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THEY HADN’T PROGRESSED far down the side passage when they all stopped short. The fan noise, always louder on this side of the fan, ceased, abruptly.
“Can you...?” Dun said.
“No, it's gone,” Padg said.
“Wait,” Tali said, retracing her steps. “I can still hear it back here. And then, one stride and... Wow, try it.”
It seemed that a definite line existed in the corridor, beyond which the noise did not seem to pass. They spent some time playing backward and forward, working out if they could hear each other—they couldn’t—and experimenting.
“Boo!” Tali said, gently into Padg’s ear.
“Meh! Could smell you coming,” Padg said.
“Can we get on now?” Myrch said.
“Killjoy,” Padg murmured.
They fell back into line walking. Then there was the music. Wonderful, complicated, rippling music. Strange unfolky voices in perfect harmony, instruments delicately tinkling high up and others in all-encompassing rumbling basso below. As they walked, the melody and instrumentation changed subtlely to measure their progress. Dun was dumbstruck.
“So beautiful,” Tali said.
“Hello?” Padg called out. “Who’s there?”
“I don’t think there is anyone there,” Myrch said.
“I don’t understand,” Padg said.
“I think it’s recorded,” Myrch said.
“What does that mean?” Padg said.
“Stored away; to be played later,” Myrch said.
“Stored away how?”
“Well, on a machine. I think we’re where we wanted to be. Welcome to the halls of the Machine-folk.”
***
THEY WALKED ON, DUN suspended somewhere between amazement and terror. The twisting musical braid wound and unwound down the corridor. Slowly, it became quieter step-by-step until it petered out completely. Then silence. Like before, even the echo of the sound from farther away did not reach them. Dun suspected another “silencing curtain” like after the fan.
“Wait,” Myrch said. “There’s a pad here on the floor. Step back you three. Dun, pass me that spear.”
Myrch took the spear from Dun and tapped on the floor. Then, loudly, seeming to come from everywhere they heard, “Bee ba. Ebovra cheacava deanus bactri. Cha banna etho banna madga. De doo.”
“Who in the hells was that?” Padg said. An edge of fear now in his voice.
“Recording again,” Myrch said. “Listen.”
He tapped again.
“Bee ba. Ebovra cheacava deanus bactri. Cha banna etho banna madga. De doo.”
“Oh,” Padg said.
“What do you think it's saying?” Dun said.
“A greeting maybe?” Padg said.
“Or a warning?” Tali said.
“I think its more mundane than that,” Myrch said. “Some kind of information update. I recognize a few words.”
“How?” Tali said.
“They’re a little like old Stone-folk tongue.”
“Oh,” she said not quite hiding her suspicion.
“I studied it,” Myrch said.
“Right.”
“Shall we go?” Myrch said.
“Sure.”
They all walked into the land of the Machine People, to strains of:
“Bee ba. Ebovra cheacava deanus bactri. Cha banna etho banna madga. De doo.”
Underfoot was flawless, as were the walls, even the temperature, and the humidity. Completely, uncomfortably comfortable. The Machine-folk were nothing if not fastidious. The floor became softer, just in the center for a certain width. They found themselves walking two abreast. Cushiony. Dun took the liberty of reaching down since he was now next to Tali at the back to reach down and feel. So soft. Not natural, not fur, not plant hairs. Soft, warm. Like it should be alive. But not. On the edge of his hearing, Dun picked up something. Clicking. Their own clicker beetles were long since dead. A noise so familiar that it seemed odd for it to be there again. But a definite series of regular clicks, way in front of them, but there all the same. As they got closer, the clicks became more evident.
“Who knew,” Padg said, “a civic clicker.”
And he was right. As they got nearer, there was one larger click: to mark a hundred, maybe. Then back to the regular rhythm. Interesting, useful certainly, but what must it be like to live and work under such a clock. All the time. In the village people kept their own clickers if they were timing something, like the alchemists measuring potions or the healers measuring pulses, but the major times of the day were marked largely by folk’s own circadian rhythms. Odd how other folk lived.
The corridor opened out into a large hall. Dun noticed the texture of flooring alter under his feet. It was like another texture crossed their path at right angles.
“There’s another path here,” he said.
“So there is,” Myrch said. “But let’s be systematic; we can go back that way later.”
“Err... Myrch?” Dun said.
“Yes.”
“Where is everyone?”
“I don’t... I’m not sure.”
Dun thought back to the teeming warren that the Stone-folk lived in. But here there was not a soul about. This place was at least as big as that but the only other voices they’d heard so far were stored and played back to them automatically. And now that felt creepy. They passed under another automatic voice.
“The Machine-folk welcome you. Pass immediately to the customs house. On paying any tithes required, you can be granted movement through the city. Follow the smooth carpet for the customs house. Thank you.”
“Shall we?” Padg said.
“Why not?” Dun said.
“Carefully,” Myrch said.
The hall was massive and eerie. In complete silence they walked, even their footfalls were muffled by the carpet. Periodically, they heard automated voices piped down to them from above, seeming to recommend goods and services available to them nearby but that was just it. There didn’t seem to be anyone around at all to provide anything. The smooth carpet widened out to a round area wide enough to allow all of them to stand abreast.
“Customs Hall,” said a voice from above. “Please wait in an orderly and quiet fashion. A customs official will be with you as soon as possible. We thank you for your patience.”
“Friendly bunch,” Padg said.
“Friendly, but absent,” Dun said.
The same held true for the hall here as everywhere else thus far. No folk anywhere. In here Dun thought he could pick up the faintest tinge of distant scent, but it was so faint, he was pretty sure he was imagining it. Willing it into being, as some evidence of anyone would be less creepy than what they faced now.
