Chengal Ras lifted his scent maker and almost pressed the switch.
“I beg your pardon, Revered One,” Niens said. “But your odors may interfere with the scan.”
If he had been in High Station 3 or on one of his vessels, Chengal Ras would have struck down the offender. It was inconceivable that a human should attempt to balk any of his actions. Through an effort of will he restrained himself. Mentally, he cataloged the insult to his superiority. After this was over, he would have to bargain with the 73rd for Mentalist Niens. Yes, he would purchase this wretched skunk and run the human in his game room, chasing and killing the man for sport. Blood would wash away the insult.
“What are you hoping to achieve with the scan?” Chengal Ras hissed.
“My predecessor kept the specimen under sedation,” Niens said. “During that time, she ran the primitive through routine tests. This one showed a higher than average psionic ability, but little else of note.”
“Where is your predecessor now?”
“Scrubbing processing tanks, I believe,” Niens said. “She is being punished.”
“How were you associated with your predecessor?”
“I was her laboratory assistant,” Niens said.
Chengal Ras blinked rapidly. He was sure the creature’s stink irritated his eyes. “Did you approve of the sedation?”
“I respect the specimen’s abilities,” Niens said. “But my personal security isn’t at issue. I seek knowledge, data. It is my goal to extract what I can from the specimens in order to broaden my Revered One’s fund of raw knowledge.”
“You are a dedicated creature,” Chengal Ras said.
Niens bowed low.
Chengal Ras knew the signs. This one was a dissembler, a climber, and a possible liar. It must have a keen intellect. Surely, Zama Dee would not otherwise keep climbers among her mentalists. Humans such as these were instrumental in teaching fledging Bo Taw to love their masters, their betters.
“Continue the scan as you explain the procedures,” Chengal Ras said.
“As you will, Revered One,” Niens said. He lowered the helmet. The outer surface bristled with nodes and leads. Gently, he settled it onto the old human’s head. Then Niens slid his narrow hindquarters onto a stool and began to tap controls.
“We have developed a new serum,” Niens said. “Some among the mentalists do not believe it is altogether trustworthy, but I approve of it. The serum blocks the majority of the subject’s psi process. Psionics is, as I’m sure you are aware, a frontal lobe phenomenon.”
It was a talkative creature, this mentalist. That was another strike against it.
Niens made adjustments and tapped the main screen. The old man on the board jerked and groaned.
“Hmm,” Niens said. “He’s twitchy today. I wonder why.”
For the next few minutes the mentalist sat hunched over his controls. The ancient on the table tightened its stringy muscles by slow degrees. Soon, it lay rigid, the otherwise flaccid muscles showing starkly.
“Why is that happening?” Chengal Ras asked.
“That is an excellent question.”
“You dare to make an assertion concerning the quality of my question?” Chengal Ras hissed.
Niens looked up in alarm. His tongue flickered into view, sliding across his thin lips. “I beg your pardon, Revered One. I misspoke. Something lies at the edge of the seeker’s subconscious. I’ve been trying to tease it into view. Such was the absorption in my task that I thoughtlessly forgot about your presence.”
“Your remarks show an exalted belief in your status.”
“I crave your pardon, Revered One. I work too hard, it is true.”
“I have not said that.”
“Oh. There I go again, Revered One. I—”
“Silence,” Chengal Ras said. “Cease this useless rambling. What occurs here? Explain what you suspect and what you’re attempting to achieve.”
“Do you insist upon hearing my foolish conjectures, Revered One?”
“I am not in the habit of having my orders analyzed or questioned.”
Niens lowered his head. “The seeker—as I shall refer to the test subject—appears agitated. I believe he has hope. This hope causes him stress because he doesn’t know if the hope is warranted or not.”
“That is a convoluted theory,” Chengal Ras said.
“I have been told I have chaotic thoughts. Zama Dee approves, however, as I often attempt something new and therefore original.”
Clever, very clever, Chengal Ras thought. He saw the utility of it right away. It was also a dangerous practice. The 73rd gave her cattle greater leeway than ordinary. The reason, according to Niens, was to broaden the base of Zama Dee’s raw data. That would imply the 73rd thought cattle could uncover information a Kresh could or would not. Yet, didn’t the FTL drive—the Faster-Than-Light drive—the Sol humans brought prove the validity of the theory? He would have to consider this in greater depth.
“What causes the seeker’s hope?” Chengal Ras asked.
“That is what I’m attempting to discover, Revered One. I wonder . . . maybe we—I—should seek the answer in his memory.”
Niens’s thin spidery fingers blurred over the touchpads and screens. The ancient one’s stiffness remained, but a slow movement of its mouth showed a smile spreading into place.
“Please look at the big screen, Revered One,” Niens said.
Chengal Ras twisted around.
“We’re viewing the seeker’s memory,” Niens said.
Chengal Ras instantly recognized the Kresh sky vehicle. It came toward a compound of Jassac natives. He saw a youth sprint into view. The white-skinned native clutched something in its fist. It glared at the sky vehicle, and suddenly, incredibly, the vehicle lurched. A moment later the sky vehicle sailed down and crashed against the ground. Another flash of memory brought a dancing throng of cattle to the broken sky vehicle and to the dead Kresh. The memory showed the grinning youth.
“Is this a dream, or a memory of a true event?” Chengal Ras asked.
“That is an interesting question, Revered One. Certainly, the old one lying on the table believes this to be true. If it in fact happened . . . that is another story. Notice the smile. The memory delights him. I am inclined to believe it happened.”
“Why did the investigation team capture this one?” Chengal Ras asked.
“Interesting, interesting,” Niens said. He swiveled around on the stool and tapped a computer screen. Data appeared. He read it, and he looked up sharply. “We must assume this is a true memory,” the mentalist said. “The specimen was caught due to the Kresh attack, due to Kresh deaths.”
“Elaborate.”
“It is strict policy to capture and interrogate any human who murders one of the Noble Race.”
“This one killed a Kresh?”
“Let us proceed with the interrogation,” Niens said, “in an endeavor to find out.”
Chengal Ras silently agreed with the analysis. For an hour, two hours, he watched the mentalist at work. This one knew its trade. Perhaps here lay the reason for its arrogance and improper deference.
Finally, Mentalist Niens sat up, and with a tug at his collar, straightened his coat. He peered at Chengal Ras. “A mistake has been made.”
Chengal Ras’s attention had been wandering as he thought up new axioms involving subterfuge and espionage. Now, he regarded the human.
Niens indicated the seeker trembling in exhaustion on the table. “According to the capture report, the investigation team sought the psionic-capable individual who had caused the Kresh deaths. I now realize that this one impersonated the killer.”
“You’re attempting to perpetrate the notion that cattle can climb to heights of pure altruism?”
“What?” Niens asked. Maybe it took him a moment to untangle the thought behind
Chengal Ras’s words. “No, Revered One.”
“Why would this bag of bones sacrifice its life for another?”
“That is an interesting question. I’m sure it would take extended study to find the root cause.”
“Heed my next question carefully, mentalist.”
Niens looked up. A second later, he nodded solemnly.
“What or who is the ‘Anointed One’?” Chengal Ras asked.
Niens blinked with seeming incomprehension. “Is that a religious term, Revered One?”
“Obviously, yes,” Chengal Ras said.
“I ask because I haven’t heard it before.”
Chengal Ras checked one of the devices attached to his belt. According to this, the creature told the truth. His human operatives on High Station 3 had infiltrated the Resisters. The operatives had returned with several fables, one telling of a being who would lead the humans out of so-called captivity. There were indications that the Anointed One resided on Jassac. Logic dictated such a being would possess unique abilities. That indicated a psi-able human.
“You will probe deeper,” Chengal Ras said.
“The seeker is worn out,” Niens said. “I suggest—”
“Have I asked for your suggestions?”
“No, Revered One.”
“Because you are Zama Dee’s creature, I have tolerated your slurs and aspirations to my superiority. I will do so no longer. Approach me.”
“Revered One,” Niens said, as he remained on the stool. “I hold you in the highest esteem and I worship the floor space you occupy. I would—”
Rage motivated Chengal Ras, as well as the realization that he needed to make the mentalist fear him. Cattle must either love their superiors or fear them. There was no room for middle ground. The 73rd might not approve of this, but she would not be able to press the issue. Custom would restrain her, if nothing else.
In a swift stride, Chengal Ras reached the mentalist and plucked him off the chair. Like all humans, the man was feather light, and Chengal Ras refrained from using his full strength. He threw the yelping man onto the tiles and placed one of his clawed feet on the human’s chest. If Chengal Ras pressed down with all his weight, he could easily crack the man’s ribs and crush him. He had killed humans like this on several enjoyable occasions. Once, he had done so only for pleasure. Every other time had been to inflict greater obedience from his cattle.
“You have offended me,” Chengal Ras hissed.
“I beg your pardon, Revered One,” Niens wailed.
The stenches didn’t improve, and now the stink of fear radiated from the human filth. Chengal Ras unhooked an agonizer from his belt. Bending low, he touched the cool device to the creature’s neck.
Mentalist Niens howled in agony and the creature voided its bowels at the pain. Perhaps he had put the setting too high. Chengal Ras removed the agonizer and saw that it was at the second-highest setting.
Under his clawed talon, he could feel the human tremble and heard the creature weep.
“I have failed you, Revered One,” Niens sobbed. “I have grossly failed. Forgive me, please, oh Noble One of Kresh. I am—”
“Silence,” Chengal Ras hissed.
The mentalist fell silent.
“I will tolerate no more of your slurs.”
Niens nodded quickly.
“You will work efficiently and with due reverence and respect for my rank and my race. Together, we will probe the old one’s memories and see what it will uncover.”
“I hear and obey, Revered One.”
Chengal Ras heard the whining note, and therefore true piety, in the mentalist’s words. He removed his foot, and he nodded, indicating the creature could stand.
“You will clean yourself,” Chengal Ras said. “You will don fresh garments. No. First, you will shower and use grade-seven solvent on your skin. You stink. You will eat cloves and drink lavender spice. That should mask the foul odors emanating from you. Then you will don fresh clothes and we shall work late into the darkness.” He glanced at the pathetic thing lying on the table. “That will also give the seeker time to recover strength for tonight’s ordeal.”
Niens bowed repeatedly and kept his eyes aimed at the floor.
It was clear to Chengal Ras that Zama Dee did not punish her humans often or hard enough. This was a good lesson for the creature. Maybe one more swift session would be enough to turn the cattle’s loyalty to him instead of the 73rd. In any case, something odd was taking place in this chamber. Chengal Ras could sniff it in the air. He needed to find this Anointed One and spirit him or her away.
“Go!” Chengal Ras said in a loud voice. “I have given you commands. Now you will obey with haste or feel the agonizer again.”
Niens spun around and nearly stumbled in his hurry to comply. The agonizer, in Chengal Ras’s opinion, was the most important tool in teaching humans their proper place in the universe. Yes, finally, he was beginning to enjoy himself on Jassac.
14
Klane slunk through the darkness of the city streets as a riot of emotions filled him. He knew fear. This was the place of evilest legends. But more than fear, he knew an avenging sense of justice and righteousness.
He passed one of the towers with its fluted bridge high above him. He kept in the shadows, and he observed men and women on the demon city streets. They wore strange garments and hurried as if on important business. Ah, there, with the clash of its talons, a demon strode toward a big domed structure.
None paid him the slightest heed. He had borrowed a cloak spun from strange material and he wore a hat over his head. He moved purposefully, trying to mimic how the others acted.
He dared the demon city. He was the Tash-Toi avenger as told in the old tales. He had a knife, and he would slay any who stood in his path. More important, spells seethed in his mind, ready to leap out and do his bidding.
Now he needed to find the seeker. Now he must dare to cast spells in the most magic-filled place on Jassac. He darted into an alcove and peered upward. Windows glistened with artificial light. The smells, the sights—
Klane shook his head. He must focus. He must gather his resolve. The demons had raided the uplands. He now would raid the lowlands and teach the vile ones that men would not lie supine to them forever.
I fight. I strike in the name of justice.
He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and roved outward with a Far-Calling Spell.
With the utmost caution, taught to him in the caves of the singing gods, Klane’s mind searched for the seeker. He felt the feathery thoughts of other wizards, the demon tools in human guise. He avoided them, acting like a shadow, a whispery ghost seeking . . .
Klane’s thoughts whirled around. He sensed an old familiar mind.
Klane.
Seeker?
Klane, you must flee. They are weaving a trap for you. They know. They know you are here.
I have come for you.
You are in the valley?
Caution slowed Klane’s answer. Something was amiss. He might not have caught it before, but the laughter of the singing gods had tuned his mind into something much sharper. Others trickled thoughts or invaded the seeker’s mind.
Have they drugged you, old friend? Klane asked.
I cannot climb out of slumber.
I sense them.
Klane, you must flee. You must wait for the transfer some other time.
You’ve spoken about that before, old friend. What is the transfer?
No, no, do not ask me that, Klane. I mustn’t let them know.
Who? Let who know?
There is a watcher, a demon with sinister ways. He seeks you, Klane. He waits—
Klane retreated with his Far-Calling Spell. There was trickery abroad tonight. He felt the demons. He felt their devious natures. With a start, he realized that the singing g
ods had taught him more than he’d realized.
Transfer, the seeker had spoken about a transfer. It was vitally important—to humanity.
Looking up, Klane realized the seeker was near. Should he attack and attempt a rescue? What had the seeker said? That he could not arise from slumber? The demons had drugged him.
Klane grinned. He had plucked many puffer pods earlier. Upon waking tonight, he’d used his thumbnails and pried each one apart. The tiny green seeds had potency. He would trickle three down the seeker’s throat. That would wake up the dead.
Yes, he must strike now, and he must strike fast, ruthlessly. The demons might try to stop him. They had demon weapons—
With a flap of his borrowed cloak, Klane strode out of the alcove. He moved purposefully and with speed. He followed a faint mind trail. In a manner of minutes, he crossed several city blocks. It was hard not breaking into a sprint.
He took a deep breath. The air was so moisture rich. It was hard getting used to it. Craning his neck, he looked up. In this tower, near the very top—
Klane had to make a swift decision. How would he ascend the demon tower? If he entered it to climb the stairs, he would have to pass each demon trap. He suspected they knew he had arrived. The seeker had implied as much.
Grinning, Klane decided it was time to use his full powers. Reaching behind him, he gripped the cloak with two hands. He kept searching the windows and their shining night-lights. That window to the left, one down from the top and two over from the skylight: the seeker was in that room.
Klane squeezed his eyes shut, then he opened them wide. His feet lifted off the ground in a Levitation Spell.
“Higher,” he whispered.
Just like the time in the caves, he rose. The speed of his ascent quickened the longer he levitated. The cloaked flapped even though he held the edges. He kept his neck craned and his eyes locked on the targeted window. He moved so fast that it almost felt as if he flew. He was the avenger. He was the knife of the Tash-Toi, to cut the heart out of the demons.
Klane reached the window and concentrated, hurling a hard knot of telekinesis. He sank a moment. The glass shattered and shards tinkled onto the inner floor.
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