Varian watched the machine, wondering if it was so ingenious, as to reflect the thinking processes of its master-computer intelligence, or was it simply an artfully conceived diversion, a mask, under which the true intentions of the Artificial Intelligence, the Guardian, resided?
“Yes,” the homolog continued. “Yes, you are the first, the only humans to have ever come this far.”
“You mean others have found the Citadel?” asked Tessa.
“Others have stumbled upon it. Nomads and other simple types, who were unable to comprehend its significance. No, you are the first to have come bearing the words of Kartaphilos, the first to have been admitted. And I must say that although it has been a long, long time, I am most happy to receive you.”
Varian smiled. “I’m afraid we did not arrive in time to provide reinforcement . . . uh, the needs which sent out your messenger in the first place. I take it that you fared all right, anyway?”
The homolog smiled graciously and nodded. “Oh yes . . . the Citadel was preserved nicely, as you can see. . . .”
“Actually,” said Stoor, “we haven’t seen much. Just a lot of empty walls. Not very exciting, you know.”
“You will be given a most impressive tour, I assure you. And I apologize for the less-than-inspiring entrance, but it was the only way to accommodate your vehicle and the supplies which I assumed you would be carrying.”
“Yes, we did have some things on board that we would want to hold on to. Thank you.” Varian spoke the words offhandedly, wondering if the Guardian would pick up on the oblique reference to the weapons which Stoor and Raim openly brandished.
“You are more than welcome. And now, if you would please follow me, I would like to provide you with accommodations the likes of which I am sure you have never dreamed.”
The homolog turned and indicated an exit leading to an illuminated corridor. Everyone gathered up a few small possessions, including their weapons, and followed. They were led a short distance to another set of doors which, at the homolog’s approach, opened into a small room. Stoor hesitated in entering, until the robot explained the workings of the elevator, a common conveyance in First Age structures. Thus reassured, the party entered the device and rode it upward past uncountable levels.
When the doors reopened, even Stoor was not prepared for the sight which awaited them. They stepped out into a lush, tropical place, a bright green rain forest, a jungle of verdant plants and trees. The air was warm, humid, and heavily scented with natural perfumes of blossoms which peppered the gardens in front of them like the errant colors of an artist’s palette. There was nothing so vivid, so teeming with vibrant, green life in all the known World. It was such a contrast from the harsh, desiccated world of their travels that the senses of the group were momentarily overwhelmed.
“One of the botanical gardens,” said the robot. “There is at least one garden or arboretum on each level. This way, please.”
They followed the robot up an inclined, railed ramp that snaked out above and sometimes through the incredible growth which literally filled the enormous chamber. At first they had not noticed it, but the air itself was alive: the steady thrumming of insects, the chirruping, and wing flapping of birds, the fluted, shrill notes of songbirds, and the splitting cries of predators.
“The Citadel served as the Nucleus for the city which once surrounded this structure. It was an agora, a forum, a marketplace for economics, for intellectual and cultural exchange.” The robot gestured with his hand as he led the party through the gardens. “When the War broke out, the Nucleus of each city was transformed into a central coordinating unit for the city’s defensive systems. Each one was outfitted with a special AI Series called Guardian.”
“What’s an AI Series?” asked Varian.
“You are speaking with one,” said the robot. “AI, of course, stands for Artificial Intelligence. The series designated the type of computer specified for the task. In this case, it was called a Series IV.”
“Where are all the people?” Tessa looked about the gardens like a child in a fantasyscape from fragile dreams. “What happened to everybody?”
“They are . . . are all gone,” said the robot, as if picking its words carefully. “They have been gone for a very long time.”
“Gone?” said Stoor. “You mean dead, don’t you?”
“Yes, dead is the proper term.” The robot reached the end of an intersection of ramps and turned right. “This way, please.”
“But how did all this survive if the people were killed?” asked Varian.
Turning, the robot looked at him calmly. “It is a long story, which I will relate in detail after we have found acceptable accommodations and prepared you something to eat. Food and rest. These are primary directives for humans, am I not correct?”
“You bet your ass,” said Stoor, laughing at the robot’s language.
“Very well, then. I will see that you are attended. There will be plenty of time for history lessons. This way, please.”
They were led down a well-illuminated corridor, whose walls were covered with impressionistic and surreal artwork. The use of color and balance and composition was in extremely good taste, so good, in fact, that it was far beyond the visitors’ powers of appreciation. There were five objets d’art per wall panel, each expertly positioned.
The party was stopped in front of a door. “This is the first room,” said the robot. “Since I know nothing of your sleeping/living customs, or sexual-partner preferences, I am afraid I must ask how you want the accommodations to be assigned.”
Stoor looked at the others and grinned impishly. “How big are the rooms?” he asked.
“You would like one room for all of you?” asked the robot.
Tessa laughed. “Gods, no! Anything but that!”
“No,” said Stoor. “You see, my mute friend here, Raim . . . he’s my bodyguard.
