“But who fires it?” Tance said.
Dorle laughed. “No one. No one fires it.”
They stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“It fires itself.”
They couldn’t believe him. Nasha came close to him, frowning, looking up at him. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, it fires itself?”
“Watch, I’ll show you. Don’t move.” Dorle picked up a rock from the ground. He hesitated a moment and then tossed the rock high in the air. The rock passed in front of the gun. Instantly the great barrel moved, the vanes contracted.
The rock fell to the ground. The gun paused, then resumed its calm swivel, its slow circling.
“You see,” Dorle said, “it noticed the rock, as soon as I threw it up in the air. It’s alert to anything that flies or moves above the ground level. Probably it detected us as soon as we entered the gravitational field of the planet. It probably had a bead on us from the start. We don’t have a chance. It knows all about the ship. It’s just waiting for us to take off again.”
“I understand about the rock,” Nasha said, nodding. “The gun noticed it, but not us, since we’re on the ground, not above. It’s only designed to combat objects in the sky. The ship is safe until it takes off again, then the end will come.”
“But what’s this gun for?” Tance put in. “There’s no one alive here. Everyone is dead.”
“It’s a machine,” Dorle said. “A machine that was made to do a job. And it’s doing the job. How it survived the blast I don’t know. On it goes, waiting for the enemy. Probably they came by air in some sort of projectiles.”
“The enemy,” Nasha said. “Their own race. It is hard to believe that they really bombed themselves, fired at themselves.”
“Well, it’s over with. Except right here, where we’re standing. This one gun, still alert, ready to kill. It’ll go on until it wears out.”
“And by that time we’ll be dead,” Nasha said bitterly.
“There must have been hundreds of guns like this,” Dorle murmured. “They must have been used to the sight, guns, weapons, uniforms. Probably they accepted it as a natural thing, part of their lives, like eating and sleeping. An institution, like the church and the state. Men trained to fight, to lead armies, a regular profession. Honored, respected.”
Tance was walking slowly toward the gun, peering nearsightedly up at it. “Quite complex, isn’t it? All those vanes and tubes. I suppose this is some sort of a telescopic sight.” His gloved hand touched the end of a long tube.
Instantly the gun shifted, the barrel retracting. It swung—
“Don’t move!” Dorle cried. The barrel swung past them as they stood, rigid and still. For one terrible moment it hesitated over their heads, clicking and whirring, settling into position. Then the sounds died out and the gun became silent.
Tance smiled foolishly inside his helmet. “I must have put my finger over the lens. I’ll be more careful.” He made his way up onto the circular slab, stepping gingerly behind the body of the gun. He disappeared from view.
“Where did he go?” Nasha said irritably. “He’ll get us all killed.”
“Tance, come back!” Dorle shouted. “What’s the matter with you?”
“In a minute.” There was a long silence. At last the archeologist appeared. “I think I’ve found something. Come up and I’ll show you.”
“What is it?”
“Dorle, you said the gun was here to keep the enemy off. I think I know why they wanted to keep the enemy off.”
They were puzzled.
“I think I’ve found what the gun is supposed to guard. Come and give me a hand.”
“All right,” Dorle said abruptly. “Let’s go.” He seized Nasha’s hand. “Come on. Let’s see what he’s found. I thought something like this might happen when I saw that the gun was—”
“Like what?” Nasha pulled her hand away. “What are you talking about? You act as if you knew what he’s found.”
“I do.” Dorle smiled down at her. “Do you remember the legend that all races have, the myth of the buried treasure, and the dragon, the serpent that watches it, guards it, keeping everyone away?”
She nodded. “Well?”
Dorle pointed up at the gun.
“That,” he said, “is the dragon. Come on.”
Between the three of them they managed to pull up the steel cover and lay it to one side. Dorle was wet with perspiration when they finished.
“It isn’t worth it,” he grunted. He stared into the dark yawning hole. “Or is it?”
Nasha clicked on her hand lamp, shining the beam down the stairs. The steps were thick with dust and rubble. At the bottom was a steel door.
“Come on,” Tance said excitedly. He started down the stairs. They watched him reach the door and pull hopefully on it without success. “Give a hand!”
“All right.” They came gingerly after him. Dorle examined the door. It was bolted shut, locked. There was an inscription on the door but he could not read it.
“Now what?” Nasha said.
Dorle took out his hand weapon. “Stand back. I can’t think of any other way.” He pressed the switch. The bottom of the door glowed red. Presently it began to crumble. Dorle clicked the weapon off. “I think we can get through. Let’s try.”
The door came apart easily. In a few minutes they had carried it away in pieces and stacked the pieces on the first step. Then they went on, flashing the light ahead of them.
They were in a vault. Dust lay everywhere, on everything, inches thick. Wood crates lined the walls, huge boxes and crates, packages and containers. Tance looked around curiously, his eyes bright.
“What exactly are all these?” he murmured. “Something valuable, I would think.” He picked up a round drum and opened it. A spool fell to the floor, unwinding a black ribbon. He examined it, holding it up to the light.
“Look at this!”
They came around him. “Pictures,” Nasha said. “Tiny pictures.”
“Records of some kind.” Tance closed the spool up in the drum
