The Kah'diz returned its gaze to the police cruiser. Why, the driver was a Fraskan! Curious. What was a Fraskan doing in a cruiser at this stage of the game?
The new occupant of the crowded lock tower stepped from the elevator and walked straight toward the Kah'diz. Baathiax sent a playful urge that the newcomer be overcome with humor. The Fraskan stopped, looked momentarily puzzled, and then started laughing maniacally. Peals of laughter issued from the platform, and the Fraskan tried to brace himself to keep from doubling up. Baathiax watched him with cold indifference.
After a few minutes, the Kah'diz released the subject. The others on the platform had viewed this strange behavior with alarm; and a couple, fearing a madman was loose among them, had drawn their weapons. Baathiax waved a host hand to stop them. Genuine laughter, it thought, would be a real treat, but marionettes were childish.
Aruman Vard stopped laughing abruptly. His body convulsed, he retched and gagged repeatedly, until he regained control of himself. Although nervous and scared by the unexpected attack, his wits held together. He could afford to be this monster's toy for a little while: all Kah'diz were too arrogant to believe that they could be conned, and none allowed a telepath within easy range. If he could survive this sadist, he might just pull it off.
The other Conquerors on the platform, realizing what had happened, were shooting nervous glances at Baathiax, and most seemed to find urgent reasons to be needed elsewhere. The platform quickly cleared. An objective of both Baathiax and Vard had been attained.
"Noble sir," gasped Vard, "if you will but permit me to speak."
The Kah'diz remained impassive.
"I am Colonel Hadusan, of the Fraskan Liberation Army," he lied. "I have been ordered to offer my services as needed, then proceed with a mission."
So that was it, Baathiax thought disgustedly. A fifth columnist. A traitor come up from his dirty hold to exhibit the dirt proudly in victory. Such men were dangerous--their loyalty lay only to themselves. But what was this idiot doing here?
"I do not require you," the Kah'diz told him coldly. "What do you wish of me?"
"My mission, sir," Vard explained carefully. "A very dangerous traitor, one Aruman Vard, escaped the lock just before it closed. He has been hiding out in a bubblecar and we have just discovered his approximate location on the Great Waste Highway. However, many Fraskans are trapped out there, and only another Fraskan could tell which was which. I have been ordered to go to the mountain exiles and pick him up before he slips the net."
The Fraskan sounded logical enough. They all looked alike to Baathiax. And, considering the undercurrent of fear the native had been radiating, what he said must be the truth. The Fraskans were just too slavish and decadent to keep their composure through the kind of treatment this one was being given.
The Kah'diz's reasoning was as logical as Vard's story--and equally false. It simply did not occur to the creature that a good agent of the opposition would be a carefully trained and fully programmed psychotic.
The transceiver buzzed.
"The generators are on, and up to full power," the voice of the communications officer reported. "All stations are manned and ready."
"All right," replied Baathiax. "I'll clear up this mess right now."
With that, the creature removed from a small, skin-lined case attached to its belt a thin, gleaming silver rod, about a meter long. With its host's hands, it reached up and attached a wire from the rod to one of its own tentacles, which it had disengaged from the host's neck. A thin drop of golden-colored Fraskan blood dropped onto the host's shoulder.
The wire was actually a tiny tube, Vard saw, and the hair-thin tentacle slipped into it. The "wire" uncoiled from inside the rod, giving enough slack so that the rod could be held in front of the Kah'diz. Vard heard a faint hum of power, and a sickly purple glow seemed to overtake the rod, clinging like an eerie mist.
Baathiax turned to Vard and the few others still on the platform. "You will feel certain things," it warned them, "but it won't be the power that the ones forward and below will receive. The field is quite directional. You should have the willpower to reject anything you might get as feedback. If not, get as quickly as possible to the other side of the platform, opposite the beam. The effect will be minimal there."
Baathiax suppressed a quick urge to shoot his fellow-Conquerors a jolt of suicidal tendencies with a flight motif--considering it was forty meters to the ground and none of them had wings. But, there was diplomacy. Baathiax returned quickly to the business at hand.
Vard, the closest, was the first to feel it: a vague lethargy, a feeling of wearied quietude, a will to forget whatever one had in mind and return to the comfort and safety of the previous day's lodgings. Nothing much was very important, it seemed. He felt as if he was in a dream-like fog, unaware of his location or purpose. With great difficulty he shook it off, but he stepped back and away from the emotion-master. If this was a case of mild feedback, what must it be like out there in the jam?
Vard now felt the mood slowly changing. And he saw that few in the crowd below had moved.
Slowly but surely, Vard found himself getting horny; the craving for sex grew slowly stronger within him. This time, however, he realized what was happening and was able to keep something of a detached mind. But he was aware that the peaceful, lethargic feeling was still with him, as well. The Kah'diz strategy was now apparent: the combination of the relaxing, quasi-narcotic "high" and the powerful sexual stimulation created a single-minded behavioral attitude on the part of the people below.
Vard could see that the crowd below was beginning to react. People were seeking out members of the opposite sexes--and, in a few cases, the same sex--and congregating in sexual groups of four.
Now Vard felt a third urge superimposed on the first two: the urge for privacy, to get away, to walk to a place of concealment, of safety, of solitude. The great mass below was slowly breaking up, moving off, away, in almost all directions.
Vard stopped and shook himself as he realized that he, and most of the others on the platform, had been walking around the platform area in circles. Many of the others, looking dreamily into a fog of their mental creation, continued to do so.
The quadrisexual groupings of the walkers below was unmistakable. There would be some orgies, and perhaps some new family groupings, before this day was out!
Still some remained, of course--those with strong family ties on which the induced reactions and desires only reinforced their will to go home. But these numbered in the hundreds now, hundreds among the thousands of deserted cars; they could be handled directly by the authorities.
Baathiax gave them a powerful urge to obey authority, a will to follow any command given them. Since the only real authority figure around was represented by its own figure on the platform, Baathiax picked up a public address microphone and began speaking, stepping up urgings to obedience as it talked. Vard had gone all the way to the far end of the platform and stopped up his ears. He wanted to be around after the finish.
"Fraskans," crooned the dead voice of the Kah'diz host, "return to the city. Your families and loved ones are being cared for. They have been informed of your safety, and the government guarantees that safety. You are to be good citizens of the new government, and return to the place of your last night's lodgings, remaining there until further notice. The government, of course, will reimburse you for any expenses. In this way can you best help us--and you want to help us, don't you?"
The crowd felt it really did want to help the government. It would do anything for the government. It would die for the government.
"Go, now," Baathiax exhorted them, and, obedient as trained animals, they went. Within five minutes the entry-exit port below was the largest used car lot on Fraska, but without a single customer. Even a number of Conquerors, Vard noted with some amusement, were in the process of obediently walking away.
Baathiax turned to the few remaining Conquerors on and near the platform.
"Do you think," it asked acidly, "that clearing the rubble below would be beneath your powers, means, or dignity?"
Having no taste for an additional treatment of the creature's power rod, which still glowed softly in its hand, the few remaining Conquerors practically fell over each other in their rush to get to work.
Baathiax relaxed and disconnected the rod, then idly flipped on the transceiver.
"Baathiax here. North Lock cleared and operational in twenty or thirty minutes, maybe sooner if we can get a few wreckers in here."
"Ah, no wreckers available right now, sir, but do your best. It's really bad at West," came the reply.
"All right," the Kah'diz replied, "we've done our part."
It switched off the radio. Suddenly it heard a noise behind it, and whirled. Why, that Fraskan was still here! With more respect, Baathiax motioned Vard closer.
"I congratulate you on your self-control," it told him. "Such a strong will will be a true asset to the new empire. Now, what was it that you wanted?"
Vard bowed slightly.
"My only wish, noble sir, is to serve the new empire. I must leave the city to identify the suspect Vard in the mountains."
"Oh, yes, yes," Baathiax muttered with annoyance. "I shall open the lock."
Vard emerged from the elevator and chose the cruiser nearest the lock. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Starting the car, he moved slowly and confidently into the lock area. None of the wrecking crew took any notice.
Baathiax closed the "A" lock compartment behind the cruiser and began pumping the atmosphere back into the Dome. As soon as the atmospheric pressure dropped below proper levels, the cruiser's internal air and pressurization kicked in, much to Vard's relief. Until then, he had not thought to check and see if it even had such devices.
There was a pop in his ears and then the cruiser's atmospheric controls blasted in. Soon it was a comfortable 25 degrees Kelvin.
The "B" lock opened noiselessly in front of him, and Vard moved the cruiser forward as soon as he had enough clearance.
He was out of the city.
Vard glanced down at the outside temperature gauge. It was hot enough here to melt oxygen!
The cruiser sped onward through the twilight-lit desert stretching out before it, seemingly to infinity.
The little whine in his head changed, became more of a direction finder. He turned the car in the direction of the strongest signal, confident that the ship had not deserted him and that he was away free.
Hours later, he was in the middle of the desert, heading for a small lifeboat sent down on auto to pick him up. He pulled up next to the small airlock.
It was fortunate that his race could withstand a vacuum and warmer-than-normal temperatures for short periods, for he had no spacesuit or other protection. Shielding his eyes from the red sun's dull rays, and taking a breath, he depressurized the cruiser and opened the door, bolting as fast as he could into the lifeboat airlock.
The boat's lock closed behind him and he could feel air and temperature being introduced and brought up to Fraskan normal. After what seemed to be about two minutes longer than he could hold his breath, a buzzer sounded. He exhaled, then took in great amounts of air.
Opening the second lock, he went over to the pilot's control couch, strapping himself in but not touching the control helmet. This would be an automatic operation. Quickly, without any sensation felt inside the little craft, it was speeding out into space.
"You will have to live in the lifeboat until we reach Valiakea," an alien, metallic voice told him. "The conditions inside our ship would kill you instantly. We have several more pickups; then we will all go to Valiakea for Adaption Procedures necessary for Haven. The proper food for you and some reading matter are supplied. Should you want or need anything we can supply, simply speak up. I shall be monitoring you."
"Thank you, nothing now but some sleep, I think," he answered, and relaxed fully for the first time since the long day had begun.
Adaption. He hadn't considered that angle. Funny, he thought, no matter how cosmopolitan, old, and experienced you are, you still tend to think of everything in terms of your own normal existence. And yet the universe was a collection of the diverse.
Physically, anyway.
He did not like the idea of Adaption. It seemed to cut him off completely from his own people and homeland, as miserable as those now were.
He was thinking these thoughts as he drifted off into a dream-filled but lengthy sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
It was nearing dusk, and a gentle, warm wind was blowing the fields below in wave-like patterns, carrying the scent of new-mown grasses toward the loess caves. In the distance, the rich blue sky was giving way to hues of orange, and magenta reflected off the clouds, creating a wondrous artist's palette of beauty. The inhabitant of one of the caves barely noticed the sight, but the scent from the fields was driving her almost mad with hunger.
As the last rays of the setting sun vanished in the east, she came carefully out of her refuge, looking warily around her with caution born of weeks of being a fugitive.
Standing just outside the cave, sniffing the wind for more fearsome scents--perhaps of sentient beings--she presented a sight that would have been strange to any alien to this quiet, agrarian world. She stood about 150 centimeters high, a squat humanoid body begun with a squared head looking something like a blue gorilla's but with short-cropped silver hair now dirty and disheveled after weeks of hiding. Her head rested on a thick wrestler's neck and a tough, muscled torso covered with very fine, thin, bluish hair. Her arms were thick and bulging with sinew; she could easily lift twice her own weight. Two large blue-black breasts, firm and well proportioned, were left uncovered by the blue hair, which--close to the waist--became much more coarse, long and curly, going down to and covering even the tops of her feet, which despite rudimentary toes, were hard and more like hooves. Her stance, due to the unusual nature of the feet, gave her the appearance of being on tiptoe; and she seemed about to become unbalanced and fall.
Nostrils flared as she tested the wind and found it empty of anything but nature's own aroma.
Satisfied, she turned and made her way circuitously down the slopes, trying to leave no telltale tracks in the soft earth. Her short, bushy tail was kept straight as she moved with amazing speed down the now familiar pathways. Although she looked awkward and ungraceful at rest, she was capable of sprints of up to sixty kilometers per hour.
Reaching the fields below, she started pulling up some of the grain and grasses and shoving them into her mouth. Her people were herbivores and usually prepared all manner of exquisite and highly seasoned dishes from the plants they favored. But simple fare would have to do this time: hunger overcame civilized custom. Having had nothing since the previous evening, she gorged herself on what she could get.
The stars were out in full glory by the time she had finished, and she lay back in the grassy field looking up at them. So distant, so devoid of hope. She thought back in time, as she did almost constantly--of the good times, the happy times, the times of hopes not crushed by despair. The times before "they" came.
Her name was Gayal.
Her race was, like Aruman Vard's, an ancient one. Unlike Vard's, it had never gone beyond orbital space. Her planet, Delial, which meant "Mother," was the sole planet of its sun; it had no moon, and the next-nearest star was over seven light-years distant--too huge a jump when it had to be your first time.
Her culture was dull by some standards, but it suited her people just fine. Their botanical sciences were second to none in the galaxy, but an era of feudal wars had killed off the excess population that threatened Delial just as effective birth control had been developed. As a result, her people were remarkably long-lived but comparatively few in number, and the population was almost totally stable. There was little government on a national or world scale, merely a few coordinators of things like trade that the local regions could not do for themselves. Delial had no large cit
ies; the population was almost wholly agrarian, and it clustered about the thousands of small towns that were the centers of trade and commerce. Long ago, orbital flight had led to huge space stations circling the globe. It was there that the heavy manufacturing was done, almost entirely by machine, and ferried to well-placed spaceports.
Because an average of ten females were born for every male, a polygamous society had been the norm since civilization evolved on the planet.
Gayal's herd-husband had been an old man named Fala, to whom she had been wedded while still an infant. Fala was teacher, guide, and overseer of the large plantation where they lived. From him she had learned to read and write, and to attain the skills needed to work and run the huge farm along with her sisters. Gayal had been an excellent student, and Fala had sent for some of the best scholars to come and tutor her. History and theology had particularly fascinated her, and the pride and sense of accomplishment she felt when her first book of philosophical essays was published was almost as great as her bearing a son to the herd.
She remembered one stern, pessimistic scholar-teacher, whose soul was empty and devoid of sensitivity to the beauty around and in the life of the world Gayal loved. They had been discussing the gods, and immortality of the soul, and had quickly gotten into a heated argument.
"There is nothing beyond this life," she could hear the teacher's voice saying, distantly, ghost-like in the rippling across the darkened fields. "We go out like a candle."
"I must disagree," she recalled her own youthful voice protesting. "All around us is a world of life interacting with life, in position around the sun at precisely the correct orbit for us to survive. Out there in space are the stars, with other such planets; and beyond them, the galaxy itself--one of many, all functioning according to precise natural laws like an orderly machine. Surely this proves the existence of the gods."
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