They were very, very confident, I thought. Almost unsettlingly so, yet I also understood that this sort of overconfidence can kill you. I had no idea what Koril had up his sleeve at this point, but I motioned to Darva and we edged away toward a far wall, well away from the area between the two group of sores. Suddenly I had a thought, and leaned over and whispered to her, “See that alcove to the left of the stage? I bet that goes up to You-Know-Who.”
She nodded. “Seems likely. When do you want to try for it?”
“Good girl. But not until they’ve started doing whatever they’re doing. They’ll probably ignore us—I hope. We’re certainly no threat to them.”
“I’ll follow your lead,” she whispered, and we turned back to watch whatever was going to happen.
“Well, Tulio?” Korman was saying. “It’s yours. It’s for all four of you, in fact. Immortal, superior bodies—free to escape this prison. Free to run an empire.”
Koril smiled. “So it’s an empire now, is it? And who would I be in this? Lord—or pre-programmed servant?”
Korman shrugged. “Your old position is, of course, already taken. But you would lead the Synod, as a matter of course. You never really liked being Lord anyway.”
Koril sighed. “That’s true enough. And yet I feel I cannot take your offer for two reasons. I do not trust those alien friends of yours as much as you do—though I’m sure I would once I got my new, unproved body. Without a guarantee you cannot give, that of an unmolested mind, I can hardly accept. And, as for the second reason—do you remember Jatik?”
Korman looked puzzled, then brightened for a moment “Of course. Little weasel of a man. Sore for Diamond Rock. As bizarre a psychopath as we’ve ever had here on Charon. Killed in the desert, if I remember.”
Koril nodded. “Killed coming to me. But he made his report, Dieter, before he died. He saw those friends of yours, those aliens. Tell me, Dieter—what would a man like that find so terrifying that he would brand it pure evil? It is a question that has troubled me, and driven me on, these past several years. More than anything, it’s why I’m here.”
Korman laughed. “Evil? The Lord of Satan, Agent of the Destroyer asks me about evil? What would that little psycho know about evil, anyway? Different, yes—incredibly so. Alien in many senses of that word. But evil! The former Lord of the Diamond, Lord of the Most Sacred Order of Brethren talks of evil!” And again he laughed.
“Now!” Koril yelled. At that moment all laughing stopped as a wall of Warden force at least the equal of what I had seen below lashed out with blinding speed right at Korman. Taken aback, he had only a simple shield himself and so he burst into flame before our very eyes, flame so intense I could not bear to look at it.
The others, less intent on Koril’s speech and less confident than their leader of their own powers—after all, all of them hadn’t been able to kill Koril alone the last time, or even keep him prisoner—struck back. Ignoring the flaming Korman, who toppled to the floor and continued melting into an acrid puddle, each of our sores took on the four remaining head to head.
I wasn’t sure how they had managed to melt a robot of the type that had penetrated Military Systems Command and outsmarted all the Confederacy’s best security devices, but I wasn’t about to stay around and ask questions. I moved slowly and cautiously towards that alcove, and Darva followed. We were, as we had hoped, totally ignored.
Still, I stopped when we reached the alcove and looked back. It was no longer just wa being traded, willpower against willpower. The Synod sores were coming straight on, but the four, under Koril’s direction, began twisting, turning, forming a careful mathematical pattern. Such was its nature and intricacy that it actually began disturbing the air between the two sets of antagonists. Incredibly I saw ripples there, then crackles of real, visible energy—electrical bolts forming and shooting, at first randomly and then laterally.
“Oh, by the gods! They’re creating their own tabarwind!” Darva exclaimed.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” I responded, and we ducked into the alcove.
Frankly, the place didn’t match the exterior. It was dark and dank and smelly. There were all sorts of pieces of furniture and stuff as well as controls for the curtains and whatever else was in the room. Still, far in back was indeed a service corridor which ran in one direction to a lift, clearly visible. Obviously the service entrance. We picked the other direction, as roars and howls of thunder and the crackle of raw energy sounded behind us. What was happening in that room back there would have been the sight of a lifetime—but it would almost certainly have ended ours.
Sure enough, at the end of the corridor a wooden stair led upward. We both hesitated at the bottom, then Darva looked at me. “Where’s Kira or Zala or whatever the hell she is?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t really notice. Back there, I suppose. Hell, forget her—now.” I took the lead and walked slowly and carefully up the stairs, laser pistol drawn.
I reached the top, stopped, and waited for Darva. I don’t know quite who or what I expected up there, but it sure as hell wasn’t Yatek Morah.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Twists and Turns
Darva tired before I could stop her, but Morah merely shrugged off the shots and dissipated the energy harmlessly. He was still dressed as I remembered him—in his black trooper uniform, although he had added a red-lined cape of the same material. His eyes were still bizarre and almost impossible to look at.
“Put away those things,” he told us, gesturing at the pistols. “They are of no use here—and there is no need for them.”
I sighed and bolstered mine. Darva, uncertain, did the same. I looked at him, then at Darva, and sized up the situation. “Does ‘Darkquest’ mean anything to you?”
Darva looked blank, but Morah actually chuckled. “Now where’d you learn that little phrase?”
“I’m it. Park Lacoch. The same boy Korman threw to the wolves a year ago.”
Morah sounded genuinely amused. “And of what use is that information to me now? I already know the true nature of Embuay, and I also know the location of Koril’s base.”
“That may be true, but it’s not my problem,” I responded casually. “I was given a job to do, and the first chance I got I did it.”
That comment, and my calm manner, seemed to give him pause. “You may be right at that.”
“Look—I could’ve taken the safe way out at Bourget, but I didn’t. I deliberately got myself caught and wound up a changeling. Whether or not “you no longer need the information, it says something about me, I think. I’ve paid a pretty high price to be just a redundancy.”
Darva looked at me strangely. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sorry, honey. I’m a bottom-line pragmatist. I’ll explain it all to you later. Let’s just say Morah and I aren’t necessarily the opponents we might seem to be.”
She looked at Morah with obvious distaste. “Your girl Zala sure wasn’t any help to you, you know.”
Morah nodded, and I felt a little relieved that she was at least going along with me for now.
“It is true that the girl’s been something of a disappointment so far,” the Chief of Security admitted. “Is she with you?”
“Back there—someplace,” I told him. “We didn’t exactly want to stick around for the fireworks.”
“Yes, well, I can understand that,” he responded, sounding a little nervous and preoccupied. “How many are down there?”
“Koril and three others, all damned good,” I told him truthfully. “Plus your girl, of course, if she survived all that”
“Hmmm… Yes. I see…”
He looked and sounded worried, and it gave me no end of satisfaction to see such emotions in him. His appearance, manner, and those damnable eyes all carried such an air of overwhelming power that I would have sworn he was above such things.
“How come you aren’t down helping out your fellow—whatevers?” Darva asked, sensing
the same thing.
’1 am not required to,” he said simply. “I am not on the Synod.”
“What! But Koril said—” I began, but he cut me short.
“I told you before I was Chief of Security. I just did not tell you whose security.”
“Oh, gods!” Darva breathed. “He’s working directly for them!
Morah cocked his head. “The battle is over downstairs,” he told us matter-of-factly. “We are about to have visitors.
I suggest we three all go into that room over there and remain very silent.”
I hesitated a moment. “Who won?”
“If the Synod had won, we wouldn’t have to get into this room, now would we?”
That was good enough for me. I followed him. Darva, shrugging, did the same. I knew she was still trying to figure out which side we were on now. As for me, I was trying to figure out Morah’s motives-in all this. Clearly, as chief representative of the aliens on Charon, it was in his best interest to keep Matuze on her throne. Yet, here we were, about to let Koril have her.
There wasn’t time for questions, though; we barely got the door closed when we heard somebody slowly mounting that final stairway. The newcomer sounded tired, perhaps weak and wounded, but he came steadily on. One man. One only. I knew who it had to be.
We heard him pause at the top of the stairs, and I could visualize him looking around cautiously. Finally, he walked past our door and away from us, his footsteps receding.
I turned to Morah. “You’re letting him have her.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But—wait!”
A second, quieter tread could be heard on the stairs. Whoever it was was far lighter and more cautious than the first. We held our breaths a moment, then Morah let out a small sigh and beckoned us back in the room. On the far side was a rather pretty landscape of some world I’d never seen. He pressed a neatly hidden stud on it and the painting moved down silently revealing a one-way mirror.
It was a huge, comfortable living room, beautifully furnished and with good use of open space. Sculpture and paintings were around as well, and I clearly recognized some as lost art treasures of man’s past. Originals, too, I knew instinctively.
Sitting on a divan, dressed casually in slacks, sandals, and a purple sleeveless shirt, was Aeolia Matuze. Unmistakably Matuze, looking every bit as good as her pictures. Very casually relaxed, legs crossed, she was smoking a cigarette in a long holder. She looked neither worried nor apprehensive.
“I assume this is soundproof?” I said in a low tone to Month.
He nodded. “Absolutely. But I have a one way mike connection in.”
“She looks awfully good for her age,” I noted. “Robot?”
“Oh, no. Spell. I don’t think we’re quite ready for a robot Lord of the Diamond as yet.”
“Why not just make everybody robots?” Darva said acidly. “That would make your job obsolete.”
“You misunderstand our motives,” Morah replied, shaking off the sarcastic tone. “The robots are weapons, and, in. a sense, bribes; but they have their limitations as well. As weapons and bribes, they are valuable for the superior abilities they give. But they are sure death for a people and a civilization because of what they take away. Someday, perhaps, you will understand that. But—watch.”
“Do you know what’s gonna happen?” Darva asked him.
He shook his head from side to side. “Not the slightest idea. But it should be—interesting. You see, those entire quarters are wa-inert. Not only is there no wa in anything, the chemical treatment dampens out any wa sense you might have. It is quite a complex treatment and has to be—imported, if you understand.”
I nodded. “That’s why you don’t have it all over this place.”
“That, and the fact that it’s very hard to manufacture and doesn’t work with many surfaces. Still—here we go.”
Aeolia Matuze leaned forward and flicked some ashes into an ornate standing ash tray, then turned toward the door to our right A figure entered, a figure only recognizable with effort.
His clothing was scorched, and his face—all his exposed skin—Was blackened as if by prolonged desert exposure. He was a terrible, and terrifying sight. He stood there in the doorway unsteadily, and stared at the woman.
Aeolia Matuze looked up in surprise. “Toolie! Oh, you poor dear! Whatever did they do to you?”
“It’s been a long time, Aeolia,” said Tulio Koril wearily.
“Oh, my! Come! Sit down in a chair and relax! Can I get you a drink or anything?”
We were dumbfounded by the scene, but Koril just chuckled dryly. “Got some of that wine? The good white?”
She stood up, went over to a small bar, reached behind, took out a bottle, opened it, and poured him a large glass; then she took it over to him. He accepted it, drank some in big gulps, then slowly sipped it. It did seem to relax him.
Aeolia Matuze sat back on the couch so she was pretty well facing him, then just watched bun. She showed no fear, no shock, or horror at her predecessor’s visit, which of course implied that either there was something we didn’t know going on or, at the very least, something Koril sure as hell didn’t I remembered Morah’s comment that, in there, both of them were equals in wa, having none at all.
Aeolia Matuze looked genuinely concerned. “Tell me—the burns. Do they hurt much?”
He shrugged. “Not so bad. More stiff than anything else. I think I’m still in a little bit of shock, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
She nodded and appeared satisfied. “You know, I loved you for years, but never more than today. What you did was impossible, Toolie. No other man alive could have made it up here.”
“You knew I’d come back.”
She nodded. “I knew that if anybody could, you would. Tell me, how did you get by the Synod? They could rip iron bars, shoot into space—why, you wouldn’t believe it And they still had all their powers!”
“That was your problem,” Koril told her, taking another sip of wine. “If they didn’t keep their wa power, they were valueless as Synod members. If they did, then they had to have the wa in their molecules as sure as you and me. And wa is wa.”
“But they are virtually impervious!”
He chuckled. “Know what we’re made of, Aeolia ? Chemical. Know what rock is made of? More chemicals. The rule is that if you’re matter you have to be made of something. Chemicals. A specific mix of chemicals. And once you know how something’s put together, and you know there’s wa in each molecule; that stuff, whatever it was, was no different than natural flesh. No different.
And I happened to have a sample of the stuff ahead of time. I had it analyzed. It actually surprised me. The movement of just one little atom in its basic material caused it to change into another equally bizarre substance—but one that burned and melted quite nicely. Isn’t it nice, Aeolia, to know that even sorcery is nothing more than basic chemistry?”
She laughed, seemingly delighted with his explanation.
“How clever of you! I’ll bet the reception room’s a mess.”
“It’ll need a little more than mere redecorating,” he agreed. “At least I’m happy now you got those paintings out of there.”
Darva shook her head wonderingly. “They’re talking like they’re old buddies! Wasn’t he here to kill her?”
“Perhaps,” Morah replied. “But they were married for twenty-seven years.”
Both Darva’s and my own mouth flew open but no sound came out.
“…two left alive down there,” Koril was saying. “They’re in worse shape than I am. They’re backstage, but I told them not to come up just yet.”
Matuze looked satisfied. “Tell me, Toolie—why now? I thought you’d be stuck forever down there in your desert hideaway, particularly with all those delicious toys we allowed to get through.”
That startled the sorcerer. “Allowed?” She smiled sweetly. “Toolie! Who knows you better than I do? Do you really think you could have gotten all that stuff fro
m off world all this time without our help? It was far cheaper and easier to keep you occupied at what you love best than to try any all-out fight. In a few more months’ time, your return would have been academic anyway. Our delicious little war is well underway.”
Koril looked absolutely devastated by the obvious truth of what she was telling him. He had as much as admitted his failings to me. I now more than suspected that Dumonia had caught onto the plot and that had been why he’d finally decided to push. But Koril wasn’t about to mention the Cerberan, I’ll give him that.
“It has to do with evil, Aeolia. Evil.”
She laughed. “Evil? What in the world are you talking about?”
And, once more, he repeated the words that seemed to have haunted him since they were first uttered by the hapless Jatik.
She listened intently, but without any obvious reaction. Finally, when he’d completed his story, she said, “That’s the most utter and complete nonsense I’ve ever heard! They’re—odd—I admit, but they’re not evil. What is evil, anyway, except somebody’s arbitrary idea of what’s wrong? Isn’t that what you fought the Confederacy about? Aren’t our ideas evil by everyone else’s standards? Do you feel evil, Toolie? I don’t.”
But Koril did not reply. Slowly he seemed to stiffen, then relax. The wineglass dropped from his fingers and bounced on the rug, spilling a little of the remainder.
Toolie?” she inquired sweetly. Toolie?” Getting no response, she stood up and went over to him, then bent down and examined him carefully. Satisfied, she nodded and looked around the empty room.
“Morah!” she snapped, her tone suddenly cold and imperious. “I know you’re spying around here someplace! Clean up this mess and get this garbage out of my living room!”
“She poisoned him!” Darva gasped. “All this way and he lets her poison him!”
“No,” I told her. “He surrendered. When he got all the way up here he just couldn’t do it—and she knew it. She sure knew him, all right!”
Darva just shook her head sadly. “So simple. So powerful, so smart a man.”
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