The Altar at Asconel (7 page)

T
HE TWO
others had gone up to the control room again. As he approached the door, he heard Vix’s voice raised.

“Well, I know Spartak’s views on this, because he told me.”

“And they are—?” Tiorin prompted.

“That we might have spent months hunting you, maybe going clear to Argus on the false trail you laid, so we should be glad our only delay is this little side trip to Nylock.”

“Suitably philosophical, I guess,” Tiorin replied as Spartak paused outside the door, “for someone who took vows to an order on Annanworld. It’s a hotbed of philosophy, I’m told. For my part, I agree with you—if luck runs your way you ought to grab its tail and hang on tight! Is there no means whereby we could get around the conditioning imposed on you? I’m not conditioned—could you give me a course of instruction and let me fly the ship to Asconel?”

“No, for two reasons.” Spartak slid the door aside and stepped into their view. “First, conditioning of this order of efficiency turns your own mind against your wishes—if Vix were to try and teach you how to pilot the ship, he’d so instruct you as to insure that you set course for where we’re commanded to go. Or, if by some miracle he avoided that trap, he and I and probably Vineta would conspire to take the controls away from you again. And secondly, even if you did succeed in getting us to Asconel, we’d arrive there in the sort of state I was in when they finally brought the antidote for Eunora. Only worse. The strain might literally kill us; I’d certainly expect us to be incurably insane.”

“The girl!” Reminded of his other omnipresent anxiety, Vix tensed. “Did you—uh—cure her?”

“And what was the name you used?” Tiorin added.

“Eunora.” Spartak combed at his beard with agitated fingers. “I guess you could say she’s cured—she’s released from the paralysis, at least. But I’m astonished at how normal and level-headed she seems. It’s not what you’d expect from someone of her age—still very young—treated in such an abominable fashion.” He paused and frowned. “Oh—maybe I’m being overly suspicious. Maybe she’s just so glad to get free of the Imperials and the people who were apt to stone her…”

“Is that what they were going to do?” Tiorin exclaimed.

“So we were told by that fat old fool at the spaceport on Delcadoré,” Vix confirmed. “Well, we have to make the most of our chances such as they are. Spartak, when you came in we were discussing how to tackle the problem. Tiorin has unconfirmed reports of a center of resistance established by Tigrid Zen on Gwo.”

“How old are these reports?” Spartak asked sourly. “Gwo is too close and too obvious for Bucyon to overlook it.” He had been taken to Gwo once, and never forgotten the impression it made on him; marginally habitable, it served Asconel and five or six neighboring systems as, a source of raw materials, the far greater distance for transport as compared with asteroids in their own systems being counterbalanced by the extra convenience of working with breathable atmosphere. It was a bleak, oppressive world, its vegetation drab olive and gray, its climate wet and windy, its oceans perpetually tossed by storms.

The point apparently hadn’t occurred to Vix. He glanced at Tiorin. “Is this something you had from Bucyon’s assassin?”

Tiorin nodded. “But I did confirm the story by checking with the crews of ships that had recently passed within—well—earshot, so to speak, of Asconel. There’s a spaceman’s slang term for that; what is it?”

“Rumor-range,” Spartak answered shortly. “Four kinds of news: standing there, landing there, rumor-range and rubbish.”

Vix gave a humorless chuckle. “I’m surprised at you knowing that, not ever having been a spaceman yourself.”

Spartak made a gesture of dismissal, dropping into a seat “Speaking of Bucyon’s assassin reminded me. Your tracks
may be fairly well covered on Delcadoré, Tiorin—though after meeting Rochard, I’m not so sure of that. Ours certainly are not; the most casual inquiry on Annanworld would give a lead to Vix and me. And Bucyon is hardly likely to rest content with the triple frustration of his attempts at wiping us out. Indeed, I’m amazed he relied on lone agents—in his position, I’d stop at nothing to get rid of all of us.”

Tiorin nodded, his face grave. “The impression I had from the interrogation of the man sent to kill me was that fanatics deluded by the cult of Belizuek acquire the illusion of being invincible, capable of undertaking any mission single-handed. But I grant that this isn’t an impression apt to survive a succession of setbacks like the ones luck has brought us up to now.”

“Fanatics are tricky to handle,” Spartak muttered. “If you catch them on their blind side—say by doing something they define as impossible—you can cope with them easily. If you stand in their way as we must stand in Bucyon’s … Or do we?”

“What do you mean?” Vix snapped. Then a light seemed to dawn on him. “Oh! Do you mean that this errand to dump the mutant girl is something of Bucyon’s doing?”

“A means of getting us out of the way? I doubt it. Even Bucyon could hardly organize a chain of coincidences like that. No, what I mean is this: if he’s managed to inspire dupes like Korisu and the man sent to kill Tiorin, if he’s reduced the citizens to a state of blind adoration, he may feel secure without disposing of us. He may wait for us to come home, frantic with rage, and then pick us off at his own convenience.”

Vix’s face darkened. “By the moons of Argus, I’d like to test that idea! I’d like to set course now for Asconel and pitch Bucyon and his woman Lydis from the top of the Dragon’s Fangs—
ach
!”

The last sound was not a word, but a gasp of agony, and he doubled over. Alarmed, Spartak jolted up from his seat, but Vix waved him back.

“Second time that’s happened,” the redhead wheezed. “If I so much as think about going straight to Asconel, I get a gripping in the guts, but if I speak it out loud, it’s like molten metal being poured into my belly.”

“It’s the conditioning,” Tiorin said. “It must be.”

Spartak nodded. “Think about Nylock,” he urged Vix. “Think about going to Asconel after we’ve left the mutant girl behind. It’ll calm you and you’ll be eased.

“Go on talking on those lines,” Vix whispered. The whole of his face had paled to the whiteness of his long scar.

“Uh—yes.” Spartak turned to Tiorin. “Well, the simple plan is to link up with Tigrid Zen. By the way, though: who is he? Vix assumed that I’d know him, but I don’t recall the name.”

“He was Vix’s senior aide when they were putting down the revolt in the northern islands,” Tiorin said. “A former sea-sailor who entered government service because of the rebellion.”

Spartak nodded. He remembered very vaguely a man with a bushy black moustache and a roaring voice—that would be Tigrid Zen.

“But he’s been closer than we have, he’s had a long time—and we don’t hear news of any progress towards victory.” Tiorin scowled. “We have the mystique of our blood to draw support, descended as we are from the Warden who steered Asconel through the storms which followed the collapse of Argian influence in our sector of the galaxy. That might tip the scales in our favor. But after ourselves, I know no one more likely to rally resistance to Bucyon than Tigrid Zen, and if he’s failed…” He shrugged despondently.

“We’re guessing,” Spartak said angrily. “What we need to do is make straight for Asconel—contact Tigrid Zen if we can, but not chasing him if he’s gone hunting support in some other system. Then on Asconel, perhaps disguised, we ought to—”

He broke off. Tiorin was gazing at him queerly.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“You just said ‘make straight for Asconel’,” Tiorin exclaimed. “And nothing happened to you! When Vix said the same thing, more or less, he doubled up in pain.”

Blank, Spartak tried it again. “We should make straight for Asconel. I want to go straight there now. I intend to go straight there now.” He jumped to his feet. “By the moons of Argus, you’re right! Vix, try it!” Excitedly, he rounded on the redhead.

“I—!” Vix moistened his lips and gathered his courage, fearing another blast of the torture which had overcome him moments earlier. “I want to go to Asconel. Now.”

And slowly a smile replaced his look of anxiety.

“The conditioning’s failed!” Tiorin exploded. “It must have been badly implanted—”

“No!” Spartak rapped. “I felt it, and believe me, I
know.
The psychologists who treated us knew their job. Either we’re suffering from a delusion, implanted as a second line of defense against the breakdown of the main commands, or—No, that can’t be right. We have you as a control, Tiorin; you’re not conditioned, and you’d observe that. Then that leaves one single possibility, and I think I know what it is.”

“Tell us!” cried Vix, almost beside himself with joy at being unexpectedly released from his invisible bonds.

“Eunora,” Spartak said.

“What? The—the mind-reading girl?” Vix took half a pace back as though recoiling from a physical shock. “But—how?”

“I don’t pretend to know that,” Spartak said. “I’m just eliminating the things I know to be out of the question, and I find one unknown factor operating. Let’s go see her and find out—”

“That won’t be necessary,” a soft voice said, and the panel of the door slid aside to reveal Eunora herself. Spartak had not realized till this moment how tiny she actually was; she barely came to Vix’s elbow, and he was the shortest of the three men. She had borrowed one of the costumes he had seen in Vineta’s closet when he boarded the ship on Annanworld, and it hung loosely on her as though she were a child dressing up in her mother’s clothes.

“Eunora! Did you take the conditioning off us?” Spartak blurted.

The girl gave a grave nod.

“Then I can’t begin to tell you how grateful we are!”

“That’s right!” Vix confirmed. His face was alight with enthusiasm. “Why, you may have saved a whole planet’s people by saving us that trip to Nylock!”

Eunora didn’t answer at once. She walked into the control room with careful, mincing steps, seeming still to be
finding out how her unparalyzed legs should support her. Behind her, a trifle nervous, but looking calm enough, came Vineta, who had presumably tried to dissuade her from leaving her cabin and failed.

“I didn’t know about this—this
conditioning,”
the mutant girl said at last. “It was only when I felt the pain and twisting in your mind”—nodding to Vix—“that I decided I had to find out about it. It’s… interesting.”

A nameless premonition filled the air.

“It’s difficult being a mutant,” the soft voice went on. “Hardly daring to use the gift—afraid all the time that it will leak out and then there’ll be… killing. But it’s grown without my noticing. I have more talents than I ever realized. I was able to work on your minds like a locksmith picking locks, locating and releasing all the implanted orders.” She gave a little crazy giggle. “And when you see how it’s done, it’s so simple!”

Spartak’s whole body had gone cold as ice. He waited numbly for her to make the point which he foresaw with terror.

“Asconel. That’s where you want to go. But I don’t think I like the idea much. It’s an Imperial world—or was. So they don’t tolerate my kind of people. Also it’s going to be a place of fighting. I can see that in your mind, Vix. You want to go there and fight against these priests and this man called Bucyon, and because you’re so frightened of having your mind probed you’ll probably be glad if something bad happens to me. Spartak perhaps not—I don’t know. But even he…”

She hesitated. Then she giggled again. “Well, I’ve found out about conditioning now. I see how it’s done. I think I can probably make you do what I want. There’s only one question that remains: it’s such a big galaxy, so where shall I make you take me?”

She looked around, her petrified audience with mocking eyes. “Go on!” she urged. “Think of the other places I might like to be taken—anywhere but Asconel or back where I came from—and then I’ll get you to pilot the ship there!”

H
ORROR-STRUCK
visions raced through Spartak’s mind in three successive and distinct stages.

First, there was the appallingly vivid picture of them all condemned to serve the whim of this mentally unstable girl, slaves bound with unseen chains, compelled to take her on a colossal joyride around the wheel of stars which was the galaxy.

Second, there came a flood of memories of Asconel: its seas, its mountains, its forests and open plains, every recollection painful with yearning. He had resigned himself long ago, that day on the royal island of Gard, to a life of exile, but since Vix came to find him he had without realizing conceived an ache and a desire to go home, that now permeated every fibre of his being. The agony of deprivation was almost physical in its intensity, like hunger or—more nearly—like sex.

And third, as he began to bring his whirling thoughts under control, followed the shadow of a question. Could even Eunora, who had certainly released them from the Imperial conditioning, reverse the process with her supernatural talent, imposing fresh commands in place of those she had wiped out?
Could
she? Surely a mere child would find the range and sweep of adult minds—male minds, moreover—beyond her abilities to master.

Or maybe not. Here there were so many unknown factors, he was almost afraid to believe he dared hope.

But no one said anything. He and his half-brothers simply stared at Eunora, as though her tiny face and body held an infinite fascination for them. Bit by bit, the waiting grew to be a strain on her, and the expression of mocking triumph she wore gave place to a look of uncertainty.

At last she burst out, “Do as I tell you! Do as I tell you!” But the words were tinged with hysteria.

Behind her shoulder, Spartak saw Vineta move. She came forward into the middle of the control room floor, and spoke unexpectedly in a level voice.

“I want to go to Asconel. Because that’s where Vix wants to go.”

“Shut up!” Eunora rounded on her, the skin around her eyes crinkling up as though she were about to cry.

Murmurs of astonishment came from Vix and Tiorin. Spartak was not less surprised than they at Vineta’s intervention, but he was perhaps better equipped to see how it was possible than they were. He forced his thinking along the most promising line, remembering that Eunora was exposed to all of them at once.

Deliberately he fanned the coals of his resentment into flame, visualizing her as she had been when she was brought to the ship—corpse-stiff, kept alive only by machines, and suffering unspeakable cramps and soreness.
Is this how you repay our help?
he whispered wordlessly inside his head. And beyond that, more subtly:
Is this the life you want, for years, forever perhaps—the loneliness of power, without love, without friendship and trust?

“Stop it!” she whimpered, and dashed at him to beat with her little absurd fists on his chest. He folded his arms and stared sternly down at her.

Once you begin it, you can never stop.
And behind the thought, carefully constructed pictures of faceless people, by hundreds and then by thousands, plotting to escape from her control and drive her down to final darkness.

“Stop it!” she shrieked again.

He complied, and thought instead of Asconel, a fair world, hospitable and kindly, with himself and Vix and Tiorin and Eunora too enjoying its sunshine, its wine, its fields and cities.

Helpless, the girl bent over and covered her face with, her hands. The threatened onslaught of tears overcame her. Impulsively, Vineta put her arm around her shoulders, and she turned and buried her sobs in the long dark hair.

“What—what happened?” Vix whispered, moving as though waking from nightmare.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Vineta could tell you,” Spartak answered slowly. “You’ve been underestimating this girl of yours, Vix! She thinks very clearly indeed.”

Vineta, comforting the weeping Eunora, shook her head. “I only know what store Vix sets by going to Asconel. And
I couldn’t bear to think of him—and all of you—being turned into toys for
her.”

“And there you have it,” Spartak grunted. “Eunora found it easy to release the conditioning the Imperial psychologists imposed on us, but to implant new commands of her own against the terrible need we all have to go home and set our people free—that’s not something one untrained child can achieve!”

“But—” Vix started to object.

“Think of it this way,” Spartak interrupted. “Anyone can take a ship out to space, yes? Because space is big and open, and there’s a margin for error of a million miles if you need it. But landing is something different again; one aims for a spaceport perhaps no more than a mile across, and probably for a berth measured in yards rather than miles. That takes skill and long practice. Similarly, wiping out commands which the victim resents is easy for Eunora. To overcome our resistance and bend us to her will proved beyond her.”

“But never mind how it was done,” Tiorin snapped, wiping sweat from his furrowed brow. “The question is, how do we cope with her from now on? If she’s apt to repeat that little performance—”

“Dump her in space,” Vix said shortly. The naked brutality of the words jolted all of them, and especially Eunora, who spun in terror to gaze at him.

“That’s disgusting, Vix!” Tiorin countered. “Nonetheless—since you’re free of the compulsion to take her to Nylock, I think we should put her down on the nearest habitable planet and be glad to be rid of her.”

“I…” Vineta let the word hang timidly in the air. Spartak gave her an encouraging nod.

“Go on, Vineta. Like I said, you’re a clearer thinker than most people. I’d be interested to hear your view.”

“Well…” Vineta licked her lips. “I’ve heard from Vix that this mysterious woman Lydis gained power over your late brother Hodat by appearing to read his thoughts. And what I’ve heard, too, about the way the people on Asconel have been changed from free independent citizens to blind fanatic dupes of the Belizuek cult sounds like the effect of some sort of conditioning. I—well, I didn’t have a very happy
childhood. Even though I wasn’t set apart from everybody the way Eunora is, I often felt the way she did just now—desperate to get even with the universe, wanting to be as cruel to others as they had been to me. So I can’t even be angry with her.

“And…” She hesitated. “I can’t see into your minds the way she can, but I do believe that you’re the nicest people I’ve ever had to deal with. Vix, for all that you have a temper like a star going nova, you can be very kind, and Spartak here is such a gentle person, and strong inside too. I think perhaps when she’s recovered from the dreadful things they did to her on Delcadoré, Eunora will see that the same as I do. And when she does—well, isn’t it going to be tremendously valuable to have someone with us who can see into people’s inmost thoughts? Won’t it save months of spying and guessing, trying to find out how Bucyon keeps his hold on your citizens at home?”

There was a pause. Tiorin broke it.

“I see what Spartak means about you, girl. I hadn’t looked at it that way myself. But it’s the first really constructive suggestion I’ve heard for tackling the problem we face. My one reservation is that we can’t be sure about Eunora. Are we to undo the effects of years of maltreatment in a few days?”

Spartak drew a deep breath. “I’d be willing to try, if she’ll cooperate.”

Eunora gave a little frightened cry. “I see what’s in your mind, Spartak! No! No!”

No?
His sober bearded face bent close to hers, he let himself think through the idea in detail, trying to maintain the same mood in which he had taken his vows to the order he joined on Annanworld: the sense of disgust inspired by the stupid violence attending the collapse of Imperial authority, the longing for rationality, calm judgment and peace which drove him to his self-imposed exile.

But it wasn’t that, he realized later, which impressed her. It was the memory of the agony he suffered while waiting for the antidote to be brought so that he could release her from catatone paralysis.

“I don’t like this,” Vix muttered in the background. “I still feel we’d be better off if we got rid of her.”

“Wait,” Tiorin counseled. “Look now!”

With an expression of total childlike trust, she had put her tiny hand in Spartak’s large one, and he was leading her without another word from the control room.

“What?” Vix demanded. “What?”

It was Vineta who answered, her eyes on the door which had closed behind Spartak. “I think she saw what he endured for her sake before we left Delcadoré, and decided that if he could do that for her, she could do as much for him.”

When Spartak returned, much later, his face was stamped with incredible weariness.

“She’s sleeping,” he said in answer to an eager question from Tiorin. “Oh, but I’ve dug some foulness from that mind of hers! Like seeking jewels in a pile of dung!”

Obviously not yet convinced of the wisdom of keeping Eunora aboard, Vix demanded harshly, “What did you do?”

“Hm?” Rubbing his eyes, Spartak spoke around a yawn. “Oh—I gave her some of the same drug I used on Korisu. I told you it was employed in psychotherapy. Before she’s capable of liking us, or anyone, she’s got to be cleansed of the hate she’s conceived for the human race—and are you surprised at that hate? The Empire, afraid of being toppled by some superiorly gifted assailant, made it policy to deport mutants, and the common people turned that policy into fear for their own security. You’d stand up to a raving crowd, defying them with your gun, or a sword, or your bare fists if it came to that. But she’s a child! How can she understand and forgive a mob of fools driven out of their minds with superstitious terror?”

Vix hesitated for a long moment. Finally he shrugged. “I don’t like the idea, but—but you know a few things I don’t, having spent so long with your nose buried in your books. So far, things have turned out well for us. I’ll go along with you. But if she pulls another trick like the one she scared us with, I’ll dump her in space as I said I would!”

“She’s not less human because she’s a mutant,” Vineta summed up. “She’s a hundred per cent human—
plus.”

“Well said,” Tiorin approved. “Now, though, we have
a choice to make, Spartak. Vix feels we should go directly to Asconel, for fear of wasting any more time. I think it would be safer to try and contact Tigrid Zen on Gwo. Things have changed terribly on Asconel; even if we disguise ourselves, we might be betrayed by some chance ignorance”

“But will Tigrid Zen be any better informed?” Vix challenged. “If the stories we hear about Bucyon’s mastery of Asconel are correct, he won’t simply be able to come and go freely. He may not even have been able to land ships at home. And someone who’s totally cut off can’t give us much guidance.”

“I’ll give you one sound reason for visiting Gwo first,” Spartak said. “Vineta reminded us of it, just now. Lydis is alleged to be a mind-reader too. Suppose she’s one of many; suppose the technique whereby Bucyon overcame all resistance so easily is a mutant trick. How do we disguise our minds against discovery?”

Vix blanched. With the memory of Eunora’s powers fresh as it was, that shaft struck home in him. He admitted, “I hadn’t considered that. If you’re right, though, would—?”

“I don’t know if Tigrid Zen could advise us,” Spartak cut in, stretching his exhausted limbs. “But he could warn us. I say we make first for Gwo anyway.”

“I’ll set up the revised course, then,” Vix muttered, and moved to the controls.