“If anyone’s getting help, it’ll be me,” I said. “I’m just about ready to leave you here to starve to death.”

  “Leaving would be most unwise,” he said.

  “Care to tell me why?”

  He finally looked up at me.

  “This is a deadly world, as you have already witnessed. Both of us may already be dead unless we can get anti-radiation treatment soon.”

  “I know you’re a great liar,” I said.

  From his knees, Philip faced me, holding up both hands. “I’ve had enough of this. I do not care for your slander, your vicious hatred against the hominids of the Institute and these racist slurs. We are the most brilliant of the human species— the closest to the divine of all. That you would cast these aspersions—”

  “Oh, give it a rest,” I said, interrupting. “Why don’t you take off your gloves and really try to fix the turbolift. It’s the only way you’re going to survive.”

  “The belt is useless,” he said.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  His shoulders slumped. “If you insist, although I should warn you that we may die of dehydration before I get it fixed.”

  “Then you better work faster.”

  “That’s a callous attitude,” he said.

  “You know, the more I think about it, the more I think it’s not a coincidence that you and I are on this planet. What’s this world called, anyway?”

  “Tellus.”

  “That’s awfully close to Terra,” I said.

  “True, but Tellus is the name of the planet, and it is definitely not Terra.”

  “And it was part of the Harmony of Planets back then?”

  “We don’t know yet, as we have only recently found it.”

  “Come on, that’s a load of horse crap,” I said.

  “How do you figure that?” Philip asked.

  “You just happened to find a planet with obelisks and ziggurats? One that Omilcar’s programming sent me to?”

  Philip shuffled back toward the turbolift. “We are not just scavengers who live on the technology of the past. We developed new technologies and new ways. I know you have seen the portal at the bottom of the mine on Garm. We of the Institute have created these portals and use them to branch out into other star systems.”

  “I find that highly dubious.”

  “That is because you are a doltish brute who uses muscle and size instead of intelligence to solve problems. We of the Institute use our superior intellect.”

  “Well, Mr. Intellect, how about taking off those gloves and fixing that turbolift so we can get down?”

  “That may not be such a great idea.”

  “Why don’t you tell me why?”

  Philip straightened up, clearly ready to launch into one of his lectures. “This planet has a most fascinating and terrible history. The Synthetic Minds—the Atomic Brains, as the Togs call them—”

  “What are Togs?” I asked, interrupting.

  “They’re mutated humans who fight the Atomic Brains with all their might and wit. And they haven’t done the worst job possible. In any case, let me continue.”

  Philip cleared his throat. “Much like Skynet in your Terminator films, the artificial intelligences here launched an attack upon humanity. I don’t know the exact timeline, but I believe it was perhaps two hundred, maybe three hundred years ago, or maybe more.”

  “That doesn’t mesh with the breaking of the Harmony of Planets timeline,” I said.

  “That is exactly my point,” Philip said.

  “Yet they have obelisks and pyramids here,” I said.

  “That is an interesting point. Yes, perhaps they were a linked colony or an offshoot back then. Did you notice how the ziggurat you landed in sits in a plaza? It feels like the whole city was built around it, does it not?”

  I kept my expression neutral. “How do you know I came in on that ziggurat?”

  Philip paused for half a second. “It makes the most sense, does it not?”

  “Uh-huh. Go on.”

  “Well, the Synthetic Minds—”

  “Not go on with your tale,” I said, interrupting. “How do you know I just came in through the ziggurat?”

  “You’d already be dead if you’d landed more than several days ago. Thus, you must have just got here. That ziggurat’s the nearest and most logical arrival point.”

  I muttered, unable to tell if he was lying or not.

  “To get back to my other thought,” he said. “The Synthetic Minds, basically what the Atomic Brains really are—like in the Chaunt System—performed their sneak attack against humanity. But it seemed to have failed, because certain underground forces survived. Those forces were the kernel of those who became the Togs of this era.”

  He gestured expansively, clearly getting into his story. “Radiation and various other corruptions and genetic faults have turned the Togs into these tusked, leathery, strong and vicious warriors. Soldiers, if you will, who craft their own weaponry. They launch missile assaults against various Synthetic Mind strongholds, attempting to destroy them. But the Synthetic Minds—or Atomic Brains, as the Togs say—have burrowed deep underground. So a vicious, continuing war rages as the AIs and robots attempt to eradicate the Togs, and the Togs try to eradicate machine life. It makes for a brutally vicious war that has lasted generations.”

  “Just a minute,” I said. “I know the Accelerationists of the Institute wanted to use the Chaunt System robots as soldiers to conquer the rest of the former Harmony of Planets. Is that what’s really going on here? You of the Institute have come here to make soldiers of the Togs or of the Synthetic Minds?”

  “That’s a preposterous idea,” Philip said.

  “No, I don’t think it is. Why else would you have observer craft watching so carefully? I thought the Accelerationists were down, as it trapped on Chaunt III.”

  “Most of them are,” he said. “The Traditionalists are in the ascent now.”

  “And you Traditionalists are trying to acquire soldiers from here like the Accelerationists tried from the Chaunt System?”

  “Maybe some have attempted that, but not our branch of the Traditionalists.”

  “I think trying to acquire soldiers for your interstellar war is the real reason,” I said.

  “We are studying the situation on Tellus, Bayard. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”

  “I’d like to know why you are.”

  “In order to make sure nothing like this ever happens again on any of the former worlds of the Harmony.”

  “Uh-huh. Like I believe that.”

  “Believe as you will,” he said with a huff.

  “I do. Now how long until that turbolift is fixed?”

  Philip climbed to his feet and made a production of examining his work. “It is fixed now. Shall we go?”

  His sudden shift caught me by surprise. “Go where?” I asked.

  “Why, to the portal.”

  I shook my head. “No. You’re going to show me the obelisk. We’re going to go to Mu. I’ll take you with me.”

  “Surely you’re not serious.”

  “Get in. We’re going.”

  “After you,” Philip said with exaggerated politeness.

  I grabbed him by the scruff of his EVA suit and hurled him into the turbolift, jumping in after him before he could scramble out.

  “Press the button,” I said, keeping the phasor aimed at him.

  “This is madness. The obelisk might not even work. The Dead Tower, the Togs call it. Does that sound functional to you?”

  “Press the button, Philip.”

  He sighed and dramatically hit the control. The platform lurched, then began descending. It wasn’t the rocket-ride of my earlier attempt, but a steadier descent. Philip had clearly adjusted something to make it less violent.

  As we dropped through the dark tube, occasional light strips illuminating Philip’s unhappy face, I wondered if I was making a mistake. The portal he’d mentioned might be my only way home. But I didn’t trust him. Every Philip I’d ever met had been running multiple schemes simultaneously.

  “You know,” Philip said as we descended, “the Togs have a saying about this city. ‘The dead don’t leave.’ Rather poetic for mutants, don’t you think?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” he said.

  I stared at him.

  “Just that between the radiation, the Atomic Brains, and the Togs, few who enter Ploor ever leave,” he said.

  “That’s the name of the city?” I asked. “Ploor?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a stupid name,” I said.

  Philip shrugged.

  I scowled, not really feeling that good.

  The platform continued down, and I kept the phasor steady. I had the feeling that Philip was trying to get in my head, make me doubt myself. The Dead Tower—I wondered if the Togs really called the obelisk that.

  “Tell me about the Institute portal,” I said.

  “Why? You’ve already decided we’re going to the obelisk.”

  “Because I want to know my options,” I said.

  “Do we really have those?” he asked.

  “Meaning what?” I said, rubbing my hurting head.

  “You and I have the illusion of options. But the reality is—”

  I grabbed the front of his EVA suit. “Can it, huh?”

  He looked at my face. “Are you feeling well?”

  I wasn’t. I released his suit and rubbed my forehead again.

  All the while, the turbolift continued down.

  -21-

  We passed level after level in the turbolift, and I noticed that my mouth tasted like I’d been sucking on old pennies. That was a bad sign. The warhead to the giant missile must have been thermonuclear, although the old buildings must have blocked the worst of it. I believed so, anyway. And maybe the blast had been farther away than I realized.

  My skin felt warm, like a mild sunburn starting to set in. That told me the accumulated radiation was working on me, but I’d be damned if I’d let Philip see how much.

  We passed the level where I’d entered, and I tensed. Why didn’t the lift stop? What was going on here?

  “That was our floor,” I said.

  “No, no,” Philip said, dismissively waving a gloved hand. “That level is far too exposed for us now. From what I’ve seen, the walkers patrol there regularly. We need to go deeper.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “I just told you. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Walkers, you mean robot patrols,” I said.

  “Exactly,” he said, eyeing me too closely for my taste.

  What was he seeing?

  “I suggest we use sublevel seven,” Philip said. “I recall that it has partially functional infrastructure. It will be much safer for us down there.”

  Carrying the heavy pulse rifle was weighing on me, especially with the leather strap digging against my neck. I was actually starting to think about ditching it. But…

  “What did you just say?” I asked.

  “Sublevel seven is the place we should go.”

  Was the little prick looking at me even closer than before? Why did I feel so poorly? I kept the phasor aimed in his direction, not quite pointing at him but close enough to make the threat clear.

  “How do you know any of this?” I said.

  “The Institute does detailed studies on any world it’s observing. Ploor is critical to what we’re learning on Tellus. We’re thorough in our reconnaissance, and that’s how I know.”

  “I thought you said you just got here.”

  Philip’s pause lasted a half-second too long for my tastes. “That’s true, yes.”

  “And you memorized this part of the city’s layout?”

  “Bayard, are you truly angry that I know enough to keep us alive?”

  I blinked several times, wishing I were feeling better. Radiation poisoning was going to make all of this—

  Philip lurched forward and slapped the control panel. Our platform came to a sudden stop.

  I bumped my head against a wall, blinking, feeling disoriented.

  “This is sublevel seven,” he said. “This is definitely our best option.”

  I had to concentrate to focus. Beyond was a corridor that looked almost normal. Philip had produced a flashlight, the beam washing over a layer of dust on everything and brown stains on the walls that might have been old blood. Otherwise, it looked solid enough.

  Philip stepped out first, which surprised me. He’d been trying to keep me between him and any danger. Either he really did know this level was safe, or he was eager to get somewhere specific.

  I stumbled after him, lugging the pulse rifle. The mutants seemed to have easily carried these. I bet they were strong suckers.

  I looked around. The corridor had an institutional feel like an office building. There were many fallen and broken ceiling tiles on the floor. And I saw rows of dead fluorescent light fixtures on the ceiling. That struck me as odd. Had inventors on Earth and Tellus both developed fluorescent lighting on their own?

  This place had an Earth-like feel, as if Tellus was some kind of twin of Earth, with a similar civilization or technology. What might account for that? I thought about asking Philip.

  Then I spied doors with frosted glass windows lining both sides of the corridor. The signs were still readable in the alien script. I could read them because I’d gone through the ziggurat, which usually granted me the native tongue. The signs said “Accounting Department,” “Humanoid Properties,” “Strategic Planning Division.”

  “Was this a government building?” I asked.

  “From what we know, it was a corporate-government synthesis,” Philip said. “Our historians say that near the end, the distinction became meaningless. The corporations were the government, or perhaps vice versa. Come on, we should go this way.”

  Philip turned left.

  As I followed, I noticed him glancing at the wall signs. These guys had those evacuation route markers for fires or earthquakes just like Earth buildings did. Was that a coincidence?

  Through my semi-delirium, I did recognize that Philip was trying to be subtle about reading the signs. Was he using them as a map to reach wherever it was he wanted to go?

  We passed an open office area with big wooden desks and old typewriters. In one chair, a skeleton in a tattered business suit was slumped forward, its skull resting on the blotter. A cracked mug sat near the typewriter. Had those on Tellus known about coffee?

  “They must have died quickly,” Philip said.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “I would guess they were hit with nerve gas. Our historians learned that the Synthetic Minds deployed it through the ventilation systems during the opening hours of the war. That was quite efficient of them.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  “As I said, we study—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you study everything.” I gestured with the phasor. “Keep walking before you talk me to death.”

  We went deeper into the subterranean building, Philip leading us through a maze of corridors. Twice he suggested we take maintenance passages—narrow corridors between the walls that smelled of rust and old chemicals. His excuse was avoiding “high-traffic zones where walkers might patrol,” but I noticed he kept checking door numbers and directional signs whenever he thought I wasn’t looking.

  The third maintenance tunnel led us past what had been a cafeteria. Through the door’s window, I could see overturned tables and more bodies, these piled against the far wall as if they’d been trying to break through when they died. The vending machines were smashed open, their contents long since looted or rotted away.

  That hit me: vending machines, another twin example of similarity between Earth and Tellus.

  My skin was definitely warmer, and occasionally I’d feel a wave of dizziness that I had to fight through. It wasn’t debilitating yet, but it was getting worse. How much time did I have? Hours? Days? I couldn’t believe this.

  “Through here,” Philip said, opening another maintenance door.

  This passage was different from the rest. The walls were reinforced concrete instead of drywall, and I could see the kind of conduits that meant heavy-duty electrical connections. We were heading toward something that had needed serious power and protection.

  At the passage’s end was a blast door, the kind you’d see in a bunker. Unlike everything else, this looked intact. The sign next to it read: “Military Command—Authorization Required.”

  Philip pulled out a small device from his EVA suit, something about the size of a smartphone but covered in blinking lights. He held it up to the door’s access panel.

  What else did the little bastard have hidden in his suit? I should have made him strip before we started. I would have done it right now, or made him do it, but I felt too crappy.

  “Is that more Institute thoroughness?” I said in a surly tone.

  “Would you prefer we wander randomly until the radiation kills us both?” he said. “Or until the walkers find us? Or until the Togs decide we look like dinner?”

  He had a point, but this still seemed too coincidental or planned on his part.

  The device beeped, and the blast door’s locks disengaged with heavy mechanical clunks.

  Huh, what do you know?

  Philip grabbed the wheel in the center and turned it. Despite his small size, he managed it, though he was breathing hard by the time the door swung open.

  Beyond was darkness, but as we stepped through, automatic systems kicked in with a soft hum. Emergency lighting flickered to life, revealing a command center frozen in time.

  “What the hell?” I said, shocked at what I saw before me.

  -22-

  The command center was a tomb of perfect corpses.

  They sat at their stations as if they’d just dozed off during a long shift. There wasn’t any decay or smell. Whatever had killed them had done it fast, and the sealed environment must have mummified them. Their uniforms were still crisp, the name tags readable. Group Leader Shay was at the main console. Centurion Kline sat at what looked like a communications array. Sub-Group Leader Dane sat at what seemed to me a tactical board.