Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by James H. Schmitz

  Out of this situation grew the Great Plan, aimed at the ultimate destruction of the Hub’s rulers and of the Hub as a civilization. The conflicting opinions were represented by the groups known as the Voice of Action and the Voice of Caution. Between these opposed factions, the uncommitted ranks of the Everliving maintained the wisely flexible balance.

  The Voice of Caution had determinedly dragged its heels from the start and continued to drag them for seventy years. In spite of such resistance, the Great Plan gradually matured. The Parahuans found allies—the Hub had more enemies with long memories among the stars than it might know. But they were wary enemies. If the Parahuans could take and hold a number of Federation worlds and engage a major portion of the Federation’s forces . . . then a score of alien civilizations would attack other points in the Hub simultaneously, splitting and weakening the human defenses until they were shattered. But only if the Parahuans succeeded.

  The Voice of Action argued that this was good enough. The Voice of Caution argued that it wasn’t. In the balance between them an initial test was decreed—a potential invasion force was maneuvered with careful secrecy into the seas of Nandy-Cline.

  This force was regarded as expendable. On the face of it, it should be able to take Nandy-Cline with relative ease in a coordinated surprise attack. Careful study had established the fact beyond a doubt.

  But its primary purpose was to flush the Tuvelas to view and test their alertness and ability. If it should be established that they were indeed entities against whom the Everliving were outmatched—if, for example, the invasion force, in spite of its apparent superiority, again was destroyed or obliged to retreat—the most disconcerting aspects of the Tuvela Theory must be considered proved. Then the Great Plan would be canceled and Porad Anz would resign itself to a future of circumspect obscurity.

  But if Nandy-Cline fell as scheduled, the Tuvelas could be dealt with, now that their influence on humanity was known; and the Voice of Action would receive full authority to proceed with the further operations designed to end in the destruction of the Hub.

  In the course of preparing for the attack on the planet, the hidden invasion force ran head-on into Dr. Ticos Cay . . .

  Ticos had been tracked to his laboratory and taken by surprise. A study of the lab’s equipment told his captors that here was a human with advanced scientific knowledge who might have useful information. He was treated with care, questioned at length. Many Palachs had acquired a faultless command of translingue as an aid to their understanding of the enemy. They interrogated Ticos under drugs and with the application of calculated pain. His acquired level of mental control enabled him to withstand such pressures; and the Palachs considered this to be of great interest. No other human prisoner had shown a similar ability.

  They were further intrigued to discover he had been working, among other things, at the development of longevity drugs. All reports indicated that humans had never attained an unlimited life span; the lack of an overall immortality program was in fact the most definite indication that the Hub’s civilization, in spite of its accomplishments in other fields, stood basically at a low level. Among themselves, the science of immortality in all its branches was held sacred, its study restricted to Palachs. Evidently it was at this point they decided Ticos might belong to a class of humanity which knew at least something about the Tuvelas. Earlier prisoners had been totally ignorant even of the existence of their anonymous rulers.

  Ticos was puzzled at first by the new direction the interrogations were taking. He framed his replies very carefully in a manner designed to draw more revealing question’. Presently his concept of the Palachs’ Tuvela Theory grew dear—and now he was able to suggest possibilities which seemed to confirm the worst fears of his inquisitors. He could claim convincingly that the specific information he had was quite limited, but the implications in what he said matched to a disturbing degree the blackest calculations made concerning the nature of Tuvelas. The mass of the Everliving connected with the expeditionary force found their faith in themselves again shaken. Endless bitter debates were unleashed between the opposed groups, while the balance, temporarily at least, shifted towards the views of the Voice of Caution. The invasion was not actually called off, but all immediate attack plans were stalled for the time being.

  Ticos meanwhile had been in an anxious quandary of his own. Nile’s next scheduled visit was some weeks away; but she was bound to come then, and that he would have been able to persuade the Palachs to abandon the planet before she arrived seemed hardly possible. If he did nothing, she either would be killed out of hand as she came down from the air or captured and put to death in some very unpleasant manner. The Parahuans were not at all gentle with ordinary prisoners. As far as he knew, he was the only one picked up on Nandy-Cline who had lived more than a few days in their hands.

  So he’d turned Nile into a Tuvela. It made one thing certain: the Palachs wouldn’t kill her while they saw a chance of taking her alive—and knowing Nile as he did he felt that might very well give her an opportunity to escape into the forests. Parahuan scientists were studying the results of his longevity experiments; and he was allowed to go about the floatwood under guard at regular intervals to collect the materials he wanted. On such occasions he would deposit the significant information he had gathered where she should find it. After reading this report, she should do what she could to get away from the island and alert the planet. However, if she was captured, they might still be able to maintain the Tuvela bluff together and bring about a withdrawal of the alien forces. Success was questionable; but it was the best course he could suggest . . .

  Nile inhaled shakily, blinking at the knotted cloth containing a Parahuan Palach. A Great Palach, she corrected herself. She’d better have her information well memorized in case events made it necessary to attempt to play the role of Tuvela Ticos had bestowed on her. Going by the descriptions he’d given of his principal interrogators, she thought she could even call this particular Great Palach by name.

  She pursed her lips, thinking it over. She already had plans for escaping from the island presently, with Danrich Parrol’s help. But the plans didn’t make provision as yet for getting Ticos out, and she didn’t intend to leave without him.

  Besides, the general situation evidently now had become one which could take an unpredictable turn at any time. The Everliving, already overwrought as a result of Ticos’ machinations, had tipped their hand in trying to take her alive and failing to do it. If they suspected she could get away from the island again and warn Nandy-Cline, it might stampede them into launching the overall attack immediately before they lost the advantage of surprise. At best that would cost a great many human lives.

  Lives that would be saved if the aliens could be talked into withdrawing.

  Nile’s reflections checked there a moment. She didn’t like the line they were taking—but the line was an inevitable one. As things had worked out, the Palachs had reason to believe that in her they were dealing with a genuine Tuvela. If Ticos had come close to persuading them to retreat from the planet, a genuine Tuvela could finish the job—

  But that meant putting her: elf voluntarily in the power of those creatures. And the thought was enough to dry her mouth.

  A chaquoteel whistled a dozen feet away, and Nile started violently, then cursed her jittering nerves. It hadn’t been an alarm call. Nothing of significance to the chaquoteels, and therefore to her, had come near the sestran stand since she’d been sitting here.

  She looked at the bundled Great Palach again. He was awake. There’d been occasional cautious stirrings under the cloth. One question was simply whether she could play the part of a Tuvela-Guardian well enough to keep the aliens deceived. The midget in there was a highly aggressive representative of the Voice of Action. If she could sell him the idea that Porad Anz was doomed if it persisted in challenging the Tuvelas, there was a good chance she could bluff the Everliving as a whole.

  Why not find out?

&n
bsp; She’d have to believe it herself first. Quit being Nile Etland and be a Tuvela—the more outrageously, the better. No small lies—big ones. Keep the creature surprised.

  She moistened her lips, fished the tanglecord’s release key from her pouch, placed her gun on the chunk of floatwood supporting the thicket. The tanglecord strips securing the cloth about the Parahuan came away at the touch of the key. She dropped them in the pouch, unknotted the cloth and drew it cautiously from the captive.

  The atmosphere sections of the Parahuan’s eyes were open. They watched her steadily. The tanglecord clamped about his arms and feet was tight and in place. Nile pulled the strip away from the vocal slit, set him upright against a clump of sestran, backed away eight or nine feet, and sat down, holding the gun loosely before her. She studied the alien for some seconds.

  He didn’t look too formidable, but Ticos’ caution against underestimating Palachs of any grade probably was well founded. Their approach to immortality involved a progressive induced metamorphosis.

  The muscular structure became condensed and acquired extreme efficiency. Most of the thinking apparatus was buried inside the chunky torso; presumably it did not undergo physiological changes. Reduced to essentials, Ticos had said. Very well, she’d watch this Great Palach—What did he see in her? A Tuvela? Nile had a mental picture of herself—lean, next to naked, smeared with colorful plant sap. Hardly the most impressive image. But it couldn’t be helped. She was a Guardian of the Federation of the Hub, a Tuvela. To him, she was gromgorru. A mysterious, powerful being, with information sources beyond her captive’s knowledge. The last, at any rate, she had.

  She said, “I believe I am addressing the Great Palach Koll.”

  The mannikin stared a long moment. At last the vocal slit moved. “And I believe,” a voice like golden velvet told her, “that I address a Hulon named Etland.”

  Hulon—Parahuan term signifying low-grade human. There’d been no suggestion of alien inflection in the words. They had studied humanity in patient detail.

  “You have another name for us,” the Tuvela said indifferently. “Call me Hulon if you wish. Where are you holding Dr. Cay at present?”

  “Not far from here. What is your interest in Dr. Cay?”

  “Our interest in Dr. Cay,” Nile said, “is less than it was. He has not performed well in this test.”

  “Test?” Roll’s voice had thinned. Nile regarded him a moment.

  “Surely you must have wondered from time to time,” she remarked, “why no one came here to inspect Dr. Cay’s activities. Yes, a test. Not that it’s your concern, Great Palach, but Dr. Cay was a candidate for the true-life. I’m not sure he will remain one. When we saw you had discovered him, we waited to observe how capably he would handle this unexpected situation. I’m disappointed.”

  Roll’s vocal slit opened and closed silently twice. The Tuvela scowled absently.

  “However, I’m more than disappointed in the Everliving,” she resumed. “If you didn’t find Dr. Cay sufficiently persuasive, very moderate intelligence alone should have told you to be long gone from here . . . and glad to be away! Haven’t you felt the snare this world represents waiting about you? Has the Sacred Sea grown senile instead of immortal?”

  She shrugged. A Tuvela, after all, was not greatly interested in the limitations of Porad Anz.

  “You’ll be told to go now,” she stated. “You’ve been butchering the ones you call Hulons a little too freely. That disgusts me. It seems you fear even the human shape so much you revert to your animal beginnings when you meet it. We don’t choose to see our people wasted—and Dr. Cay has had time enough to demonstrate his present lack of satisfactory potential.”

  Silence. Long silence. The sestran shrubs rustled. Wind roaring rose and ebbed in the distance. The air was darkening quickly. The wizened mannikin sat motionless, staring.

  Gromgorru, Nile thought. It had been weighing on both sides. It should weigh heavily on the Parahuans now. A Tuvela was about, an invisible ghost in the floatwood. It had plucked the Great Palach Koll from his grisly command post. Bear down on those fears. Yes, it might very well work.

  The velvet voice said suddenly, “I see and hear a creature lying in clever desperation to conceal its helplessness, you can’t escape and you can’t contact your kind. You did not come here to tell the Everliving they must leave. You’re here because you were trapped.”

  Nile’s lip curled. “The sken beam? If the technicians who examined my car understood what they saw, they must know I could have blocked such a device. And by the true-life, I believe I can play the hunting game against a mob of Oganoon and stupid animals! Great Palach Koll, Voice of Action—look around! Who is trapped here, and who is helpless?”

  She leaned forward. “The stupidity of Porad Anz! It tampered with our worlds and was thrown out. All it learned was to look for allies before it tried to come back. No doubt you’d need allies—more than you can find. But you’ve already found too many to make the Great Plan possible! Even if we’d had no other methods of information, your secret was spread too far to remain a secret—”

  She broke off. Koll was quivering. The vocal slit made spitting sounds.

  “We’d been minded to spare you,” the Tuvela began again. “But—”

  “Guardian, be silent!” The voice was squeezed down to an angry whine. “Lies and tricks! The Everliving will not listen!”

  The Tuvela laughed. “When I come to them with a Great Palach tied in a rag, dangling head down from my belt, they won’t listen?”

  Koll squealed—and became a blur of rubbery motion.

  The long legs swung up, brought the fettered feet to his shoulder. Something projected in that instant from the shoulder, a half-inch jet of fire. It touched the tanglecord, and the tanglecord parted. The webbed toes of one foot gripped one of the jewels on Koll’s head, pulled it free. The other leg was beneath him again; it bent, straightened; and he came towards Nile in a long one-legged hop, quick and balanced. The jewel-handled needle gripped in his foot leveled out.

  Nile was in motion herself by then—dropping back, rolling sideways.

  The needle spat a thread of pink radiance along her flank as she triggered the UW.

  And that was that. The Uws beam was hot, and Koll was in midjump, moving fast, as it caught him. His lumpy torso was very nearly cut in two.

  Nile got up shakily, parted the sestran stems through which he had plunged, and looked down from the floatwood branch. Nothing but the waving, shadowy greenery of the vertical jungle below . . . and no point in hunting around for the body of the Great Palach down there. Ticos had neglected to mention that the thick Parahuan hide could be used to conceal an arsenal, but after seeing the communicator Koll carried grafted to himself, the possibility should have occurred to her.

  Why had he attacked at that particular moment? She hadn’t convinced him Porad Anz faced destruction unless the invading force withdrew—or else he had such a seething hatred for mankind that the fate of his own race was no longer of sufficient consideration. But apparently she had convinced him that a majority of the Palachs would accept what she said.

  He should know, Nile thought. She’d lost her prisoner, but the Great Palach Koll dead, silenced, vanished, remained an impressive witness to the Tuvelas’ capability and stern ruthlessness.

  Let the Everliving stew in the situation a while. She’d give them indications presently that she was still around the island. That should check any impulse to launch a hasty military operation. Meanwhile she’d try to find out where Ticos was held, and prepare to carry out other plans. And now it was time to check with Sweeting and learn what her water scouting had revealed.

  Nile dropped quietly down out of the sestran thicket to lower branches to avoid arousing the chaquoteels, and slipped away into the forest.

  Back down at the water’s edge, she looked out from a niche between two trunks at the neighboring island section. It was the largest of the five connected forests, a good half wider and l
onger and lifting at least a hundred yards farther into the air. From the car she’d seen thick clusters of a dark leafless growth rising higher still from a point near the forest’s center, like slender flexible spear shafts whipping in the wind. Oilwood it was called. Weeks from now, when the island rode into the electric storm belts of the polar sea, the oilwood would draw lightning from the sky to let its combustible sheathing burn away and the ripened seeds beneath tumble down through the forest into the ocean.

  Set ablaze deliberately tonight, it should provide a beacon to mark the island for Parrol and let him know where she was to be found.

  The water between the two forests wasn’t open. The submerged root system extended from one to the other; and on the roots grew the floatwood’s aquatic symbiotes, pushing out from the central lagoon, though their ranks thinned as they approached the rush of the open sea. The Parahuans wouldn’t have stopped hunting for her, and ambushes could easily be laid in that area. The sea south of the forest seemed to offer a safer crossing, now that evening darkened the sky and reduced surface visibility. The Meral Current carried weed beds—dense moving jungles which provided cover when needed.

  Nile gave the otter caller on her wrist another turn. Sweeting should be here quickly. A receiver embedded in her skull transmitted the signals to her brain, and she homed in unerringly on the caller.

  “Nile—”

  “Over here, Sweeting!”

  Sweeting came up out of the water twenty feet away, shook herself vigorously, rippled along the side of the floatwood bole and settled beside Nile.

  “These are new bad guys!” she stated.

  “Yes,” said Nile. “New and bad. They don’t belong on our world. What can you tell me about them?”