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As Barry and Mendez stepped into the austere Planning Chamber, the six castaways immediately recognized the boy. Their relief and emotion broke through the eerie silence of the room while their voices echoed against the cavern walls as they rushed toward him.
"Man, it's good to see you in one piece!" Dan grinned as he strode forward. "You gave us a real scare."
"Oh, Barry!" Betty's eyes shined. "How are they treating you?" she asked in a warm and slightly shaky voice.
Mark, still alert but clearly relieved, said, "It's been hard to keep track of you, kid."
Valerie knelt slightly to get eye-level with him. "We were so worried. Don't ever do this to us again, all right?"
"Young man, you are grounded until the next century!" Fitzhugh blustered, clearly emotional. "And I mean that with the deepest affection, of course."
"Wait!" Steve said. He stepped close and looked at Barry critically. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Barry smiled and nodded. "I am now." He gave Mendez a quick look. "He hasn't.... well, he doesn't keep me under, now."
"There is no time for sentimentality." Mendez's voice cut through the conversation sharply and the seven castaways looked at him in surprise. Mendez was glaring at them. "Where is the special tool Barook spoke of?"
Fitzhugh stepped forward, chest puffed out, voice sharp with bluster and authority. “Oh, that tool? Yes, well—we have it, naturally. We're not fools, you know. But you won’t be getting your hands on it just because you ask nicely.” He folded his arms dramatically and lifted his chin. “We’re not about to hand over a device of that importance unless you tell us exactly why you want it, what you plan to do with it, and how it involves young Barry here!” He glanced at the boy protectively, then squared his shoulders toward Mendez again. “Those are our terms, sir. And we do expect answers.”
Mendez’s impassive mask cracked. His eyes flashed, and his voice, usually calm and measured, erupted with unexpected force—sharp, echoing off the stone walls of the Planning Chamber like a sudden thunderclap. “How dare you presume to dictate terms to me? Your arrogance blinds you! That ‘tool,’ as you so flippantly call it, may be the key to preserving all that remains of my people’s stability! And now—now, because of your suspicion and delay—” He whirled away from them, his robe flaring, then turned back, his voice rising to a cutting crescendo: “—You may have cost us the chance to prevent a catastrophe!"
"Hold it right there, Mendez," said Steve. "The last time we met, it wasn't exactly a love fest. Your bunch of killers tried to zap us in the old access tunnel. Why should we trust you?"
"You speak of trust," Mendez growled, his voice low and intense. "But you forget---you are guests in a world you do not understand. And mistrust, here, can be fatal. Not just for you.... but for all of us."
The castaways exchanged uneasy glances. Fitzhugh's face paled, his bravado shaken.
Barry stepped forward slowly, his small voice breaking the tense silence like a single drop in a still pond. "Please... don’t fight." His eyes shifted from Mendez’s rigid form to the castaways—his friends—who now seemed caught between pride and caution. "I know it’s hard. I didn’t trust him at first either." He took a step closer to Fitzhugh, looking up at the older man with pleading eyes. "Please, Mr. Fitzhugh. We have to trust him. Just this once. He’s not trying to hurt us—he’s trying to save his people. And maybe... help us too." He turned to the others, voice trembling with emotion. "If we turn our backs on him now, people down here could die. And we might not get another chance to make things right."
The castaways looked to one another—uncertain still but shaken by Barry’s heartfelt plea.
Steve gave the boy a searching look, then nodded brusquely to Mendez. "Okay, give us the bad news."
The Underfolker's eyes were shadowed, but his voice was strong and harsh with determination. "The entire civilization of the Underfolk is threatened.
"What do you mean?" Steve asked.
Mendez raised his hand and pointed at one of the smooth stone walls of the Planning Chamber. "Observe."
A beam of light sprang from each of his eyes, and the castaways reacted, jumping back---for all their previous experience with such light beams had been severely threatening. It was the beams from Mendez's eyes that had first struck down Steve and Dan; and it was those beams of exploding light, from other Underfolk, that had collapsed the access tunnel, almost killing the two.
But the light-beams were quite benign this time. As Mendez flashed his light over the wall, the flat surface seemed to melt. The three astronauts could see what seemed to be a 3D "model" of the entire Underfolk complex, from the mountains above to the myriad passages and the vast cavern containing the Chair of Power; and from the huge multi-tiered converter that could go up into the desert air and bring in almost unlimited power from the atmosphere to many other rooms. At the very bottom was a cavern that housed the reactor. Mendez now caused the light to dim all over the complex "model" except the area of the nuclear reactor.
The leader spoke, his voice impatient as he brought the castaways up to date. "We chose this place for our central complex because of the many natural caverns. We expanded and altered some, drilled new passages, created a whole new world. We placed our first power source---the nuclear reactor---at the bottom level. As you know, after we had built the main ion power generator, this reactor was kept active as a backup power plant, for emergencies and for certain experimentation.
A red glow began to grow in the area underneath the deepest portion of the Below World. A line of red was starting to rise toward the Underfolk's caverns. It had meandered and changed course but had risen steadily until it was almost touching the reactor room.
"There was a volcano far off," Mendez continued. "It created this complex of caverns to start with. It was thought to be long extinct...."
“Only it wasn’t extinct after all,” Dan broke in briefly, studying the red finger of lava.
Mendez’s voice dropped to a grave, almost reverent tone, as if narrating the slow unraveling of a long-kept secret. “The burning river of molten rock has risen through an ancient flue,” he said. “A passage carved eons ago by volcanic gases when the mountain above was alive with fire. But the main vent for that gas passage is now sealed—blocked aboveground, perhaps by centuries of collapse. The pressure has nowhere else to go. So now the lava seeks another path. It has begun to flood our lower caverns, eating the bedrock away with slow persistence. It is patient… but it will not stop."
The castaways watched the spot where the red glow reached the top of the flue, pressed against the blockage, then sough other outlets. It had begun to eat its way into the reactor room.
"You see the problem?" Mendez said. "If the lava eats its way through the floor of the reactor room, the whole thing will explode."
"Close it down!" Steve exclaimed. "Move the radioactive material away from there!"
Mendez nodded. "We are doing that. But you can't turn off a reactor like a light bulb. It takes time. It takes much care. It must be done properly---or you'll have the explosion you sought to avoid."
"But...." Steve began.
"We don't have time, you see. The new lava flow was not detected until less than two days ago. We weren't even sure then that it would be going in the direction it did until last night. The flow was then quickly diverted into some empty caverns by exploding some rather thin walls. But the rate of flow has increased. The caverns are filled---and we've lost our lead!"
The Underfolk leader seemed to age before their eyes. "If---if that lava explodes the reactor, it might----just might---set off a chain reaction that could mean the end of the entire world."
A stunned silence followed. Then Steve stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "You're saying the reactor is that unstable? That critical?"
Mendez nodded. "It was designed to harness nuclear energy in volumes even surface nations had not dared to attempt."
Betty, visibly shaken, looked between Steve and Mendez. "But what can we do? We're not nuclear engineers."
Dan crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "I flew suborbitals, not managed molten lava. You've got a whole civilization down here----don't you have scientists of your own?"
Mendez, steady now but grave, replied: "Most of our technicians were trained in maintenance---interpretation of controls, monitoring outputs. Few understand the deeper structures. They've lived under my guidance for generations, trusting in systems they no longer truly understand."
Mark scoffed bitterly. "So basically, your entire civilization is running on faith and muscle memory. That's comforting."
Valerie, calmer, touched Mendez's arm. "But why us? Why now?"
Mendez turned, making eye contact with each of them. "You have a laser drill. It was made--I understand from Barook---to cut through nearly anything. We have nothing precisely like it, nothing so powerful. But if your laser can cut a new path through the rock---a path that will allow the lava to escape----" Mendez stopped, then straightened his back. "Our civilization is in your hands."
As Mendez finished speaking and a tense silence hung in the chamber, Fitzhugh suddenly stepped forward, shoulders squared, chin raised dramatically. "And let’s not forget one extremely important detail, sir!" he barked, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. "That special tool you’re all pinning your hopes on—that laser drill?" He jabbed a finger toward Mendez. "I built that with my own hands—from scrap, no less! Ingenuity, improvisation, and no small amount of genius! You wouldn’t have it at all if not for me."
The other castaways turned, more surprised at the outburst than the facts.
Fitzhugh’s tone dropped, but it didn’t lose its edge. "So if you’re asking us to risk everything to stop your reactor from turning this planet into cosmic dust, then you’d best remember whose invention you’re placing at the heart of your salvation." He stared Mendez down for a long moment. Then, with a dramatic gesture, he stepped aside and declared: "It’s in your hands, Mr. Mendez."
Mendez, his voice low and controlled, simply asked, "And what, precisely, do you mean by that, Mr. Fitzhugh?"
Fitzhugh drew himself up, eyes blazing. “I mean, Mendez, that if we use my laser drill to save your reactor and your entire hidden civilization—then Barry Lockridge leaves with us. No illusions. No negotiations. He goes free.”
"And none of your sneaky tricks of pulling him back, like you did the last time!" Dan added.
Mendez looked stunned. His eyes went to Barry. "Barook....leave? But the prophecy that Barook would someday lead us back to our rightful place above..." His voice faltered and the picture on the wall died.
The castaways stared at Mendez, the weight of his words sinking in like a sudden chill.
Steve took a step forward, voice firm but even. “So that’s it. You’d risk everything—your people, your future—because of a prophecy?”
Betty's eyes flashed. “He's just a boy, Mendez. He’s not some relic from your mythology.”
Dan crossed his arms, incredulous. “You’d let your whole world go up in smoke because some ancient scroll says Barry’s your messiah?”
Mark scoffed. “Prophecies didn’t build those machines we saw. Science did. Maybe it’s time you listened to it.”
Valerie looked between Mendez and Barry, her voice quieter but cutting. “Is your prophecy more important than his life? Than all your lives?”
The Underfolker hesitated, his face twisted with rising emotion. His nostrils flared and his voice stormed. "No!" He threw up his arm in a defiant gesture. "I will not release him! Even if you save us, without Barook my people have no hope!"
And Fitzhugh—never one to miss drama—raised his chin. “Well, if that’s the choice… perhaps your prophecy deserves to be buried under a few million tons of lava.”
Steve Burton shook his head. "Mendez, you are the most pig-headed...."
"Wait!"
Barry stepped around Dan, his brown eyes going from one castaway to another, his expression one of pleading. Then he turned to the Below World potentate. "Mendez, if you let me go free, I promise I'll come back when you need me."
Valerie stepped forward quickly, her voice taut with worry. “Barry, no! You don’t know what they have----”
"Valerie, I have to do it this way. Mendez, it's the only way....if you trust me."
The seven castaways watched as emotions chased each other across Mendez's harsh face. He pondered the question with heavy frustrations showing, then finally burst into speech. "All right!" He drew himself up slowly. "Very well. You will be free to go. But now---hurry!"
Mendez's finger pointed at the wall as the beams of light emanated through his eyes. The castaways looked "through" the wall and saw into Mendez's room; the arrow of the monitor was quivering well into the red of the "Danger" zone.
"Even now, it is almost too late," Mendez's voice was hollow, tinged with the gloom of defeat.
There was a long silence after Mendez’s bleak words. The chamber seemed to grow colder, heavier with the weight of what might come.
Then Steve took a step forward, his jaw set. “We didn’t survive this long by giving up when it got hard,” he said firmly. “We’ll get the laser.”
Dan gave a grim nod. “We’ve handled worse than lava and a collapsing mountain. Just point us in the right direction.”
Betty’s eyes moved to Barry, then to Valerie. “We have to try—for all of us. For the people down here… and the people up there.”
Mark cracked his knuckles, tension bleeding into bravado. “What’s the worst that could happen? Reactor meltdown, global extinction—sounds like a Tuesday.”
Fitzhugh adjusted his jacket and sniffed indignantly. “And my invention better be exactly where we left it. I didn’t build it with my own two hands just for it to get buried under lava.”
Valerie, quieter but resolute, added, “Then let’s move. Standing here won’t save anyone.”
Steve looked back to Mendez. “We’ll retrieve the laser. But after that—we talk. All of us. No more secrets.”
They turned toward the door as one, their mission clear, the danger very real—but their resolve just as fierce.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQYWu1R5ipw
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The gorilla patrol came to a halt, and nobody moved until the cloud of dust had settled. Then the gorillas, stiff with hours of riding over rough ground, got out to stretch.
"Sergeant, sir, how long will our rest stop last? When do we depart again?"
The black-furred sergeant looked up from his map, his frown pinning the soldier. "Decius, when in the name of Galen are you going to learn to talk like everyone else?" His gruff voice savagely mimicked the uncomfortable private: "Ser-geant, when do we depart again...?" The burly gorilla noncom snorted. "Great sniveling humanoids! In rawther less than fifteen minutes," he drawled. "Get out of my sight, Decius!"
Decius shuffled away, sullen and resentful. Why does Sergeant Krax always pick on me? he wondered. Just because I'm 1/4 chimpanzee is no reason to act as if I'm a humanoid or something. I can't help it, can I?"
The disconsolate private looked around, then padded toward a nearby pile of rocks. Maybe I can squat down there, out of sight, and have a little peace for once, he thought glumly.
Decius climbed over the lower rocks, found himself a spot, and sat down, setting his rifle against a boulder.
He watched the patrol resting itself. Graxus, Ethar, and Kang were gambling on the tailgate of the truck, out of sight of Sergeant Krax. Corporal Tork was looking at the engine of the second jeep, and Theka and Tritor were trading jokes. The rest were lying in whatever shade they could find, except for Modo, who was snoozing in the sun.
Decius sighed. He didn't care much for the army, though he never spoke of this to anyone, not even to his parents. A gorilla was supposed to like the army, and not liking it made Decius different. He cursed his chimpanzee grandmother, who had fallen in love with his gorilla grandad and eloped to Alvah Province with him. His mixed background had to account for his dislike of the army.
Of course, he liked to watch a lot of the TV shows that his fellow recruits hated. "Chimp shows," they called them derisively. But Decius liked "Exploring Our World" and the intellectual comedy "Living with Grumpo" much better than "Bloodsports," or The Growler's "Tales of Gorilla Force Ten," both of which dealt with the old humanoid hunts.
Decius shook his head. He just couldn't understand the fun of watching humanoids being torn limb from limb by a toothed biter beast, or the endless statistics of body counts after battles.
Just kill 'em quick and clean, he thought, and....
Decius saw something in the rocks: a glint of metal.
The black-furred soldier looked down at the patrol's three vehicles. Everyone was as before. Decius looked again at the rocks. Yes, it was a gleam of some kind of metal, or something shiny. If he hadn't been sitting away from the others, just where he was, he would never have spotted it.
He rose, taking his rifle, and walked a few steps; then he squatted down and saw that someone had piled stones on top of whatever it was in order to hide it. The gorilla private set down his rifle and started moving the rocks away.
Below, Sergeant Krax heard the rumblings of falling stone and looked up to see Decius flinging rocks around. The sergeant groaned. First Decius had refused to torture a living humanoid. Next, he wanted to start a company garden so they could raise their own fruits and vegetables. Then, he had gotten together a party to attend a performance given by some kind of chimp dance troupe. Krax shook his head, watching the young gorilla rolling rocks around on the hill. He narrowed his eyes as he approached. “What are you doing, Decius?” he demanded.
The sergeant saw Decius suddenly reach down into the rocks and come up with something shiny.
Decius straightened, holding up the shiny object he’d just pulled from the rubble. “I found something—look!”
Krax glanced down at the screwdriver, unimpressed. “You’re throwing rocks around like a child and wasting time... for this?”14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡliUdvDuNmE
On the hill, the private cradled the strange tool carefully in his gloved hands. Decius furrowed his brow, mirroring his sergeant’s puzzlement. Why would someone leave an ordinary screwdriver out here in the barren desert? The question hung heavy between them, unanswered and unsettling.
Sergeant Krax narrowed his eyes but gave a grudging nod. “I guess we could always use a screwdriver if our vehicles give us trouble. I’ll let it slide this time—provided you bring that thing back on the double.”
Decius frowned, turning the screwdriver over in his gloved hands. “Wait a minute... these buttons—what are they for?” He pressed one cautiously. A faint hum emitted from the tool.
Sergeant Krax barked, “Cut it out, Decius! Quit wasting time fiddling with toys and keep your eyes---!”
A ruby-red beam flashed out and sliced a nearby rock in two. Startled, Decius jerked around. Another rock, barely touched, exploded.
"What!" Decius stared with astonishment as the flaring red beam continued to cut through the air toward the patrol vehicles.
"No, Decius....!"
The second jeep was hit, and its radio antenna neatly sliced off before the private took his finger off the trigger.
Sergeant Krax was staring at the fallen whip antenna. "That could've been my head," he said softly. "DECIUS!"
"Yes, Sergeant Krax?"
"Come down here! Bring that----screwdriver! Only don't touch any buttons! You hear me?"
"Yes, Sergeant Krax, I hear you, Sergeant Krax."
The entire patrol watched as Decius brought the bizarre device down from the slope. The sergeant gestured to Corporal Tork. "You and Ethar, get that thing away from him!"
The two took the device from the stunned Decius, and Sergeant Krax carefully set it down on the hood of the jeep and examined it.
Krax shook his head sharply. "That’s no ordinary screwdriver. This is a concealed weapon—plain and simple. It’s not about what it does; it’s about who made it and why. Tork!"
"Yes, sergeant!"
"Radio headquarters! Tell them to inform General Urko we've found something and are bringing it in."
"Oh, sergeant, sir?"
"Yeah, Decius?"
"Do you think you could find time to tell the general that it was I who found it?"
Krax nodded. "Damn right I'll tell 'im, Decius. Right after you replace that antenna out of your paycheck!"
Decius saddened. "I---I just wanted him to know I was fulfilling my responsibilities."
"Fill---your what?" Krax sputtered. Sarcasm replaced anger in his voice as he added, "Oh, he knows, Decius, he knows. I get a call from him every day. 'How's Decius doing?' he asks."
"Really, sergeant?"
"Every day, Decius. Except his mother's birthday and Ceaser Day. Honest, Decius."
Decius nodded. But nothing had changed. They still didn't like him.
