Pale Country Pursuit

by Hans Kneifel

  The puffing vehicle ground its way around the last turn of the approach road in the pass.

  “Is it really going to be as tough as you say in this den of thieves?” I asked.

  “Real rugged, my lad. At least until we are accepted by Umman, who is a tyrant until you put him in his place.” Fratulon grinned as though actually looking forward to the conflict.

  I couldn’t say as much for the rest of us. Even before we had seen this badman’s hellhole, we hated it.

  6/ ADJOVER: HELLHOLE OF THE NORTH

  Our relief valve blasted forth with a bellowing, hissing burst of steam, producing such a prominent cloud around us that it was impossible for the guards on the double towers not to become aware of our approach. Our lame, half-functioning vehicle finally came to a stop before the southern entrance to Adjover. Actually the temperature outside had continued to rise during the last few kilometres and it was now quite comfortable—like a pleasant afternoon in comparison to the weather we had come from.

  “One thing more,” said Fratulon calmly. “From Warm Spot to the Pole is a zone whose strange effects extend clear into space.”

  “What effects are you talking about?” I asked in new apprehension.

  “Within that zone, no power machinery functions. It’s a mysterious barrier to electrical operation.”

  Activity on the part of the sentinels interrupted further comment. The tower to our left was partially built into the dark rocks; in fact most of its battlements and galleries were reworked projections of the cliff. The rest of the structure had been finished with black, intermeshed square stones. We saw the muzzles of energy guns emerge from narrow slits in the wall.

  A voice called to us over a loudspeaker: “Who are you?”

  Fratulon cranked down a window and shouted back: “A wandering doctor surgeon without a home planet—also my children and one pickup. I’m a man with

  adjustable principles and very much knowledge. You will be able to use me.”

  The voice returned: “Umman will decide that. There are four of you?”

  “Right! Four people in a snow car that’s about to explode. We need supplies,

  sled dogs and a few nights of sleep.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  “To Kermant Valley.”

  The other tower stood alone and was built of layers of round stone blocks. In thorough seams and joints of the structure there were traces of moss and stunted black grass and a few ferns. The almost indiscernible road we were on led to this notch in the small gorge. The walls joining the towers to the strata of lava and the equally high cliff were also built of sawed blocks of lava which looked like glittering obdisian. Everything here exuded a damp and dismal atmosphere of foreboding.

  “Kermant Valley? Are you crazy?”

  “No!” yelled Fratulon. “We’re running from law and order! That’s why we’re stopping here!”

  The comment of the still-invisible guard indicated that the valley mentioned was known to them, at least by name. There were countless legends on Gortavor about Kermant Valley but rare was the man who had ever been there and lived to tell about it. The aura of mystery Fratulon had managed to weave about us soon had its effect. A creaking plank door opened in the face of the heavy steel gate. A

  guard stepped out and aimed a heavy energy gun at us.

  “Climb out!” he said gruffly. “Umman has to see everybody who comes here!”

  He maintained a distance that made him safe from sudden attack yet enabled him to see our eyes. Here we were before the last bastion of Arkonide civilization on Gortavor. Beyond the heavy gate which could only be destroyed with energy weapons we saw the squat domes and square shacks of the outcasts. The guard was dressed in furs. His face was not at all reassuring. No vestige of refinement would be found here.

  “You mean Umman can see everything here?” asked Sawbones, making a point of exhibiting his sword, Skarg, and his brightly polished armour.

  “Everything—through the pickup lenses over there.”

  The boy-sized apparition of the strange Chretkor did not seem to startle the guard. But his reaction to Farnathia was another matter. The moment she thrust out her white boots, which she had worn all the way from Tent City, his eyes widened as well as his mouth.

  “Who is that?” he asked in a tone of rising interest.

  “My sick daughter,” said Fratulon swiftly. “Can’t you see her consumptive face?”

  The guard laughed unpleasantly. I reached for my dagger.

  “I see a female, and a pretty one!” he said. “Maybe Umman will want her.”

  My muscles tensed as I leaned back against the wheel cowling of the snow car. Farnathia was startled by the man’s greedy stare and came to my side. Ice Claw looked about him apprehensively while Fratulon took in the scene with the appearance of a quick-tempered trader who was nevertheless ready to palaver.

  “Aside from that dainty dish, what have you got here?” the man mumbled, thrusting his head into the cab of our vehicle. “Nothing much in here. Empty oil cans, hardly any food left, a couple of worn-out old weapons… the usual junk. Nothing of value, no surprises…”

  In one of the narrow apertures of a tower, a pair of camera lenses followed our every movement. Umman definitely appeared to be the ruler of this settlement. The presence of energy weapons indicated that the strange barrier zone Fratulon had mentioned was not in effect here. The guard stepped back and glanced sharply at the spy lenses.

  “You’re not especially friendly here,” observed Fratulon.

  “We don’t let just anybody who wants to in here,” said the man.

  “Well, I’m not just anybody,” retorted Sawbones. “Perhaps my skills could save somebody’s life in there. I amputate, heal, cut bellies and sew stitches. I do plastic surgery and I also have many recipes and formulas for healing-salves. For example, take that infection behind your ear… I believe I can recommend something for you.”

  The guard gave a signal to his unseen companions and somewhere a series of wheels and cog-racks began to move with a grating sound.

  “How can you help a rash like that?”

  Fratulon grinned at him benevolently. “With a piece of advice.”

  “What advice?”

  “Just apply plenty of soap and fresh water to it," said Sawbones. “Now let us in.”

  “OK, but park this thing in the market square. That’s where you’re expected. And don’t think you’re going to have an easy time of it here.”

  We slowly got into the car and I took the wheel.

  “After we’ve gotten acquainted,” replied Fratulon from the passenger seat, “maybe it won’t be so bad as all that.”

  The barred gate drew slowly back into the mountain. It was a strange settlement. Did this gate protect the inhabitants from unwanted intruders or did it serve to protect the country from the residents of Adjover? It was hard to decide but we were ready for anything.

  “Just remember everything I’ve told you in the last few days,” warned Fratulon.

  “What else?” I responded. “Is there an inn or hotel or something similar here?”

  “Unheard of!”

  Apparently with its last dregs of energy our steam car rolled along through a winding street that was strewn with rubble and refuse. The entire place appeared to be under a shroud of vapour and smoke. Undoubtedly apart of the evil smell came from the various volcanic fissures in the ground which were gas vents for the nearby crater.

  We noticed small structures with little windows that looked like pill-boxes or bunkers. The unpleasant-looking moss grew everywhere. Any stuned patches of grass in evidence certainly gave signs of not having seen any snow in many centuries, besides being littered with various rotting and discarded objects.

  Gradually within a distance of about 500 yards the dwellings and buildings began to be closer together. The taller and narrower house fronts were separated here and there by some dome-like structures which had the appearance of igloos sprinkled with
ashes.

  “What a disgusting town!” said Farnathia with sheer loathing in her voice.

  “I’ll grant you that,” replied Fratulon, “but there’s no alternative. Our only chance for survival is here. Otherwise we’ll starve—and this old cooker of ours

  has seen its last. We can’t use it any more.”

  In a tense silence we arrived in the ‘town square’.

  “It’s just as filthy here as in the rest of the place!” observed Ice Claw.

  “But at least it’s the centre of the filth,” laughed Fratulon. “Atlan! As of now you are totally responsible for the girl. Just remember: here terror is the law. Whoever rules, rules by force. Whoever survives does so because he’s either stronger or faster.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” I promised.

  We came to a stop before an official-looking structure. Roughly a third of the circle of house-fronts facing the plaza was interrupted by a large segment of ground where one of the largest igloos in town was located. On the roof of the squat hemisphere was a tower with a number of embrasures or slotted apertures from which protruded energy weapons, tracking grids, loudspeakers and antennas. The muzzles of the energy projectors had followed us as we approached and held steadily on us even after we had stopped.

  After setting the various systems that were still functioning at lowest idling power, I jumped from the car onto the ground. The safety valve was stuck. if the steam pressure was not able to bleed off through the turbine, sooner or later the boiler was going to explode.

  We were received in a bleak. and cheerless atmosphere. A phalanx of grim and malicious-looking men stood waiting in fairly bristling antagonism. But Sawbones got down from the car with all the portly composure of a dignitary descending

  from a royal sedan chair.

  He addressed them in a ringing voice. “Greetings to you, men of Adjover!”

  We were met with an icy silence. Ice Claw had gotten out of the snow car and

  now stepped close behind Fratulon, so enveloped in furs as to be unrecognizable. I reached up and helped the girl down from the entrance hatch.

  “You are discourteous!” shouted Fratulon, provoked. “Is this any way to greet a wandering physician?”

  One of the men turned his piercing eyes toward the girl, who stood uncertainly beside me. I took her hand, which gave her some comfort.

  “This girl here!” the man shouted. “Let her come to us!”

  Fratulon laughed harshly. “What do you want with a young girl who is suffering from a contagious disease? She is not of your world and you are not of hers. We’ve come here because we need to rest up, get some supplies and procure a sled for traversing the glacier. Our destination is Kermant Valley.”

  The men fairly surrounded us. Under my furs I gripped my knife. If we could avoid it we didn’t want to reveal or make use of our small energy weapons. Fratulon and I were fast enough on our feet and anybody Ice Claw could get his fingers on would never again be able to seek an opponent.

  The men had pressed close enough to look us over carefully. Among them was a thickset giant of an Akone with savage long hair who seemed to have an idea. “We need women in this outfit,” he said. “Not enough amusement around here. You want to buy supplies and equipment? Then let’s make a trade!”

  Fratulon smiled plaintively. “We weren’t intending to pay you with produce, so to speak, or services. You have enough women here and besides that my daughter is sick. Can’t you see it in the thin paleness of her face—the effects of all her coughing and consumption? No, I can’t hand her over to you-she’s still needed.”

  A surprised muttering ran through the belligerent group while view cameras and directional beam sound-pickup equipment still pointed at us from the igloo tower.

  One of the men yelled: “The girl belongs here with us! She’ll brighten things up around here!”

  This one stepped forward and scrutinized Farnathia boldly, even stretching out his hand to shove the hood back from her head. I still controlled myself but was fully aware of Sawbones’ warning glance.

  “Why, she’s beautiful!” exclaimed the settler enthusiastically, as though he had expected the opposite.

  I spoke up quickly. “We want to rent a house for a few days where we can sleep and also make hot water.” I noted that my voice had gotten hoarse because of my nerve tension and suppressed anger.

  “Umman will want to see her!” said the big Akone loudly and he pointed with his thumb to the bristling tower. “Maybe she’ll be staying in his bunker!”

  Fratulon cut in and went up to the giant. “You will not lay a hand on us. I demand hospitality here and our rights as guests! This I invoke and it must be given!”

  A ringing burst of laughter was the answer.

  “Hey fatman!” shouted the leader. “That’s a good one—you’re quite a clown! It so happens that there are no rights—because we’re the law here. You’ll do what we order you to do!”

  “I’m sure that can be changed,” growled Fratulon. “You’re not only filthy but you stink—and your impudence is an insult!”

  With a shout of rage the giant charged the little ‘fatman’. In a tenth of a second Fratulon changed from a slow-footed trader to a whirling figure of action that the eye could hardly follow. He grabbed the other’s outstretched arm, gripped, turned, bent down, heaved and sent the ponderous body of his opponent crashing to the ground with a sound like breaking timber. A cry went up in the circular plaza and several slatternly women carrying water on the far side of the clearing stopped suddenly to stare.

  As two men came at me and the girl from two different directions, I almost hissed at them: “Stay where you are!” My voice virtually rasped out the warning in my rage. I whipped the knife out and took a step back until I was touching the snow car. Farnathia took refuge between two of the giant wheels.

  But the men came on. I ducked under a powerful hay maker and sliced one of the attackers in the shoulder. The sharp blade cut through fur and leather. At the same time, even as he cried out in pain, I tripped him and sent him reeling back.

  I turned swiftly to see the other man brace himself for a charge. My arm was ahead of me and the knife was its extension as I both parried his blow and slit open his forearm, after which I jumped back to Farnathia’s side. She was still crouching in trembling fear between the tires.

  While Fratulon swiftly pummelled an attacker into the ground and grabbed another by the head, banging it against his breast armour, the little Chretkor jumped onto a man like a monkey and grasped his head with his alien claws. The victim’s sudden outcry became a choking, gurgling groan as his face visibly frosted over with ice and his breath turning suddenly to a snowy vapour. The man’s entire head was converted to solid ice within seconds. Ice Claw sprang to the ground, scuttled between the legs of other attackers and grasped the arm of a man who was coming at the sobbing girl from another direction. Meanwhile, the watcher in the igloo still refrained from entering the action. The Chretkor’s new victim yelled out in terror, running away and shaking his frozen arm.

  The first opponent who had had the misfortune to tangle with Ice Claw stood motionless for a few moments in the middle of the plaza. Then his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His arms made a feeble reflex movement as though to break his fall but his head struck the loose pavement resoundingly-and shattered into a thousand splinters of ice.

  “Stop it!” shouted Fratulon and he knocked a man out of his way as though he had been an annoying puppy.

  I stood protectively in front of Farnathia and threatened all comers with the gleaming dagger. The men paused as though frozen in their tracks when they realized what had happened. They stared aghast at the shattered man on the ground who had been a victim of Ice Claw’s grip of frozen death. Then they turned in a body and fled. We remained alone in the plaza.

  Fratulon turned to us. “Maybe now we’ll be accepted,” he said curtly. “We won’t be staying here longer than two days.”

  “Wh
en you say here,” I asked, “where would you suggest?”

  We needed a house and we had to find somebody who would sell us a few articles or supply them. Fratulon pointed across the plaza to a group of men and women who had been silently watching the swift conflict. Our remaining attackers had run over to join them.

  “Go over there and ask their—and don’t fool around. Demand what we need!”

  “Will do!” I replied. I gave Farnathia a sign of encouragement and moved swiftly across the plaza.

  But I had only taken about 20 steps when a loudspeaker crackled with a hissing sound and a deep, mysterious voice rang out. The sound pervaded the entire settlement. “This is Umman speaking. I’ve been watching your combat. You may be fast but you are far from being the victors. You are under my energy guns. Come over here!”

  I left that to Fratulon and meanwhile went over to the group of onlookers, stopping within about 10 feet of them. I told them in no uncertain words that I needed somebody I could deal with.

  “Who are you, Umman?” shouted Fratulon. “I’m not too much impressed by your threats. Come outside and show yourself! Stop hiding and let’s talk face to face!”

  The faces of the Arkonides before me all revealed various stages of deterioration, privation, resignation, coarseness and a blind hatred for us four

  intruders.

  “Who will speak for you?” I demanded in a cuttingly sharp tone.

  One of them pointed wordlessly toward the igloo, where the protruding weapons were now showing movement. A single shot could kill us all.

  “The Kergone!” muttered a woman fearfully. She glanced back and forth between the igloo and Fratulon, who now slowly approached the structure.

  “A Kergone?” I asked in some astonishment.

  “Yes—he lords it over all of us.”

  “I see.” I gave them a quick smile and swiftly joined Sawbones, who was being followed hesitantly by Farnathia and Ice Claw.

  I pointed to the dome. “Umman is a Kergone. He’s the dictator here. Apparently he does no work and has them feed him.”