“They’re still here?” asked Jane, incredulous.
Edward ducked his head, his blue eyes darkening. “Some of them,” he ended shortly, and stared into the darkness.
Jane and I glanced at each other, but Edward said nothing more. From somewhere came the faint plink plink of water dripping, and a dull rustling that might have been bats. After a minute I asked, “So you live up there, then?” I crooked a thumb at the ceiling.
Edward rubbed his head. “No; not anymore. For the last year I’ve been down here. Oh, I get up abovegrounds sometimes, but it’s funny, you get used to it down here, you forget all about there’s another place, another way of living.”
He sucked his lower lip thoughtfully, as though trying to figure out if he could confide in us or not. At last he said, “You know, the Doctor says this is all preparing us for what happens next.”
“Oh, yes?” Jane raised an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
“Well, you know. Living in a confined space, the darkness, getting used to the genesl—I mean, the aardmen and energumens and the rest of ’em. Once Icarus comes, it’ll be different from what we’re all accustomed to. I mean, not so different for me, I grew up on a farm and we always had lots of animals—not that these other, um, people are animals, but you understand. It does take some getting used to, especially never seeing the sun.”
“I see,” Jane said doubtfully. “But—well, what does happen next? What was that he was saying about an ark?”
Edward Dean sighed, as though he were trying to explain something to a pair of thick-witted children. “Dr. Burdock has told us there is to be a Coming.”
The way he said it made my flesh creep. “A Coming? What do you mean? Like the Final Ascension the Paphians talk about?”
He shrugged and looked furtively down the passageway. “I don’t know about that,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know much about Paphians, although maybe they’ve heard of it too.”
“So what is it that’s coming?” broke in Jane.
“Well, I don’t understand it all that well, but Dr. Burdock says it’s a sort of star. He knows about these things—he remembers from before, you see, back when he was first alive. He’s seen it. When he was a young man, he said. Once every four hundred years or so it comes. Only this time he says it will be different. He says it will be dangerous. That’s why they’re trying to gather all these starships—you know, the elÿon, the Ascendant’s transport fleet. You understand?”
Jane looked at me blankly. “Not really. Wendy?”
I leaned against the wall, the chill from the stone leaching into me. Inside my head I could feel a pounding, the dull pain that had once presaged a seizure but now seemed only to bring a blankness, a darkness where once visions had held sway.
“I don’t know what this means,” I said slowly. Dread seeped through my body, numbing as the cavern’s cold. “But it sounds like—well, what kind of star did he say it was?”
Edward shook his head. “I don’t know. But you understand, don’t you—the Doctor remembers things from a very long time ago, from before we lost the power to see into the sky. Up there”—he made a circling motion with his finger—“up where the Ascendant Tyrants lived, they could still see things, although Metatron says they didn’t understand what they were seeing. And because they didn’t understand, they didn’t warn us when they should have. And now Dr. Burdock says it’s too late—for everyone but us. The chosen ones; the Asterine Alliance. Ad astra aspera —you know what that means? To the stars through great hardship. That’s where we’re going. To the stars.”
Jane’s ruddy face went dead white. “What do you mean, to the stars ?”
“And Icarus?” I urged. “Who’s that?”
He didn’t reply; only turned and walked quickly down the tunnel. Jane swore and reached for my hand.
“Damn it, what the hell does all this mean? Stars falling once every four hundred years—I’ve never heard anything like it. If it’s such a terrible danger, why didn’t Trevor or Giles warn us? They seem to have known an awful lot about this place.”
I bit my lip, recalling Giles’s reluctance my first morning at Seven Chimneys, when I had asked him about the symbol and strange lettering on a cigarette pack from Cassandra. “Maybe they didn’t know,” I said doubtfully. “Or maybe they didn’t want us to know.”
Jane said, “What’s this star, then? Is it a kind of Shining?” She rubbed her forehead, her eyes dark-shadowed in her pale face. “God, I wish we knew where Scarlet was.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know.” My head ached horribly, and I could hardly bear the touch of her hand upon mine. I pulled away, heedless of Jane’s hurt look, and hurried after Edward.
We followed him for several more minutes in near-darkness, the passage narrowing until we walked in single file with our hands groping at the walls. Ahead I could see a line of very bright lights and hear muffled voices.
“This here will be where you’ll sleep.” Edward’s voice echoed loudly as we finally stepped out of the narrow passage. Before us a large chamber seemed to have been carved out of the ocher walls, and in it many blue-clad figures sat or stood talking in earnest groups. Aardmen, energumens, even one of the profoundly strong and somber-looking starboks, its uniform torn where its massive shoulders had strained the fabric. But there were few humans. Only two that I could see, a man and a woman seated by themselves at a makeshift table against the wall.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” said Edward. He stopped where the tunnel opened into the chamber and rested his hand on the stone wall. “Can I answer any more questions?” he added dutifully.
“Oh no, you’ve done a fine job of that already,” Jane snapped. “I guess if we want to learn anything, we’ll just have to ask Dr. Burdock himself.”
Edward gave a small gasp. “But we don’t bother the Doctor about things like that!” he said, aghast. “Especially about Icarus, or his”—he lowered his voice, looking past us to the energumens looming above the other geneslaves—“his daughter. He’s very sensitive, you see.”
“I’m starting to feel a little sensitive myself,” Jane said threateningly.
Edward shook his head. “You’ve got to be patient —it will all be different after tomorrow. It won’t just be the Doctor anymore. There’ll be others we can all talk to, enough for everybody, enough to lead us all to the stars.”
He sighed, as though remembering a painful memory. “You see, it’s always much easier for him in the very beginning. Before he remembers it all. After a few months it gets difficult, and by the time a year’s gone by—well, that’s when we have the retirement party and start all over again. Only this time it will be different—”
“ Retirement party?” My voice cracked in disbelief.
“Well, of course,” Edward said, aggrieved. “ You’ll see—but I really have to go.” He started to turn away, stopped and looked back at us one last time, his plain face creased with concern.
“You do understand how hard this all is for him, don’t you? I mean, you understand that he’s not the first one?”
I tilted my head, staring into his grave blue eyes. “You mean Luther Burdock?”
Edward Dean nodded. “That’s right.” But before I could ask anything else, he spun and hurried down the dank passage, the pad-pad of his footsteps echoing long after he was lost to sight.
“Well, of course he’s not the first one,” Jane said peevishly. “Not unless he’s about five hundred years old.”