He went down it steadily, nevertheless; it was obviously the path he had followed. Soon he was on an upward incline, and he was again sure he had followed the right trail. Soon the steps would appear ahead, and he’d be out of this rat’s nest, with its odd revolving doors.
It went on without a break, and he began to worry about the absence of the side trails he had seen before. They were probably closed off by more of those trick doorways.
Then the trail took a sharp downward incline.
Chuck stopped and backtracked, but there was no other way he could have gone. He had come—or had he made a turn somewhere in the early part of his trip? He’d *** tamed right—no, he’d turned left, because that would carry him under the ruins of the city. That meant that on the way out he should have taken a right turn.
He backtracked farther, pounding on the right wall in the hope that some sound difference would show him where the opening was. He moved slowly now, placing the helmet against the wall and tapping. He could find no difference in any section. They were all dull and muffled, as if the sound were reflected from a great thickness of solid earth.
Thirst was bothering him, more so now that he could do nothing about it. He hadn’t meant to be away so long, and he had forgotten to fill the tube after he removed the blower unit. He sucked on it without any hope, and was delighted to find that there was still some water left— perhaps half a cup.
Again he began tapping, although he had less faith in it now. The incline must have been longer than he had come up, at this location.
Dim light came from behind him—not a brief flicker this time but a steady glow. He moved toward it happy for anything to take him toward something definite. There were probably a hundred exits from this place, and it might very well be daylight from the surface, shining down through a crack. It certainly seemed long enough to be day again.
But the crack was on the wall, not from the ceiling. He put his eyes to it and looked through. It was barely wide enough to show him the room beyond.
The dim light was coming from a number of sources. It wasn’t fire, of course, but appeared to be something painted onto the walls which made them glow. Dim as it was, he could still see the details with fair clarity.
The first thing that caught his attention were two of the missing welders. About twenty of the furry creatures were grouped around them seemingly arguing vehemently about something, since their chirping was coming at a rapid rate. Another was making motions with the torch of one of the machines, apparently trying to show how the Earthmen used it.
One, who somehow gave the impression of age, though there was no change in the color of his coat, was beating on the ground and clicking his sharp teeth, together. It might have been either agreement or contradiction.
It was the one in the center of the group that interested Chuck the most. That creature was gesturing upward, and toward the welders. He made another gesture which was too complicated for any good interpretation; it seemed to indicate that he was searching rapidly.
The old one clicked his teeth together, beat on the ground, and stood up. It seemed to break up the meeting, and they all began separating. One of them moved to the walls and did something to the glowing sections; the glow faded, and the room was in darkness.
Chuck tensed. Before the final glow died, he had seen the creature who had been doing all the gesturing heading straight toward him. Now he waited, moving cautiously back toward the long tunnel, where he couldn’t be caught in any of their doors. He pressed his helmet against the wall. There was a stirring sound, and a soft patter that could only be footsteps.
The creature moved directly past him, making little chirping sounds to itself. Chuck began to bless his good fortune as he dropped behind, trying to be silent while he stayed within range of the chirping. He could only interpret the gestures as an offer to go up to the surface and bring back more of the things which had suddenly turned up within easy reach.
When a man doesn’t know his way around, it’s better to follow someone who does. Chuck decided. He strained his ears, trying to be sure that the chirper wouldn’t be able to turn down some other passage and throw him off the trail.
The creature moved ahead steadily though, at an easy pace. Chuck began to expect daylight at any moment. Presently there was a growing touch of light ahead, but it didn’t look like daylight.
It wasn’t. The creature suddenly appeared against a rectangular opening of the light which swung shut behind him. Another of the cracks, air vents, perhaps, lay near the doorway.
Again, there were two of the welders in the large room, but this was an entirely different scene. There was no idle chirping and beating on the floor here. About twenty of the creatures were busy at various duties—most of them meaningless—near the center of the cavern. Over in the far corner, a compact little group stood around one of the older ones who was scratching on the floor. There was another watching intently, and it was obvious that the older one was trying to draw something and having a hard time getting his meaning across.
Other treasures from the ship stood about the room, along with some strange structures which were of native make. It seemed to be some sort of workshop.
Chuck kept the chirping creature he had followed carefully within his view, even while he watched the others. It might be only a stop before he went on about the errand he had seemed to be bound on. Chuck couldn’t do any better at this stage. He watched as the creature moved about the room until it came to a blower unit hanging on the wall, and began preening itself.
There had been no missing blowers when Chuck had left the ship! That was a recent addition to their collection and hardly in keeping with their usual policy. It touched on unpleasant subjects—the suit he was wearing was now equipped only with tanks of oxygen, which wouldn’t last as long as one set of batteries for a blower. He must be running low!
The chirper was still preening in front of the blower, but now it began to settle down on its haunches, leaning back against the wall. The huge eyes closed, as if it were sleeping.
It hadn’t been planning a trip up—it had been bragging about one already made. Chuck had been led on another fool’s chase around the maze, and he was no nearer out than before—probably farther, if their working quarters were located away from the entrances, as seemed to be the case.
He moved back out of the light from the slit, and touched the switch. This time there was no denying that the little bulb was glowing much more dimly than before. However, it gave enough illumination for him to read the dial on his oxygen tank. There were between fifteen and twenty minutes more to go on one tank—and the other was already empty.
He remembered the classical adage which advised a man who was faced with the inevitable to accept his fate gracefully; but he could also remember his father’s comment on it:
“When you’re at the end of your rope, you’ll be a wise man to sit down and wait for the rope’s end to hit you; but you’ll live a lot longer if you grab it and start trying to climb up it, even if you don’t know where it’s tied.”
There were three passages here. One led to the room where he’d first seen the chirper; the second was the one in which he was standing. Both were dead-end streets. The third went off into nowhere—it might be the nowhere that led but of the maze. He probably couldn’t make the ship unless it was the right exit, but he could get close enough to scratch a warning in the sand, with luck.
He turned down the third passage, no longer caring about saving light or avoiding anything. His legs pumped under him. The fear of dying came late, as if the act of running had brought it out. It caught at his chest, and made the air seem stale and re-used already. His stomach wanted to turn over, but he had no time. It was now or never.
The passage went on at a slow curve, and ended in a double intersection. He chose one of the tunnels at random and went racing down. It seemed to be going upward slightly, although he couldn’t be sure. His fingers on the wall were already necessary to aid the dying light of the little-bulb, but he only tried to run harder.
This time, when he saw the light, he knew better than to hope; the hope came anyway, together with another wave of fear—a mixture that left him no room for reason. He dashed toward it frantically and came to a stop beside another of the slits through the wall.
A bit of the scene inside told him he’d made a circle right back to the workshop!
