The Black Tower

Chapter One:

Emergence

David Ward sat and ate his cornflakes with all the earnest

haste of the schoolboy who is late for his bus. His hair was

rumpled and he had failed to wash his face. He groaned to

himself as he ate. Playing computer games illegally in his

bedroom until past midnight was all very well, but he was a

hearty sleeper and always failed to wake at the sound of the

alarm.

His mother came in and went over to the sink. Her part-time

job with an estate agent started at ten and she had little time

to wait for her errent son. "You'll be late," she said wisely,

her back to him as she squeezed the Fairy Liquid over the

breakfast plates and cups.

"I know," grunted David peevishly through a mouthful of

breakfast cereal. The trouble with women was they tended to look

on the gloomy side of things.

He gulped down his glass of orange, grabbed his rucsac

(after checking his football gear was in it) and headed out of the

door. He reckoned that if he ran he would make the bus - the

stop was only a couple of hundred feet from his semi-detached

Manchester home.

Barking like mad, a small brown figure with floppy ears came

rushing after his master.

"You brute." David paused. He couldn't let Han run out on

to the main road, for much as he loved his black terrier he had

to admit that the dog had no road sense whatsoever. With a sigh

he grabbed Han by the collar and turned his face homewards. He

did not even turn his head as, inevitably, the bus pulled up a

few yards away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kari stood outside The Wall. She listened to the low voice of

the elder who stood beside her. Although neither had any need to

whisper they did so instinctively.

Kari was small, even for one of her race. This was part of

the reason why she had been picked for this mission. She was

barely four and a half feet tall, but on the slim side. Her

lack of height and her short hair gave her smooth, oval face a

look of impishness which was belied by her serious aspect at this

moment.

Her clothes were simple, consisting of rawhide sandals bound

around her ankles and between her toes with rope straps. Her

robe was of rough cloth, and was of one peice, tied at the waist

with a piece of cord. The cord was loosely knotted, for it could

be freed in a second to make an efficient weapon for strangling.

Better for her mission than any propulsive mechanism, Especially

since such things were rare amongst her people.

Her robe was good protection against the raw wind, for the

land was exposed, open to the elements. Yet even the wind

whistled in helpless fury against the seemingly immovable barrier

of The Wall. Kari shivered, but not with the cold. The moment

was fast approaching for which she had been training over the last

six months, The memorising of charts and locations, the cunning

obstacle courses set up by her own people, and the mindset tests,

all of which she had passed with youthful vigour, outdistancing

any who might have been chosen.

<I will leave you now,> thought the elder, <you have been

assigned your task and must carry it out. Our wishes go with

you.>

<Thank you,> Kari bowed her head and spread both her hands

in the traditional salute. She watched the elder leave for the

village, physically alone now, wondering that she now had more

power than men four times her age.

"Strange." This was the first word spoken out loud. She

reached out a hand towards the bricks and mortar - and could not

touch them - for something odourless, colourless, and invisible,

prevented her from doing so. This was the true Wall The barrier

had protected the inhabitants of the Black Tower for the recorded

history of the People, Her father had showed her this barrier at

birth, just as his own had shown him and so on for many years.

Stones, clubs, arrows and all the weapons devised by the

plains tribe had been used many times in impotent fury. An anger

which had not been against the barrier alone, but those who were

impersonal, who ruled the Village as their own.

Only Mungis the Wise, long-dead sage of The People had seen

that the barrier was vulnerable at certain times. The high-

pitched hum of the barrier sometimes became lower or even ceased

altogether. Yet if an attack was launched with missiles it was

instantly brought back to full power. He recommended stealth,

for although this was not the way of the people much could be

achieved by imperceptive methods.

Kari stirred uneasily. She could hear the sound of leather-

shod feet on the soil inside the barrier. She pressed herself

closer to the smoothness waiting for the moment to come. Then she

could feel the brick - rough, ordinary like the material of which

her own home was made. She had not expected the texture to be

so familiar. The Towerites were at the gates now - for they could

only go in or out when the power was switched off.

Kari dared not to make her move too soon - the presence of a

guard saw to that - but on the other hand she could not wait too

long for if she was seen and caught then the hopes of her whole

tribe died with her.

She was over the real wall in less than three seconds. Not

only was it relatively low, but her climbing ability was the best

the People had ever seen.

On the other side she lay in the uncut grass, feeling green,

spidery fingers soft against her cheek, then rolled for a

distance instead of getting to her feet and making a target of

herself. She came to rest against the base of a tree.

Not knowing how far the wall extended was the worst part.

She could be crushed or even cut clean in half when the power was

renewed. But she was fairly certain that the tree was a cut-off

point. She drew her legs in and waited.

A faint hum sounded, a noise that was part of her everyday

life since the time she had started training. She only heard it

now because it had stopped for a few seconds.

THEY were gone now, the Towerites, with their pious words

and impressive robes. Away to heal the sick and comfort the

aged. They were the incarnation of God. Or so they believed,

and were taken that way by many of the People. To Kari and her

kin they were no more than devils.

A just God would not allow the manifestation of his power in

this world to keep all that was good. A just God would share his

gifts.

These words, a reprise of Mungis the Wise and other Elders

echoed through Kari's head. A burning fire of indignation seethed

through her mind. She would be spurred on to greater action than

ever. She knew of the many excesses she would have to go through

to destroy the source of their power, altering the balance

between the two sides.

Yet she was sure of one thing.

Inevitably, whatever happened, she would die.

What did she care? She would rather be buried in the cool

earth than continue on the surface under the present regime.

Lack of meat, of materials for building, of tools, of the

most basic thing of all - knowledge. Yet the tithe was still

taken.

All that was best - including people - were taken into

the auspices of the Black Tower while the People existed on the

minimum of everything needed for life. The Towerites would never

cause an open war. Nor did they react to the furtive assaults

made on the Wall. For the present, they could rule by wise words

€

and reason:

"So we tithe your wools, a share of your crops, some of your

animals. But look what you get in return. You are part of the

great reclamation project, making land from waste. At the moment

we take some of your produce because we need it to bolster the

hand of those who work for God. In a few years at most you will

gain more than you could ever need - a few years only."

No mention was made of the fact that they had said the same

thing so many times before that their words were totally empty.

The youngsters of the People had often desired to attack the

Priests, as those of the Black Tower designated themselves, but

had been held back every time through the fear of what would

happen to their families in reprisal. They were not scared of

the Keepers, although the latter were physically taller, for the

young men of the People were sinewy hunters.

More noises!

Kari lifted her shaggy head and looked towards the massive

Black Tower which loomed over the woods. She had never been this

close to the tower before, and she was the first of her kind to

enter the enclosure freely for many years. She was not about to

start admiring the twin, rounded tops of the tower, which was

monolithic below, splitting into fused twin halves above.

The noise came again, clearly audible above the sound of The

Wall, sounding like tiny raindrops hissing against a hot stone.

Could it be some sort of magic? She considered the matter with

her half-tutored mind, which was conditioned to accept the

presence of miracles and would not have been surprised to see a

dragon emerging from the foliage.

The hissing went on. Too regular to be other than the work

of man, and clearly electrical in nature. Kari gave the matter

her fullest consideration, for there was an inner barrier which

also had to be breached. She continued crawling towards her

goal, looking at the same time for a vent or drain which would

allow her access to the building below the tower.

Footsteps nearby alerted her after she had crawled barely

twenty feet. She parted the long grasses, creating a green

domain, dived within and waited.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dech Marsh whistled happily to himself as he worked on the

fused electrical system which controlled the third level

Transport Complex. This was the one which shifted food and

medical supplies as well as other non-sentient articles. With

the aid of his Forcedriver he undid the spring-loaded panel which

covered the wires and gave a wry laugh as he inspected the

damage therein.

He instantly knew that this was not for him. As

occasionally happened the computer had made a mistake in

assigning him to work at repairing these channels.

Clearly some inefficient operator had asked the computer to

select a repairman, and had carelessly picked someone off the

wrong list when presented with a range of possible operatives.

"This is Grade B stuff," said Dech to himself. He was quite

alone, with boxes of goods all round him on the still belt. He

felt quite natural talking out loud in those circumstances. "An

'E' shouldn't be asked to do this." He leaned forward and

inspected the wiring thoughtfully. "I could do it if I really

wanted. After all, the only reason my grading is so low was

because I was blind drunk the night before the exam." He

chuckled. "I could hardly remember my name the next day."

He narrowed his dark eyes thoughtfully, as he bent closer to

inspect the damage more fully. He was a big man, about two

metres in height, and was muscular too. A complete contrast to

the usual kind of engineer, who would be a small, fussy man.

Dech moved, and pondered in a slow, deliberate way then took

action, and was usually correct in his diagnosis.

He opened his field kit which contained row of astonishingly

versatile instruments including a laser torch and, to one side

replacement circuits.

"Looks as if it was an almighty piece of feedback," Murmured

Dech, coming to a considered decision. "I wouldn't like this to

happen on the other lines."

As he set to work he pictured the Transporter belts; moving

ways which took hosts of travellers across Underground City

Three. A picture of ninepins rolling over flickered across his

mind.

A picture of Gradey, his chief accompanied the thought.

That slit mouth skewed sideways in anger, those bug eyes nearly

popping out of his bald head. Laughable really, and since the

situation wasn't so serious Dech chuckled to himself at the

thought of his superiors discomfiture. His smile broadened when

he thought of whast Gradey would say if he could see Dech at that

precise moment, his hands working away as if they had a life

seperate from their owner. His fingers bending and twisting

with a dexterity which belonged to a born engineer with an

inbuilt sense of precision.

The pile of twisted, burnt wires on the service tray began

to grow. He prodded the last faulty circuit with his fingernail.

It could be reconnected, and would mean a considerable saving for

such microcircuits contained gold for more efficient operation.

Dech knew now was the time to call in an expert fitter who would

do the job in half the time, or less. The Council had a law

which decreed that when a man met his match he should allow an

individual of superior quality to deal with the problem.

All very logical, and efficient.

This reasoning, applied to all things, including love and

war, had led to an ordered, sane society in which war had been

abolished.

Dech knew little about the historical reasons for this,

probably assuming as did many others that things had always been

the same. He pondered a little on the love aspect. Rebel as he

was, he sometimes wondered what kind of mate would be chosen for

him by the City computer.

Abruptly, Dech could feel the metal belt on which he stood

vibrate to the tread of firm feet. Absurdly he kept on working,

while wearing the look of one who was guilty of committing at

heinous crime. One thought stung his mind, whoever was

approaching had the authority - denied to the public at large, to

be here in the first place. The new arrival was not a robot, for

such machines moved almost silently on rubber wheels. (Some

people, ignorant of economics wondered why human engineers had

not yet been replaced by manipulative machines. The truth was,

such a policy had been disallowed, not through fear of super-

intelligent robot masters, as some tales suggested, but because

each robot cost over a million credits to make. A man could be

trained and work for many years for less than a quarter of that

sum - and men were still more flexible than machines.)

Instinctively Dech tightened his fingers around the smooth

handle of his Forcedriver. The newcomer appeared around the

stack of boxes on the belt. He was small, as they usually were,

and wore a yellow, swift-winged badge with red dot in the centre.

This denoted his rank as a grade 'B' technician.

His arrogant, features, the lines deeply cut as if by some

mocking sculptor showed that he was well aware of his position

and more than willing to exercise his authority.

Dech, towering over the smaller man, still managed to exude

an air of disquiet and uncertainty. He held no thought of the

muscular power he had in those massive arms, a strength he

augmented by the daily use of the gymnasium far in excess of the

compulsory amount of time spent there. This was one rule with

which he thoroughly agreed. After all, with manual labour a

thing of the past it was hardly any wonder the average human

being was now smaller, and punier.