The team of four stood on the footpath watching the droids at work, appreciating their precision; the choreography of efficiency. It was a mesmerizing scene. They took in the sounds of the underworld; sounds combining to form a kind of music which, on the one hand, seemed satisfying, soothing, predictable: the clang of metal, whir of machines, call of mechanics, fizz of welding, stomp of crushers.
It was all taking place with a measured orderliness that impressed them. Ren-Celor was a healthy organ within the body of the com-zone. A stable part of a stable system that had functioned well for over three hundred years. There was no danger of failure here – not even the risk of a glitch.
Orion felt it again: a vague hopelessness dulling his senses. What are we doing? His eyes glazed over. This is fine – let it be, get back home in one piece, get back to work, stay out of trouble.
But, no. He was in the process of actively seeking trouble. The Antarion had told them that this mission, which they had chosen to accept, might just cost them their lives. It had seemed hyperbolic at the time, but not now.
And there was another complication: he had seen things - experienced things. Things that were so unusual that his brain was still trying to accommodate them. The mission, Orion thought, and sighed. He thought of his mother. What if something happens to me down here? Nobody will know.
"Any ideas?" Celli's voice brought the pilot back to the path they were standing on, but his brain was still lagging. "No going through that," she nodded at the sorting zone.
Fel nodded in response. "We wouldn't make it half way without getting shredded."
Orion offered a deep sigh and thought of his mother. He wished one of the Antarion was with them now; they would know what to do. But the Antarion had made it clear that they were not permitted to assist them at this stage – they considered it a violation of their Code – although Orion thought the aliens were interpreting the Code more strictly than necessary in this case.
The debris field in front of them was dimly lit with the reflected light from the zones that surrounded it on three sides: the dock, the mechanic field and the lamps overhanging the footpath the teenagers were standing on. The fourth side angled down into the gaping cavern where the barges met the dock. What's down there? Orion thought, not really wanting to know.
At this point Fel was the only one looking for a solution. The others were lost in a kind of numbing haze. Everything about this environment was unfamiliar to them. But not to Fel. He was a factory mechanic, he understood the nature of this place; he had heard things. He assessed their situation, looking back the way they had come – the vast mechanic field, then the dock, the debris field leading down under the dock. Then left, further up the footpath. He realized that there would be no way to actually see the edge of the dock: the footpath they were on had been built to allow mechanics to walk from the mechanic field to the recreation and living zone a hundred meters ahead. But it angled away from the dock before allowing a view of the loading side of it. There was no way to set eyes on their target, and no apparent way of getting there.
From where they stood Fel could see, in the personnel zone, cheap restaurants, food and junk shops, low-end spin houses and low-cost micro apartments. Is it possible, he surmised, that some of these people never come to the surface? Everything they need is here... everything except sunlight and fresh air... and trees and mountains, the free-zone. He shook his head. I'm not much different, he realized. I never even left the com-zone till our trip to Colang-Brez.
Then Fel noticed something that gave him an idea. He had heard about this from mechanics at Tur-Lam. He scanned the sides of the elevated pathway and saw what he was looking for and gave a satisfied smile. There, between an upturned transport and a dismembered droid, was part of a second pathway – directly below the first. He ribbed Orion and pointed excitedly. Orion knit his brow and Fel spelled it out. "There's another pathway down there," He said. The girls turned to him when they heard the tone of his voice.
"Whataya mean?" Celli said.
"I've heard of them doing this." Fel was very hopeful now. "They build new levels on top of the old ones – it's the easiest and cheapest way to upgrade. In fact, there may be a whole other mechanic field under this one – an ancient one!" The look in Fel's eyes was almost mystical; as if he were on the verge of an important archeological discovery. His companions watched him. "The people we're looking for – the Chiefs – they may live there – on that second level."
Fel turned again to look, studying the situation for a few seconds. "That means there would be a second dock platform... right under the first! Only, we can't see it from this angle." He gazed at the dock and the droids laboring at the sorting belts. That must be where our target is."
He hesitated to bring up the fact that it would be nearly impossible to get to the lower dock with the sheer amount of sharp protruding metal in their way, not to mention the probability that someone would spot them and question their intentions.
"If we could get to the pathway below us," Fel said, "and follow it back to the mechanic field... and if it's not too obstructed... we could find a way to get to the old dock - staying on the lower level the whole time." Fel began moving down the elevated pathway, heading back towards the mechanic field. "The first thing we have to do is find a way down. Start looking."
They began scanning the sides of the pathway. Twice, Fel lowered himself flat against the floor to study possibilities, but the lower pathway was too far below them to jump to it directly. He did, however, make a useful discovery: "The lower pathway is pretty clear, if we can just get down to it," he told his companions.
They moved forward for fifty meters then Fel lowered himself to the floor again, peering over the edge as if he were looking for something he had dropped. He sprang up after a few seconds with a triumphant grin. "Just over there," he told them, pointing in the direction of the field, "I saw a place where we should be able to get down."
Fel went first. He waited for what he thought was a good moment, when pedestrians on the footpath were furthest from their position, then quietly slid over the edge of the path and onto an upturned transport that looked very much like Jenna's – he figured it was the same model and close to the same age. Then he lowered himself down the underside of the rusting hulk, gripping a grav-repeller in his right hand and the door frame in his left.
Without warning the grav-repeller gave way and he fell to the original footpath with a thud. His companions looked over the side of the upper path to see their gunner lying in a cloud of dust below. He coughed and waved that he was unhurt.
"Are you okay?" Orion called down to him.
"I'm fine," Fel called back, "just be careful what you hold onto, that thing must be over two hundred cenros old."
Orion nodded and climbed over onto the ancient transport.
"Try the stabilizer shaft." Fel motioned to a thick metal bar running along the lower edge of the transport.
In less than a minute they were standing together on the ancient rusting footpath, now shielded from view by the upper pathway. They felt that everything had changed. They had entered a place not visited by humans for many years – in a time before they were born. The sounds of the busy mechanic field were muffled, and whatever concerns occupied the minds of the thousands of people above them were suddenly of no consequence to them. The people above could not see them, and this produced a giddy, euphoric feeling.
The path ahead was, for the most part, unobstructed, so they made good progress. Occasionally they were forced to climb over debris or move it out of their way. At one point they stopped dead when they saw – behind a flight engine – a hand, upraised, fingers limp. Jenna gasped. Fel gave her a reassuring glance. "It's a droid," he said just above a whisper. Jenna found that difficult to believe. The hand was lifelike.
They edged around the engine and the body came into view. At close range they could see the clear marks of machine. It was a personal service droid – the kind used by the Keneso – sprawled across their path, its human-like eyes staring up at them. This was not an ancient model, it had come to rest here recently and was possibly still functional, and possibly recording what it saw and heard at this moment.
Fel contemplated disconnecting its ocular and auditory functions, but if it was operational it had already seen them. Fel put a finger to his lips warning his companions not to speak in range of its hearing.
The reason for its presence on the unused walkway was most likely because it had seen or heard something someone didn't want on record, so they disconnected the main power supply and dumped it here, where no one ever looked. Such ditchings were not unheard of. However, what most people were unaware of is that all droids contained a secondary power supply which was not easily disconnected and which kept video and audio functions operational for many years after the main power was off-line.
Fel knew it. He motioned for them to carefully step over the droid and continue on their way. Orion was the last. As he stepped over he clumsily snagged the droid's arm with the toe of his boot. The droid writhed spastically for a few seconds as its back-up power unit was stimulated. Its hand came up and clenched whatever was nearest to it, which happened to be Orion's ankle. The unfortunate pilot was sent tumbling to the ground in a panic. The others looked on in horror, unable to do or say anything.
Orion squirmed to his feet, the feel of the strong robotic hand on his body still tangible. Fel grabbed his shoulders to steady him. They all stared at the thing whose eyes were still on them now that it lay in a new position. Their hearts were racing. It was definitely watching them; recording what it saw and heard.
Fel motioned for them to continue; in any case the chances anyone would come looking for this lost droid were minimal. The young people continued up the path, occasionally glancing back to see the droid still watching them.
Presently they came to a juncture underneath the main mechanic field. The pathway to the left followed the edge of the overhanging floor and, theoretically, would lead them to the old dock. Taking this new path, however, would bring them into view of pedestrians on the upper footpath, but it was the only way to reach the edge of the dock; at least they would be afforded protection from the right by the overhanging floor.
"Let's check," Orion suggested. He wanted to be sure they had judged correctly before moving from under cover. Fel once again activated the projector which indicated the same direction as before. They felt relief. At least they were still on the right track.
They nodded and moved forward, attempting to act as casually as possible, as if they knew what they were doing. Jenna looked back toward the upper path every thirty seconds and once saw a large man with his hands on the railing of the footpath. He seemed to be staring at them intently. She swallowed nervously and nodded in his direction indicating that she acknowledged him and he needn't be concerned with them. When she glanced back the next time he was gone. She scanned the footpath but he was nowhere in sight. She decided not to alert the others yet.
After slowly traversing the obstructed path for ten minutes the scene changed. They stood on the edge of the original dock with its original sorting belts and some of the droids that operated them, silent and motionless, at their stations. Ten meters above them was the current dock floor. To their right was blackness; it appeared the entire original field had been covered over with a new one at some point in the past.
Ancient transports and their parts lay strewn throughout. Dismembered droids were piled between spent engines. Outdated repair equipment lay abandoned when the last worker left for the new floor above. It was a graveyard of once living parts of the com-zone entity, now forgotten and covered thickly in dust. To the left they could see the docking station and the tunnel leading to another part of the com-zone. Here the clanging, drilling and the sounds of motors on the floor high above them was even more subdued.
At this moment an enormous barge was being guided into the dock by two small transports, one dark yellow, one light blue. In a few minutes they would be in almost complete darkness. Better for us, Orion thought.
They watched together as the barge grew larger and the light diminished. Then the giant transport container pushed up flush with the dock in a series of thunderous clangs as massive clamps snapped into place. Then, all was quiet. Serene.
Fel drew out and activated their guiding star. It was a comfort to see the now familiar blue and green and red holographic lines and dots suspended in the air in front of them. It was also comforting to see a new reading: this time the red dots directed them away from the dock, into the lower field for about two kilometers; and there was a reference number: JT-16.
They looked intently at each other's hologram-lit face. At this moment the mission they had accepted took on a new level of reality. They stood for the third time in five weeks on the threshold of completely unfamiliar territory. A place rarely visited by other humans. What they had found the previous two times had upset their world beyond their imagination; this time it was different – they at least knew what they were looking for, and they had clear directions.