The starchart corroborated the "Symbol of the Gods" to originate from Henly's own time, only as seen from another galaxy. The acquisition of Federation technology and Lord High's apparent skills to shield it from detection worried Henly. The panel was locked and expressed complaint via a series of staccato sounds.
"Your people's?" inquired Lord Myron.
Henly nodded. "Yes. He's restricted access by using a fractal algorythm."
"That word is not translating for me," said Myron in a low voice.
"Very, very intricate," remarked Henly.
"I'll settle for that."
They both smiled for a moment. The two men had taken their respective translators for granted.
"If he's so advanced, what need has he of the people of Neo Adapolis?"
"That's a good question Lord Myron. Is the town sitting on valuable metals?"
Myron pondered the question for a moment. "Not that I'm aware," he said, "what about transdimensional flight? He's been dabbling in all sorts of anomalies, and what of the Farnsworths? That certainly was a strange phenomenon, but to what purpose would whomever need to lure people away?"
"To what indeed..." Henly paused. "How much do you know about this console overall?"
Myron slowly orbited the panels. "I know basic usage as would most beyond their mid-teens," he said while staring at the interface," but some of the technology is strange, like there's something else where a switch or display would otherwise be." he fingered the wood near an illuminated sphere, which briefly changed hue when his flesh moved past. "But let me tell you something. This should NOT be out in the open like this. This is very wrong."
"The cabinets..."
"Operation is on another dimensional plane within the cabinets."
"Or sphere. What if there's no cabinet at your destination to exit from?"
Myron faced Henly. "Pardon?"
"Isn't that how it works? The cabinets are configured to take you into whomever's dimensional cockpit is keyed into that location at that moment?"
"What? No! Nothing of the sort! The cabinets are those which have arrived! They are not stationary beyond there being designated coordinates! If you look at your scanner," Lord Myron pointed to the camouflaged tricorder in Henly's hand, "you may catch that some may not be where they were and other new ones have popped up."
"I had been seeing that, but merely assumed these were cabinets in operation."
"They are always in operation, Mr. Henly."
"In other words this here is not contained and operated outside of the proper environment.
"Precisely."
"Isn't this a touch wreckless?"
"Bit of an understatement," Myron frowned.
"Unless of course this is intentional. After all, how could someone as revered and respected for their intellect set this up by accident?"
"The question is, how has he succeeded in creating this relativity console out here?"
"-And this close to getting it to perform its function - at the cost of a city."
"I wonder what he is using for power?" Lord Myron Half-squatted to take a look beneath the console. "That stairway to the basement...," he straightened.
Just then they heard the door downstairs shut. Henly and Myron both took to silent breathing. They froze, facing eachother. There was no further sound from below.
A guest? Perhaps a local official. Neither of them said a word.
Henly lifted his tricorder, set it to silent, and monitored movement in the foyer. He and Myron watched a dot on the schematic as it neared the boundaries of the building and beyond, followed by the distant echo of the door as it shut.
The two men exhaled hard.
Let's check below," whispered Henly.
They made their way down the narrow spiral of steps in the corner. Lord Myron decided to take a seat in the foyer as Henly continued down.
The piping from the console above had diverted to one side of the foyer, where a bookcase was placed to draw attention from it. In the dim light of an upright control panel, Henly examined rudimentary machinery the bottom-most level route to a glass tank of 2 meters by 2 filled with dark fluid. He held his tricorder up to it and - although similated, could not help but gasp at the readings.
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