Man of Two Worlds

by Frank Herbert

  The PTV came in fast to the landing strip and sat down with a skidding thump that drew long drag marks along the surface. As soon as it stopped, a red light flashed on the ceiling and a speaker emitted a barking order:

  “Everyone out! On the double!”

  The cockpit cover slammed back and steps dropped to both sides. Lutt clambered down and found the cargo pod open. He grabbed up his equipment and trotted around the PTV to find Subiyama already racing toward an opening in the rift wall where an armed legionnaire stood beckoning them and shouting:

  “Under cover! Quick!”

  His words were punctuated by a brilliant flash off to the left and a thumping roar that made Lutt stumble.

  A klaxon behind Lutt began blaring: “Braaak! Braaak! Braaak!”

  He raced after Subiyama past the beckoning legionnaire and into a dimly lighted tunnel. The exterior-reading meter below Lutt’s faceplate immediately displayed a sharp rise in temperature, but the armor compensated and he felt none of the outside heat.

  The tunnel curved sharply right and then left, opening into a larger staging area where humanoid Legion robots in khaki, blue, white and red inceram stood in long rows.

  Human legionnaires fanned out through the robots, running along the lines, checking, adjusting.

  Subiyama stopped in front of a legionnaire whose armor bore corporal’s stripes.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Is this the front?”

  “No, ma’am,” the corporal said in a heavy Tennessee accent made tinny by his suit’s speakers. “This here’s jus’ a li’l ol’ Chink probe. They do that now an’ then t’ keep us on our toes.”

  “Whooee!” Subiyama said. “Got us a boy from down home.”

  “Glad t’ make y’r ‘quaintance, ma’am,” the corporal said.

  Lutt stopped beside Subiyama. “I’m supposed to meet Colonel Paul Carlson. And my assistant, Roweena Humperman.”

  “I ‘spec’ the colonel will be along presently, suh,” the corporal said. “You jus’ wait here where it’s safe.”

  The robots began marching out of the staging area in long powerful strides, something slowly methodical about the movement but covering remarkable distance in a short time.

  “Sue Ellen sure was full of the Legion,” Subiyama said. “Every man in the ranks is a finely tuned athlete, she said.”

  “They’re supposed to be exquisitely conditioned,” Lutt agreed, speaking for the corporal’s benefit. “Capable of competing in almost any Olympic event.”

  “Won’t let us compete,” the corporal volunteered. “Ruskies got us barred as professionals. They’re fine ones to talk!”

  “Kilo for kilo, these are the premiere troops and military technicians in the solar system,” Subiyama said. “My sergeant last night sure lived up to his billing.”

  “Just got a flash on you, sir,” the corporal said. “You Lutt Hanson, Jr.?”

  “I knew it!’ Subiyama crowed.

  “That’s me,” Lutt said.

  “I’m to escort you down into the command bunker, suh,” the corporal said. “You really the Hanson of all them companies and the money?”

  “He’s one of ’em!” Subiyama said.

  “Sure don’t unnerstand why you’re risking your skin up here, suh,” the corporal said. “This way, please.”

  “What about me?” Subiyama demanded.

  “She’s supposed to go on to the front,” Lutt said.

  “Don’t think that’s possible right now,” the corporal said. “The Chinks kinda plowed up our landing strip. Why don’t you just tag along with us, ma’am, and somebody down below will know what to do about you.”

  “You see how it is when you live a clean life?” Subiyama asked. “You get laid regular and good stories fall into your lap.”

  ***

  Is there native dust on Venus or is it only the substance of God’s design?

  —Sermon topic, Venusian archdiocese, Episcopal Church

  Roweena Humperman, in remodeled armor, the cut-down lines visible at waist and hips, met them inside the Command Center heatlock with her helmet thrown back and a stiff smile on her lips.

  “Colonel Paul is in a little hot water for this, Lutt. Who’s this with you?”

  As they tipped back their helmets and inhaled air cleaned of armor-recycling odors, Lutt introduced Lorna Subiyama.

  “Ain’t this the damndest piece of luck?” Subiyama asked.

  “We’ll see. They’re talking about not letting us out of here. Come along. Paul’s down this way.”

  She took one of the camera packs from Lutt and led them through another heatlock where Legion guards examined their passes, then out into another passage lined with glittering red rock of ruby stone darkness and intensity. The floor was large tiles of the same material grouted in white. Stone benches of the red stone were spaced along the walls near red stone vases holding thick-leaved tropical plants. Walls and ceiling were polished smooth to reflect shadowy images of everything within them.

  The decor of this place is no accident, Lutt thought.

  What do you mean? Ryll wanted to know.

  These dark reflections, there’s something ghostlike about them. This is intended to be the nether world with shapes of dead legionnaire heroes all around.

  I find the place morbid.

  As they went deeper into the command complex, the echoes of voices and footsteps became more attention-demanding—some distant and small, others immediate and loud.

  Very clever design, Lutt thought and was forced to explain the correlation between architecture and psychology he had learned while redesigning the Enquirer Building.

  Abruptly, running footsteps sounded behind them. A Legion corporal in secured armor passed them, turned and held a hand for them to stop.

  “You the newsies? Yes, I see you are. General says there’s some action topside right now. Give you all the drama you want. This way.”

  Humperman was first to seal her helmet but not before turning a demanding look on Lutt, eyes burning, nostrils flared.

  She thinks we’re being sent up to be killed, Ryll interpreted.

  There was no time to object. The corporal herded them down a side passage and into an elevator. He waited outside, one hand on the door control.

  “This will let you out on Level One C. You’ll find a ramp that leads up. Take it to a set of double doors. Show your passes there and follow directions to the surface.”

  “The surface?” Humperman demanded, voice stricken.

  “Wow!” Subiyama said. “One minute we’re headed to see the brass, the next minute it’s straight into the war.”

  “Where’s Colonel Paul?” Lutt asked.

  The corporal spoke as he sealed the door. “Busy fightin’ a war, monsieur. This is a full-scale attack. Stay behind the deflectors topside if you can. Very bad there.”

  Lutt, feeling the adrenaline surge of excitement, silenced Ryll’s objections with logic.

  If you want us to survive, strengthen me any way you can.

  I will idmage a Dreen body or other appropriate guise if you suffer fatal damage, Ryll warned, knowing the threat was false.

  Whatever you say, Ryll baby. Now shut up and let me work.

  Ordering Humperman to watch what he did, Lutt unsealed the camera he carried and instructed her in preparing the camera she had taken from him.

  “Those are sure strange-looking cameras,” Subiyama said.

  Sensing a possible subscriber, Lutt gave her a brief explanation.

  Excitement thickened Subiyama’s accent. “Instantaneous? Y’all mean lak rat naow?”

  Lutt was saved from further explanation by the elevator stopping and the door opening. They emerged at the foot of the ramp the corporal had described but it was filled with robotroops and human attendants.

  No one asked for passes. The robotroops marched up arid out. Lutt followed with his camera humming.

  As the vorcameras were activated, Ryll felt a strong tug in his mind, the p
rimal connection all Dreens experienced with the Creative Spirals—a link with all his people who had ever been and ever would be. The sensation increased his discomfort and sense of his own frailty. If things went wrong here, his connection with Dreendom would be broken.

  Oh, do be careful, Lutt, Ryll thought.

  Lutt ignored this, too intent on watching the action. Humperman on his left, camera at her shoulder the way he had instructed, was capturing her own view of things, carrying on a running commentary to explain her pictures. Subiyama walked beside her, talking into the electronic clipboard. Lutt heard only part of Subiyama’s recording.

  “. . . and on my right is Lutt Hanson, Jr., the scion of the Hanson empire, proving to the universe that he’s a working newsman.”

  Good copy! Lutt thought. I hope it gets through.

  He saw the green light at the corner of his image focus telling him he was transmitting and being received. Then they were out onto level high ground with a shattered inceram parapet directly ahead. Wounded and dying Legion troops and broken robots lay all around. The replacements marched through and over the casualties. Lutt crouched and recorded. He saw Humperman bend over and dash to the left, there to aim her camera over the broken parapet. Subiyama crouched beside him, still recording into her more primitive device.

  “. . . with heavy casualties here at the Legion Command Center but the brave defenders are mounting a counterattack.”

  Lutt heard the loud static pops of deflector rays but the system was invisible except for occasional bursts of purple light.

  Subiyama focused on the same phenomenon, recording: “The much-touted French deflector-ray system appears to have been breached but is working once more. I can see the laser hits overhead and in front of me. They look like purple flowers.”

  Lutt turned with his camera at nearby motion and saw a squad of six-legged robomedics emerge from the command complex. They began ministering to the wounded and dying, removing some of the casualties on inceram stretchers.

  Lutt followed this action with his camera, adding his own commentary as he shot.

  “The Chinese attack on this French stronghold appears to have inflicted heavy casualties. You can see the Legion artillery on the high ground beyond us beginning to return the fire. We can assume the Chinese also are taking heavy losses.”

  He aimed the camera as he spoke, watching through the lens as the guns belched black and silver clouds. The ground trembled with the explosions and his armor’s mike system attenuated the sound automatically to protect his ears.

  From her position crouched by the shattered parapet, Humperman called back to him: “Air attack nine o’clock.”

  Lutt saw her turn and aim her camera. He did the same, seeing a dark swarm of aircraft in the middle distance. Bursts of purple light appeared in the swarm as the Legion artillery found the range.

  “Let’s get off of here!” Subiyama shouted. “This place is a target.”

  She led the way at a crouching run whose speed surprised Lutt. He followed, keeping his camera more or less turned toward the attackers while he explained what was happening.

  Once beyond the parapet, he found himself on brittle brown Venusian stone that crunched underfoot. This shaded into a slippery red sandlike surface much softer than an Earth beach. It slowed him dramatically.

  Recalling the Venus survival pamphlet, Lutt thought: Keep moving! The Venusian hotfoot is no joke.

  Ryll, observing all of this, could not refrain from comment. You don’t even feel the tragedy! You just see it all through your cold, emotionless newsman’s eyes.

  That’s the way it is, Ryll baby. Now stop distracting me unless you want us killed. This is the war you wanted to see.

  I no longer want to see it. Let’s go back inside.

  And have a great story? You are nuts! Now shut up!

  Subiyama leading and Humperman right behind, they passed a staging area for casualties. Opaque inceram cocoons covered most of the wounded but a few cocoons had transparent insets that showed men wrapped in bloody blankets.

  Lutt paused for a few closeups through the transparent insets. None of the legionnaires or robomedics took offense at this activity. They appeared familiar with news coverage and even pointed to areas where the attackers were being shot down.

  Humperman ran up beside him and shouted: “Are you sure they’re getting all of this back on Earth?”

  “As long as that green light shows in your image screen.”

  “Can they talk to us through this thing?”

  “When we’re in transceive mode. I’ll show you later.”

  Ryll, observing the air attackers approaching, feeling the vorcamera Spirals as possibly his last link with all that was Dreen, experienced mounting terror. Some of this began to bleed through into Lutt’s awareness.

  Please, Lutt, Ryll begged. Let us go somewhere safe.

  You told me your life was dull. I’m doing you a favor, Ryll. And at no little expense.

  I’ve changed my mind!

  Too late, Ryll baby!

  When it became apparent there would be no deflecting Lutt from this course, Ryll subsided into Dreen analysis and probing of the Earther. To Ryll’s surprise, he learned that Lutt on rare occasions showed compassion for others. For Ryll, however, Lutt felt no such emotion. Ryll was an alien irritant, as unworthy of consideration as a brute animal.

  Through all of this, Lutt kept his attention mostly on the viewfinder screen of his vorcamera. He was an observer detached from the misery and carnage, without even thoughts of personal danger.

  Ryll found this an extremely odd form of concentration. In its exclusion of exterior distractions, it was sharper in intensity than Dreen idmaging.

  Abruptly a searing pain tore from Lutt’s lower back to the base of his skull, cutting through flesh and vital organs. Ryll, sharing the agony, knew an explosive had penetrated the armor.

  Somewhere, a female voice shouted: “Hanson’s been hit!”

  Lutt felt the jerk and vibration of his armor’s emergency system as it pushed replacement inceram emulsion and cool medicinal foam across the damage area.

  Numb, his consciousness fading, Lutt felt himself falling. Bright yellow and orange colors flashed across his vision. He saw his vorcamera dropping in slow motion, still transmitting to Earth. He had a brief thought of every news medium in the solar system replaying those images, reporting in every language. A deafening roar filled his ears. He sensed black oblivion.

  You’re dying, Earther! Ryll told him. Why didn’t you listen to me?

  “I’m not!” Lutt screamed.

  I think you are. You’re obviously weaker and can’t hold me off any longer. I’m going to cast you out and assume full control. Goodbye and good riddance!

  No. . . don’t. Ill make a sharing arrangement. . . anything. You saved us once. I know you can do it again.

  Ryll, already busy repairing the damaged flesh, wondered privately if he really could rid himself of Hanson. There was a way of escaping from dying flesh without another merger. He knew that much, but lack of attention in class denied him the necessary information.

  Ryll lamented his own pride and foolishness, his juvenile ideas about what a gifted student might accomplish. He knew this wound had destroyed flesh and he began to speculate on whether he would have to use flesh from a dead or dying legionnaire.

  This raised another question: Could three personalities occupy this body? Ryll assumed it was possible.

  Using Lutt’s fear and weakness as leverage, Ryll began to insinuate himself into control of their body—first the eyes, then the major motor systems. He lay flat on the hot surface, wondering if the inceram was about to be breached by a Venusian hot spot. Humperman came into view, bending over him to read the exterior repeaters of his suit meters.

  “You conscious?” she asked.

  “Yes.” The voice was weak, but Ryll thought it a fair approximation of Lutt’s tones, especially in view of the injury.

  “Don’t worry. Me
dics are coming,” Humperman said. “I got the whole thing on camera. I was aimed right at you when the thing hit. Looked like an explosive fragment from a scatter rocket.”

  “Where . . . Subiyama?” he managed.

  “She ran back inside to see if there was a way to file her story. Christ! Here come some more rockets!” Humperman threw herself flat beside him.

  Ryll, now fully in control of his body, felt the ground jump beneath him. An almost continuous flare of laser contacts painted the air purple all around him. He could see the jeweled purple reflections in Humperman’s faceplate. She did not move.

  “Medics on the way?” he asked. “That what you said?”

  There was no response.

  Ryll managed to tilt his head slightly, aiming the faceplate along Humperman’s armored body. The armor below her waist vanished into a steaming puddle of blood. Sickened, desperate, Ryll wondered how he could gain access to what remained of her and use the flesh to restore the Hanson body. Any armor open to Venus would let in the searing heat already consuming Humperman.

  Oh, why did I ever put the idea of seeing a war into Lutt’s head?

  Another explosion shook the ground.

  Lutt surprised him then by intruding with a sharp thought: So you took over, did you? Think you can keep control when I interfere?

  I’m trying to save us, you fool!

  I see Humperman bought it. Where are the damned medics?

  There’s been a scatter rocket attack. May be no survivors.

  Those damn Chink bastards! Look! Her vorcamera’s still transmitting.

  For all I know, so is the one you were using.

  What a story!

  Is that all you can think about?

  I can also think you didn’t get rid of me. Can’t do it, can you?

  I have not yet tried.

  I wonder what the French would do with a captive Dreen?

  Please cooperate, Ryll pleaded. We can’t oppose one another and live. He focused on Humperman’s body. Do you want that to happen to us?