There was silence. All the Tenaciteans present, humanoid and crustacean, seemed mystified. It occurred to Krabbe that they might not have such a concept as a foreign language. The Tlixix had imposed their own on the dehydrate species as they evolved.
Behind him the door irised again. Through it poured more Gamintes, this time carrying everything that had been in Krabbe and Bouche’s lodging: water drums, food packs, assorted items including weapons. All this was dumped in front of the Tlixix, who peered at it with their blank, white eyes.
A Gaminte picked up a water drum and shook it. Water sloshed inside.
As he put it down again Bouche bent to the goods. He had spotted the ear and throat translators. Suspiciously the guards lifted their flingers, aiming flenching blades as he handed one set to Krabbe and fitted the other to himself.
The Market Master’s words were now intelligible. “You are in possession of water! All water belongs to the Tlixix! How did you come by it?”
His voice was like the roaring of surf. To fasten on the neckbands, the Earthmen had thrown back the hoods of their burnouses. The Tlixix became still, regarding them intently, as if puzzled.
“What is your tribe? From what part of the world do you come?”
Krabbe spoke, again experiencing the weird sensation of having his words whipped away to emerge from the voice-disk in an alien tongue.
“Our tribe does not exist in this world, Market Master. The water is ours, and nowhere in all the deserts will you find another people like us. We come from the stars.”
The two Tlixix stared at one another then back at Krabbe.
“From the stars? What nonsense is this?”
“We can prove it. We come from the stars, and we are here to trade.”
“And how did you come from the stars?”
Krabbe grinned. Incredulous though the lobsters were of what, after all, must seem a preposterous story, they would soon change their minds when they saw evidence of the technology the firm of Krabbe & Bouche had available.
“We came in a vehicle that is closed up like a barrel, or like this building. It carries its own air, for there is no air in between the stars. It now waits for us in the sky, too high to be seen.”
“Do not waste our time with your ridiculous stories. What is the name of your tribe? Where did you get this water?”
“We can prove what we say, Market Master. If you will allow me to use a device among our goods, I will speak to our comrades aboard the vessel in the sky, and you will hear their voices.”
“Hear their voices?”
“Yes, Market Master.”
There was a pause. “Proceed.”
Krabbe found the communicator and, again under the nervous gaze of flinger-wielding Gamintes, opened up its dish antenna.
Bouche took off his translator. “Here, you’d better let me do that.” He took the handset from Krabbe and touched a tab.
“Are you there, O’Rourke? Come in, please.”
Their most trusted bondman answered almost immediately.
“O’Rourke here, Partner Bouche.”
“We have made contact, O’Rourke. I am demonstrating that we have friends in orbit. That is all.”
“Understood, Partner Bouche.”
“Out.”
The Market Master’s companion uttered an exclamation and jerked his body, sending drops of water shooting off him. “That strange noise comes from a long distance?”
“That’s correct, Market Master,” Krabbe said with satisfaction.
“And it works, perhaps, by sending inaudible radiations? Something similar to light, except it cannot be seen?”
“Well, yes,” Krabbe said slowly, blinking. “That’s a good description.”
“Then it is true. There is such a device!”
The Market Master himself turned this way and that, stalks and feelers in a frenzy. “Seize these two! They have come to the market as liars and thieves. They have stolen our water. They have stolen the invention of the Analane! What else have they stolen? Seize them!”
With gruff cries the terrifying Gamintes rushed forward.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hrityu and Kurwer, who had been wandering the market in a fruitless search, pleading with anyone who would listen to their entreaties, went wild with joy and relief when a Gaminte came to tell them the radiator had been found.
Hurrying to the Pavilion of Audience, they met a strange scene. The Crome, their enemy, was present. But so were two humanoids they could not identify, strangers of a pale greenish-yellow colour who stood with heads bowed before the lordly Tlixix. Around them were scattered a number of objects whose purpose was not clear.
Rherrsherrsh, the majestic Market Master, waved something in a manipulatory stalk.
“Come closer, Analane. Take this.”
Gingerly Hrityu reached up and accepted the object. He inspected it curiously. It was a flat, rectangular box, surprisingly light for its size, made of a substance that was neither glass nor metal. Coloured strips and tabs decorated its surface.
“Do you confirm that this is your missing property?” the Tlixix rasped.
Hrityu looked again at the box, puzzled. “Why, no, Market Master. This is not our radiator. Our machine is much larger. What this is, I cannot say.”
A rustling sigh came from within the transparent tents.
“You have never seen it before?”
“Never, Market Master.”
Rherrsherrsh pointed his snout at the pale-skinned ones. His white eyes glistened.
Boris Bouche licked his lips. “We spoke the truth, Market Master,” he said. “We come from another world. Allow us to prove it with a demonstration of our alienness.”
“Proceed.”
Bouche stepped to one of the water drums and unscrewed the cap. Using a ladle clipped to the side of the container, he dipped into its cool contents.
“Water, Market Master. We need it to stay alive, just as you do.”
He was, as a matter of fact, feeling thirsty. He gulped down the water, ending with a sigh of satisfaction.
The dehydrate humanoids stared in stunned amazement. Even the Tlixix waved to and fro in their consternation.
“To any but ourselves water is poison!”
Krabbe took the ladle from Bouche and also dipped, swallowing a mouthful, then replacing the screw cap. He turned to face the Tlixix.
“That is because yours is a dried-out world, Market Master. The worlds where we live have plenty of water. It’s the basis of our form of life.”
“Then you are as we are.”
Krabbe grinned broadly. “That’s it. We are just like you.”
Rherrsherrsh’s eyes became moist with excitement as he leaned towards the humans. “And do you come to our world to trade?”
“That’s it again, Market Master. We do indeed come to trade.”
In the dust of the concourse the Analane looked at one another in bewilderment. They had been ushered from the pavilion before the strangers could divulge their intentions any further, as had the lone Crome, but that scarcely interested them in their dismay.
“All is lost,” Kurwer murmured dejectedly.
Hrityu squared his thin shoulders. “Do not say that! There is still hope.”
The Crome eyed the two haughtily and stepped forward.
“The Tlixix appear to think the apparatus you boast of really exists,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it does, after all. I, however did not steal it.”
“Not you?” Hrityu challenged heatedly. “Who but you could possibly have a motive!”
“To that I have no answer,” shrugged the Crome. “For a moment there, I was afraid the Market Master would cancel the permission he has already given for our onslaught—”
“Already?” Kurwer gasped.
The Crome grinned mercilessly. “It seems that in the excitement you were not informed. Yes, already. We attack in thirty courses of the sun. You will recall that we entered a plea for your extermination. While that
was not expressly approved, it was not forbidden either. That’s good enough for us.”
“The Tlixix almost never allow extermination! You would not dare! There would have to be a compelling reason!”
“Almost never?” taunted the Crome. “Well, let me see what examples come to mind. Were not the Sliss exterminated, not long ago?”
“They had shrunk to no more than a hundred in number! We Analane number thousands!”
“Yes, thousands who have been destroying the prickle-stalks on which alone the Crome can live!” The Crome’s tone had turned from haughtiness to indignation. “In another few turns of the sun it would be we who are extinct! There is your compelling reason, Analane! Your vile mould will do nothing to sustain us!”
With those words he turned his back on them and strode off.
Hrityu found that he was shivering.
“Did you hear that?” Kurwer said in a low voice. “The prickle-stalk campaign must have been more successful than we thought. They are on the verge of starvation!”
“Our aim was to reduce their numbers, not to wipe them out completely,” Hrityu pointed out mildly. “Their reaction is out of proportion.”
A Gaminte approached and handed over the flingers taken from them when they entered the Pavilion of Audience. Disconsolately they walked down the concourse.
“What shall we do?” Kurwer said. “We cannot return home with such colossal failure on our consciences.”
“We must continue to search for the radiator.” Hrityu paused. “Who were the strangers in the pavilion? I have never seen their like before. Their equipment looked interesting.”
“I do not understand what I saw there,” Kurwer admitted. “It appeared to me that they were swallowing water. But that cannot be so.”
“Their talk was strange. They spoke of coming from another world. How can there be another world?”
“No doubt they are liars, like the Crome.”
A voice came from Kurwer’s left. “A word with you, please, Analane.”
A humanoid had stepped into the concourse to accost them. They stared at him. His colour was green, but a lighter shade than that of the Crome. He was roughly the height of an Analane, and was just as slender, but his face had nothing of Analane softness. It was sharp, narrow-jawed, the eyes upward-slanting and silvery bright. The skin was mottled, reptilian fashion, even on the face. His headcrest was large, and was echoed by similar fanlike structures on his back.
His flinger was a flashy affair, ornamented with shining crystals.
“Perhaps I can be of help to you.”
“You are an Artaxa,” Hrityu murmured. They were a little-known tribe, not given to travel. He had seen one once before, long ago.
“Yes. And you seek a device you call a radiator.”
“News of our loss has travelled.”
“I knew of your machine earlier, before it disappeared.” The Artaxa’s eyes gleamed like polished metal. “I know a great deal.”
“But how—?”
For answer, the Artaxa did something peculiar. His ears, which up to now had been ordinary-looking, reshaped themselves into funnels which he extended outward from his skull, directing them this way and that.
“We of the Artaxa have exceptionally acute hearing, and can eavesdrop on private conversations even from a long way off. I was present in the Pavilion of Warfare on the day you met the representative of the Toureen.”
His ears flattened themselves again. “As I said, I can help you. But if we are to proceed further it must be on a basis of trust and confidence. Otherwise much harm will result.”
“Do you know the whereabouts of our radiator?” Hrityu demanded.
The Artaxa nodded.
“Then it must have been you—”
“Please.” The greenskin raised a hand. “If we are to talk, let it be somewhere more private. I suggest a ride into the desert.”
Hrityu considered the proposal. If the Artaxa was planning treachery, it was hard to see what he would gain by it.
He glanced at Kurwer, then said, “We shall take our vehicle. Come. To the park.”
The wheel machine went bucking and sliding over the dunes. Eventually the bright pavilion were out of sight.
Hrityu disengaged the inner and outer wheel and applied the brake. He and Kurwer turned to the Artaxa who sat in the back of the apartment. The other laid aside his flinger, in a gesture of peace.
“Allow me to give you my name. I am Karvass, of the Artaxa.”
Hrityu thought the circumstances for name exchanging unusual, to say the least. His crest bristled. “Do you ask for our names? Frankly I do not see the need.”
The Artaxa’s facial membranes dilated slightly. “As you wish. But remember, I did ask for trust—as I am trusting you, more than you realize.”
Kurwer leaned close to his companion. “Let us take him at his word.”
Hrityu was silent. Then he softened. “Very well. I am Hrityu, of the Analane.”
“And I,” echoed Kurwer, “am Kurwer, of the Analane.”
“Good.” The Artaxa relaxed. He nodded. “Yes, as you already have suspected, it as I who stole your radiator. I immediately recognised its value to my race, and I was determined to acquire it. At the same time, I had nothing of like value to offer in exchange.”
“And therefore you simply took it?” Kurwer exploded. “This is outrageous! The Tlixix will punish your tribe severely!”
Hrityu waved him quiet. “So you have our machine,” he said to the Artaxa coldly. “What is it you want with us?”
“I have examined the device. It appears to function as you claim—though without a partner I have not been able to test it thoroughly. It is the means by which it works that remains a mystery. I do not think our mechanics will be able to duplicate it. Therefore I need you.”
“You want our cooperation? Offering nothing in return?” Hrityu said incredulously.
“Not quite. I have a proposal to put to you. Let me ask you a question. Since arriving here you have had dealings with the Tlixix. How would you describe their treatment of you?”
“We can hardly be pleased with someone who consents to our extermination!” Hrityu grumbled bitterly. “We have met with nothing but injustice!”
“That is what emboldens me to reveal myself to you,” the Artaxa said. There was a grim satisfaction in his voice. “The Crome representative has been boasting everywhere of the edict he has obtained. What I propose is an alliance.”
“An alliance?” Hrityu repeated in puzzlement. “Against the Crome?”
“Not just against the Crome. Against the Tlixix!”
Both Analane stared at him in shock.
Karvass continued calmly: “Let me tell you something of my race. You know little, for we Artaxa are secretive. Most believe us to be few in number, and we encourage this belief. In fact, our tribe has increased to a size unprecedented since the Great Dehydration. There are nearly one hundred thousand of us. Not even the Tlixix know this.”
Kurwer shook his head. “How could such a huge tribe stay hidden from the Tlixix? They know everything.”
“We have had the help of the Sawune, the lizard race who live underground. They led us to vast underground caverns which we have made our home, and there we have worked and planned. Our hope is to come out into the sun and there build giant camps where we may live. Before the world changed the Tlixix built such great camps. All are buried by sand now.”
The Analane had heard tales of the stupendous habitations of the Tlixix in olden days.
Karvass went on: “The Tlixix, naturally, would never allow this. If they even learned of our great numbers they would promote wars of extermination against us, for they maintain their power by keeping tribes small and in constant warfare with one another. Yet why should the Tlixix dominate the world? They belong to the far past, before the great change. They must huddle in their hydroriums, and scheme to keep us pitted against one another. Yet rightly, the world belongs to us. Do you understan
d me, Analane?”
“But how can you think to challenge the Tlixix?” Kurwer asked in a hushed tone.
“We shall challenge them. We shall challenge them by making war on them. The Artaxa, the Sawune and such tribes as will join forces with us will fight whoever chooses to defend them. The Tlixix will be swept away.”
“What will become of them?” Hrityu said in awe.
“No doubt they will all perish. Life is virtually impossible for them unless they make use of creatures like ourselves. They are not made for this world.”
In stony silence the Analane sat contemplating the almost unbelievable thoughts that had just been put to them. A world without the Market Masters was hard to envisage.
“Then this is the alliance you offer,” Hrityu said.
“Yes. I stole your radiator to put it into our hands rather than in the pincers of the Tlixix. Think what it will mean if tribe can speak to tribe, camp to camp, across the world! We shall be able to outflank our enemies and stall their every move. And now there is every reason for the whole tribe of the Analane to join us. The Tlixix are not your friends. This is the best way you can save yourselves.”
“Is it?” Hrityu questioned stiffly. “We could, if we wished, go to the Tlixix and inform them of your plans. If we recover the radiator then …”
The Artaxa chuckled. “You could kill me here and now if you chose. I told you I was putting my trust in you. In neither case, however, would you be likely to regain the radiator, and so would not be able to obtain the eruptionite with which you thought to defend your tribe.”
The Analane started at the mention of the secret weapon. Karvass chuckled again. “You would not obtain the eruptionite in any case. I have talked with Nussmussa of the Toureen. He has gone to consult the elders of his tribe, and it is close to certain that they will opt to join the alliance. I am confident that you will do the same. We shall have eruptionite! We shall have radiators! We shall be invincible!”
“But when is this uprising to take place?” Kurwer wanted to know. “What if the Crome attack first?”
“If you ally yourselves with our cause, we shall help you. Artaxa will fight alongside Analane, and our numbers alone ensure that you cannot be defeated by the Crome.”
The Great Hydration Page 5