The City And The Stars - Arthur C. Clarke [35]
STAND WHERE THE STATUE GAZES—AND REMEMBER:
DIASPAR WAS NOT ALWAYS THUS.
The last five words were in larger type, and the meaning of the entire message was obvious to Alvin at once. Mentally-framed code messages had been used for ages to unlock doors or set machines in action. As for ‘Stand where the statue gazes’—that was really too simple.
‘I wonder how many people have read this message?’ said Alvin thoughtfully.
‘Fourteen, to my knowledge,’ replied Khedron. ‘And there may have been others.’ He did not amplify this rather cryptic remark, and Alvin was in too great a hurry to reach the Park to question him further.
They could not be certain that the mechanisms would still respond to the triggering impulse. When they reached the Tomb, it had taken them only a moment to locate the single slab, among all those paving the floor, upon which the gaze of Yarlan Zey was fixed. It was only at first sight that the statue seemed to be looking out across the city; if one stood directly in front of it, one could see that the eyes were downcast and that the elusive smile was directed towards a spot just inside the entrance to the Tomb. Once the secret was realised, there could be no doubt about it. Alvin moved to the next slab, and found that Yarlan Zey was no longer looking towards him.
He rejoined Khedron, and mentally echoed the words that the Jester spoke aloud: DIASPAR WAS NOT ALWAYS THUS. Instantly, as if the millions of years that had lapsed since their last operation had never existed, the waiting machines responded. The great slab of stone on which they were standing began to carry them smoothly into the depths.
Overhead, the patch of blue suddenly flickered out of existence. The shaft was no longer open; there was no danger that anyone should accidentally stumble into it. Alvin wondered fleetingly if another slab of stone had somehow been materialised to replace the one now supporting him and Khedron, then decided against it. The original slab probably still paved the Tomb; the one upon which they were standing might only exist for infinitesimal fractions of a second, being continuously re-created at greater and greater depths in the earth to give the illusion of steady downward movement.
Neither Alvin nor Khedron spoke as the walls flowed silently past them. Khedron was once again wrestling with his conscience, wondering if this time he had gone too far. He could not imagine where this route might lead, if indeed it led anywhere. For the first time in his life, he began to understand the real meaning of fear.
Alvin was not afraid; he was too excited. This was the sensation he had known in the Tower of Loranne, when he had looked out across the untrodden desert and seen the stars conquering the night sky. He had merely gazed at the unknown then; he was being carried towards it now.
The walls ceased to flow past them. A patch of light appeared at one side of their mysteriously moving room, grew brighter and brighter, and was suddenly a door. They stepped through it, took a few paces along the short corridor beyond—and then were standing in a great, circular cavern whose walls came together in a sweeping curve three hundred feet above their heads.
The column down whose interior they had descended seemed far too slim to support the millions of tons of rock above it; indeed it did not seem to be an integral part of the chamber at all, but gave the impression of being an afterthought. Khedron, following Alvin’s gaze, arrived at the same conclusion.
‘This column,’ he said, speaking jerkily, as if anxious to find something to say, ‘was built simply to house the shaft down which we came. It could never have carried the traffic that must have passed through here when Diaspar was still open to the world. That came through those tunnels over there; I suppose you recognise what they are?’
Alvin looked towards the walls of the chamber, more