F Paul Wilson - LaNague 02 (21 page)

           
The
sergeant was preoccupied and ignored Tella’s request for a tour around the
city. But Tella knew how to break through the soldier’s barrier of military
professionalism.

           
“Doesn’t
look like they’ve changed the unit much since I was in the Force.”

           
Prather’s
glossy shaved head snapped up. “You were in the Force? When?” Tella was
suddenly a real person to Prather.

           
“Eight
standards ago. Infantry, like you. Used to be pretty damn good in one of these
things.”

           
“Howcum
you’re out?”

           
Tella
shrugged. “Didn’t get along too well with the brass. You know how it is.”

           
“Yeah,”
Prather agreed with a nod. “They get to some people more than others. But you
say you used to operate a unit like this?”

           
“Almost
like it; this must be a newer model.”

           
Tella
stepped back and looked at the combat suit. It was squatter than the one he’d
trained in, and looked lighter. Except for the prominent Federation star-in-the-ohm
insignia, the unit’s surface was a dull black from the anti-gravity plates in
the feet to the observation dome on the shoulders, but only because it wasn’t
activated. In action it could assume any color scheme for instant camouflage.

           
“It’s the latest.
Easy maintenance, for which I’m glad at the moment. With the Tarks calling it
quits on the research, there’s no telling what they might try.”

           
 
“You don’t really think they’d try anything
against Chornock and his crew, do you?”

           
“They
wouldn’t dare. They know we’re fully armed up there,” he said, jerking a thumb
at the sky, “and they know I’m down here with my unit. We made sure they knew
about that – although we were careful to hide the unit from the natives; they
might not understand that this monstrosity is here for their protection. What I
do worry about is the Tarks trying some sneaky way of wiping out the Rakoans so
they won’t have to wait for them to die of natural causes.”

           
Tella was
at once sickened and amazed at the simple, direct logic of such a solution. And
if the Tarks were only one half as ruthless as their reputation, ways and means
had no doubt long been formulated to bring about such an end.

           
“Well, I’m
sorry, Sergeant,” Tella said, turning away, “but I’ve got to get over to the
Rakoan section of the city. And if you won’t take me, I’ll just have to find my
own way.”

           
“Now just
wait a minute there… Andy, isn’t it?” Tella nodded. “My first name’s Bentham –
Ben – and I don’t see why I can’t take a few minutes out to show an ex-trooper
around the city. Let me get this lubricant off my hands and we’ll be on our
way.”

           
TELLA WAS
GETTING his first good look at the city. The Rakoans obviously had a thing for
spires – every building he saw tapered to a graceful point. And there was a
strange quality to the streets in the way they twisted and turned and
interconnected around the buildings; almost as if the buildings had been set
down wherever the constructor’s fancy indicated, and the roads put in later as
a sort of afterthought. The small, open flitter did not have to make many turns
before Tella was hopelessly lost.

           
“You know
where you’re going, Ben?”

           
“Sure. I
make the trip every day to keep an eye on the natives and make sure the Tarks
aren’t up to anything. You’ll know we’re there when we get there.”

           
Tella
puzzled over that last remark until they rounded the corner of the next
building. There in a clearing stood a building without a spire. It was a low
dome, remarkably crude in comparison to the other architecture of the city, and
around it stood a circle of Rakoans, male and female, shoulder to shoulder.

           
“What’s
going on?”

           
“That’s the
temple
of
Vashtu
,
the ancient god of Rako. At any time of the day or night you can find five
hundred and twelve natives standing around it as a guard. Why that particular
number?” he asked, anticipating Tella. “If you remember that the Rakoans have
four digits on each hand, it’s no surprise that their number system has a root
of eight.”

           
Prather let
the flitter glide toward an ungainly old Rakoan who was strolling toward the
temple carrying a long wooden staff.

           
“That’s
Mintab, the leader of what’s left of the natives. If you want to talk to
someone, it might as well be him. He’s the mouthpiece; his people make all
their decisions as a group. And don’t try to pull anything over on him – he’s a
sly old bird.”

           
Mintab
spotted the flitter and stood waiting as Prather grounded it; he joined the two
humans as they debarked. It was an unholy trio standing there beside the
vehicle: the tall, shaggy-skinned, floppy-nosed Rakoan, the short, dark, stocky
Tella, and the glossy-scalped Prather.

           
The trooper
introduced Tella as the-man-who-wants-to-buy-the-rocks. Although he addressed
Mintab in the Rakoan tongue, Tella’s crash encephalo-augmented course in the
language during the trip out allowed him to understand what was being said.
Speaking Rakoan, however, was a different matter – there were too many nasal
intonations that were impossible to reproduce without practice – but he could
manage to make himself understood if he kept it short and chose his words
carefully.

           
“The furry
ones have left,” Mintab said, turning his gaze on Tella. “When will your people
remove your doctor?”

           
“Soon,”
Tella replied in halting Rakoan. “No answer here. Must take some people away
for answer.”

           
“I have
tried to convince my people of this but they will not listen.” He glanced over
to the encircled dome. “Don’t judge us too harshly. Our manner of living was
not always so primitive. Our dead cities tell you that. We once flew through
the air and talked across the oceans. But there are no longer enough of us to
maintain that level of technology. As our numbers collapsed, so did our means
of production, and thereafter we ran out of precision parts. We are now reduced
to this.”

           
“But why
won’t your people cooperate?”

           
Mintab
started for the dome. “Come. You will see.”

           
The circle
of Rakoans parted for the trio as Mintab led them into the crude structure.

           
“You are
entering the
temple
of
Vashtu
,
Giver of Light and God to us, his chosen race,” he said. “Before you is his
shrine.”

           
In the
center of the gloomy temple stood a huge statue; a good seven or eight meters
in height, it was hand-carved out of a jadelike stone and showed one creature
standing over the slumped form of another.

           
“It looks…old,”
Tella remarked lamely. The lighting, the postures, and the sheer size of the
work gave it an eerie power.

           
“It is
ancient. We do not know when it was carved, but throughout our recorded history
it has been the focus for my race’s religion… now more than ever. It depicts
Vashtu triumphant over the fallen M’lorna, God of Evil and Darkness.”

           
Tella moved
closer. Vashtu was Rakoanoid with a sunburst for a face; he held a staff with a
huge scarlet gem affixed to the end. The creature at his feet was indistinct,
however.

           
“I can’t
see M’lorna.”

           
Mintab
motioned him toward the doorway where the light was slightly better. A carving
on the wall showed a biped creature with a huge single eye where the head
should be, and pincerlike hands. Its body was covered with alternating green
and yellow stripes.

           
“That is
M’lorna.”

           
“But I
still…do not understand… why your people will not help us help them.”

           
“It was in
this very place,” Mintab said, “that Vashtu defeated M’lorna in the days when
our world was new. But M’lorna was proud and swore that he would return and
destroy the
temple
of
Vashtu
.
The great Vashtu gave my people the mission of defending the temple when
M’lorna returns.

           
“Generations
ago, when our cities teemed with healthy millions, we forgot Vashtu and turned
our minds and hearts to other matters. We left the temple unguarded. And for
this dereliction, Vashtu has allowed our numbers to decrease. Soon there will
not be enough of us to adequately guard the temple. And then M’lorna will come
and destroy the temple at his leisure. When that happens, we will have failed
Vashtu and he will cast our spirits adrift among the stars.”

           
“But…”
Tella searched for the phrasing and couldn’t find it. But Mintab seemed to know
what he wanted to say.

           
“None will
leave the planet. A race that was once ruled by reason is again enslaved to
superstition: They fear the day of the Dark One is near and feel they must be
here. I have tried to tell them that Vashtu will understand that they left Rako
for the good of the race, so that it might go on protecting the temple. But
they insist it will be taken as a sign of further desertion of our sacred
trust.” The alien paused; then, “I would leave myself but I am beyond the age
when I would be of use.”

           
Tella could
not read Rakoan expressions, posture, or vocal tone, but there was a very
definite air of hopelessness about Mintab as they walked back into the waning
sunlight.

           
He and
Prather were halfway back to the Terran camp at the edge of the city when the
idea struck him. It was daring, even by his own standards, and would either
land him the crystal contract or land him in a Federation prison. He decided to
check with Jo first.

           
On landing,
he went directly to the communications setup and sent a carefully worded vocal
message to Jo on Ragna. It went out via subspace laser and he decided to spend
a little more time with Prather while waiting for a reply. He had given no
details about what he planned to do, but had hinted that it was legally risky;
he had also mentioned the antibiotic properties of the bassa and wanted to know
if she could find a use for it.

           
Prather was
back at work on his combat unit when Tella found him.

           
“Do they
still have manual controls on the camouflage?” he asked the trooper. “I used to
pull some fancy tricks when I was in the force.”

           
Prather
nodded and showed him the controls. There hadn’t been any significant changes
in the past few years; the console still had a familiar feel. Tella activated
the skin, then adjusted the tint and pattern controls. Prather stepped back and
began to laugh as the combat unit lit up like a red and white barber pole.

           
“Where’d
you learn to do a thing like that, Andy?”

           
“This is
just one of the many things that endeared me to my superiors during my four
years in the force. Whenever I got bored I’d figure out a new way to dress up
my unit. Even figured out a few pornographic ones if you’re interested.”

           
The
communications operator came out then, saying he had a brief message from Ragna
for Mr. Tella. Andy took the player and listened to the recording of Jo’s
reply. Her voice was clear but sounded strained:

           
Andy, I’m
rushing off to Jebinose. Your success on Rako may be more crucial now than even
before, especially if what you say about this bassa is true. As of now, you not
only represent Fairleigh Tubes, but Opsal Pharmaceuticals as well, and can make
tentative arrangements for them should the Rakoans decide to sell bassa. If
you’re successful, notify the interstellar news services without delay. Good
luck.”

           
Tella
handed the player back to the operator, then climbed back into the combat unit.
“Tell me if this reminds you of anything, Ben.”

           
He made
some adjustments on the console, then closed the observation bubble over his
head. The body, arms, and legs of the unit began to glow in green and yellow
stripes while the observation bubble took on a brilliant blue-white color with
a large black spot in the middle.

           
Prather’s
voice came through the earphones: “You know, Andy, that looks a lot like that
God of Evil over in the temple. Whatsisname…?”

           
M’lorna,”
Tella whispered and activated the anti-grav plates.

           
NOT MUCH
LIGHT LEFT, but he didn’t think he’d get lost. After all, he had no intention
of trying to follow the streets. He climbed for altitude and headed in the
general direction of the dome. It was easy to spot from the air and he circled
around in order to approach it from the far side.