House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  Valleroy watched in horrified fascination as the strong-minded courageous girl he’d loved so much cowered like a sick animal in the farthest corner of her cage. She was trembling in psychotic dread, saliva curling out of sagging mouth, eyes bulging. And she screamed her terror with every breath until her beautiful voice was a harsh whisper. Then she continued to scream as if by habit...mindlessly.

  “Aisha!” called Valleroy over and over, but it had no effect except possibly to increase her fright. Unable to understand what had happened to her, Valleroy turned to the channel.

  He found Klyd also shaking, beads of sweat tracing runnels down his deeply lined face. But the channel somehow managed to pull himself together enough to move toward Valleroy. “Come...over here.” He led the way along their common wall until they crouched beside the outside bars. With visible trembling still wracking him, Klyd slumped to the floor. “That fear! Help me, Naztehr. Help me.”

  Valleroy tried to squeeze his hand between the bars, but it caught at the wrist, no more than touching he center row of bars. “I want to, Sectuib. But I can’t reach you. I don’t understand what’s making her like this. I don’t know how to stop it.”

  Klyd’s shaking subsided under the influence of Valleroy’s emotional nager, but the Gen’s field was a torture of a different sort. Eyes closed, Klyd leaned his head on his knees and said, “They’ve drugged her. I’ve heard about this, but I never really believed anybody would do it. A drug-induced fear used to spice the kill. Fits Andle’s personality.”

  Valleroy shook his head, stunned. “Every time I almost decide Simes are just people, I discover some new horror worse than any of the superstitions.”

  “This is new, even to me. I think they’d given her an overdose and had to tranquilize her while some of it wore off.”

  “Must be still overdosed. She’s afraid of her own shadow. She’ll die of heart failure.”

  As if on cue, a troop of guards marched up to the far side of the cage. Three of them climbed to the roof. A moment later, two of them had leaped down into Aisha’s cage and clamped a breathing mask over her face. There was a purple-banded cylinder attached to the mask. Valleroy heard the hiss of escaping gas. Moments later Aisha subsided into unconsciousness.

  Both guards turned and leaped up to the ceiling, catching the rim of the trap door. Each hauled himself out as effortlessly as if climbing a stair. Then the trap door clanged shut. The detail marched off with many backward glances toward Klyd. The only words Valleroy could find to describe the expression on their faces at that moment were “anticipatory leer.” They were sadists preparing for a feast.

  When they’d gone, Klyd wiped his face on his cloak and breathed a little easier.

  “Sectuib, could you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Jump out of that cage.”

  “If the door wasn’t locked from above, certainly. Scarcely requires augmentation. But they aren’t going to unlock that door until I’m safely dead.”

  “If I get a chance, I’ll unlock it.”

  The channel peered through the bars at the fragments of Valleroy’s face that he could see. “And I thought I was delirious. You better get some sleep.” He pulled himself to his feet and tottered carefully to the far corner, where he resumed his prone position.

  Valleroy was thankful that his partner was still fighting. But there was no telling when he’d give up. To minimize the field-gradient between them, Valleroy took himself to the farthest corner of his cage and prepared to spend the night scheming. But he fell asleep to the monotonous throbbing of his ankle.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AISHA’S KILL

  “Hugh! Naztehr, wake up! Hugh!”

  Valleroy rolled over, groaning and tried to pull the sheet higher over his head. But there was no sheet. That brought the flood of wakening memory. He sat up aching from the hard floor.

  “Hugh?” It was Aisha’s voice!

  He gathered his feet under him and staggered toward the corner of the cell. She was standing, haggard but calm, in the center of her cell, and she was almost smiling. “I don’t believe it’s you. I must still be dreaming!”

  “Aisha. It’s no dream. We’re here.”

  “I wish it were a dream. It was only me who’d die before. Now they’ll get you too! They made me watch it...how they do it. It’s horrible. I can’t stand the thought of them doing that to you.”

  “Don’t worry. My partner here saw to it I had my immunity shots before he brought me.”

  Her eyes traveled to where Klyd stood gripping the bars and watching her.

  Valleroy said, “You two have met, haven’t you?”

  “I’d appreciate a formal introduction, Naztehr,” said Klyd in his most cultured English.

  Feeling a bizarre sense of propriety, Valleroy said, “Sectuib, this is Aisha Rauf, model and artist extraordinary. Aisha, this is Sectuib Klyd Farris of Householding Zeor. He’s the finest channel within a hundred miles and I’m proud to be here as his Companion.”

  With a quizzical little smile playing about her mouth, Aisha said, “I’m pleased to meet you, sir, but I doubt if I’d shake hands under the best of circumstances.”

  “No need to be rude,” chided Valleroy. “It’s usually quite safe to shake hands with Klyd, though I wouldn’t recommend it at the moment. He’s a channel.”

  “A channel of what?”

  “Selyn. He’s one of those Simes that can take selyn from any Gen without killing and then channel it to Simes so they don’t have to kill.”

  “I thought that was just a story.”

  “It’s true. I’ve lived in his Householding for several weeks while we were looking for you. I ate with Simes, roomed with them, and worked beside them. I don’t look very dead, do I?”

  She inspected what she could see of Valleroy and then shifted her attention to Klyd. “He’s kidding.”

  “Madame, my Companion speaks truth.”

  “Companion?” she echoed as if perceiving the unique intonation for the first time.

  Valleroy explained the more obvious implication of that title. He finished, “So you see, they can’t kill me the usual way. And they won’t kill me until after....”

  She picked up when Valleroy choked on the thought. “Until after Klyd dies? Are you dying?”

  “Slowly.”

  “But even so, you wouldn’t kill Hugh if you were put in the same cage?”

  “Definitely not, but they wouldn’t allow us contact.”

  “How cruel. I can understand the poor beasts killing us because they can’t help it. But torturing their own kind with that same instinct...they ought to be exterminated!”

  Klyd turned to Valleroy and spoke in Simelan, “You see? Typical reaction. Exterminate the Simes and solve the problem. Haven’t the centuries taught the Gens anything about this?”

  Valleroy nodded. “I see what you mean. The channels are really the only answer, and even the sensible Gens can’t see it.” Valleroy suddenly realized just how far he’d come from the night he’d entered Sime Territory feet first. Aisha spoke for her whole society, but Valleroy was no longer a part of it.

  “Naztehr, this is the woman you love. Give her time to adjust. She may yet learn.”

  Aisha said, “Hugh, I didn’t know you spoke their language so well!”

  “I couldn’t before I went hunting for you. You’ve led us a merry chase, you know.

  “I’ve been right here the whole time.”

  “But,” said Klyd, “we didn’t know that. I lost one of my best men getting the lead that brought us here.”

  Suddenly; the thundering of horses hooves broke the morning stillness. Lathered, blowing thin puffs of steam, the horses cantered under the archway and disappeared behind the buildings. A large, ornately decked party of riders...obviously someone in authority....“Who do you suppose...?” said Valleroy.

  “Andle, no doubt,” said Klyd.

  “Who’s he?”

  As Klyd withdrew to a far corn
er, Valleroy explained Andle’s part in the complex of events that had brought them all here. His heart lifted as he watched her assimilate the information. She wasn’t beaten. She was defiant. He thought it was a very special woman indeed who could be heartened by the knowledge that she was a victim of a truly meaningful, gigantic war maneuver rather than of random chance.

  From the outer bars, Klyd called, “Here they come!”

  The sharp clatter of shod hooves on bare stone echoed from the cliff face. Then a party of riders erupted from the passage between two barracks buildings. They were all well-dressed Simes, men accustomed to commanding others and proud to advertise that fact in their appearance.

  The rider in the lead stood out conspicuously from his retinue.

  He was of medium build, well into middle age, and seemed to come from the usual mixed racial descent. But there his similarity to his followers ended. He carried a short, dress version of the Sime whip, hardly more than a riding crop with a jeweled handle. His black boots were polished to an impossible mirror finish. His flamboyant white riding cloak draped his horse’s flanks with the smooth fold of the richest material. His impeccably tailored jacket was cut for fashion, not warmth. And his few items of jewelry were chosen with the ostentatious conservatism of the confidently wealthy.

  But it was not the painful attention to grooming that labeled him. He would have been just as impressive clad only in muddy rags. It was the flash of eye, the tilt of brow, the confident arrogance of every smoothly coordinated movement that gave him an aura that could subjugate a reigning monarch. Here was the kind of leader who would attract followers intent on supporting only the winning side.

  In that momentary pause before the visitors dismounted, Valleroy suddenly saw the entire conflict in a new light. On the one side, the Tecton founded on ideals and personal loyalty; on the other, the juncts banded together by personal greed. The Tecton was creating a society of interdependent units; the juncts’ society was composed of mutually repelled units that would fly apart if the binding force were to falter.

  That instant would be Andle’s death. And, promised Valleroy silently, that would be the second installment in the Death Price of Feleho Ambrov Zeor!

  The flash of inarticulate hatred that accompanied his vow attracted a momentary glance from the intended victim. Even so, when Andle had dismounted, he went directly to Klyd.

  The grimace that twisted Andle’s mouth bespoke a dire victory on the Sime’s side. Even before one word had been said, Valleroy’s heart chilled. His shifting emotional nager earned him another piercing glance that culminated in diabolical laughter. “Sectuib...Ambrov...Zeor...your Companion is right!” And more laughter, so cultured yet so barbarically triumphant.

  Valleroy thought even the laughter was as carefully calculated for impressiveness as was Andle’s appearance. But even so, it wasn’t Andle who dominated that scene. It was Klyd. Imprisoned though he was, obviously at the others nonexistent mercy, dirty, ragged, and torn with need, the channel’s quiet dignity somehow made Andle seem overdressed...a buffoon too inept to clown in Zeor’s kindergarten.

  It was the oddest thing Valleroy had ever seen, that wordless confrontation. Later, thinking back on it, he decided it was the triumph of co-operation over competition. Klyd did not stand alone. Even isolated in a cage, he could draw upon the combined strength of the whole Tecton while Andle had only his own self-confidence to support him. At that time, though, Valleroy could see only how Klyd’s imperceptible source of strength shattered the unity of Andle’s retinue. And with that observation, Valleroy again found hope.

  But not for long. The awkward laughter ceased, and the twisted face hardened. Only the lips moved, curling around each word sneeringly as Andle pronounced, “Zeor is DEAD!”

  Valleroy guessed it wasn’t those words that devastated Klyd. It was the emotional content behind them. Words could be bluff or boast. But the channel’s expertise was in reading emotions. No ordinary Sime could deceive a channel.

  “What do you mean?” The question was delivered tonelessly, but that itself indicated the intense control behind those words.

  Now came the long awaited moment of total victory for Andle. He produced a newspaper, unrolled it, and held it up for Klyd to read the headline. It was a special edition of the Tecton Weekly. “Yesterday,” read Valleroy, “Yenava Ambrov Zeor, wife of Sectuib Klyd Farris, died at Householding Zeor.”

  The rest was beyond his field of vision, but Andle supplied the news. “Yenava went into labor. There were complications. Because you weren’t there, your grandfather tried to help her.” He paused to observe the effect he was creating. “Your wife, son, and your grandfather are dead. You will follow shortly. Without leader, Zeor...is...dead!”

  Klyd betrayed little outward sign of reaction, but there must have been some flicker of emotion that set Andle laughing again. But that laughter was a serious tactical blunder. Eyes narrowed, the channel shifted his weight ever so slightly and waited.

  The solidarity of Andle’s men, which had begun to coalesce once more, dissolved in an instant. The defeated prisoner still dominated the triumphant captor. It couldn’t be, yet there it was, undeniable even to an emotion-deaf Gen.

  The laughter died away more quickly this time, and into the silence Klyd said, “Zeor is not a person, it’s an idea. Ideas cannot be killed by destroying the people who hold them. Unto Zeor, forever.”

  Realizing that his victim had claimed victory, Andle spat, “Pervert!”

  At that, Klyd smiled gently, almost as if Andle had offered the traditional Zeor pledge. Speechless, Andle stormed toward Aisha, smacking riding crop against his thigh as he inspected his merchandise. Valleroy saw her retreat from the angry Sime. She hadn’t understood a word that had been said, but most of the communication had been nonverbal and universally clear.

  To cover her fear, Valleroy shouted, “You’re the pervert, you coward! You’re too gutless to take a Gen who isn’t drug-crazed into fear”—Valleroy paused to space his words like poisoned darts—“because...you are terrified of what a Gen could do to you!”

  Andle froze in the act of confronting Aisha, as if unable to confront his accuser.

  Valleroy sneered contemptuously. “Or is it that you must have a Gen artificially stimulated in order to trigger your own sluggish reflexes...because you really want to go to a channel!”

  “SHUT UP!”

  “You leave her alone, do you hear me, Pervert,” said Valleroy with chillingly dangerous control, “or I’ll carve my initials on your laterals!”

  Abruptly, the Sime abandoned Aisha and rounded on the Companion. “So! Our brave Companion wants the girl! And our conceited pervert wants his Companion. It might be interesting to put the girl in with the pervert and see what happens...in...say...another three days from now?”

  Valleroy bluffed, “Klyd wouldn’t hurt her. She’d serve him as well as I could.”

  “She probably would,” said Andle grinning. “Just as well, and no better!”

  At Valleroy’s startled reaction, Andle snorted, “Oh, yes, we know all about you, Mr. Federal Policeman. And I am personally going to arrange a little test to see how much you’ve learned from the perverts!”

  The politician strode back to his horse and mounted with a flourish. A moment later he was gone, taking even the roof guard with him as a gesture of utter contempt for the prisoners.

  As soon as the Simes were out of sight, the three who had stood solidly united collapsed into solitary hopelessness, each for his own reason. Valleroy slid to the floor feeling stripped of his camouflage of invincibility, forgetting that Andle couldn’t know all about his background and would never believe how much Valleroy actually had learned. Aisha merely added one more ignominious defeat to the long list she’d suffered here. And Klyd allowed himself at long last to react to the loss of the three who meant the most to him.

  It was the sound of the channel’s grief that brought Valleroy out of his own misery. Quiet dry sobs of a brave man
’s defeat, it was nothing that even the closest friend should witness. Yet there was no avoiding the intrusion.

  “Klyd, listen. He came here to break you...to smash Zeor’s pride. Don’t let a few words win his victory for him! Make him fight for it!”

  The sobbing went on and on while Valleroy talked for what seemed like hours, saying the same thing over as many different ways as his Simelan vocabulary permitted. Then he said it all again in English, partly for Aisha’s benefit and partly to say more exactly what he meant.

  At last, he had nothing more to offer but, “He was wrong about me, Sectuib. I can serve...and I will serve well. You’ve said so yourself. You know it’s true. Aisha has courage. Together you and I can teach her enough to cheat Andle of whatever thrills he expects.”

  Valleroy fell silent, and gradually Klyd’s anguish came under control. Moments later, the channel turned his grimy drawn face toward them. “They too were soldiers who died in the war that we...must...stop. Their sacrifice will not be in vain.”

  Valleroy answered, “Unto Zeor, forever.”

  The channel’s dark eyes revealed the slow agony that consumed him. But his voice was steady when he answered, “Unto Zeor, forever.”

  In English, Valleroy said, “Let’s sit down. We have a lot of work to do today.”

  They gathered around the corner where their cages met. Klyd opened. “I don’t see what we can do with nothing but words...but you evidently have some idea.”

  “Well, for a start,” said Valleroy, “we can try to figure out how much time we have to prepare. Andle didn’t appear to be in need, but then I’m not the expert on that. How about it, Sectuib?”

  “I expect he’ll hit ivren early tomorrow morning. If he follows the usual custom, he’ll call for his kill before noon.”

  “So soon? That doesn’t give us much time.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t really have a plan. But if this is a war, it seems to me we’re on a suicide mission. We have to take as many of the enemy with us as we can.”