Sword of Tomorrow

by Henry Kuttner

  Court laughed harshly. “The devil they can’t! Your story’s too thin. A Deccan tried to kill me with a death-ray of some sort, so I happen to know you’re lying.”

  “Tried to kill you? A death-ray?” Farr bit at his thick lips. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. That’s folly. We of the Underground Group are in communication with Decca, and both the Deccans and our group are working for peace.”

  “You’re easily duped. I think you’re a liar, Farr.”

  * * *

  Desperation showed on the fat man’s heavy face. He hesitated. “Yet I’m forgetting. There’s the treaty.”

  “What treaty?”

  “Do you remember Tor Kassel?” Farr asked. “The physician who brought you back to life?”

  “The man who was captured by the Deccans?”

  “Yes. He’s in my castle now. Will you talk to him, Court? I ask only that.”

  “So I can walk into another trap? No, thanks. We’re leaving right now.”

  “But you ought to see him.”

  Court’s fingers sank into Farr’s arm. “Lead the way. If there’s trouble, I’ll break your back. I won’t need any weapon for that.”

  Farr hesitated then let his shoulders sag hopelessly.

  “Very well,” he said. “But you’re making a mistake.”

  “Just see that you don’t make any,” Court said. “Move!”

  He kept his grip on Farr’s arm as the other turned toward the door, stepped through into a tiny room, and pressed a stud on the wall. The chamber—an elevator—began to move swiftly upward. Presently it stopped. A panel opened.

  Cool green light beat in on Court. He saw a shadow looming before him, the shadow of a gaunt short man with a gleaming bald head. He swung Farr before him. “You can break my back if you like, but now you must talk to Tor Kassel,” Farr said quietly. “He knows the truth, and you must learn that truth from him.”

  For a brief interval the tableau held, Kassel standing in mute inquiry before them, Court holding Farr in an immovable grip as a shield.

  “All right, I’ll listen,” Court said. “But talk fast.”

  A few minutes later the three men were seated in comfortable pneumatic chairs with a photostatic manuscript before them, a manuscript which Kassel had obtained from a secret hiding place in the wall. Court read it carefully. Then he scowlingly touched a signature with his finger.

  “The Administrator of Decca signed the document, eh?”

  “This is a true copy,” Farr said. “The original was delivered to the Throne weeks ago.”

  “If the Throne got it,” Kassel added. “It may have been intercepted.”

  Court shook his head. “I still don’t understand. If Decca isn’t planning invasion, what does all the excitement mean?”

  “Decca never planned invasion,” Farr said. “We of the Underground Group knew that, and we were in constant communication with Decca. It was through us that Decca learned of your resurrection. You were a menace—a man who knew how to build weapons. So Deccan spies were sent to kidnap you before that danger could be realized. They failed. They caught Tor Kassel instead.”

  “I’ve been in Decca for weeks,” Kassel said. “I know a great deal now that I never guessed before. The Deccans are a peaceful race. They cannot build weapons any more than we can. Their minds were conditioned against it, as ours were, long ago. But they know of the militaristic movement in Lyra, and they have been trying to stem it. This treaty is the latest move, and it seems a useless one.”

  Court picked up the sheets. “It offers to open all Deccan laboratories, factories—all Decca—to Lyran visitors. Hm-m. ‘Peace possible only through complete trust and understanding…. Such lowering of common barriers will help to prove to the most suspicious Lyran that Decca has no warlike intentions.” He whistled between his teeth. “If this is on the level, it changes the setup a lot. Why is Lyra so convinced that Decca’s going to invade?”

  * * *

  With a worried gesture, Farr leaned forward. “There is a man, a ruthless man without ideals or gentleness, a man who looks on the human race as vermin, created only to further his desire for power and conquest, who is responsible. You name him, Court.”

  “Hardony,” Court said. “Yes, it would be Hardony. Not Den Barlen. He’s honest.”

  “I suppose Hardony suppressed this treaty so the Throne did not see it,” Kassel suggested. “I don’t know what his plans are. Perhaps he intends to depose Irelle.”

  Court stood up. Farr watched him keenly.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let me tell what else we have pieced out. Hardony controls the secret espionage. A spy system is necessary sometimes. But it is like fire. If it gets too large, and out of control, it can destroy. Why is the secret service as large as Den Barlen’s army?”

  “I wonder,” Court said. “Yes, that doesn’t look well.”

  “Preparedness is necessary,” the fat man went on. “But you forget one thing. Men of this time cannot build weapons. Why have no steps been taken to investigate Decca’s intentions? Why has Lyra been practically cut off from Decca for so long? The answer’s clear. Hardony has his immense spy system—with weapons. He’d make sure the weapons stayed in his hands. With it he could conquer a world. In your day that might have been inconceivable. But in this age there are no weapons. The man who brings them into being now has a certain responsibility. Now look. The gates of Decca are wide open for any Lyran to come through. Well, go through them. If you can find a single weapon in Decca, you’ll know that I’m lying.”

  “There are easier ways of checking up.” Court was scowling.

  Farr leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I know a way to find out the truth,” Court said. “If Hardony’s behind this, if he’s responsible for the wave of propaganda that’s scaring Lyra into war, I’m going to get him.”

  “He’s strong,” Farr warned. “His Espionage Corps is powerful.”

  Court’s eyes were narrow and deadly. He looked at Kassel.

  “So the ability to create weapons has been bred out of the race! That doesn’t help, Kassel! That doesn’t help a bit and you know it. Nature’s stamped out the effect but not the cause. The source is still here—hereditary desire for power and conquest. There’ll always be people like that, maybe.”

  Kassel was silent, but Farr’s fat face was suddenly ugly and malignant.

  “And men will always rise to fight such killers,” he growled. “Before you leave here, Court, answer me. Are you convinced? Do you intend to build weapons?”

  “Not for Hardony,” Court said. “No.”

  “Don’t underestimate him,” Kassel warned. “You can’t return to Valyra, into his power, without taking some precautions. I’ll go with you. My name carries weight, and perhaps I can assist you.”

  “I’m going alone. I don’t trust either of you, completely. I want an air-car, Farr.”

  “But that’s reckless.”

  “If you want me to trust you, give me an air-car.”

  The fat man nodded thoughtfully. “All right, Court. We’ll do it that way, if you want. I advise you to be careful, that’s all.” He heaved his great bulk upright. “Follow me.”

  Leaving Kassel staring silently after them, they went through room after room, sparsely furnished, almost ascetic.

  “My luxuries exist in dream-worlds,” Farr murmured.

  He pointed through an archway to a small chamber, the twin of the one far even below, where a heavy couch stood. Near it, on the wall, was a plain silver panel with two levers protruding.

  “A movement of my hands and I create my private worlds, you see,” Farr continued. “That lever has a timing-mechanism attached, so that I may awake again.” He smiled half-maliciously. “The other lever has none, since it controls the guest-chamber beneath the castle. It’s a place to which I could always retire if I grew too tired of this world, and sleep forever—until I died—in my own universes. Here’s the roof, Court, and here’s the air-car. You
know how to handle it?”

  * * *

  Court nodded, and stepped over the low side and tested the gear. It vibrated into life against his hand. “Which way is Valyra?”

  “Due north. Good luck. I may see you sooner than you expect.”

  But Court did not hear. The air-car rose into the night, leaving the figure of Farr, on the castle roof, below. The dark structure dwindled. A black wilderness, without landmarks lay below. Above him, only the stars blazed.

  Court looked at the compass and turned north, speeding into full acceleration. Wind cut against his cheeks, cold and chilling. But it could not cool the dull, smouldering blaze that burned within—the question of who had lied, and who had spoken truth.

  The more he considered the possibilities, the more he was convinced of Hardony’s duplicity. It would have been easy for the espionage chief subtly to deluge Lyra with propaganda aimed at war.

  Irelle trusted Hardony, and, though Barlen did not, Barlen could do nothing, especially since he actually did not suspect treason. All this, of course, was on the assumption that Farr hadn’t lied. The treaty might have been forged. Tor Kassel? Court had no real reason to trust the physician, either.

  Yet, remembering Hardony’s cold smile, his utter, ruthless contempt for mankind, Court felt a conviction that the red fox was the enemy to be faced.

  But, if so, how could Court convince the Throne? Would Hardony have left any evidence to be found? Not likely.

  An hour passed, and another. Court was no nearer a solution when he saw the dim glow of Valyra on the horizon. It was long past midnight, but the rose-and-pearl city still glimmered, with light undarkened. It was never night in Valyra.

  But Valyra, for the most part, slept. Even Den Barlen was asleep, as Court found when he reached the officer’s home. The guard recognized him immediately, and, saluting, took him into an anteroom where, after a few moments, Barlen appeared, clad in a sleeping-robe.

  The giant’s yellow beard was tousled. “Court!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? My men have been scouring the city for you. All the country, for that matter. Are you all right?”

  Court glanced at the guard. “May I talk to you alone, Barlen?”

  “What? Oh—yes, of course. Come in here.” He pulled Court into his bed-chamber. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” Court said slowly, choosing his words. “The only thing I do feel certain of is that you’re a loyal man, Barlen.” The giant looked at him queerly.

  “What is it?” he asked in a changed voice. Court drew out the copy of the Deccan treaty. “Have you ever seen this before?” Barlen’s brows grew together as he read. “Signed by the Administrator of Decca. Odd. No, this is new to me. Where’d you get it?”

  “I don’t want to tell you that yet. It came from someone who’s in close touch with Decca, though. There are a few other things to tell you.” Hastily Court sketched his theories. Barlen listened for a while, but presently waved an impatient hand.

  “Keep talking: I’ll get dressed. This may need immediate action.”

  Court had a momentary cold fear. Suppose Barlen, not Hardony, was the traitor? Had he come to the wrong man?

  Barlen’s oath reassured him. “There’ll be no proof where we can get our hands on it. But it sounds like Hardony. It’s a staggering thought, that Decca has no weapons!”

  “They have that death-ray.”

  “Well, I don’t know. But all this is quite possible, Court. Hardony may be planning a coup. He could have seen that the Deccan treaty never reached the Throne. He’s been trying to have my organization cut down, and his own built up. Yes, he could very easily be planning to start this war, conquer Decca —and then assume total rule himself.”

  * * *

  That might be true. It was a puzzling problem.

  “But how can we find out?” Court asked. “How can we be sure?”

  “There’s one way.” Barlen hesitated. “Decca certainly has sent spies into Lyra, though I’m not sure, now, that their reasons were militaristic. We’ve captured a few. They’re in Hardony’s headquarters. They’ll probably be able to tell us something about Decca’s plans.”

  “If they will.”

  “They will,” Barlen said grimly. He threw a cape over his shoulders, buckled on a sword, and strode to the door. “But we’ll have to move fast, before Hardony’s notified we’re invading his headquarters.“The giant’s voice bellowed through the halls. By the time he and Barlen had reached the outer portal, a dozen soldiers, armed and ready, were running in their trail. Steel clashing, they swung out into the night.

  Air-cars whisked the group across the city, to a silent dark building that was Hardony’s stronghold. He was not there now, as Barlen had anticipated, but the red-uniformed Espionage Corps agent at the gateway said a pass would be necessary before he could let them enter. Hardony could be notified.

  “Do you know who I am?” Barlen roared.

  The guard bowed. “Den Barlen. I know you, of course. But I am a Corps man.”

  “You serve the Throne,” Barlen snapped. “So do I! I’ll put a foot of steel through that shiny uniform if you talk back to me! Where are the Deccan prisoners?”

  “Den Barlen, I can’t permit you to interfere.”

  Barlen gestured. Two of his men sprang forward and seized the Corps man. Another soldier put a knife to the agent’s throat. “Will you take us to the prisoners?” Barlen asked gently.

  The agent, it seemed, now was willing. Massaging his neck, he silently led the way, with furtive glances at his captors. But two guards flanked him as he walked.

  At a branch of the corridor the Corps man turned left. One of Barlen’s soldiers pulled at Barlen’s sleeve.

  “This isn’t the way, Den Barlen,” the soldier whispered. “I’ve heard Corps agents talking. When they speak of taking the left turn at the entrance, that means they’re going to Hardony’s office.”

  “All right,” Barlen said. “Kill that man.” The agent let out a gasping cry. “No! Don’t!” He thrust out a clawing hand. “I’ll take you to the prisoners! I swear it!”

  “Very well.” Barlen nodded. “Keep your sword-point in his back and, if there’s trouble, push. Now, my friend. The right turn, I think you said?”

  Now they walked through the halls in silence, save for the soft tread of wary feet. They descended a spiral ramp, turned again into a narrow corridor and, rounding a corner, emerged into a well-lighted chamber where four agents were playing an intricate card-game. The quartet stared, then sprang to their feet. But swords were at their necks. They dropped their hands and stood motionless.

  “Another trick?” Barlen asked.

  “No, no! I did not know these men were here! I swear it.”

  “Barlen!” Court said.

  The giant turned his head. “Well?”

  “That man!” He pointed at one of the agents. “I know him. He’s the Deccan spy who tried to kill me in the Green Tavern.”

  “What? A Deccan?”

  “Yeah,” Court said. “It’s odd he’s wearing Hardony’s uniform, isn’t it?”

  Barlen’s nostrils dilated. Disdaining to use his sword, he strode across the room, his great hand falling on the agent’s shoulder. The man screamed as Barlen’s muscular fingers tightened.

  “Talk!” Barlen whispered, and death stared from his eyes. “Speak the truth or I’ll crush your bones into splinters! Who are you? Hardony’s man?”

  Words spilled out. “Hardony gave me my orders. I obeyed him. I harmed no one. The weapon was a sham.”

  “The death-ray?” Court moved forward, his eyes widening. “But you killed two people with it. I saw them fall.”

  “They were in Hardony’s pay,” the man gasped, writhing. “A—ah—my shoulder. The—the weapon —it was harmless. It sends out a ray of light, nothing more. Since then I have hidden here, as Hardony commanded.”

  “A good way to convince me I should build weapons for Lyra,” Court said. “And it worked. I saw
a supposed Deccan kill ruthlessly with a death-ray. Yes, it worked—almost.”

  ‘We’ll see the prisoners now,” Barlen said. “The real Deccans.” He was smiling wolfishly.

  A quarter of an hour later Barlen’s air-car again was skimming through the dark, Court beside the yellow-bearded giant. Beneath them, Valyra glowed in deceptive calm,

  “I’m convinced,” Barlen said. “And I’m acting. My men are ready for mobilization and they’ll obey me. I’m ordering the arrest of Hardony and the imprisonment of his Corps leaders.”

  “The Throne?” Court asked.

  “There’s no time even to tell Irelle. Hardony will learn of our visit to his headquarters. We must strike before the red fox can move.”

  CHAPTER IX Plotters At Bay

  Standing before the private-beam televisor in Barlen’s home, Court watched while the orders went out. He was a spectator now, passive and waiting for—what? He did not know, but he sensed a growing tension in the air.

  “Find Hardony! Arrest him for treason, by Den Barlen’s orders, acting for the Throne. Arrest all Espionage Corps leaders. Action!”

  To Barlen’s well-trained army, in a thousand branch and district headquarters, the command was sent out. Barlen touched a switch, stood up, and nodded briefly at Court.

  “Stay here. I’m going to Hardony’s home. I’ll get in touch with you.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, stay here where you’ll be safe. You know things you haven’t told yet, and your evidence will be important. That means your life’s important too. Stay here.”

  Without waiting for an answer Barlen strode out, leaving Court alone to chafe and wonder.

  He did not have long to wait. Within ten minutes the televisor screen leaped into brilliant color. Irelle’s blue eyes looked into Court’s.