The World of Tiers, Volume 2

by Philip José Farmer

  He was galled by the thought that Dingsteth’s death did not mean that the creation-destruction data would never be available to anyone. If Red Orc got here, he might be able to operate the computer. He was a scientist, and he was intelligent enough to figure a way to communicate with the computer. Kickaha certainly could not hang around here until the Thoan arrived, if he ever did.

  He smacked his fist, not too hard, against the back of the stone chair. He shouted, “I’m not beaten yet!”

  14

  The symbols on the wall could be going in a circuit and ending up where they had started. But they might be heading toward a control room. He decided to go deeper into the cavern-tunnel complex. A little more than a mile was behind him when he stopped. The light-shedding knobs and lichen here were turning brown. At least half of the knobs had fallen from the ceiling to the floor, and the rest looked as if they would not be able to cling to the ceiling much longer. If this rot spread, all the tunnels and caves would be totally dark, and the plants’ oxygen production would cease.

  Unable to give up any project easily, he walked onward, marking the wall with an X every hundred feet. The rot had now become almost complete. There was plenty of fresh water, though. No, there was not. Ten minutes later, the stream had quit running. Within five minutes, the groove in the middle of the floor was filmed with water. Even that would soon be gone in the increasing heat.

  By now, so many knobs were dead that he could see only five feet in front of him. He stopped again. What was the use of pushing on? This world would soon be dead. Though the characters were still moving along on the wall, that meant only that the great computer had not completely died. It would probably keep working as long as its energy supply did not run out. That might be for an unguessable number of millennia.

  He turned around and began walking toward the huge cave. To make sure that he was following the right path, he had to stay close to the wall marked with X’s. After a few minutes, he was forced to take his flashlight from his backpack. He attached this to his head with a band and walked faster. Then the air became so heavy and oxygenless and his breath so short that he brought the bottle out of the backpack and carried it by a strap over his right shoulder. After putting the mask over his face, he turned on the air. Now and then, though, he would turn it off and slide the mask to one side. He was able to get along without the oxygen for a few minutes before he had to replace the mask and breathe “fresh” air.

  At least, no one would have to worry that Red Orc would possess the engine. That made him feel better. He could now dedicate himself completely to killing the Thoan and rescuing Anana.

  Following the X’s, he finally came to the huge cave. They ceased then because he had seen no reason to mark the wall here. He would continue to its other side and find the X marked by the mouth of the tunnel from which he had entered the cave. Instead of going along the wall, he walked through the center toward the middle tunnel. The headbeam fell on the dead pieces of plants and the bones of the animals, some of which were very curious. Then, he stopped.

  There was the stone chair. But where was the skeleton of Dingsteth?

  He went close to the empty chair and turned around and around to flash his light throughout the cavern. It did not reach to the ceiling or the walls. He walked in the direction in which he had hurled the skull. Though he inspected a wide area where it could have fallen, he could not find it.

  He removed the oxygen mask.

  “Dingsteth! Dingsteth!” he called again and again. The name roared back at him from the distant walls. When the echoes had ceased, he put the mask back on and listened. All he heard was his blood thrumming in his ears. By now, though, the hidden watcher must know that the intruder was aware that he was not the only living creature in the Caverned World.

  Kickaha waited for five minutes before shouting out the name twelve times. Echoes and then silence came once more.

  He called out, “I know you’re here, Dingsteth! Come out, wherever you are!”

  Presently, he went to the chair and sat down. He might as well be comfortable, if a stone chair could be that. He waited the ten minutes he had allotted himself. After that, he had to get going. Someday, though, he would come back with much larger supplies and resume the search. Khruuz would probably be with him and would determine if he could do anything to get this world’s electrical juices to flowing again.

  Two minutes had passed. He was thinking that that was enough time to wait, since he was not absolutely sure that he had enough air. Then he straightened up. His eyes tried to pierce the darkness beyond the beam. He thought that he had heard a very faint chuckle. He stood up and turned around slowly. Before he had completed a three-quarters circle, he was struck hard on the right side of his head. The object hurt him but did not daze him. He jumped forward and reached up and turned off the headlight. Then he ran forward about ten steps more and flopped onto the hard floor.

  His beamer in his hand, he listened. He knew what had hit him. As he had dashed away from the chair, he had seen, out of the corner of his eye, the skull of Dingsteth rolling out into the blackness.

  He listened as if his life depended upon his ears—which, indeed, it did. After a few seconds, another chuckle, louder this time, came from behind him. He rolled away for a few turns, then crouched. Whoever had thrown the skull probably had means for seeing without photonic light. So did he. After removing the backpack and groping around in it, he brought out a pair of goggles and put them on. He moved a small dial on the flashlight and looked through the goggles in the ghostly light.

  No one was visible. The only hiding place would be behind the stone chair. But the attacker would know that Kickaha knew that. Where else could he—or she—hide? The water channels in the cave were deep enough for a stretched-out man to conceal himself. The nearest was thirty feet away.

  Hold it a minute! Kickaha thought. He who jumps to conclusions is often concluded. The attacker may be figuring out what I’m thinking. So he really is behind the chair. He pots me while I’m on my way to check out the water channels. But then, he could have done it easily any time. Why did he throw the skull at me and thus give me warning?

  Whoever’s doing this is a Thoan. Only one of them would play with me as a cat would play with a mouse. However, I’m no mouse, and the Thoan must know that. The higher the danger, the more the fun in the game. That’s what he’s thinking. So, let’s give him a lot of fun and then have the last laugh.

  It’s highly probable, of course, that more than one is lurking out there. If the game starts to go against the skull-thrower, his buddy shoots me.

  He could do nothing about that for the present. He would keep watching for other players, however.

  He rose, whirled three times, holding the backpack out like a throwing hammer, and hurled it at the chair. The pack fell by the side of the stone carving. No one poked his head from behind it or looked around its side. Then he switched the night-vision light to photonic, hoping to startle his enemy into betraying himself. A glance showed that no one had fallen for the trick. He switched back to night vision.

  He approached two channels cautiously, looking back quite often. These were empty for as far as he could see in the light beam. But his attacker or attackers could be in the darkness. He felt the dial on the side of the beamer barrel near the butt. Without looking down at it, he advanced it to what he guessed would be a two-hundred-yard range. Suddenly, he started spinning, the trigger pulled all the way back. The beam from its end, a black pencil as seen through his goggles, described a circle as it pierced into the darkness. If anyone was hit, he did not yell.

  Just as he completed his spin, he ran toward the chair. At the same time, he released his pressure on the trigger. Too much battery energy had already been expended. Anyone behind the chair would hear his pounding footsteps and would know he would have to do something quickly.

  A goggled head followed by very broad shoulders rose from behind the carving. Even before his chest reached the top of the
chair, his beamer was spitting its ray. Firing, Kickaha threw himself down. The stone floor smoked an inch from his left shoulder. But his ray had gone through the Thoan’s neck and beyond. No doubt of that.

  He rose and made a wide curve while walking toward the chair. Though he could hear his own soft steps, he doubted that the fallen man could. He also doubted that the man could hear cymbals clashing next to his ear.

  While approaching the chair, he glanced behind and to both sides of him. If there was another enemy out there, he should have fired by now. However, he could be lying wounded in the dark, though not so hurt that he was out of the action permanently.

  After making sure that his beam had gone through the man’s neck, Kickaha took off the corpse’s goggles. As he had thought it would be, the face was Red Orc’s. But the real Red Orc could have sent a clone in his place. Kickaha would never know unless he ran across another one and that one confessed that he was the original Red Orc.

  Unlikely event, Kickaha thought. This one, though, did not have the Horn. Would Red Orc let it out of his sight? No, he would not. So, it seemed probable that the dead man was a clone. But he could not have gotten into this world without the Horn. Thus, Red Orc had blown the Horn and then sent this clone through. Or was he along with him and now somewhere in the darkness?

  Few things were ever certain.

  He picked up the man’s beamer and held it so that the headlight showed him its every detail. Its dial was set on stun range within a hundred feet. That meant that he had intended to knock his enemy out, not kill him. Whoever he was, he had been having fun by playing around with his enemy. When the Thoan tired of that, he would have stunned the Earthman and taken him back to Red Orc’s headquarters as a prisoner.

  Quickly, though frequently looking around, Kickaha took the man’s oxygen bottle, beamer, battery pack, headlight, food rations, and canteen. Waste not, and you might not get wasted. As he left the cave burdened with two backpacks and went into the tunnel, he wondered if Red Orc could be in this tunnel and waiting for him, hoping to ambush him.

  Kickaha switched to the night-vision light and, goggled, walked more swiftly. The long journey was uninterrupted. No other person suddenly appeared ahead of him. Nor did his frequent glances backward show him any follower.

  Sweating, his nerves still winched up tight, he got to the last X, the mark showing where he had come through the gate. He stood before the wall and uttered the code word Khruuz had given him. He was not looking forward to going through the cold and twisted and terrifying ordeal of the core-gate again. To his surprise, he was spared that. He stepped through the wall and was immediately in a forest.

  He looked around and groaned. The trees were like those he had seen when he had gated to the world of Manathu Vorcyon. Before he could adjust to the unexpected, he was surrounded by big brown men with long straight glossy-black hair, snub noses, and black eyes with epicanthic folds. Their long spears were pointed at him.

  “Hey, I’m the Great Mother’s friend!” he said. “Don’t you know me?”

  Though they obviously did know him, they said nothing. They marched him through the forest. An hour later, they entered a clearing in the center of which was the gigantic tree in which Our Lady lived. Forthwith, he was conducted into the arboreal palace and up the winding stairway to the dimly lit sixth floor. They left him standing before a big door.

  “You may come in now,” Manathu Vorcyon said from behind the door. He pushed the polished ebony door open. Light rushed out upon him. He squinted, then saw a large round table in the center of a luxuriously furnished room. The giantess was on a large well-padded chair facing him. On one side of her was seated Eric Clifton; on the other, Khruuz, the scaly man.

  He said, “I’ve had a lot of surprises, but this one jolts me the most. How in hell did you two get here?”

  She waved a hand. “Sit down. Eat. Drink. And tell us of your adventures in the Caverned World. Under other circumstances, I would allow you time to bathe and to rest before dining. But we are very eager to know what you discovered.”

  Kickaha sat down. The chair felt good, and he was suddenly tired. A sip of yellow wine from a wooden goblet gave him a glow and pushed away his fatigue. While he ate, he talked.

  When he was done, he said, “That’s it. Red Orc can now get into that world. A lot of good it’ll do him. As for his finding the way in, I don’t know how he did it.”

  “Obviously,” Khruuz said, “he put some kind of tracer on your passage from my place to Zazel’s World. That is not good news. He has means of tracking he did not have before. That is, to my knowledge.”

  “He can track intergate passage to my world, too,” Manathu Vorcyon said. “Especially since he has the Horn.”

  “But I doubt that he has the device I used on the Unwanted World,” Kickaha said. “Okay, I’ve told you my story. How did you three get together?”

  “It was Khruuz’s idea,” the Great Mother said. “He sent Eric Clifton as his envoy to me to propose that we band together against Red Orc.”

  “And I set up the gating from Zazel’s World so that you would come directly here,” Khruuz said.

  “Your world is unguarded now?” Kickaha said. “Red Orc’ll …”

  “Try to get into it,” Manathu Vorcyon said. “But he does not know that it’s unguarded. Anyway, Khruuz has set up traps.”

  Though Khruuz’s face was so nonhuman, it showed a quite human annoyance. He said, “I believe that Kickaha was addressing me and expected me to reply.”

  The giantess’s eyes opened. She said, “If I offended you, I regret doing so, though I did not intend offense.”

  Kickaha smiled. Already there was friction, however slight, between the two allies. Manathu Vorcyon was used to doing exactly what she wanted to do. That included interrupting people when they were talking. Apparently, Khruuz was not used to being regarded as an inferior. To Manathu Vorcyon, everybody else was inferior. Was she not Our Lady, the Great Mother, the Grandmother of All? Did not everybody in her world and the others regard her with awe? Even Red Orc had not contemplated attacking her until recently. And that was only because she had entered the battle early.

  “If I am not speaking out of turn,” Kickaha said, carefully keeping sarcasm out of his voice, “I suggest that our best defense is attack against Red Orc. We shouldn’t wait until he storms into this world or any other. We should go after him with everything we have.”

  “Good thinking, although it’s superfluous,” she said. “We have already decided that is the best policy. We also agree that you should be our spearhead.”

  “I’m used to being cannon fodder,” he said. “It started during World War II—that was on Earth when I was a youth—and it’s never let up since. But I won’t be used as a mere pawn. I insist on full membership in this council of war. I’ve earned it.”

  “There was never a thought that you would not be an equal in the council,” she said smoothly. “However, it has been well known for millennia that a military committee is useful only for advice. An army must have a single leader, a general who makes quick decisions, whose orders are to be obeyed even though the soldier questions that they are the right thing to do.

  “You, Clifton, have no military experience. You, Kickaha, are essentially a loner, a man of action, one excellent, perhaps unexcelled, in situations involving very few persons. You are no master strategist or, at least, have had no experience in planning strategy. You, Khruuz, are an unknown element, though your ability to survive when all your people died is testimony to your wiliness. You also must be an invaluable repository of scientific and technological knowledge. But you really do not know humans or their past and present situations. Nor have you had any experience as a military leader.”

  She paused, breathed deeply, then said, “The choice of your leader is obvious. I have all that you lack and also those abilities you do have.”

  The others were silent for a minute. Then Kickaha said, “I don’t give a damn about being the g
eneral. That’s not my style. But I insist I not be treated like a sacrificial piece on a chessboard. When I’m in the field, I make my own decisions, right or wrong, even if it goes against orders. The foot soldier is the only guy who knows what’s needed in his immediate area.”

  He took in a deep breath, then looked straight at Manathu Vorcyon.

  “Something is sticking in my craw, choking me. It’s a bone I have to pick with you.”

  “I expected this,” she said. “If you had kept silent about it, I would not have respected you.”

  “Then I’ll say out loud for Clifton’s and Khruuz’s benefit what’s bugging me. You sent me to the Unwanted World to locate the gate to Zazel’s World. You gave me a gate detector. But you didn’t tell me the detector was a fake or that it was a booby trap. You knew that it would explode after a certain time. And …”

  “No. It would explode only when Red Orc or his clones came within a certain distance of it. And after a certain time interval. I did not know the pattern of his electrical skin fields or what his body mass was. But, using your descriptions of his physical features, I estimated his probable mass. I doubt that that was off more than a pound or two.”

  “You didn’t care if I was killed, too!” Kickaha blurted.

  “No. I cared very much. That is why the bomb was set so that it would not go off until the one who took it from you was out of range of you. Out of killing range, anyway.”

  “But you didn’t know if the person who took it away from me was Red Orc or not!”

  “Whoever did take it was likely to be your enemy.”

  “Well,” Kickaha said slowly and less vehemently, “I suppose you want an apology from me for suspecting you didn’t care if I was killed as long as Red Orc bought the farm.”