When he had pulled the yos over his head and tied the sash at his side, the guides took him, one at each elbow, and steered him back out onto the plaza where Pizzle saw that his new yos had gold vertical stripes like all the others he saw. They led him to the edge of the brickwork to where a wiry green lawn began its gentle slope down to the lake.
“Go on down there,” said one of the guides.
“Wait at the water’s edge. Someone will come for you,” said the other.
With that, the two released him and stepped away. Pizzle turned back twice as he moved off toward the lakeshore. Each time he saw the two still standing where he’d left them, silently watching him.
He reached the shoreline and stood for a moment looking out across the lake to the fountain, which gurgled and bounced as it sent a thick column of water into the air. When he turned back, the two men had disappeared. Pizzle began strolling idly along the grassy shore, watching the others drifting, as he was, around the lake.
Short, round-topped trees, growing right at the water’s edge, trailed vines into the water. Flowers with delicate white blooms floated up where the vines touched the surface. Pizzle stopped to examine the flowers, squatting down for a closer look. In among the stems and dangling water roots he saw the flash of a silver side and a swirl of fins. Also, reflected in the water’s mirror, he saw two figures standing over him.
He stood and turned. One of the figures was a man, the other a woman. Both smiled at him and nodded. The woman stepped to his side and said, “I see you enjoy the lake.” With the slightest tilt of her head, she turned him away from the water. “In that case we must come here again soon.”
The man, still smiling, stepped behind Pizzle, and together the three moved up the slope once more to the plaza. They walked easily along, passing before tiers of dwellings, each with a large round window and balcony facing the lake. Occupants in colorful Hage robes carried trays of food or sat at tables eating. Pizzle’s stomach growled, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since midday.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Tanais section,” replied his companion. “Would you like to eat something? We thought a meal might be welcome soon.”
“I am hungry,” Pizzle admitted.
“It’s just a little farther. There are some people who want to meet you, Pizol.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “How do you know my name?”
She laughed easily. “Didn’t you know you had friends looking out for you?”
“Nendl is my friend.”
“Oh, he’s our friend too. A Hageman does not betray his friends.”
Pizzle contemplated her last remark—had it been made for his benefit? A reminder of… what? Loyalty? Was she instructing him?
They walked on in silence, moving around the lake and above it, their feet soundless on the spiral-patterned bricks. At the far side of the lake, they approached an immense, multi-towered block of dwellings—so tall it commanded a clear view of the entire section. Aerial walkways arched between the slender towers, joining the upper levels to one another.
Overhead, the dome was now nearly transparent. A blue-gray dusk, deepening with the approach of night, triggered the miniature yellow lights hidden in the branches of trees and strung along the serpentine byways, and soon Tanais Hage basked in the golden wash of myriads of tiny lights.
“Here we are,” said the woman as they stopped before the central tower. She ushered him in through a narrow slit of an opening three levels tall. Pizzle slipped in and found himself in an enormous, triangular hall. The hall was nearly empty. Only a few Hagemen, dwarfed by the proportions of the room, moved silently across the polished surface of the floor toward one of the three spire-shaped openings.
“This one is ours—” She pointed across the hall to the opening on the left, and led them quickly across the expanse. Upon reaching the entrance, she paused and explained, “It’s a lift. We will leave you here, Hageman Pizol.”
The man behind him reached inside the doorway, adjusted something, and then motioned Pizzle into the lift. He stepped in and heard a whizzing sound as the lift climbed swiftly away. Bands of light ringed the transparent compartment, dropping past so fast it seemed that the lights moved instead of the lift. Pizzle pressed his hands flat against the smooth sides and held on. Presently the falling rings slowed, and the lift stopped without a tremor. The static fizz of the unidor cut out, and Pizzle stepped out of the lift and into a kraam many times the size of Nendl’s.
Wherever he looked, flat white surfaces met his gaze—ceiling, floors, walls—all soft white and smooth, uncluttered with objects or decoration of any kind, the floors covered with gray and white weavings. Before him stood a man, dark and imperious in a long, emerald green Hage robe.
“We have been waiting for you, Hageman Pizol,” said the man, coming forward to take him by the arm. “You are safe here. And very soon, you will remember who you are.”
TWENTY-THREE
Yawning, head pounding again, Treet sat hunched on a blue silk cushion, chin in hand, trying to keep his eyes focused. It had been a long day, filled with interminable questions and innumerable answers. Director Rohee had wanted to know everything about him and had questioned him endlessly. They had talked for several hours before the Supreme Director had gone, leaving him in the incredulous care of the inquisitors, who had also come heavily armed with questions.
All day long they had interrogated, and he had supplied answers—holding back only those aspects of his trip he thought best kept to himself: his time distortion theory, for one thing, and any direct references to Cynetics for another. Now he sat by himself, watching the three inquisitors discuss among themselves, trying to make up their minds about something. How best to proceed with the cross-examination, Treet thought. Whatever it was, he had lost interest long ago. They might have been planning to barbecue him and feed him to the blue kangaroos. Treet didn’t care.
He hadn’t done so much explaining since he had been caught crossing over from the New Frontier with a liter of Stolichnaya in his luggage. He just wanted to eat and go to sleep.
“Enough!” said Treet, standing up. He yawned and did a couple of toe touches by way of getting his circulation going again. “That’s all. No more. I’m going to sleep.”
The inquisitors looked at him. “We wish clarification on several points—” began the spokesman, a dry stick of a man named Creps.
“Come back next week. I’m through talking.” Treet advanced toward them. “I’m hungry and tired, and you’re becoming a pain.”
“We will have food brought,” offered Creps.
“You do that,” said Treet, jabbing a finger at him. “And then clear out.”
The three exchanged puzzled glances. “We do not understand,” said Creps.
“Oh? Let me see if I can make it any clearer. Go away! Get out! Leave! Is that better?” Treet enjoyed the effect his words were having with the three stuffy inquisitors; expressions of horror bloomed on their officious faces. He continued, “You want to know something else? I’m tired of answering all your stupid questions. What about my questions? I’m not answering any more questions until I get some answers myself.”
“We have been instructed to provide information,” replied Creps. The other two nodded.
“Tell me this then: where are my friends? That’ll do for starters.”
After a quick consultation, one of the inquisitors turned and fled the room. Well, thought Treet, that got some results. I should have hollered sooner. Treet stood and glared at his two remaining guests until the third came back a few moments later.
“Food has been requested,” Creps informed him. “Also, we have summoned the Supreme Director. He has asked to be informed of any unusual behavior.”
“Fine,” replied Treet. “Let’s get the old boy back in here, and maybe we’ll get somewhere.” He plopped himself back on his cushion and sneezed as the dust swirled around his face. “And send someone up here to clean this dump!” he
added.
A few minutes later, a guide—the one who had awakened him that morning—came in carrying a large tray, heavy with bowls of food: more raw vegetables, a thin, clear soup, and several small roast fowl. The guide placed the tray before Treet and backed away as Treet dove in. He seized one of the birds and tore off a leg.
Treet was licking his fingers and looking at the soup when Rohee entered the kraam. With a nod he dismissed the inquisitors, who looked relieved to escape. Treet smiled to himself; he hadn’t realized it was that easy to intimidate these goons.
Rohee settled himself on a cushion and dipped his hand into a bowl of cherimoyas. He popped the fruit in his mouth and sucked the sweet juice, studying Treet, his eyes sharp and hard.
“Help yourself,” said Treet, and went on eating.
“There will be no more questions,” announced Rohee as he rolled another of the delicate fruits in his hand.
Treet swallowed. “Good.” He took a tentative sip of the soup and added, “I thought you said you trusted me.”
“Yes,” replied Rohee thoughtfully. “But we are also curious.”
“I’m curious, too. I want to know what happened to the people I came here with. You said you would tell me—I’m still waiting.”
“They have not been harmed.”
“So you say. But if they’re all right, why can’t I see them?”
The Supreme Director’s wrinkles arranged an expression of extreme concern, but his eyes remained hard. “It is best that you be kept apart for the present. It is for your own well-being.”
Treet’s head snapped up. He swallowed. “What? Is that a threat?”
“It is a simple fact.” Rohee gazed at him quietly. “I can explain.”
“Go ahead.” Treet wondered at the change in the old man. The first meeting had been stiff and formal, the second more friendly. And this—this was downright cozy. The Director was treating him like a confidant. Or, Treet reconsidered, a condemned man at his last meal.
Rohee tilted his head back and looked down his beak nose. “I am beset by enemies. Traveler,” he began. “I am Supreme Director of the Threl, leader of all Empyrion. Naturally, my position attracts many who bow before my face, yet conspire for my power behind my back.”
Treet wondered at this confession. Why was the old bird telling him this? “I understand. Are you telling me that my friends are in danger from your enemies?”
“Not precisely. If you have not guessed. Traveler, your arrival has put me in a very awkward position. My enemies would like nothing better than to get their hands on you and your friends. They believe that you could help them in their plots against me.”
“I see. What do you think? We know nothing about any of this.”
Rohee shrugged and reached for another cherimoya. “This is what they believe. I merely mention it because they are ruthless men whose schemes stop at nothing short of open opposition— which they dare not attempt.” He lifted his shoulders again as if to say, I accept this; I live with it. “Therefore, I have instructed my allies to take each of your friends into Hage. They are hidden there, safe from my enemies. To move them now would endanger them needlessly.”
Treet nodded. “I see.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replaced the soup bowl. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you for one microsecond.”
“You do not know Empyrion,” Rohee stated, firmly. He returned Treet’s gaze equably. “But when you have learned our ways, you will be reunited with your friends. Traveler. I, Supreme Director, have so ordered it.”
Treet remained silent for a moment, considering. He had pushed the matter far enough for the moment; there was nothing to be gained by badgering Rohee about it. Best now to change the subject. “What’s going to happen to me?”
Rohee smiled, his eyes becoming slits. “I have been thinking about what you said this morning—about your mission.”
“Yes?”
“I have decided that you will fulfill your mission, Traveler.”
“Is that so?” Treet eyed his benefactor suspiciously. There was a trade-off coming, he could feel it.
“It may be as you say—that it would prove beneficial to everyone. We will never know unless you try.”
“I’ll need some help,” suggested Treet, pouncing on this unexpected opportunity. He wanted to see how much Rohee was willing to give.
“I will assign a guide to you. He will be instructed to help you in every way.”
“Fair enough. But I want someone who knows his way around and can get me the information I need—not one of those three bozos—” He jerked his head toward the nonexistent inquisitors. “I want someone smart.”
The Supreme Director stared and then lightened. He chuckled, “No, not one of those. They are Jamrog’s security advisors— chosen to prepare a report to the Threl about you. Your arrival has naturally piqued the interest of our leaders.”
“Why don’t you let me meet them personally? I have nothing to hide.”
“No. Not yet. In time, perhaps.” Rohee shook his head, drawing his sparse eyebrows into a knot. “It is better for you to remain invisible for now.”
“Enemies?”
“There are always enemies. You will be safer if no one knows who you are; you may pass more freely that way.”
Treet accepted this. “Fine. Cynetics will be pleased. But soon I will need to see my friends again, of course.”
“Yes. In time,” said Rohee. He stood slowly, and Treet stood with him. “I open Empyrion to you, but no one may know what you are doing. Speak to no one else, do you understand? You will answer to me. Traveler.”
Treet heard an unspoken threat in the leader’s voice and felt the tension of balancing unknown factors, of coping with potentially lethal forces beyond reckoning. He then understood something of the risk involved in turning over the keys of the city to an alien. “You won’t be sorry,” he said, attempting reassurance.
Rohee only nodded, then rose stiffly and shuffled away. In a moment Treet was left alone again. He ate some more and lay back on the cushions, but soon discovered he was not the least bit tired anymore, so got up and walked around his new quarters, thinking, replaying all that had happened to him.
There were many questions left unanswered. But if he was very, very smart, he would find the answers. At least now he was being given the opportunity to dig them out for himself. Maybe that’s what Rohee wants too, he thought. He wants me to find out for myself because … why?
That was something else to discover.
“He knows nothing,” said Tvrdy in frank disgust, “and suspects less. In his present condition he is worthless.”
Cejka nodded. “Patience. It will take a few days for the antidote to be absorbed into his tissues.”
“Even then I’m not so sure we’ll get anything. The damage is already done, I’m afraid.”
“Where will you keep him?”
“Here with me. I have assigned guides to watch him so he doesn’t wander.”
“That could be very dangerous,” the Rumon leader cautioned. “If he were seen, or if—”
Tvrdy brushed aside the warning. “No one will suspect he’s here. I do not want him out of my sight.”
“Have you notified Piipo and Kavan?”
“No, and they are not to know—not yet. Later, when he is ready to talk. For now, there is no need to tell them. There is nothing to tell.”
“I agree.” Cejka allowed himself a broad smile. “What a stroke of luck, seh? We’ve done it! Who could have dreamed it would be so easy?”
Tvrdy grinned, his lips curled in amusement. He placed a hand on Cejka’s shoulder. “Jamrog will dig his heart out with his own hands when he learns what we intend.” The grin faded suddenly. “But that is not for a long time yet. We must not become overconfident.”
Still smiling, Cejka agreed. “Yes, yes, you’re right. But it starts now—after all these years. So much patience, so much work … but worth the price, yes?”
“Did you
ever doubt it?” Tvrdy smoothed the shimmering folds of his green Hage robe with his hands. “But we’ve yet to discuss taking the other spies.”
“No,” Cejka said. He pushed himself up from his chair and took up the orange Hage robe draped over a nearby table, pulling it over his head. “We’ve discussed enough for one night. I must get back to Rumon Hage before I am missed. Jamrog must not have cause to wonder about my movements. Besides, we must guard against overconfidence—yes? I think we should be satisfied with the one we have caught. We know where the others are; we can find ways to get them if that becomes necessary. Losing one will be enough of a shock to Jamrog.” He smiled again. “I wonder what he’ll do?”
“We’ll find out. I wouldn’t want to be in Hladik’s yos when Jamrog explodes. That could be very messy.” Tvrdy got up and moved to the lift with Cejka. “Do you want my guide?”
“I can find my way back. A guide might arouse suspicion. I’ll be all right.” He stepped into the lift and pulled the yos sash tight. “Send word when our friend is ready to talk.”
“Of course. Good night, Cejka.”
The unidor crackled on, and the lift dropped from sight. Tvrdy stood looking at the empty tube for a moment, chin in hand, thinking. Pradim came in silently and waited to be noticed by his master. “Nothing more tonight, Pradim,” said Tvrdy when he stirred finally. “Just make sure our guest is comfortable before you go to sleep.”
Pradim padded away quietly, his fingers waving in the air. Tvrdy crossed the room and went out onto the balcony. Tanais Hage spread out before him, sparkling with the light of tiny yellow lights. The byways were empty and shadowbound; the intercrossed mazes of Empyrion wore night faces. The patter of the fountain echoed up from far below, and Tvrdy turned his eyes toward the dark outline of the lake. There, slipping among the trees winding along the shoreline path, a figure moved with quick stealth.
“Soon, Cejka,” Tvrdy whispered to himself, “we will all walk in the daylight.”
Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra Page 16