The time came when the carrier was only a curiosity, a prototype, from which far more practical machines were produced. And so it spent most of its days on the first floor of the merchant’s private museum, where attendants daily polished it.
Until, that is, the day Stoor of Hadaan paid the merchant an unexpected call.
That afternoon, Stoor and Varian sat in the front cab of the vehicle as it trundled across the open countryside east of the Bight. Tessa and Raim were busy in the rear compartment storing gear and supplies.
“I still can’t believe anyone could owe you such a favor,” said Varian.
Stoor threw back his head and laughed.
“No, really. I mean, this is incredible!” Varian looked over the vehicle like a little boy with a new plaything. It was a mechanical wonder! A marvel to which he doubted he would ever grow accustomed.
“Not really,” said Stoor. “Not when you figure my friend had no real use for it anymore. His folks can reproduce this one whenever he wishes it. What the world needs now is tractors, not personnel carriers! Besides, I promised him I’d bring him back somethin’ far more valuable than this damn machine!”
“Gods! What was that?”
Stoor laughed again. “Does it matter? If we find what we’re lookin’ for, that merchant will be the least of our worries.”
Where do we go first?”
“Logically, we look for all the great deserts and similar barren territories. We both got the same clues—it’s in a sandy place, right?”
“Suppose it’s not anywhere in the known World?” “You mean somewhere beyond. . . ?”
Varian nodded.
“Then we go there too,” said Stoor. “I’ve been out pretty far in the Manteg. Seems to go on forever, though. Don’t know any man that’s ever been across the whole thing. Same for the Slagland.”
“But we might have to do it. Right?”
“It’s possible. Anything’s possible. Get me that map.”
Stoor pointed to a small steel box on the floor of the cab. Varian opened it and pulled out a map of the World inked on a folded piece of oilskin. Its folds were deep creases and the edges were worn with use. It was a silent testament to the lifetime of Stoor’s travels.
“Now, I figure we work south a bit and cut into the Samarkesh Burn. Hell of a place that is!”
“You been there?”
“Only when I had to. Raiders chased me through there years ago. Before the Interdict on them animals. Before I met Raim. It was tough, but I made it.” Stoor threw in the throttle and gunned the methane engine, which whined as it revved up to traverse a steep rise they had just reached.
Varian let the conversation pause for a moment. If he pressed the old man too much, he would be launched into another highly detailed story, and he wasn’t in the mood for it. Varian was interested in the adventure at hand, in the types of equipment they had, in the techniques necessary for desert survival.
“Tell me about the Finder,” he said finally, pointing to a set of controls on the dash console.
“Ain’t much to tell. I don’t know much about how it works. Just that it does, that’s all.”
“There were sailors in Elahim who were experimenting with radio things something like this. They said they would be able to detect ships beyond the horizon, out of visual range. Is it like that?”
“Better than that. Them First Agers were a slick bunch, I keep telling you. This thing here lights up whenever we come within range of any large metal or stone object, and this panel here will print out information which will tell us the location.”
“What’s the range of the thing?”
“Pretty far. About four hundred kays.”
Varian shood his head. The technology which produced such a thing bordered upon magic. In fact, as far as he was concerned it might as well be magic. “Is it always turned on?”
Stoor nodded. “It’ll start beepin’ if anything comes into range. Then we got the choice of either trackin’ it down and checkin’ it out, or passin’ it by. With my map and knowledge of the areas, we can bypass lots of crap, ‘cause I’ll know what’s supposed to be there.”
He pointed to the map. “Like right there. There’s a bombed-out monastery right around there. If we keep on this course, it’ll show up on the Finder.”
“And we’ll go past without having to check it, right?” Varian studied the screen, which glowed with a bright yellow-green light.
“But wait a minute . . .” said Varian. “Suppose the Guardian is located somewhere in the ruins. Beneath the monastery, perhaps? And we went by. . . ?”
“Then we wouldn’t find it, would we?” Stoor laughed. Varian said nothing. He didn’t understand.
“Listen, boy,” said the old man. “That monastery’s been there a long time and everybody knows it’s there. I’ve crawled over every stone in the place and so have a lot of schoolboys by this time. If the Guardian’s there, well, he’s hidden so well that nobody’s going to find him!”
“I see . . .” said Varian, reaching for his pouch and pipe.
“The way I figure it,” said Stoor. “This Citadel . . . this place where the Guardian lays out . . . is in some god-awful place where no men ever go. Else it would’ve been turned up by this time. See what I mean? It wants to
