, swung half around, and found level surface again. Through the window Garth could see a twenty-foot-wide funnel, sloping down to a black hole at the center.

"What was it?" the pilot asked.

"_Creethas_, the natives call 'em, but that doesn't mean much. Six-foot insects. Poisonous. They dig traps like ant-lions on Earth, pits with sloping sides. Once you skid on the ice, you slip on down to the hole at the bottom."

"Dangerous?"

"Not to us, in here. But we might have damaged the engine."

"Keep your eyes open after this, Garth," Commander Benson said sharply.

"Okay." Garth was silent. The truck-cat drove on, leading the procession.

The vehicles were fast. On level ground they raced, hitting eighty m.p.h. sometimes. By Jupiter-set they had reached Chahnn. Paula, for one, was disappointed.

"I expected a city," she told Garth as they stared around at the mile-square block of black stone, raised a few feet above ground level, its surface broken by a few structures oddly reminiscent of the subway kiosks of two centuries ago.

"It's all underground," Garth said. He was feeling shaky, needing a shot or two of liquor. But there was none. In lieu of it, he borrowed a cigaret from the girl and idled about, watching the men make camp.

* * * * *

The roomy truck-cats provided accommodations for sixty men without crowding. It wasn't necessary to set up tents. Indeed, in that icy air, only "warmer" tents, heated by induced current in their metallic fabric, would have been feasible. The trucks, however, could be heated easily and were air-conditioned. Garth walked over to a kiosk and peered into the black depths. Chahnn lay below, the gigantic, complicated city of the Ancients.

Through Chahnn was the road to the Black Forest--the only road they could use, under the circumstances.

Garth shivered and went in search of Brown. He was feeling shakier than ever. Vividly in his mind was a picture he did not want to remember--a man stretched on an altar, a knife at his breast....

He found Brown beside one of the trucks, looking into the darkness.

"Captain--"

"Huh? Oh, Garth. Say, Paula--Miss Trent took a flashlamp and went down into Chahnn to do a bit of exploring. I was thinking of going after her. Any danger down there?"

Garth shook his head. "It's a dead city. She'll be okay."

"Unless she gets lost."

"She won't. There are markers pointing to the outlets. How about a drink? I could use one."

Scowling, Brown nodded and pushed Garth into the truck. "I bunk in here, with the Commander. You'll have to find a place with the men, somewhere. Oh, by the way--" He pushed folded slips into Garth's hand. "Here's the rest of that forty. And here's a drink."

Garth gulped brandy better than any he had tasted in years. He didn't bother with a glass. Brown watched him with an almost imperceptible curl of the lip.

"Thanks.... When do I get that ten thousand?"

"When we're back here. I don't trust you quite enough to let you have it now."

Garth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, considered, and drank again. "I won't run out on you. You're after that Ancients' power-source, aren't you?"

Brown's eyes narrowed a bit. "Any of your business?"

"Not in the way you mean. But I know the Black Forest. I might be able to give you some ideas, if I'm not left too much in the dark. Still, I can guess a little. I know you expect to run into the Zarno."

"Yeah?"

Garth made an impatient gesture. "Hell, why did you want me as a guide? It wasn't only because I knew the Forest. I can speak the Ancient Tongue--the same language the Zarno are supposed to use. You'll want me to palaver with them."

"Maybe." Brown went to the back of the truck and found a fresh pack of cigarets. "We can talk about that later."

"We ought to talk now. I know what sort of equipment you'll need in the Forest. If you run out on Benson half-equipped, it'll be just too bad."

The door swung open, admitting a blast of frigid air. Commander Benson stepped in, his lips tight and hard, his eyes blazing. Brown, at the end of the chamber, swung around, a sudden, surprised tenseness in his attitude.

"I don't think you'll do any running out on me, Captain," Benson said.

Brown flashed Garth a glance. "Damn you," he half-whispered. He took a step forward, tigerishly menacing.

* * * * *

Benson pulled a gun from his pocket. "Don't move," he said. "Hold it--right there. I thought you'd given up that crazy idea you and Paula had, but apparently--" He shrugged. "Well, I'll have to put you and the girl under guard. No one in this outfit's heading for the Black Forest if I can help it."

Brown's hand hovered in midair.

"Don't try it," Benson said. "Keep your gun where it belongs. The sound of a shot wouldn't help you any." He stepped back, his mouth opening in a shout that would summon others.

Brown, at the other end of the truck, could not have reached him in time, but the Commander had forgotten or ignored Garth. That was a mistake. Garth was only a few feet from Benson, and he galvanized into unexpected action. He sprang, one hand clamping over the gun, the other, clenched, driving in a hard, short jab at Benson's chin.

There was strength in that punch, and it connected at the right point. Had Garth not been gripping the Commander's hand, the latter would have gone backward, out of the truck.

"Knockout!" Brown said tonelessly. He was suddenly beside Garth, yanking Benson forward. "Shut the door. Quick."

Garth obeyed. Turning, he saw the Captain kneeling beside Benson's motionless form. After a moment Brown looked up.

"He'll come out of it soon. Maybe too soon. Get me those straps from the corner."

Garth did that, and then had another drink. He felt lousy. He watched Brown bind the Commander and thrust the lax figure out of sight, under a bunk.

"That does it," Brown said, rising. "We're in the soup now. But--it was lucky you hit him when you did."

"What now?"

"We start for the Black Forest before Benson wakes up. I'm second in command. I'll get my own men, and we'll jump the gun." Brown's eyes were excited.

"Equipment?"

"We'll take what we can. Weapons, mostly. Stay with me."

They went out of the truck into the soft light of four moons, two large, two tiny. Fourfold shadows paced them over the icy slick. Garth hurried off to find his medical kit. By the time he returned, Brown had mustered his men and was waiting. He gave Garth a brief glance.

"Okay. Morgan--" He turned to a giant in uniform. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. As soon as we find Miss Trent. 'Bye."

"'Bye, sir."

Garth led the way into one of the kiosks. Lamps were flashed on. A spiral ramp led steeply down.

In an undertone Brown said, "I told Morgan Commander Benson sent me to find Paula Trent--that she was lost in the city. So we're safe till--"

"We're safe till we leave the underground passage," Garth said. "After that, twenty miles across open ground. Has Benson got planes?"

"Portable ones, yeah."

"Then we'd better do that twenty miles at night."

The ramp ended. Before them was a gigantic room where their tiny lamps were lost. Here and there enigmatic shadows loomed, the dead, fantastic machines of the Ancients that had once made Chahnn alive and powerful.

* * * * *

Garth went directly to an opening in the wall, Brown and his ten men following, and entered a short tunnel. At one spot he paused, ran his finger over a panel of smooth metal, and pressed. A black oval opened silently.

"Here's the way. They won't follow us beyond this point."

Brown nodded. "Sampson, get the men inside. Wait here for me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

A burly, beak-nosed fellow with a cast in one eye and flaming red hair saluted casually. "Right. Come on, boys. Hop through. Mind your packs."

Garth stared at Brown. "What d'you mean? Where--"

The Captain said, "We're taking Paula Trent with us."

"No! It's nearly suicide for us--she couldn't make it at all."

"She's tougher than you think. Besides, she's got the map. And she's an archaeologist. I can't read the Ancients' lingo. Can you?"

Garth shook his head. "I can speak it, that's all. But--"

"If we find what we're after, we'll need Paula Trent. She's down here somewhere. Let's go find her."

"I tell you--"

Brown brought out a gun and leveled it.

"Find her. Or I'll find her myself, and we'll head for the Black Forest without you. Because you'll be dead. I haven't come this far to let you stop me. And chivalry looks a bit funny on a guy like you."

Sudden murder-light flared in the pale eyes.

"Find her!" Brown whispered. "And--fast!"

III

Garth knuckled under. There was nothing else to do. He knew Brown wouldn't hesitate to kill him, and, after all, what the devil did Paula Trent mean to him? Her life was unimportant, compared to the hopeless quest that had quickened in his mind, despite himself.

For Doc Willard might still be alive. Even if he wasn't, there was that notebook the Doc had always carried around with him--a book that contained the medico's theories about the Silver Plague. Even if that ghastly dream-like memory were not merely delirium--even if Garth, witless and unknowing, had killed Willard--there was always that dim, desperate chance that the cure for the Plague might be found in the Black Forest.

So--damn Paula Trent! She didn't matter, when the lives of millions might depend on Garth's penetrating the jungle that had baffled him for five years.

Without a word he turned and started back, Brown keeping close beside him. The huge chamber loomed before them, filled with its cryptic shadows. There was time now to see what they had missed in their quick flight a few moments ago--though not much time, for pursuit might start at any minute.

Dead silence, and darkness, broken by the crossing beams of the brilliant lamps. Garth listened.

"Hear anything?"

Brown shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Okay. We'll try this way."

Then went into a passage that sloped down, ending in a vaulted room larger than the first. Brown swung up his gun abruptly as a figure seemed to leap from blackness in the ray of the lamp. Garth caught his arm.

"Robot. Unpowered. They're all over the city."

The robots--slaves of the Ancients, Garth thought, who had died with them, lacking the fuel that could quicken them to life. No Earthly scientists had ever been able to analyze the construction of the machines, for they were built of an alloy that was apparently indestructible. Acid and flame made no impression on the smooth, glittering black surface.

This one, like all the others, was roughly man-shaped, nearly eight feet tall, and with four arms, the hands extended into limber jointed fingers almost like tendencies. From the mask-like face complex glassy eyes stared blankly. It stood motionless, guarding a world that no longer needed guardians.

With a little shrug Garth went on, his ears alert for sounds. From the walls bizarre figures in muraled panels watched. Those murals showed a world of incredibly advanced science, Garth knew. He had seen them before. He spared them not a glance now.

The machines--

What were they? They loomed like dinosaurs in the endless chain of high-domed vaults. They had once given Chahnn power and life and strength. The murals showed that. The Ancient Race had used antigravity--a secret unknown to Earthmen--and they had created food by the rearrangement of atomic patterns, not even requiring hydroponic tank cultures. They had ruled this world like gods.

And they had passed with no trace, leaving only these silent monuments to their greatness. With the power of the Ancients, Earth's lack of fuel-reserves would not matter. If the secret of atomic power could be found again, these machines would roar into thundering life--and machines like them would rise on Earth.

Power and greatness such as civilization had never known! Power even to reach the stars!

And--Garth thought wryly--a power that would be useless unless a cure for the Silver Plague could be found.

* * * * *

He was almost running now, his footsteps and Brown's echoing hollowly in the great rooms. Silently he cursed Paula Trent. There were other levels below, many of them, and she might be down there--which would make the task almost impossible.

A distant flicker of light jerked Garth to a halt. He switched off his lamp, motioning for Brown to do the same.

It came again, far away, a firefly glimpse.

"Paula?" the Captain said.

"Guess so. Unless they're after us already."

"Take it easy, then."

They went on, running lightly on their toes. The light had vanished, but Garth knew the way. Suddenly they came out of a short tunnel into one of the great rooms, and relief flooded Garth as he saw Paula's face, pale in reflected light, a dozen feet away.

Simultaneously a faint sound came rhythmically--like dim drums.

Garth said sharply, "Hear that? Men coming down a ramp. Get the girl and let's go!"

But Paula was already coming toward them, blinking in the glare. "Who's that? Carver? I--"

Brown gripped her arm. "There's no time to talk now, Paula. We're in a jam. Keep your mouth shut and come along. Garth, can you get us back to that secret passage?"

"Maybe. It'll be blind luck if we make it. Turn your lamps out and link hands. Here." He felt Paula's firm, warm palm hard against his, and remembrance of Moira was suddenly unexpectedly painful. He had not seen an Earthgirl for years....

What of it, now? Garth moved cat-footedly forward, leading the others. He went fast. Once or twice he clicked on his light briefly. They could hear the noise of the search-party now, and a few times, could see distant lights.

"If they find that open panel--" Brown whispered.

"Keep quiet."

Garth pressed them back into an alcove as footsteps grew louder. Luck stayed with them. The searchers turned off at another passage. After that--

It was like a nightmare, a blind, stumbling race through the blackness of Chahnn, with menace hiding everywhere. Garth's hand was slippery with perspiration against Paula's by the time he stopped, his light clicking on and off again almost instantly.

"This is it," he said. "The panel's shut."

"Good. Sampson must have had sense enough to close it. Unless--"

Garth found the spring and pressed it. He flashed his light into the darkness, to see the familiar faces of Brown's men staring at him. The Captain thrust him forward. Paula was instantly beside him, and then Brown himself was through the oval gap.

"They're coming," he murmured. "How in hell does this work?"

"Here." Garth didn't use his light. Under his deft fingers the panel slid back into place, shutting off the noise of approaching steps. He gasped a little with relief.

"Okay," he said in a natural voice. "These walls are sound-proof. We can use our lights. We'll have to."

"What happened?" Paula's voice said. "You said we were in a jam, Carver. Well?"

"We'll talk as we go. Garth, you first. Paula, stay with me. Sampson, bring up the rear, will you?"

* * * * *

Garth obediently set out down the sloping tunnel, scarcely listening to Brown's explanation. There were side branches to the passage here and there. He had to use his memory, which seemed less accurate than he remembered. Once he almost blundered, but caught himself in time.

Brown said, "Garth, we've got thirty miles of tunnel and twenty more above ground till we hit the Forest. Right? This is rough going. We won't get out of here till daylight. So we'd better camp in the passage, at the other end, till tomorrow night."

"We don't have to do that," Garth grunted. "This isn't Earth. Jupiter won't rise for thirteen hours."

"The men have heavy packs." Brown shifted his own big one uncomfortably. "Fifty miles is quite a way. Still, the quicker we reach the Forest, the safer we'll be."

"There's a river." Garth's voice was doubtful. "We might use that."

"Would it help?"

"Yeah. But it's dangerous."

"Why?"

"Spouts. Geysers. The water's apt to explode under you any time. And there are big lizards--"

"Would it take long to make a raft?"

Garth shook his head. "_Lata_-trees are better than balsa, and they grow on the banks. Plenty of vines, too. But--"

"We'll do that, then," Brown said decisively. "Speed it up. We've got thirteen hours. We can make it, all right."

Garth didn't answer.

After that it was pure monotony, a dull driving march through a bare tunnel, up slopes and down them, till leg muscles were aching with fatigue. Garth dropped into a state of tired apathy. He had no pack to carry, but nevertheless his liquor-soaked body rebelled at the unaccustomed exertion. But he knew that each step brought him closer to his goal.

The thoughts swung monotonously through his brain. Doc Willard. The notebook. The cure. The Plague. Maybe--maybe--_maybe!_

If he got through--if he found the notebook--if it had the cure--that was what he wanted, of course.

But suppose he also found the skeleton of Doc Willard on an altar, with a knife-hilt protruding from the ribs?

He couldn't have killed Doc consciously. That was unthinkable. Yet the damnable influence of the Noctoli pollen did odd things to a man's mind.

Doc Willard--Moira--the Silver Plague--

Half asleep, aching with exhaustion, he slogged ahead, moving like an automaton. And, whenever he slowed his pace, Brown's sharp voice urged him on faster.

Grudgingly the Captain allowed them rest periods. But by the time they reached the tunnel's end the men were panting and sweating, and both Paula and Garth were near exhaustion. Thirty miles at a fast pace, with only occasional rests, is wearing work.

* * * * *

They emerged from the passage to find themselves on the slope of a rocky hillock. Low ridges rose around them, silhouetted in triple-moonlight. A whitish haze hung close to the ground, filling the hollows like shining water.

Instinctively Brown looked up. A meteor, drawn by the immense gravity of Jupiter, flamed across the sky--that was all. And that was a familiar enough sight.

Garth, reeling with fatigue, nodded. "River--down there. Half a mile. The fog's thicker--"

"Okay. Let's go."

This lap of the journey was nearly the hardest. But the low roar of the river steadily grew louder as they stumbled on, the luminous mist lapping their ankles, their knees, their waists. It closed above their heads, so that they moved in a ghostlike, shadowless world in which the very air seemed dimly lighted.

Trees were visible. Garth, almost spent, searched for a shelving beach, found it, and dropped in a limp heap. He saw Paula sink down beside him. The men threw off their heavy packs with relief.

Brown--the man was made of rawhide and steel!--said, "I'll need help to make a raft. The boys that feel tired can keep their eyes open for pursuit planes. I don't think the Commander would send out truck-cats at night, but he'll use searching planes."

"They can't see us in this fog," Paula said faintly.

"They could hear us, with their motors muffled. So we'll work fast. Garth!"

"Yeah. What?"

"What trees do we want?"

Garth pointed. "_Lata._ Like that one, over there. They're easy to cut down, and they float. You'll find tough vines all around here." He forced the words out with an effort. Brown mustered eight of his men, including the red-haired Sampson, and led them away. The sound of ringing axes presently drifted back.

Two others had been stationed on hillocks, above the low-lying fog, to watch for planes. Garth, alone with Paula, was almost too tired to be conscious of her presence. He heard her voice.

"Cigaret?"

"Thanks...." Garth took one.

"Sorry I can't offer you a drink."

"So am I," Garth grunted. He could feel her eyes on him. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs, exhaling luxuriously.

"Got a gun?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh--things come out of the river sometimes. Hunting water-lizards, carnivorous. You learn to sleep with one eye open on Ganymede."

"It's a funny world," Paula acknowledged. "Once it was highly civilized. Now it's gone back to savagery."

"Conditions are bad here. Too vigorous. Jupiter gives light but not much heat. Animals and plants have to be tough to survive. This is summer-season, but it's plenty cold."

"How much do you know about the Zarno?" she asked abruptly.

Garth blinked. "Not much. Why?"

"Not many people have ever seen them. I'm wondering. I managed to translate some inscriptions from Chahnn.... The Zarno aren't human, are they?"

Garth didn't answer. Paula went on.

"The Ancients knew them, though. They tried to educate them--like Rome colonizing savage races. That's probably why the Zarno are supposed to speak the Ancient Tongue."

"They do."

"And then the Ancients died out--somehow. The Zarno were left. They became barbarous again. I wish I knew what they were like. Natives who've seen them don't seem able to describe the creatures. They wear shining armor, don't they?"

* * * * *

Garth closed his eyes, trying to remember. A vague, dim picture was growing in his mind--man-like figures that glowed, faces that were craggy, hideous creatures....

"I've seen them," he said, "but I've forgotten. The Noctoli poison--it wrecked my memory."

"You don't recall anything?"

"I--" Garth rubbed his forehead. "Not human--no. Creatures like living statues, shining and moving.... I don't know."

"Silicate life?" Paula theorized thoughtfully. "It's possible. And it might evolve on a planet where conditions are so tough for survival. Such creatures wouldn't be affected by the Noctoli pollen, either, would they?"

"No. Or they've built up resistance. The virus is active only in daylight, when the flowers are open. I don't know why. Before we go too far into the Black Forest I'll have to give everyone antitoxin shots--everyone but me. The pollen doesn't work on me any more."

They were silent, resting. It seemed only a moment before Brown appeared, announcing that the raft was ready.

"It's a makeshift job, but it's strong," he said. "Listen, Garth, what about the planes spotting us on the river? We'll be an easy target."

"They wouldn't fire on us?"

"No. But they'd use sleep-gas, and nab us when we drifted ashore. We don't want that."

Garth rose, his muscles aching. "It's a chance. Most of the time there'll be fog on the river. That'll help." He found his medical kit and shouldered it. "I'm ready."