The boy screamed again, the same scream Tohm had heard from the highway. It wasn't a scream quite like any he had ever heard. It was a dozen screams at once, each a hundred decibels above the last. Tohm thought they might go on into infinity, far above the human ear's perception, spiraling and spiraling, an eternity of screams.
“We tie you down,” said the fat man, lifting his arm and pointing at the boy. There was a great wet patch under his arm, spreading down his side. “We tie you down and lay the coals on your face, one by one, then fan them hotter. They'll eat right through your skull, right into your brain.”
The boy screamed again. Even the trees seemed to shudder, to hear. “All right,” his weak voice said at last. “I will try. But I can only try.” He closed the white orbs, covering them with dark lids.
Suddenly as he hung there, Tohm felt the world swaying about him. He moved to grab hold of a limb — and then was no longer Tohm…
He was color…
A minimum of crimson in a sea of blue …
A droplet of cinnabar, swirling and tumbling, surging and falling, blending and rejelling..
Waves of lapis lazuli swept Mm into currents of ocher and gamboge… Splashing wetly, he crashed upon a beach of heliotrope spotted with cadim…
REDREDREDREDREDRED… RED… REDRED-REDREDREDRED…
There was no identity. The loss of self was relief, pure and fresh and wonderful…
A gestalt, single organism of all shades of red: rouge, scarlet, vermilion, madder, lake, cochineal…
All one…
… One all…
REDREDREDREDRED upon a land of iridescent pitch and prismatic purple…
Then all the colors began to fade, and there was a land and he was again a man. He was no individual, but an agglomeration of all a man wishes to be: large of body, great of intellect, full of sexual desires and abilities. He was suave, yet an animal. He was cunning, yet innocent. He walked forth naked through the forests of swaying palms.
And naked came the maidens. The drifting leaves caught in the rivers of the wind began changing into women, all shades and sizes of women. Short and tall, thin and full, large breasts and small, they came. All were beautiful…
Ghost women…
Lovely women …
REDREDREDREDRED he swayed toward them like a wave, desire frothing within him…
Lilting, soft, lustful, they swam at him like—
Suddenly he was hanging in the air as before, staring into the campfire. He shook his head to clear whatever was left of the dreams. The boy was clutching his face in his hands. “I can't. Tired now. Let me rest. Later. Let me rest for now.”
“Tie him down,” the fat one said.
The others grumbled in agreement.
Tohm realized that it had been the boy making the dreams. He was a psychedelic, an organic, living hallucinogenic. He was reaching out with his mind and altering the fabric of reality, twisting things to show them what was not, to give them pleasure of the Never Would Be.
The men grunted, standing. The leader pounded a tent peg into the ground. Another. Yet another.
Tohm fumbled in his pockets and removed his gas pellet pistol. Floating into the clearing, he said, “That's far enough.”
The fat nomad, despite his ponderous weight, moved quickly, heaving a throwing knife from the orange sash about his waist. Tohm dove like a swimmer, floated up above head level, dodged a second knife, and blasted the man. The pellet flashed away, sunk a few inches into the flesh before suddenly expanding, exploding the nomad's stomach from the inside out.
The leader shouted orders. Tohm swung on him, pulled the trigger, saw the face blast open from the nose, spilling brains.
The others were running now, terrified, leaving all of their belongings. He turned to the boy, but the boy was gone. He searched the land about and saw that the boy was running with the four men — without being forced to!
“Wait,” he called, “I'll help you. I won't hurt you, boy!”
But the boy was gone. He had been terribly fast for a weak, weary youngster. Tohm turned to the two bodies. He was confused. Why hadn't the boy come to him! He had stopped the nomads from killing him. Wasn't that grounds enough for friendship? And had these killings been in vain? Had he misinterpreted things?
He floated back to the highway, clouds of uneasiness and doubt drifting through his mind. He knew little of the world, coming from a prim village. Triggy was right; he could not grasp the concepts. Even the people seemed to act strangely. Paralleling the roadway, he set out at once for the city, trying to arrange the incidents at the campfire into a sensible order. He did not feel terribly guilty about the killing, for these were Romaghins. Perhaps they were not the ruling class, but they were as ruthless and cunning as their chiefs. And somewhere in the capital, they held his Tarnilee.
When he reached the tip of the peninsula, the city had vanished.
V
But that was impossible! A city simply did not disappear. He realized now that the glow of light had been gone when he left the nomad camp, but it had not struck him. Now it did. He searched over every hillock, oddly expecting an entire city to leap up from behind rocks and shout surprise. But there were no rocks large enough behind which to hide a city. He cut the power on the belt and settled to the ground. The earth was virgin, undisturbed. There was no sign that a city had ever been there — no foundations, pipelines, sewers. There were not even footprints.
Dawn was breaking rapidly across the mountains, flashing up golden and orange fingers, testing the sky for conditions before setting out on the long day's journey to the opposite horizon. There were few clouds, and those were the fluffy yellow-white mists at high elevation, chunks of diluted whipped cream that had gone sour. The blue sky was much like that of his home world, as constant in its shade as a dyed cloth, marred in its bland perfection only by the sun as it yawned to begin its day, tinting the blue with amber.
Scrub grass tangled across the earth, a brown and shaggy carpet. It abruptly choked off the road at its precious entry point to the once-city. Now there was grass — undisturbed. Tohm stood, looked about. He walked to the bluffs that overlooked the sea, choosing not to fly, in this hour of unexplainable defeat, like a giddy bird. He had lived next to the sea all of his life and looked to it as a living thing, not merely a dead, soulless pond. One spoke to the sea, and the sea spoke back. Not in precise syllables, mind you, not in grammatic clarity, but it spoke just the same. Its voice was the keening of the wind whipping the surface waves. Its tongue was the white-foamed wavelets that licked at the sky by the thousands, babbling to one another, talking at night to the stars. Splashing, bubbling, chuckling, the sea spoke. If you knew what the sound meant, if you understood the language of the waters in all its detail with its many connotations and denotations, it might make you laugh. Or it might make you cry, depending on your nature.
Tohm sat on the bluff, legs dangling over the chopped off edge where it dropped straight down to the beach. Below, the sands were yellow-white like the sea, steaming hot, slightly acrid. He wrinkled his nose and sighed. There was little use for ranting and raving. He felt more like being gloomy, indulging in self-pity. The sea was quiet today, and thus would he be. He looked along the beach, searching for some rock formations where the babbling could be heard, where the ocean would have lips, and he saw the wharf.
It was large. Piers of wood and stone jutted out into the water like lances plunged at the heart of the sea. They crisscrossed and paralleled. There were two levels to it, the bottom having bars and hotels for sailors. It was a facility to service a major city, though there was no longer a major city to be serviced. A dozen ships, mostly freighters, were tied to. Three large fishing trawlers stood, barnacle-covered, rusted, next to the dirty but cared for cargo vessels. Here and there, little specks that were people moved about. One of the boats, deck swarming with dots, began drifting away from the wharf, motors churning the stale waters into foam. He watched it from his great height, his kn
ees drawn up under his chin. It was like a great automatic whale, he thought. Then the thought abruptly struck him that they might all be leaving. He looked for a way down. A thousand yards ahead, the cliff began to fade into the beach, sloping gently, navigable by a man on foot. He stood and ran.
“Hey!” he shouted at the dots. “Hey!”
At first they didn't hear him.
“Hey! Hey, up there!”
The dots were resolving into something more human. “Ho!” one of them called back, waving an arm to show they had seen him.
Panting, he doubled his speed. He could not very well use the flybelt without stirring up suspicion. And if they were as curious and perplexed by the disappearance of the city as he was, they would be suspicious of anyone to begin with. Kicking up a column of powdered sand behind, he raced down the slope and pounded on the finer sands, gained the steps to the main pier.
When he reached the dock below the giant freighter where the waving man stood, there was no air left in his lungs. He stood there, leaning against a mooring post, staring up at the deck, his chest jumping up and down like a caged animal. A number of crewmen had come to the rail to look at him.
“Who are ye?” the man in the captain's hat asked.
“Tohm,” he said.
“Ye live here, Tohm?” The man had a bushy white beard, ruddy cheeks, and a nose like a beacon.
“Aye,” he said, reverting to the speech pattern he knew was Basa II's own.
“Where were ye when the town itself vanished?”
“Coming home. Aye, coming home I was. I got here and seen there was nothing.” He hoped they didn't ask where it was he had been coming from.
The captain ordered the entry ramp lowered, smiled down at him. In a moment, it clanked upon the dock, sending a booming echo the length of the wharf. “C'mon aboard, then.”
He walked up to the gangplank, still exhausted, and stepped onto the deck. The captain was standing there with the crew behind as if seeking protection. He had no legs. A single limb of metal welded the stumps of his legs together well above the knee and ended in a floating ball which rolled about, taking him where-ever he wished. He rolled over to Tohm, conscious of the appearance he made, and liking it. “Ye look o' the upper class.”
He thought quickly. “My father deals in concubines.”
“Really now,” the captain said, his eyes twinkling.
“What happened to the city?” Tohm asked, looking about uneasily. He was determined to find out as much as possible before someone asked a telling question and his disguise was revealed. It was difficult to tread knowledgeably on the ground of a world you knew the customs of but not the basic concepts behind them. Triggy Gop was indeed a prophet. He was going to have to grasp a better basis of understanding.
“Ye haven't figured “it out yet?” the captain asked.
The men behind him grumbled.
“I… I've been away—”
“An awfully long time and awful far away if ye can't figger it out. The Muties, man! The Muties! Fooling around with the Fringe agin.”
“I should o' known,” he said, still totally in the dark.
“Ya. Ya, all trouble comes from them. But we are in luck! They didn't exchange it. They couldn't hold the Mollycools apart long enough. They didn't exchange it— only managed to move it.”
“Move it?”
“Ya. We got a report from the capital radio and defense system. We first thought it was the end; one minute there was a city, the next—poof. But then our communications boy picked her up. The Muties set her down eight hundred miles farther up the coast.”
Tohm shook his head in disgust, as he felt he was expected to.
“Be an improvement, actchilly,” the captain said, rolling closer. “More moderate climate up there. The name's Hazabob. Captain Hazabob.” He offered a weathered hand.
Tohm shook it. “Could ye use a crewman? I'll work my way up to the city.”
Hazabob looked around to his men. Tohm thought the old bird winked. “I'll tell ye what I'll do, Tohm, my boy,” he said, throwing a fatherly arm about Tohm's shoulder. There was a smell of dead fish and perspiration. “I don't need a crewman. Ye'd be in the way, ye would. But I'll take ye along anyway.”
“Well thanks,” Tohm said, grinning, his sunny hair windblown over his forehead.
“I'll take ye, think nothin' o' it. And while ye's talkin' about the city—” He turned and openly winked at his men this time. A few of them winked back, grinned. “While ye's talkin' about the city, perhaps I should say we'd like ye to persuade yer father to reward us, if ye knows what I mean.”
Tohm looked blank.
“With a conkeebine o' our own, ye ninny!” Hazabob roared.
Tohm swallowed. “Certainly. My father always has a broad selection o' women. Ye may have yer pick.”
“Heh, heh,” Hazabob wheezed. “Fine. Fine indeed. The ship is yers to explore. Just stay out o' the cargo hold, cause we got a load o' delicate spices there. Yer breath might contaminate them if ye have a cold or something.”
“Sure. O' course.”
Hazabob snapped two brittle fingers together. “Jake, show Mr. Tohm to his cabin. Be quick about it!”
Jake lumbered forth, a seven foot, three hundred pound giant. “Sure, Cap. This way, Mr. Tohm.”
Tohm followed the man, listening to the faint rumble as the captain rolled away to see about the launching of the ship. He would have to make his getaway quickly when they reached the capital. These men wouldn't show any mercy to an impostor, especially one who promised them a concubine and then reneged.
“This is the guest room,” Jake said, shoving the door open.
Tohm peered in. There was little luxury to the place. It was strictly utilitarian. The commode and shower were unconcealed. The bed was bolted to the wall, a wilted foam mattress and ratty woolen blanket draped across the springs. Springs, Tohm thought, which were probably broken and bent. But it was a way to the capital and Tarnilee.
“Meals are at seven in the evening and five-thirty in the morning. Ye makes yer own lunches when ye have a chance.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Ain't bad.” He lingered at the doorway, shuffling his huge, bucket feet.
“Thank ye, Jake,” Tohm said, reclining wearily on the bunk.
Still Jake did not move. He wiped his left foot back and forth through the thin coat of dust that covered the floor plates.
“Is there something on your mind?” Tohm asked at length.
“Now that ye ask,” Jake said, a dinnerplate-sized grin on his face, “there is something I wanted to ask ye.”
“Well?”
“Ye see, I know what kinda conkeebine they's going to pick, them others. She's going to be tiny and delicate— awful pretty, mind ye — but awful tiny and terrible awful delicate. I was wondering if—”
“Ya, Jake?”
“Well, I got a hunnert creds saved up, and I was wondering whether yer father could maybe have a tall… well, a sorta large… a girl with… well…”
“An Amazon?”
He grinned, flushed. “I know a hunnert ain't much—”
“I'm sure my father can find ye someone, Jake. Someone ye'd be just crazy about. And at yer price.”
“Gee, Tohm,” the ox said, blushing even brighter, “really?”
“Really.”
“Jake!” Hazabob called.
“I gotta go,” he said. “Thanks, Tohm.”
“Yer welcome, Jake.”
The shadow that had been flooding the room was gone.
Tohm stretched back on the bed and found it to be more comfortable than it had looked. Trying to untense every muscle and nerve, he took a moment to think about the events of the last day or so. What were the Muties trying to do? What exactly were the Muties? What was the Fringe? What was the quasi-reality? The Realities? What had the Muties been attempting with Basa II's capital city, and why had they failed? His nerves grew tenser than before as the confusion boiled in his min
d. He never had liked to be confused. His curiosity had always driven him to find the answers to things that confused him in the village of his people. This world, however, was far more complex than anything he had ever found in that tiny settlement of dark people. Yet all of the things that perplexed him here were taken as common knowledge by the people who lived in this insane universe. But to him, coming barefoot from a land of thatched huts, it was a riddle. The library materials took a basic understanding for granted too, and thus they were only more confusing, not clarifying.
He closed his eyes, blotting out the stained, gray ceiling and the grease-streaked blue walls. Better to think. But his thinking was interrupted by a low moaning. A slap, like leather hitting leather. This moaning increased. It seemed to seep through the near wall. He got up and walked to the partition. The noise was definitely louder. Slap-crack!
Moaning…
Slap..
Slappity-crackity-slap!
Now it was growing fainter. Bending, he found the sound was clearer next to the floor. He got down on his hands and knees, his ears alert as an animal's ears. The slapping had stopped, but the moaning was still there. It had sounded almost — but not quite — human.
“Did ye lose something, Mr. Tohm?” a voice asked from behind.
VI
He looked over his shoulder, his heart having slipped up next to his molars.
“Ye lose something?” Jake asked.
“Uh… yeah, a pearl fell from my cape clasp.”
“I'll help.”
“No, no. That's okay. Imitation anyway.”
“I come back just to say that I'd like her to have blue eyes, Mr. Tohm.”
“Who?”
“The Amazon. Yer father's Amazon.”
He stood and brushed his leotards off. “Blue eyes it is.”
“Gee thanks, Mr. Tohm. I gotta go. See ye later.”
“Ya, Jake. Later.”
The giant thudded away again.
He closed the door before going back to listen for the noise. But there was nothing. He went back to his bunk after a few minutes and stretched out. And now a new question: what was in the cargo compartment? His cabin was right next to it. He was certain that spices, no matter how delicate, did not moan. Why had Hazabob lied to him? What was really in there?
Star Quest Page 3