Return to the lost level, p.18
Return to the Lost Level, page 18
“This is futile.” Kasheena pouted, beads of sweat shining on her upper lip. “We should make our way back, Aaron. Perhaps one of the other hunting parties has had better luck.”
“Let’s go a little further,” I urged. “At least as far as the tree line. Maybe it’s the heat. We might find some animals in the forest, where it’s cooler. And to be honest, I could use a little shade myself. What little breeze we have out here isn’t doing much.”
Kasheena conceded to my plan and we headed on, walking side by side, parting the grass with our bows. I reached out and took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. Smiling, she returned the gesture. We pushed ahead, and emerged into an area where the grass had been crushed and flattened.
And that was when we found the tracks and stopped dead in our own.
“What did this?” Kasheena asked. “I have never seen tracks like these.”
Two deep ruts had been gouged into the dirt, chewing up the topsoil on either side of them, and squashing the vegetation. The spacing was about the width of a small car. They looked like tank treads, and I said as much.
“It looks like a tank rolled through here.”
Kasheena let go of my hand. “A tank?”
“Remember the airplanes we found?” I was referring to five TBM Avenger torpedo bombers we had discovered about a month earlier. “Tanks are something similar—a mechanized vehicular weapon of war.”
“Do these tanks fly as well?”
“No … at least, not during my time. But depending on what time period it came from before arriving here?” I shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
“I would suggest this tank did not fly.” Kasheena pointed at the ground. “Judging by the tracks. Although, I do not understand what happened to it.”
The trail led off toward the forest, but seemed to start abruptly from where we stood, right in the middle of the grassland. Kasheena was perplexed by this, but I knew right away what had occurred. Whatever the identity of the machine—a tank or some other type of all-terrain vehicle—that had left these marks, it had materialized out here in the middle of the grasslands. Like myself, the machine and its crew were probably dimensional castaways, caught up in the current of the universe and deposited here in the Lost Level. There was little doubt in my mind that they had emerged on this spot, and then the driver had headed for the tree line, perhaps seeking cover. Shielding my eyes with one hand, I peered at the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement or the sunlight reflecting off metal, but the horizon was vacant.
“Could it present a threat to our people?” Kasheena asked.
I shrugged. “I guess so. It really depends on the intentions of its crew, though. We wouldn’t really know until we found them. But yes, it unnerves me that it’s this close to the village. Should we investigate?”
“I think we must. I also think I want more time alone with you before we go back.”
“I like the way you think.”
Kasheena smiled. “Do not worry, Aaron. If the people in this tank are hostile, I will protect you.”
“Oh, I have no doubt.” I grinned. “You’re good at that.”
Dispensing with any further attempts at hunting, we followed the tread marks across the grassland. The sun beat down on us mercilessly, but there was a light, steady breeze to counteract it—not enough to cool us, certainly, but enough to keep us from sweating and make the grass sway.
As we trailed our quarry, I noticed something odd. At certain points during its trek, it appeared as if the tank had stopped. Perhaps even stranger, there were signs that the tank—or the crew inside—had interacted with the environment. At one such location, a twelve-inch square of topsoil had been neatly excised from the ground. At another, there was a series of foot-deep bore holes in the dirt, each one about six inches in circumference. At a third location, it looked like the vegetation had been plucked from the earth, roots and all. After this, I began to pay closer attention to the ground, rather than the tracks themselves, and noticed a few spots where it looked like stones and rocks had been removed, leaving behind bare indentations. Whoever—or whatever—we were pursuing, they were collecting samples of the topography. But for what purpose?
Early on, shortly after I first arrived in the Lost Level, Kasheena, Bloop, and I had an encounter with what I can only describe as aliens. They were just like the ones portrayed in the media back on Earth—short, slender, gray-skinned beings with big oval eyes and a slit for a mouth. We escaped from them, thanks to Bloop, and I hadn’t seen any since then. Of course, now I am much older, and have been here so long, and I have encountered them many times since. But on the day we found the Chinese beetle, I’d just had that lone encounter. Indeed, so many other bizarre things had happened to me since, so many oddities, that I’d nearly forgotten it.
Now, standing there in the tall grass, I mulled it over again, wondering if these tank-like tracks we were following might be associated with them. The modern mythology built around aliens always involved them collecting samples of things—stories of cattle mutilation and the harvesting of sperm and tissue from human abductees. Could something similar be at work here?
The trees at the edge of the forest cast a long shadow over us, as we reached the end of the grassland. The vegetation was slimmer in that shade, due to the fact that the sun never moved. It felt good to stand in it, though, and we did so for several minutes, enjoying a respite from the constant sunlight. The tank tracks disappeared into the tree line and the shadows grew deeper there.
“The forest is quiet,” Kasheena observed, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded. Quiet was an understatement. The silence was unnerving. There should have been birds chirping, animals scurrying through the undergrowth or skittering along the treetops. But instead, there was nothing. Even the insects seemed to be missing. It was as if the forest was afraid.
If so, then it was easy to see why. Our mysterious quarry had carved a trail of destruction through the dense vegetation, pulping ferns and wildflowers, and flattening small saplings. The ruts turned and weaved around the bigger trees, which indicated to me that the object was being piloted by some sort of intelligence. Kasheena and I glanced at each other, nodded, and then stepped into the gloom. We’d only gone a few yards into the forest when I noticed more signs of sample collecting. Bark had been sheared from several different trees, and there were bore holes in the trunk of two others. I paused to inspect them. The incisions were precise and geometrical. There were signs of digging in the forest floor, as well, and areas where the leaves and other detritus were swept away, exposing bare dirt and roots.
After another hundred yards, we came across a large, red boulder—a type of stone I’d never seen on Earth—that had very clearly had a section of it chiseled off. Scoring from some sort of tool was apparent on its surface and fragmented splinters of rock and dust lay around its base, covering the fallen leaves and other detritus. Kasheena knelt, picked up a handful of dust, and let it sift through her fingers.
“Why is this tank attacking the rocks and trees?” she asked. “Does it think they are enemies?”
“I can’t be sure, but I suspect that someone is collecting samples of everything.”
“But why?”
Before I could respond, the silence was broken by a grinding noise—the sound of metal on metal, like transmission gears slipping in an automobile. Kasheena leapt to her feet and readied her bow, notching an arrow in the time it took me to cast aside my own bow and draw my sword instead. The noise echoed through the forest, then came again.
“It sounds like it is in a great deal of pain,” Kasheena whispered.
I pointed with my sword in the direction of the sound. Not surprisingly, it was the same direction as the tracks. We crept forward, our nerves on edge. Kasheena was usually unflappable. Her response to danger was usually either anger or grim resolve. But now her expression and posture hinted at fear.
The grinding continued, followed by a pop and sputter. Then silence descended on the forest once again. Kasheena stared at me, wide-eyed. I realized that I was holding my breath. Just as I exhaled, a new sound started—hydraulics. They hummed, ramping up in both speed and volume. Then, the forest began to rumble as what sounded like a bulldozer began coming toward us. The undergrowth swayed and shook. Saplings toppled over. Kasheena and I jumped behind trees on either side of the tread marks as the thing emerged into view.
I hadn’t been far off the mark in calling it a tank, because the machine did indeed have tank-like treads propelling it across the ground. But that was where the similarities ended. Its size and shape reminded me of a Volkswagen Beetle, but this was no car. The metal hull was silver and black, and a number of devices protruded from it. Two tiny satellite dishes, about the size of frying pans, rotated on its top, and its sides were lined with various sensors and lights. Four mechanical arms stuck out from the sides. Each arm was equipped with a different type of tool, one of which was a sort of chainsaw, but with teeth that looked designed to cut through stone, rather than wood. I spotted some recessed panels and slots, where I suspected other arms were located. There was Chinese lettering on the side of the hull. I don’t read or speak Chinese, so I have no idea what it said, but I’ll do my best to reproduce the characters here, from memory.
国家航天局
火星探测探头
There was no windshield or view screen or windows of any kind, nothing to indicate that the vehicle was occupied, or even operated, by a living being, but of course, I couldn’t be sure. It certainly moved like it was being piloted by some form of intelligence, weaving around the bigger trees and obstacles without pause. Perhaps most astonishing was the thing’s speed. It burst from the foliage and raced toward our location. The hydraulics hummed and the treads clanked. The sound reminded me of the old wooden roller coasters I used to ride when I was a kid.
I motioned at Kasheena, indicating to her that we should stay hidden, and pressed myself up against the tree trunk, hoping that the mechanical monster would race past us and back out into the grasslands.
Instead, it stopped right next to us, in between the two trees. With a hiss, a hatch opened in the side of the hull and a thin, automated tentacle—barely the width of a pencil—extended from the beetle’s interior. I caught a glimpse of circuitry and hydraulic lines inside the machine. It was then that I realized this was a robot. There was no crew inside. Instead, it was being guided by a computer. The beetle had to be a probe of some kind, perhaps for space exploration or search and rescue operations.
The metal tendril raised itself to my height and swiveled back and forth like a snake. There was a small blue light at its tip. Staring into it hurt my head. The arm paused in front of my face. Before I could react, the light flashed, and then the tentacle retracted back into the machine. Spots danced before my eyes. I realized that I’d just had my picture taken.
Kasheena, thinking I was being attacked, sprang into action. She unleashed an arrow, but it snapped on the beetle’s metal hull. She quickly pulled another arrow from her quiver, notched it, and fired at a different spot, getting the same result. Without pausing, she tossed her bow aside and charged toward the thing, preparing to leap atop it. Before she could, one of the larger mechanical arms swung toward her, knocking her aside. With a grunt, Kasheena fell to the ground, sprawling in the leaves. Her arrows spilled out all around her, and the skinned and field-dressed Klektick fell out of her game bag. One of the probe’s arms swiveled down to investigate it.
“Kasheena!”
She raised her head, looking dazed. I saw blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and a red welt just below her breasts.
Enraged, I swung my sword. It was an emotional, reactionary attack. Had I stopped to think for a second, I would have realized the futility of such an action. But I didn’t think. I saw the woman I loved bleeding, and I responded in kind. My blade struck the hull with a clang. Sparks flew. The shock of the blow reverberated up my arms, momentarily numbing my hands, and I had to struggle just to retain my grip on the hilt of my weapon. The sword left a scratch on the probe’s steel hull, but otherwise didn’t seem to affect it. The beetle responded to my strike with a flurry of movement. One robotic arm, equipped with a pair of pincers, seized my blade. A second pincer-equipped arm, longer and narrower than the first, latched onto my hair, pulling tight. A third arm – the one with the chainsaw at the end of it – swiveled toward me, buzzing furiously.
The tank snatched the sword from my grip as easily as a bully taking a lollipop from a small child. It dropped the sword out of my reach. I struggled to free myself, twisting back and forth, as the spinning blade drew closer and closer. Sunlight glinted off the sharp metal teeth. I reached above my head with both hands and grabbed the appendage clenching my hair, trying to break its grip, but to no avail. The chainsaw was only inches from me now, and seemed to dominate my vision. The sawblade blocked out the sun and trees. The smell of scorched metal seemed to envelop me.
Gritting my teeth, I took a deep breath and flung myself backward, throwing all of my weight into the effort. I hung there, dangling by my hair for a second, but then the roots tore free from my scalp. The agony was unbearable. It felt like my head was on fire, but my escape attempt worked. I crashed onto the forest floor, gasping in pain. Above me, a chunk of my hair dangled from the robot arm.
The tank paused for a second, as if recalibrating. Then it changed direction, turning toward me, and trundled forward. I crab-walked backward, wincing as rocks and thorns dug into my palms. The probe rolled after me, relentless. I tried to scurry out of reach, but another of those damned arms seized my ankle. The pincers squeezed, and I screamed again, feeling the bones in my foot grind together. As if in response, the pressure subsided somewhat. The beetle didn’t let go, but it didn’t break my ankle, either. It seemed to be waiting for something, or perhaps studying me, pausing to gauge my reaction. Then, it released my foot.
“Thank you,” I said.
If the robot understood me, it didn’t respond. Then I remembered the Chinese writing on its side and decided to use one of the few Chinese phrases I knew, half remembered from a movie I’d once seen.
“Xie xie.”
The high-pitched hydraulic sounds seemed to decrease. I moved my legs, and when that got no violent reaction, I got to my feet with careful, exaggerated slowness.
“So, you can understand me?”
The probe simply hummed and whirred.
Suddenly, Kasheena clambered up onto the beetle’s roof. Her expression was savage. She had cast aside her bow and instead clutched a football-sized rock, which she immediately used to batter one of the small satellite dishes that was spinning round and round. She struck it three times in rapid succession before our foe could react, bending the dish and arresting its rotation. As the probe’s arms swiveled toward her, Kasheena smacked the dish again. The device snapped free, dangling off the side, connected only by a series of cables. I was momentarily hopeful that the damage might slow the robot or render it immobile, but there was no noticeable reaction. Instead, two more tentacles emerged from either side of the hull and swung toward Kasheena.
I shouted at her to jump, but she was already ahead of me, leaping up and latching on to a low-hanging tree limb. Agile as a cat, Kasheena swung herself up into the branches and then dropped down on the other side of the probe, landing at my side.
The probe thrummed.
I snatched up my sword and grabbed Kasheena’s arm. “Run!”
We darted around the robot as its arms flailed and thrashed. The treads clanked as it began to pivot. Then it rumbled toward us. Obviously, the probe’s artificial intelligence now saw us as a threat. I charged toward the edge of the forest, pulling Kasheena along behind me.
“Aaron!” She shook free of my grip. “We cannot lead it toward the village. We must go deeper into the forest. The trees and obstacles might slow it down.”
I nodded. “Good thinking.”
She led us to the right, far out of reach of the probe’s various appendages, and then turned, heading into the trees. The beetle rolled after us. We ran from side to side, trying to further confuse our pursuer and slow it down. Vines and thorns tore at us as we plowed into the undergrowth, and low-hanging branches whipped our skin. The probe crashed through these obstacles without slowing. My foot caught a root sticking up from the soil and I stumbled. Had Kasheena not reached out and caught my arm, steadying me, I’d have probably been crushed beneath the robot’s tank treads.
Kasheena led us on, darting around trees and leaping over logs and rocks. It was an effective method. I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw that although the probe was still doggedly pursuing us, its speed had slowed as it tried to navigate around the obstacles.
Eventually, the undergrowth began to clear, but we found a swift-running stream and splashed across that. The banks were strewn with slippery, slime-covered boulders and the water was knee-deep. The ground on the far side of the creek sloped upward at a steep incline. I saw a bed of light green ferns at the summit. Most of the fronds were taller than we were. We climbed the hill, grabbing onto saplings to keep our balance. When we reached the top, we paused, glancing behind us and gasping for breath.
The beetle slowed to a crawl as it reached the stream. It stopped for a moment, surveying the landscape, and then trundled into the water. It made another one of those horrible grinding sounds as the creek flowed over its treads, but it pushed on and emerged on the other side, cumbrously navigating between two boulders.
I heard something croak from inside the ferns, but paid it no mind. I was too focused on the probe.
“Can tanks climb hills?” Kasheena asked, breathless.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. “I think we’re going to find out.”
But I was wrong. We never did get to find out because at that moment, something rustled in the ferns behind us. The croaking sound was repeated, but it was louder this time—more urgent. It was followed by a series of tiny, frightened trills. Kasheena and I glanced at each other in alarm. Something snorted loudly. Slowly, I parted the ferns with my sword.
