by Andre Norton
She followed him with no more questions. On Demeter Charis had gone exploring with the ranger; she thought she knew a measure of woodcraft. But Lantee was as much at home in this business as Taggi could be. He slipped soundlessly from one piece of cover to another. However, she noted with some surprise, he did not display any outward signs of impatience when her clumsiness slowed them. And she was even a little resentful of what she came to believe was his forbearance.
Hot and very thirsty, Charis wriggled up a slope Lantee had led them to. She had a swelling bite delivered by the rightful inhabitant of an earthen run she had inadvertently crushed, and her throat ached with desert dryness before they lay side by side behind a screen of brush at the top of that rise.
A cluster of four bubble domes lay below and, farther away, a landing field. There was a light copter standing to one side of that, and on the rocket-blasted middle section stood a small spacer—a Patrol scout, Charis believed.
It was very peaceful there below. No one moved about the buildings, but pale flowers native to Warlock grew in the open space. And some brighter spots in those beds suggested that perhaps some off-world plants had been imported as an experiment.
"It looks all right—" she began.
"It looks all wrong!" His whisper carried something of the hiss of Wyvern anger.
There were no blast holes in the fabric of the domes as there had been at the raided post, nothing in sight which suggested trouble. But Lantee's concern was plain to read, and she returned to a second and more searching survey of the scene.
It must be midafternoon and there was a quality of drowsy peace down there. The inhabitants could all be dozing out the hours at their ease. Charis made up her mind not to ask for enlightenment but wait for her companion to volunteer the cause for his suspicion.
He began to talk softly, perhaps more as a listing of his own causes for suspicion aloud rather than as a sharing of information with Charis.
"Com mast down. Hantin's not out in the garden working on that new crossing bed of his. And Togi—Togi and the cubs—"
"Togi?" Charis dared to ask.
"Taggi's mate. She has two cubs and they spend every afternoon that's sunny down among those rocks. They're very fond of earth-wasp grubs and there's several colonies of them to be found there. Togi's been teaching the cubs how to dig them out."
But how could he be sure that just because a wolverine and her cubs were not at a certain place there was trouble below? Then Charis added that to the two other facts he had noted—the com mast down and that he had not seen one of the base personnel outside. But both of those were such little things—
"Put those three together"—Lantee was either able to read her thoughts in part or was following her own line or reasoning with surprising accuracy—"and you have a wrong answer. On a base you come to follow habit. We have the com mast up always. That's orders and you don't change regulations unless there's an emergency. Hantin is experimenting with the crossing of some of the native plants with off-world varieties. He's hybrid-mad and he spends all his free time in the garden. And Togi is earth-wasp minded; only caging would keep her away from those rocks. And since we've yet to find any cage she can't break out of—" He looked glum.
"So—what do we do now?"
"We wait until dark. If the base is deserted and the com not wrecked—both of which are slim chances—there may be an opportunity to get a call off planet. But there's no use in trying to get down there now. Any approach would have to be made across the open."
He was right in that. The usual clearing about buildings ordered by custom in a frontier world was not as open here as it had been about Jagan's post. But there was no brush or trees or other cover growth left within a good distance of any of the four domes or the landing field. To approach those meant advancing in the open.
Lantee rolled over on his back and lay staring up into the bush they were using as a screen with an intentness which suggested that he hoped to read the answer for their problem somewhere within the maze of its drooping branches.
"Togi—" Charis broke the silence "—is she like Taggi? Could you call her?" What aid the wolverine might be Charis did not know, but to try and reach her was action of some sort, and just now she found inaction more frustrating than she could bear.
Exasperation sharpened Lantee's reply. "What do you think I'm trying to do? But since she has had cubs she is less receptive to orders. We have let her go her own way while they are small. Whether she will ever obey spoken commands again, I am not sure."
He closed his eyes, a frown line sharp between his well-marked brows. Charis propped her chin on her hand. As far as she could determine, the base continued to drowse in the sun. Was it really deserted? Through Wyvern Power sending its inhabitants into that strange darkness? Or left so by a Jack raid?
Unlike the rugged setting Jagan had chosen for his post, this more open country was lighter, gave no feeling of somberness darkening into possible menace. Or was she becoming so accustomed to the general Warlockian scenery that it no longer looked the same to her as it had when Jagan had brought her out of the spacer? How long ago? weeks? months? Charis had never been able to reckon how much time she had spent with the Wyverns.
Yes, here Warlock was fair under the amber sky, the golden sun. The amethyst hues of the foliage were sheer splendor. Purple and gold—the ancient colors of royalty in the days when Terra had hailed kings and queens, emperors and empresses. And now Terran blood had spread from star to star, mutated, adapted, even allegiances had changed from world to world as the tides of migration had continued generation after generation. Ander Nordholm had been born on Scandia, but she herself had never seen that planet. Her mother had been from Bran, and she herself could claim Minos for her native soil. Three widely separated and different worlds. And she could not remember Minos at all. Lantee—where had Shann Lantee been born?
Charis turned her head to study him, trying to select some race or planet to fit his name and his general physical appearance. But to her eyes he was not distinctive enough a type to recognize. Survey drew from almost every settled planet of the Confederation. He could even be a native Terran. That he was Survey meant that he had certain basic traits of character, certain very useful skills. And that he was also wearing the gold key of an embassy above his cadet bar meant even more—that he had extra-special attributes into the bargain.
"It's no use." He raised his hand to shade his now open eyes. "If she is still down there, I can't touch her—not mentally anyway."
"What did you think she might do to help us now?" Charis asked, curious.
"Maybe nothing." But that seemed an evasive answer to the girl.
"Are you a Beast Master?" she asked.
"No, Survey doesn't use animals that way—as fighters or sabotage teams. Taggi and Togi are both fighters when they have to be, but they act more as scouts. In lots of ways their senses are more acute than ours; they can learn more in a shorter time about a new stretch of country than any human. But Taggi and Togi were sent here originally as an experiment. We learned after the Throg attack just how much they could help—"
"Listen!" Charis's hand clamped onto his shoulder. She straightened out, flat to the ground, her head to one side. No, she had not been mistaken. The sound was growing louder.
"Atmosphere flyer!" Lantee's identification confirmed her own guess. "Back!" He rolled farther under the drooping branches of the bush and tugged at Charis as she wormed in after him.
The flyer was approaching from the north, not coming in over their present perch. As the plane set down on the landing strip, Charis saw that it was larger than the copter already there—probably a six-passenger ship motored for transcontinental service, not for the shorter flights of the copters.
"That's none of ours!" Lantee whispered.
It came to a halt and two men dropped from it to stride purposefully toward the domes. They went so confidently that the watchers knew they must expect welcome or at least believe that no diffi
culty awaited them. They were too far from the spy post for their features to be distinguished, but while they wore uniforms of a similar cut to those at the post, Charis had never seen these before. The black and silver of Patrol, the green-brown of Survey, the gray and red of the medical service, the blue of Administration, the plain green of the rangers, the maroon of Education—she could identify those at a glance. But these were a light yellow.
"Who?" she wondered. When she heard a small grunt from Lantee, she added, "Do you know?"
"Something—somewhere—" Then he shook his head. "I've seen something like that color, but I can't remember now."
"Would Jacks wear uniforms? The one I saw with the blaster—he was dressed just like any other Free Trader."
"No." Lantee's frown grew deeper. "It means something—if I only could remember!"
"No government service? Perhaps some planetary organization operating off-world," Charis suggested.
"I don't know how that could be. Look!"
A third man had come out of one of the domes. Like the two from the flyer he wore yellow, but sunlight struck glinting sparks from his collar and belt; that could only mark insignia of some type. A uniformed invasion of a government base— A wild idea suddenly struck Charis.
"Shann—could—could a war have broken out?"
For a moment he did not answer her and, when he did, it was almost as if he were trying to deny that idea to himself as much as to her.
"The only war we've waged in centuries has been against the Throgs—and those aren't Throgs down there! I was here just five days ago, and the messages we were receiving from off-world were all only routine. We had no warning of any trouble."
"Five days ago?" she challenged him. "How can we be sure of how much time passed while the Wyverns controlled us? It may have been weeks or longer since you were here."
"I know—I know. But I don't think war is the answer. I just don't believe it. But a Company action— If they thought they could get away with a grab— If the gain was big enough—"
Charis considered that. Yes, the Companies—they were regulated, curbed, investigated, as well as the Confederation and the Patrol could manage. But they had their own police, their extra-legal methods when they dared flaunt control. Only what would bring any one of the Companies to send a private army to Warlock? What treasure could be scooped up here before a routine Patrol visit would reveal such lawless activity?
"What could they find here to make it worth their while?" she asked. "Rare metals? What?"
"One thing—" Lantee continued to watch the men below. The two from the flyer were discussing something with the man from the dome. One of them broke away and headed back for the aircraft. "One thing might just be worth it if they could seize it."
"What?" Charis's guesses roved wildly. Surely Jagan would have known and mentioned any outstanding native product during his instruction on trading.
"The Power itself! Think what that secret would mean to men who could use it on other worlds!"
He was right. The Power was a treasure great enough to tempt even one of the companies into piracy of a kind. If they mastered its use they could defy even the Patrol. And Lantee's idea fitted very neatly into place, especially now that she remembered Jagan's mention of the same quest.
"The nullifier." She thought aloud. "That's their answer to the use of the Power against them. But how did they develop something of the sort without knowing more about the Power? Maybe they believe they can use it to control the Wyverns and make them yield their secrets."
"The nullifier, whatever it is, can be an adaptation of something already well known. As to the rest—yes—they could believe they have the witches finished."
"But the Jacks? Why?"
Lantee scowled. "Not the first time a Company has shoved some of its hard-fisted boys into plain clothes and tried a Jack cover-screen for a quick steal. If they're caught, then they're just Jacks and nothing else. If they succeed, the Company comes in behind their screen and they all fade out as soon as the grab is over. If they believe now that they've either wiped out all opposition or have it under wraps, then they're in the open with another force to consolidate their position and protect any experts and techs they send in for a real study of the Power. It all fits. Don't you see how it fits?"
"But—if this is a Company at work—" Charis's voice trailed off as the full force of what might be arrayed against them struck home.
"You're beginning to see? Jacks on their own are one thing; a Company pulling a grab is something else." Lantee's tone was bleak. "They will have resources to draw on to back their every move. Right now I wouldn't wager star against comet that they're not in complete control here."
"Maybe," Charis chose to use his gambling symbols, "they may believe that they have every comet on the board blocked, but there are a few wild stars left."
There was a faint suggestion of a smile about his lips.
"Two wild stars, perhaps?"
"Four. Do not underestimate Tsstu and Taggi." And she meant that, strange as it sounded.
"Four—you, me, a wolverine, and a curl-cat—against the might of a Company. You fancy high odds, don't you, Gentle Fem?"
"I fancy any odds we can get while the game is still in play. The counters have not been swept from the board yet."
"No, nor the game called. And we might just run those odds to a more even balance. I do not think that our friends below have yet met the witches of Warlock. Even we do not know their full resources."
"I hope they have some good ones left," was her comment.
Only a short time ago the Wyverns had come out in the open as enemies. Now Charis wished with all her heart for their success. In the lines of battle, if what she and Lantee had come to believe was true, they would be on the side of the witches.
"What can we do?" She was again afire for action.
"We wait and still we wait. When it is dark, I want to see a little more of what is going on down there. Make sure, if we can, just what we are up against."
He was entirely right, but waiting now was so very hard.
XIII
They lay side by side, watching the base. The flyer had taken off, leaving behind one of its passengers; with the officer, he had returned to the domes. Again the site was seemingly deserted.
"That is a Patrol scout ship down there," Charis said. "Would any Company dare move outwardly against the Patrol?"
"With a good cover story they could risk it," Lantee replied. "A scout isn't on a tight report schedule, remember. They could say that they found this base deserted and blame any trouble on the Wyverns if it became necessary to provide an explanation. What I'd like to know is—if this is a Company grab—how they came to learn of the Power. Jagan ever say anything about it?"
"Yes, he mentioned it once. But he spoke mostly about things such as this cloth." Charis plucked at the stuff of her tunic which was standing the hard usage better than Lantee's uniform. "He was gambling to make a high stake, but I thought trade material was mostly fishing on his part."
"He got in here over Thorvald's protest," Lantee commented. "We couldn't see how he rated a permit in the first place, he was so close to the fringe."
"Could he have been used as a Company cover? Maybe without his even knowing it?"
Lantee nodded. "Could well be. Send him in as an opening wedge and have his reports to add to their general knowledge since our files are closed—if any files are ever closed when the grab is big enough!" he ended cynically. "Somebody passed over a bag of credits in this deal. I'd swear blood-oath on that."
"Just what can you do down there?" Charis asked.
"If the com isn't out and if I can reach it, just one signal set on repeat will bring in such help as'll make these blaster merchants think someone's put a couple of earth-wasps under their tunic collars!"
"Several ifs in that."
Lantee smiled his humorless, lip-stretching smile. "Life is full of ifs, Gentle Fem. I've carried a pack of them for years."
"Where are you from, Shann?"
"Tyr." The answer was short, bitten off as if meant to be final.
"Tyr," Charis repeated. The name meant nothing to her, but who could ever catalogue the thousands of worlds where Terran blood had rooted, flowered, branched, and broken free to roam inward.
"Mining world. Right—right about there!" He had lifted his head and now he pointed northward into the sky which was displaying the more brilliant shades of sunset.
"I was born on Minos. But that doesn't mean much since my father was an Education officer. I've lived on—five—six—Demeter was the seventh world."
"Education officer?" Lantee echoed. "Then how did you get with Jagan? You beamed in a tape asking for aid. What was that all about anyway?"
She cut the story of Demeter and the labor contract to its bare bones as she told it.
"I don't know whether Jagan could have held you to that contract here on Warlock. On some worlds it'd be legal, but anyway you could have fought him with Thorvald's backing," he observed when she was done.
"Doesn't matter much now. You know—I didn't like Warlock at first. It—it was almost frightening. But now, even with all this, I want to stay here." Charis was surprised at her own words. She had said them impulsively but she knew they were true.
"By ordinary standards, this will never be a settlement world under the code."
"I know—intelligent native life over the fifth degree—so we stay out. How many Wyverns are there anyway?"
He shrugged. "Who knows? They must have more than one settlement among the off-shore islands, but we do not go except to their prime base and then only on permission. You perhaps know more about them than we do."
"This dreaming," Charis mused. "Who can be sure of anything with them? But can the Power really be used by males? They are so certain that it can't. And if they're right about that, what can the Company do?"