The Iron Breed

by Andre Norton

  “Where is Yaa?”

  TWELVE

  “Yaa?” repeated the captain. He spoke as if he could not identify the name. “You mean Maba. She is with—”

  But Jony interrupted, determined here and now to learn the truth. “Yaa, the female of the People. You took her and Voak, and two others back there in the open.”

  “The female—” Jarat stirred. “She is—” Then he stopped abruptly, perhaps reading Jony's expression better than Jony could that of the captain. Jony rounded on the medic sharply.

  “She is where? Have you killed her?”

  Jarat shook his head. “Of course not! Specimens are—” Again he paused, almost in mid-word.

  Jony fought to retain his self-control, in order not to show either of these strangers his instant hostile reaction.

  “Yaa,” he said with a deliberation which he hoped would make an impression on the two, “saved Rutee's life. She took the twins when Rutee died. Now—what have you done with her?”

  Jarat's eyes dropped from Jony's compelling stare. So the boy turned again to the captain.

  “I ask you—what have you done with the People?”

  It would seem that he was not going to get a quick answer from the commander of the spacemen either. So Jony unleashed his search-sense, sending it straight into the captain's thought pattern.

  A confused picture, but clear enough to bring to Jony a snarl, similar to the guttural utterances of an angry clansman, as his own answer to what he learned.

  Yaa imprisoned among machines not too different from those of the Big Ones. Yaa, perhaps, mind-controlled! Jony's horror and anger fed the power of his concentrated talent.

  The captain was shaking his head, his hands moved jerkily toward his belt, toward what Jony knew must be his weapon. The boy hurled at the officer all the force he could muster. Finally the man slumped in his seat and slid limply to the floor.

  Jony was already turning toward the medic who had risen abruptly to his feet, openly alarmed. Once more the boy concentrated, thrusting ruthlessly into a mind which was wide open to his probe.

  “Yaa,” he ordered, “take me to Yaa!”

  Jarat fought, attempting to raise barriers which Jony, in his fear and ire, overrode easily. Though for how long he might be able to do so he did not know. Stiffly the medic turned to the door, walking as if he fought with every muscle to regain command of the body Jony was forcing to answer to his own purpose. No promise to Rutee could hold now, not after what Jony had read in the captain's mind when he asked for Yaa.

  They left the captain lying on the floor of the cabin. Jony did not know how long the spaceman would remain unconscious, and he was afraid he could not control two at the same time. He must reach Yaa and the others as soon as he could.

  “Jony!” Maba's voice from below. But Jony did not allow himself now to think of anything which would break his hold over Jarat.

  The medic began a slow descent of the central ladder, Jony impatient to force him ahead. He could feel the struggle of the other against his dominion, and he bore down with all the pressure he could exert.

  “Jony!”

  They had descended two levels. Maba stood there, beside the ladder, her eyes alight. Jony did not even glance at her. For the moment Maba did not count. She was free among these; Yaa, the others, were not.

  “Jony, what is the matter?” She caught at his sleeve as he went past her. He freed himself with a quick jerk, intent upon controlling Jarat, keeping the medic moving.

  “Jony . . . !” Now she sounded frightened. That did not matter in the least, though he was aware she had started down after them.

  They were past the level from which Jony had first come, down by the next one. So far they had been lucky not to encounter any other of the crew. Jarat stepped away from the ladder on this level, stood swaying.

  His face was wet with sweat as he made a maximum effort to break Jony's control. Jony himself felt the drain of that power which he must use to keep the other both his prisoner and his guide. For Yaa—Voak—the People—he could do it!

  “Jony—why—?” Maba's voice.

  He shook his head against the irritation of her attempt to gain his attention. Jarat, staggering as he went, still battling control, headed down the passage, a very short one.

  The medic raised his hand very slowly, his inner reluctance to do this thing strong even in that curtailed movement. Now Jarat's palm rested against the wall for an instant. Then, as had those in the place of stones, the wall itself parted, and they came through into the very place Jony had feared might exist.

  The stench of fear here was as strong as the strange smells of the ship. There was Yaa, braced against the wall, metal bands holding her upright, her head encased in a helmet from which sprouted wires of uneven lengths. The purr of a machine was loud; louder still came a plaint which nearly unnerved Jony.

  He looked away from Yaa to the other side of the place of torment. There Voak was fastened the same way. His head had fallen forward; his great eyes were closed. He might be asleep, save that that sound issued from his slack mouth.

  Another of the spacemen bent over the purring machine, his eyes intent upon a lighted square at its top.

  He gave Jarat a quick glance and went back again to his watching.

  “Amazing, simply amazing,” he commented. “The reading is unique.”

  “Yaa!” It was not Jony who cried that. Maba had caught up with them. Now she ran across to reach the furred figure against the wall. But the spaceman at the machine was too quick for her. He threw out one long arm and fended her off, fighting.

  Jony had been shaken by the confirmation of his worst fears. His control wavered. Jarat broke free, whirling, his hands flying to his belt and weapon which hung there.

  No staff, but—From a table nearby Jony snatched up a length of wire, making it into a lash. The People used braided vines so, and he had learned. That loop flipped out, catching about Jarat's wrist.

  “What's going on?” Maba's struggles still kept the other spaceman fully occupied. “What do you think you're doing?” He gave Maba a shake which did not in the least subdue her.

  Jony moved in against the medic. The People wrestled and Jony knew their tricks. Whether they could save him now he had no idea. His body slammed hard against Jarat's, driving the man back against a table, jarring loose things which crashed to the floor. But the spaceman struck back swiftly, body-shaking blows Jony did not know how to counter.

  He had only one weapon—and used it. Into the other's mind he sent a blighting concentration of all the force he could summon and aim.

  Jarat, his hand raised for another attack, stumbled forward, and went to his knees among the breakage from the table. Jony used his wire thong, bringing the other's wrists together behind his back, lashing them together.

  “Jony!” Maba's cry was one of warning.

  He hunched around. The other spaceman held her with one hand. In the other was a belt weapon pointed directly at him. Jony must make a last effort, though he was not sure how much of the force he could still summon. But he once more used his talent for assault.

  The face of the spaceman twisted. He cried out with a queer rising scream. Maba, loose, sprang for his weapon hand, using her wiry strength to wrest the arm out of his grip. Before Jony could move, she turned it on its owner, pressed a button on the butt.

  Her victim flopped forward, falling face down beside the still writhing Jarat.

  “Him—too!” Maba leveled the stunner again.

  “Don't kill—” Jony began, but she laughed recklessly.

  “These don't kill, they just make people sleep.” She pressed the button and Jarat also subsided.

  Maba looked down at the spacemen, then she gazed up at Jony.

  “I didn't know, Jony, truly I didn't!” she begged him to understand. “I didn't know what they did to Yaa . . .”

  “Now you do,” he answered shortly. “And I don't know if we can get out of here.”

 
He was already at Yaa's side, working on those bonds which kept her thick-set body immobile. There was some trick to the fastening, as there had been a trick to the collar, and he could not discover it. They must hurry. The captain might already have recovered and alarmed the whole ship.

  “Please, Jony,” Maba hovered at his side. “I didn't know . . .”

  He was fighting those stubborn bonds, pressing here and there, tearing with his fingers. What kept them fastened?

  How had the Big Ones operated these things? Jony racked his memory without gaining any coherent answer. He backed away a step or so, and struck against the machine over which the spaceman had been so busy at their entrance. Could the machine control the locks? That was not impossible. But which of the many buttons in rows across it were the right ones? He feared to experiment lest he harm Yaa the more.

  “Jony,” Maba pushed close to him. “Look here.” She held the weapon and was shoving it in his direction. “Could you use this to break . . .”

  He did not want to touch the thing. Like the red rod, it represented a force he neither understood nor wanted to use.

  “Drop that!” he ordered.

  “No! With it we can get out of here, Jony. We can just put to sleep anyone who tries to stop us.”

  He adjusted his thinking. She was right. With that to defend the door of this place, they might have more time to work on the bonds which held Yaa and Voak.

  “Jonnnneeee—”

  Startled he looked around. Voak's head was up, his huge eyes open wide. He had twisted his powers of speech mightily to utter that croak which approximated Jony's name. That he had something of the utmost importance to communicate, the boy knew. But his paw-hands were helpless, he could not sign any message. And Jony's sense could not connect enough to receive any real illumination.

  The boy realized that Voak was making as great an effort of will as he himself had done earlier when he had held Jarat in control and forced the medic to lead him here.

  Opening his mind as far as he could, Jony stared deep into the clansman's eyes. The—the place of buttons! He laid his hand on the edge of it. Voak's muzzle rose and fell eagerly. If the clansman knew . . .

  “Maba,” Jony gave the order crisply. “Go to the door. Be ready to use the weapon.”

  She nodded, detoured around their unconscious captives, stationed herself directly before the portal. The stunner, steadily grasped in both her hands, was raised breast high, held ready.

  Jony began to hold his index finger over the buttons in their rows. He knew Voak was watching. But there came no signal.

  Did the clansman understand? He was sure Voak did; that he was feverishly waiting for Jony to reach the right one.

  None of the first row, or the second. But, as Jony's fingertip hovered over the first one of the third row, Voak gave quick, vigorous assent. Jony applied pressure.

  There was a click, and the bands holding Yaa snapped loose, as did Voak's also. The clansman lumbered across the cabin, reached his mate's side, to support her body against his while Jony raced to free her head from the network of wires. Voak's tongue caressed the fur of her cheek, and, uttering a weak small sound, she opened her eyes.

  “Jony, I hear them coming!” Maba called.

  There was a thudding from without, as if many feet pounded down that ladder at a speed which suggested attack was imminent. Jony got to Maba, grabbing the weapon from her.

  “You hold it so,” she told him, “and press that!”

  “Where are the others—Geogee, the People?”

  “Geogee went with the ones who wanted to see the stone place,” she told him. “I don't know where they put Corr or Uga.”

  “And maybe we can't wait to find out,” Jony returned grimly. He wondered if any one of them would win free of the ship. He might be able to control Jarat or any of the other spacemen one at a time. However, he was sure he could not extend that domination over the entire crew at once. He glanced at the prisoners on the floor. Could they be used as a bargaining point?

  A grunt from Voak drew his attention. The clansman was leading Yaa away from the wall. Her eyes were only half-open. It was apparent she moved only because her mate urged her along. With one hand Jony made the sign for “danger,” indicating the door.

  Voak grunted again and dipped his nose in assent. With his paw-hands he continued to pet and smooth Yaa gently, giving voice to a series of small rumbles.

  Then, out of the air about them, a voice spoke:

  “Attention—red alert . . . You in the lab. Jony . . . Maba . . . !”

  For a single moment Jony thought that had been spoken by one of their prisoners. Only, when he glanced down, he saw that both men were still under the influence of Maba's weapon. Then who—and how . . . ?

  He stared around wildly, searching for the speaker. Maba caught his arm, stood on tiptoe, her lips forming words silently, so he stooped closer and caught her whisper:

  “They talk so from cabin to cabin. That is the captain.”

  Perhaps she could recognize the voice, but to Jony the order had an inhuman tone, cold and distant.

  “Are you listening?” the unseen asked. “You cannot get out. Neither can you, Jony, use Esper against us again. Try . . .”

  Such was the compulsion of that command, Jony did. His thought-probe struck against an unbreakable barrier. The force of the meeting hurled his own power back at him like a blow, so he wavered on his feet.

  “Jony!” Maba's anguished cry forced him out of that backlash. So, he thought bleakly, the only weapon he truly knew how to use was lost to him.

  “Do you understand?” continued the voice. “We can dampen you as much as we want, knock you completely out, as we did before.”

  Perhaps they could. He had no measure of what forces they could control in turn.

  “Use your intelligence,” the words came out of the air to plague him. “You are completely in our hands. There is no escape . . .”

  Jony threw back his head. That last had held an arrogant assurance which something in him refused to accept. Now he spoke aloud: “Use your intelligence,” he countered. “We have two of your people here.”

  “Just so. But if you attempt to bargain with them as hostages, we shall not play. You can remain where you are until you are hungry enough to agree to come out peacefully.”

  Before Jony could frame any answer to that, if the captain were still listening, Maba raised her voice with a tone he knew of old:

  “You told me Yaa was all right!” she shouted. “You said you would let her and Voak, and Uga, and Corr go. But you hurt her! You are like the Big Ones after all!”

  Her face grew flushed as her voice rose higher. Maba had always had a quick temper, now she was fast approaching the peak of one of her tantrums. She spun around, seizing the nearest object from the shelf on her right. Then, with a deliberation which spelled her full intent to do the most harm she could, she advanced on the box which had controlled the bands that had held the People prisoner. Raising a heavy bar in her hands, well over her head, she brought it down with all her might on the machine.

  The glass panel on its top splintered. There was a flashing of sparks from the interior below.

  “Try it now!” she shouted. “Just try to use this to hurt Yaa again—or anyone else!”

  Gripped by a frenzy close to hysteria, the girl battered at the machine. Jony made no move to stop her. In fact he was a little envious that he had not seen that obvious form of retaliation himself. Destroy the lab equipment, and the spacemen could not use it to torment any other prisoners they might take.

  “Stop her! Stop her, you fool!” The man who had operated that installation at last raised his head from the floor waveringly, watching, with a shadow of horror on his face, Maba's destructive attack.

  “Why?” Jony asked. “So you can use it on the People? She's right, you're no better than the Big Ones.”

  “You don't understand.” The man tried to crawl toward the scene of action. Jony stepped swif
tly between him and Maba, though the obvious distress of the spaceman had given him the beginnings of an idea.

  “She'll burn out the circuits!” The man's voice was half a howl now. “We'll all be fried in a backlash.”

  “Better that than end in your cages,” Jony held his outer calm. The fear of this stranger was convincing—perhaps they were in danger. If they were, so much the better for his own poor hope of their survival.

  “Maba—” Jony stepped behind the girl, catching her arms as she raised them above her head to deliver yet another attack on the very battered machine. There was a strange, unpleasant odor leaking from the box now.

  “Let me go!” She thrust against him.

  “Not yet,” Jony returned. “Perhaps we can exchange something . . .”

  Maba wriggled her head about so she could look up into his face.

  “How about that?” Jony spoke directly to the spaceman who was struggling to move closer. Beyond him the medic lay; his eyes, too, were now open. “Now listen very carefully, both of you. I think Maba has the right idea, I think this whole lab should be smashed. I don't like cages, I don't like people who look like me but act like Big Ones. I don't like my friends being hurt. Do you understand that?”

  “We weren't hurting them—we were testing . . .” the spaceman returned.

  “I have been tested—so,” Jony said. “I have seen what happens to lab ‘animals.' You believe these People are animals, don't you?” He bore in fiercely. “You need not make up an answer to please me, I can read what you really think—”

  Jarat spoke first. “What do you intend to do now? Captain Trefrew cannot be pushed . . .”

  “I can let Maba continue with her work here,” returned Jony, “even join her. You see, having been a lab captive once, I have no intention of ever being so again. It is much better to be dead—”

  “But,” protested the other spaceman, “we have no intention of touching you or the children. Ask her—” he indicated Maba with a lift of his chin, “whether she has not been very well treated.”