The conduit was roughly a meter and a half in diameter and pitch dark.
He had expected that and had extracted a waterproof flashlight from an
emergency kit in the wreckage of the Hind. It was helping, but not all
that much. With the heat exchangers off, no water was flowing. The
stone walls were merely moist, the curved sides covered with slime.
The tunnel sloped downward from the installation on the mountain as a
gentle incline, and although the gray algae that swathed its sides now
covered him, he had found niches in the granite to hang onto as he
worked his way down.
Then it had leveled out, matching the terrain, and that was when he
encountered the first water, now up around his waist. The radars up the
hill, he realized, were only one of the producers of waste heat. Ahead,
the tunnel he was in seemed to join a larger one from another site, as
part of a general confluence.
Thank God all the systems are in standby, he thought. If those massive
pumps down by the shore start up, they'll produce a raging torrent
that'll leave no place to hide. . . .
As he splashed through the dark, he found himself pondering if this was
what he had been placed on the planet to do. Maybe he should never have
left Yale. The pay was decent, the hours leisurely, the company
congenial. Poking around in the hidden secrets of the past always gave
solace to the spirit. What did humanity think about three thousand
years ago? Five thousand? Five hundred? What were their loves, their
hates, their fears, their dreams? Were they the same as ours? And why
did humanity always need to worship something? Where did the drive come
from to create--poetry, music, painting? These were all marvelous
mysteries that we might never unravel, but they were among the most
noble questions anyone could ask. What makes us human? It was the
immortal quandary.
But when you asked that, you also had to ask the flip-side question.
How could humanity create so much that was bad at the same time? So
much tyranny, greed, hurt? How did all that beauty and ugliness get
mixed up together down in our genes? Maybe he was about to find out
more about the evil in the heart of man, coming up. . . .
He splashed and paddled his way onward, his flashlight sending a puny
beam ahead, and tried to relate his location to the rest of the
facility. Before entering through the heat exchanger atop the mountain,
he had grilled Mannheim on the specifics of site layout. The old man,
however, hadn't really known much about the nuts and bolts of the
facility; his head was out in space somewhere. All the same, Vance
found himself liking him, in spite of his encroaching senility. Even
Homer was said to nod. Just hope you live long enough to get senile
yourself.
Back to business. Ahead, settled into the top of the conduit, was a
metal door just large enough for a man to work through. What was that
for? he wondered. Maintenance access? If so, it must lead into the main
facility somewhere.
He felt his way around the curved sides of the conduit, searching for
flaws in the granite where he could get a handhold. Then he reached up
and tested the door.
The metal was beginning to rust from the seawater, but it still looked
workable. A large black wheel in the center, inset with gears, operated
sliding bolts that fit into the frame.
This has to be fast, he told himself. Do a quick reconnoiter of the
place and make mental notes. Look for entry-points and escape routes.
Then get back in time for the radio chat with Pierre. About three
hours, two to be on the safe side.
He braced himself against the stone sides of the conduit and--holding
the flashlight with one hand--tried to budge the metal wheel.
Nothing. The contact with seawater had frozen it with rust. He tried
again, shoving the flashlight into his belt and, grappling in the dark,
twisting the wheel with both hands. Was it moving?
He felt a faint vibration make its way down the stone walls of the
conduit, then there was a hum of huge electric motors starting
somewhere. Somebody was turning on the systems.
He listened as the vibration continued to grow, and now the water level
was beginning to rise, as the pumps down by the shore began priming.
Were they about to turn them on full blast? The involuntary rush of his
pulse and his breathing made him abruptly aware of how close the
confining tunnel felt, the tight hermetic sense of claustrophobia. For
the first time since landing on Andikythera he felt real fear. He hated
the dark, the enclosed space, and now he was trapped.
Idiot, how did you get yourself into this? You're going to be drowned
in about thirty seconds.
Now the roar of water began to overwhelm the hum of the pumps. The
conduit was filling rapidly, and flow had begun. He realized that only
about a foot of airspace remained at the top. Praying for a miracle, he
heaved against the metal wheel one last time, and finally felt it break
loose, begin to turn.