by Dan Donoghue
Wolf turned away. His mind was dulled with a sort of vacuum which would later be filled with anger. He did not see the people who stepped hurriedly aside from his path, and turned to watch his progress to the tent.
Margaret lay propped against pillows. Her father pushed himself up from her side as Wolf entered, nodded to him, and left. Wolf stood awkwardly for a moment gazing down at her from his great height, then he grinned, and dropped to his knees beside the stretcher, and took her hand. She smiled wanly up at him. “You know?” She whispered.
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Not everything. But I know you cannot have children, and why.”
“You made me no promise. I wouldn't want you to feel that—that—”
“Hush!” He commanded. “I loved you then; I love you now! I was wrong not to tell you.” He closed both his hands round hers. “Love doesn't weaken; it gives strength—you were right—”
“Please!” she stopped him. “Please: You'd have to be sure. I couldn't share—”
He smiled the little quick smile she knew. “I know. I read your mind, remember.”
“Yes, you did too, and I felt strange, and frightened, and I couldn't sleep that night. It must be strange to see another person's thoughts. What an awful power! I love you, but you frighten me.”
He laughed, and bent over to claim her lips. “You mustn't be frightened of me,” he whispered, “not ever: I'd die before I let anything happen to you. If only I hadn't been away.”
She sighed. “What are we going to do now? Some of the people were saying that it was useless to escape because we'll only have to give ourselves up again in the end. Have we any hope at all?”
“Yes. I have to go back to that thing, but I can use it as a weapon. We have a good chance, but you must go to the south, and I to the north. I've got to leave you again.”
“Will you be in danger? What was the thing?”
Before he could answer. Cort lifted the flap and put his head through into the tent. “Sorry Carthar, but we're moving out. Brian's got some men to carry Margaret, and Courteau wants to see you.”
Wolf nodded. “The thing's a machine. I'll tell you about it later. Get well for me.” He kissed her again briefly, and stood up as Brian and three other men from the holding pushed through the flaps.
He found Courteau supervising the streams of people moving out of the camp into the jungle. “We can use a road for about twenty kilometres. Then we'll have to cross a river, and make our own way through the stuff. How long will it take you to get back to that thing?”
“I can do it in three days. I'll need a radio to check with you. I won't use it before I'm ready to turn the thing on in case they've patrols out looking for Leeli. Have everyone in the caves by dawn on Monday. You can set up one observer with that cap. Remember. Everyone in the cave. If they're not, let me know. Pity I couldn't use a helicopter, but I suppose anything that lifted would be spotted.”
Courteau held out his hand. “I'm sorry about yesterday, Carthar. I'd like you to know that my own wife was captured, but she didn't survive. I didn't know she was dead yesterday. You did a damned good job last night. The men are a lot more willing to fight with their families free, and the shift in going well. They don't know what its about, but they trust us after last night. Get that thing turned back on, and, I promise you, you'll never regret it.”
Wolf took the proffered hand. “I'm afraid I will, Governor: I'm very much afraid I will!”
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Chapter 17
Three days was fair estimate. A hunter knows distance in terms of time, but Wolf had not taken in count the number of patrols that were out searching for Leeli Pa'Lar and himself. Time and again, he was forced to make detours around them. In the forests and rough country they were not important, but on the plains, they were. If he was caught on the plains, his case was close to hopeless. He could not outrun laser bolts, and, once surely pinned down in the open, he was as good as dead. He was forced to travel mostly at night, and, though his expanded awareness was of incalculable aid, it was not as clear as sight, and the nightly thunder storms did not make travelling any easier.
Never-the-less, the third night found him crossing the plain towards the hills of the city. He was beginning to relax when his questing mind picked up vague shadows moving ahead. There were only three of them, and they moved with a strange lack of speed which was little more than a crawl, and they travelled at night. Wolf got closer. They were men. They had to be enemy. Why the strange mode of travel? He debated whether he should detour around them. He had the darkness of storm clouds, and at the speed they were travelling, he would have no trouble in outpacing them, but this was something unknown, and to leave an enemy unknown was not wise.
They were in the centre of the plain where it was flat and bare of vegetation. It would be best to go around them, then, where there was some cover of broken ground and vegetation, wait until they came within range of his mind sweep.
The detour had to be wide, and too much of the night had gone before Wolf was content to slip into ambush. Still they travelled with the same snail pace. In the end, Wolf left his ambush, and went to meet them. Their minds came into range. Then he knew his mistake.
These were not ordinary soldiers. These were descendants of the old-time commandos. Deadliest of the breed, their powers were legendary, each was an individual, each a fighting unit, independent, if necessary, of his fellows. Any one would be far more than a match for Wolf in hand-to-hand combat. Together, they would kill him despite his advantage of surprise. What was far worse, however, was that they were following his tracks. They had some sort of machine that picked up, and analysed soil, and followed his trail, that was almost three weeks old, despite the storms, and the passing of time.
They would have lost it where he rode the kerry, but he had crossed it with a new one. With sufficient cover, he would have stayed to fight. His mind would have given him sufficient advantage in very broken country, or thick forest, but in the open, with infra-red scopes, they would be under no disadvantage at all, and, if they held him up till after dawn, the advantage would go to them. It was better to make for the city. He could get the power turned on, and, if they had not cleared the tunnel mouth, it would get them. If they had, then he would have ideal fighting conditions in the city.
He was forced to move quietly and cautiously at first, but by edging over towards the hills, he reached a region where the trees were thicker, and he was able to break into the distance eating jog that was the gait of the hunt.
For a while he moved rapidly away from them. It even seemed as though they had stopped, and he hoped they might rest for the rest of the night. They were on the far edge of the range of his mind sweep, and, though he could not be sure, it seemed that two had stopped, and one was casting about with the machine. Perhaps it was the place where he had climbed onto the back or the beast. If so, they had a problem indeed, and if he had had enough sense to have kept going once he had gone around them, they might never have found the trail again.
Suddenly they came clearer to his mind sweep. Then he knew the first breath of fear. They were coming fast. He could not keep to the plain. He could not keep to a direct route. He turned and made for the hills.
He used every trick of the hunt, and the hunted. Where there was water he used it. Where there were trees, he swung from branch to branch to put gaps in his trail. He set up false trails, and double backs, but the machine was a good one, and only when he had the luck to recognise the spot where he had crossed a small stream on his return from the city was he able to throw them off the trail for any length of time. He kept to the water, and the machine picked up his old trail and led off towards Hi City.
Time was now a critical factor. Once dawn came, he could be pinned down in the hills. He decided to make a dash along the edge of the plain. Now he ran. At one time it would have been no great hardship, but two years in the close confines o
f the Star-bird had taken the tone from his muscles, and the weeks of hard travelling had left him tired. Soon his breath rasped in his throat, and the perspiration trickled into his eyes. Still he ran, and for some time his mind sweep showed clear, but then they showed once more, on his tracks again, and running fast. He had to leave the plain again, and take to the hills, and the travelling was slower there. They were not held up until they too had to turn into the hills, and by then they were too close for trickery.
They were close, very close, when he reached the roof of the city. He was about to turn and fight when he read consternation in the minds behind. Something had gone wrong. The machine was not working. It had broken down, or the artificial rock had confused its reading. He gained a few minutes. Then they were coming again. Their minds were close and clear. The machine was giving a reading of the time lapse of the trail, and they were using night scopes to try to pick him up. Once they did catch a glimpse of him, and he read it in their minds. Then he received an unpleasant surprise. They wore light jump jets, and only his reading of it, and a wild, and dangerous double back, and his knowledge of the way of the land, allowed him to get a hill between him and them.
Once they realised they had lost him, however, they were forced to return to the machine, and so they had lost time. Now Wolf took time to read their minds more fully, and he was appalled by the extent of their weaponry. They had sound detectors, heat, and scent detectors, and a type of rocket that could use all three to lock onto a target. Like a dog, it could tell by sight, sound, and smell one human from another, and, once fully locked onto a human, it would follow beyond hope of escape. He owed his life to the fact that these were commandos, they were not conditioned to the blind obedience of orders. They knew he had set out to find Leeli Pa'Lar, and they were hoping that he would lead them closer to her, before they killed him.
Wolf made a dash for the cave above the rock. They picked him up by sound, then sight, and came springing on the jets, swift and confident. They swept over the last hill as he dived into the cave. They saw him, swirled in a tight turn, and came flashing in.
Wolf ran then as he had never run before. Dawn was not yet in the sky, but the city glowed with an eerie light, and offered not the darkness he had expected. He could not turn for the stairs. He heard the hiss of jets. He threw himself over the low rail of the balcony, and dropped to the square.
In the strange light, he misjudged his footing, and crashed forward on his face. Before he could scramble up, and make for the nearest building, his enemies hit the railing above. He could only freeze, and lie still amongst the skeletons. There was no hope. He recognised his death with a dull regret that Margaret would suffer, and Pa'Lar would win.
The commandos halted at the railing. Death was their reason for being, but the multitude of the dead with the green glow of the walls giving ghastly life to the great hollow eyes, made even them pause. Only for a moment, however, and they found Wolf amongst the skeletons.
Weapons came up with speed faster even than Wolf's eye could follow, but something else was swifter still. No weapon fired. Instead the commandos suddenly seemed to go out of control. Their arms went limp and twitched, their heads flopped and jerked. They looked like puppets dangled by the playful hand of a child.
Wolf spun round. One of the guard robots stood there, behind him, directing one of the square-ended weapons up at the men. He wasted no more time. While they were helpless, he whipped up his blaster, and shot the one who held the rocket. He had no time to turn it on the others. Twin streams of laser fire streaked from the robot, and burned them down.
Wolf went very still watching the robot. How did it choose friend and foe? The robot stood impassively. A cluster of smaller workers chuckled up, and climbed the stairs with their curious spin motion. They picked up the bodies, and carried them down to where a trayed one waited. The bodies were loaded on, but the clothes and weapons were carefully taken from them, and just as carefully cleaned and examined. The trayed robot with its gristly load trundled away, daintily avoiding the skeletons.
A worker rolled up to Wolf, and began to clean up bones he had scattered in his fall. He stared in astonishment until he realised it was cleaning up only those he had knocked from the confines of the area where the bodies had lain. Imprinted in the brains of the robots must be a map of the bodies of the people, and, for some reason, they would not disturb them. Any bones that did not correlate to that age old pattern were rubbish.
Wolf waited until the worker was between him and the guard, before he got cautiously to his feet. For about thirty metres he backed, keeping the worker between him and the guard, then he turned to make a run for the building. He found himself looking at a second guard from only a metre away. The robot ignored him. It had no obvious light sensitive instruments. It might have been junk for all the life it showed, but when he moved, it politely rolled aside.
Wolf returned to the first guard. It made way for him also. He walked over to the steps of the doorway of the first building, and sat down. He was shaken, and at a loss. Why did the guard ignore him, but kill commandos? How had his entrance, now and previously, differed from theirs?
A worker rolled up and went past, chuckling along on its three spheres that seemed to turn under it, but which did not appear to be linked to the rest of its body. Wolf went into the building where he had been before. He heard the familiar series of clicks, and was once more presented with the little plate and claw. “Tell me,” he demanded, “Why didn't that guard shoot me?”
The robot said three flat, unemphasised, but quite distinct words, or, at least, three words came from somewhere inside it. Wolf jerked back, and stared. “What—” The robot repeated the same three words. Wolf turned, and walked slowly out. There had been talking robots on Earth of course, but they had not found acceptance.
People seemed to have a quite irrational dread of machines that came too close in character and function to themselves. After one unfortunate incident in which they were used in warfare, and had gone out of control in a city, they were not exactly banned, but any firm using them suddenly found itself without markets, or suppliers, and man-like robots became curiosities.
The guard was still standing in the square. As Wolf walked past it, he came close to understanding the human feeling. Machines were without compassion or mercy. With them there were no exceptions. Why then had he been an exception, or the commandos. No, it couldn't be an exception. It had to be a matter of relay switches.
Some relay in the guard's brain had accepted him, but not them. Why? Why had it used the sort of holding weapon until he had blasted one of them? Was it waiting for some sort of order, or perhaps a password? If so, why hadn't the same thing happened to him, up on the balcony or even in the tunnel. What was different about the commandos? Different about himself?
Then he stopped. There was one way in which he was different. He was a sensitive. The thing was a mind-destroying machine. The square-ended weapon was a mind affecting type. The people had massive brains. Were they also sensitives? Both times he had entered, he had been using his mind to aid him. Had that been the key that tripped the relay?
He looked round, suddenly conscious of the lack of life. There would be vents for air and water. Surely some of the tiny burrowing type animals would have found their way in, insect life that flew, the equivalent of ants. He used his mind to sweep in all the tiny cracks and dark places. There was none. There had been kerries—their bones testified, but then they were to some degree sensitive also. He walked more easily past the guard robots.
But not so past the dead. He had leisure now to note the city in the eerie glow of night. Malevolent looked the pale skulls then, with their black shaded eyes, and yawning mouths, and the long white fingers that seemed to slowly move to point his passage. Fast he moved through the city using his mind to find his path, but a gentle breeze, like the long lost breath of the dead, blew softly into the hairs along the back of his neck, and touched ghostly finger-tips to his spine. This ha
d not been a happy place even before the great slaughter. Even without the skeletons, laughter seemed an alien here.
He reached the machine, and looked through the first lens. Dawn was close. He tried the radio, but, inside the city, it was completely dead. At the end of the tunnel, he had better luck. “Are they all safe?” He asked Courteau.
“All except for a few outside on guard. They will be in at sunrise.”
“Sunrise then. See to it. The radio won't work inside.”
“That thing had better work. They've got us bottled up in here.”
Back at the machine, Wolf watched the horizon through the lens that looked east. Minutes ticked by. He thought of Margaret, and the sons of his secret dreams that he would never have. No sons to teach the joys of the morning air, the swift, muscle stretching, thrust of the spear throw, the delight in its true flight, the despair in its false. All his lonely days he had wanted sons, people with minds like his, minds that could share his joy and sorrow, minds that could understand him. Even Margaret, for all her love, had held an image that was far from truly him.
The rim of the star that was the sun of High America, lifting over a mist-white line of distant hills, broke his bitter brooding. He looked reluctantly down at the levers, then across at the bones of those who had fashioned them, and, with a dull empty feeling low in his stomach, he swung the double levers up until they rested just above their old positions, and spun the little screws to open the two parts wider. Then he glanced again at the sun, and lifted the other levers to full power.
Instantly, the robots clicked their little chatter of awakening, and the needles of the gauges flicked, and settled far over on their scales. Death blossomed from the dreadful flowers at the ends of the tunnels. How many men would feel the sinister pleasure of their caresses? How many men did Pa'Lar command?