“There is an obvious door,” Master Fandarel remarked. He started to move in front of them, then paused and gestured for the two younger people to continue.
Jancis shot Piemur a look of wretched consternation, but he just grinned at her, squeezing her hand. “You found it—you get to see it first!”
The hall was wide enough for all of them to stand abreast at the reinforced wall. The door had a knob, and when Jancis declined to touch it, Piemur had no hesitation. It took all his strength to turn it, for time and dust had clogged the mechanism, but with both hands and a mighty effort, he disengaged the latch. The door did not open inward, as he had half expected, but outward.
“There is little dust on this floor,” the smith remarked, peering over their heads at the scene in front of them.
“There’s a red light on a cupboard,” Piemur observed, feeling his skin crawl with amazement.
“And more light!” Jancis said in a timorous voice.
“In fact, the whole place is lighting up,” Piemur added, feeling his feet rooted in the doorway as strange and unfamiliar sensations coursed through him. This place had not been emptied. He had never seen such cabinets and closets before, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were right for this room. For once, the brash young harper was touched with awe and reverence. This was just the sort of place they had all been hoping to find.
“The red light illuminates letters,” Master Robinton said in a hushed voice as he looked over Jancis’s shoulder.
“Remarkable, truly remarkable!” The Smith’s voice was no less reverent.
The growing light made visible some of the details within the room: the worktables on either side of the door, and the two high stools neatly placed under them. On the wall opposite the door was a large framed surface, tinted slightly green, with little red letters blinking on and off in the lower left-hand side. A chair, on a pedestal with five spokes in its base, stood in front of it and the slanting workspace. It seemed unadorned until Piemur noticed the regular squares—lighter in color than the surrounding surface—set in ranks and odd-looking protruberances in a series of rows to the right. Above them, to the right of the screen, were slots and more dial faces, one of which showed a steady green light and a needle swinging slowly from the left to a central position.
The red lights, which read panels charging, stopped blinking and settled to a firm color that gradually changed to green as the lighting—from whatever mysterious source it emanated—continued to brighten. Suddenly a quiet blip startled all of them, and a new message blazed from the left-hand corner: AIVAS FUNCTION RESUMED.
“That corner says ‘AIVAS,’ “Piemur said excitedly, pointing to the obvious.
Robinton had turned to view the corridor walls and recognized familiar artifacts. “Charts,” he said.
“Please state ID and access code! Your voiceprints are not on record.”
The voice startled all of them, and Jancis clutched at Piemur.
“Who said that?” Fandarel demanded, his voice booming in the confines of the room.
“State ID and access code, please!” The voice repeated, sounding slightly louder.
“That’s not a human voice,” Master Robinton said. “It has no real resonance, no inflection, no timbre.”
“State the reason for this intrusion.”
“Do you understand what he’s saying, Master Robinton?” Piemur asked. The words sounded familiar, but the accent was too strange for him to comprehend the meaning.
“I have the feeling that I ought to,” the Harper admitted ruefully.
“Unless ID and access codes are given, this facility will close down. Its use is restricted to Admiral Paul Benden…”
“Benden, it said Benden!” Piemur cried excitedly.
“…Governor Emily Boll…”
“Boll, that’s another recognizable word,” Robinton said. “We recognize the words ‘Benden’ and ‘Boll.’ We do not understand what you are trying to tell us.”
“…Captain Ezra Keroon…”
“Keroon. It knows Keroon. Do you know Telgar?” The Smith could not contain himself any longer. “Surely it must know Telgar.”
“Telgar, Sallah, married to Tarvi Andivar, later known as Telgar in memory of his wife’s sacrifice…”
“All I understand is ‘Telgar,’ ” Fandarel said. He raised his voice unthinkingly, in a frustrated attempt to encourage comprehension. “Telgar, we understand. Keroon we understand—that’s another big hold. Boll is a Hold; Benden is a Hold. Do you understand us?”
There was a long pause and they all watched with complete fascination as a range of symbols and, occasionally, letters rippled across the panel in front of them, accompanied by a variety of sounds, mainly blips and beeps and odd whirrings.
“Did I say something wrong, Robinton?” Fandarel asked, his voice an awed whisper again.
“Are you all right down there?” Master Esselin’s plaintive query reached them where they stood bunched together in the doorway.
“Of course we are,” Fandarel bellowed back to the Master miner. “Clear those windows. Let some light in. Glammie has my diagrams. Work from that and leave us alone!”
“New letters,” Piemur said, digging the Mastersmith in the ribs to attract his attention. “Running … Running? E…M…E…R…G…E…N…”
“Emergency,” the harper guessed before the C and Y appeared. He grinned with pleasure.
“P-R-O-G-R-A-M—program? The words we understand, but what do they mean?” Piemur asked.
“The lights are quite bright now,” Fandarel said cheerfully. “Very curious.” He stepped inside the room, his initial surprise having worn off, and the others followed hastily. “There are buttons on the wall.” He flicked one, and a soft whirring noise began. The fine film of dust on the floor began to shift: the closeness of the air freshened. Fandarel flicked the button again, and both the noise and the stirring of air ceased. He flicked it on again, murmuring happily to himself. “Well, this aivas of yours is an ingenious creature,” he commented, smiling down at Jancis. “And efficient.”
“We still don’t know what an aivas is!” Piemur remarked.
“AIVAS is an acronym for Artificial Intelligence Voice Address System,” the voice intoned. “To be precise, a Mark 47A, programmed to interface the main computer storage banks of the Yokohama and the settlement on Pern.”
“Pern—I understood Pern,” Robinton said. Then, enunciating very clearly and projecting his rich baritone voice, he added, “From where are you speaking, aivas?”
“This system is programmed for voice address. State your name. Please.”
“It sounds testy, but I think I’m getting the hang of its accent. My name is Robinton. I am Masterharper of Pern. This is Fandarel, who is Mastersmith in Telgar Hold. With us are Journey woman Jancis and Journeyman Piemur. Do you understand me?”
“Lingual shifts have occurred, Robinton. Modification of the language program is now required. Please continue to speak.”
“Continue to speak?”
“Your speech patterns will be the basis for the modification. Please continue to speak.”
“Well, Masterharper, you heard it,” Piemur said, rapidly recovering his composure. “Here, sit down.” He pulled the chair from under the desk, brushed the seat off, and made a flamboyant gesture.
Master Robinton looked aggrieved as he sat. “I always thought the Harper Hall had succeeded very well in keeping the language pure and unadulterated.”
“Oh, aivas just doesn’t understand us!” Piemur murmured reassuringly.” Everyone understands you. That thing,” he said, airily dismissing the aivas, “doesn’t even use words we know.”
“This is all very interesting,” Fandarel said, peering at every surface, poking a finger into the slots, and cautiously touching the various knobs, buttons, and toggles. “Very interesting. Much less dust has filtered into this room. No doubt due to the tile layer.”