Over the next week, we made fantastic strides and discovered more about Tripods.

We figured out that a group of two or three people operating the pedals in a rhythm could walk a Tripod reasonably well. It helped if the people were tall enough to see out the porthole. It took us a while – and a few arguments – to figure out which people worked best with each other, because they had to think with one mind, and agree on their speed and direction. I was too short to really make an effective walker (and, to be honest, probably too argumentative).

Three people dropped out of the program right away because a Tripod's rocking motion made them extremely seasick. I was sad to see that Nicolas was one. It chafed him to drop out, but he told me a few minutes was all he could take before he had to be sick, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Even though we hadn't figured out all the controls, Andre and the scientists were confident we soon would, so they decided a Tripod crew should consist of six or seven people. We had enough people to form six crews, which we did quickly, and we numbered our crews one through six. Fritz, naturally, was named captain of Crew 1. Each crew took ownership of its assigned Tripod. Those of us who weren't walkers had little to do at first.

Eloise and I were in Crew 3, and Jan was our captain. Our walkers were Johann, Sebastian, and Heloise, and our seventh crew member was Miguel. It was interesting having an Eloise and a Heloise, and a Jan and a Johann, in the same crew. We got a laugh out of that, and sometimes had to speak someone's name clearly to avoid confusion. We eventually addressed Eloise and Heloise as simply E and H.

In each Tripod, as promised, the radio was covered. The scientists had pasted a wooden bowl upside-down over the radio controls, then covered that bowl with a small section of canvas which was also pasted to the control panel along the canvas's entire edge.

Operating the airlock to get to the smaller chamber was a simple thing to figure out. We kept calling the smaller chamber the human room because that was its original purpose. The scientists didn't really like that name, but no one had a better one, so it stuck. We learned how to open the human room's outer hatch from the control panel. But no one in the human room could open either its inner door or its outer hatch, as it was intended as a prison.

From the start, we had two main worries. First, we didn't know how to open the control room hatch while the Tripod was undocked, so if a crew got into trouble, they would be isolated; if they escaped through the human room and left the control room completely vacant, they would never be able to re-enter the control room without cutting equipment. Second, if the walkers messed up and caused their Tripod to fall – and if anyone survived such a fall – no one knew if, or how, the crew could right it again. Because of these worries, our training and experiments were strictly controlled.

I remarked once that being inside a falling Tripod would definitely be painful. Francois gave me a funny look and said, "Not for more than a moment."

"We'd be pretty banged up, but the dome would mostly protect us," I said.

"No," he said, very deliberately. "It's the fall that kills you. You would hit the inside of the control room instead of the ground, but the result would be exactly the same."

I had to confess I hadn't thought of it that way. It forced me to re-examine how much danger Andre, Beanpole, and I had been in when I had walked the Tripod.

Crew 1 took Andre and a couple of scientists on a full exploration of the Hall of Tripods. (They didn't need a Tripod to do that, but it certainly made the job a whole lot faster.) They found that the Hall did indeed circumnavigate the city. They counted over a hundred docked Tripods.

The scientists figured out the intercom system, so we didn't need the bell any more.

Francois figured out the controls to operate the powerful search lamp. It was unbelievably bright. But we didn't use it because, even if they would eventually let us take a Tripod out of the city, Andre didn't want us walking the Tripods at night.

We accidentally discovered how to activate the Tripod's various calls, and discovered the hard way that when activated inside the Hall, they were ten times as loud and echoed for ages. A lot of people were upset when that happened. They were way more upset when it happened again.

We also discovered that when we pressed a certain button and talked into a microphone, a speaker outside the Tripod amplified our words so much that anyone within a quarter of a kilometer, at least, could hear us. The crews used this method to talk to each other – really, shout at each other, I guess – since we couldn't use the radio.

Research in the city control center and revival of the women in the Pyramid of Beauty both resumed, but only because we recruited people to control traffic. One person stood at a porthole on the upper level, another stood on the Hall floor, and they used flags to communicate. Anyone entering the city would tell the flagman on the floor. Anyone leaving the city would tell the ones who operated the docking controls, who used the intercom to tell the flagman on the upper level. This ensured everyone could continue their work in the city without fear of a Tripod stepping on them, or falling on them. This was another reason our training and experiments were strictly controlled.

The resumption of reviving the women caused consternation for Eloise. She felt an obligation, and a sense of sisterhood, to continue aiding that task. But the part of her which was eager to learn, and perhaps take a more proactive role, wanted to stay with her crew, and that's what she did.

Evelyn discovered the secret to seeing not only behind a Tripod, but beneath it. Each Tripod's rear had a device she called a video camera. A screen on the center console, just below the porthole, showed what was behind the Tripod. Another camera was positioned on the bottom center of the dome and showed what was directly beneath.

The scientists found it very puzzling that the Tripod had no camera pointing skyward.

Theoretically, the walkers could move the Tripod backward simply by using the rear view screen to see where they were going. I say theoretically because no one was permitted to do that, yet. "We need to master walking forward before we even think about walking backward," Beanpole said.

(A bizarre thing about the rear view screen: even though we knew exactly what it was, it was so easy, in an unguarded moment, to think of it as a porthole showing the forward view, even though the actual porthole showing the real forward view was directly above it! It was one of those bizarre tricks the mind plays sometimes.)

Each chamber in each Tripod had a small, black, reflective half-sphere attached to the inner wall, near the ceiling. These objects had seemed too trivial to pay attention to earlier, but after Evelyn discovered the external cameras, Silas realized – then confirmed – that each black half-sphere contained yet another camera. Then Francois figured out how to show the view from the human room's camera on the console. We found no mechanism to show the view from the control room's camera on the console, which wasn't surprising since it was the same room.

To have a camera in the human room was understandable, but the camera in the control room was puzzling. We couldn't figure out why the Masters felt it necessary to view the inside of a room they were already in, even if they'd been able to see it, which apparently they couldn't. Beanpole theorized that if a Tripod was in trouble, this camera might allow those in the city, or in another Tripod, to view what was happening inside it. We knew the invisible rays could carry images, so this sounded plausible.

On the third day of training, Crew 3 became the first to drive a Tripod outside the city. (Julius cleared everyone from our path.) Beanpole, Francois, and Silas were with us.

The moment we stepped foot outside the gate, a screen in the center console lit up with a moving map! It showed our location, the city's location, and the surrounding countryside. By touching the screen in certain places, we could expand or shrink the map, and assign a destination to which the Tripod would walk by itself! It was incredible! Beanpole was beside himself with ecstasy over such a monumental piece of technology. Hours later, it was almost impossible to tear him away from his new toy, but the rest of us were hungry and needed to return.

We slowly learned more about the Tripod's ability to walk itself, which the scientists called autopilot. But they emphatically stressed that we absolutely could not use it without supervision and coordination, because it held hidden dangers. First, the autopilot probably wouldn't care if it stepped on someone. Second, the scientists weren't sure if the autopilot was smart enough to prevent Tripods from colliding, and there was no way to test this safely.

We discovered a stop button on the right console. When activated, it halted the autopilot immediately. But even with this discovery, the scientists still didn't want to test whether the autopilot could avoid a collision with another Tripod. It was far too risky.

Oddly, one of the biggest dangers we faced was falling. Not the Tripod falling to the ground – although that was certainly a danger, too – but we as people falling to the floor of the control room. Each crew furnished their Tripod with a few small crates to stand on so we could see out the portholes. But we discovered it's harder than one would think to stand on a crate while a Tripod rocked with the motion of walking. That was a new skill we had to master.

A team was able to move the Tripod we had broken into with the bomb away from the gate, as its battery still had a charge. But its hatch was a twisted mess of jagged metal and its control room still wasn't truly clean, which meant we couldn't use it, so we parked it outside the city, by the wall and some distance from the gate. Those who drove this Tripod to its final resting place slid down a rope when they were finished, then took a bath.

We still had the scaffold, and we put it to use. One of the towns upriver sent us a crude orange dye which we used like paint. One by one, we drove our Tripods to the scaffold, where a couple of people painted our crew number at four locations on the dome, so it could be read from any direction. This not only allowed us to tell which Tripod was which, it also reassured us that when we saw this Tripod walking around, it wasn't the enemy.

For that was the odd thing. Tripods had represented the implacable enemy for so long that looking up at an active one still inspired a primal terror. People took a while to get used to them.

 

One thing in particular about the inside of a Tripod puzzled me, but because my curiosity was rooted in a deeply personal experience, there was only one person I could really ask. On the fourth day of training, as we were walking back into the city after lunch, I finally managed to get a quick, private word.

"Beanpole, how did the grenade I threw into the Tripod kill it?" I asked quietly. "A steel wall separates the compartments, and a grenade can't get through that."

"I have often wondered this," Beanpole said. "Some day, I wish to know the answer."

 

The Erlkonig returned that evening. We gave Ulf his bell back, and he took my letter. He also brought news which, while not exactly bad, was not welcome: reports of our usage of Tripods had spread like wildfire.

We had all had a vague hope that we could keep the fact that we had commandeered Tripods a secret, in case we ever needed that element of surprise against the enemy. Also, we had all had a vague certainty that it couldn't be kept secret; we were training in the open, and communication and travel between Freetown and the towns upriver had increased greatly in the past two weeks.

But, according to Ulf, our usage of Tripods as potential weapons against their creators was so astonishing that no one could stop talking about it. He predicted that within a week, the entirety of Europe would probably know.

There was nothing we could do about it, but hopefully, it didn't matter anyway. I couldn't conceive of anyone willingly giving that information to the enemy, not even a selfish traitor, for what reward did the Masters offer? It was possible that someone who knew could be captured and forced to tell, by any variety of methods, but that was out of our control.

What disturbed us most was the fact that we still needed to keep secrets at all. That mysterious group of active Tripods in the south forced our continued need for discretion.

The lack of information was disturbing and frustrating. Where were these active Tripods, exactly? What were they up to? How many were there? Why could we not get any reliable intelligence about them?

And what about their air and water? Without a city to replenish those things, the Masters in those Tripods were doomed. But did that make them desperate? Those with nothing to lose can do terrible things. Had our scientists underestimated the length of time Masters could last inside a Tripod? Could those Masters improvise a way to extend their water and air? Or did it not matter because they had some devious plan?

I know Julius and the scientists were monitoring the situation, but without solid information, there was little they could do.

 

The following afternoon, Abner figured out how to open a Tripod's control room hatch even when it wasn't docked. This gave me enormous relief, which surprised me. I hadn't realized how afraid I was of being trapped inside a Tripod.

 

As I lay down to sleep that evening, Eloise came to her spot beside me. She was weeping a little, but didn't say a word as she arranged her blankets.

"May I ask what's wrong?" I said. I figured this was properly diplomatic, letting her know I wasn't pressuring her if she didn't want to say.

"It's Helga," she said, and sniffled. "She snidely remarked that I've abandoned my duty to the other women in the Pyramid of Beauty. I think she's even poison-talked Juanita against me."

I grimaced. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She shrugged. "It is what it is." She crawled into her blankets. "I was never close with the other girls at home. Now I am reminded why."

I kissed her hand and held it.

She rolled toward me and lay her head on my shoulder. She said, "The Lady of the Chateau is a lonely position, with brothers far away and no sisters. Elevated by birth above the other girls, I could never truly be friends with any of them. I never knew real friendship from my peers, or loyalty, or caring, or love, or devotion until you appeared in my life, Guillaume. You are the only one who never cared about my nobility. You and the others pulled me out of my prison because you care about me, not my title."

I held her tight. She took a deep breath and let it out.

"Your friends, Guillaume. Henry, Jean-Paul, and Fritz. You have a bond with them I wish to have. You share loyalty, and trust, and devotion. Each of you would go to the ends of the Earth for the others, your friendship as certain and dependable as a sunrise." Her voice broke a little. "I wish I had that. To belong to a group of people whose friendship is solid like a mountain, as unshakeable as the stars. To wake in the morning without wondering if your friends love you as much as they did the day before, always knowing in the back of your mind the day will come when they won't. I want to be friends with your friends, Guillaume."

"You already are." I kissed her head. "I promise you, Eloise – you have true friends now, and always will have. I don't even have to talk to them to know that."

We held each other tight, and she quietly cried herself to sleep.

She had nightmares, of course. But I think these nightmares were more about human hurts than alien ones.

 

In the morning, the scientists announced the sleeve lubricant wasn't harmful. Eloise and I immediately volunteered to learn how to use a Tripod's tentacles.

Each crew assembled in its Tripod with a scientist. Beanpole joined Crew 3.

Luckily, any tentacle operator too short to see out the porthole could stand on a crate. But we didn't need a crate today – at least, not in the control room. The only crate we needed today was far below.

Beanpole activated the bottom camera. The appropriate screen came to life, showing a large crate on the Hall floor directly beneath.

That large crate was the goal. There were spaces between its slats, so the aim was simply to slide the tentacle between the slats and lift the crate without damaging it.

Beanpole indicated a control in front of me. "This switch opens a small door to a chamber on the underside of the dome, near the camera." He flicked the switch. "All three tentacles come out of that chamber. These three switches -" he indicated three more immediately below the first "- deploy each of the three tentacles. A tentacle is either fully extended or fully retracted; there is no in between. While it's retracted, moving its sleeve doesn't accomplish anything. Which hole do you want to try first?"

Since I'm right-handed, I tapped the hole on the right. Beanpole flicked the right switch. On the screen, we saw a tentacle quickly lower to its full extent, and I was surprised at how fast it deployed. Its furthest thirty feet coiled on the floor before it stopped.

"Give it a try," Beanpole said.

Gingerly, I slid my arm into the hole, up to my shoulder. It felt properly disgusting. Watching the screen, I wiggled my arm. The base of the tentacle moved slightly, sending a few long, lazy waves down its length. I felt no resistance to my movement, as if the interior of the console was mostly hollow.

I moved my arm as far to the right as I could. The base of the tentacle also moved to the right, but the rest of it just hung there.

"As I feared," Beanpole murmured. "To manipulate the tip, we need to reach the tip."

"Let me try something," I said. Without removing my arm, I grabbed the sleeve and pulled on it, and, working it through my fingers, continued pulling. It bunched up in my hand and along my wrist. The tentacle quivered and jerked about. I finally reached what felt like the end, and moved it in a circular motion. The tip of the tentacle rose from the floor and partially followed my movement.

"Very good so far," Beanpole said. "Can you do anything else?"

I moved my entire arm around. The entire tentacle moved around slightly.

"Can you lift it?" Beanpole asked.

I pulled my arm up, but all that did was start to pull it out of the hole. I shoved my arm back in and pushed upward, but that just pushed up the base of the tentacle. I twisted my arm upside-down, pushed, and pulled any way I could.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to raise the tip, or get it off the ground," I finally said.

"Our arms are just too short, and don't bend the way they need to," Beanpole murmured, and again, I could see those wheels spinning in his head. His eyes penetrated the monitor as if he could bend the tentacle to his will. I knew in that moment Beanpole would solve the riddle of these tentacles; he would never rest until he conquered it.

"Let me see if the other crews are having any success," he said, and left.

I pulled my arm out of the sleeve, and we all grimaced at the slime on it. No one had anything to say. Beanpole returned ten minutes later and reported the same results in every Tripod.

"But on the way back, I was thinking," he said. "Will, pull the sleeve out entirely. Turn it inside-out and bring it out."

I did so. A white, meshy, slimy sleeve now extended from the console into the control room, like a long snake.

Beanpole picked it up near the end...and fifteen feet of the tentacle lifted from the floor!

Beanpole held the tip high with one hand. With his other hand held low, he did his best to shape the sleeve into an arc.

The tentacle lifted off the floor entirely, with its end arcing down before pointing upward.

"The sleeve just needs a full space to operate in!" Beanpole declared. "Inside-out, right-side-in, it doesn't matter!"

Grinning, and looking like a bizarre dancer making art with a ribbon, Beanpole moved the sleeve around into different shapes. The tentacle followed his every move. We all watched, enrapt. I grinned with pride at his brilliance, once again so very glad he was my friend.

Beanpole lowered the tentacle's tip to the crate, squinted at the screen, and said, "H, please tap the turquoise button next to the screen."

She did, and the image instantly showed the crate twice as close.

"Tap it again," Beanpole said.

The image showed the crate twice as close yet again. We could see it in fine detail.

Beanpole carefully maneuvered the tip through the crate's slats. He slipped twice before managing it. He bent the tip into a curl, but it was a sideways curl, and it slipped out of the crate again.

"Curse my hand-eye coordination!" he muttered.

"Patience," Eloise said. "It's not a race."

Beanpole relaxed and smiled, seeing the wisdom in her words. Doing it again carefully, he slid the tip between two slats again.

He said, "Will, I need both hands, so let me use your finger as a guide."

"I can do it," Eloise said.

Beanpole smiled. "Yes, but Will's hand is already covered with slime, so let's use him." To me, he said, "Put your finger above the tip of the sleeve. I will pretend your finger is the slat of the crate."

I held out my finger. Splitting his attention between my finger and the screen, Beanpole wrapped the tip of the sleeve snug around my finger. Far below, the tip of the tentacle wrapped snugly around the slat.

Beanpole held the loop in place and nodded that I could remove my finger. Then, breathing carefully, he raised the sleeve. Higher and higher.

The tentacle pulled the crate upward. Beanpole stopped when it was ten feet off the ground.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Beanpole shouted. "We have accomplished the goal!" And we all cheered.