One chamber stretched a hundred meters across, and seemed to climb at least three times that height..Almost filling the entire space towered one massive block consisting of an amber, translucent material she had never seen before, braced by heavy armatures of the same adamant, blood-red metal that had made up the puzzle door. Dim flickerings within the outlandish gemstone told that its powers were quiescent, but hardly dead. It made them both want to creep away on tiptoe, lest the slightest noise waken whatever slept there.
The sanctuary-fort seemed endless. Maia wondered if their doom would be to wander forever like damned spirits, seeking a way out of a purgatory they had striven so hard to enter. Then the corridor spilled onto a broader one, with walls more heavily reinforced than ever. To their left stood another massive, crimson-metal door, this one almost a meter thick and resting on tremendous hinges. It gaped open. On this side, someone had set up a wooden easel, bearing a placard on which were printed bold, unfriendly letters.
YOU WERE WARNED KEEP OUT!
So anomalous was the message, so out of the blue, that Maia could only think, in response, Don't speak nonsense. Whoever you are, you never warned us of a thing.
As if we care.
"Do you think the reavers left it?" Brod asked. Maia shrugged. "It's hardly like them to admonish. Scream 'n' leap, that's more their style." She bent toward the lettering, which looked professionally done.
"It must be an important room," Brod said. "Come on. Maybe we'll learn something."
Following close behind, Maia considered. If it's so important, why do they use signs? Why didn't they just close and lock the door?
The answer was obvious. Whoever they are, they can't close the door. If they do, they'll never get it open again. They don't know the combination!
The long, tubelike chamber spanned forty meters, lined all the way with adamant red-metal and triple-braced buttresses. Presumably to resist even a direct hit … though a hit of what Maia still couldn't imagine. She did recognize computer consoles, many times larger than the little comm units manufactured and distributed by Caria City, but clearly relatives. It all had the look of having been used just yesterday, instead of over a thousand years ago. In her mind's eye, she saw ghostly operators working at the stations, speaking in hushed, anxious voices, unleashing horrific forces at a button's touch.
"Maia, look at this!"
She turned around. Brod was standing before another placard.
Property of the Reigning Council If you are here, you risk summary execution for trespass.
Your entry was noted. Your sole option is to call Planetary Equilibrium Authority at once.
Use the comm unit below.
Remember — Confession brings mercy. Obstinacy, death!
"Your entry was noted," Brod read aloud. "Do you think they've wired all the doors? Hey, maybe they're listening to us, watching us right now!" His eyes widened, turning and peering, as if to see in all directions at once. But Maia felt oddly detached.
So, the Council knows about this place. It was naive to think they didn't. After all, this was the heart of the Great Defense. They wouldn't have left such power lying around, unsupervised. It might be needed again, someday.
But then, what about my idea — that old Bennett said what he did because he had inherited some mysterious secret?
Perhaps there had been a secret, left over from the glory days of Jellicoe. Something that survived the shame and ignominy following the brief episode of the Kings. Or perhaps it was only the stuff of legend, a yearning for lost home and stature, something carried on by a small coterie of men through the centuries of their banishment, losing meaning though gaining ritual gravity as it passed on to new men and boys, recruited from their mother-clans.
"We could follow the antenna to the entrance they normally use." Brod motioned to the comm unit mentioned in the announcement, a completely standard unit, attached to cables crudely stapled to the walls. Those cables would be severed if the great door ever sealed. "You know, I'll bet they don't even know about the route we took! Maybe they don't know we're here, after all."
Good point, Maia thought. Next to the comm unit, another item caught her interest. A thick black notebook. She picked it up, scanned several pages, and sighed.
"What is it, Maia?"
She flipped more pages. "They not only know about this place, they train here … every ten years or so, it seems. Look at the dates and signatures. I see three, no four, clan names. Must be military specialist hives, subsidized in their niches by council security funds. They come out here once a generation and hold exercises. Brod, this place is still in business!"
