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it could not change, could not alter. Though I imagine that all the resources left it have been
turned to that task ever since "
"What are you talking about?" Lokatath demanded.
"The ones it aroused did not remain the same," Jarvas explained. "They must have
slipped back, generation by generation, from men or what we may term 'men' into the
less-than-men we remember as the Larsh. And finally the Larsh were thrown against us to
free Janus from any interference while this machine labored to fashion a new world, one that
would safely accommodate its burden. But it was crippled perhaps actually by Kymon of
the legend."
He looked at the ancient sear marks. "We may never know whether those represent the
coming of our folk hero or not. But the destruction was certainly deliberate, and it must
have taken a long time to repair, even in part."
"But it failed that destruction " Myrik mused.
"Because," Rizak broke in, "it was wrought by an Ift, not one who knew the real
meaning of this. He may have sprayed some energy back and forth, wrecking widely, but
not to the roots the heart of the machine."
"But the Oath, what then was the Oath?" asked Illylle.
Jarvas shrugged. "What history does not take on embroidery when it becomes heroic
legend? I do not think that Kymon, the Ift, could explain, even to himself, what he found
here if thi sis where he fronted That in all Its might. Now we must have an answer to
something else what do we do? Myrik, Rizak, what do we do?"
"We can cripple it as was done before. But again that might prove to be but temporary, if
you reckon centuries as temporary. If this was programmed to do what we guess it was,
then it has also been provided with safeguards and repairs. And we do not know what lies in
all these burrows. No, we have to find the heart control, wherever that lies, and burn it out for
all time!
"Jarvas." Illylle took a step forward and laid her hand on his arm. "What of those it
controls, made into mirror patterns and then robots? Can they be restored saved?"
He did not meet her eyes. "Perhaps no, perhaps yes. But for that we must have
both time and knowledge. And with this running, ruling the burrows and the Waste, able
to muster an army against us time we do not have. The machine first "
They were all agreed upon that. Ayyar lifted the sword. Should he use the energy in that
weapon to blast the banks around him? He had taken a step toward the nearest when Rizak
thrust out his arm as a barrier before him.
"Not there!" He looked not at Ayyar but at the banks of lighted, clicking relays on the
nearest wall.
"Where then?" Ayyar demanded. All he knew of computers was their servicing, not their
innermost workings.
"We do not know," Myrik returned. "This thing runs the burrows it controls ventilation,
everything else. Smash it and it could close doors, stop air, bury us and still we might not
finish it off. We cannot move until we are more sure "
"Look!" Illylle called sharply. She pointed to one of the banks they had thought dead, as
it had been dark since they had entered.
Now a zigzag of lights streaked down it, to be as quickly gone. A second pattern
flickered into life and vanished while they watched it. So small a thing, sparks of light
coming and going swiftly. Yet somehow it was ominous, an alert they did not understand.
"Back " Jarvas' voice was a whisper, as if he feared words could be picked up, read,
understood by the machine that boxed them in. And Ayyar shared that feeling for the
moment. An enemy one might see, that came openly, a kalcrok, one of the false Ift or an
animated space suit, could be faced with firmness of purpose. But lights on a computer
board, meant to awaken some menace, they were certain that was another matter.
Three times those lights drew a design on the board, and each time the sequence was
different, as was the color. For the first time they had been a light blue, the second a darker,
and the third time purple. Ayyar knew that the others were as tense, using all their senses for
any intimation of present danger.
"Myrik where do you place the master controls?" Jarvas whispered.
"They can be anyplace. I am not expert on alien computers."
"Ayyar, do you feel any pull from a source of power?" The Mirrormaster rounded on him.
He raised the sword and pointed it to the board that had just come to life. He could
feel his own form of force surge through his body, as if it fretted at the bonds of flesh now
containing it would be free to meet, in some flare of incandescence, that other and alien
power.
Closing his eyes, he tried to measure that ebb and flow of energy, turning slowly, blindly,
using the sword as a pointer to hunt out the center o fThat . There was a slight change as he
turned to the right, so slight that he could not actually be sure he had felt anything. He took
another fraction of a turn,was aware of a difference, for now he was rent by a rising storm.
He might have cried out; he was not sure, but still he turned. Ebb, to be followed again by
flow, now ebb complete quiet. Ayyar opened his eyes. Now he faced a dead portion of the
banks, crisscrossed by the old scars, with no signs of repair.
Eyes closed once more why that was needful he did not know but self-blinded he
was more inwardly aware of that other force. Turn flow to a lesser degree, turn, ebb,
flow, sharp and strong, lessening dead. Then, following so quickly on the dead that he
swayed and nearly fell, strong, very strong, flow, flow, ebb, flow
Yes, by so much could he chart the life of the banks, but that also the others could see
and hear for themselves. He was about to say this when Illylle spoke.
"Try underfoot."
Why she suggested that Ayyar did not know. He took a step or so along, and the sword
dipped in his hold, its tip not now pointing to the banks but to the floor. Again he made that
slow swing to face each wall. Ebb and flow again, as above
Then he was being pulled forward as if the sword were a rope, the end drawn by a port
machine. This time Ayyar could not save himself against the urgency but went to his knees,
and as the sword point dug into the flooring, Ayyar opened his eyes. He was at the foot of the
ladder down which they had come. And from his sword point sparks arose higher and
higher, while under the tip the floor began to glow red. He dared not watch; the glow hurt
his Ift eyes. The sword sank, as if the floor were soft sand,
to engulf the blade and finally the arm of its bearer.
"Move it to cut!" Jarvas knelt beyond that fire of sparks. He put out a hand as if to
lay it on the sword hilt, then flinched back.
Only half understanding, Ayyar tried to move the blade. It yielded a little so he was
cutting through the substance of the floor, or was that merely melting away from any contact
with the blade? Wider grew the hole. He thrust right, left, forward, back, enlarging it yet
more. Now he must jerk back himself to escape a puff of heat coming from the red and
glowing edges of that opening.
Out of him flowed the energy that had been pent in his body. He could almost watch it
going into the sword, helping to open this door. Now the opening was large enough for a
man, and the smell of molten metal a fog.
"On the stairs watch out!" He did not know which of them shouted that warning. A
beam cut down, struck across the edge of the hole, touched the sparks of the sword force,
flashed up in a great burst of light.
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