Zenya dot-11

by E. C. Tubb

  "Anything else?"

  "No, sir, just the one party."

  "Maintain observation," said Dumarest. "What is the weather situation to the south?"

  "Dry. Wind rising."

  "Send a general alert. All guards in the area to remain fully masked. Villagers to be confined to their homes, masked if possible, separated if not."

  The lieutenant frowned. "You expect trouble, sir?"

  "I am trying to anticipate all possibilities. If anything should happen, we need to be prepared. Contact the monitoring raft and find out how close that party is now."

  They were within a mile of the line, heading directly toward it. Dumarest said, "Have the raft drop a flare. Use loud-hailers to establish contact. Tell them to use the communicator I gave them to speak to me direct." Waiting, he paced the floor, studying maps, frowning as he read the report of rising winds. The party had chosen a bad time to make their approach.

  "Sir!" The lieutenant turned from his desk. "I think we have something."

  The face on the screen was that of an elder; Dumarest couldn't remember having seen him before. He was squinting as if trying to send thoughts as well as words over the instrument. A dull glow illuminated the oddly distorted face, giving it the appearance of a brooding idol.

  He said, "We have conferred and would talk with you. There are those among us who are uneasy at what is happening. Are we animals to be caged in the hills?"

  "The line is for your own protection," said Dumarest. "It will be maintained until we are truly at peace."

  "We have never been other than that. It was your people who attacked our village. When they came again, we defended ourselves. All this was told to you-we thought you understood."

  "I did. I do."

  "Now you have forces facing us, armed men in the skies. One among us has said that you prepare to exterminate us. That you will attack and burn and kill and destroy while we respect the truce. Is this so?"

  "No."

  "Then you will dissolve the line. You will take your men from the skies. You will trust us as we trust you. If not, we too will ready our forces. The one who lives among us has told us what we must do."

  Dumarest said harshly, "Who is this man?"

  "A teacher. A friend."

  "Who will destroy you if you listen to him." Behind him Dumarest heard the lieutenant's soft whisper. "More movement reported, sir. Two strong parties at sectors three and fifteen."

  Both places consisted of broken ground, easy to defend, hard to attack, even from the air. They could be equipped with launchers, large flame bombs. If used, fire would bathe unarmed men and lofios alike.

  To the face on the screen Dumarest said, "Retreat. Go back and find this man who has advised you. Bring him to the line. You will not be hurt; you have my word for that, but I must see him and talk to him." He added, "And warn your people. If anyone should strike against us, the truce will be over. From then on it will be a war of extermination."

  He turned as the screen died and met the lieutenant's eyes, saw the grim expression. "A traitor," said the young man. "Someone who advises them, who has taught them to make arms, gas even. He won't want peace, sir. He wants to ruin us."

  "Maybe."

  "Can you still be in doubt?" Lieutenant Paran clenched his hands, gripping an imaginary rifle, shooting, killing, destroying the threat to his world. "You heard what he said."

  "Yes," said Dumarest. "Recall the rafts from over the hills."

  "Sir?"

  "Have them withdraw to beyond the line. Put every man available on watch. I want to make certain that none of the Ayutha get past."

  Paran frowned. "You expect trouble, sir?"

  "A soldier always expects trouble, lieutenant By doing that, he manages to stay alive. But the best way to avoid it is to make sure that it doesn't happen."

  "Sir?"

  Dumarest made no answer, stepping out of the tent and staring up at the sky. Cloud swirled over the stars, driven by a mounting wind, blowing strongly from the south. There was nothing to do now but wait.

  * * *

  At a village far to the south, on the edge of the lofios area, a man rose and stretched and yawned with a gaping of his mouth which revealed the strong white teeth set in his jaws. Bran Leekquan had had a hard day. Everything lately was hard, and now with the two boys off somewhere playing at soldiers, the Ayutha nowhere to be seen, the work was piling up.

  From a rocker his wife said, "Tired, Bran?"

  "Beat," he admitted. "I guess I'm not as young as I was, Lorna."

  "Neither of us is."

  That was the truth, and he stood staring at her for a minute, remembering the young girl she had once been, the strength which had enabled him to work all through the day and kept him busy half through the night. Well, times changed, and a wise man accepted it. And there was comfort in maturity, or at least there had been until the trouble; with ambition dulled a little and the farm ticking over, there had been time to relax and to enjoy the long summer evenings with others who had grown old at his side.

  As he yawned again, a heavy hand pounded at his door. Beyond stood a masked, uniformed figure.

  "Red alert," he said without preamble. "Wear masks if you have them. Stay apart if you haven't. Orders from the marshal."

  Bran frowned. "Stay apart? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

  "Separate rooms, locked doors, no contact."

  "Is an attack expected?" Lorna, worried, joined her man at the door. "I thought we had a truce."

  "We have," the uniformed man admitted.

  "Then what's this all about?" Bran was irritable. "The army has the Ayutha cooped up in the hills. You boys have made sure there are none of them around. So what have we got to be afraid of?"

  The man was a stranger. Casually he shrugged. "Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger around here. You've heard the order." He moved off, to pound at another door.

  "Crazy." Bran stared after him, scowling. "No sense to it at all. That's the trouble with these military types, they just like to see people jump when they give their commands. Well, to hell with him, the marshal too. It's my life, and I'm living it as I damned well please. Come on, Lorna, let's get to bed."

  She hesitated, "Well, Bran, maybe-"

  "Well take the gun," he said. "Put it by the door. If any of those savages attack, well be ready for them." He yawned again. "Come on, honey, you know I can't sleep alone."

  He woke, restless, irritable, to rear upright in the bed, conscious of something wrong. Habit had left the window open, the curtains torn by the rising wind. Outside, he heard the sound of a shout, the sudden blast of a gun. Rising, he crossed to the window and looked outside. It was dark, cloud scudding over the stars, shadows appearing to vanish again in the fitful light. As he thrust out his head, he caught the scent of something sweet, sickly.

  "Bran?"

  He breathed again, wind brushing past his face, the scent stronger now. Turning, he cried out, a voice rising as he saw what crouched on the bed. A thing, dripping slime, a mass of vileness fringed with tentacles, beaked, glowing-eyed, horrible. It stirred as he darted toward the door, keening, appendages reaching toward the bedside table. Ceramics splintered around him as he snatched at the laser he had set against the wall, sharp fragments slashing his face, his hands. The keening rose to a shriek as he spun, the weapon leveling, the wordless cry rising to a scream as his finger pressed the release.

  Smoke rose from the impact of the beam, thick, heavy with the stench of char. He fired again, a third time, spearing the horror on shafts of searing destruction, gloating as liquids gushed from gaping holes. Beneath it the bed sent up fingers of brightness, the covers catching, adding their heat to that of the laser. Twitching, the creature fell, sprawled in a growing nest of fire.

  Tearing open the door, he raced downstairs and into the street, firing at moving shadows, a hopping, toadlike monstrosity, a thing like a flapping blanket. Something shrieked and rushed at him with extended claws.

 
He burned it down, heard the blast of a rifle, and felt the smash of the bullet which sent him to the ground. He rolled, firing at a looming shape, seeing it fall as the rifle fired again. The slug broke his arm, passed through into his chest, tearing at his lungs so that he lay drowning in his own blood.

  Dimly he saw the figure come closer, reach toward him as, one-handed, he fired the laser for the last time.

  "Lorna," he whispered as the thing fell. "Lorna!"

  * * *

  On tight beam, scrambled, Colonel Paran relayed the news. "It's happened, Earl. Another attack. The truce is broken."

  "No."

  "How can you say that?" Paran looked baffled. "I tell you I've seen it. Fifteen men and women dead. Five soldiers-"

  "How did they die? The soldiers, I mean?"

  "Shot down by the civilians." Paran was bitter. "They had to fire back in turn in order to defend themselves. If the fools had only obeyed orders…" He shrugged. "Well, Earl, there it is. We have no choice now but to go in and finish it."

  "You aren't thinking, colonel," snapped Dumarest. "The Ayutha aren't responsible; they couldn't have been. We've got them sealed in the hills. Not one of them has passed the line since the truce. That village was way to the south. Even one man on foot would have taken a couple of days to get there; more would have taken longer. And the local patrols had scouted the entire area. Damnit," he added, as the colonel looked dubious, "why do you think I ordered this line to be established in the first place? I wanted to prove something. Well, I've done it. None of the Ayutha had a hand in what's happened."

  "I'd like to believe that, Earl."

  "You can."

  "But what's the alternative? Is someone working with them, using them?"

  "Maybe. I intend to find out. Certainly someone is advising them. My guess is that it's one of the social workers, but I could be wrong." Dumarest glanced around the command tent, seeing the hard, tense faces, sensing the grim determination, the desire for revenge. Natural enough, but misplaced and dangerous. He added, "Play this down, colonel. No hysterical publicity. The last thing we want now is to break the truce."

  "If it hasn't already been broken."

  "It hasn't, not by the Ayutha, but it might be to someone's interest to insist they are responsible. Make sure that doesn't happen. In fact, the best thing you can do is to maintain a silence about the whole incident. As soon as you persuade the Council, I'll detach men from the line to fell the lofios, as I suggested."

  "Clear them away for a space of a mile around each village." Paran shrugged. "I remember, Earl, but they'd never agree."

  "If it had been done, those people would be alive now," snapped Dumarest. "If you won't do that, then evacuate the villages." As the screen died, he said to the lieutenant, "Have three rafts move forward to check on whether that party is returning. Have they made contact?"

  "No, sir."

  "Get those rafts off, and keep trying. Find Captain Hamshard and have him report to me personally. I'll be at monitor post sixteen."

  It was a short tower fitted with a platform and staffed by three young officers and five rankers. The officers each took turns at using the light-amplifying scanner and the radar detector; the rankers stood on guard by the compact bulk of a missile launcher aimed at the hills.

  Dumarest busied himself with the instruments, checking positions on the map in the light of a dully glowing lamp. A low mound rose a few hundred yards toward the hills beyond the edge of the line. Men behind it would be invisible, but easily placed for a quick attack. To either side ran a narrow gully, merging somewhere up and back, flattening to shallow declivities at the foot of the mound. It was a good place for a meeting, one he had chosen from earlier studies.

  As Captain Hamshard appeared, saluting, he said, "I want you to take charge here, captain. This entire sector. This launcher is to be zeroed in on the crest and rear of that mound. Use liquid flame. If necessary, I want you to throw up a barrier nothing living can pass."

  "You expect action, sir?"

  "Not the kind most of the men are hoping for, captain. Just call it insurance. Contact the posts to either side and have them zero their launchers to the gullies at either side of the mound. Similar loads and instructions."

  Hamshard nodded, understanding. "I get it, sir. You want to throw down a three-sided box to contain anything on that mound."

  "That's right," said Dumarest. "But remember, captain, to contain, not to destroy. You'd better send out a party of men to light a fire on the mound. I don't want those who are coming to lose their way."

  "The Ayutha, sir?"

  "Yes, bringing with them, I hope, their friend."

  "Do you think they will come?"

  "Yes," said Dumarest grimly. "They will come."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hours dragged. The fire died, was replenished, died again to a smoldering bank of embers that threw little light and less heat. Standing beside it, Dumarest threw fresh fuel on the glow, tiny flames springing up to illuminate his face, the brightness of his insignia. From the communicator at his belt came the soft voice of Lieutenant Paran.

  "Party spotted, sir. Heading in from the northeast, and close."

  "How close?"

  "Less than a mile, sir."

  Too close; they should have been spotted earlier. Either the men were careless or the Ayutha more cunning than he had guessed. Men, traveling alone, could have used the terrain to baffle the electronic devices.

  Captain Hamshard was hooked into the circuit. He said, "About a dozen, sir. I've launchers from posts thirteen and twenty following them."

  "Unnecessary, captain. They've come to talk, not fight."

  Summoned by repeated commands to explain the violation of the truce, threatened with reprisals if they did not attend with their mysterious teacher. Unfair, perhaps, but when had war ever been fair? War and other things, conflicts between men and women, between an arrogant, insane ruler and the pawn he hoped to command.

  Dumarest kicked at the fire.

  There had been time to think while waiting. The post-hypnotic command which Lisa had triggered had, in a sense, negated itself. Dead, she could not give the key word. Apart, he wouldn't hear it. As a threat, it was limited, something to be used, perhaps, if all else failed, but her uncontrollable jealousy had caused her to reveal too much. And if she repeated the word, and he could record it, any expert psychologist would be able to wipe the command from his subconscious.

  He wondered if Zenya, also, had been entrusted with the key sound. Or if she had been given another. And yet Chan Parect would have trusted neither too much. There must be something else; the man was too devious to have been so obvious.

  Dumarest kicked again at the fire.

  "How close now, lieutenant?"

  "Two hundred yards, sir. Approaching now directly from the north. I can't be too sure about their number, there seem to be more now than before."

  "Anything else?"

  "Two large groups to either side of the mound and about a quarter of a mile back."

  "Thank you, lieutenant. Captain, have launchers zeroed on both groups. Designation alpha and beta. No firing unless I give the order."

  "Yes, sir. Should I have rafts standing by?"

  From his tone Dumarest guessed that Hamshard had already given the order. "One raft, captain, eight men, armed. Pick steady types." He looked toward the crest of the mound. "Here they come."

  They arrived like shadows, feet silent on the ground, tall shapes limned by the firelight, bright points winking from flaked stone, metal, brittle glass. Arrows and spears, crude, but effective at short range. And he guessed there would be other things aimed at him from the shielding darkness.

  An old man, the communicator in his hand, lifted it and said, "We heard. We came."

  "Your friend?"

  "He waits."

  Dumarest said harshly, "That isn't good enough. I asked for him to be brought here. Where is he, and where are the others like him? Those of my peop
le who worked and lived among you?"

  "They are safe." The old man paused, and then, as Dumarest made no comment, added, "We have kept them so. If you again attack us, they will die."

  Hostages. Dumarest had expected it; the Ayutha were learning fast.

  "Many have died," he said. "If you dont want to follow them, you will do exactly as I say. That man-where is he?"

  "We made no attack."

  "Can you prove that? Words aren't enough. If you are sincere in your desire for peace, you will give me the one you call a friend." His voice hardened. "Understand me. Obey or die. I want that man."

  "You threaten? You? Alone? One man against many?"

  Dumarest said sharply, "Captain! Alpha, aim over, one shot, fire!"

  Something rustled through the air, to fall far back in the hills. Flame rose, the roar of the explosion following, echoing, rolling like thunder. The face of the elder convulsed.

  "You attack us! You kill us!"

  "Not yet-that was a warning."

  From where he stood beside the elder a man lifted a spear, drew back his arm, froze as he met Dumarest's eyes.

  "You've got sense," said Dumarest. "You might be able to kill me, but if you attack, every man here will die. Those waiting in the hills will die. Every last one of your people will be eliminated. Is one man worth the entire race of the Ayutha?"

  "You mean it!" The elders face was bleak. "Your mind is full of hate."

  "Not hate-not for you."

  "But our friend?"

  "Is not of the Ayutha. If I kill him, I will not be breaking the truce. But unless you take me to him now, the truce will be over." Dumarest met the other's eyes. "You have ten seconds to decide."

  * * *

  Dawn was breaking when they arrived, the raft dropping, to hover over torn ground, a sheer slope marked by a narrow trail leading to the dark mouth of a cave. Captain Hamshard had accompanied the raft. Leaning over the edge, he said, "There could be men posted, sir. I'd best deploy our forces."

  The elder who had ridden with them said, "They will not harm you."

  Perhaps, but in war men could change loyalties and primitives followed their own inclinations. The man could have dedicated followers, willing to kill for him, to die while doing it. Dumarest waited as the raft lowered, lifted, moved on, to lower again, men jumping out and taking up positions. Their guns could cover the entire area outside the cave. Within, it was another matter.