Menace Under Marswood

by Sterling E. Lanier

  The crowd was slowing down, but there was no pushing and all the talk was muted and low. Rucker politeness was proverbial, as proverbial as their readiness to kill. An anthropologist had once described Rucker manners as a blend of Eskimo gentleness, Muslim fanaticism, and the quick-draw psychology of the American West in the late-Nineteenth Century.

  The lights were brighter now. Great wooden torches flared from stone sconces set in the walls of the narrowing passage. Fluors might have been cheaper, but a Rucker's instinct was always to use what was available and to save what might be needed for emergencies for just that—emergencies. As the light grew, Slater saw that his party was mingling with many others and that the cave opened out once more ahead of them. In a few more steps, the amphitheater lay before the group. A sloping, lofty chamber seemingly hewn from the rock of the planet, it had tiers of rude wooden benches set in a semi-circle around the area. A platform of rough-hewn logs was raised at the empty end, against the rock wall, and more large torches flared from metal cressets around its edge.

  The Ruckers, still chatting in low tones, ebbed and flowed about the ample floor space, seating themselves when ready, and more and more streamed in behind them. Acting on Muller's instructions, the group tried to keep fairly close to the entrance, save for Thau Lang, who left them and headed for the platform. At a gathering of this sort, a konsel sat with his peers.

  Just as those in the group were about to seat themselves, there was an eddy in the ranks immediately in front of them. A bent figure limped past and took station next to Danna. One side of the oldster's dark, lined face was covered with white weals from some encounter, and a heavy stick of dark wood aided his limping gait. An unpleasant smell came from his direction, and Danna pointedly moved away from him and nearer Slater. The old man paid no attention, except to scratch himself with vigor. If his habits matched his appearance, thought Slater, he was certainly lousy.

  He forgot the old derelict, for a sudden hush fell over the assembly. A man was mounting the platform. Behind him came eight more and Slater saw that they were the konsels. Lang marched last, perhaps by accident, but he also remained the one nearest the steps leading up.

  The leading elder moved to the front of the platform, the others ranked behind him, and began what was obviously an invocation. His voice was strong and resonant, his words few. He lifted his hand on finishing and joined to the others. Now another stepped forth, and this time the remaining eight sat down on a low bench at the back of the platform.

  The new man was Albar Jonzin, a stocky and bullet-headed fellow. He spoke in sharp, bitter phrases. Though Slater could not make out his words, he was obviously exhorting the Ruckers to do something, and the manner was inflammatory and brutal. When Jonzin finished his speech, he waved a hand to the steps. He was clearly introducing the next speaker. The crowd leaned forward and drew in its breath. A Terran mounted the platform. He wore two lasguns in trim cross belts, one under each arm.

  JayBee Pelham drew attention just by appearing. It was nothing so simple as physical good looks, although with his white hair and high cheekbones, he was a fine-looking man. Rather an aura of almost electric force emanated from him, a vibration in sympathy with almost every person he encountered. Slater had never seen him live, but he understood instantly how Pelham had seduced half a planet and might do so again if given a chance. He dominated the crowd of Ruckers, perhaps the toughest variant of humanity ever to appear, as easily as he had done with the farmers and technicians of the domed cities. He made no concession to Rucker dress but wore a splendid bush suit, obviously tailored for him, of some expensive deep-blue synthetic trimmed with white fur at collar and sleeves. His face was calm, his eyes thoughtful and considering as they moved slowly around the cavern. He might have been about to address a convocation of religious leaders after lunch at a good Ares restaurant. When he first spoke, Slater was startled.

  "Friends!" Though the voice was marvelous, the deep vibrant tones of a great orator, it was the fact that JayBee was using Unit that surprised the officer so. And from the look on the faces of his neighbors, they were as amazed as he. No doubt the enemy language had never been used at a solemn assemblage of this sort in recent history. But the magic of JayBee was strong enough to overcome even that prejudice.

  "I speak to you in a language that you can all understand. It is a language you hate. And rightly so. But I do not apologize. For as a friend to all the True People, here and elsewhere, I must use the tools I have, and not those I hope some day to acquire. I know that each child of the free clans learns Unit as soon as he can be taught it. I shall some day speak to you in your own language. And each child on the Mars of the future will learn the language of the True People, not first but only! For it will be the language of Mars, and Unit will be the language of banished Earth, of the dirt grubbers and the ruins of the domes, the wreckage of the forts, the empty memories of the departed and the dead, the enemies of the True People, obliterated and expelled from the planet on which they have no place!"

  And he had caught them. In only a few burning words, he had made the ancient magic possible between people and a natural leader who was an orator. Forgotten was the alien speech, the enemy garb, the hereditary dislike of the foreigner. Slater knew that if he were to live two centuries, he would not see a greater orator in action. The Rucker crowd was on its feet. They were not shouting, that was not the custom, but their intense murmur was combined with the snapping of fingers, the ultimate in Rucker applause. Slater found himself joining in, and not entirely from a wish to maintain his disguise! Beside him, Danna was snapping her fingers with equal enthusiasm. A wink from the grinning Muller brought Slater back to earth.

  Pelham continued to speak, his theme a justification for the destruction of Mars Command and the concomitant total shattering of the domed cities, agricultural enclaves, and the mines. All non-Ruckers of any age were to be offered three choices: mingling with a Rucker clan, repatriation to Earth, or death. The simple program delighted his auditors and the finger clicking increased in volume. Slater wondered how JayBee was going to sell his supporters in the cities on the idea of living in the Ruck, but the man was cynical enough to try to sell anyone anything, that was the only answer he knew. Promises made to his supporters in the domes would have no relation to what was said in the Ruck. As the promises grew wilder, Slater's contempt for Pelham grew along with them. But the Ruckers loved it.

  At one point Pelham beckoned to a group of men, Ruckers and Terrans, who stood near the base of the platform. A young Rucker warman mounted the stage and handed him a shrouded pole. Was the choice of a Rucker rather than a Terran accidental? Slater wondered. He thought not. JayBee did little that was accidental.

  It was a flag, by God! The Ruckers did not use such things, and even the clan emblems were little used in battle, but once again Pelham had struck a right note. The flag was reddish brown, the color of much of Mars' soil, and bore a black circle flanked by two smaller circles of unequal size. Deimos and Phobos, and the planet itself.

  "Here is a new thought I offer you—the flag of the free clans, the banner under which the True People will destroy their enemies and cleanse Mars of the pollution of the domes and of the scum who wish the men of Earth to spread over the planet's entire surface." No one in authority wished this, of course, and the land area of Mars was so large that it might have taken five hundred years even if they had wished it. But JayBee's appeal was not to reality. Nor did he make the mistake of explaining how he proposed to create any of his contradictory wonders, such as the self-contained society of peasant-technologists and totally free nomad-hunter-agronomists. His spell needed no second thoughts. The finger snapping was so violent Slater wondered about the possibility of dislocated knuckles.

  His attention suddenly became riveted on what JayBee was saying. He was introducing the members of his entourage. The first three were Ruckers, one of them a chief who smiled grimly at the tribesmen and women below, his gray teeth flashing in the flickering torch
light. The fourth was a tall, lean Terran, with a wispy black beard and a rigid face. His name rang across the cave. Medawar! Then this was Mohini "Dutt's" father!

  "This man," JayBee shouted, "has given his daughter—his only child—to the cause, our cause! She has been spying on the enemy soldiers for years, from inside, as one of them, and has only recently escaped! Honor this man and listen to him. He will tell you things you need to know about some of those who pretend to lead you."

  A familiar figure was mounting the platform. Mohini! She must have been hidden or disguised as a man. But now, her long hair flowing over her combat uniform, she stood with her father at the front of the platform. And she was looking in their direction!

  "Spies sit among us!" Medawar said, his voice hoarse and rasping. "They must be exposed, they must be destroyed! My daughter knows them. They are in hiding, they are in disguise, but she knows them. She has left the enemy fort to smell them out for you. Trust her! She is a faithful servant of JayBee and of free Mars, the Mars of the True People! Let her unmask the traitors and the spies who are with them!"

  The silence was suddenly profound. The crowd waited, each man looking at his neighbor, each woman at her sister, all wondering what was up. Only the breathing of the crowd could be heard. The limping old man turned to look at Slater, and it crossed the lieutenant's mind that the creature's rheumy eyes were somehow familiar. His hand felt for his belt gun and he moved closer to Danna.

  "Those men in the back of the cave, with the Wise Woman of the Ferkat Clan, they are Greenie officers led by Muller himself. You know who he is!" A sigh rose from many throats. Muller was known to all, the Greenie they could not trick, the man who always outthought them. A thousand sharp eyes glared at them, waiting for the word.

  "The Wise Woman is a traitor too. Don't let them escape. There are still other traitors who must be unmasked after they are taken. Take them alive. Make them talk!" Mohini's high-pitched tones rose until they were a scream.

  It was only at this point that Slater noticed something. Muller was gone! Somehow, even before Mohini had started speaking, he had slipped out! He had simply vanished! Slater, Feng, and Danna were alone. On the platform, Lang could be seen conferring gravely with his fellow konsels. Obviously Mohini had either not dared to denounce him or been instructed not to.

  The Ruckers in front of the three turned and began to move quietly forward, their faces set with hatred. They must have hesitated a little over Danna, but a Wise Woman's being a traitor would in the end make them angrier and less inclined to ask questions. Slater got ready to die, since he did not intend to be taken alive and interrogated.

  A great voice bellowed something from behind him, something unintelligible. Whatever it was, it froze the enraged Ruckers who faced them in their tracks. The voice roared out again. On the platform, everyone froze, Mohini still leaning forward, her hand extended in menace.

  Someone whispered in Unit. With a start, Slater realized it was their bent old neighbor. "Move slowly toward the door. Don't crouch; Stand straight. Walk as if you have been insulted. Let Danna go last. Whatever you do, don't shoot!"

  They stood up and backed unconcernedly toward the passageway to the camp. From the corner of his eye, Slater saw that a giant figure, hands outstretched as if in warning, stood at the tunnel mouth. It was Nakamura. His disguise as one of the clan of giant wizards from the south was perfect. Such was the awe surrounding them that the mass of Ruckers was hesitant. It was enough to hold the furious mob of True People in check, at least for the moment.

  Mohini broke the spell. "He's one of them," she screamed. "I know him! He's an officer from the fort, not a true Opener of the Way. Don't listen to him! Take them all!"

  It was the fact that she spoke in Unit, perhaps allied to her uniform as well, which prevented total disaster. The conflicting emotions that JayBee had stirred up, the accusations against a Wise Woman, the hated uniform, the alien tongue, all had thrown the True People into confusion. Nakamura added to it now.

  He bellowed a string of mysterious syllables in his great voice and held up an object, glittering in the light of the torches. It was the strange poison weapon they had all examined back at the fort. And it was more. It was the thing Slater had seen in the belt of the mysterious hooded boatman in the dream he had shared with Danna! That was what had jogged his memory at the time, the thing he could not recall. All this raced through his mind while he felt for his lasgun under his cloak and eyed the nearby Ruckers who were staring at the group with anger and fear.

  Slowly but steadily they shifted through the loose groups toward the tunnel exit. On the dais, heated argument was apparent. Mohini was arguing with her father and Pelham, but her voice was inaudible. Close to them, the konsels seemed engaged in a separate debate, ignoring the Terran delegation. Nakamura's great voice grew louder as Slater and the others approached him. Slater watched his friend caper about, waving the strange weapon in mystic passes as he did so. The True People at whom the object was pointed moved nervously farther away from it. A hum of angry and confused voices underlay the bellowings of the disguised UN officer as the crowd swayed to and fro, confused and frightened at the unprecedented happenings in their midst.

  The crouched and evil-scented oldster swung his staff in mystic passes before them now, muttering as he did so. The Ruckers revered the aged, for few of them attained long years. They backed away from the old man, though their eyes were angry as they glared at Slater and the others. Danna stared coldly back and walked as if she had a right to go anywhere, while the men tried to copy her insouciance. Slater felt as if a thousand missiles were about to bury themselves in his body, but he was still more concerned about the girl.

  Now they were next to Nakamura. He ignored them, jumping about oddly and yelling discordantly until they passed. As they did, he fell in behind. Still walking, despite the impulse to run, the little party passed into the great tunnel and the light dimmed at once, for the torches that had lit it on their arrival were out or dying.

  "Run, all of you," came a hiss from the gloom ahead. "They will break into anger in a moment." It was the old man, now standing straight in the gloom ahead.

  "Yes, hurry!" Danna said, clutching Slater's arm. "Listen to Arta. He knows what to do!"

  Slater gulped and swallowed in silence. So that was where Arta Burg had been! Danna's second husband. Not dead, not lost in the storm, but disguised, waiting to surface when needed! He felt stupid, since the others seemed to have penetrated the disguise at once.

  They ran openly now, Danna and Burg in front, the others following. They had not gone far when the swell of voices behind them rose into a great roar. Ahead they saw the light of the outside world. Behind lay certain death. Would there be guards, Slater wondered as he sprinted, or would the way be clear? And what would happen to Thau Lang, whom everyone seemed to have forgotten?

  Behind them, mingled with the roar of the assembly, came the vibration of running feet, but none of them looked back. At least, Slater thought, they aren't shooting. If Pelham and Company had carried the day completely, we'd be targets by now.

  The entrance loomed before them and they raced out, weapons drawn. But there were no guards. In the near distance a few children and women stared at them, open-mouthed, the herds of bulgotes fed peacefully.

  To their right, deep in the shadow of the overhanging arch, though, stood a figure. It was Muller, and with him another man, a younger Rucker whom Slater had not seen before. They were holding the reins of two huge buck bulgotes, the backs of which supported laden pack harnesses. Suddenly he realized the new Rucker was Milla Breen!

  "This way," Muller called. "No time for talk. Follow me, all of you—and hurry! We've an ally in camp who will know what to do. Don't waste time!" He led off at once, and Slater found himself leading one of the bulgotes at a rapid lope. They were not heading away from the cave but parallel to it, farther back in the shadows of the great overhang, down a path that led between rock shapes and grew rapidly narrower unt
il they were going single file. The man who had been with Muller at the cave mouth had never moved and as they rounded a sharp curve, his stolid shape was lost to sight. No one of their pursuers had yet come into view either, and as they turned the corner of a right angle, all noise from behind was lost to the ear.

  The gray-black basalt grew closer overhead with each stride, as the ceiling and the walls of their passage drew together. The light was very dim. The bulgote Slater led snorted and checked briefly. The young officer wondered desperately what he would do if the great brute reared and began to fight in earnest.

  As if he could read minds, Muller was beside the animal in an instant, fastening a dirty cloth bandage over the animal's eyes, crooning to it in a low monotone as he did so. In a second the job was done.

  "He'll do," he said quietly. "Talk to him if he shies. He's a lot smarter than a horse." With that, he was gone again, feeling his way past Feng, who was in front of Slater.

  The dirt floor of the path changed to hard rock, and they were in another equally narrow black tunnel. When the passage straightened, Slater could see that someone up front was using a pocket beamlight. It was all that was needed so long as the passage kept narrow and straight. The other bulgote, apparently led by Muller or someone right behind him, blocked much of the light. There was little talk, only an occasional whisper, the sound of the animals' hooves, and the padding of human feet. The quiet procession seemed to go on for hours, and Slater felt himself growing numb with fatigue. It was cold too, though not damp. The tunnel bored on and on, only now and then taking a gentle curve. But always it sloped very gently down. The rock walls felt quite smooth to the hand, and he wondered who had carved the shaft and when. He had never thought of the Ruckers as miners, and this seemed expert work.