by Jack Vance
Reith located several dozen energy pistols with spent power-cells. These, according to Anacho, could be recharged from the power-cells which drove the drays: a fact evidently unknown to Naga Goho.
The sun was low in the west when they departed the gloomy palace. Crossing the courtyard Reith noticed a squat door set back in a niche. He heaved it open, to reveal a flight of steep stone stairs. Up wafted a dismal draught, reeking of mold, organic decay, filth — and something else: a musky dank stench which stiffened the hairs at the back of Reith’s neck.
“Dungeons,” said Anacho laconically. “Listen.”
A feeble croaking murmur came up from below. Inside the door Reith found a lamp, but was unable to evoke light. Anacho tapped the top of the bulb, to produce a white radiance. “A Dirdir device.”
The group descended the steps, ready for anything, and stepped forth into a high-vaulted chamber. Traz, seizing at Reith’s arm, pointed; Reith saw a black shape gliding quietly off into the far shadows. “Pnume,” muttered Anacho, hunching his shoulders. “They infest the ruined places of Tschai, like worms in old wood.”
A high lamp cast a feeble light, revealing cages around the periphery of the room. In certain of these were bones, in others heaps of putrefying flesh, in others living creatures, from which issued the sounds which the group had heard. “Water, water,” moaned the shambling figures. “Give us water!”
Reith held the lamp close. “Chaschmen.”
From a tank to the side of the room he filled pannikins of water and brought them to the cages.
The Chaschmen drank avidly and clamored for more, which Reith brought to them.
Heavy cages at the far end of the room held a pair of massive motionless figures with towering conical scalps.
“Green Chasch,” whispered Traz. “What did Naga Goho do with these?”
Anacho said, “Notice; they peer in a single direction only: the direction of their horde. They are telepathic.”
Reith dipped up two more pans of water, thrust them into the cages of the Green Chasch. The creatures reached ponderously, sucked the pans dry.
Reith returned to the Chaschmen. “How long have you been here?”
“A long, long time,” croaked one of the captives. “I cannot say how long.”
“Why were you caged?”
“Cruelty! Because we were Chaschmen!”
Reith turned to the committeemen. “Did you know they were here?”
“No! Naga Goho did as he pleased.”
Reith moved the linch-pins, opened the doors. “Come forth; you are free. The men who captured you are dead.”
The Chaschmen timorously crept forth. They went to the tank and drank more water. Reith turned back to examine the Green Chasch. “Very strange, strange indeed.”
“Perhaps Goho used them as indicators,” Anacho suggested. “He would know at all times the direction of their horde.”
“No one can talk to them?”
“They do not talk; they transfer thoughts.”
Reith turned to the committeemen. “Send up a dozen men, to carry the cages down to the plaza.”
“Bah,” muttered Bruntego the Gray. “Best kill the ugly beasts! Kill the Chaschmen as well!”
Reith turned him a quick glare. “We are not Gnashters! We kill from necessity only! As for the Chaschmen, let them go back to their servitude, or stay here as free men, whatever they wish.”
Bruntego gave a sour grunt. “If we do not kill them, they will kill us.”
Reith, making no answer, turned the lamp toward the remote parts of the dungeon, to find only dank stone walls. He could not learn how the Pnume had departed the chamber, nor could the Chaschmen give any coherent information. “They would come, silent as devils, to look at us, with never a word, nor would they bring us water!”
“Odd creatures,” ruminated Reith.
“They are the weirds of Tschai!” cried the Chaschmen, trembling to the emotion of their new freedom. “They should be purged from the planet!”
“As well as the Dirdir, the Wankh and the Chasch,” said Reith, grinning.
“No, not the Chasch. We are Chasch, did you not know?”
“You are men.”
“No, we are Chasch in the larval stage; this is prime verity!”
“Bah!” said Reith, suddenly angry. “Take off those ridiculous false heads.” He stepped forward, jerked away the conical head-pieces. “You are men, you are nothing else! Why do you allow the Chasch to victimize you?”
The Chaschmen fell silent, glancing fearfully at the cages as if they expected a new incarceration.
“Come,” said Reith brusquely. “Let’s get out of here.”
A week passed. With nothing better to do, Reith flung himself into his job. He selected a group of the most obviously intelligent young men and women, whom he would teach and who would teach others. He formed a civic militia, delegating authority in this case to Baojian, the erstwhile caravan-master. With the help of Anacho and Tostig the old Nomad, he drew up a tentative legal code. Over and over he explained the benefits to be derived from his innovations, arousing a variety of responses: interest, apprehension, dubious sneers, enthusiasm, as often as not blank incomprehension. He learned that there was more to organizing a government than merely giving orders; he was required to be everywhere at once. And always at the back of his mind was apprehension: what were the Blue Chasch planning? He could not believe that they had so easily abandoned their efforts to capture him. Beyond doubt they employed spies. They would therefore be informed of events in Pera, and hence be in no great haste. But sooner or later they would come to take him. A man of ordinary prudence would flee Pera instantly. Reith, for a variety of reasons, was disinclined to flight.
The Chaschmen from the dungeons displayed no eagerness to return to Dadiche; Reith assumed that they were fugitives from Chasch justice. The Green Chasch warriors were a problem. Reith could not bring himself to kill them, but popular opinion would have been outraged had he released them outright. As a compromise the cages stood in the plaza, and the creatures served as a spectacle for the people of Pera. The Green Chasch ignored the attention, facing steadily to the north, telepathically linked — so stated Anacho — to the parent horde.
Reith’s principal solace was the Flower of Cath, although the girl mystified him. He could not read her mood. During the long caravan journey she had been melancholy, distrait, somewhat haughty. She had become gentle and loving, if at times absent-minded. Reith found her more alluring than ever, full of a hundred sweet surprises. But her melancholy persisted. Homesickness, decided Reith; almost certainly she longed for her home in Cath. With a dozen other preoccupations, Reith postponed the day when he must reckon with Derl’s yearnings.
The three Chaschmen, so Reith presently learned, were not citizens of Dadiche, but hailed from Saaba, a city to the south. One evening in the common-room they took Reith to task for what they characterized as ‘extravagant ambitions’. “You wish to ape the higher races; you will only come to grief! Sub-men are incapable of civilization.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Reith, amused by their earnestness.
“Of course we do; are we not Chaschmen, the larval stage of the Blue Chasch? Who would know better?”
“Anyone with a smattering of biology.”
The Chaschmen made fretful gestures. “A sub-man, you; and jealous of the advanced race.”
Reith said, “In Dadiche I saw the mortuary or death-house — whatever you call it. I saw the Blue Chasch split a dead Chaschman’s skull and put a Blue Chasch imp into the cold brains. They play games with you; they trick you to ensure your servitude. The Dirdir no doubt use a parallel technique upon the Dirdirmen, though I doubt if the Dirdirmen expect to become Dirdir.” He looked down the table to Anacho. “What of that?”
Anacho’s voice trembled slightly. “The Dirdirmen do not expect to become Dirdir; this is superstition. They are Sun, we are Shade; but both from the Primeval Egg. Dirdir
are the highest form of cosmic life; Dirdirmen can only emulate, and this we do, with pride. What other race has produced such glory, achieved such magnificence?”
“The race of men,” said Reith.
Anacho’s face twitched in a sneer. “In Cath? Lotus-eaters. The Merribs? Vagrant artisans. The Dirdir stand alone on Tschai.”
“No, no, no!” bawled the Chaschmen simultaneously. “Sub-men are the culls and dross of Chaschmen. Some become clients of the Dirdir. True men come from Zoör, the Chasch world.”
Anacho turned away in disgust. Reith said, “This is not the case, though I don’t expect you to believe me. You are both wrong.”
Anacho the Dirdirman spoke in a voice carefully casual. “You are so definite; you puzzle me. Perhaps you can enlighten us further.”
“Perhaps I can,” said Reith. “At the moment I don’t care to do so.”
“Why not?” Anacho persisted. “Such enlightenment would be useful to all of us.”
“The facts are as well-known to you as they are to me,” said Reith. “Draw your own deductions.”
“Which facts?” blurted the Chaschmen. “What deductions?”
“Aren’t they plain? The Chaschmen are in servitude, precisely as are the Dirdirmen. Men are not biologically compatible with either of these races, nor with the Wankh nor the Pnume. Men certainly did not originate on Tschai. The deduction is that they were brought here as slaves, long ages ago, from the world of men.”
The Chaschmen grunted; Anacho raised his eyes and studied the ceiling. The men of Pera sitting at the table sighed in wonder.
There was further talk, which became excited and vehement as the evening wore on. The Chaschmen went off to a corner and argued among themselves, two disputing with one.
On the following morning the three Chaschmen departed Pera for Dadiche, riding, so it happened, Emmink’s dray. Reith watched them go with misgiving. They would undoubtedly report upon his activities and radical doctrines. The Blue Chasch would not approve. Existence, Reith reflected, had become extremely complex. The future seemed murky, even grim. Once again he considered hasty departure into the wilderness. But the prospect still had no appeal.
During the afternoon Reith watched the first draft of the militia at drill: six platoons of fifty men each, armed diversely with catapults, swords, short cutlasses, in striking variety of garments: pantaloons, smocks, burnooses, flared jackets with short skirts, rags and strips of fur. Some wore beards, others varnished top-knots; the hair of others hung to their shoulders. Reith thought that never had he seen so sad a spectacle. He watched in mingled amusement and despair as they stumbled and slouched, with grumbling bad grace, through the exercises he had ordained. The six lieutenants, who showed no great enthusiasm, perspired and swore, gave orders more or less at random, while Baojian’s aplomb was sorely taxed.
Reith finally demoted two lieutenants on the spot and appointed two new men from the ranks. He climbed up on a wagon, called the men in about him. “You are not performing well! Don’t you understand what you are here for? To learn to protect yourselves!” He looked from one sullen face to another then pointed down to a man who had been muttering to his fellow. “You! What are you saying? Speak up!”
“I said that this prancing and marching is foolishness, a waste of energy; what benefit can arise from such antics?”
“The benefit is this. You learn to obey orders, quickly and decisively. You learn to function as a corps. Twenty men acting together are stronger than a hundred men at odds with each other. In a battle situation the leader makes plans; the disciplined warriors carry out these plans. Without discipline, plans are useless and battles are lost. Now do you understand?”
“Bah. How can men win battles? The Blue Chasch have energetics and battle-rafts. We have a few sand-blasts. The Green Chasch are indomitable; they would kill us like emmets. It is easier to hide among the ruins. This is how men have always lived in Pera.”
“Conditions are different,” said Reith. “If you don’t want to do a man’s work, you can do a woman’s work and wear woman’s clothes. Take your choice.” He waited but the dissident only glowered and shuffled his feet.
Reith came down from the wagon and gave a series of orders. Certain men were sent up to the citadel to fetch bolts of cloth and leather. Others brought shears and razors; the men of the militia, despite protests, were shorn clean. Meanwhile the women of the city had gathered and were put to work cutting out and sewing uniforms: long sleeveless smocks of white cloth with black lightning-bolts appliquéd to the chest. Corporals and sergeants wore black shoulder tabs; the lieutenants had short red sleeves to their uniforms.
On the following day the militia, wearing the new garments, drilled again, and on this occasion were noticeably smarter — indeed, thought Reith, almost jaunty.
On the morning of the third day after the Chaschmen’s departure, Reith’s doubts were resolved. A large raft, sixty feet long and thirty feet wide, came gliding over the steppe. It flew in a single slow circle over Pera, then settled into the plaza directly before the Dead Steppe Inn. A dozen burly Chaschmen — Security Guards in gray pantaloons and purple jackets — jumped out and stood with hands at their weapons. Six Blue Chasch stood on the deck of the raft staring around the plaza from under overhanging brows. These Blue Chasch appeared to be special personages; they wore tight suits of silver filigree, tall silver morions, silver caps at the joints of their arms and legs.
The Blue Chasch spoke briefly to the Chaschmen; two marched to the door of the inn, and spoke to the innkeeper. “A man calling himself Reith has established himself as your chief. Fetch him forth, to the attention of the Lord Chasch.”
The innkeeper, half-awed, half-truculent, was prompted to a snarling obsequiousness. “He is somewhere at hand; you will have to wait till he arrives.”
“Notify him! Be quick!”
Reith received the summons gloomily, but without surprise. He sat thinking a moment or two; then, heaving a deep sigh he came to a decision, which, for better or worse, must alter the lives of all the men of Pera, and perhaps all the men of Tschai. He turned to Traz, gave a set of orders, then slowly went into the common-room of the inn. “Tell the Chasch that I’ll speak to them in here.”
The innkeeper relayed the message to the Chaschmen, who in turn spoke to the Blue Chasch.
The response was a set of glottal sounds. The Blue Chasch descended to the ground, approached the inn, to stand in a silver-glittering line. The Chaschmen entered the inn. One bawled, “Which is the man who is chief? Which is he? Let him hold up his hand!”
Reith thrust past them and stepped out into the compound. He faced the Blue Chasch, who stared back at him portentously. Reith examined the alien visages with fascination: the eyes like small metal balls glittering under the shadow of the cephalic overhang, the complex nasal processes, the silver morion and filigree armor. At the moment they seemed neither crafty, whimsical, capricious, nor given to cruel facetiousness; their mien rather was menacing.
Reith confronted them, arms folded across his chest. He waited, exchanging stare for stare.
One of the Blue Chasch wore a morion with a higher spine than the others. He spoke, in the strangled glottal voice typical of the race. “What do you do here in Pera?”
“I am the chosen chief.”
“You are the man who made an unauthorized visit to Dadiche, who visited the District Technical Center.”
Reith made no reply.
“Well then,” called the Blue Chasch, “what do you say? Do not deny the charge; your scent is individual. In some fashion you entered and departed Dadiche; and made furtive investigations. Why?”
“Because I had never visited Dadiche before,” said Reith. “You are now visiting Pera without express authorization; however you are welcome, so long as you obey our laws. I would like to think that the men of Pera could visit Dadiche on the same basis.”
The Chaschmen gave hoarse chuckles; the Blue Chasch stared in gloomy shock. The spokesman
said, “You have been espousing a false doctrine, and persuading the men of Pera to folly. Where do you derive these ideas?”
“The ideas are neither ‘false doctrine’ nor ‘folly’. They are self-evident.”
“You must come with us to Dadiche,” said the Blue Chasch, “and clarify a number of peculiar circumstances. Go aboard the sky-raft.”
Reith smilingly shook his head. “If you have questions, ask them now. Then I will ask you my questions.”
The Blue Chasch made a signal to the Chaschman guards. They moved forward to seize Reith. He took a step back, looked up at the upper windows. Down came a fusillade of catapult bolts, piercing the Chaschmen’s foreheads and necks. But those bolts aimed at the Blue Chasch swerved aside, diverted by a force-field, and the Blue Chasch stood unscathed. They seized their own weapons, but before they could aim and fire, Reith unfolded his arms. He held his energy cell. In a quick sweep of his arm he burnt off the heads and shoulders of the six Blue Chasch. The bodies sprang into the air by some peculiar reflex, then sprawled to the ground with a multiple thud, where they lay covered by globules of molten silver.
The silence was complete. The onlookers seemed to be holding their breaths. All turned to look from the corpses to Reith; then, as if by single presentiment, all turned to look toward Dadiche.
“What will we do now?” whispered Bruntego the Gray. “We are doomed. They will feed us to their red flowers.”
“Precisely,” said Reith, “unless we take steps to prevent them.” He signaled to Traz; they collected weapons and other gear from the headless Blue Chasch and the Chaschmen; then Reith ordered the bodies carried away and buried.
He went to the sky-raft, climbed aboard. The controls — clusters of pedals, knobs and flexible arms — were beyond his comprehension. Anacho the Dirdirman came up to look casually into the raft. Reith asked, “Do you understand the working of this thing?”
Anacho gave a contemptuous grunt. “Of course. It is the old Daidne System.”