Android at Arms (2 page)

He nodded again. “There are a number of ‘whys' for us, lady. And the sooner we get some answers, the better.”

She spoke Basic as well as he, Andas noted, which meant that she was from some planet within the general sphere of influence of the Terran outflow in the past. But since no man recently had attempted to number those worlds, there was no reason why she should know his home system, any more than he hers.

“Do not leave me!” She caught his sleeve as he turned back to the door.

“Come quietly then,” he ordered.

But an instant later they heard a footfall in the dark corridor that made them both tense. A shadowy form appeared in the doorway. Andas half crouched, his hands ready to deliver the blows he had been drilled in.

“Peace!” The newcomer held up a hand, palm out in a gesture of good will as old as time in the galaxy. He was a little taller than Andas, but this time his race was known to the prince.

Salariki! From his point-tipped ears to his sandaled feet, their claws retracted now, he was unmistakably of that feline ancestry. The fur on his head and outer arms and down his shoulders and spine was blue-gray, his skin a shade or so darker. And the slanted eyes in his broad face were a brilliant blue-green. He did not wear a coverall like the other two, but a kilt of the same coarse material. Now he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the two of them.

“Two more fish in the net,” he commented, his Basic slightly slurred with the hissing inflection of his species.

“And you?” Andas demanded. He found the Salariki's stare irritating.

“And I,” agreed the other readily enough. “Though how I got here from Framware—”

“Framware?” Somewhere Andas had heard that name. Then he put memory to good use. “Framware, the trading station of the Growanian Six Worlds!”

The Salariki showed his fangs in a grin, which Andas thought did not denote much humor.

“Just so. In fact, I was the head of our trade mission—I am Lord Yolyos.”

Andas introduced himself, as did his companion. The Salariki rubbed a forefinger across his chest, the long, dangerous-looking claw at its tip extended to the fullest.

“It would seem,” he remarked, “that someone has been collecting notables. You are an Imperial prince of somewhere—which doubtless has a weighty meaning in the right time and place. And you, lady”—he turned to the girl—“are you perhaps a ruler, or ruler to be?”

“I am the rightful Demizonda, yes.” There was pride in her swift reply.

“We have other companions in misfortune,” Lord Yolyos continued. “There is one, Hison Grasty, who assures us, and continues to do so regularly, that he is Chief Councilor of some place called Thrisk. And an Iylas Tsiwon, Arch Chief of Naul, and also one called Turpyn, who so far has not seen fit to supply us with more than his name. Now, what do you remember?” He shot that at Andas in an entirely different tone of voice, a sharp demand for information that the prince found himself supplying before he had a chance to resent such inquisition.

“Nothing. To the best of my memory, I went to bed in my own chamber—and woke up here. And you?”

“The same. Where
here
may be none of us seems able to supply. You, lady?”

The girl shook her head. “No more. A familiar room—then this!”

“There are indications,” Lord Yolyos continued, “that there has been a power failure in this building.”

“Power failure—” Andas repeated. “Inhibitor! They may have had an inhibitor on us!”

“Inhibitor?” Apparently Elys did not understand.

“A mental block—to keep us from remembering. If none of us can, that must have been it!”

“Possible, yes. There is another point,” the Salariki said. “We seem to be alone here. To all purposes, this prison was run by robots only.”

“But that is impossible!” Andas protested.

“I shall be most happy to have the opposite proved true.” Lord Yolyos held up his hand, extending all his finger claws, armament that Andas eyed with respect. He would not like to meet the Salariki in unarmed combat, not even with his own training. “I would like,” the other continued, “to have an interview with the lord of this place. I do not think he would deny me any answers I desired.”

Search the place they did, thoroughly. But when the band of prisoners gathered once more in the central space, they pushed among robots halted statue-like, sure that there were no other humans but themselves under this roof.

Of their company Iylas Tsiwon was clearly the eldest, though with all the rejuvenating methods now generally in use, plus the fact that there were great differences in the aging speed of various races, they could not be sure of that. But he was clearly the least strong, a small man, close to the Terran norm physically. His hair was thin and white, his face a pallid wedge with deeply graven lines on either side of his beak of a nose. His coverall seemed too large for his shrunken frame, and he pressed his hands tightly together to still the tremor in them.

Hison Grasty loomed over Tsiwon as if to make two of the frail Arch Chief. But it was mostly blubber that made up his bulk, Andas decided with inner aversion. His round face was rendered doubly unattractive by a dull red flush about his nose and mottled dewlaps. His obese body strained the seams of his clothing with every ponderous movement.

Turpyn, who had impressed Andas with his skill at seeking out every possible hiding place in the prison, was in great contrast to the other two. He, also, was probably Terran, but there were certain subtle modifications of the original that hinted at planetary mutation.

His hair was cut very short and looked almost as thick and plushy as that on the Salariki, but it was white, though not with age. In addition, he had a thick tuft of it jutting from the point of his chin. And his eyes were very curious indeed, showing no whites at all, only a wide disc expanse of silver. He spoke seldom and then only in monosyllables, nor had he made any other statement concerning his past than his name.

But he was the first to speak now. “No one here—robot controlled.”

“We must get away,” broke in Elys eagerly. “Get away before someone comes to start the machines again.”

Turpyn turned those cold discs of eyes upon her. “How? We are in desert country. There are no transports here. And we don't even eat unless we can activate the food section again.”

“And if an attempt to activate that starts everything—even the guards?” Andas demanded.

Turpyn shrugged. “I don't know if you can live without food. I know I can't.”

Andas realized that he himself was hungry. So Turpyn was right—they had to have food.

Yolyos spoke first. “What chance have we of getting at the food supplies? I freely admit my people seldom deal with robotic equipment, and I am totally ignorant of the field. Have we an expert among us?”

Tsiwon shook his head, and a moment later Grasty's jowls wobbled in the same gesture. Elys spoke aloud.

“My people are of the sea. We do not use such off-world machines.”

Andas was angry that he must also deny any useful knowledge. But when the Salariki looked to Turpyn, there was a faintly different expression on his face.

“But you, I believe, do know. Is that not true?”

Andas wondered if the Salariki was purposely extending his finger claws as he asked that question, or if it was an unconscious reaction brought out by that hostility Andas, too, was sure lay beneath the surface of Turpyn's attitude.

“Enough—maybe—” The man turned and went to the far side of the room, being closely trailed by the rest. There was a control board there, and he walked along it slowly, now and then extending a hand as if to push some button or lever, but never quite completing that movement.

Was he a tech, Andas wondered, an engineer of such standing as would make him equal in rank to the rest of their prisoner band? Yet he did not have the manner of the techs Andas knew. He had, rather, the self-confidence of a man well used to giving orders. But unless he was playing a part now, he was not very familiar with these controls.

At length he appeared to make up his mind and returned along the wall installation, pausing only a second now and then to flip up a switch. When he reached the opposite end, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at them.

“This is the test,” he said. “I will switch on to an alternate power source. That may or may not work. I hope I have turned off the guard robots—perhaps I haven't. It's stars across the board, risking all comets.” He reduced their chances to that of the galaxy-wide gambling game.

Tsiwon put out one trembling hand as if in protest, but if that was what he had in mind, he thought better of it and said nothing. Grasty backed to one side, into a position from which he could better see both the board and the robots. The Salariki did not move. Andas felt Elys's light touch on his arm, as if she thus sought some reassurance.

Turpyn pulled a last switch. Lights went on. They blinked against the brightness. Andas thought that those lights were a concrete argument that this room must sometime be used by humans—robots did not need them.

He was watching those robots with the same apprehension that held the others tense. Only one moved, and as it trundled doorward, he saw that it was a servo. It passed them at a steady pace and came to the wall at the end of the room, where it flashed a beam code against what seemed solid surface. A panel opened.

“So far, so good.” Even Turpyn appeared to relax visibly. “But if we are going to eat, I would suggest that we get back to our rooms. That thing is programed to deliver the food there.” And he started for the ramp leading to the cell corridor.

A little hesitantly the others followed. Tsiwon and Grasty first, the other three behind. As they started up, Yolyos made a small signal for caution.

“He knows more than he admits.” There was no need for the Salariki to indicate who “he” was. Suddenly Andas had an idea. What if their jailer now posed as one of them? What better way to conceal himself than to claim to be another prisoner?

“He might be one of them you think?”

Yolyos again displayed his fangs. “An idea clever enough to be born from the mind of Yared himself! But not to be overlooked. I will not say that he is our enemy, but I would not hail him as cup-brother with any speed. We must discover the purpose for our being here, because only then can we bring our true enemies into the open. Think about that while you eat—”

“Need we eat apart?” Elys cut in quickly. “I confess freely to you, my lords, I have little liking for entering that room again, less for sitting there on my own. Can we not take the food when it comes and bring it to some common place?”

“Of course!” Though he would not have mentioned it, Andas knew the same uneasiness. To enter that cell and wait gave him the feeling that once more the doors might lock.

“Your room is between mine and the prince's.” Yolyos fell in with her suggestion at once. “Let us collect our food and come to you.”

Andas did not even go in his cell, but waited outside until the robot came rumbling down the corridor, pushed into the empty room, slid two covered containers and a lidded mug on the table, and went out. Then he collected all quickly and went to Elys's cell, from the doorway of which the robot was just emerging.

When he entered, she stood away from the wall. Andas pulled the upper covering from her bed and rolled it into a tight ball, which he pushed down to keep the door from closing automatically.

“Well thought on.” As the prince got to his feet, the Salariki arrived with his own dishes.

It was when they opened all the containers that they had a new surprise.

“This,” announced Yolyos, “cannot be prison food. Smalk legs stewed in sauce, roast guan—” He now flipped up the lid of the mug to sniff its contents. “Vormilk well aged, if I can believe my nose.”

Since the Salariki sense of smell was famous, Andas thought he could. But he was bemused at his own supplies. This was food such as might reasonably have come from the first table at the Triple Towers, except it was not ceremoniously served on gold platters and he was not wearing a dining robe of state.

“They put us in cells, dress us so”—disdainfully Elys flicked the stuff of her coverall—“and then feed us richly. Why?”

“Food of our own worlds, too.” Andas looked at the girl's main platter. He did not recognize the round white balls resting on a mat of green resembling boiled leaves.

“Yes.” The Salariki raised a spoon to suck noisily at its contents. And the prince remembered that the aliens made a practice of eating with sound effects, so that the host might be sure of the enjoyment of his guests.

Just another question to have answered, he thought. Then he fell to eating with full appetite.

2

Whether their fellow prisoners had been moved to dine together, Andas did not know or care. But once his hunger was satisfied, he realized that their party seemed to have divided in two. He, Yolyos, and Elys—the other three (unless Turpyn walked alone) in the other group. He commented on this.

The Salariki replaced the lid on his mug, having drained the last drop of its contents with relish.

“Of Naul I know something,” he said. “It is close to the Nebula, a collection of three systems, ten planets. We have trading stations on three. One exports the Tear Drops of Lur—”

He must have noticed Elys's baffled expression, for he explained.

“Perfume, my lady, and a very rare one. It is distilled from an exudation that gathers on certain stones set like pillars among native vegetation—but it is not traders' information you seek now. It remains that I have heard of Naul, and if this Tsiwon is who he says he is, then in him you see one of equal power perhaps with your emperor, Prince. Incidentally, where lies this empire?”

“From here—who knows? We of Inyanga hold the five planets of the system of Dingange—Terran rooted. Our First Ships came with the Afro outspread,” he said proudly, and then knew that this history meant nothing to these aliens and hurriedly added, “That was a very first outspread.”