Land and Overland - Omnibus (107 page)

Stop that, you savage!
One of the group by the exit took a step forward.
There can be no excuse for such barbarism!

"Perhaps not," Toller replied, giving a slight bow, "but if you and your loathsome kin had not abducted my friends and penned them like beasts—which is
your
kind of barbarism—you would never have been exposed to
my
kind of barbarism. Do you see the principle involved? Or is the concept of natural justice cherished only by untutored Primitives?"

Primitive is an appropriate word for you, Toller Maraquine,
came the alien's voiceless reply.
Can you not understand that it is
impossible
for you to leave this world?

"And can you not understand that I
will
leave this world—one way or another? And if it should transpire that death is my only escape, I will take some of your kind along the same road." Toller glanced to his left and saw that the rest of the humans had reached the enclosure. To his surprise, Vantara was at the rear of the group and was looking at him with uncertain, troubled eyes.

"We are with you. Toller," Steenameert called out.

"Excellent!" Toller returned his attention to the alien speaker. "You were elected spokesman, so I am going to assume that you possess some degree of some importance. You therefore will have the honour of being my principal hostage. Come to my side!"

What if I refuse?

"I have scarcely begun to squeeze these fine specimens of Dussarran manhood, and already their puny bones are beginning to crack." Toller's two upright captives moved their heads anxiously as he shifted his weight.

If you kill my deputies you will lose what little advantage you have at this moment.

"That would only be the start of the killing," Toller said, longing for the reassurance of his sword. He had judged the Dussarrans to be lacking in physical courage, but to his growing unease the alien confronting him was proving to be unexpectedly stubborn. In appearance he was not distinguished from his fellows—the multiplex costume of pendant dark-hued scraps seemed to be universal among the aliens—but this individual conveyed the impression of being much more resolute than Divivvidiv.

Perhaps…
An incredible idea began to flicker far back in Toller's consciousness.
Can it be that fortune has delivered into my hands the best hostage of all? Could this unremarkable and unprepossessing figure be the King of all the Dussarrans? What was the title Divivvidiv had accorded him? Director! And what name? Zunnunun!

"Tell me, scarecrow," he said in a gentle voice, "what is your name?"

My name is of no relevance,
the alien replied.
I shall make one last appeal to your powers of reason. Your plan—if such an insane vision can be dignified with that word
—
is to force us to send you back whence you came by way of an instantaneous relocation unit. You and your followers would then return to one of your home planets, either by balloon or parachute. Is that a fair summation of your ambitions?

"I congratulate you, corpse-face!" The alien's refusal to divulge his name was a fresh inspiration and encouragement for Toller.

The plan can never succeed! The more rational members of your group have severe doubts about attempting it, and in that respect they display considerable wisdom.

Toller's eyes were again drawn to Vantara, but she lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze.

I am not at liberty to go into details at this time, Toller Maraquine,
the alien went on,
but the fact is that all of you are very fortunate to be here on Dussarra. You must believe what I…

"I believe that you are the King of all the Dussarrans," Toller shouted, giving way to a rage which was fuelled by subtle new fears. "This thing is going on far too long! Tell me your name right now, or—and I swear by my honour—I will crush these three until the blood spurts from their eyes!"

The alien figure brought a hand up to its concave chest.
My name is Zunnunun.

"I thought so!" Toller glanced triumphantly at Vantara, Steenameert and the others. "I will now give…"

You will do precisely nothing,
Zunnunun cut in, silencing Toller with a curious ease.
I had planned to study the psychological relationship between you and your chosen female, but I have come to realize that in an unmodified state you will either kill yourself or continue to cause more trouble than you are worth. Accordingly, I have made the decision to bring your existence to an end.

Toller shook his head and his voice was no longer human. "It would take more than you and the likes of you to kill me.

Oh, I have no intention of killing you.
The Dussarran's psychic tone was now light, amused and confident.
Your body will remain in perfect health—and will be useful to me in breeding experiments
—
but it will be inhabited by a different and more docile personality.

"You cannot do that!"

But I can! In fact, the process has already begun
—
as you will realize if you try to move.
Zunnunun's mouth flowed into a ghastly parody of a smile.
You were right when you began to suspect that our confrontation was going on too long. I was then assembling sufficient of my people to form a telepathic lens. That lens is now focused on your brain, and in a few seconds you will cease to exist.

Goodbye, Toller Maraquine!

Toller tried to hurl himself at the alien, but—as had been predicted—he found himself unable to move. And something was happening within his mind. There was an invasion, a loosening, a shameful but joyous sense of yielding, an acceptance of the fact that life as Toller Maraquine II had always been wearisome, and the time had come when he could—gladly—lay that burden down…

"Twelve ships! Is that all?" Daseene gave Cassyll Maraquine a reproving stare. "I was sure we could have done much better than that."

"I am sorry, Majesty, but the factory is hard-pressed even to prepare that number," Cassyll said, concealing his impatience over being required to repeat the same statements for the third time in an hour. "One of the major problems is the lack of reliable engines and parts."

"But I have seen hundreds of engines stacked in the old parade ground at Kandell. With my own eyes I have seen them.
Stacked!"

"Yes, but they are the old-style brakka wood units, and they have been replaced by steel engines."

"Well,
un
-replace them in that case!" Daseene snapped, adjusting her coif of pearls.

"They won't fit into the new mountings." A veteran of many similar interviews with the Queen, Cassyll spoke in tones which were the embodiment of cool reasonableness. "It would take an excessive time to adapt one to the other, and many auxiliary components of the old engines are missing."

Daseene narrowed her eyes and leaned forward in her high-backed chair. "Sometimes, my dear Maraquine, you remind me of your father."

Cassyll smiled in spite of the oppressive heat in the audience room. "I appreciate the compliment, Majesty."

"It wasn't meant as a compliment, and well you know it," Daseene said. "Your father performed some small service for my husband during the Migration, and—"

"If I may jog your Majesty's memory to just the slightest extent," Cassyll put in drily, "he saved the lives of your entire family."

"I'm not sure if it was as dramatic as all that—but, no matter… He made himself useful on
one
occasion, and then proceeded to spend the rest of his life reminding my husband of the incident and demanding royal favours."

"I am honoured to serve your Majesty at all times," Cassyll said, easily negotiating familiar territory, "and would never dream of asking for indulgence in return."

"No, you have no need—you simply go ahead and arrange everything to suit yourself—and that is precisely my point! Your father had a way of pretending to do what the King wanted and all the time he was doing what
he
wanted. You have exactly the same way with you, Cassyll Maraquine. Sometimes I suspect that it is you, and not I, who rules this…"

Daseene leaned forward again, her rheumy eyes intent. "You do not look at all well, my dear fellow. Your face is quite crimson and your brow glistens with sweat. Are you suffering from an ague?"

"No, Majesty."

"Well,
something
ails you. You do not look well. It is my opinion that you should consult your physician."

"I shall do so without delay," Cassyll said. He was yearning for the moment he could escape the intolerable heat of the room, but he had not yet achieved the purpose of his visit. Contrary to what Daseene had just said, he was not the complete master of his own affairs. He gazed into her fragile face, wondering if she was playing games with him. Perhaps she knew perfectly well that he was being tortured by the excessive warmth, and was waiting for him either to faint or give in and plead for respite.

"Why are you occupying so much of my time anyway?" she said. "You must want something."

"As it so happens, Majesty, there is one—"

"Hah!"

"It is quite a routine matter … well within my normal areas of jurisdiction … but I thought, more or less in passing, that I should mention it to your Majesty … not that there is any…"

"Out with it, Maraquine!" Daseene glanced at the ceiling in exasperation. "What are you up to?"

Cassyll swallowed, trying to relieve the dryness in his throat. "The barrier which has appeared between Land and Overland is a matter of great scientific interest. I and Bartan Drumme have the privilege of serving as your Majesty's principal scientific advisers, and—after sober consideration of all the facts—we feel that we should accompany the fleet which is to—"

"Never!" Suddenly Daseene's face was an alabaster mask upon which a skilled artist had painted a likeness of the woman who used to be. "You will stay where I need you, Maraquine—right here on the ground! The same goes for your bosom friend, the eternal stripling, Bartan Drumme. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very clear, Majesty."

"I am well aware that you are concerned for your son—just as I fear for the safety of my granddaughter—but there are times when one must turn a deaf ear to all appeals from the heart," Daseene said in a voice which surprised Cassyll with its vigour.

"I understand, Majesty." Cassyll bowed, and was turning to leave when Daseene halted him by raising one hand.

"And before you depart," she said, "let me remind you of what I said earlier—be sure to see a doctor."

The startled cry from Steenameert reached Toller across dark distances of the soul, shadowy distances, where unseen worlds prowled their orbital paths. Each world was the embodiment of a new personality, one of which was destined to be his, and he had little concern for the trivialities of his old existence. Aloof and vaguely irritated, he asked himself why the young man was calling his name. What in all the black reaches of the cosmos could be important enough to justify distracting him at a time like this, just when momentous decisions were being made about his destiny?

But something else was happening! A battle was beginning in the stygian landscapes which surrounded him. Powerful external forces were being brought to bear on the psychic lens whose curvatures governed every aspect of his future…

The lens shattered!
Released from his mental and physical paralysis, Toller was reborn into a world of tumult. Dozens of black-clad and ragged-edged Dussarran figures were running across the floor of the dome towards the enclosure. A woman was screaming. The aliens Toller had been crushing behind the panel were now free and were staggering towards their leader. Other aliens who had been clustered behind Zunnunun were fleeing through the exit to unknown parts of the building.

Come with us!
A Dussarran appeared at Toller's side and tugged his arm.
We are your friends!

Toller shook himself free of the grey-fingered hand. The alien seemed no different from any of those he had already encountered, except that the ubiquitous piecemeal costume dangling around his spindly form featured a few diamond-shapes of drab green.

"Friends?" Toller made as if to thrust the newcomer away, then—accepting urgent telepathic guidance—realized the alien was one of a group which had recalled him to his own existence with no time to spare. The choice was not a difficult one in any case—stay and face the quietly invincible Director Zunnunun, or seize the unexpected offer of salvation.

"Baten!" Toller saw that Steenameert was staring at him with concern. "We have to trust these people!"

Steenameert nodded, as did some of the women behind him. The entire group of humans began to run in the company of their alien rescuers, but their escape route was being blocked by other Dussarrans who were spilling through the dome's multiple entrances. The opposing forces converged and the scene quickly became chaotic as black-clad bodies locked with each other in all the grotesqueries of spontaneous physical combat.

Toller's perception of the scene underwent rapid shifts as he saw that the Dussarrans' idea of hand-to-hand struggle was to throw themselves at each other, lock arms and legs with opponents and bring them to the ground. Once that had happened they lay in ineffectual pairs, like copulating insects, each cancelling the other's contribution to the battle. The advantage from the humans' point of view was that no weapons were being used—the aliens fought like angry children, and although hostile enough were manifestly lacking in the ability to incapacitate an enemy. Toller was comforted when he realized that he and his new allies would not be annihilated in a few bloody seconds; but then the negative aspect of the situation came to him. The struggle was too democratic, too much like casting votes. In this style of combat the numerically superior force was bound to win.

Again longing for his sword, Toller turned on one of the group of unfriendly aliens who were closing on him with arms outspread. Toiler clubbed him to the ground with one diagonal blow of his fist, and then—with murder in his heart—drove his heel down on the alien's neck, while at the same time hurling away two more attackers.