“We’ve learned quite a bit about Martian technology,” Francis reminded him. “And something tells me these creatures have had access to it for considerably more than thirty years.”
“It stands to reason,” Lamont pointed out, in a tone that to his own ears didn’t sound entirely convinced, “That they would have left some trace. After all, we learned about this planet from Martian charts.”
“They build for posterity,” Rosemary all but whispered.
“But you’re surprised, Francis,” Lamont observed, reading the captain’s expression.
“I am,” Carter admitted. “The amount of data we have on this planet at the time of the Martians’ visit suggests what could be gathered in a fly-by, or by an orbital probe. No mention of having made a landing or engaged in any kind of construction.”
“Perhaps they didn’t keep very detailed records,” Rosemary suggested.
“It seems far more likely that I simply haven’t been given access to all the details,” The captain countered.
“If anyone had access, it would be you,” Lamont said, his memory returning to a photograph pinched between his fingers, of a younger Francis Carter cradling a bundled form in his arms. “Wouldn’t it?”
His only answer was a dark, cryptic gaze from the captain, who seemed to be looking past him. He turned to watch the squat, vaguely centipedal forms of their guides as they engaged with a component of the half-buried technology of a different world and a distant epoch.
“Why did they bring us here?” Lamont asked no one in particular. “Do they know something about this technology? What it’s for? The time scales are unspeakably long, for any creature.”
“We’ve learned quite a bit about Martian technology,” Francis reminded him. “And something tells me these creatures have had access to it for considerably more than thirty years.”
One of the three guides turned toward them, the comb-like organ beneath its speckled shell vibrating as it emitted a series of clicks and richly tonal hums. A moment later, a deep resonance sounded from the part of the technology that looked something like pipes. The sound reminded Lamont of a large, distant gong or church bells, or rather a recording of them, played backward. It filled the space more with its depth than with its volume. But after hearing a few seemingly random sounds, the trio looked at each other in wide-eyed astonishment as the tones resolved themselves into something quite recognizable: Words.
“YES” The organ intoned, reverberating throughout the chamber. “MANY MORE...”
Next: Sensory Organs