Land and Overland - Omnibus (101 page)

Toller accepted the weapon from Steenameert, closing his fingers around the familiar mouldings of the haft, and pressed the tip of the blade to the alien's throat. Crimson stars sparkled across his vision.

"What am I going to do, greyface?" he whispered. "Why, I am going to part your head from your foul body unless you stop telling me what
you
want me to hear and start telling me what I want to hear. Has your wonderful intellect absorbed that message? Tell me—
now!
—how I can rescue our women." He bored with the steel blade into Divivvidiv's throat.

The alien's black-rimmed mouth distorted and his frail body began its convulsive trembling, but this time the threat of instant death did not entirely destroy his self-control.
I have told you all there is to tell. You have to understand the situation—there is nothing you can do.

"I could kill you!"

Yes, but what would that achieve? Nothing!
Nothing!

"I…" Toller refused to be diverted. "You said the women were transported to your world … instantaneously … by one of your machines…"

Yes?

"In that case, we will pursue them by the same mode of transport," Toller ground out, shocked by his own words.

The quaking of Divivvidiv's body grew less severe.
Is there no end to your obtuseness, Toller Maraquine? You ask to be transported to the heart of a Dussarran mega-city, the population of which is in excess of thirty millions! What do you think you and your companion could achieve there?

"I would have you as a hostage. I will bargain with your miserable life."

The tremors in Divivvidiv's frame ceased altogether.
This is quite incredible, but there is just a chance
—
infinitesimal though it may be
—
that in your blind and primitive stubbornness you could succeed where vastly superior beings would have been doomed to failure. What an intriguing concept! This could even form a major topic for discussion at the next meeting of the…

"Enough!" Still gripping the alien's shoulder with his left hand, Toller lowered his sword slightly. "You will do as I command? You will take us to Dussarra?"

You leave me no choice. We will go immediately.

"This is more to my liking." Toller released his grip on Divivvidiv's shoulder, then tightened his fingers again, so fiercely that the alien winced. "Or is it less to my liking?"

I do not understand you! What has happened?

"You ceased your shivering, greyface. You ceased being afraid."

But that was a natural reaction to your new proposal.

"Was it? I don't trust you, greyface." Toller produced a cold smile. "This is the way we Primitives conduct ourselves when negotiating with an enemy. We rely to a great extent on our brute instincts—the instincts which are so despised by an advanced being like you—and mine are telling me that you would
like
us to proceed to Dussarra by way of your magical machine. I suspect that were we to do so I would be immediately overwhelmed, or rendered unconscious, or disadvantaged in some other way which would put me at your mercy."

There would be no point in my pitting reason against your

wild and uninformed imaginings. A
note of challenge had begun to insinuate itself into Divivvidiv's manner.
May I therefore be informed as to what fresh proposals you are going to put forward under the aegis of your treasured primitive instincts?

"Certainly!" Toller thought of his grandfather and smiled again. "I am taking you to Dussarra as my hostage—exactly as planned—but the journey will be completed without resort to geometrical sorceries. Two good Kolcorronian spaceships—built of the finest wood and fully provisioned—are waiting close by.

"One of them will carry the three of us to Dussarra."

The Primitive's words, coming at Divivvidiv out of shifting and formless blurs of emotional activity, were so unexpected—so ludicrous in their content—that at first he felt little sense of shock or alarm. It had been disconcerting to find that the Primitives were capable of coordinated, purposeful action while their neural systems were emitting no coherent signals, but he had put that down as a transient condition brought about by rage or fear. Surely an accidental sequence of words, with only a superficial resemblance to a rational sentence, would be abandoned by the larger Primitive as soon as the storms subsided in his mind.

"What do you think of that idea?" the Primitive said, his disgustingly pink and thick-lipped mouth widening.

Divivvidiv gazed at him for a moment and felt the beginnings of terror as he observed alien mental processes slowly taking place. The Primitive had heard his own words as if they were being uttered by another being. He had been almost as surprised as Divivvidiv by their content, but now he was returning to what passed for his rational mode of cerebration and was actually assuming responsibility for the words and the preposterous notion they embodied.

The idea is insane,
Divivvidiv projected.
You do not have to try putting it into practice merely because you verbalized it in a moment of stress. Be sensible, Toller Maraquine
—
protect your modern self from your ancient self!

Divivvidiv forced an understanding of his thoughts into the Primitive's mind, fully expecting the odiferous giant to modify his mental stance. To Divivvidiv's dismay the Primitive reacted with a blend of contempt, amusement, pride and sheerest blind obstinacy.

"Stiffen your backbone, greyface," he boomed. "And try to show proper gratitude to me! You have tested my patience with your boasts about your kind's space-faring prowess—if that word can be applied to your geometrical sorceries—but now I am going to acquaint you with the
realities
of going into the black.

"My paternal grandfather—whose name I am proud to bear—was the first man to take one of our spaceships to another world, and I feel privileged that destiny has called upon me to emulate his exploits. Get back into your silver fineries, greyface—we have work ahead of us."

But this is suicidal! It is madness!
Divivvidiv felt himself begin to quiver at the prospect of having to risk his life in one of the barbaric wooden shells he had examined so briefly in the preliminary phase of the Xa's development. He had preserved the flimsy artifacts on the chance that the Director might show some interest in their origins. Why had he not had the foresight to destroy them? And why had the designers of the station—those autocrats in the high levels of the Palace of Numbers—not allowed for the possibility of alien intruders?

"Suicidal, you say? Not as suicidal as allowing you to … teleport … me into the centre of one of your cities." The larger Primitive slackened his grip on Divivvidiv's shoulder a little, lessening the pain.

The giant was swelling in confidence with every second, but Divivvidiv was aware of a growing disquiet in the mind of his companion. He could not analyze the feeling for the present, because too much of his mental capacity was being taken up in dealing with his predicament, but he hoped that Steenameert was going to put forward a rational argument against using one of the wooden spaceships. At the low-brain level of communication, Divivvidiv could hear the Xa calling to him, a distracting undertone which added to an already dangerous degree of stress.

You have no astrogational instruments of any kind, therefore the journey you contemplate is impossible.
A new thought occurred to Divivvidiv.
I know you actually believe that your grandfather flew one of your ships to another world, but without-a precise knowledge of the vessel's speed and…

"He had help with the various computations." The giant pressed harder with the tip of his sword, the weapon with which he appeared to compensate for his mental inadequacies. "You will provide me with the same assistance. You are equal to the task, aren't you, greyface? I mean, you have already spoken at length about your immeasurable superiority in all the sciences."

I still say the risks are unjustifiable. Your so-called spaceship could have deteriorated beyond…
Divivvidiv left the thought uncompleted as the second barbarian suddenly gave voice to his anxieties.

"Can I have a word, sir?" His worried gaze was fixed on the giant's face. "Just a brief word?"

"What is it, Baten?"

Divivvidiv gained access to what was coming and was disappointed when he realized that Steenameert's concern was less with immediate practicalities than with the cosmological overview he had been given earlier. Nevertheless, his intervention diverted most of the giant's crude mindforce away from Divivvidiv and gave him a welcome opportunity to take stock of his situation.

What is happening, Beloved Creator?
The Xa found its way into Divivvidiv's mind on the instant.
I have repaired the damage to my body, but I still feel some pain. I wish I had sense organs capable of seeing and hearing within the station. Are the Primitives with you?

That is no concern of yours.

But there has been talk of ropes, Beloved Creator! From you? Are you capable of issuing words which do not correspond to reality?

No ethical being has that capability,
Divivvidiv replied irritably.
Be calm!

Are you an ethical being, Beloved Creator?

Be calm, I tell you!
Divivvidiv closed all his low-brain channels in an effort to end the Xa's pestering.

"The scarecrow told us of a vast explosion, sir," Steenameert said to the giant. "We have to take note of what he said. Entire galaxies will be annihilated! According to him Overland and Land will soon be destroyed in one great flash!"

"Baten, why do you plague me with all this talk of galaxies and explosions at this time?"

The smaller Primitive's repulsive features showed signs of agitation. "He said it would happen
soon,
sir."

"Soon? How soon is soon?"

"That is what we must find out."

Beloved Creator!
Divivvidiv was shocked to find that the Xa had regained access to his mind, apparently with little effort.
Did you say to the Primitives that I am to be killed only six days from now?

The way in which the question was framed revealed to Divivvidiv that a communications leakage had developed somewhere in the station's heavy shielding, enabling the Xa to pick up wisps of mental interactions which should have been denied to it. Useful though the discovery would have been at another time, it now served only to aggravate his feelings of anger and alarm.

I command you!
He projected the words at the Xa with all the force he could gather.
Go into general quiescence and remain in that condition until I recall you.

"…asking you, greyface," the giant was shouting, "how long will it be until my home world is affected by the explosion of which you spoke?"

I cannot be precise—but two hundred of your years is a likely figure.

"Two hundred years." The giant glanced at his companion. "It seems a short span for a world, but for me—at this very moment—it seems an eternity. There is much to do, Baten, and we must act quickly."

More quickly than you realize,
Divivvidiv added, encircling the thought with all the defences of his high-brain so that not even the Xa could gain a hint of what was going on in his mind. The guilt which had formerly troubled him each time he remembered the fate his kind was planning for the inhabitants of the twin worlds had been erased, for the present anyway. The raw emotions of contempt, disgust and fear engendered in him by his gigantic captor had seen to that.

In only ten days, Toller Maraquine,
he thought,
your insignificant little home world will cease to exist.

When Cassyll Maraquine emerged from the palace he was perspiring freely. Regardless of the impropriety for one of his station, he immediately took off his formal tabard and opened his blouse at the neck, allowing heat to escape from his body. He breathed deeply of the fresh morning air and looked around for Bartan Drumme.

"You look like a boiled lobster," Bartan commented jovially, emerging from behind the base of the heroic statue of King Chakkell which dominated the forecourt as Chakkell had once dominated the entire planet.

"It was like a baker's oven in there." Cassyll dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. "Daseene is killing herself, living in conditions like that, but when I try to advise her to take the air…"

"What is the point of being the ruler if you can't make death the subject of royal edicts?"

"This is not a fit topic for jests," Cassyll said. "I fear that Daseene has only a little time left to her—and this astonishing business of the barrier, plus her worries about the well-being of Countess Vantara, can only make matters worse."

"You must be concerned for Toller's safety. Is there a scale upon which such emotions are balanced? Upon which your feelings weigh less heavily on the pan than those of Daseene?"

"Toller can take care of himself."

Bartan nodded. "Yes, but he isn't his grandfather."

"What does that mean? What manner of convoluted family tree would I have if my father and my son were one and the same?" Cassyll demanded, not hiding his vexation.

"I'm sorry, old friend. I love young Toller almost as much as…" Bartan raised his shoulders to a level with his ears, a way of agreeing that they should talk about other things. "Shall we find a comfortable seat?"

"It would be preferable to an uncomfortable seat."

The two men, forcibly nudging each other to show that their friendship was still intact, walked in the direction of the Lain River. They reached it near the Lord Glo Bridge, turned east along the embankment and sat down on a marble bench. The air was quiet and balmy, pervaded by the kind of privileged mid-morning calmness which is typical of administrative districts in capital cities. Ptertha were plentiful that morning, glistening like glass spheres as they followed the course of the river, darting and swooping a few feet above the surface of the breeze-ruffled water.