But now, out of water and hungry, they seemed stuck and could see no way to go farther. Arghor sentries, easily spotted from high above, were spread all around the section of base perimeter the two could observe. The offworld agents had managed to count nine of them, in a layer three deep, crouched in immobile watchfulness. The warriors were not too close to one another laterally; that is, each file of three formed a rather isolated line extending out from the base to the forest's edge, each of the enemy being about one hundred and fifty feet apart. With the wolf people's keen scent and hearing the formation appeared an effective one. It was hard to see how man and Lyran could get by without detection.
"Suppose we went between two of the files?" said Powers in a whisper.
"Then both sets would hear or smell us," said Mazzechazz. "But I have an idea. These are very proud, independent creatures, William. They dislike calling for help unless desperate. Many savages act so. Now suppose we come down, you in front and then—"
Powers' answering whisper grew excited.
An hour later they were hailing the Templar sentries manning the perimeter. And then minutes after that they were relaxing in air-conditioned privacy on their own ship.
"I'm amazed that anything that obvious worked," mumbled Powers as he chewed away at the second large steak he had cooked. Across the dining table, Mazzechazz was eating spiced, processed fruit. His people had never been carnivores, or at least not since a stage analogous to a shrew in human evolution.
He finished a portion of something purple and juicy and flicked a handful of seeds out of his mouth with his slender tongue before answering.
"Psychology, William, psychology. Action is not everything. What could be simpler? You walk up to a sentry, naked, unarmed and hands in the air. By the way, there is food for thought in this area of defenselessness. I must consider it.
"To resume, can he kill you? No, you are helpless, he has to talk, figure things out, try to understand why you are out there coming from the wrong direction. This is too much of a puzzle. In the half-minute it takes to think of asking for advice, not help, mind you, advice, I, the quieter moving of the two, have eased up behind him and throttled him into insensibility. The sentries in the files to left and right have heard nothing and the two remaining in his own line but nearer to camp have not been called. He gets tied up, I take his knife for insurance and we repeat the performance twice more, all the way into camp. Psychology!" He selected a package of Terran figs and carefully opened it, transparent nictitating membranes snapping over his eyes in anticipation. For a while the two ate in silence.
At last, his belt groaning, Powers leaned back and reached for a pipe.
"So now what? We managed to get out safe and sound, but that's all. Got any ideas?
"It seems to me," he went on, without waiting for the other to speak, "that we have to recommend evacuation. The Arghor are intelligent, quite highly intelligent, even if they've only arrived at the Neolithic. They now detest humans and want to kill them all. It's their planet and they have the right to do so if the humans remain. The humans, under Syrian Combine law, do not have the right to kill the Arghor, even in self defense, once they, the humans that is, have been officially told to leave and the Combine has evaluated the situation and agreed. Which would seem to make evacuation the only possibility. Someone is going to get a very noisy kick in the pants over this," he added. "I mean the S. and C. team that recommended this hell hole for colonization. And that's our service responsibility. The whole of Survey and Contact is going to look awfully incompetent when this news gets out. Even the Bureau can't keep this one quiet. There are too many people and departments involved, Xenological, Colonization—all those, etcetra." He subsided, stoking his pipe with black Cannicotea antarea, lighting it and emitting clouds of lavender smoke.
THE LYRAN ran his tongue around his wide, lipless mouth, pushed the empty food containers away and leaned back in his hammock, supple tail curling neatly around the stanchion which supported one end of it.
"Don't be so gloomy, William," he said gently. "We have only been here a little over one cycle. Besides, if my ideas are correct, there should be no real trouble about this colony. A little thought is what is needed, a little philosophy, a little history, and a little psychology. Something workable exists in our common store of experience for every eventuality. We have only to tap the proper circuit."
"Have you got something to use all that quickly?" said Powers. "Short of driving the Arghor out of an area and erecting a large force field, I can't think of anything."
"There are several possibilities," said the Lyran. "They are perhaps eighty percent carnivorous, or even more, from the recorded data. We could quite easily remove most of the game animals from any given area, perhaps drive the animals out with contact sonics. The Arghor would also have to move or starve."
"That's interference with a native intelligent life form. Destroying or moving their food supply is hardly noninterference, is it?"
"All right," rejoined Mazzechazz. "But it's not lethal and surely allowable."
"Not, and I stress this point," said Powers smugly, "unless the people or civilization or culture or what have you constitute a menace to the peace of the civilized universum. From "constitute" on, that's a quote from our own manual, which you know better than I do." He leaned back and exhaled more of the pungent smoke. Since Lyrans have no powers of scent worth mentioning, Mazzechazz had never noticed the aroma of Powers' pipe, which made many other beings as well as humans ill.
"Mmm, quite so, William. But I never really intended this proposal seriously. I simply wished to indicate that there are any number of solutions to any given problem and that we should be exploring them and not trying to evade our duty. We need to reason matters through, not simply report that matters are hopeless."
Powers tried to look thoughtful.
All that came to his mind was a desire to rest, which was not very helpful. The Lyran, however, had a modest share of the strange telepathic talent of his race.
"Go lie down," he said. "I don't feel tired. When you wake up I'll give you a dozen solutions, all good. Then you can explain why none of them will work. Yet one of them will be correct. The clue I will leave you to dream over is this: the answer lies in ancient Terra, in your own past."
THE FOLLOWING day, local time*(* Four Universal 28-hour (Terran) periods equal one Origen VII day or night. In the human colony Universal Time based on this cycle was maintained artificially, since the days and nights were simply too long for human activities. The Grawm were largely diurnal but not entirely so.), was busy indeed. Once persuaded that the weird proposal made by Mazzechazz was quite legitimate and even practical, Powers had to sell it to the governor and council of the Templars. He knew that if these men, particularly the Presbyter-governor, could be convinced, the rest of the colony would follow. The debate was long.
"Presbyter, I am not a member of your splendid religion," he said, trying a new argument, "but isn't there a saying 'Oh, Ye of little faith—' in your holy book?"
"Yes, there is," said Tahira sourly. "However, you are offering an explanation based on science not religion. And if you are wrong we will all perish miserably, women and children as well."
"All the Research and Biological authorities we have messaged on Prime Base bear my partner out," countered Powers. "They also say that if the plan is not tried the only alternative is to recommend immediate evacuation. The colony will be completely written off and the planet will become an educatable ward of the Syrian Combine. Perhaps it will be opened to colonization again by some more reasonable, adaptable group." Always save the sting for the tail, the psych books said.
"Further," he continued, "your remark about all perishing is silly. There is some danger to a few of us—those out in front—I agree. I will be out there in front, you know, with whoever volunteers from your colony. The extrapolation based on BuPsych readings says about twenty men should be enough. No women or kids need be involved at all."
&
nbsp; "Suppose they use missile weapons, spears maybe, from a distance?" said a younger council member; one of the smarter ones, Powers recalled.
"They'll be barred from doing so for two reasons," said Powers. "One, we'll be away out in a part of your fields near no cover when they spot us. Two, they kill hand-to-hand from preference. We'll be isolated, almost naked and empty-handed when they first see us working. The results will surprise you, I guarantee.
"Look," he went on, "Sakh and I dug up one of the dead Arghor you buried and dissected him right down to his capillaries. These are pure and simple pack carnivores, only a lot more intelligent than the four-footed variety you and I are used to. In fact, let's face it, in lots of ways, as intelligent as you or I. No species precisely like them has been encountered up to this point, but they obviously had to appear at some point just because of the law of averages. And as Sakh points out, they're a picture-book example of what had been predicted they would be like if they ever did appear. "They live in tribes, which are little more than extended families or clans, rather like Terran primitives."
"The Amerindians of old Noramerica," said a hitherto silent councilor.
"Exactly," said Powers, glad of any support, however vague and qualified. "To go on, they possess a high degree of what used to be called chivalry. They never harm the females, the aged and the young in their battles with each other. War is a sport for healthy males only. Again, there are numerous Terran parallels."
"AGENT POWERS, assuming that what you have said earlier is correct, this last obviously is totally wrong," sneered the Presbyter. "They killed every child and woman they could reach in the battle. A number are just plain missing and you have admitted that they were probably carried off to be eaten. Is this an example of your so-called chivalry?"
Patiently Powers returned to the scientific explanation he had presented earlier in the day.
"There again are two points to take note of, Presbyter, One, what were women and children doing during the attack? Two, what is the Arghor view of human beings, inculcated by both your food habits and by the arguments of their priests, wizards or whatever you want to call them?
"Don't answer," he went on. "I know what happened and so do you. When attacked by hairy, savage monsters the women and kids fought. Who wouldn't? I agree entirely. But if they had known more, if they had been trained, they would not have fought at all. All they had to do was what I've told you. Sakh and I took an Arghor prisoner some twelve standard hours ago and we went through his mind up, down and sideways. We know the Arghor, I tell you, and Sakh's idea is pure genius—which is nothing more than intuition, memory and scientific knowledge all coalesced. You have to try this or go home with your tails between your legs, beaten by a bunch of primitives and savages."
The Templar councilors stared at one another for a few seconds without speaking. Powers leaned back in his chair, projecting a good imitation of casualness and tried not to look at the silent Lyran across the table. He, in turn, had no trouble appearing calm. A reptilian face seldom displays emotion in any way a human can read.
Powers was aware that his last shot had been fired. And he had managed to conceal a major source of his concern from the council—the fact that Survey and Contact would get a public black eye if the colony were forced to leave. This was something to avoid at all costs. Now he could do nothing but wait. But in truth, the decision had already been made. The Presbyter-governor broke the silence.
"It means only risking twenty men, I suppose, and we have lost many more. We need eighteen volunteers, gentlemen."
"You mean twenty, don't you, Reverend, sir?" said a council member.
"Agent Powers and I make two," said the governor drily. He met Powers' eyes squarely for the first time and even managed the ghost of a smile.
Powers said, "I'm honored."
The details were easily settled. The long local night was coming to an end. The idea would be tested at dawn by Powers and the others. Mazzechazz would remain in command of the perimeter, most of which would be unguarded. Save for the party of exposed men who had volunteered; there should be no real danger to the rest of the humans on the planet. And in last analysis, the Farover possessed enough armament to stand off with ease anything the whole Arghor confederacy could summon up. But it was not supposed to come to that. There was going to be no violence at all, Powers told himself silently as the meeting broke up—not the slightest bit of violence.
Chapter Three
PRETENDING to hoe a chewed-up, rock-strewn piece of what had once been a Templar grain field in the pitch dark just before dawn, Powers was not quite so sure.
He and Governor Tahira, plus eighteen other nervous men had shipped out in the colony's air-boats a half-hour earlier. They had been dumped, almost naked and armed only with wooden sticks, in the middle of what had been the Templar's agricultural area, over a mile from the nearest woods. They were all pretending to hoe.
Powers concentrated on mental calisthenics and recited twelve Vegan verse palindromes backward, chopping savagely at the ground as he did so. He could hear nothing and see very little but he felt sure that he and the others had been accurately pinpointed by the Wolves.
Quit calling them that, he thought, You're getting to believe Mazzechazz too much and too hard ...
And where was that reptilian conman? Why, back on the ship, since he would be useless in this human problem and would merely confuse the issue for the Arghor minds.
Artificially preoccupied with such reflections, Powers was taken by surprise by the coming of the dawn. Almost without warning visibility became unlimited. As the rim of the giant sun poked above the horizon he lowered his gaze and squinted. Unconsciously, he and the other men began to draw slowly together, their eyes shuttling to the dark forest.
"There they come—" A young settler, pale but determined, stopped pretending to hoe and pointed. Shading his eyes, Powers saw the line of black dots break out of the forest and move rapidly toward them.
"Remember," he shouted, "they can kill us in seconds if you don't obey orders and do what you've been taught. Have faith!"
"As a priest myself, Agent, in a case like this, perhaps I should be above fear." Presbyter Tahira had moved close to Powers and spoken in a low tone of voice but his eyes twinkled and he seemed quite calm.
The Arghor were now only a hundred yards away, and suddenly the blazing dawn's quiet was shattered by a concerted howl.
The warrior nearest to Powers was now charging, heavy, stone-tipped spear drawn back in one hairy arm. Others who had outstripped their fellows were about to fall upon Tahira and his eighteen Templars.
"Now!" shouted Powers.
INSTANTLY everyone, including Powers himself, dropped to the ground. The men lay flat on their backs, knees drawn up to protect their stomachs, backs arched and arms extended at full length on the ground. All bent their heads back, so that their straining throats were exposed to the sky above. In this posture, eyes wide open, they waited for the enemy.
By rolling his eyes, Powers could see the six-foot, black-furred warrior who had been about to skewer him stop a few yards away, dumbfounded, fanged jaws agape. Unmoving, Powers watched the Arghor approach, spear drooping, until he stood over Powers' body, his rank odor a pungent reminder of alienness.
"What is this skyfolk madness?" the Arghor growled. "Get up and fight, die like a warrior, skyman?"
Powers remained frozen in his strange posture. The Arghor raised his spear as if to strike and suddenly shrieked horribly. Somehow Powers managed not to flinch. The Arghor stopped screaming. Staring at Powers, he yelped with frustration, shaking his hairy head from side to side and doing a little dance of sheer rage.
"Get up and die," he howled again, dancing in a circle. Powers could hear a similar and deafening chorus all around him. It was music to his numbed ears. He allowed himself a small smile. His neck muscles ached from the upward jut of his throat and chin but he could hold the cramped posture a long time if he had to do so. So, he was sure, coul
d the others. Now that they realized it was actually working, they could hold it all day, spurred on by success.
His own screaming Arghor suddenly stood squarely over his body, furry legs straddling Powers. Growling horribly and wordlessly, the savage fumbled with his leather breechclout.
By God, Sakh even predicted this ...
Powers then closed his eyes tightly. The ultimate insult and also the ultimate award for success. The prize for cunning was hardly pleasant but it was a far cry from death or defeat. He waited, honest laughter exploding deep in his body, but outwardly as rigid as ever, for the final and irrevocable gesture of contempt.
AS THE Farover bored through its first subspace jump on its return trip to Sirius Prime the two agents relaxed, each in his own way. The ship was on automatic and its computer could take care of almost any emergency imaginable.
Stripped of his harness, Sakh Mazzechazz was going over his body inch by inch with a tiny battery-operated buffer, polishing his minute scales until his whole yellowish green body gleamed and shimmered in the light.
"You must have a date," said Powers.
Equally relaxed, he had been transcribing notes for his own private records. Now he put down his recorder and turned his gaze on the Lyran.
"I said, you must have a date. Am I right?"
"A young female from my delegation's staff on Prime Base has brought me messages from the nearer members of my clan. It is only natural that I hear them in the proper atmosphere of privacy. Otherwise proper reverence would not be displayed."
"Yes," agreed Powers. "You mean you have a date."
"That's right," said the Lyran.
His red goggle eyes met Powers' and the transparent membrane flickered up and down rapidly in an uproarious laugh.
The COMPLEAT Collected Short SFF Stories Page 12