Zenya dot-11

by E. C. Tubb

  The air was silent; the shooting had stopped, the screams and shouts and bestial noises. There was nothing aside from the darkness, the rising smoke, the faint tang of burned explosives. Dropping flat, Dumarest rested his ear against the soil, finding no vibration of moving feet. If the enemy had been close, they had gone, or were more still and silent than any humans he had ever known.

  The lieutenant was conscious when he returned. He lifted his hands. "Why this?"

  "Don't you remember?"

  "We were talking. You said something about finding the other raft. Then I was on the dirt tied up like a beast for slaughter. What happened?"

  Dumarest said, "How do you feel?"

  "Sick. My head aches and my jaw…" The bound hands lifted, rubbed. "It hurts. Did I fall or something? But, if so, why am I tied?"

  "You tried to kill me. You would have done so if I hadn't knocked you out."

  The lieutenant blinked. "Kill you? But, sir, that's impossible."

  "I wish it were," said Dumarest. With his knife he cut the lashings. "Get up. Search the raft. If you find a communicator, try to contact the other raft. Have it come over and pick us up." He added grimly, "If you see a weapon, don't touch it. If you do, I will kill you."

  The officer commanding the other raft was a squat, middle-aged man with a dull, phlegmatic nature. A born soldier who loved to live by the book. As the raft landed, he jumped out, saluting.

  "Lieutenant Hamshard reporting, sir. As ordered, I dropped half my men to the west of the action and continued to the east. Those first dropped reported they were establishing contact."

  "And?"

  "One message, and then silence, sir. My guess is they ran into friendly fire, returned it, and then got wiped out The others, under my command, remained in position."

  "No contact established?"

  "No, sir."

  "Why not!"

  "To be frank, sir, it seemed that all hell had broken loose. I didn't want to throw my men away if the enemy had overwhelmed the position; still less did I want them to get shot by our own men. I held them back until I could get information from a scout. He didn't come back. I was about to mount another reconnaissance when your message was received. I pulled out, and my men with me." He jerked his head to where they waited in the raft. "Was the action in order, sir?"

  "Yes, captain."

  Hamshard frowned. "A mistake, sir. I am a lieutenant."

  "As from this moment, you are a captain. A battlefield promotion. Lieutenant Paran, make a note and inform headquarters of my decision." Dumarest looked at the sky. "How long until dawn?"

  "Less than an hour, sir. Orders?"

  "Get up and stay up until full light. We can do nothing in the dark. If the enemy were here, they are gone. If they weren't, there is little we can do but wait."

  Hamshard said shrewdly, "Sir, do you think the action we spotted, the shooting and noise, was the result of hysteria? That they were firing at the air and at each other?"

  "You think it possible, captain?"

  "Well, sir, they were a pretty high-strung bunch. If they thought they saw something, landed, got confused with shadows, and then my men coming toward them-yes, sir, I think it possible."

  "Well." said Dumarest, "We'll soon find out."

  Chapter Nine

  "Gas!" Colonel Paran thinned his lips, his eyes hard. "Are you sure, Earl? There can be no mistake?"

  Dumarest shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he fought the numbing weight of fatigue. From across the table around which sat the council of war a man said, "Examination of the bodies supports the marshal's theory. The toxic substances used must have been of short duration; no residue was found, but I fail to see how any other cause could have achieved the same result."

  Lem Vandet, a hard-faced, sharp-eyed man who spoke with determined precision. A chemical scientist before he had donned the uniform and insignia of a major.

  Colonel Oaken said, "Can you be certain of that? Without definite proof?"

  "We must work on the basis of available evidence, colonel. As the marshal pointed out, the clues were there all along. The villages without any Ayutha bodies-they couldn't have made a physical attack without suffering some casualties. Examination of the weapons used also proves that they were used against each other-blood and tissue samples leave no doubt. And the initial messages, which are all the same. Clear evidence of some form of hallucination that distorted reality so that the villagers imagined they were being attacked by monsters. In fact, they were the victims of their own minds."

  From where he had sat in brooding silence, Colonel Stone said, "The Ayutha are primitive. The manufacture of nerve gas requires a relatively high technology. They lack both the knowledge and the means."

  "As far as we are aware," admitted Vandet. "But they could buy what they cannot make."

  Dumarest watched their faces as they realized the implication of the comment. It was frightening. A band of marauding primitives was one thing; armed with nerve gas, they were something else, and if they had a source of supply, the economy of Chard was doomed.

  He said, "This is speculation. We have no proof that the Ayutha are involved. But I am fairly certain that the nerve gas is derived from lofios oil. I assume that it would be relatively easy for an unscrupulous man to contact them and to buy oil direct But why should they have wanted gas in the first place? That implies not only a savage hate but a calculated plan. Is it possible that you have commercial rivals who would gain by creating discord?"

  Oaken shook his head. He wasted no time now in bluster; the plump lines of his face had settled into determined hardness. He was not a fool, thought Dumarest, watching him. Neither he nor Stone. Merchants, perhaps, rich men both, but never fools.

  "We've thought of that," said Stone. "Lofios oil is rare and cannot be synthesized, so we own the entire supply. To destroy it would benefit no one-not even the Ayutha. That's what makes this whole thing so incredible. Now we have no choice but to send strong punitive expeditions into the hills, find their supplies of gas if possible, destroy what we can in order to teach them a lesson."

  "No."

  Oaken frowned. "Marshal?"

  "You don't put out a fire by throwing oil into the flames. You tried it once, and the second time achieved a total loss of all your men. As I explained at the beginning, wars of this nature tend to escalate. There will be no punitive expeditions."

  "You mean we must do nothing?"

  "I didn't say that. As yet no real attempt has been made to contact the Ayutha. Until an attempt has been tried, it would be stupid to waste men and aggravate the situation. We could create havoc, perhaps, but it would take only one man with one container of gas to destroy a village."

  Colonel Paran said, "The marshal has a point, gentlemen. The attacks are escalating. Two other villages destroyed since Verital." To Dumarest he explained, "The word came while you were in the field. They were far to the west, and there was nothing you could have done."

  "I should have been informed." A map lay on the table and Dumarest studied it, noting the positions of the red dots, widely spaced, villages destroyed at apparent random. Primitive savagery might account for it, but why should they have passed villages close to the hills to attack others much farther away?

  "I want a computer analysis made of these attacks," he said. "The times, the distances, the weather conditions, everything. Colonel Paran, I asked for rafts equipped with infrared detectors to maintain constant patrol. Did they spot anything?"

  "No, but that isn't conclusive. The lofios holds warmth and baffles the scanners."

  "I was thinking of much closer to the hills."

  "Still nothing."

  Which meant little; any attacking force could have remained under cover, living on carried stores and moving under the protection of the leaves.

  "Is there nothing we can do, marshal?" Stone was anxious. "Aside from punitive expeditions and constant surveillance, I can't see how we are going to resolve this conflict." />
  "Three things," said Dumarest. "Major Vandet, from your examination, would you say the gas was one which had to be inhaled?"

  "Yes. There are no marks of burning on the skin, and in any case, that would assume sprays were used. From your own experience, I would say that it is a relatively simple vapor-natural enough if we remember their limited sources of manufacture." He added, "Unless, of course, they are actually buying more sophisticated material."

  "We can discount that," said Colonel Paran. "Every ship reaching this planet is checked and cargoes verified. The gas they use must be locally produced."

  "Then respirators and air tanks would give total protection," said Dumarest. "See to their manufacture. Every man in the field must be equipped, and half of them must wear the masks at all times. The second thing-in order to protect the villages, all lofios plants to the extent of a mile must be cut down."

  "Destroyed?" The merchant in Oaken forced the objection. "Do you realize just how many plants that is? Marshal, we can't do it!"

  "Thirty villages," said Stone. "Three hundred square miles. The economy would never stand it."

  Colonel Paran said shrewdly, "You're thinking of cover, Earl? It makes sense, but would a mile be necessary?"

  "To give complete protection, yes."

  "I see. And the third thing?"

  "To make contact with the Ayutha." Dumarest rose from the table. "I will see to it as soon as I have enough men properly trained. And now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me?"

  * * *

  He heard the sound of water as he entered the suite and Zenya's voice raised in song. It was a cheerful air such as might be sung at a celebration, the words casual, hinting of love and fulfillment and eternal bliss. A dream, as all such songs were.

  "Earl?" She had heard the sound of the opening door, perhaps the heavy tread of his feet. She came from the bathroom, rubbing her hair with a fluffy towel, the long lines of her body barely covered by the material. "Darling!" Her eyes mirrored the shock in her voice. "You look dreadful-so tired. Some wine?"

  "Later."

  "After when, darling?" She saw the drawn look on his face and ceased her romantic byplay. "A hard time?"

  Times were always hard when dead men lay thick, broken bodies like discarded toys on the soft dirt. And there had been more than men-women, children, babies, even pets.

  "Yes," he said flatly. "A hard time."

  "But it's over, and you've come back to me, and now you're safe." She looked at the package he carried. "A present?"

  Without answering, he set the parcel on a table, ripped it open, and activated the mechanism it contained. An electronic baffle to nullify any watching device-high rank had certain conveniences.

  "Your uniform came," she said. "I've hung it up in the wardrobe. Are you going to wear it? It would be nice for us to go out and eat somewhere and have everyone looking at us and know that you are the marshal and I am your lady. Susal-the colonel's wife-took me to a place last night for dinner. The food was fabulous, and they had a wonderful troupe of dancers. The best I've seen since we left Samalle. Earl…" She frowned. "You aren't listening."

  He said flatly, "Just what instructions did Chan Parect give you before we left Paiyar?"

  "Earl?" She stared at him, eyes wide. "Earl, you told me not to mention things like that."

  "You can talk now. This will baffle any listening ears." He gestured at the mechanism softly humming on the table. "Did he tell you why we came here?"

  "Of course. To find his son, Salek."

  "And what else?" He resisted the impulse to reach out and shake her. "What would you have done, for example, had I shipped out?"

  "I'd have gone with you."

  "And if I'd left you behind?"

  A veil seemed to fall over the amber of her eyes, making her suddenly appear older, more subtle, a little evil. A mask to hide nothing, perhaps, or to hide a secret she had no intention of telling. And yet, it was something he had to know.

  "Earl!" She recoiled as she saw his face, the cruel set of his mouth. "Earl, don't look at me like that!"

  "You were given orders," he said tightly. "I want to know what they were."

  "Why bother, darling?" Her smile was soft, wanton. "You'll find Salek, and we'll all go home, and then we'll live happily until we die. You see, it's all so simple. There is no need for you to worry at all."

  A man to find, who could be anywhere; a threat hanging over him, should he fail; a war to win before his pretense was discovered. And she said that he had nothing to worry about.

  A child would have spoken like that, but Zenya was no child. With savage answer he threw the flat of his hand against her cheek.

  "Damn you, woman! Tell me!"

  "Earl!" She recoiled, eyes wide with shock, one hand lifted to the red welts on the bronze of her skin. "You hit me! You hit me!"

  "I'll kill you if you don't answer!"

  He meant it; the need of survival overrode all gentler instincts, and his determination showed on his face, in his eyes, his voice. She recognized it, accepted it, found a warped pleasure in surrendering to his mastery.

  "I was to send a message to the Cyclan telling them where you had been and where you were going if possible. And I was to send another to grandfather telling him that you had failed. That I had failed."

  "Is that all?"

  "Yes, Earl. That is all."

  It was too simple, too open for the devious mind of Aihult Chan Parect, and yet he had no evidence that she spoke other than the truth. Had the old man gambled on the bait of her body and the promise of later fortune being enough to hold him? Thinking it enough when coupled with a bluff?

  Wine stood on a table, and he helped himself, ignoring the girl, standing with eyes narrowed before the window. Rafts passed in the night outside, lights brilliant against the stars, each vehicle loaded with uniformed men. Fresh detachments for the field, forces accumulating for the inevitable attack, should all else fail. And other rafts, big cargo carriers, grim as they transported their loads of dead.

  From behind him Zenya said softly, "Earl?"

  She had dressed in a gown of clinging golden fabric, gems bright in the mane of her hair, head held high, the marks of his fingers carried proudly like a badge.

  He said, "Tell me about Salek Parect."

  "You should bathe, Earl, and change. It will refresh you, and I want to see you in uniform."

  "Tell me about the man I'm looking for."

  "I never saw him, Earl. He left Paiyar before I was born. From what others have told me, he was a dreamer, always reading old books and studying ancient scrolls. He had a theory that men had left the right way-whatever that is supposed to mean. Cant we forget him, Earl?"

  "I have to find him."

  "I know, but later. You have been away a long time, and I missed you." She came forward a little, perfume wafting before her, arms lifted in invitation. "I missed you so very much."

  He said, "I need to bathe and change."

  * * *

  They ate in a place gilded with glowing light, rainbows chasing each other on the walls, the ceiling a mass of drifting smoke shot with glimmers of random brightness. Music came from a living orchestra, martial tunes and exotic rhythms, the throb of drums merging with the wail of pipes, flutes soaring, strings quivering the air. Tall hostesses moved softly on naked feet, their ankles adorned with tiny bells which chimed as they glided between the tables. The food was a succession of dishes, spiced, plain, meats and fish and compotes of fruit, delicacies composed of crushed nuts blended with a dozen different flavors.

  Uniforms were everywhere, officers entertaining their women, faces flushed, voices a little too loud, peacocks strutting and enjoying their hour of glory. Volunteers all, paying for their uniforms, their arms, looking on the war as a great adventure.

  "Earl," whispered Zenya, "I'm so proud of you. You make these others look like inexperienced boys."

  Dumarest made no comment, sipping wine that tasted of honey and mint, icy col
d to the mouth, warming as it slid past his throat. He felt tired and wished that he was back in the suite, but it was to be expected that he would entertain his lady.

  "Sir?" A middle-aged man stood before him, the insignia of a major bright on his collar. "With respect, marshal, the captain and I are having a little argument, which perhaps you would be good enough to resolve." He gestured to the table he had left, the man and the two women watching. "With your permission?"

  He was more than a little drunk; it was easier to agree than argue.

  "What is it, major?"

  "It has to do with weapons, sir. I advocate lasers, but the captain states that a rifle is as effective, in trained hands. Your opinion?"

  "The captain is right."

  "But surely, sir, a laser, especially when set for continuous fire, can be more destructive?"

  "True, major, but a man can be killed only once. A bullet will do it as well as anything else. If the object of war was simple destruction, we would all be armed with missile launchers."

  "But, sir, surely-"

  "That will be all, major."

  Dumarest sipped again at his wine. The music had fallen to a repetitive beat, bass notes seeming to vibrate the very air, pulsing like the sound of a giant heart. A dancer spun onto the floor, whirling, veils lifting to reveal milky flesh, hair an ebony cloud around the painted face. Another joined her, glistening black, a third as red as flame. Trained litheness merged, parted, met again in a combination of limbs, so that for a moment the three bodies seemed one, to part, to join again in the age-old invitation of all women to all men.

  "Beautiful," whispered Zenya. "How could any man resist them? Could you, Earl? If I wasn't here? If they came to you?"

  They were marionettes, toys, painted dolls dedicated to their art. He turned from them, busy with his wine.

  "Have you ever known a woman like that, Earl? An artiste? You must have. Did she love you? Did you love her? Earl, answer me, I want to know."

  He said, "Zenya, do you know what love really is?"

  "Tell me, darling."

  "It isn't the game you play. For you it is all pleasure, fun, excitement. But real love isn't like that. There is pain in it, and sacrifice, and yearning, and something, perhaps, which you have never known. A caring for another person. A tenderness… I can't put it into words. If you feel it, you know it."