“This is far enough. Unless there is something specific you want me to look at, I am going to start back.” He turned toward the tunnel, or where he perceived the tunnel to be. Without the robot’s lights he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

  “Something specific?” Ksarusix turned toward him, its lights blinding him momentarily. “Well, yes, there is something specific.”

  “What?” Iranaputra asked irritably. “Stalactites? Tribal ruins?”

  “Not for me to evaluate. That’s not in my programming. I’ll try to show you by intensifying my lights, but I can’t do it for very long. Run down my internal power.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it.” Images of soft beds and clean sheets dominated his thoughts. “Show me something and then we can get out of here.”

  “You betcha.”

  The twin beams emanating from the robot’s head brightened noticeably, swiveling to the right and inclining slightly upward. Large, dim outlines became visible for the first time. Iranaputra blinked, stared. He stared for as long as his mechanical companion could maintain the increased level of illumination.

  “Sorry,” said Ksarusix as it dimmed the lights. “That’s as long as I can keep that up. I don’t wanna get stuck down here either, you know.”

  Iranaputra wasn’t listening. He had turned and, locating the tunnel by feeling along the cavern wall for the opening, had begun to run back the way they’d come, heedless of the darkness ahead.

  He wasn’t worried about falling. The floor was clear of obstacles. If he tripped over anything, it would be his own feet. Chattering incessantly, the robot followed, its motor humming as it strove to keep pace. It was built for endurance, not speed. But then, so was Iranaputra.

  His heart pounded against his chest. He hadn’t had this much exercise in twenty years. It would be ironic if, after having made the descent, he died of a heart attack on the way out. Still, he forced himself to run for at least ten minutes before his well-conditioned but elderly body insisted he recognize reality.

  Even then he didn’t halt completely, but kept walking up-slope, gasping for air, his own exhalations loud in the tunnel.

  “Told you it’d be interesting, didn’t I?” There was a note of satisfaction in Ksarusix’s artificial voice.

  Iranaputra didn’t reply. He was still trying to comprehend, to make sense of what he’d just seen.

  “How much more is there?” he wheezed.

  “More of what?”

  “More of that.”

  “Don’t know. Once I get down there, I can only explore so far. Power limitations, remember?”

  “So you have no idea of the actual size of the cavern?”

  “Hey, I’m a kitchen serve-and-retrieve doohickey. I’m not equipped to estimate spatial dimensions greater than your average hotel dining room.”

  “Never mind. We will come back. We will come back with my friends and look further. With extra lights, and replacement power packs for you.”

  “Swell! Of course, that contravenes my normal programming.” Iranaputra thought he detected a slight hint of sarcasm. Impossible, of course. Robots were not programmed for sarcasm.

  “Supervisor Ibrahim agreed to let me have pretty much of a free hand in trying to ‘repair’ you. I see no problem with you traveling under my supervision.”

  “Excellent. This will be fun. Oops, sorry. I’m not supposed to comprehend that. Think of it! I, me, a humble service unit, the one to fulfill the exalted programming. Not some planetary communications nexus, not an astronomical observations satellite, not the O-daiko itself, but me.”

  “The O-daiko?”

  “Forget it. Slip of the larynx. How’re you doing?”

  “I will make it.”

  “I’m sure you will. For a decrepit, useless, floundering old parasitic organic you’re not such a bad sort.” It continued to illuminate the way, humming melodically to itself.

  Adrenaline helped push Iranaputra up the slope and back through the narrow opening out into the waning night. By the time they reached the Village he was almost too tired to stand. He had to fumble with the combination to his apartment three times before the door clicked open. He glanced fitfully in the direction of the shower, turned, and barely made it to the bed, where he collapsed into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  It was nearly noon when he awoke, climbed painfully from the unused sheets, and headed for his wing’s main dining room. It was busy, over a hundred residents presently enjoying lunch. He waved at people he knew, ignoring their stares. The fact that he hadn’t showered and was dirty from crawling into the tunnel surprised those who knew him to be a fastidious individual.

  When the weather was nice, he and his close friends preferred to eat outside on the wide porch that overlooked the lake. That was where he found them, chatting and finishing their broiled fish and vegetables. Gelmann saw him first, her expression changing quickly to one of maternal concern.

  “You look terrible, Victor. What happened to you? Did you have a bad night?”

  “I had a most interesting night.” He pulled an empty chair over to the round table. Moments later Ksarunine responded to his arrival and the absence of food or dishes in front of him by rolling up and flashing its menu screen. To avoid discussion he picked a selection at random. A hot tray popped out of the serving robot’s back, was smoothly removed and placed gently in front of him. Fruit juice gurgled into a tumbler from a dispenser in the machine’s right side. After setting it next to the steaming tray, the serving robot pivoted and departed in search of other unrequited diners.

  “From the look of you I should say that qualifies as an understatement.” Follingston-Heath dabbed dapperly at his lips with a blue napkin.

  “I went for a walk.”

  “Nighttime strolls are good for both the heart and the mind.” Shimoda had two empty trays in front of him.

  “‘The moon illuminates the soul.’ Songs of Ganesha, Book IV.” Inescapably conscious of the raging thirst which had suddenly come over him, Iranaputra drained the contents of the plastic tumbler. “The machines are right.”

  “Beg your pardon, old chap?” Ramrod straight in his seat, immaculate in sharply creased morning casuals, monocle glinting in the mountain sunshine, Follingston-Heath wiped seared flounder flakes from his lower lip and eyed his friend questioningly.

  “What’re you babbling about, Vic? Machines are never right about anything.” Hawkins belched for emphasis and Gelmann spared him a reproving glance. “Damn things are always breaking down.”

  “In this particular instance, however, they are correct about the existence of another intelligence. I do not know if it is higher, but it is most assuredly nonhuman, yes. As Shiva is my witness.”

  “If Shiva were your witness you’d be dead meat,” Hawkins muttered, displaying unexpected interest in the Hindu mythology Iranaputra was so fond of garbling.

  “There is nonhuman intelligence. Or at least, there was. Aliens. The ones we had long ago given up looking for.”

  “That’s very interesting, old boy.” Follingston-Heath exchanged a concerned glance with Shimoda, who closed his eyes thoughtfully.

  “I do not expect you to believe me.”

  “Not completely over the edge, then,” Hawkins murmured.

  “I have evidence. I have seen proof.”

  “In your bedroom, no doubt.” Hawkins grinned. “Seen a few there myself, but that was a long time ago.”

  Iranaputra ignored him. “I am telling the truth! The machines know. They have been looking hard. Well, one of them finally found something.”

  Gelmann was patting Iranaputra reassuringly on his forearm. “We know, Victor. But that’s something that’s bothering the machines. There’s no need for you to get involved.” She smiled. “I’ve had dreams like that myself.”

  “It was not a dream,” he protested, pulling his arm away. “This is real. One of the kitchen robots found it.”

  “One of the kitchen robots. How droll.” Follingston-Heath diplomatically buttered a roll. An embarrassed Shimoda picked at his fish and rice.

  “I saw it myself, last night. The robot took me there.”

  “Ah,” said Follingston-Heath. “It’s nearby, then.”

  Iranaputra pointed into the woods. “Right over there, inside the mountains.”

  “Ah.”

  Hawkins nodded toward the indoor dining area. “Hey, I believe you, Vic. Me, I’ve always thought there were plenty of nonhuman intelligences around here. Take Kreutzmeier. You know, the guy from Heuerfleur who thinks he’s a weather vane? The one they always have to drag off the roof when the wind gets up over thirty kph? Or how about Jeeny Mtambo and her invisible knitting? The ceremonial ‘rug’ she’s been working on must reach from here to Albany by now.”

  Iranaputra didn’t raise his voice. Irritation sometimes accelerated his speech, but he never raised his voice, never shouted. Besides, like everyone else, he was used to Hawkins.

  “There is a tunnel that leads downward. I think it might even go under the lake,” he added thoughtfully. “The evidence lies at the end of the tunnel.”

  “I see,” said Follingston-Heath. “What’s it like, Vic? This evidence of yours. Some old bones? A ginzu knife or vegematic? I know that this region has been inhabited for a long time. You know: pre-federation industrial aboriginals. Manhattanites, and other primitive Morecans.”

  “It is more than just artifacts,” Iranaputra told him. “There are buildings, a whole city down there.”

  Shimoda sighed sadly. “A city. What does this ‘city’ look like, Victor?”

  “I cannot say for sure. The robot’s lights were of limited range and I could not see much.”

  “Ah yes,” said Hawkins. “That renowned font of inspiration and exploration, the humble kitchen robot. What wondrous capabilities we have overlooked.” He winked at Gelmann, who turned away so she wouldn’t smile.

  “There is an alien city under Lake Woneapenigong,” Iranaputra insisted.

  “Of course there is, dear.” Gelmann patted his shoulder this time. “You know, Dr. Lee will be making his biweekly visit to our wing tomorrow. Perhaps you could take half an hour and just …”

  “Since you are all so skeptical, I do not suppose any of you would care to come and have a look for yourselves?” Iranaputra said challengingly.

  “Sure we would, Vic!” Hawkins leaned back in his chair. “You said it was a nice walk, and I don’t mind an occasional hike in the forest.”

  Shimoda stared at him. “I thought you disliked the woods, Wallace.”

  “Yeah, but I enjoy throwing rocks at the squirrels. Knock one out of its tree and they just squeak like hell.” Gelmann made a face. “We don’t have to go at night, do we?” he asked Iranaputra. “I mean, your alien urb doesn’t evaporate when the sun comes up, does it?”

  Iranaputra stiffened. “I presume not.”

  “Great! Count me in. How about you, nature boy?” He eyed Follingston-Heath. “Or you scared of getting your cuffs wrinkled?”

  The Colonel was not easily perturbed. “I shall come along to ensure no one gets hurt.”

  “That is unlikely.” Iranaputra picked at the rapidly cooling food in front of him. “The floor of the tunnel is smooth and the slope, while unvarying, is not extreme. Actually, the more I consider it, the more I believe that the passageway is not a tunnel but some kind of ventilation shaft. Obviously the inhabitants of the city needed access to fresh air.”

  “Not necessarily,” opined Hawkins. “Maybe they just recycled their own farts.”

  “Wallace, do be good.” Gelmann smiled at Iranaputra. “If it will make you happy, then I will come too, Victor, though I think you have been reading too much Lovecraft.”

  Shimoda sighed resignedly. “Which leaves me little choice. We must be sure to take adequate supplies with us.”

  “Meaning in your case, food.” Follingston-Heath looked pleased. “We can make a picnic out of it. This could be quite jolly.”

  “Oh yeah; jolly.” Hawkins’s expression reflected his sense of humor: twisted.

  “Perhaps you have stumbled across an ancient military fortification,” Follingston-Heath suggested. “A missile cellar, I believe they were called.”

  “That was my first thought,” Iranaputra admitted. “It is, however, not the case.”

  “Are you an expert on pre-diaspora weapons systems?” The Colonel bent toward him.

  “No, of course not, but I …”

  “I, on the other hand, studied such matters extensively while at the Academy. Once on-site I am sure we can resolve this question appropriately. Perhaps there is something of interest in the hills after all.”

  “I have been trying to tell you,” Iranaputra said urgently. “The buildings down there, the architecture is …”

  “It’s settled, then.” Follingston-Heath pushed away from the table and rose. “This will be fun. I take it upon myself to see to the necessary supplies.” He smiled at Shimoda. “Including the requisite midday repast.” The Colonel delighted in planning strategy and tactics, even if only for a picnic.

  “If anyone asks, they should be so nosy, we’ll just tell them that we’re going for an extended walk around the lake.” Gelmann was anticipating the forthcoming excursion.

  “We’ll need some rope,” Hawkins grumbled. “To haul Vic’s butt out if there really is some kind of ditch or hole.”

  “I will take care of everything.” Hands clasped behind him, Follingston-Heath turned to gaze out across the lake. “Yes, it will be a jolly picnic.”

  VI

  Hawkins was grousing even before they started out, but Follingston-Heath was in fine spirits, shortening his stride to match that of his less athletic companions. The sun turned the surface of Lake Woneapenigong to shards of broken glass. Ignoring Hawkins’s sotto voce curses, jays and cardinals sang in the trees. It was a beautiful morning for reconnoitering.

  Everyone carried a small satchel or pack containing an assortment of personal items and other supplies. A phone hung from Follingston-Heath’s belt, though Iranaputra had warned him it was unlikely to work deep within the tunnel. The Colonel had simply smiled patronizingly and brought it anyway. Clearly he did not expect to get very far underground.

  Ksarusix trundled along in front, amusing Iranaputra’s companions no end by forging the path. Iranaputra had persuaded it that this was the way to proceed: reveal the secret to one, then to several, later to many more. Though dubious, the robot had seen the wisdom of taking human advice where human doubt was involved. It said little as it retraced a by-now-familiar course through the trees.

  Though Village residents were allowed to request Ksarus for picnics, Supervisor Ibrahim was still reluctant to give up even the addled number six for an entire day. He argued the matter loudly with Iranaputra, but gave in fast when Mina Gelmann joined the discussion. It was, as Follingston-Heath pointed out, a strategic and sensible retreat on the part of the kitchen supervisor.

  Even Hawkins eventually had to admit that on a day like today a walk through the woods could qualify as invigorating. His perpetually sour expression gradually softened, and he even betrayed some honest excitement when they spotted a bobcat darting through the undergrowth. It flashed yellow eyes at them before vanishing into a rustle of greenery. Like potentially dangerous larger local predators, the bears and catamounts, it had been frightened off by the small electronic critter repeller attached to Follingston-Heath’s pack.

  Startled murmuring was the order of the day when they reached the opening. Not that anyone had openly accused Iranaputra of lying, but it was still a bit of a surprise to find that there actually was a cave.

  Surprise gave way to astonishment when they reached the tunnel proper and switched on the lights they’d brought with them. It was obvious to the least sophisticated of them that the passage they stood in was of artificial origin. Iranaputra let them examine the walls and floor for a few minutes before directing the robot to lead them onward.

  “Are you sure there are no missiles or bombs or anything down here?” Gelmann kept her light on the floor in front of her.

  “No. I am not certain of anything, Mina. All I can say is that when I was here before, I saw nothing like that.”

  “It’s awfully big for a ventilation shaft.” Shimoda’s light bobbed alongside his robe-clad belly. “And why the gentle angle? Maybe it’s an access tunnel of some kind.”

  “Good thought, old chap.” Follingston-Heath’s beam played over the walls and ceiling. “A military installation would have need of such. Certainly this is big enough to allow the passage of small service vehicles, whether powered by maglev or even fossil fuels. I’m not entirely sure which they used back in the aboriginal days.”

  “This might have been a secret place,” Gelmann commented. “They were so paranoid then, the poor things. All that tribal nonsense, it gives me a pain in the stomach just to remember it.”

  Twenty minutes later she sidled up to Iranaputra. “There certainly is a tunnel here, Victor dear. But I’m afraid I don’t see any sign of your buried city.”

  “We have a ways to go yet,” he replied.

  “How much of a ways?” Hawkins was rapidly losing interest.

  “You’ll see.” The voice of the robot drifted back to him.

  “And I ain’t sure I like being led through a hole in the ground by a kitchen tool,” the ex-restorer added. To Iranaputra’s relief, the robot chose not to respond.

  “How much farther does this go on?” Hawkins had halted, shining his powerful light ahead. “We have to walk back out of this, you know.”

  “Why, Wallace.” Gelmann smiled at him. “I thought you liked walking.”

  “I like to walk around the Village. Sometimes I like to walk down to the lake. Endless underground hikes down featureless tunnels I think I find boring.” He gestured with his beam. “Could be a pit or vertical shaft anywhere in here, you know.”