The Asutra (20 page)

"We have farther to go," said Etzwane. "The ship which took us north moved at a considerable speed. I suspect that two days of travel, or more, still lie ahead."

"If our bellies will give us the strength."

"Our bellies will take us there if the cars will do so. This is my main fear, that the cars will exhaust their energy."

Korba and the others looked askance at the long black shapes. "Let us move on," said one of the men. "At least we shall see the other side of the hills, and by luck Korba may have the accurate prediction."

"I hope so too," said Etzwane. "Still, be prepared for disappointment."

The column proceeded across an undulating black carpet of moss. Nowhere was there evidence of life; no motion, no ruined dwelling, no ancient post or cairn.

A brief storm struck down upon them; black clouds boiled low; a sudden wind came roaring out of the west.... In half an hour the storm had passed, leaving the air clearer than before. The shadow to the south was clearly a mountain of considerable mass.

Close upon the end of day the column breasted the ridge to look out over the panorama. As far as the eye could reach appeared empty black moor.

The column halted; the men came forth from the cars to stare over the desolation ahead. Etzwane said briefly, "We have far to go. " He reentered his car and slid away downhill.

A project had formed in his mind, and when darkness forced a halt he explained his plan. "Remember the disk-ship which waits at the camp? I believe it to be a space vessel; in any case it is an object of great value, worth far more than the deaths of fifty or sixty men. If a ship is in fact still at the camp, I suggest that we capture it, and bargain our way back to Durdane."

"Can we do this? " asked Korba. "Will they not detect us and use their torpedoes?"

"I noticed no great vigilance at the camp," said Etzwane. "Why should we not attempt the maximum? For a certainty no one will help us but ourselves."

One of the Alula said in a bitter voice, "I had forgotten; so many events have come and gone. Long ago you told us of the planet Earth and mentioned a certain Ifness."

"A fantasy," said Etzwane. "I too have forgotten. ... Strange to think! For the folk of Earth, did they know of us, we would be creatures of a nightmare, less than wisps of the swamp-light yonder. ... I fear that I will never see Earth."

"I would be happy to see old Caraz," said the Alula. "I would think myself fortunate beyond belief and never grieve again."

One of the men growled, "I would be content for a chunk of fat meat."

One at a time, reluctant to leave the warmth of companionship, the men went off to their cars and passed another dreary night.

As soon as dawn made the land distinct, they were under way. Etzwane's car seemed, not as lively as before; he wondered how many miles remained in its engine. How far ahead lay the camp? One day at least, three or four days at most

The moss stretched ahead flat and soggy, almost one with the quagmire. Several times the cars passed pools of gray mud. Near one of these the column halted to rest and ease cramped muscles. The pools quaked with huge miasmic bubbles, rising with an unctuous suck. The periphery of the mud was home to colonies of jointed brown worms and running black balls, both of which submerged themselves in the mud at a sound: a fact which puzzled Etzwane; there seemed no natural enemy from which the creatures would be required to protect themselves. Etzwane searched the air: no birds, flying reptiles, nor winged insects. In the fringe of rotten black moss three or four feet back from the shore of mud he spied small burrows, from which issued the prints of small, three-fingered members. Etzwane examined the prints with frowning suspicion. In the moss a small purplish-black shape moved back into concealment: an asutra, not yet mature. Etzwane drew back, alarmed and repelled. When races derived from such disparate environments as man and asutra, could there possibly be communication or sympathy? Etzwane thought not. A tolerance founded on mutual distaste, possibly; cooperation, never.

The column proceeded, and now one of the cars began to falter, rising and falling on its support nodes. The car at last sank down upon the moor and would go no further. Etzwane put the driver astride the most fresh-seeming car; once again the column proceeded.

During the middle afternoon two other cars subsided upon the moss; it was plain that a very few hours remained to any of the engines. Ahead rose another black hill, which seemed lower than that hill north of camp. If it were another hill, Etzwane thought they would never see the camp, for none of the men had the strength to walk thirty or forty or fifty miles.

They swung out close to the morass to avoid the heights; even so the mountain met the morass in a precipitous bluff, over which they laboriously climbed.

Up toward the ridge moved the lizard-cars, groaning and sagging. Etzwane led the way over the crest, the landscape to the south opened before them. . . . The camp lay below, not five miles distant. A husky roar rose from fifty dry throats. "The camp; down to the camp! Food awaits us; bread, good soup! "

Etzwane tottered out of his car. "Hold back, you fools! Have you forgotten our plan?"

"Why should we wait? " croaked Sul. Took! There is no spaceship on the premises; it is gone! Even if there were, your scheme
is
absurd. We shall eat and drink; all else is now meaningless. On then, down to the camp! "

Etzwane said, "Hold back! We have suffered too much to throw away our lives now. There is no spaceship, true! But we must make ourselves masters of the camp, and this means surprise. We will wait for dusk. You must control your appetite until then."

"I have not come all this distance to suffer further," declared Sul.

"Suffer or die," growled Korba. "When the camp is ours, then you shall eat. Now is the time to prove ourselves men, not slaves! "

Sul said no more. Ashen-faced he leaned back against his car, mumbling through dry gray lips.

The camp seemed curiously listless and desolate. A few women moved about their duties; a Ka came briefly forth from the far barracks. It walked aimlessly back and forth, then reentered. No squads drilled upon the compound; the garage was dark.

Korba whispered, "The camp is dead; there is no one to stop us. " "I am suspicious," said Etzwane. 'The quiet is unnatural."

"You believe that they expect us?"

T don't know what to believe. We still most wait till dusk, even if the camp is empty except for three Ka and a dozen old women, so that they can't send off a message of emergency."

Korba grunted.

The sky is darkening already," said Etzwane. In another hour the dusk will hide our approach."

The group waited, pointing here and there at remembered corners of the camp. Lamps began to glow, and Etzwane looked at Korba. "Are you ready?"

"I am ready."

"Remember, I will attack the Ka barracks from the side; you enter the camp from the front and destroy whatever resistance appears."

"The plan is clear."

Etzwane and half the cars descended the flank of the hill, dark cars invisible on the black moss. Korba waited five minutes, then proceeded down the slope, approaching the camp across the old training compound. Etzwane's group, with cars dragging and bumping across the moss, drove up to the back of the lumpy white structure which the Ka used as a barracks.

The men lunged inside and swarmed upon the seven Ka they found in the single chamber. Astonished or perhaps apathetic, the Ka made only feeble resistance and were lashed immobile with thongs. The men, keyed up for a desperate battle and finding none, felt baffled and frustrated, and started to kick the Ka to death. Etzwane halted them in a fury. "What are you doing? They are victims like ourselves. Kill the asutra, but do no harm to the Ka! It is purposeless! "

The men thereupon plucked the asutra off the Ka's necks and ground them underfoot, to the horrified moaning of the Ka.

Etzwane went forth to find Korba, who had already sent his men into the garages, the commissary, and the communication chamber, where they had discovered a total of four Ka, three of which they clubbed to pulp, lacking Etzwane's moderating presence. The men encountered no other opposition; they were masters of the camp, almost without effort. Reacting to the tension, many of the men became nauseated. Sagging to their knees they gave themselves to an agonized, empty-stomached retching. Etzwane, himself hearing strange ringing sounds in his ears, ordered the women of the camp instantly to serve hot food and drink.

The men ate, slowly, gratefully, marveling that the storming of the camp had gone with such facility. The situation was incredible.

After eating, Etzwane felt an overpowering drowsiness, to which he must not allow himself to succumb. Old Kretzel stood nearby, and he called for her. "What has happened to the Ka? There were forty or fifty in the camp; now there are ten or less."

Kretzel spoke in a dismal voice. "They departed in the ship. Only two days ago they went, in great excitement. Great events are in the offing, for better or worse."

"When will another ship return?"

"They did not trouble to explain this to me."

"Let us question the Ka."

They went to the barracks where the Ka lay bound. The ten men Etzwane had left on guard were all asleep and the Ka were furiously working to liberate themselves. Etzwane roused the sleeping men with kicks. "Is this the way you guard our safety? Every one of you: dead to the world! In another minute you might have been dead forever."

Old Sul, one of the men who had been left on guard, gave a surly response, "You yourself described these men as victims; in all justice they should be grateful for their deliverance."

"This is precisely the point I intend to make to them," said Etzwane. "Meanwhile we are only the wild men who attacked them and tied them with thongs."

"Bah," muttered Sul. "I am unable to chop logic with you; you have the superior sleight with words."

Etzwane said, "Make sure the thongs are secure. " He spoke to Kretzel. 'Tell the Ka that we mean them no harm, that we regard the asutra as our mutual enemy."

Kretzel peered at Etzwane in perplexity, as if she found the remarks strange and foolish. "Why do you tell them that?"

"So that they will help us, or at least do nothing to hinder."

She shook her head. "I'll sing to them, but they will pay no great heed. You do not understand the Ka. " She took up her double-pipes and played phrases. The Ka listened without perceptible reaction. They made no reply, but after a brief silence made wavering, tremulous sounds, like the chuckling of baby owls.

Etzwane looked at them doubtfully. "What do they say?"

Kretzel shrugged. "They talk together in the 'Allusive' Style, which is beyond my capability. In any event, I don't think they understand you. " "Ask them when the ship will return."

Kretzel laughed but obliged him. The Ka looked at her blankly. One warbled a brief phrase, then they were silent. Etzwane looked questioningly at Kretzel.

'They sing from Canto 5633: the 'embarrassing farce.' It might translate as a jeer: "What interest can this matter have for you?' "

"I see," said Etzwane. "They are not practical."

They are practical enough," said Kretzel. 'The situation is beyond their understanding. Do you remember the ahulphs of Durdane?"

T do indeed."

'To the Ka, men are like ahulphs: unpredictable, half-intelligent, addicted to incomprehensible antics. They cannot take you seriously."

Etzwane grunted. "Ask the question again. Tell them that when the ship arrives they will be freed."

Kretzel played her flute. A terse answer returned. The ship will be back in a few days with a new corps of slaves."

The mutinous slaves had gained themselves food, shelter, and a respite which all realized to be temporary. A certain Joro argued that the group should transport supplies to some secret place in the hills and hope to survive until they could dare another raid. "By this means we gain another several months, and who knows what might happen? The rescue ships from Earth might arrive."

Etzwane gave a bitter laugh. "I know now what I should have known every moment of my life; that unless you help yourself, you die a slave. The fact is basic. No one is going to rescue us. If we remain here, the chances are good that we will shortly be killed. If we go out to hide upon the moors, we gain two months of wet clothes and misery, and then we will be killed anyway. If we pursue the original plan, at best we gain a great advantage and at worst we die in dignity, doing our enemies as much damage as possible."

"The chances of 'best' are few and of 'worst' many," grumbled Sul. "I for one am fatigued with these visionary schemes."

"You must do as you think best," said Etzwane politely. "By all means, go forth upon the moors. The way is open."

Korba said curtly, "Those who want to go, let them go now. The rest of us have work to do, and time may be short."

But neither Sul nor Joro chose to leave.

During the day Rune the Willow Wand approached Etzwane. "Do you remember me? I am the Alula girl who once befriended you. I wonder if you think warmly of me now? But I am haggard and wrinkled, as if I were old. Is this not true?"