The Trilisk Supersedure - By Michael McCloskey Page 0,2

here. The water you must have detected is from one of their cisterns.”

“What happened to them?”

The man shrugged. “It’s another mystery. Like so many other civilizations that fell into dust, on Earth and elsewhere.”

“If they’re gone, then what do you care about them?”

The man smiled. “The Konuan had their secrets,” he said. “Every race has its wisdom. Our sect seeks to collect these insights across all the intelligences in the galaxy. By examining the spiritual knowledge of every race, we can deduce the truths that bind them all together. The truths that are constants in the universe.”

Oh. He’s a buckle bulb. Thinks he can glean the meta information of the universe by studying the religious beliefs of all races everywhere.

“Their secrets probably died with them,” DeVries said, careful not to contradict the fanatic statements.

“There is one left. We serve it,” another of the men said.

DeVries looked at the others. Their faces were pinched and weathered. They did not move to deny the statement.

“We are its disciples,” echoed another man. He must have seen DeVries looking for repudiation.

Disciples?

“Whoa. You serve it? You’ve seen it?”

“Yes. You can, too, if you wish. It is amazing,” said a bald man, stepping forward carefully.

“What does it look like? Do you talk to it?”

“We’re still learning to communicate. It will be happy to see you, if you would like to join us. We can learn together.”

“I really just need some water…” DeVries hesitated; then his curiosity got the better of him. “What does it look like?” he asked again.

“You really need to see it for yourself. It can be the size of a man, but it’s thin. These vents all around,” the man pointed at the ceramic grille above, “are its doorways. It can easily move through them.”

DeVries considered the grille again. The spaces were tight. Only his arm could slip through one of the openings. If the creature could slip through there...

“It’s like an amoeba? Or is it…rigid? Really that thin?”

“The Konuan is like a moving carpet,” said the closest man. “Its underside has a thousand little legs scattered all across it. The top is covered with sensitive antennae and a fine fur.”

DeVries nodded. “Are you absolutely sure it’s intelligent? The space force wouldn’t have made this an open world if they knew there was a sentient creature here.”

“Judge for yourself,” the bald man said. “Stay and learn with us, if you like.”

DeVries felt the touch of fear in his gut when he considered the alien monster, the Konuan. Their description sounded kind of alarming. DeVries didn’t like the sound of a thin creature with countless legs on one side of a pancake-flat body. Still, he felt interested in it. He wouldn’t have come out to the edge of Terran space without a streak of wonder about the universe.

“Where? You know where it is?”

“Yes. Down below,” said the bald one. He pointed to a tunnel. The entrance was ringed in black vegetation. “Past the blackvines.”

DeVries stared at the blackvines. His face tightened into a frown. He had seen them once before since landing, growing in the formation that hid his ship. They didn’t sit there like proper plants, oblivious to everything around them except the sun. These things were always twitching and keening in response to a passerby or sending tendrils after alien vermin in a nearby crevice. They were presumably blind yet remained aware of things going on around them.

“All right. Are you coming?”

“I will accompany you,” the man said, stepping forward.

“You know what? I’d like to check it out myself. Thanks, though,” he said. DeVries often tried to avoid traps by doing the opposite of what someone he didn’t trust suggested.

Did they lead me into this? Is it a trap?

DeVries looked back at the disciples. They didn’t seem nervous. DeVries ran a program in his link. In a split second the link computer examined his cache of the last conversation and analyzed the strangers. The result was encouraging: no hostile intent detected.

DeVries’s hand briefly rested on his stunner.

No trap. I’m the predator here. These are sheep.

DeVries steeled himself to the blackvines and walked through.

The tunnel beyond felt truly ancient. Dust and bits of debris littered the smooth tile floor. His nose caught a new smell: a whiff of ammonia.

Maybe the aliens didn’t have bathrooms. No, that would be long gone by now. Probably the disciples have been pissing in here somewhere.

The tunnel opened into a large, square room. Like the rest of the place, it was carved from the dusty red rocks. A