Dark Universe

“You — objectionable? Paradise no!” she returned cynically. “You’re Jared Fenton of the Lower Level!”

Another pebble went kerplunk.

“’I hear something on that ledge,’” she mocked his earlier words. “’There’s a boy lying up there listening out over the world.’”

Della threw several more stones while he stood there with his ears trained severely on her. They all went kerplunk.

“That demonstration was your uncle’s idea,” he reminded her.

Instead of answering, she continued tossing rocks into the water. She had him on the defensive. And if he chose to strike back it would only seem he was in favor of their Unification, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Unification and the obligations it brought would mean an end to his search for Light.

Della rose and went to the grotto wall where a group of slender stones hung needlelike from the ceiling. She stroked them lightly, and melodious tones filled the recess with vibrant softness. It was a wistful tune that sang of pleasant things with deep, tender meaning. He was stirred by the girl’s sensitive talent as he was by the sharp contrasts the music showed in her nature.

She slapped several of the stones in an impulsive burst of temperament, then scooped up another pebble. Whispering through the air, her arm arched out to toss the rock as she turned and strode defiantly from the grotto.

Kerplunk.

Curious, he went over to explore for the puddle. He was concerned over the fact that he hadn’t detected the liquid softness of water in the recess. He found the pool a moment later, however. A deep, almost still spring, it had a surface area no larger than his palm.

Yet, over a distance of thirty paces, Della had casually cast more than a dozen stones — detecting and hitting her target with each one!

Through much of the ceremony the next period, Jared found his thoughts returning to the girl. He wasn’t as much disturbed by her arrogance as he was by the possibility that her pebble-throwing demonstration may have been calculated. Was she merely belittling his ability? Or was the performance really as casual as it had seemed? In either case, the capacity itself remained unexplained.

Wheel Anselm moved closer to him on the Bench of Honor and slapped his back. “That Drake’s plenty good, don’t you think?”

Jared had to agree, although there were several Lower Level Survivors who could hit more than three out of nine arrow targets.

He concentrated on the reflected clacks of the central caster and listened to Drake draw another arrow. An anxious silence fell over the gallery and Jared tried unsuccessfully to pick out Della’s breathing and heartbeat.

Drake’s bowstring twanged and the arrow whistled across the range. But the muffled thud of its impact revealed that it had missed the target and dug into earth.

After a moment the Official Scorer called out, “Two hand widths to the right. Score: three out of ten.”

There was a burst of applause.

“Good, isn’t he?” Anselm boasted.

Jared became more aware of Lorenz’s breathing as the Adviser turned toward him and said, “I should think you’d be eager to get in on these contests.”

Still smarting from Della’s insinuation that he was conceited, Jared said noncommittally, “I’m prepared for anything.”

The Wheel overheard and exclaimed, “That’s fine, my boy!” He rose and a

More applause. Jared wondered, though, whether he had detected a feminine breath escaping in contempt.

Lorenz brought him over to the spear rack and he spent some time selecting his lances.

“What’s the target?” he asked.

“Woven husk discs — two hand spans wide — at fifty paces.” The Adviser caught his arm and pointed it. “They’re against that bank.”

“I can hear them,” Jared assured. “But I want my targets thrown up in the air.”

Lorenz drew back. “You must want to hear how big a fool you can make of yourself.”

“It’s my party.” Jared gathered up his spears. “You just toss the discs.”

So Della was certain he had an exaggerated opinion of himself, was she? Riled, he broke out his clickstones and retreated to the fringe of the hot-springs area. Then he began a steady, brisk beat with the pebbles in his left hand. The familiar, refined tones supplemented those of the echo caster. And now he could clearly hear the things about him — the ledge on his right, the hollowness of the passageway behind him, Lorenz standing ready to cast the discs.

“Target up!” he shouted at the Adviser.

The first ma

Momentarily, he sensed something was out of place. But he couldn’t decide what it was. “Target up!”

Another direct hit. And then another.

Exclamations from the gallery distracted him and he missed his fourth shot. He waited for silence before ordering more discs into he air. The next five shots found their mark. Then he paused and listened intensely around him. Somehow he couldn’t ignore the vague suspicion that something wasn’t as it should be.

“That was the last target,” the Adviser shouted.

“Get another,” Jared called back, letting his remaining spear lie on the ground.

An awed silence hung over the gallery. Then Anseim laughed and bellowed, “By Light! Eight out of nine!”

“With that kind of ability,” Lorenz added from the distance, “he must be a Zivver.”

Jared spun around. That was it — Zivvers! He realized that for heartbeats now he had been catching their scent!

Just then someone shouted, “Zivvers! Up on the ledge!”

Disorder swept the world. Women screamed and scrambled for their children while Survivors bolted for the weapons rack.

Jared heard a spear zip down from the height and clatter against the Bench of Honor. The Wheel swore apprehensively.

“Everybody stay where you are!” boomed a voice Jared had not forgotten from previous raids-that of Mogan, the Zivver leader. “Or the Wheel gets a shaft in the chest!”

By now Jared had pieced together a more or less complete auditory composite of the situation. Mogan and a score of Zivvers were spaced along the ledge, the central caster’s tones rebounding clearly against their raised lances. A lone Zivver guarded the entrance, standing next to the large boulder.

As gingerly as he could, Jared stooped to retrieve his spear. But a lance hissed down and stabbed into the ground in front of him.

“I said nobody moves!” Mogan’s menacing voice poured down.

Even if he could get his hand on the spear, Jared realized, the ledge would be out of range. The rear guard at the entrance, however, was a different matter. And there was nothing but boiling pits and ma

He traced the flight of another spear from the ledge. It sank into the echo caster’s shaft, wedging itself against the pulley. And the Upper Level was thrown into stark silence.

“Take what you want,” the Wheel quavered, “and leave us alone.”

Jared sidled toward the first hot spring.

“What do you know about a Zivver who’s been missing for the past twenty periods?” Mogan demanded.

“Nothing at all!” Anselm assured him.

“Like Radiation you don’t! But we’ll find out for ourselves before we leave.”

Moist warmth swirled against Jared’s chest and he lunged the rest of the way into the vapors.

“We don’t know anything about it!” the Wheel reiterated. “We’ve had a Survivor missing too — for over fifty periods!”