The Humanoids- The Complete Tetralogy

by Jack Williamson

  It struck him that he must report to Cyra and his father. He found a holo booth and dialed their borrowed villa. For a long time there was no answer. Cyra came on at last, looking ravaged and deathly.

  “Keth, don’t!” Her hushed voice was desperate. “You’ll give us away.”

  “I’m at a public booth—”

  “They’re smarter than you are.”

  “What have they done to the Navarch and—”

  “Euphoride, maybe.”

  “What can we—”

  “Try to hide. Wait for a chance.”

  “Can I—”

  “Get rid of your compass, where they won’t find it.”

  “I want to help—”

  “What can you do?” Her whisper rasped with savage scorn. “They’ll be everywhere. They know everything. They can do anything.”

  “Tell my father—”

  “Get off the line—now! Don’t call again. We won’t be here.”

  Her haggard image winked out. Stumbling away from the booth, he tried to understand. They must be as utterly stunned as he was. When the humanoids came swarming down from space, Bridgeman Greel’s reluctant aid would surely end; he might even turn them in. There is nothing left for them to do, certainly nothing he could do for them.

  Yet he felt a bitter need for his father’s sternly silent courage and her own warm wisdom. He had lost them, just when he was coming to know them. To prove his love, all he could do was avoid them. The unfairness of it rankled.

  It was late when he got back to his own shabby tunnel, now nearly deserted. Cyra’s terse warning had left him afraid of a trap, but he had to do something about the tachyon compass. Breathless, gripping the tiny weapon she had made him, he pushed inside. The room was empty, the holo flashing. He punched for the message.

  “Keth, darling!” It was Chelni. Her hair looked darker and sleeker and longer, her eager eyes brighter. Aglow with that radiant joy the humanoids somehow ignited, she had never seemed so lovely. “I must see you, dear. Come to me at Vara Vorn. Hurry, won’t you?”

  He replayed it twice, uncertain what to make of such an unreserved invitation. In all their lifetime of friendship, she had never quite forgotten that he was not a Vorn, had never seemed so freely unrestrained, never so eager to see him.

  His heart was suddenly thumping. Though he had already heard far too much about the mechanical enchantments of the humanoid universe, her burnished beauty had seized his emotions. The weariness of the long day forgotten, he pried a ventilator grill off the wall and pushed the compass up the duct and out of sight. The grill replaced, he changed his shirt and rode the tube to Meteor Gap.

  The great winter gates of Vara Vorn stood open wide as if to welcome him.

  Outside the medallioned summer gates, he paused again. A breath of apprehension brushed him, but he drew his shoulders straight and then touched the bell.

  “Darling!”

  Chelni herself came darting out through the tall silver doors, looking taller than he recalled her, her firm chin not quite so stubborn, her eager face more vivid. In a sheer scarlet lounging robe more daring than she had ever worn, her figure seemed finer, her ripe breasts higher.

  He stood breathless, caught by her new allure.

  “Keth! Darling!” She caught both his hands with hers. “Come on in!” She pulled him against her, opening lips lifted to his. Sheer astonishment held him rigid until she turned, laughing at his hesitation, to pull him inside.

  “If I seem different, dear, it’s because I’ve seen the humanoids.” The voice was still her own, yet stronger than he recalled it, more musical, more intimate. “I want you to meet them as soon as we can arrange it. When you know them, you’ll never be the same.”

  Certainly she was not the same. He had stopped in the vaulted entry hall, staring at her in spite of himself, but she gave him no time for wonder. “Let’s have your jacket.”

  Her bare arms were suddenly around him, helping slip it off. Her scent drenched him, a penetrating musk, too sweet and too strong.

  “Darling, don’t you like the difference?” Her slow tones caressed him with a husky warmth he had never heard. “You know I’ve always loved you, Keth, ever since I first saw you in the swabber class at Greenpeak. I used to grieve because I couldn’t be more free with you—because of all I owed the family and the fleet. We can both be grateful that the humanoids never demand such painful choices between duty and desire.

  “So let me see you darling!”

  Tossing his jacket to a chair, she caught his shoulders to hold him facing her. Her wide eyes swept him, black pupils dilating.

  “If you feel overwhelmed, I can understand.” She pulled him impulsively against her to brush his mouth with hers. “I remember how I felt when I first saw them trooping aboard the Fortune. Lovely, really, but so new they frightened me.”

  She released his shoulders but clung to his hand. “Darling, you look worn out. Hungry, too. This must have been a dazing day. Let’s find something to restore you.”

  She led him out of the entry, down into the magnificent winter hall where tall holos of Vorn admirals and Bridgemen frowned upon glass-cased models of Vorn tunnel-cutters and Vorn reactors and Vorn spacecraft. He grinned faintly at its gloomy splendor, recalling his miserable discomfort at her birthday party, so long ago in the summer hall. She pulled him quickly closer, and her quizzical smile made her look fourteen again, at least for an instant.

  “All ours tonight,” she whispered.

  “My aunt’s away at the Navarch’s all-night celebration and the staff has a holiday.”

  In the largest kitchen he had ever seen, she piled a tiny table with meats and fruits and sweets his quota card had never allowed, and opened a bottle of sparkling wine she said had been a gift from the Navarch himself.

  Though the juices were flowing in his mouth, after the first few bites he forgot to eat. She sat too close. Her perfume was too powerful, her scarlet wrapper too sheer, her whole allure too overpowering. Overcome by everything, he couldn’t stop staring.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” She leaned disturbingly nearer. “You aren’t afraid of me?”

  “Of the humanoids, I am.” In spite of himself, he shrank a little from her. “I simply can’t believe they’re so wonderful and good as the Navarch says. Everybody on the Fortune—” He was trying to smile, but dread crept into his voice. “You seem—brainwashed.”

  “The wrong word, dear.” Her wry frown was both reproving and entrancing. “An ugly term, unfair to them and even to us.” Gravely, she filled their glasses. “I was afraid you wouldn’t understand. That’s why I sent for you. Let’s drink to their wise Prime Directive.

  “Darling, it has set us free!”

  He had seldom tasted wine, because students got no quota points for alcohol. Uncertainly, he sipped. Not so sweet as he expected, it burned his tongue and stung his nostrils. An exciting aftertaste lingered in his mouth.

  “I’m terribly sorry we had to quarrel, back at Crater Lake.” Her voice sank huskily, gently penitent. “Can’t you forgive me?”

  “Have I been wrong?” He leaned toward her till that old dread checked him. “If I dared believe—”

  “I’ll convince you.”

  “If you can—” He sat straighter, grasping at a thread of unexpected hope. “There’s so much I want to know. Can you tell me if the humanoids now have probes or stations on Malili—”

  “Pure fable!” In scorn of the notion, she tossed her sleek hair back. “The sort of silly myth we must expose.”

  “There are facts beneath the myth.” He frowned against her mockery. “The humanoids are rhodomagnetic, and rhodo sources have been located at Malili—”

  “Where on Malili?” Her head bent abruptly toward him, wide eyes peering, pupils shrunk to hard black points. “Who detected them?”

  A shock of fear had frozen him. Was she already the sort of secret agent she had been scoffing at? Had he already betrayed Cyra and his father?

&nb
sp; “My mother—” Desperately, he fumbled for words that might repair his indiscretion. “She thought the braintrees were rhodo—”

  “Braintrees?” Her tight voice sharpened. “What are they?”

  “The natives call them—” He checked himself, in fear of another betrayal. “They call them something else. I forget the word.”

  “Why did she believe they are rhodomagnetic?”

  “I couldn’t guess.” He tried to make his shrug seem casual. “Maybe something in the old Crew files. I never knew.”

  “Did she have equipment? Actual rhodomagnetic equipment?”

  “I doubt it. No point in wondering now. Whatever she had was lost with her in the jungle.”

  For another breathless moment she leaned to watch him, silent and intent. Trying to smile, he felt his stiff limbs tremble, tasted cold terror in his throat. He couldn’t speak or move or even think.

  “If that’s all—” She drew slowly back, speaking more softly. “You had me alarmed for a moment. You see, the humanoids have been attacked by misguided scientists trying to change their wise Prime Directive, or even to stop them altogether. Something too dreadful even to think about!” Shuddering, she tossed her dark head. “Let’s relax. Forget about the humanoids.”

  She refilled their glasses.

  “Trust me, Keth,” she begged him softly. “It’s so really grand to be back with you. In love again—the way love should be, with no need to worry about anything or anybody else.”

  “What about the Commodore?”

  “My Cousin Zelyk?” Her tone turned hard with contempt. “A stupid lout all his life. Reeking with scent to cover up his body stink and slobbering with his disgusting lust. Some things the humanoids can’t change. He’s still nothing but an awful stupid lout.”

  She slid his glass toward him.

  “So let’s forget the Commodore.” Her voice sank. “Let’s talk about you, I guess you’re a graduate now. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  He sipped cautiously, searching for something that would not endanger the Lifecrew. Again that hot sharpness lingered in his mouth.

  “I left the Academy,” he said. “Went out to Malili. Hoping to find some clue to the fate of the Fortune—”

  “Hoping to rescue me?” Her warm hand covered his. “Thank you, darling!” In a moment she was graver, her face speculative. “I imagine the humanoids will want to bring all our people home. They won’t need anything from Malili or be needed there. The naked natives can have their planet back.

  “But we were talking about you.” Her smile grew tender. “I need to know you better, Keth. You and your family. I barely met your father and Cyra. Where are they now?”

  The question disturbed him a little, because she seemed too eager, leaning too close, her eyes too intent. He reached for his glass to make time to think, but suddenly he wanted no more of that hot tartness. Could the wine be drugged?

  His hand shook, and a few drops spilled.

  “Don’t you like it?” Her concern seemed too quick. “An excellent vintage.”

  “I’m just clumsy.” He fumbled for his napkin and mopped at the table.

  “Sorry,” he apologized softly.

  “We were talking about your people.”

  “We’re out of touch.” He felt a surprising surge of confidence. “You know we’ve never been close. A voicecard every month or so. Never much news.”

  “Maybe I have news for you.” Her quick voice brightened. “I got your address here from a receptionist at the fleet. When you were so long getting back to your room, I asked around again. Bridgeman Greel told me you’d called on him. He said Cyra and your father were staying at his south summer villa.”

  Though she still seemed casually unconcerned, he felt sick with himself. Very gently, she was calling him a liar. Perhaps the wine had already dulled him. He sat straighter, trying to seem merely surprised.

  “I remember Cyra speaking of Greel,” he said. “I think they were friends at the Academy.”

  “We’ve been calling the villa, but nobody answers.” Her troubled frown was only fleeting. “The Navarch wants us to talk to them—just to assure them that the humanoids will forgive all their childish silliness.” She glanced at him again, too keenly. “Can’t you guess where they’ve gone?”

  “I’ve no idea.” He felt a little relieved, because she hadn’t directly accused him. “We’re out of touch.”

  “Greel says they’ve told him about their rhodo research.” Her gentle persistence began to seem relentless. “He says they claim to have a monopole out of the old Deliverance. They wanted to use it to build some sort of weapons system against the humanoids.” Chilled and rigid, he sat silent, trying not to think about the tachyon compass he had hidden in the air duct or the tiny rhodo weapon in his pocket.

  “They ought to be warned.” Urgency edged her tone. “Because the humanoids reserve rhodomagnetics so strictly for themselves. They could get into dreadful difficulties.”

  “I—” He found the wine glass in his hand again and set it down so hard it splashed. “You scared me,” he muttered. “I’ll certainly warn them, if I ever see them. But I’ve no way to find them.”

  “Sorry, darling!” She was tenderly contrite. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but they could be hurt. The humanoids are never evil, but they have to be efficient. The occasional misguided people who tried to defy them have always been disarmed and restrained. Those who accepted them have always been glad. I want us to accept them, Keth.”

  He had begun to feel a new glow of pleasure in the lilt of her voice. Relaxing a little, he let his arms sprawl on the table and leaned to admire her vivid loveliness. Everything else seemed slightly out of focus.

  “You’ll soon see how very wonderful they are.” Her charming arms opened and her fine teeth gleamed. “But we’ve talked about too many things.” She brushed back her shining hair. “Let’s enjoy our supper. Try one of these.”

  She put a silver-dusted berry to his lips. “A moonfruit from my aunt’s hothouse. You’ll love it.”

  Its juice had a tangy sweetness and he had to say he liked it. There was smoked mutox from the Darkside ranch and a huge red-meated mushroom grown in a worked-out mine. There were golden suncom cakes. And there was the wine.

  She filled his glass again and kept lightly urging him to enjoy it. Sometimes he nearly did. She was Chel, his best friend all his life, changed amazingly since that time at Greenpeak when she wanted them to see each other nude but still too freshly innocent to mean harm to anybody. Yet he always recalled his aversion to that peppery aftertaste. He thought he caught flashes of annoyance when he didn’t sip, but she always grew more tenderly alluring.

  “I want to show you my new room,” she told him when he pushed his plate away. “One my father built when he owned Vara Vorn.”

  They climbed a long spiral stair. The turns made him giddy and she caught his arm once when he almost lost his balance. Her electric touch and her bright scent swept him with a wave of warm desire, and he almost forgot to fear the humanoids.

  It was the topside room where he had met her uncle. The Wintersend landscape, kilometers below the wide thermal windows, looked queerly luminous and still queerly cold. Looking out and down across it, he swayed unsteadily again.

  “Just in time!” Excitement hushed her to a throaty whisper. “I always loved eclipses.”

  He had been facing the sun, a great orange ball bitten in half by the far white horizon, but now he saw that she had cleared the windows behind him to show him the shadow of Kai, small and round and very black, creeping across the enormous copper-colored dome of Malili.

  “When I was a child my uncle used to let me slip in here to watch them.” Gently, she touched his hand. “I used to think of my father and the plans he had spoken of for me. I thought eclipses would be lucky for me.” She swayed closer, her whisper more intimate. “Perhaps this one will be lucky for us.”

  “When I was a child I never saw Malili eclipsed
.” His tongue seemed clumsy. “It happens only in the moon—moontimes, and I was always underground. I do recall Malili eclipsing the sun. Blotting it out for hours. The sky dark and strange, and cold winds blowing, and sometimes a thunderstorm.”

  He shivered, perhaps from his old terror of those black eclipses, perhaps from the forbidding chill of the snowscape, perhaps from something he had forgotten. Because she was so near and warm and dear, he caught her hand and drew her closer. She raised her face to kiss him, and her mouth had the hot sharp tang of the Navarch’s wine.

  The bed was a huge platform, as round as the room, covered with silken white mutoxen fur. She drew away from their kiss to get her breath and tugged him gently toward the bed.

  “I used to dream of this,” she whispered. “When I still hoped you would come into the fleet.” She drew him closer to her body.

  He staggered a little, as if that high room had rocked upon its ice-clad peak. The Navarch’s wine? Or Chelni herself? Everything else seemed blurred and dimmed, but she was incandescent. Her sheer crimson wrapper was sliding down to the rug, and her bare beauty stunned him.

  For a moment he couldn’t move at all. She had glided closer, her musky scent intoxicating. Her nimble fingers helped shuck off his shirt. Her soft hair fragrant in his face, her sleek arms exciting, she had bent to open his trousers when it struck him that she might discover the rhodo weapon in his pocket.

  Terror jarred him.

  “The wine!” He swayed away from her. “I’m afraid we’re drunk.”

  “Afraid?” She straightened, laughing at him. “Forgive me, darling. I keep forgetting how much you have to learn. You needn’t ever fear anything again. Neither all society nor any human being. Neither want nor pain. Not since—”

  Her gay smile mocked him.

  “I’d wanted us to forget the humanoids, but I suppose we’ve time enough.” She nodded toward the huge windows, toward that black shadow-blot on Malili’s dull-red mystery. “I know you don’t yet understand them, but you will. I hope to make it easier for you.”