The Descent

The  robots were  released in pairs – plus one soloist – at seven  different sites  around the globe. Scores of scientists monitored  each  one  around  the  clock.  The  'spiders'  held up  quite  well.  As  they  crept  deeper  into  the  earth,  communication  became  difficult. Electronic signals meant to flash unimpeded from the Martian poles and  alluvial  plains were  hampered  by  thick  layers  of  stone.  In  a  sense,  the  labyrinth  underfoot  was light-years  more  distant  than  Mars  itself.  The  signals  had  to  be  computer-enhanced, interpreted,  and coalesced. Sometimes it took many  hours  for  a  transmission  to  reach the  top,  and  many  hours  or  days  to  untangle  the  electronic  jumble.  More  and  more often, transmissions simply didn't surface.

What  did  come  up  showed   an  interior   so  fantastic   that   the   planetologists  and geologists  refused  to  believe  their  instruments.  It  took  a  week  for  the  electronic spiders to find the first human images. Deep within  the  limestone  wilderness  of  Terbil Tem,  beneath  Papua  New  Guinea,  their  bones  showed  as  ultraviolet  sticks  on  the computer  scan.  Estimates  ranged  from  five  to  twelve  sets  of  remains  at  a  depth  of twelve  hundred   feet.   A  day   later,   miles  inside  the   volcanic  honeycombs   around Japan's  Akiyoshi-dai,  they  found  evidence  that  bands  of  humans  had  been  driven  to depths   lower   than   any   explored,   and   there   slaughtered.   Deep   inside   Algeria's Djurdjura  massif  and  the  Nanxu  River  sink  in  China's  Guanxi  province,  far  below  the caves  under  Mt.  Carmel  and  Jerusalem,  other  robots  located  the  carnage  of  battles fought in cubbyholes and crawl spaces and immense chambers.

'Bad,  very   bad,'  breathed   hardened   viewers.   The   bodies  of   soldiers   had   been stripped, mutilated, degraded. Heads were  missing or arranged like masses  of  bowling balls. Worse, their weapons were  gone.  Place  after  place,  all  that  remained  were  nude bodies, anonymous, turning to bone. You could not tell who these  men and women had been.

One by  one, their spiders ceased to transmit. It  was too soon for their batteries  to go dead.  And  not  all  of  them  had  reached  their  signal  threshold.  'They're  killing  our robots,'  the  scientists  reported.  By  the  end  of  December,  only  one  was  left,  a  solitary satellite creeping on legs into regions so deep it seemed  nothing could live.

Far  beneath  Copenhagen,  the  robot  eye  picked  up  a  strange  detail,  a  close-up  of  a fisherman's   net.   The   computer   cowboys   fiddled  with  their   machinery,   trying   to resolve  the  image,  but  it  remained  the  same,  oversized  links  of  thread  or  thin  rope. They  keyed  in commands for the spider to back up slightly for a wider perspective. Almost a full day  passed before the  spider  transmitted  back,  and  it  was  as  dramatic as  the  first  picture  sent  from  the  back  of  the  moon.  What  had  looked  like  thread  or rope was iron circlets linked together.  The  net  was  in  fact  chain  mail;  the  armor  of  an early  Scandinavian  warrior.  The  Viking  skeleton  inside  had  long  ago  fallen  to  dust. Where  there  had  been  a  desperate  black  struggle,  the  armor  itself  was  pinned  to  the

wall with an iron spear.

'Bullshit,' someone said.

But the spider rotated  on command, and the  den  was  filled  with  Iron  Age  weaponry and  broken  helmets.  The  NATO  troops  and  Afghani  Taliban  and  soldiers  of  a  dozen other  modern  armies  were  not,  then,  the  first  to  invade  this  abyssal  world  and  raise arms against man's demons.

'What's going on down there?'  the mission control chief demanded.

After  another  week,  the  transmission  bursts  conveyed  nothing  more  than  earth noise  and  electromagnetic  pulses  of  random  tremors.  Finally  the  spider  quit  sending. They   waited   three   days,   then   began   to   dismantle   the   station,   only   to   hear   a transmission beep. They  hastily jacked the monitor in, and at long last got their face. The  static  parted.  Something  moved  on  screen,  and  in  the  next  instant  the  screen went black.  They  replayed  the  tape  in  slow  motion  and  sweated  out  electronic  bits  of an  image.  The  creature  had,  seemingly,  a  rack  of  horns,  a  stub  of  vestigial  tail.  Red eyes,  or  green,  depending  on  the  camera  filter.  And  a  mouth  that  must  have  been crying out with fury  and damnation – or possibly maternal alarm – as it  bore  down  on the robot.