The Myst Reader (111 page)

Special hydraulics—slender rods of the same molecularly altered stone—gave the suit a degree of flexibility, but not enough for its wearer to turn quickly or to run. Not that that mattered. The wearer would need neither to turn nor run, only to look out through the polarized visor and take in, in the instant he was there, what the Age looked like.

Right now Gavas was putting on the inner suit, Oma helping him to attach the various straps and buckles, the two of them talking quietly, running through the routine for the dozenth time that morning.

The suit was ancient—according to the records it had been made by the Guild of Maintainers more than a thousand years ago—yet it looked brand new. Like everything the D’ni made, the environmental verification suit had been built to last.

Everything was ready. Or almost so. It remained only for Atrus to attach the last of the sampling devices, put the Linking Book inside the glove, and set the timer.

Once that was done, Gavas could climb into the suit and be sealed in.

Atrus consulted with Catherine a moment, then turned and looked across.

“Are you ready, Gavas?”

Gavas smiled. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.”

Atrus reached down and picked up the two special books—tiny, “stone-bound” volumes less than a sixth the size of a normal Linking Book—then slid them into the special compartment in each glove.

The first would link Gavas to Sedona, the second would link him back. Both worked on the same principle. A thin, inert membrane overlay each page, rendering it impossible for Gavas to link—until he pressed a stud on the back of the right-hand glove, which would release a vial of harmless gas that would, in turn, dissolve the membrane and bring his palm into contact with the page.

At that moment he would link. And at that selfsame moment the timer would be activated.

For the first two seconds on the other side a similar membrane would overlay the page of the Linking Book in his left-hand glove, preventing him from linking back. But then the timer would do its work, the tiny vial of gas would be released, and Gavas’s palm would press against the page once more.

After two seconds, Gavas would link back, whether he was conscious or not. Alive or dead.

Two seconds. It was all they could risk first time out. Yet it was time enough for them to find out all they needed to know about the world on the other side of the page. The suit’s sampling devices would tell them what the atmosphere was like, how hot it was, and whether there were any signs of life. And unless it was so bright that the visor completely blacked over—which it was designed to do, to save Gavas’s eyes from frying in their sockets—he ought to get a good glimpse of the Age.

The deretheni plates of the suit would insulate him against the fiercest heat, while the suit’s hermetic seals would ensure that no noxious substances leaked through to poison him.

Carrad and Oma helped Gavas climb into the outer suit, then began to seal him up, each of the catches snapping shut with a resounding clunk. As they went across to fetch the massive helmet, Gavas gave one final look about him, smiling nervously. They had drilled for this many times now, but this was the first time any of them had done it for real.

Only Atrus seemed unaffected by the tension of the moment, and as he came across to give Gavas his final instructions, his very calmness put them all at ease.

“Remember, Gavas, your job is to look. Don’t think, just
see.
I’ll do the thinking for you when you get back.”

It was not the first time Atrus had said this, but Gavas nodded as if it were.

Atrus stood back, letting Carrad and Oma lift the helmet, with its heat-resisting visor, up over Gavas’s head, fastening it into the brace about his neck. Satisfied, they tightened the six great screwlike bolts that held it in place. That done, they began to work their way down the suit, from neck to toe, checking each one of the special pressure seals. Satisfied, they stepped back.

The gloves were last. Now they only had to move him over to the cage. He could have walked there, but it was quicker for them to push him along the grooved track and close the barred door behind him.

There was a great hiss of hydraulics and then the tiny cage turned a full 180 degrees. It clunked into place, bolts emerging from the floor to secure it. Only then did the barred door open once again, allowing Gavas to step out slowly, awkwardly, into the inner cell.

Wearing the suit, Gavas had little room to maneuver. Slowly, very slowly, he turned, until he was facing Atrus again.

All was ready. There was no reason for any further delay. Atrus looked to Gavas and placed his left hand over the back of his right, miming the signal. Gavas nodded, then—the motion of his arm exaggerated by the suit—copied the motion.

The suit seemed to shimmer in the air, then it was gone.

Inside the cell there was a nervous exchange of looks. Only Atrus stared straight ahead at the now empty cage.

One beat, two beats, and it was back.

The heat exploded into the room, as if someone had opened a furnace door. With a fierce crackling the whole suit seemed to convulse as it dropped the temperature gradient, the air about it steaming as the automatic extinguisher flooded the chamber with an enormous hiss.

There was a great groan from every side. Immediately, Carrad and Irras rushed to the chamber, wishing to help as the heavy layer of retardant boiled on the surface of the suit. They moved to step through the cage to help him, but Atrus called them back.

“No!”

They stood there, horrified, watching, knowing there was nothing they could do but wait while, slowly, the stone hardened as it cooled—the wet foam smothering the darkening surfaces. But now it was warped and twisted. The limbs stretched like wax, the body of the suit partly crumpled into itself, the helmet misshapen.

Catherine moved to speak when the silence had become unbearable, but stopped short when a faint groan came from within the suit.

Carrad quickly opened the floor drains purging the chamber. Irras flung wide the chamber door and selflessly went about extricating Gavas. Minutes passed as the others anxiously waited—their rehearsed duties and ready supplies would prove to be enough to spare his life, this time.

They carried Gavas away, his wounds being carefully tended prior to returning him to Averone for recovery.

“A nova,” Atrus answered quietly. It had to be. Nothing else could have generated the temperatures or pressures capable of melting a suit.

Gavas had stepped straight into the heart of an exploding sun.

ARIDANU WAS NEXT. A NEWER AGE, BUT LACKING
a Guild of Maintainers stamp. They had found the Book, partly damaged, in one of the upper district houses. It seemed okay, but that lack of a stamp worried Atrus.

As Carrad and Irras helped Esel climb into the E.V. suit, the door at the far end of the lab hissed open and Marrim hurried in.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Master Atrus,” she said, clearly relieved to see that Esel had not yet linked.

Atrus looked up from where he was working and nodded.

Marrim hastened across, moving between Carrad and Oma to slip something over Esel’s neck.

“What is it?” Esel asked quietly. He had already inserted his arms into the suit’s voluminous sleeves and so could not reach the delicate pendant.

“It’s a charm,” Marrim said. “For luck.”

Esel glanced across at Atrus, but Atrus was busy, making a final check of the apparatus they would use to analyze the samples.

“Thanks,” Esel said quietly, clearly touched by her gesture.

Marrim stood back then watched as Carrad and Irras went about their work. Satisfied, they moved back, letting Atrus take over.

“Are you all right in there, Esel?”

There was a muffled response, barely audible. The right-hand glove flexed and unflexed—the signal that all was well.

“Good,” Atrus said. He turned, looking to the others, who at once began to move the bulky suit toward the cage.

As Esel stepped out, then turned to face them, the cell fell silent. There was a tension in the room that had not been there before.

All was ready. Once again, Atrus looked to Esel and placed his left hand over the back of his right, miming the signal. Esel nodded, then nervously copied the movement.

The suit shimmered in the air, then it was gone.

One beat, two beats, and it was back.

No flames, no smoke …

Thank the Maker
, Marrim thought, seeing Esel’s head move through the clear glass of the visor.

At once they swarmed about him, gloved hands reaching through the bars to pluck things from him, divesting the suit of its various sampling devices, even as, overhead, the great machine slowly descended, a fine mist of spray beginning to rain down over the suit, cleansing it.

Only Atrus spoke, questioning Esel about what he’d seen.

“What’s it like?”

“Beautiful!” The word was clear despite the muffling effect of the helmet. But what he said next was less easy to make out.

“What’s that?” Atrus said, straining to hear.

“People,” Esel answered, that single word again quite clear. His eyes shone, a broad grin split his face. “There are
people
there!”

THEY LINKED THROUGH AN HOUR LATER, AFTER
the analysis of the samples had confirmed what Esel had seen.

Aridanu was a lush and beautiful Age; a world of huge trees and peaceful lakes. They linked into a clearing overlooking one of those lakes, an ancient wood and stone village nestled into the fold of hills just below them. Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys. As Atrus and his party walked down, men stepped from the cabins to greet them, openhanded and smiling.

When several dozen had gathered, children milling about their feet, they made their introductions. Their spokesman, a man named Gadren, took Atrus’s hands firmly, a broad smile on his face. “We knew you would come back. When we saw the suit …” He laughed. “Why, it half frightened the children to death!”

“I’m sorry,” Atrus began, but Gadren waved his apology away. “No, no … We knew at once what it was, and you were right to take precautions. This is an old world.”

“And beautiful,” Atrus said.

“Yes …” Gadren looked about him thoughtfully, then. “You come from D’ni, I take it?”

“We do.”

“And how
are
things there?”

“We are rebuilding.”

“And are there other …
survivors?
”

“More than a thousand.”

Gadren’s face lit at the sound of that. “A thousand.” Then, more seriously. “And you want us to return, yes? To help you rebuild?”

“You are welcome. Yet the choice is yours.”

“And has anyone said no?”

Atrus hesitated. No one had actually said no. But in three instances there had been a promise to “come later”—promises that had not yet been kept.

“You must do as you see fit,” he answered finally. “If you are happy here …”

“Oh, we are happy, Atrus. Never happier. Yet happiness is not everything, is it? There is also duty, and responsibility. I love this place, true enough, but I was a Guildsman once, and I swore oaths to stand by D’ni to the end. When D’ni fell I felt the obligation had lapsed, but if it is to be rebuilt …”

“You need time to discuss this among you?” Atrus asked, looking about him at the villagers, noting how few of them were older than himself.

Gadren smiled. “There is no need for that. The matter was settled long ago. If D’ni calls, we will answer.” He gripped Atrus’s hands again. “We shall give what help we can.”