At first it seemed to be moving, wavering, changing shape even as they stared, but this proved to be only an illusion, a trick of the climate, and perhaps their excited minds. As they drew closer, the shape attained rock-hard stability, rising up almost defiantly. It was a multitiered building of perhaps five distinct levels, although the geometry of the design could have easily disguised two or three additional levels. Having the same basic ocher color as the sand of the terrain, the structure was partially camouflaged, and they were not aware of the extremity of its architecture until they were very close. It was a maze of impossible angles, cantilevers, facings, declinations. There existed nothing like it in the known World; it climbed boldly into the sky, a symbol of the power and imagination of those who had created it.
The indicators of the Finder danced wildly, homing in on the building. There was no doubt: whatever the thing was, it was still functioning within its multifaceted walls. If the personnel carrier had been equipped with an operable radio, it would have by this time intercepted a broad-spectrum-warning broadcast from the Citadel, instructing the unauthorized vehicle to stop, identify itself, and await further instructions.
Since this was impossible, the personnel carrier would receive a different kind of greeting.
“Losin’ power on the engine,” said Stoor, throwing switches, trying to locate the problem. “Lights goin’ down in the console, too. Damn thing’s dyin’ out on us.”
Varian was not listening. He had just seen movement near the base of the Citadel, which was now less than two kays distance from them.
“Look, out there. Something’s coming this way.”
A dark shape, not very large, but moving very fast, was homing in on them, leaving a dust-devil plume in its wake.
Without speaking, everyone reached for their weapons and trained them on the approaching vehicle, which was recognizable as such because of the large balloon tires now visible. The tires were as high as the vehicle itself.
It rolled to a quick stop very close to the personnel carrier, apparently oblivious to the weapons trained upon it. It was quite small and did not appear large enough to carry a man. There were no apparent weapons emerging from it, and for a long moment, the machine and the men stared mutely at one another.
Suddenly a stream of unrecognizable words poured forth from a speaker hidden somewhere on the surface of the small, wheeled robot. After a short pause, the message was repeated, but this time in a different language, which Varian thought might be G’Rdellian. Another pause, and it spoke again, this time in Nesporan, which everyone understood. Tessa was to later admit that she could pick up sense from all three, but was too stunned to respond, having never imagined a machine capable of speaking to someone.
“You are requested to identify yourselves immediately. You did not acknowledge the warning radio transmission, therefore a null-power net has been thrown over your vehicle.”
“What’s it mean?” asked Stoor. “That little thing has shut down our carrier?”
“It seems so,” said Varian. “Let’s try and do what it says.”
Stoor looked from the small robot to Varian and back, then he nodded. “We come lookin’ for Cartor Fillus, or Kartaphilos, or whatever he calls himself.”
“Cartor Fillus? You know of him? Please identify yourselves. Immediately.”
“I’m Stoor of Hadaan. The others are Varian Hamer, Tessa of Prend, and Raim of the Maaradin.”
There was a short silence, in which Varian grew cautious and a bit suspicious. His hand tensed on his sidearm, aiming it from his hip at the machine’s center.
“You have been sent here by Cartor Fillus?”
“Yes,” said Varian. “He told us to seek out the Guardian.”
“Describe Cartor Fillus, in detail.”
“Describe him!? What in Krell’s name for!?” Stoor’s face was growing flush, and his hand shook as he retained his aim upon the small, dispassionate robot.
“Do as it says,” said Tessa. ‘It’s the only way the Guardian has of knowing if we’re telling the truth.”
Varian agreed, looked to Stoor for the go-ahead, then described the old man be had met as Kartaphilos.
Another pause, after he had completed his description, then: “An accurate portrait. Power will be restored to your vehicle momentarily. You will follow closely behind me. Do not, at any time, deviate from the course I run. To do so may prove dangerous since this area is carefully defensed against intruders.”
The little robot turned smoothly in a tight radius and began trundling back toward the dreamscape architecture of the Citadel. With a surge of power, the engine sparked alive and the lights of the control console winked on; the personnel carrier was rumbling forward as Stoor took over the controls.
Following the robot, everyone noted that there was little, if any, debris within the tight perimeter of the Citadel. It was as though the Guardian had taken measures to keep the area free of any wreckage which might prove good cover or protection to an attacking force. Clearly, anything that approached the Citadel would be totally exposed and defenseless. Looking up at the maze of intersecting lines and angles that formed the front face of the Citadel, Varian tried to spot any projections, ramparts, or other signs of battlements, or worse, any weapons which might be trained upon their approaching vehicle. He could see nothing but the ever-present facing of what looked like sandstone. Since it was unlikely that the Citadel lacked this kind of defensive system, Varian concluded that the design of the structure and the artful use of camouflage would keep the system a secret to him.
They rolled slowly across the sand, covering the last two kays with extreme caution. The small, wheeled robot sat silently waiting for them as they neared what appeared to be a seamless wall
