“I think it’s beautiful,” Wuju said. “But it looks so strange. Even the sky seems to be a lighter blue, with yellows and greens in it. But it’s so rough and rugged—how will we know that we’re going the right way?”
“No problem on a clear night,” Brazil replied. “Just head toward the big, bluish-orange nebula. Looks as if it’s clouding up in there, though.”
“I agree,” the bat put in, concern in his voice. “We might have some rain. Bad for navigation, bad for flying if need be. It’ll slow us down.”
“But it’ll also keep the Murnies down,” Brazil pointed out. “If we get rain, we keep going as long as it’s possible. The Slongornians say that that low pinkish range of hills with the little bit of green goes pretty much northeast for almost half the distance. I’d say we get to it and follow it. Looks as if there may be caves and shelters there, too.”
The bat nodded approval. “I agree. If I were to live in such a place, I’d make my camps and villages along river and stream courses, on the flats but in defensible positions. If we stay away from such places unless absolutely necessary, we might just make it.”
“As close to sunset as possible, I want you to reconnoiter the area from the air,” Brazil told Cousin Bat. “I want to know as- much as possible about what’s in there, reasonable paths and the like, before we go.” He went over and pulled the sword out of the pack, and changed his shirt to the long-sleeved one with gloves. With Bat’s help, they tore the shirt he had been wearing, twisted and tied it to make a makeshift scabbard fixed around Wuju’s neck and draped to one side so all but the hilt was in the shirt.
“That ought to hold,” he said with satisfaction, “if the sword doesn’t tear through the material and if you remember to hold the cloth when taking out the sword.” Next he removed a small, battered tin and took out something that looked like oily grease.
“What’s that?” she asked, curious.
“Slongornian cooking fat,” he replied, applying the stuff to his face and neck. “Something in it is like a dye. Bat’s black and you’re brown, but my light skin will be a giveaway in close quarters. I want to be able to blend in.”
Satisfied, they settled back to wait for sundown.
THE BARONY OF AZKFRU, AKKAFIAN EMPIRE
Vardia regained consciousness slowly. Even with the aid of what looked like a sunlamp, it was almost half an hour before she could make any movement at all.
The Umiau she knew as Cannot groaned softly. With great effort she turned her head a little and saw that the mermaid was having a similar struggle to regain muscle movement.
“Son of a bitch!” the Umiau swore in Confederacy plain talk.
She would have gasped had she the physical equipment for it. She recognized the dialect at once, though she hadn’t heard it since she was in Ortega’s office in Zone.
“You—are—from—the—Confederacy,” she managed, the voice sounding strangely distant and fuzzy.
“Of course,” the mermaid growled. “That’s what all this is about. I am Elkinos Skander.”
Vardia stretched and flexed, feeling far surer of herself with every passing moment.
The Umiau stared at her for a moment, a puzzled frown on her face. “You mean you really haven’t any idea about what’s going on?”
Vardia shook her head. “No, nothing.”
Skander was thunderstruck. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that anyone hadn’t known at least part of the story. “Look,” she began, “you’re Vardia, right? You came in with that party from Dalgonia?” She nodded, and the mermaid continued. “Well, I came in a few weeks ahead of you.”
Now it was Vardia’s turn to be astonished. “Then you—it was your tracks we followed!”
“Indeed they were!” Skander replied and proceeded to tell her the entire story—the discovery, the opening of the gate, even the murders. Only the point of view had changed on the latter.
“I returned to the camp instead of staying on station,” Skander lied. “By the time I arrived, this rascal Varnett had already killed them. There was no way out, no chance of holding him off, so I made for the Gate. I hadn’t any real idea where it would take me, or if it would kill me; but I was being chased by a madman. I had no choice. When I arrived, the Gate had not yet opened, and Varnett caught me. We struggled—he was much younger, but I was in far better condition—and the Gate opened beneath us.”
He went on and told how they were separated, interrogated for several days, and finally allowed to pass through the same Gate she had gone into. “I don’t know what happened to Varnett,” Skander finished. “I woke up a Umiau and damned near drowned those first few hours. The Umiau spotted me and I was taken immediately to government Center by two police. They kept me locked up until I normalized, and while there I was apprised of the unique situation here and of my own new situation. When I heard about the Center and the contacts with your people, we decided to strike a bargain—me with my new people, and my people with yours—to solve the problem of this planet once and for all and,” the mermaid concluded, with a strangely fiery look in her eyes like those of a religious fanatic, “whoever does solve it will control this world at the very least, and perhaps all of them.”
“But none of our people has ever sought power,” she objected.
“All people seek power,” Skander replied firmly. “Few, however, are ever given the opportunity to grab it.”
“I still can’t see my people wanting to rule the world or whatever,” she said stubbornly. “Perhaps yours, but not mine.”
Skander shrugged. “Your people are a mystery to me, just as mine would be to yours. Maybe they only wanted to add the ultimate knowledge. Maybe they still wouldn’t have done it, but for one factor.”
“Which is?” she asked, still unwilling to accept what she was hearing.
“Varnett, of course. He’s out there; he has the same formulae I do for contacting the brain, and he’s at least as smart, perhaps smarter than myself. We couldn’t take the chance. If anyone was to break the final puzzle and control the brain of this world, it would better be the Umiau—and the Czillians, of course,” the scientist added hastily.
“So how did we come to this?” Vardia asked, waving her tentacles around at the barren dirt chamber with its incongruous electrical outlet.
“Because I was stupid,” Skander replied harshly. “Someone found out who I was—how I don’t know. But our ambassador at Zone got a warning that someone was out to kidnap me, and so I cleared out and lay low for several weeks. I relied on the fact that most species can’t tell individuals of another species apart. I came back, eventually, using a colleague’s name and office, and tried to complete the last few days’ work. That’s why we were pushing it around the clock. I’d already solved half the puzzle and hoped I could crack the rest. I even had you transferred up—not for what you were doing, but because I could talk conversationally to you about the Dalgonian Gate and your own experiences.”
Now she was really puzzled. “Why would my experiences be any different than yours?”
“Because the Gate should have closed behind us!” Skander exclaimed excitedly. “We—Varnett and I—opened it when we cracked the code. Our minds opened it. But there’s no reason why the thing remained active—if it has. The resupply ship should have been in shortly after you and gone through the same motions—then most of them should have arrived here.”
Vardia thought back, and told about the strange emergency signal.
“Another funny thing. I hadn’t really thought about it, but—”
“Go on!” Skander prompted. “What was it?”
“I—I’d swear that your two ships vanished— just weren’t there—before the Gate opened.”
The Umiau was suddenly very excited. “Vanished! Yes, that would explain it! But, tell me, who else was in your party? I glanced at the information but didn’t pay much attention at the time.”
“There was a big, ugly fat man, I don’t remember his name,” she recalled, strain
ing. It all seemed so long ago. “He turned out to be a sponge merchant—and he had this girl, Wu something, who was all fouled up on the stuff.”
“No one else? Wasn’t there a pilot?”
“Oh, yes, Nathan Brazil. A funny little man no bigger than I was. But old—his pilot’s license was pre-Confederacy!”
Suddenly Skander laughed and rocked back against the wall on her long fish’s tail, clapping her hands once in amusement.
Vardia didn’t understand at all and said so.
“They’ve kidnapped the wrong person!” the Umiau replied, still chuckling.
“That’s very interesting, Dr. Skander, but where does that leave us?” came a weird, unearthly yet quiet voice that seemed to be made up of pulses and chimes, although both kidnap victims understood every word. They both turned, as The Diviner and The Rel glided out of a nook hidden in shadows.
“What the hell are you?” Skander said, more in wonder than in fear.
“We are, I’m afraid, behind your rough treatment and discomfort,” The Rel replied.
“You’re not from around Czill,” Vardia observed almost accusingly. “Nothing like you is related to the kind of life we have here.”
“We are from the Northern Hemisphere,” The Rel explained. “However, we were obliged, upon learning of Dr. Skander’s mission through means not worth explaining to you, to forge an alliance. You are in the Akkafian Empire, on the other side of the ocean from Czill.”
“Those big bugs,” Vardia put in. “The ones that came through the glass—they’re not…”
“They are,” The Rel replied. “I fail to see why that should disturb you. So far we haven’t found much difference in any of you Southern races.”
“No difference!” Vardia exclaimed, upset by the comment. “Why, just look at the two of us! And—how can you compare us to those bugs?”
“Form doesn’t matter,” observed The Rel. “Only content. I find most of your actions and reactions incomprehensible, but consistent. As for those bugs, we’ll have one with us for quite some time, I fear. I have arranged it so that we draw only the weakest link in this society, but it takes no deduction to assume that the creature will be incredibly brave and loyal in our defense until that final moment when we are at the controls of the planetary brain. Then, of course, it will kill us all.”
Skander opened her mouth but said nothing. The score was perfectly clear, except The Diviner and The Rel’s role and side.
“That’s all very well,” Vardia said at last, “but won’t these people think of that?”
“Oh, they will perform what is known as the double cross,” The Rel replied casually in that same, even tone. “But The Diviner’s talents are real. We will make it—all but one of us. We shall do this.”
“Which one?” Skander asked quietly.
“I have no idea, and neither does The Diviner,” replied The Rel. “Perhaps it’s one of you, or the Akkafian. Perhaps it is we, for no Diviner can foretell its own demise.”
They digested that awhile. Finally, Skander broke the new silence.
“You say you’re not like us. But here you are, kidnapping me, trying for the same goal as all the other races would if they had the chance. Power is still the name of the game.”
“You misunderstand us,” The Rel said. “We have power. We have powers we choose not to reveal at this time. We have no wish to interfere in your petty goals, wars, sex, politics, or anything else. Our goal is simply to make certain that no one ever gets into that control center again.”
“Well, so you say,” Skander replied skeptically. “But the fact remains that, for now, you’re our only hope of getting out of here and getting away from the bugs.”
“Remember that!” The Rel said. “I am your only protection. And—oh, yes, for some additional measure of protection, I would suggest that Czillian Vardia change its name for the entire expedition, and that you both remember to use that different name. I will make certain that our companion does not know your identity, either.”
“But why?” Vardia asked, particularly puzzled now. “Who is this companion?”
“A greatly changed and mentally preconditioned Datham Hain, the fat man of your party,” The Rel told her. “It would be better if it did not know that one of our party knows everything about its past activities. Although a conditioned slave, deep down Hain is still Hain. I suggest you remember what it did to others before, what kind of person it is.”
“Oh,” was all she could manage. She thought for a moment. “Then I’ll call myself Chon, which is a common name in Czill, and easy to remember and respond to.”
“Very good,” The Rel replied. “Remember it. We will leave as soon as possible. In the meantime, may I remind you of several facts. First, let me point out, Dr. Skander, that there is little water in this land. These people can move on the ground at close to ten kilometers per hour, up to twice that in the air; and they have nasty stingers. As for you, Czillian, move out of the sunlight, and you’ll root. You know that. That lamp is all that keeps you awake. The light here is not intense enough on its own to keep you awake.” And with that it glided out the door.
Skander beat her fist on the hard ground, and Vardia stayed still, but the message had been received and understood.
There was no escape.
MURITHEL—ONE HOUR FROM DAWN
WuJu had some trouble with the uneven, rocky ground, but they had managed to advance more than forty kilometers into the hex without meeting any of its dominant life form.
There was a flutter of wings and Cousin Bat landed just ahead of them. “There’s a fairly good cave with rock cover a little farther up,” the dark one whispered. “It’s a good place to make camp. There’s a small tribe of Murnies over on the other side of those trees, there, but they look like a hunting party, likely to stay on the plains and river basin.”
Brazil and Wuju looked where the bat pointed, but could see nothing but pitch darkness.
Cousin Bat led the way up to the cave. It was already getting light when they approached it, and they lost no time at all in getting in. It was a good location, high up on the cliff atop some ancient rock slide. They could see for kilometers but, thanks to the shape of the rocks and boulders around the cave, could not be seen from the plain below. It was damp and had a small family of tiny, toadlike reptiles living there, but these were quickly chased. It wasn’t all that deep a cave, but it would hide the three of them.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Brazil said. “Wuju’s dead tired now, and you, Bat, have been flying around half the night. All I’ve been doing is riding.”
They agreed, and he assured them he would call Wuju when he was too tired to carry on.
Brazil took a comfortable perch near the cave mouth and watched the sun rise.
Still light-headed over this air, he thought. It was obviously quite different in composition from what he was used to, although he had been through worse getting to Dillia from his own ill-fated Hex 41. Much richer in oxygen, lower in nitrogen, he decided. Well, the other two had gotten used to it and he would, too, in time.
The air was cool and crisp but not uncomfortable. Probably eighteen degrees Celsius, he thought, with high humidity. The threatened rainstorm still looked threatening, but hadn’t materialized yet.
The sun was well over the distant mountains when he saw his first Murnies. There they were—a small bunch, less than a dozen, running with spears after a deerlike creature. They were over two meters high, he guessed, although it was hard to figure at a distance. They were almost rectangular, a uniform light green in color, very thin—incredibly so, for he almost lost ones that turned sideways. They were kind of lumpy, looking at the distance something like light-green painted bushes. Two arms, two legs—but they melted into a solid when one stood straight and still.
He was amazed that he could see some features from this far away. Their big yellow eyes must be larger than dinner plates, he thought, and those mouths—huge, they seemed to go completely acros
s the body, exposing a reddish color when they were opened wide. And they had teeth—even from here he could see they were pointed daggers of white of a size to fit those mouths.
They were sloppy hunters, but eventually they cornered the brownish deer-thing, surrounded it, and speared it to death.
Don’t they ever throw the spears? he wondered. Maybe those thin, wide arms couldn’t get enough strength or balance.
As soon as the creature fell, they pounced upon it, ripping pieces of it and shoving it into their mouths, fighting each other to get extra bites. Those hands must have pretty good claws to tear like that, he thought.
In just a few minutes, they had finished off the entire deer-thing, which must have weighed at least 150 kilos, he guessed. They even ate the bones. When they finally picked up their spears and went off down the plains, there was no sign of the prey they had eaten except a torn-up patch of dirt and grass.
Seven days, he thought. At the rate we’re going, seven days in their country. And that’s if everything goes right. And there’s bound to be lots more of them, a lot thicker group.
No problem alone, of course. Even easier with Cousin Bat, whoever he worked for.
Why the hell did I allow her to come along?
Why had he?
That act of courage in taking off her pressure helmet in Zone? Was that what he liked in her, deep down?
Pity, maybe. Certainly that had motivated him at the start.
Thinking back, he kept remembering how she had clung to him in Zone, looked to him for support, defying Hain even that close to the end.
What was love, anyway? he mused. She said it was caring, caring more about someone else than about yourself.
He leaned forward and thought a minute. Did he really, deep down, care if the Murnies got the bat? He realized he wouldn’t shed a tear for the creature. Just one more in a long list of dead associations. Was he going to Czill because Vardia was kidnapped? No, he decided, luck of the draw, really. He was going to Czill because it was the only lead he had to Skander, and that project was—well, wasn’t that caring?
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