by John Dalmas
And then he read what was in the carriage, his gaze jerking toward it in alarm.
Ahmed was intent, and perhaps more anxious then Draco. For him the point of no return was well past, and he knew how easily things could go wrong in this. If the star men waited to land until the party was close to the landing spot, as they had the last time, then the odds were good. Unless of course they discovered the substitutions before they landed. In that case he would be a dead man; they all would.
But if they landed too soon and activated the force shield, there’d be little he could do. That would almost surely mean failure, and also probably death.
They stopped at the base of the little hillock, twenty meters from where the pinnace had landed before, and watched the Alpha begin to settle. One orc, at the rear of the party, dismounted.
Seated at the front of the parade carriage, his mind screened, the telepathic driver strained briefly to sense the minds of the star men above. His hand was on the lever which controlled the side panels. The rods had been shortened. When the lever was pushed they would drop abruptly instead of lowering slowly.
He directed his attention, his and that of the arena troll enclosed behind him, to Ahmed’s taut mind. His stomach was a clenched fist. His mind would hurt, as it had hurt in the arena when Kazi had held a troll’s mind with his own and buffeted the cowering crowd with his rage. More. It would hurt as it had when the giant Northman, naked on the bloody sand, had torn the troll’s mind away from the Master and slammed the throng into unconsciousness.
The sky chariot was almost down, and it would hurt badly.
“NOW!” Ahmed thought to him, and the panels dropped, and a burst of sheer rage and violence exploded from Ahmed into the troll’s mirror mind. Instantly it burst back, greatly magnified, and Ahmed wasn’t even able to clutch his stallion’s mane before dropping like a sack from the saddle. Horses bolted at the thunderclap of psychic rage, or staggered and fell, and some of the unconscious party were dragged bouncing across the prairie. The Alpha landed with a bump, Matthew and Mikhail senseless on her deck.
The only man left conscious was the orc who’d dismounted earlier. He was that rarity, a man totally psi-deaf, selected by Ahmed for this job. The hard-bitten veteran swaggered to the pinnace, deactivated the lock, and within a minute had dragged two shackled bodies out into the tall grass. Then he squatted in the shadow of the Alpha to wait. It wouldn’t be long. He could see the horsemen galloping toward him some distance away. They had been far enough off that the star men would not relate them to the landing, far enough that the thunderbolt from Ahmed’s mind, magnified by the troll’s, was a distant signal, not a felling blow.
There’d be a reward in this for him; perhaps he’d ask for a pretty slave girl from the palace household.
The squawk box was urgent. “Captain Uithoudt to the bridge please! Emergency! Captain Uithoudt to the bridge please! Emergency!”
Ram Uithoudt jabbed the acknowledge button, spit toothpaste into the washbowl, took a moment to rinse it down the drain, then pulled on his jumpsuit, zipping it as he strode down the passageway.
“The radio, sir,” the bridge watch told him.
“Ram here,” he said as he hit the command chair.
“Commander Uithoudt?”
The unfamiliar voice was quiet but hard, its words accented.
“That’s right. Who are you?”
“I am Ahmed, consul of the Empire of Kazi. I have your, ah, pinnace in my control-the one called Alpha. I also hold prisoner the two men who flew it, Matthew Kumalo and Mikhail Ciano. I plan no harm to them, as long as you do not try to interfere with me. My fight is not with you. But if you try to interfere, their death will be your responsibility, and it will be a slow and most unpleasant death. I have experts at that.
“You will also leave your radio on at all times; I will want to contact you again.”
Abruptly the signal ended. The two men on the bridge stared at one another.
XII
Each human instinctively and unconsciously develops the equivalent of computer programs in his mind-a set of more or less integrated and often incompatible programs that together crudely simulate the world. Your programs collectively constitute the world as you know it, and the state of those programs at any given time makes up the only world you know. They are the means through which your brain, your organic computer, operates. You make decisions and take actions on the basis of the printouts of that computer, printouts from programs which are part of your model of the world.
Hendricks has discussed the deficiencies of the system at length. Only one of them seems directly relevant to our discussion here-the egocentricity of those programs. The focal point, the emotional center, of the programs constituting your world, is occupied by your enthroned ego. It colors not only all you think and do, but all you “know” as well. It makes your subjective world what Kuznetsov dubbed the ego world.
It has been suggested that this centrality of the ego is essential as an integrating reference point and for survival of the organism; that without it, man would lack, among other things, a survival instinct. The ego may indeed have begun as a reference point for the integration of data, and its growth may have been a by-product of the survival instinct, but it seems unessential to either. Descriptions and analyses of the barbarian telepath, Nils Jarnhann, all point to his lack of an ego, as the concept of ego is defined today. Yet even allowing for some small degree of exaggeration in the reports of the expedition, Nils did an exceptional job of integrating information and surviving remarkably hazardous situations.
To be convincing, any refinement of ego theory must now consider Nils Jarnhann. Which is to say, it must consider the probability of a strong and effective survival mechanism and an integrating center of reference independent of any powerful, albeit unconscious, emotional image of the self as the center of the world.
At the same time, of course, we must reject the “explanations” of the New Movement gnostics. These are essentially pre-technological theology in pseudo-scientific trappings, with the unlikely premise that the human ego is the “spirit” or “soul” in a somehow degraded condition. Nils Jarnhann, then, is “explained” as a case in which the degraded condition was somehow miraculously dispelled or perhaps avoided!…
… Operating with a set of seemingly objective programs, a non-egocentric world model, Nils showed unique ability to learn. Mrs. Kumalo found existing intelligence tests inadequate for precise determination, but established that he did in fact possess “substantially superior mental equipment.”
An alternative, or more likely complementary, explanation might be that his objectivity itself enabled him to discern, learn, and reason more effectively than the great majority of men.
Of course, his direct access to the thoughts of others must have helped, but most other telepaths seem not to approach him in ability to learn or to make correct decisions.
All in all there was that about him which makes one uncomfortable when trying to explain him scientifically. And that is entirely aside from the interesting apocrypha that have grown up about him. It seems as if he was playing a joke on us by being what he was.
Mrs. Kumalo questioned him in a specific effort to understand his gestalt (sensu Watanabe). She stated categorically that she never succeeded, but felt she could characterize certain aspects of it. She wrote that, among other things, he did not have or use a conscious mind in the usual sense of the term. Yet he was obviously very conscious indeed. He was more sensitive to what happened around him, more aware, than anyone else she had ever known, an impression of him shared by the expedition generally. Nor was he a cold hard logic machine-a biophysical computer so to speak. He has been described as cheerful, considerate of others, charismatic, and possessing a sense of humor, which, to me at least, is reassuring.
Even more than with most men, the productive work of his mind apparently took place at a subconscious level. And he does not seem to have reviewed its “printouts” consciously. Wha
tever monitoring of them he may have done seems, like the computing itself, to have been subliminal. His printouts were available, however, for what we might call conscious expression. That is, he could explain his reasons better and more simply than most of us explain ours, and I suspect that if he were writing this, it would be much simpler and considerably more enlightening.
I can at least hope that if he were reading this, he would not laugh, and might even approve.
From Human Consciousness in the Light of the Barbarian Telepath, Nils Jarnhann, by Muhammad Chao. Pages 39-57, in ADVANCES IN PHILOSOPHY FOLLOWING THE FIRST TWO EARTH EXPEDITIONS. Kathleen Murti, ed. University Press, A.C. 867.
Nikko ducked into her tent and laid the armload of green-leaved willow twigs beside the firewood she’d brought earlier, then hung her canteen from one of the saplings that formed her tent frame. Her light field shoes were wet from the marshy ground where the willows grew. So this is the simple life, she thought. Not bad, as long as someone else provides the food and prepares it. A lot more agreeable than the life Anne and Chan described in the palace. The key difference, she decided, was the people.
As she took the radio from the field chest she wondered what Matthew would assign Chan and Anne to, now that they’d left the orcs, and whether contact with the orcs would be abandoned.
“Phaeacia, this is Nikko. Phaeacia, this is Nikko. Over. Over.”
“Nikko, this is Ram. Over.”
“Good morning, Ram. It really is morning here, you know. The sun is up, birds are singing-you should have heard their chorus about daybreak. ‘Din’ is a better word for it. I just finished my morning duties as a bearer of the wood and drawer of water. And my watch says oh-seven-oh-five local time, which makes it official. We had tough broiled meat again for breakfast, and my jaws are getting so strong I’ll soon be able to hang from a rope by my teeth.”
“Nikko, I’ve got something to tell you.” He said it in a flat even tone of voice, cutting her communication, and it froze the breath in her chest. Fragments of thought splashed through her mind-Matt hurt in a pinnace crash; Ilse, her safeguard, dead in childbirth; something irreparable gone wrong with the space drive. She waited, not asking.
“Matt and Mike and the Alpha were captured by the orcs yesterday. We don’t know how. I was afraid something was wrong when they didn’t come back on schedule with Chan and Anne and we couldn’t raise them on the radio. But we didn’t know anything for sure, and I didn’t want to alarm you when you checked in last evening.
“Not long after I talked to you I had a call from an orc headman named Ahmed. He said they had the Alpha, and Matt and Mike. He said they don’t regard us as enemies and won’t harm them as long as we do nothing to interfere. He didn’t say what we shouldn’t interfere in, but I guess we’ll know when the time comes.”
He paused. “I’ll send Beta down with Ilse later today and bring you back up.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean?”
“I mean no.” She listened to her words as if someone else was speaking them. “I’d be no good up there to myself or anyone else, and everyone would be walking on tiptoe around me. Let me bring Nils to talk to you, if I can find him. He knows a lot about the orcs and might have something to offer-information or even advice. I’ll switch off and be back as soon as I can, but I’m not sure how long it will be. Okay?”
“All right, Nikko, go ahead. But listen: After this don’t use Band D anymore and watch for multiple receiver signals. We don’t want eavesdroppers. Phaeacia over and out.”
“Okay. Nikko out.”
From high above, Ram heard her set go dead, and sat feeling grimly miserable. That was a hell of a fine woman. He wondered if it was true that, in a pinch, women were likely to be tougher than men. And he wondered about Anne and Chandra. The man named Ahmed hadn’t mentioned them. They must be prisoners too. There was hardly anything else they could be, except dead.
Nikko walked swiftly to Nils’s tent. He wasn’t there. She turned toward Ulf’s then, and he was gone too. Nikko explained, and the principal wife sent her youngest son, a boy of nine, pelting off to look for Nils.
“He’ll ask other boys,” she said, “and before long there’ll be a small army hunting for him. If he’s anywhere near, he’ll hear their minds; it shouldn’t take long. Why don’t we go to your tent and wait for him?” She put a large strong hand on Nikko’s shoulder while giving instructions to the youngest wife. Then they left.
They sat down on the ground beside Nikko’s tent. “It’s natural to feel afraid,” the woman said. “But if your man is still alive, he may get back all right. And if he doesn’t, it will pass. You are still young and pretty. Not strong-bodied, but pretty none the less. Any man would be glad to take you into his cabin. Besides, you star people have sky boats, and ancient weapons to threaten the orcs with. Nils will know what to do. Even the chiefs turn to the Yngling for his wisdom.”
They sat in silence then, Nikko’s mind curiously calm. To the south rose the ridge that bordered the valley, at that distance looking more black than green. Along its crest she could distinguish the tops of individual pines and firs, small against the sky. The omnipresent smell of wood smoke was around her, but beneath it were the subtler fragrances of meadow flowers. And there was birdsong. She felt high and strong and sure-not afraid at all-and while she knew the feeling would prove transient, that was all right too. She was enjoying it now.
When Nils arrived she arose with composure, and the principal wife left. Nikko told him what Ram had said. Then they went into the tent and she recontacted the ship.
“This is Ram. Over.”
“Nils is here, Ram. Ilse’s husband. He’s a member of the War Council and an advisor to the Council of Chiefs-sort of an affiliate member. He speaks Anglic well.”
“Okay,” Ram said. “Do you have questions to ask him, or how will we handle this?”
“Why not just have him say whatever comes to him? If any questions come to my mind, he’ll know. He’s a telepath.” She handed the microphone to the Northman, who held it as if he used one every day.
“Tell me what the orc said, as exactly as you can,” Nils instructed.
When Ram was done, Nils took over. “Kazi ruled when I was there, and I don’t know this Ahmed. But you can be sure he’s cruel. No man could rule the orcs who was not cruel and ruthless.”
You bastard, Ram thought, did you have to say that? In front of her?
“He may be more sane than Kazi though,” Nils continued, “and therefore perhaps more predictable. And it sounds as if he wants something more from you. That’s hopeful for the hostages, for now. But when he asks for more, you’ll have to make some answer. To say ‘no’ will put the hostages in danger, but ‘yes’ may not be an answer you can give. Prepare yourself for that.
“In deciding your answer, remember that orcs love torture, and they are masters at it. They know how to torture the mind as well as the body… ”
And so do you, thought Ram, you barbarian son of a bitch.
“… and when a hostage has served his purpose, they may use him to amuse themselves. Unless of course they’re afraid to, afraid of heavy vengeance. You might make a show of force, to make them fear you. But warn them first, so they don’t think they are being attacked and perhaps kill their captives. Don’t threaten them; just show them what you can do. Attack a herd of cattle.
“They know a lot about you from the minds of your people. Undoubtedly they have decided you are weak-willed.”
Thanks a lot.
“Show them they’re wrong and they’ll become more cautious.
“They already have a sky boat”-Nils paused momentarily, catching Nikko’s unspoken correction, “a pinnace, with its weapons, so their need for hostages is less than it would be otherwise, and they may be more willing to kill them. It would be much better if you could get the pinnace back. Maybe we could do that for you. If you would take a party of our warriors in the other pinnace, perhaps we could get i
t back for you.”
Yeah, Ram thought. Then you’d have both Alpha and Beta, the orcs would still have four of us, and we’d have nothing to bargain, or even land, with. Instead he answered, “We can’t do that. First of all we don’t know where the Alpha is. We reconnoitered first thing this morning and couldn’t find a trace of her. They’ve either got her under cover in the city or they keep her somewhere well outside it. And second, if they’re as bad as you say-and it fits what Chan and Anne thought-they might retaliate against the hostages if we try to get Alpha back that way.”
Nikko reached out and Nils handed her the microphone.
“What do you have in mind then, Ram?”
“Nothing. I hate to say it, but not a damned thing. We’ll just have to wait and see what develops, and take advantage of any opportunities.”
She looked at Nils but his face told her nothing.
“Are you sure you won’t come back up?” Ram asked. “We’d feel better if you were here, and you’d know at once if we hear anything.”
“You won’t,” she answered softly. “Nothing good. Nothing good will happen unless we make it happen.”
Five hundred and ten kilometers above her, Ram’s expression was dismal.
“No, I’ll stay here,” she continued. “I’ll be doing what we came here to do. Up there all I could do would be wait and imagine and feel sick and afraid. But thanks, Ram. And I know if there’s anything you can do, you will. Nikko over and out.”
“Accepted. Phaeacia out.”
Ram stared at the colored image in the big screen, a broad span of Eurasia tan and white, the Black Sea’s cobalt blue, unmarked by clouds. “Welcome home,” he said bitterly. “Welcome back to Earth.”