There were empty rooms in one of the computer buildings. These werecompletely sealed to keep stray animal life out of the delicatemachinery. While Meta checked a bed-roll out of stores, Jason painfullydragged a desk, table and chairs in from a nearby empty office. When shereturned with a pneumatic bed he instantly dropped on it with a gratefulsigh. Her lip curled a bit at his obvious weakness.
"Get used to the sight," he said. "I intend to do as much of my work asI can, while maintaining a horizontal position. You will be my strongright arm. And right now, Right Arm, I wish you could scare me upsomething to eat. I also intend to do most of my eating in thepreviously mentioned prone condition."
Snorting with disgust, Meta stamped out. While she was gone, Jasonchewed the end of a stylus thoughtfully, then made some careful notes.
After they had finished the almost-tasteless meal he began the search.
"Meta, where can I find historical records of Pyrrus?"
"I've never heard of any ... I really don't know."
"But there has to be something--_somewhere_," he insisted. "Even if yourpresent-day culture devotes all of its time and energies to survival,you can be sure it wasn't always that way. All the time it wasdeveloping, people were keeping records, making notes. Now where do welook? Do you have a library here?"
"Of course," she said. "We have an excellent technical library. But I'msure there wouldn't be any of _that_ sort of thing there."
Trying not to groan, Jason stood up. "Let me be the judge of that. Justlead the way."
* * * * *
Operation of the library was completely automatic. A projected indexgave the call number for any text that had to be consulted. The tapewas delivered to the charge desk thirty seconds after the number hadbeen punched. Returned tapes were dropped through a hopper and refiledautomatically. The mechanism worked smoothly.
"Wonderful," Jason said, pushing away from the index. "A tribute totechnological ingenuity. Only it contains nothing of any value to us.Just reams of textbooks."
"What _else_ should be in a library?" Meta sounded sincerely puzzled.
Jason started to explain, then changed his mind. "Later we will go intothat," he said. "Much later. Now we have to find a lead. Is it possiblethat there are any tapes--or even printed books--that aren't filedthrough this machine?"
"It seems unlikely, but we could ask Poli. He lives here somewhere andis in charge of the library--filing new books and tending themachinery."
The single door into the rear of the building was locked, and no amountof pounding could rouse the caretaker.
"If he's alive, this should do it," Jason said. He pressed theout-of-order button on the control panel. It had the desired affect.Within five minutes the door opened and Poli dragged himself through it.
Death usually came swiftly on Pyrrus. If wounds slowed a man down, theever-ready forces of destruction quickly finished the job. Poli was theexception to this rule. Whatever had attacked him originally had done anefficient job. Most of the lower part of his face was gone. His left armwas curled and useless. The damage to his body and legs had left himwith the bare capability to stumble from one spot to the next.
Yet he still had one good arm as well as his eyesight. He could work inthe library and relieve a fully fit man. How long he had been draggingthe useless husk of a body around the building, no one knew. In spite ofthe pain that filled his red-rimmed, moist eyes, he had stayed alive.Growing old, older than any other Pyrran as far as Jason had seen. Hetottered forward and turned off the alarm that had called him.
When Jason started to explain the old man took no notice. Only after thelibrarian had rummaged a hearing aid out of his clothes, did Jasonrealize he was deaf as well. Jason explained again what he searched for.Poli nodded and printed his answer on a tablet.
_there are many old books--in the storerooms below_
Most of the building was taken up by the robot filing and sortingapparatus. They moved slowly through the banks of machinery, followingthe crippled librarian to a barred door in the rear. He pointed to it.While Jason and Meta fought to open the age-incrusted bars, he wroteanother note on his tablet.
_not opened for many years, rats_
Jason's and Meta's guns appeared reflexively in their hands as they readthe message. Jason finished opening the door by himself. The two nativePyrrans stood facing the opening gap. It was well they did. Jason couldnever have handled what came through that door.
He didn't even open it for himself. Their sounds at the door must haveattracted all the vermin in the lower part of the building. Jason hadthrown the last bolt and started to pull on the handle--when the doorwas _pushed_ open from the other side.
* * * * *
Open the gateway to hell and see what comes out. Meta and Poli stoodshoulder to shoulder firing into the mass of loathsomeness that boiledthrough the door. Jason jumped to one side and picked off the occasionalanimal that came his way. The destruction seemed to go on forever.
Long minutes passed before the last clawed beast made its death rush.Meta and Poli waited expectantly for more, they were happily excited bythis chance to deal destruction. Jason felt a little sick after thesilent ferocious attack. A ferocity that the Pyrrans reflected. He saw ascratch on Meta's face where one of the beasts had caught her. Sheseemed oblivious to it.
Pulling out his medikit, Jason circled the piled bodies. Somethingstirred in their midst and a crashing shot ploughed into it. Then hereached the girl and pushed the analyzer probes against the scratch. Themachine clicked and Meta jumped as the antitoxin needle stabbed down.She realized for the first time what Jason was doing.
"Thank you," she said.
Poli had a powerful battery lamp and, by unspoken agreement, Jasoncarried it. Crippled though he was, the old man was still a Pyrran whenit came to handling a gun. They slowly made their way down therefuse-laden stairs.
"What a stench," Jason grimaced.
At the foot of the stairs they looked around. There _had_ been books andrecords there at one time. They had been systematically chewed, eatenand destroyed for decades.
"I like the care you take with your old books," Jason said disgustedly.
"They could have been of no importance," Meta said coolly, "or theywould be filed correctly in the library upstairs."
Jason wandered gloomily through the rooms. Nothing remained of anyvalue. Fragments and scraps of writing and printing. Never enough in onespot to bother collecting. With the toe of one armored boot, he kickedangrily at a pile of debris, ready to give up the search. There was aglint of rusty metal under the dirt.
"Hold this!" He gave the light to Meta and began scratching aside therubble. A flat metal box with a dial lock built into it, was revealed.