Watchers of the Dark (27 page)

“This must stop,” he protested.

“We can’t simulate a plague without making a few people sick,” Darzek said.

“I’ve been asking myself what it is that you’ve accomplished. You’ve had ample time. You’ve expended a shocking amount of solvency. Your principal mission was to identify the Dark’s weapon, and you haven’t done that.”

“No. We don’t know why the natives revolt.”

“Now you’re poisoning the population of Primores, and when you finish, even if you catch any of these alleged agents, you still won’t have identified that weapon. You haven’t accomplished anything, and I can’t see that you ever will.”

“I caught Rhinzl.”

“Yes. You say he was an agent of the Dark, but he’s dead —murdered by you—and who will ever know what he really was?”

“His body was preserved for study. Go have a look at it. One look has convinced everyone who’s seen it.”

“We who work with the uncertified worlds aren’t so easily convinced. We know the depths to which intelligent beings can sink. What you did to Rhinzl—”

“Take a nap, or something,” Darzek said wearily. “I want to think.”

He paced the floor silently, ignoring Smith.

Rhinzl. On the available evidence, one of a small group of freebooters who had set forth to conquer the next galaxy as a Cortez or a Pizarro had conquered an Indian empire. There were too few of them to hold the territory they won, or perhaps they hadn’t tried to hold it because Supreme had been their objective from the moment they knew it existed. When the death of SIX frustrated their attempt to subvert the Council, they simply fell back on their tested method of interplanetary conquest and continued to move toward the center of the galaxy.

The solvency Rhinzl amassed with his astute trading had supported the Dark financially, but solvency seemed to play a surprisingly small part in its success. “The weapon’s the thing,” Darzek muttered. Smith was right. Until the weapon was identified, he would have accomplished nothing.

And he did not like the way the supervising inspector of certification groups was glowering at him. Darzek sent off a message to Gul Kaln, and shortly thereafter Smith found himself the subject of the unwavering attention of a squad of soldiers.

They waited, and nothing happened. Miss Schlupe continued to spread the plague to the unpurified; Gul Kaln set up purification chambers in every transmitting exchange and transfer station and began branching out into the parks and other public places. He operated them continuously, and the citizens of Primores marched through them by the thousand. A day passed, and another day, and nothing happened.

urs
Dwad burst from the transmitter in a soaring leap. “We’ve caught one!” he panted.

“A nocturnal? Another Rhinzl?”

“Yes!”

Darzek turned to Smith. “Come along. If a dead agent of the Dark won’t convince you, have a look at a live one.”

Darzek had never seen a transmitting exchange’s nocturnal level. Normally he could have seen nothing there, for they were darkened according to the needs of the most light-sensitive life form likely to use them.

This one blazed with light. Gul Kaln already had a company of troops on hand, the chief proctor was there with a formidable force of proctors, and all were grouped curiously about the purification chamber.

Darzek shouted them away. “Do you want to catch the plague?” he demanded.

They fell over each other in their hasty retreat. Darzek activated a viewer, set the chamber’s lights flashing, and said, “Well?”

Smith caught his breath. He said awesomely, “It looks closely related to several well-known life forms, but its shadow—”

The shadow loomed hugely, a pulsating mass with an infinite number of protuberances that abruptly flicked out filaments to probe every crevice of the chamber.

“Better stand back,” Darzek said. “It may be armed.”

“Rhinzl wasn’t armed.”

“Rhinzl was overconfident. This one won’t be.”

Smith moved away, and Darzek switched on a communicator. “Who are you?” he asked.

There was no reply, but the sensitive instrument picked up the shrill breathing of the captive, and a confused flutter of sound that could have been the throbbing of many hearts.

“Where do you come from?” Darzek demanded.

A voice said softly, “Gul Darr?”

Darzek said, “Yes—”

Then paralysis struck him.

His mind remained clear. He could see and hear, though he could not move his eyes. His breathing was a shallow, mechanical flutter within a rigid chest, and his attempted shout died in his throat. Slowly he tipped forward, until his head rested against the chamber.

The voice that boomed out of the communicator was seductive and melodious, like Rhinzl’s voice. “This is the infamous Gul Darr, whom your proctors seek for causing the death of the trader Rhinzl. He is now attempting to cause the death of all of you with the sickness he calls a plague.”

Darzek thought scornfully, “A fat chance you have of their believing you—
plague carrier.”

But they did believe. He could hear the slap of sandals as the proctors edged toward him.

The beguiling voice was reciting the iniquities of Gul Darr. He had defied civil authority on the planet Yorlq and betrayed the world to the Dark. He had organized an army of misguided traders and brought it to Primores, intending to betray Supreme to the Dark, but fortunately he had failed. Now he was helpless, theirs for the taking, to be subjected to a just punishment if one severe enough could be devised.

And they were believing. They would believe anything. As Smith had said, they weren’t accustomed to liars.

Rigid with paralysis, struggling to breathe through locked teeth, Darzek suddenly identified the Dark’s mental weapon.

“It’s the lie!” he wanted to scream at Smith. “The Dark’s weapon is the lie! He’s using it on you now. Don’t you recognize it?”

“He will be helpless for some time,” the voice purred. “Take him to a secure place and pass judgment on him before he recovers, or he will escape you. All of the power of the Dark is his to command. Let your judgment be swift and sure.”

Hands seized Darzek.

“I am proud to have been of service to you,” the voice went on. “And now—dim the lights, please. As you know, light is painful to a nocturnal. Dim the lights, and release me, and then destroy these chambers. They purify nothing. They are only another of Gul Darr’s treacheries.”

“If they release him,” Darzek thought, “we’ll never catch another one. He’ll understand what we were trying to do, and so will all the other Rhinzls. The fools!”

The proctors hoisted him aloft. The lights began to fade, and as they turned Darzek’s body he saw Gul Kaln himself opening the chamber doors.

Smith leaped forward. “Stop! He’s a plague carrier! He must not escape!”

He tried to wrench Gul Kaln away, but the door was already open. A replica of Rhinzl moved swiftly across the room toward the transmitters. Darzek could only despairingly follow his progress at the periphery of his rigid sight.

Then a familiar figure moved to bar the way. Miss Schlupe.

Darzek’s shout of warning was an inarticulate moan. He would know who she was, and he would waste no lies on her. His weapon—

She moved her right hand, and a thin spray of liquid played over the creature, found his organs of sight, his crudely gaping mouth. He gasped, fell back with a shudder, and telescoped the weapon toward her. She leaped aside. Smith closed to grapple, struggled briefly, went rigid. The spray flashed again and again.

Abruptly the Rhinzl image faded. The repulsive thing lay on the floor, filaments flailing feebly, until Miss Schlupe prevailed upon Gul Kaln to have it dragged back into the chamber.

Her words sounded shrilly above the upwelling of amazed voices. “I didn’t know what was wrong. I still don’t know, but I knew he wasn’t supposed to get away. Where’s Gul Darr?”

Then the lights were turned up, and she saw Darzek. “What happened to him?” she wailed.

Darzek could not even thank her with his eyes. His only consolation was that he’d have plenty of time to rehearse all that he wanted to say to her before he was able to speak again.

“The traders lied about the Dark.”

“As E-Wusk said, they were wearing their fear. They were so terrified of the unknown power that they developed a mental block. Only Rhinzl practiced deceit in business. The difference should have been obvious to us.”

“You didn’t notice it because you were so busy practicing deceit yourself. But I’ll buy it. The secret weapon was the lie, and the Rhinzls brought it to such perfection that they could set off revolutions almost simultaneously on thousands of worlds.”

“Until they reached Primores,” Darzek agreed. “When they failed on Primores they had no other weapon in reserve. They couldn’t arouse the natives against foreigners, so they used their lies to arouse my foreign troops against the natives.”

“What happens now?”

“Work,” Darzek said wearily. “One of our first projects will be to correct certain deficiencies in the galactic languages. We need universal synonyms for ‘lie’ and ‘liar.’ We might toss in a few hate words, too, so the next invaders from outer space won’t have to use their own, as I’m sure Rhinzl and his cohorts did with ‘grilf.’”

“You need to do something about the uncertified worlds.”

“Right. A little exposure to evil would be a healthy thing for the galaxy. People can’t build up an immunity to it if they never experience it. That’s for the future, though. We have to settle the Dark first, and since our captive hasn’t talked—yet—we’ll have to plan on doing it the hard way. Every certified world in the galaxy will have to be briefed and instructed—and purified.”

“You’ll need a lot of beer. I’ll write out my recipe for you.”

Darzek smiled. “If we have official support, I think we can manage it without making anyone sick.”

“I can read you like a book,” Miss Schlupe said scornfully. “A cheap comic book. I know what was in that message
urs
Gwalus handed to you. Supreme wants you on the Council. What number did it offer?”

“One.”

“Not bad.”

“I think it’s rather good. The first member of the Council of Supreme. Too bad it has to be secret. I could have designed some lovely calling cards.”

“It’s not bad for a hick from Earth. Who else is on the Council?”

“I won’t know until we meet. I recommended E-Wusk and Smith. You needn’t look surprised. Smith has potentialities I never realized. When a person who loathes lying the way he does is able to tell one when a crisis demands it, he’s capable of growth. Then E-Wusk and I picked a dozen likely candidates from a list of worthy acquaintances of his, but Supreme probably did as it darn pleased.”

“When do you meet?”

“Today.
urs
Gwalus is getting a temporary meeting place ready. Are you sure you won’t change your mind? There’ll be work for you to do, too.”

She shook her head. “I miss my rocking chair. And my real rhubarb beer, and my confession magazines, and a lot of things you wouldn’t understand. I haven’t even been able to get any decent yarn for my knitting.”

“We could make arrangements. Smith is going to keep me supplied with cigarettes.”

“No. I want my confession magazines hot off the press. I want to be able to walk into a roomful of people without holding my breath—I know you’ve gotten used to the smells, but I can’t. It’s been wonderful fun, but I’m tired. I’m beginning to realize that I’m an old woman. Things bother me, like that—that
thing
touching me while I was squirting beer into it. I’ve taken a dozen baths, and I still feel slimy. Anyway, Smith has already made the only arrangements that interest me—to get me home. He’s promised me an appointment to Earth’s certification group, so I won’t be completely out of touch, but being home is the important thing. I’m glad I saw the galaxy, but I want to die in Brooklyn.”

“I suppose this is good-by, then. I owe you more than I can say, so I won’t try to say it. I’ll miss you, Schluppy.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice faltered, and then she added brightly, “Anyway, I’ll be taking one beautiful memory with me. I’ll never forget what a handsome statue you made.”

Darzek’s first reaction to ONE’s handsome official residence was a feeling of overwhelming loneliness. In all likelihood it would be his for the remainder of his life, and he could look forward only to more of the same, a loneliness that would grow and intensify with each passing period.

He could go back to Earth, of course. He’d have to, as soon as the most pressing matters were taken care of, to settle his affairs. But Earth could never be the same to him again, and Primores could never be his home. In a sense he was one of the masters of the galaxy, and he had no world of his own. With Miss Schlupe gone he would have no one to talk with, which was worse.