The plants have probably added too much carbon dioxide to the air, but the animal-plant balance was about perfect in the old days. The air’s clean, pure, and it’s cleansed continuously. The automatic monitors keep the oxygen-nitrogen-trace-gas balance from deviating too far from optimum. Water vapor is injected from the subsurface tanks, and reclaimed. Trelig even had his own rainfall in there—on demand.”
“That’s a pretty thick forest over there,” Vistaru noted, pointing to the left, beyond the buildings.
He nodded. “A nice forest, yes. And somewhere in there are glades where exotic fruits were grown. Some deer and minor wildlife have probably survived. Insects, too. You can hear them if you listen.”
They could. It was eerie.
“Bozog, you having any problems?” Renard asked.
“None,” responded the creature. “If necessary, I can feed on one of the buildings.”
They walked on, heading for the largest structure in sight, the great hall where Trelig had held court and entertained guests—willing and unwilling.
“Yulin?” Mavra called.
He stopped. “Yes?”
“I’m sure it’s occurred to you that at least a few people could survive here on the animals and fruit.”
Yulin nodded.
“The sponge. would have polished them off long ago,” Renard retorted.
“You forget, Renard, there were others for Trelig’s big show—councillors and councillors’ representatives. Some of them were pretty tough people.”
Yulin reconsidered. “Could be,” he admitted. “If the spongies didn’t kill them off.”
“A couple of those people were professional agents like me,” Mavra noted. “They’d have been a lot harder to take, and time was on their side. I think we’d better assume that somebody’s still around.”
“That clean lounge,” Yulin said softly, now suddenly alert again, looking around. “They sure haven’t taken care of the rest of the place.”
Renard agreed with her the more he thought about it. “That’s true, but you have to figure that they’d be pretty normal for a while. But it’s been twenty-two years now, without hope, without communication. Who knows what kind of life they’d develop, what would happen in their minds?”
“I think you’re right,” Renard agreed. “There are no bodies. No skeletal remains. Organic material decays slowly here because of the purification system used to filter out microorganisms.”
“No graves that I can see, either,” Vistaru pointed out.
“They’d be overgrown,” Mavra responded. “No, I think we’d better assume we’re not alone here and treat this as we would a hostile hex.”
Yulin had a sudden thought. “The ship! It’s not secure! Maybe we’d better—”
“Yes, maybe we’d better,” Wooley agreed.
After securing the ship, they returned to explore the ruins. Power was still available, even the video equipment that spied on people everywhere. But aside from the fact that a kitchen area had been cleaned out, which was to be expected anyway, there was no sign of current use. The guards’ quarters had been used, although not recently.
“Not many survived, that’s for sure,” Renard noted. “Maybe three, four people at best. That’s enough for this place to support. I wonder where they are?”
The weapons locker had been sealed shut by an energy weapon. Mavra had done that twenty-two years ago, and it was clear it hadn’t been opened since. A few weapons were found scattered about, all discharged and useless.
Some time passed before Renard, who knew the world better than anyone else, discovered signs that someone had attempted to leave a message in a small room below the combination guests’ quarters and library. The door had been broken in from the outside and whoever did it had fantastic strength because the ornate wooden doors were very thick. Inside Renard found signs of a struggle before the communications gear built into the far wall. A recording module was in place, and the panel still worked, so they anxiously crowded in as Renard ran it back to start.
“This was the monitoring room for Trelig’s recording studio,” he told them. “He sometimes brought in musicians for private sessions, and he’d listen here to what was being recorded. You can see the hundreds of modules in the wall case. Whatever happened, this module is the last one made here—and might tell us something.”
It stopped, and Renard deftly manipulated the controls, then punched play. A screen flickered, and a realsound field enveloped them.
The face was that of a young woman, very attractive and soft, with a gentle face and voice.
“Gossyn!” Renard exclaimed. It was all coming back, after all these years.
“I am Gossyn of Estuado,” she said, her voice so true, the projected holoimage so clear, that they felt as if they were peering through a doorway at her. “One of Antor Trelig’s former slaves. I am leaving this record in case one of the ships that left here returns, as I expect them to. No matter—it’s too late. This afternoon we gathered all of the weaponry in the main courtyard, keeping the guests back. We are all addicted to sponge, and without it we will die painfully, and by bits and pieces. I can feel it eating at me even as I speak. We, the last of Trelig’s slaves, will not face that sort of death. When the weapons were gathered, the others stood among them, and I—” her voice broke, and tears appeared in her eyes—“I fired full beam with the rifle beside me. Nothing remains of them now but a brown spot. Soon I will place the rifle charge on feedback overload, and go as well—the last slave, the last weapon.” She paused, overcome with emotion, and then continued.
“I do not care what becomes of the guests. They know that this little world can feed only a small number of them. I leave it to them, with the hope that, if it is Antor Trelig who returns, those who survive will somehow rip him slowly limb from limb, as befits a demon and a monster. I don’t even know why I’m making this… except—oh, hell, I guess I don’t want to die.” She muffled a sob. “I’m only seventeen,” she managed, and pushed forward, blanking out the picture.
Mavra sighed. “Might as well switch it off,” she said, but, at that moment, the screen flickered to life again.
It was a different person now, a strong-looking woman of perhaps thirty dressed in a utility uniform. She was not terribly attractive, but something extraordinary was revealed in her face and movements.
She was terrified.
“Anyone! Oh, Lord! If you came back and got this far!” She stopped as a hard thud reverberated behind her. It was so realistic that all the listeners’ heads turned toward the ruined door. The ghost of a moment was very real in the room.
She hurried. “He’s crazy! Listen! Yesterday the guards destroyed the weapons and themselves. Then somebody started killing the rest.” The sound of pounding was clear in the background, and she turned again, then back, getting frantic now.
“One of us—Belden, his name is. He’s a plant. One of Trelig’s people, put in with us as a spy. When his boss deserted him he went crazy—if he wasn’t already.” More pounding and some slight splintering noises. “He’s mad. Killing off the Comworlders, finishing off the men. Some of the women—Trelig has a Chamber of Horrors in mind- control devices here. He’s using it, wiping their minds, turning them into animals. He’s mad. I may be the only one left. No time. Watch it. Get the bastard in my name. Please!”
The screen went blank. Renard sighed, switched it off. “She ran out of module before he got in,” he said.
“Well, now we know.” Wooley added. “Did anyone else-notice her as she turned around?”
“The tail,” Yulin responded almost apologetically. “Yes, Trelig gave everyone a horse’s tail.”
“But that was twenty-two years ago,” Vistaru pointed out. “Who knows what became of them?”
Yulin was thoughtful and concerned. “I think we better find out.”
The natural spy was the Ghiskind. A thorough and careful search of the building complex showed no signs of recent habitation, but it was a large world. Yulin pointed out areas of abundant wildlife and groves of fruit trees on a map from the control room files, and the Yugash made for that area while the others camped out on the portico of the main hall, from where they could see anyone coming and prepare themselves.
