The roots of the Mountain were not, as one might expect, in some dark underground chamber, oppressed by the weight of megatons of stone. Instead, the Four reappeared on a glittering and apparently endless plain composed of some smooth, metallic substance. It was, in fact, the immense circular plate composing the Backstage Disk’s bedrock, formed from the same congealed mana that made up the ringwalls and crosswalls of the Backstage Ring that delimited the edge of the Disk, topside. It was much more sophisticatedly processed, naturally, its function being support rather than containment, which explains why it looked more like the Teflon coating inside a frying pan than the coarse black stone of the ringwalls. And of course the Four were upside-down in relation to the topside; this being the Underside, gravity was reversed. The only features breaking the icy slickness of the glittering plain were the vast networks of gargantuan tubing converging on the Avatars’ present location from every direction, bending and plunging into the plain at a set distance from them, and perhaps a half mile further out a circle of what looked like water towers. The view was peculiarly similar to that from within Stonehenge.
At the very center of this megalithic-like circle of pipes a short, round pillar rose from the plain, to approximately waist-height. It was surmounted by a wheel, set horizontally atop an axle surmounting the pillar. Dwarfed by all the huge pipes, it would have seemed utterly insignificant if not for the dozen hulking, troll-like figures surrounding it, glaring outward in every direction. Aside from their size and extreme musculature, they closely resembled the Service Imps populating so many sectors of the topside Ring. An uninformed onlooker might have thought them statues, as they were composed of the same sparkling material as the plain itself. The Four knew better, as was only to be expected, for had they not created these creatures themselves? The Guardians were in fact animate, alert, and on constant watch against anything that might attempt to penetrate their cordon around the pillar.
The Four approached the nearest Guardian as a group. Its eyes followed them warily as they neared, but it showed no other reaction until they stopped, as one, and looked up.
“Barak,” said Owner. “The Four who made you seek access to the Tap, according to the Rule. We are united in this goal.”
The creature’s mouth opened, and it spoke: We recognize you, Masters. If your wills are in concert, according to the Rule, you may pass. If even one is in dissent, any who attempt to pass will be destroyed, according to the Rule. Are you in concert?
“I have said so,” said Owner.
“I concur,” said Deja Voodoo.
“And I,” said L.E.
“And I,” said MarkT, heavily.
All have spoken, in accordance with the Rule, intoned the statue, formally. In accordance with the Rule, all may pass. It stood aside, and the Four filed through the gap in the cordon thus opened, like rats scurrying about the feet of giants.
“These things always give me the creeps,” said L.E. nervously. “I still think giving them the power to destroy us was a mistake.”
“Why?” grumbled T. “Contemplating something extracurricular? That is exactly why we did give them that power; so no one of us could do anything in this place without the agreement of the others.”
“Just knowing there’s something, somewhere, that can do it is what bugs me!” L.E. shot back. “There should have been a better way!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, no arguing, please,” said Owner mildly. “You’re disturbing the natives. If they decide we are not in concert—” He let the sentence dangle. Indeed, there was hardly need to continue. Half the statues now had their attention focused inward, on them, with a gaze as implacable as it was ... anticipatory.
“Forget I said anything,” mumbled L.E.
“With pleasure,” T rejoined.
The Four gathered around the Tap, each seizing the rim of the wheel closest to him. “Ready?” asked Owner. “Then turn!”
And they turned, against increasing resistance, until the wheel would turn no more.
“There,” pronounced Owner, somewhat breathlessly. “The flow of mana is cut off. Already I can feel the replenishment of my power from the Crays slackening. I would suggest resolving your mission expeditiously, MarkT.”
T nodded curtly. “I shall. Enforced temperance is not a good feeling.”
“Do try to come back alive, T,” said L.E. spitefully. “We’ll have one hell of a time turning the spigot back on without you.”
The überAuthor drew himself up. “I am T,” he pronounced sententiously. “What could go wrong?”
“That,” said Deja Voodoo, “is exactly the kind of attitude that could get you killed.”
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Tue May 30 23:52:00 2006
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