Planet Of No Return

“Very impressive, Brion,” he said aloud. “The considered reactions of an intelligent man. Feeling better? Now that you have gotten rid of your temper — and have a sore foot to prove it — isn’t it time to give a little thought to this problem? It is. Now what do you know? To begin with, point number one,” he raised a finger, “the mechanized army came out of this valley. There can be no doubt about that. The tracks I followed all led to this spot. There were no turnings or alternative routes. Which leads to conclusion number two — the machines must have come from here, from this end of the valley, the area right here where I’m standing. The cliffs and the ground appear to be solid — but maybe they are not. To be examined. But what about a closer look at this column first? It is artificial, made of metal — and the chances are a hundred to one that it has something to do with this problem. So, number three, examination of column is on top of the list.”

Something was nagging at his memory. What was it? When he had kicked the column, aside from hurting his toe, there had been something about it? But what? Yes, of course, it had sounded as though it might have been hollow, giving out more of a ring than a thud when his boot had hit it.

Brion took out his knife and reversed it. Holding it by the blade, he rapped the pommel on the top of the column, where he had scratched the metal. This produced a solid thud. But when-he tapped it further down it rang loudly. It was hollow!

Which instantly prompted a second question: was it a hollow shell with something inside of it? A decided possibility. He must look for some way to open it, to get inside.

Brion ran his fingers slowly down the side of the column; it was smooth and unmarked. He got down on his knees to examine the lower half, then lay flat on the ground to look at the bottom. Was that a hairline crack around the base? He pushed hard with the tip of his blade — and it went under the metal! The crack was there, running all the way around the base. Although the column was apparently sunk into the solid stone — in reality it appeared to have a casing that rested on the surface. As he straightened up something caught his eye, a silvery glint of light, about a foot above the ground.

It was a scratch in the metal.

A closer examination revealed the fact that the scratch had been caused by something that had been fitted into a slot about an inch long — a slot with a scribed circle around it.

“A screw head! It looks just like a large screw head. And screws are meant to be turned.”

The only tool he had with him was the knife: it would have to do. He pressed the sharp tip into the groove, then pushed down on the handle. Nothing happened. Harder. He could feel his muscles knot with the strain, could see the knife blade bend. It might snap. That didn’t matter. Harder still …

With a metallic creak the circular piece of metal rotated a fraction of an inch. When he ran his finger over the surface he could feel that it projected slightly; a metal plug, no longer flush with the surface. Now that it had been started, it turned more easily. Around and around, until the head was clear and he could see the shining screw threads below it. More and more — so loose now that he could turn it with his fingers. He twisted it out and dropped it to the ground, then bent over and peered into the opening. Blackness, nothing visible. But the bolt must have had some function. Did it hold something in place? What?

He raised the knife to probe the opening with the tip, then thought better of it. It would be far wiser to use his brains than just to probe at random. What had the function of the plug been? Was it designed to cover an opening, with a control of some kind inside it? Possible, but highly improbable. Perhaps it held the outer tube of the column into place? That seemed like a more reasonable possibility.

He bent over and jammed the knife blade against the bottom of the metal tube and managed to force it under a bit, then pulled up. It moved!

By levering back and forth, Brion managed to push the knife blade in as far as it would go, about a half an inch. The tube must now be free to move up and down. He left the knife in position and leaned over to embrace the foot-thick tube, bending his knees and wrapping his arms about it. Holding it to him as tightly as he could — he slowly straightened his legs.

Something moved. The metal tube had lifted slightly from the ground. He looked down and saw that it was a good half inch off the stone surface now, still supported by something on the inside. Moving precisely and carefully, so the thing would not drop back, he shifted his grip down and lifted again.

It rose slowly, an inch at a time, until he had raised it a good foot above the ground. He caught a glimpse of a shiny metal surface inside.