Medusa: A Tiger by the Tail flotd-4

by Jack L. Chalker

  I gave a let-me-do-the-talking glance at the other three, hoping that was a good idea, and, not surprisingly, the woman led us over to the ground-level cave.

  The first surprise were the torches, nicely aligned and lit along the walls of the cave. This was the first exposed fire we’d seen the Wild Ones use, and really the first real flame we’d seen in a long time.

  The cave went back pretty far in the cliff, causing some mental revision of how extensive the interiors could be. More interesting, perhaps ten meters in there appeared an abrupt boundary in the cave wall. The first part of the cave was natural, but the rest of it beyond the boundary had been carved with modern tools, probably a laser cannon.

  About a hundred and twenty meters in, the cave opened into a large rectangular chamber, perhaps fifteen by ten and with a five-meter ceiling. Only half of the room, however, was usable; about five meters into the room the floor suddenly stopped and we were looking at a fast-flowing river. Beyond the river, again another five meters, was a recess in the rock, carved by laser—you could tell by the neat squared-off corners. Inside the recess stood three large wooden chairs, with no sign of how anyone would get into or out of that recess. But get in they did—two very old women and an equally aged man sat there, looking at us. I think they were the oldest people I’d ever seen, but they were very much alert and looking at us.

  So Elders was not a title of respect but a literal one.

  All three were as hairless as everybody else, but their skin was a stretched and wrinkled light gray, like the surrounding rock. In the torchlight they looked eerily impressive.

  I glanced around, but could see no sign of our guide—or anybody else. We were alone with the wizened Elders of the People of the Rock.

  “What is your name, boy?” one of the women asked in a cracked, high-pitched voice.

  “I am called Tari, and also Tarin Bul,” I responded.

  “But those are not your true names.”

  I was a little surprised, particularly since this was not a question but a statement of fact. “It is not,” I admitted. “However, it is my name now and the only one by which I go.”

  “You are not a native.” The words, again fact and not question, were uttered by the man, whose voice was scarcely different from the old woman’s.

  “No. I was sent here from the Confederacy.”

  “As a convict?”

  At last! A real question! I had begun to worry. “Against my will, yes.” That was true enough. No use telling them any more than I had to for now.

  “These women are your family?” That was the third one. “They are.”

  There was a pause, then the man said, “You told the pilgrims you fled Rochande. Why?”

  As concisely as I could, I told them about the Opposition, its betrayal, and our narrow escape. I went into no detail as to motives, just presented the bare facts, concluding with our long search in the wild for others. They sat impassively, but I could tell that their eyes were bright and alive with both intelligence and interest. When I finished I expected more questions on our lives, but that was apparently not of further interest.

  “What did the pilgrims tell you this place was?” the first woman asked.

  “They just said they were taking us to their tribal camp.” That response brought a chuckle from all three. “Camp. Very good,” the second woman commented. “Well—what do you think of this camp?”

  “I think it is not a camp or a tribal village,” I answered. “Indeed? Why not?”

  “You can’t possibly feed all who are here. And you called the hunting party pilgrims.”

  “Very good, very good,” the old man approved. “You are correct. This is not a camp. It is more in the nature of a religious retreat. Does that disturb you?”

  “No. As long as we’re not to be sacrifices.” They seemed to like that reply; it started them chuckling again. Finally the first woman asked, “What do you expect of your life here in the wild? Why did you seek out those whom the city dwellers call Wild Ones?”

  Well, they sure didn’t try to pretend they were ignorant or naive. “Knowledge,” I told them. “Much of this world is in bondage, and the people don’t even all realize it. The city dwellers are becoming about as human as vettas, and not nearly as free. Or, like the tubros, they cling to their safe, secure havens where they don’t have to think and only have to do what they are told to be provided with their basic, needs.”

  “And this is wrong?”

  “We think it is. This Lord of Medusa is evil. He has killed die spirit inside people that makes them human—and he enjoys it. Worse, he has gotten Medusa involved in a clandestine war against the Confederacy itself that might possibly destroy the entire planet.”

  “And you think you four can stop him?”

  “I think we can try,” I told them honestly. “I think I would rather try than do nothing.”

  They thought that one over. Finally the second woman asked me, “In this world picture of human, vettas, and tubros you paint—how do you paint yourselves?”

  I smiled. “We escaped. Fifty-five went meekly to their mind-deaths. We are harrars, of course.”

  They all nodded and did not return the smile. The man said, “In our past we, too, dreamed of destroying that evil system and freeing Medusa for the people. We three were adults fifty-one years ago when the cities were enclosed and the early monitor systems installed. Only one of us—myself—was born here, and I was born before this place became a prison and a madhouse. Less than a thousand, including us, escaped planetwide in the pogrom that resulted in what you have today. But we were clever. Like you, we escaped with nothing at all.”

  I nodded, having figured as much. “But this place—it was built before the crackdown?”

  “It was. Not all of it, of course—just this cave and the network in back of it. Call it an escape place, if you like. Records of its very existence were expunged from Medusa’s files after the pogram was inevitable but before it took place. From here, with our hands and those of others, we carved the rest.”

  “It’s very impressive,” I told them, and meant it. “Running water, something of a sewage system, shelter—very impressive. But badly located to support any size population.”

  “Oh, we don’t wish a large population,” the first woman told us. “That would attract attention. It is neither our purpose nor intent to support anything more here than you see, particularly now. You see, at one time we had such dreams as you have. But did you think that Talant Ypsir created the system and initiated the pogrom? He did not. He was still high and mighty back in the Outside at the tune it was initiated. He only refined it, made it even more complete. He is the third Lord since it began and each one has been worse than the one who came before. The first two died by assassination—and the second one was a true reformer who intended to reverse the changes and reconcile Medusans with their land. He was, instead, seduced by the same handy drug as his predecessor and successor—absolute power. It is not enough to kill the Lord. It is not enough to kill the Lord’s Council. To accomplish what you wish would require the failure of all technological support of the cities, transport, and space. The population would have to be forced en masse into the wild, whether they wanted to go or not. And that is something that cannot be. They have the arms and the means to see that it does not.”

  “And so, with this realization,” the man picked up, “we decided that we could only ignore them as they now ignore us. Build a new and different culture suited to the land outside their system.”

  “But their system will come for you one day,” I pointed out. “In the end, it will engulf you because it must.”

  “Perhaps. We think not. We hope not. But our way is the only possible way.”

  “But it isn’t!” I protested. “Your goal can be achieved. The potential is here. How many—ah, Wild Ones are there now?”

  “We prefer Free Tribes,” the first woman told me. “There are between thirty and forty thousand worldwide. That is an estima
te, of course—our communication lines are primitive.”

  Thirty to forty thousand! What an army that would make! If only… “Such a force could infiltrate and take the major cities, cripple the industry and transportation network, and destroy the balance of Medusan control.”

  “How? Ten thousand near-naked savages, most of whom think even a flashlight is magic and who have never seen a light switch or things made of steel and plastic?”

  “I believe it can be done, with training. I believe it can be done because I believe in the possibility of self-controlled body malleability. That is what I am looking for here.”

  They remained silent—as if thinking about what I just said. They didn’t seem very surprised one way or the other about my assertion of controlled malleability. Finally the first woman said, “Foolish one! Do you not think your idea has not been thought of before? From the start it was the only reasonable course. But at the beginning we were disorganized, scattered refugees, without the numbers or abilities. An entire generation was mercilessly hunted all over the planet, and it learned how to survive—but in the wild. The next generation was born here and had nothing but what seemed like fanciful tales of magic. The generation after that, the current one, feels no kinship whatever to the city dwellers—they are demons. Now we have the numbers, but not the will. We built the culture that keeps them alive and holds them together, but it is a primitive one. If we had ten thousand, perhaps even five thousand, people like you four, perhaps we could do it. But the gap between your cultures and your minds and theirs is too great.”

  I was not prepared to concede the point, but I was very interested in the implications of what she said. “Then controlled malleability is possible.”

  They didn’t answer me; instead, the second woman asked, “Well, what are we to do with you, then? You will never fit into this culture. You will never accept it, and your efforts will bring the others down upon it. You cannot return to the cities. So for now, you will have to stay with us as our guests—but you will not disrupt the people or their customs or beliefs, understand? Until we decide what to do with you you are welcome to our hospitality. But we are perfectly willing, and capable, of terminating you as well. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “I think we do.”

  “Then, for now, this audience is finished.” With that intonation a small boat appeared from the left inside the cave, showing just how you did get to the other side and in and out. The underground river, diverted through here, was apparently deep and navigable. The craft was basically a wooden rowboat, with a separate and overlarge tiller. Inside sat a tall, stately-looking woman. “Get in—all of you,” she commanded.

  I looked at the other three, then complied. There was no use in pressing anything with the Elders right now, and time was needed to find the information I sought.

  Fortunately the current was with us in this direction, so the oars were secured and the pilot let the river take us with it. We left the cavern, then went around a fairly sharp bend, and came to another landing, but didn’t stop there. We passed several more such landings, with tunnels leading off in both directions, before we reached the one the pilot wanted. She tied off the boat with a rope, then jumped out and helped us up onto the rocky floor. We were led back along a narrow cave that seemed mostly natural, but which opened into a fairly large chamber. By torchlight we could see it contained a thick floor of some strawlike material, a few crude handmade wooden chairs, a small writing desk but nothing to write with, and very little else. It did, however, have a crude water system; a streamlet issuing from a small rock fissure was channeled into and along a trough. The stream was pretty swift, and it exited through another small fissure at the other end of the room. Just before that exit point was a crude, hand-rubbed toilet top.

  “The water is fresh and pure,” our guide explained. “The current is swift enough so that waste products will be swiftly carried away. Food will be brought to you shortly, and regularly. Please stay here until the Elders decide what to do with you. Swimming in the river is not recommended, however. The river’s eventual outlet is the larger waterfall in the courtyard, and the drop is more than forty meters into stone.” With that, she turned and was gone.

  Bura looked after her for a moment, then turned to me. “I gather we’re prisoners, then?”

  “Looks like it,” I had to admit. “But these people know what I want to know. However, maybe they’re right. Maybe we can’t make our revolution. But I still want to know how to change my form to suit me at will. Whether we can build an army or not, that knowledge would sure increase our options.”

  Ching looked around and shook her head. “I knew we should have just stayed in the forest. They’re gonna let us rot here until we’re as old as they are.”

  I went over to her, hugged her, and gave her a small kiss. “No they won’t. For one thing, they just don’t know what to do with us right now. Give them some time. I don’t think they want to be like TMS and the city people, and that’s just what they’d be like if they killed us. Besides,” I added with a wink, “if we got out of the Rochande sewers, what’s this place?”

  It quickly developed that Ching’s fears were grossly misplaced. While we were, in fact, being held prisoner, our time was not to be wasted in some dank cell inside a mountain but in what proved to be quite an education for all of us. And the food was good—an odd sort of fishy-tasting mammal as a main course, but supplemented with good fresh fruit and the tastiest edible leaves. A very small portable power plant from the old days still worked; it was used for a small hydroponics setup entirely within the mountain that fed the staff. What else it might power I didn’t know.

  We were regularly visited by various people who knew an awful lot about Medusa and its history and ways; they brought with them bound hard copies of much computer data now denied the citizens of Medusa’s cities, not to mention large, laboriously handwritten chronicles of the Wild Ones—sorry, the Free Tribes—and their customs.

  The first Lord of Medusa to close off the society was a former naval admiral named Kasikian, who had led an abortive and hushed-up coup attempt at Military Systems Command. A lifelong career military man, and a strong disciplinarian, this civilized worlder, born and bred to command, had taken charge on Medusa. He had started out organizing the small freighter fleet, having been given the job by virtue of his vast experience. But he eventually drew to him a number of other military types, plus a lot of disaffected, and this time his coup d’etat worked flawlessly. After a period of consolidation, Kasikian began reorganizing Medusan society along military lines, with strict ranks, grades, and chains of command. He was an efficient organizer no matter what his political ideas may have been; it was he who modernized and expanded the industries of Medusa, and he who built the space stations that now circled all four Warden worlds. Ironically, his effect was most dramatic on Cerberus,-which was transformed from a primitive water world to an industrial giant that took what Medusa produced and made it into whatever the Diamond needed.

  But after two coup attempts against him, Kasikian became increasingly paranoid, and so was born of his fears and Cerberan computer skills the original monitor system. The society was even more rigidly structured and controlled in military fashion. As a final gesture, realizing he could never extend total control over the people unless they were consolidated in the key cities and kept there, he ordered the pogrom: those who would not commit themselves fully to his system and his government and come into the cities were to be ruthlessly exterminated.

  The Elders had explained that less than a thousand survived the bloodbath that followed, most fleeing to a few key pre-prepared places such as the one we were now in, places that had been erased from the records and were, to all outward appearances, just new, small primitive enclaves. Still, Kasikian ordered those few escapees ruthlessly hunted down, no matter what the cost, and he became so obsessed with that mission that he was careless at home. A young officer who was an aide to one of the admiral’s top associates m
anaged to get him as he relaxed in his luxurious command quarters and kill him.

  But this young officer, motivated by idealism and revulsion for bloodshed, became pretty bloody himself as he and his followers hunted down and executed all those in the top five grades of the admiral’s government. By the tune Tolakah, new Lord of the Diamond, felt secure, his hands were as bloody as the admiral’s—and he not only grew as paranoid, but was soon seduced by his power. The other Lords, particularly Cerberus’, used his paranoia and love of power for their own ends. They needed what Medusa put out, and the system there suited them just fine.

  But the monitor system worried Tolakah. He and bis own people had managed to get around it, so he knew how vulnerable it was. As a result, he was delighted to get Talant Ypsir, an expert in administration whose ideas on how societies should be organized closely paralleled the late Kasikian’s. Using the computer talent on Cerberus, Ypsir plugged the holes and created a nearly ironclad society—but not for Tolakah’s benefit. Tolakah, in fact, was personally beheaded by Ypsir while the administrative specialist was showing him the master computers in the orbiting space station that totally sealed the society. Complicity with the other Lords was probable; they distrusted the erratic Tolakah, and preferred someone who knew he was as corrupt as the others, and enjoyed it.

  In the meantime, the last of the survivors of the pogrom managed to gather in the various secret places, and decided on an organization for their society in the wild. Dominant among them was Dr. Kura Hsiu, a cultural anthropologist by trade, who’d come to Medusa as a life study of the Warden organism’s effect on society. She was particularly drawn by the idea of a society where people changed sex as routinely as they changed their clothes, and she considered the work worth the sacrifice. But not now—as a fugitive and exile in the wild. She realized that the remnants were no match for Medusa’s power, but Ypsir seemed to be lapsing into a tolerance as long as they didn’t bother or interfere wtih him. Medusa was too big a planet for it to be worth tracking down that small a group, which the last two Lords had both considered dispersed and neutralized.