The Tar-aiym Krang (22 page)

“Captain,” came Wolf’s voice over the comm, “this makes me ill. Is there no other way . . .?”

“No other way, Wolf. I would rather fight too, but. . . . Leave open the transcomm for them to follow down, as he requested. At least our work here appears to have been fruitless, or I wouldn’t consider such an alternative. We can wish them much of the same. Whatever they find in the city they are welcome to. It’s been something of a wild
mbizu
chase after all.”

“But he as much as threatened murder . . .!”

“Wolf, please, I know.
Jua
is hard. Still, we’ve little choice. I don’t trust him, either. But he
could
simply leave now and return for our emaciated corpses later. No, I’m betting he’d rather pick up the extra credit my offer holds. Why shouldn’t he?” He shrugged, despite the fact that Wolf couldn’t see it.

“Wolf, if the odds weren’t so
nyani
-sided . . . !” He sighed. “House rules.”

“I understand, captain.”

Malaika switched off and sat down heavily on one of the alien benches, looking suddenly very old and tired.

“Of course, if you gentlesirs had discovered how to make this
mashineuzi
work, I wouldn’t even consider. . . .”

“We understand, too, captain,” said Tse-Mallory. “A bad choice is no choice. We never worried for ourselves. He must at least display us to Nuaman to convince her of our uselessness. And our abrupt disappearance, too, would cause discussion in certain quarters.”

“Nuaman.
Damn
that bitch!” He looked upward. “This day I forget forever that creature is human and
mwanamke!”
He noted Flinx’s glance. “She ceased to be a
bibi,
a lady,
kijana,
long before you were born.”

Chapter Twenty

Kilometers above, a very satisfied Able Nikosos leaned back in his lounge in the plush shuttle cabin and relayed orders to his pilots. He rubbed his hands together. Things had gone nicely, nicely. Almost as nicely as if he had received that map as scheduled, back on Moth. The presence of Malaika already down on the planet made things a mite more complicated, but not overmuch. It appeared that it would make things more profitable. Besides collecting a fat bonus from the old witch for successfully carrying out a mission more difficult than originally assigned, there would be the matter of the wealthy Malaika’s ransom . . . payable in advance. As preplanned, the two braincases would be shipped off to Nuaman. As soon as a decent amount of the ransom had been paid—wasn’t Malaika’s word good now?—the boy could be shunted out the nearest lock. As for the two women, well, the ancestral homestead was in need of a few new toys. The price of healthy young women had gone up insufferably in the past few years. Insufferably! All the fault of those damned priggish Churchmen. “Violence is unsanitary,” indeed! At the rate he used them up his hobby was becoming prohibitively expensive. Shameful! The addition of two new, free faces (and bodies, oh yes!) would therefore be a financial as well as an aesthetic bonus. He did not doubt but that they would both prove young and attractive. Otherwise what business would they have with the roguish Malaika?

If they weren’t his type, quite, he could still use them. Less artistically, perhaps, but they might still remain servicable. And he was not known as a connoisseur for nothing.

The shuttle’s delta wings began to unfold as it dipped toward atmosphere.

Chapter Twenty-one

Malaika, Tse-Mallory, Truzenzuzex, and Flinx were making their way slowly back to the crawler. No one spoke. Flinx had already determined not to let his gun be taken from him without argument. He could prove equally adept at treachery! He’d read the confusion and little piggish thoughts Nikosos had been having, difficult as it had been with their owner moving so rapidly above the planet’s surface. He trusted him now about as far as he could throw the
Gloryhole.
That the two scientists and Malaika would get off safely was a possibility, but from the agent’s thoughts the chance that he and the women would do likewise seemed small in the light of what he had read. In the final analysis he would not count—no, not
expect
the merchant to put his life on the line for him, or for the women, or even for the scientists. Survival is an argument that morals do not even belong in the same class with. So he’d best plan on taking some action on his own. It was an unflattering but logical evaluation of their present situation. That scared him almost as much as the reality of it did. He shivered slightly, despite the warmth.

Something had been bothering him for the last few minutes, in addition to the expected quota of fearful anticipation. He shrugged his shoulders despite the lack of an itch there. That was it! Not an itch, but the lack of a persistent and familiar one. The minidrag was elsewhere. In the absorption of the past moments and his concentration on the agent’s mind, he’d not noticed that the reptile was missing. He turned abruptly.

“Pip? Where’s Pip?”

“Just to be certain,” murmured Malaika, not hearing Flinx’s low inquiry. He flipped his comm. “Wolf, I don’t like to play without at least a few cards. Break out the rifle and set it up facing the entranceway.”

“Yes,
captain!”
came the enthusiastic reply.

“If this fellow has us so neatly tied up and packaged,” said Tse-Mallory, “why bother with the gun? I thought you’d given up once and for all the idea of our fighting our way out of this?”

Flinx searched the air around them. The snake was still not visible. He felt naked without the familiar reptilian presence.

“So I have, more or less. We know that he has us packaged, and he knows that he has us packaged, but he doesn’t know that we know he has us packaged.”

“Simplify that, please.”

“
Ndiyo.
Sure. Put it this way. A man negotiates with considerably less arrogance than he might when he knows he’s sitting under the gun of a man who fears for his life. We’ve little enough in the way of levers so that we’ve got to use the slightest we can find.”

Despite Flinx’s varieties of calls, whistles, and entreaties the minidrag had not shown itself. It was unusual, but not unprecedented. Sometimes the snake had a mind of its own. Truzenzuzex couldn’t duplicate the stuttering calls Flinx was using, but the insect was helping with the visual portion of the search. It served to take his mind at least temporarily off their unfortunate circumstances.

“Where would he be likely to hide, lad?” asked the scientist.

“Oh, I’m not sure, sir. Different places.” He was becoming honestly concerned now and listened with only one ear to the philosoph’s questions. He could not sense the minidrag’s presence and that alone worried him. “He doesn’t do this sort of thing often. I suppose the depression in the atmosphere got to him. He’s sensitive to that, you know. He does prefer cool, closed-in places. Like. . . .”

He broke off in shock. In the distance he could see the minidrag. Even as be watched, it fluttered about the transparent dome. Its natural curiosity got the better of it then, because despite a warning thought from Flinx it poked its head under the attractive shape of the helmet. What happened next surprised both watchers. The minidrag did an awkward turn in the air and seemed to fall in on itself, collapsing into a tight curl at the very highest point of the helmet. It lay still, unmoving, within the structure, which now pulsed an uncertain yellow.

All thoughts of their immediate difficulties were instantly discarded in a paroxysm of fear for his lifelong companion. Heedless of Truzenzuzex’s cautions he plunged forward at a run for the place they’d just left. Malaika turned and uttered an oath, charging after the boy. His bandy legs were no match for those of the youth but moved at a respectable speed nonetheless.

As he neared the dome Flinx noted a slight but definite tremor underfoot. He paid it no heed.

Truzenzuzex did. He glanced at Tse-Mallory.

“Yes, brother. I felt it too.” His voice was reflective. Another tremor, stronger this time.

“What occurs?” said a puzzled Truzenzuzex. “I thought we’d established that this part of the planet, at least, was plutonically secure.” He stared uneasily at the vaulting walls, gauging their strength and stability.

The gentle shaking started again, only this time it was somewhat less than gentle. And it didn’t stop. It grew progressively louder and more forceful, and although no one noticed it, it did so as Flinx drew closer to the dome.

The steady vibration was, felt, no,
sensed,
more than heard. It bespoke power somewhere deep below.

“What
is
going on?” whispered Tse-Mallory.

“
Elitat!
I’m not sure, replied the philosoph in equally subdued tones, “but I think perhaps our puzzle is setting about answering itself.”

Flinx had mounted the dais and was moving toward the dome. Pip had still not moved. He barely noticed the tremors which were shaking the structure. As he neared his motionless pet the odd buzzing which had begun in his head began to get worse. He shook his head impatiently to clear it but with no effect. There was an odd feeling of euphoria alternating with the pain.

Don’t fight it, something seemed to whisper. He heard waves on a beach, breaking softly. The minidrag’s eyes were shut tightly. It appeared to be jerking to the strains of some silent song. His first thought was of convulsions, but the reptile’s movements, although irregular, seemed too even for that. He started to reach under the great helmet for his troubled pet. The buzzing increased and he reeled backward under a startling attack of dizziness.

DON’T . . . FIGHT . . . YOU!

Pip’s in . . . trouble. Trouble.

He shook his head again and this time it seemed to give him a little relief. Blurred, his thoughts were blurred. He focused watery eyes on the snake and plunged drunkenly under the helmet

E*P*I*P*H*A*N*Y.

Inside his skull an ancient dam, weakened by chance and evolution, collapsed. The surge of stuff behind it was awesome.

The normally transparent structure of the dome exploded in a mass of scintillating, brilliantine auroras. From crown to base, all the colors of the visible spectrum . . . and probably those of the invisible also. Purples, greens, golds dominated the reds, blues, and other primes. A corruscating maelstrom of angry, almost metallic iridescence wove intricate and indecipherable patterns within the material of the dome itself. Faerie grids of phosphorescence, foxfire, and ball-lightning etched spiderwebs of light in the air within the building.

On the bench within the dome within the building that was the Krang, Flinx lay stilled in seeming unconsciousness next to his now quiescent pet. The helmet above them pulsed a deep and fiery violet.

“Captain. . . .” Wolf’s voice fluttered distorted by waterfalls of static over the crackling communit, but Malaika didn’t notice. He had pulled up short in astonishment as soon as the dome had begun its eye-blinding display.

The gigantic pipes of the machine pulsed with anvillike ringings, circlets of lambent electricity crawling up their sides like parasitic haloes. They crackled viciously, much as ripping plastic foil.

“. . . interspace call . . . !” Wolf didn’t have a chance to pick up Malaika’s acknowledgement, for the voice of Nikosos overrode the pilot’s on the channel.

“What are you trying down there, merchant? No tricks, I warn you! I will have my men destroy your ship! I wish only a transmitter signal. A whole section of the continent to your east is . . . glowing, yes, glowing, under the surface, it seems. The place looks like it’s on fire. I don’t know what you’re up to, man, but if you so much as . . .”

The voice disappeared in a Niagara of interference. At that moment the world became filled with H’s, U’s, N’s, and for some reason, especially G’s.

Malaika took one step forward and dropped to the floor as if he’d been axed. At least, later, he thought he’d fallen. For all he could actually remember, he might have floated. The air in the ampitheater suddenly seemed to exert its presence, forcing him back and down. He was drowning in it.
Msaada!
Funny, they’d never noticed how dense it was. Dense. His head was imprisoned in a giant vise . . . no, not a vise. A thousand million jackboots drummed alien marches on the sides of his head while a conspiracy of laughing electrons tried to pull his scalp off. He smelled burnt-orange.

As he rolled on the floor trying to keep his head together while it insisted on flying apart, he caught a glimpse of Tse-Mallory. The sociologist was in similar shape. His face was a terrifying sight as he battled the force that was pushing them all toward gentle madness. Deprived of full rational control, the tall body twisted and flopped on the pale white floor like a suffocating
samaki.
Truzenzuzex, on the other hand, was sprawled motionless on his back. His eye membranes were closed for the first time the merchant could recall. Nowhere could he see what might have stimulated the reflex. The philosoph’s legs were extended straight out and stiff, but the hands and foothands waved feebly in the electrostatically charged air.

Down below, the trillion kilometers of circuitry (and other things) that was the dormant mind of the Krang stirred, awoke. A-class mind, yes. But
blocked! Naturally
blocked! And, what’s more, unaware of itself! It was unheard of! An A-class mind could be reduced, yes, but only artificially. Blocked? Never! And
naturally!
The situation was . . . unnatural. It conflicted with the Law.

The Krang found itself confronted with a Unique Circumstance. It would be forced to the ultimate mechanical decision. Taking the initiative. But it could not operate itself itself. The mind above was essential/needed/required. It probed gently. Once the blocks were removed . . . cooperation. . . .

ADJUST YOUR CELLS, ORGANISM . . . SO!

Gently, gently.

Above, the body of Flinx jerked once.

I can’t do that!

YOU MUST. IT IS . . . NECESSARY.

It hurts!

IGNORANCE HURTS. TRY.

Flinx’s inert body squirmed again. His head throbbed unmercifully, seeming to grow to impossible proportions.

I . . . can’t!

The Krang considered. Stronger pulsation could remove the blockage forcefully . . . and possibly destroy the mind forever. Consider alternatives. If blocked, how was the mind able to stimulate initial activation in the first place?

It required the fraction of a nanosecond to locate the answer. There was a catalyst mind nearby. That Explained. In referents the Krang was familiar with. Working swiftly through the moderating channels of the C-mind, the great machine made the necessary adjustments/tunings in the A-class brain. Gratefully, it sensed the barriers go down/dissolve. It was easy, this time. They had been weak and perforated to begin with. ETTA energies started to flow in the waiting floways. Further intervention was no longer required.

E*N*T*R*O*P*Y*R*E*A*L*I*Z*A*T*I*O*N.

In an instant of falling glass shards Flinx perceived the entire universe. It appeared as a very small, opaque ball of crystal. The instant passed, but he saw things clearly for the first time. Yes, much more clearly. He sensed things only half-noticed, suspected, before. And things not noticed at all. He saw the marvelous structure that was the Krang. He perceived the marvelous structure that was himself. Certain energies were required fully to awaken the instrument. Only a tiny part of it pulsed with awareness now. Here, and here, yes.

The Krang awoke. To full awakefulness for the first time in half a million years. Hymn-march. Glorianus! The threnody that flowed from the now attuned activator-mind was an unfamiliar one and crude in technique. But the Krang realized that in five hundred millenia tastes might have changed. The important thing was that the Screen had gone up automatically the instant the tune had supplied the necessary keying impulses.

The Krang’s sensors instantly scanned the sky for light-years in all directions. Since the activator had done nothing on an instructional level except to broadcast sensations of danger, the machine instituted a general optimum scan pattern and hoped it would prove sufficient. It recognized the activator now as a novice. He would have to be guided. Somewhere a minor circuit dutifully noted that a single ship of alien construct had been pulverized at the moment of Screen activation, caught as it went up. A close call! Again the Krang regretted it could operate at only partial consciousness until the moment of full stimulation. Fortunately, the vessel had not penetrated. No harm done. The activator was informed and concurred. Another ship—no, two—lurked just outside the Screen. Although it remained stationary and made no hostile gestures, the activating mind directed the Krang to focus on the area of space occupied by the larger of the two vessels. Obediently, the machine complied.

Its field of effective close-range focus was a minimum thousand-kilometer sphere. It would have no trouble impacting the single indicated craft while missing the other. Those incredible sensors could line up the necessary cone of projection within a meter of any desired point. That was far more than necessary. It drew the necessary information as to specifics from a now cooperating A-mind. If the Krang had had feet, it would have been tapping them.

Above, the rhythmic pulsations that were making a pulp of Tse-Mallory’s thoughts let up momentarily. They were instantly transformed into an utterly indescribable cross between a modulated screech and a bellow. The supersonic shriek of a bat amplified a million times and made audible, backed with electric trumpets and kettledrums. Even so, it did not press as intolerably onto his skull as had the other. The sociologist was able to roll onto his back and lie still, panting and gasping irregularly for the hostile air which seemed intent on evading his lungs.