Zenya dot-11

by E. C. Tubb

  "I didn't see any weapons, but I didn't have much time to look." Taykor raised his mask and spat. "That damned fool cut loose too soon. I guess he was thinking of his family, but he should have waited. They must have had men watching from under cover."

  "Never mind that." Dumarest had no patience for listening to the obvious. "The Ayutha were in plain sight, you say. No weapons visible that you could see. That means they were ready to meet us." He frowned. Conn was dead, the damage done. The problem now was to lessen the danger of the situation.

  He raised his head over the edge of the rock and looked around. The trail they had followed was deserted aside from the bodies they had left. The ridge ahead was naked against the sky, but the flame bombs must have been fired from launchers, and they could bathe the ring of stone with fire at any moment He wondered why it hadn't already been done.

  "Lieutenant, you have a spare communicator. Let me have it."

  As he handed it over, the officer said, "What do you intend to do, sir?"

  "The only thing there is to do. The thing we came here for." Dumarest rose, standing clear against the sky. "I'm going to talk to the Ayutha."

  Chapter Eleven

  It was like walking through a nest of sleeping, venomous serpents, knowing that the slightest touch, the smallest noise, would waken them and cost him his life. Above, the sun beat down with eye-stinging brilliance, the vegetation seeming to rustle from the impact of invisible shapes. Dumarest moved steadily from the circle of stone, the communicator at his belt, both hands raised and empty, in the universal sign of peace.

  An arrow splintered on the ground five feet to his left. He ignored it, moving steadily toward the ridge. Another shattered on the rocks to his right, a third stood quivering in the ground directly ahead. A warning not to proceed? A test to see if he would break and run for cover while behind him the men opened fire? Or perhaps it was a simple means to determine his courage; primitive peoples had their own ways of arriving at a decision.

  The body of Captain Corm lay a crusted mass of charred flesh. He had thrown away his rifle when the missile hit, and it lay to one side against a bush clear in the sunlight. A tempting object for an unarmed man surrounded by enemies, but Dumarest made no move toward it. To touch it would be to abort his mission, to invite the flame bombs that must be aimed at him to leave their launchers. And there was no one close to give him a merciful death should they strike.

  He reached the top of the ridge, halted, hands lifted as he called down to where the Ayutha had been waiting.

  "I come in peace. I am Earl Dumarest, marshal of Chard. I come to talk."

  Nothing. Not a leaf stirred, no shape appeared, and yet he sensed the presence of watching eyes.

  "I come in peace," he said again. "I am alone, unarmed, as you can see. If you wish to kill me, do it now."

  On the ridge he had a slender chance of being able to duck, to turn and run back to the circle of stones, the waiting, armed men. A thin chance, but below the crest of the ridge he would have none at all. For a long moment he waited, and then, deliberately, strode on down the slope.

  The Ayutha were waiting.

  They appeared like silent ghosts, rising from the ground, bushes moving to become men, figures stepping from behind sheltering rocks. Dumarest halted, studying them. They were human, and yet each carried a subtle distortion of a familiar shape. Tall, their shoulders were a little too narrow, the heads elongated, the arms longer than he would have expected, the chests pronounced, as if the lungs within had a greater capacity than his own. The faces, too, carried an alien stamp. The lips were wide, down-curved, the noses beaked, the eyes buried under a ridge of prominent bone. Their hair was long, silver among the black, the tresses braided with colored fibers. They wore pants and an open tunic, sandals, wide belts hung with pouches. All carried weapons-slings, bows, clubs, spears, rifles, and a few lasers. He could see no signs of missile launchers or other more sophisticated devices, and was glad of it. They would be there, but only fools would display their full strength to an enemy they intended to leave alive.

  Dumarest said loudly, "I have come to talk and all can hear what I have to say. But is there one among you who can talk for the rest?"

  A voice said, "Why did you come among us?"

  "I have told you." Dumarest turned, looking at the speaker. He was old, his face seamed with tiny lines, hair bright with silver. An elder, possibly, or a wise man, a councilor perhaps-he knew too little about their social structure. "I came to meet you. To talk."

  "Yet, when we waited for you, death came to two of our number."

  "Against my order."

  "Do your men not obey you?"

  "Do yours?" Dumarest looked at the men pressing all around. "If one of your people does what he should not do, what then? Is he made to leave your company? Is punishment taken? Does he face the penalty of your law?" Words, he thought, and perhaps words without meaning to those who listened. They could have a different code, mores other than what he knew, customs that did not recognize the duties more civilized men placed upon themselves. He said, "The man killed against my order. Because of that, I killed him in turn."

  A voice in the background said, "That is true. I saw it done."

  "The one responsible was dying." Another voice, doubtful.

  "Even so, he was slain."

  A babble arose, soft voices whispering, as if a wind had passed over the assembly, stilling as the elder raised his hand.

  "Why did the man fire? What had we done to harm him?"

  "His family died in an outbreak of violence. He blamed you. Among my people the desire for revenge is very strong."

  "And would killing us restore his family?"

  "No."

  "Did he know that?"

  "He knew it."

  "Then why did he seek to kill?"

  "Because he was a man," said Dumarest harshly. "A man suffering pain and hurt from his loss and wanting to give to those he thought responsible the same pain and hurt he had known. You have worked among us, you know how we are. And you too have killed. What drove you to take innocent lives?"

  "Innocent?" The elder made a gesture, one hand lifting, fingers extended, thumb pointed downward. "They came against us with fire and steel and killed without warning. And you, you came to talk, you say. Do you need guns to make conversation?"

  "For defense… and I have no gun."

  Again the babble rose, men speaking, not raising their voices, arriving at a conclusion by a means Dumarest could guess at but not really know. Telepathy, perhaps, vocalized thoughts resolving, meeting, transmitted to their spokesman. As it died the man said, "According to the habits of your people, you display great courage. Why are you here?"

  "To end the war."

  "That too is our wish. It is not good for our people to bear instruments designed to kill those of our own kind. It hurts them. But it is a thing I cannot alone decide. There are others-you must meet them, talk with them, let them judge you in our manner. You are willing?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest. "Let's waste no more time."

  * * *

  It was dawn when he returned, the stars paling, fading motes in the light of the rising sun. A sentry called out as he approached the circle of stones, his voice high, brittle with tension.

  "Halt! Who-"

  "Marshal Dumarest."

  "Earl?" Ven Taykor rose at the sentry's side, knocking down the aimed rifle. "You're back! I was beginning to get worried. Half the men thought you'd been roasted and eaten, the rest that you'd sold us out. How did it go?"

  "Fair enough." Dumarest added, "Ven, have you ever known any of the Ayutha to lie?"

  "No."

  "Never? Not even in small things?"

  "They've never lied to me, and not to anyone else as far as I know. They just don't bother. They simply tell the truth, and to hell with the consequences."

  Natural enough if they were telepathic, even if the talent were rudimentary. Lies would be too easily discovered and serve no u
seful purpose. The very concept of falsehood would be alien to a race that exposed its innermost thoughts.

  As Dumarest entered the circle, Lieutenant Paran sprang to his feet. He had been sleeping, his face still drawn with the lines of fatigue.

  "Any luck, sir?"

  "Some. We can get out of here alive, at least. Send for a raft to pick us up. Just the vehicle and pilot, no troops. How are the injured?"

  "Comfortable, but one man is pretty bad. I doubt if he'd make it if we had to carry him." The officer busied himself with his communicator. "Anything else, sir?"

  "Get me headquarters."

  Captain Louk appeared on the tiny screen. He looked harassed. "Marshal! Thank God you've made contact. We've had a hell of a night."

  "Report."

  "Two more villages were hit." He gave the map references. "A total wipe-out. The field detachments close by got there while it was happening. They were unaffected, but there was nothing they could do. Colonel Paran's out there now." He added, "It's bad, marshal. Damned bad. Those villages were close, and if the Ayutha is stepping up the attack-"

  "Were any signs of the Ayutha found?"

  "No, but that doesn't mean anything. If they're using gas, and they must be, we wouldn't-"

  "Have men search every inch of the area for at least a mile around each village," interrupted Dumarest sharply. "Concentrate on the ground. If a living enemy attacked, there must be traces."

  "Sir?"

  "Find trackers, men accustomed to hunting game. Damnit, captain, use your head. I want a full report when I return. In the meantime, no offensive action is to be taken against the Ayutha of any kind. Do you understand me? I have arranged a truce."

  The captain hesitated, then said, "There was a Council meeting last night, sir. The decision was to launch punitive expeditions at noon."

  "Cancel those instructions."

  "Sir?"

  "You heard me, captain. Use the men to form a thick line around the base of the hills. If you have body-capacitance detectors, use them; if not, cut a clear path through the lofios. Halt and hold for questioning any Ayutha you may find. You understand? I don't want them shot, simply held. That's an order, captain. The success of the truce depends on your cooperation."

  "Yes, sir. The Council?"

  "I will report on my return."

  As Dumarest broke the connection, the young officer said dubiously, "Will they keep it, sir? The truce, I mean. Those two villages-"

  "Were affected last night. The truce runs from this dawn. You'd better notify all units as to the success of this mission."

  "Yes, sir, but your plan? It will need a lot of men."

  "They can be found." From the streets, the restaurants, those sporting uniforms and those still waiting to join the forces. Arms wouldn't be necessary; all he wanted was for men to watch. A living line of witnesses, so as to prove a point. "Check the men, lieutenant. Have them put by their arms. We won't be attacked, but I want to take no chances."

  At his side Ven Taykor said, "I wish I'd gone with you, Earl."

  "One was enough."

  "I guess so." The guide sucked in his cheeks. "Did you reach one of their councils?"

  "I saw a lot of old men. If that is a council, then I saw it. Is their word good?"

  "You mean can they speak for the rest?" Taykor nodded. "I would say they could, but how can I be sure now? That attack, that was something I've never seen before, and that flame they used. How did they get weapons like that? They're primitive; to make such things you need a knowledge of chemicals, a factory of sorts." He shook his head, thinking; then, after a moment he said quietly, "What was it like, Earl? Tough?"

  Dumarest leaned back against the stone, not answering, remembering the journey he had made, the twists and turns, the cavern into which he had been ushered. There had been fires and torches and things of painstaking fabrication; mats woven from fine materials, seeds linked into patterns, bones carved into delicate shapes, wooden artifacts, and items of fretted stone.

  It had been full of the Ayutha, all male; he had not seen a single woman or child.

  They had sat around him, asking questions, talking softly among themselves, conferring, remaining silent for long periods of time. And all the time he had concentrated on the single-minded desire that the conflict should end, that there should be peace.

  "You were lucky," said Taykor. "No, not lucky, you had guts. Maybe someone else should have tried it. If they had, those villages might be normal now instead of filled with dead. Well, it can't be helped, but the way I see it, things will never be the same again. I used to feel safe in the hills-they were just like home. Now, I guess, if ever I rove them again, I'll keep looking behind me."

  "You'll forget," said Dumarest. "This whole thing could be a mistake."

  "Maybe." Taykor didn't sound too sure. "If so, it's one hell of a mistake to have made." He squinted up into the sky, grunting with satisfaction. "Here comes the raft."

  It was empty, as ordered, the pilot scared. He licked his lips as they loaded the dead, the crusted remains of Captain Conn. As they lifted he said, "I've got a message for you, marshal. A member of your family has arrived on Chard. She's waiting for you at home."

  "She?"

  "Yes, sir. The Lady Lisa Conenda."

  * * *

  She was all in black and silver, shimmering mesh hugging the contours of her body, ebony belting her waist, more on the tips of her fingers, the toes of her feet naked in delicate sandals. She came toward him as he closed the door, smiling, teeth gleaming between her parted lips. Cosmetics accentuated the elfin planes of her face, the enigmatic look of her eyes.

  "Surprised, Earl?"

  "Where is Zenya?"

  Shrugging, she said, "Does it matter? Shopping, making love to one of those young men in uniform, telling more than she should to those who would be your enemy-who can tell what the young fool is doing?"

  "Try again."

  "Sensitive, Earl? I dont know where she is, but we both know what she is like. Did you expect her to remain faithful? If so, you were a fool." Turning, she glanced around the suite. "So comfortable," she murmured. "So snug. Have you enjoyed the honeymoon? She bringing you the arts learned in countless engagements, and you… What did you bring to her? The domination she needs? The mastery she had never known?"

  He said flatly, "Stop talking like a jealous woman. Why are you here?"

  "Where else should I be… partner? Or have you forgotten what you promised?"

  "We are no longer on Paiyar."

  "True, and perhaps you didn't mean what you said there, but in one thing I was right. You are clever and hard and meant to command." Nearing him, she lifted her hands, touched his uniform, the insignia of his rank. "A marshal of Chard-everyone is talking about you. What would they say, I wonder, if they knew the truth? That you aren't a lord of Samalle, but a common traveler sent to perform a task. An opportunist wearing false colors. Tell me, Earl, what would they say?"

  "Tell them," he said curtly, "and find out."

  He was hot and grimed, and fatigue gritted his eyes. Ignoring the woman, he went into the bathroom, stripped, and showered.

  Over the rush of water he heard the signal of the phone, the woman answering, her voice indistinguishable. When, dressed, he returned to where she stood, she said, "Zenya called. She seemed startled to hear me. We had quite a nice chat."

  Like dogs snarling over a bone or cats stalking, ready to claw and tear.

  "How did you get here, Lisa?"

  "By ship, how else?" She crossed to where wine stood on a table and poured two glasses. "A fast vessel chartered by Aihult Chan Parect. I think he was a little concerned at my grief when you had departed." Handing him one of the glasses and lifting her own, she said, "To your health, Earl. And to our future."

  Without touching the wine, he said, "The truth, Lisa. I'm in no mood for games."

  "Have you found the man you were sent to find?"

  "No."

  "But you will?"<
br />
  "If he is still alive, perhaps." He added, "Is that why you were sent after me? To make certain that I did not forget?"

  "You will not forget, Earl," she said. "You dare not."

  Was she carrying the trigger, the means to activate the device that he had been told had been planted in his body to radiate his whereabouts to the Cyclan? It was more than possible, a second string to Parect's bow, a path his devious mind would have taken, trusting no one, setting one against the other, using the very jealousy of the women to ensure success.

  And yet, no device had been found. How did they intend to bend him to their will?

  Brooding, he stared into his glass. Parect must have known that he would have himself checked and that nothing would be found. Either the man had command of a science unusual for the society in which he lived, or there was something he hadn't revealed. It could even be a naked bluff; if necessary, he would take the chance.

  "Earl, how close are you to finding him?"

  "Salek?" He shrugged. "All I know is that he is among the people with whom the residents of this planet are at war. The chances are that he is dead."

  "Or will die?"

  He caught the subtle undertones, the barely concealed hint, and remembered how she had once stood against him, the ambition she possessed.

  "You could forget him, Earl," she whispered. "Chan Parect is old and will soon be dead. Suppose you didn't find the man, or found him too late? Who would question what you said? And then, later, when the old man is dead, have you forgotten what I promised?"

  "Forget it, Lisa."

  "Forget?" Anger suffused her face, turning it ugly. "Has that young fool wound you around her finger? Are you so besotted that you can see no further than a pillow supporting your head? Are you in love with her? Tell me, Earl! Are you in love with her?"

  She was shaken, her composure ruined, and any woman in the height of passion would forget her caution. A little more pressure and he would learn what he had to know.

  "Yes," he said. "I love her."

  She screamed a word.

  It was formless, a combination of sounds complex and unknown, long, echoing. Dumarest felt as if something had exploded within his skull. Turning, he reached for the phone, picking it up, saying to the face on the screen, "This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan."