by Andre Norton
It was easy for Jony to clamber through it and gather Maba as Otik handed her in. But the clansman found entrance more difficult. His thick body was never intended for climbing, and the hole itself was a tight wedge. However, Otik made it.
The darkness within, away from that hole, was almost as thick as that in the den where Jony had found Maba. Now the three linked hands, Maba's in Jony's; his fingers grasped in Otik's strong hold. It was plain that the clansman's night sight would still be their guide.
All Jony could make out were shadows, with here and there one of the tall pillars looming up near them. Maba had uttered no sound since their journey had started. He was glad that she seemed able to make her way on foot here without weakening.
They came to the door they sought by a different angle so that Jony at first did not quite recognize the opening. Then he knew this was the one through which his own party of clansmen had invaded the city. Otik paused there, sniffing deeply. He even took a step or two toward the front of the large space as if to verify his discoveries. Then he resolutely returned to the entrance.
The way was too dark to see any tracks. Otik himself was only a black bulk in this deep dusk. Now the clansman caught Jony's hand again, drawing him toward the opening. If Otik were certain that Geogee did have some way of following Volney . . .
They were almost within the long-walled run when Jony heard a dread sound even through the stones of the great den. The buzz of the flyer! Faint—but growing stronger. Volney had been able to guide Geogee. Was he also in communication with those coming to his rescue? And with the air speed of the flyer . . .
Otik had been listening too. Now he grunted, jerked at Jony's hand. Apparently the need for speed had also impressed him.
They went on at this swift pace, the best the clansman could produce in times of great necessity. Jony feared that Maba could not keep up; but she continued to trot along beside him with the ease she had shown when they had traveled across country, before the evil of the stone place and the sky ship had broken into their safe lives.
Down the passage they went, coming out into the open land among the ridges. Jony believed that he knew their destination now: the place of the cage above in the heights. At least Otik kept on to the northeast. That Geogee must still be ahead, he was not certain. And what of the rest of the clansmen who had retreated with their prisoners?
Jony's throat was dry; he was vaguely aware once more of both hunger and thirst. And what of Maba? She still made no complaint, but she did stumble frequently, and finally fell. Jony dropped back beside her. Then Otik, grunting something in his own tongue, once more scooped her up.
From time to time Jony sent out a questing probe. He had not yet picked up that deadness which he thought might identify Geogee. Instead he touched on an awareness which heralded one of the clansmen. That brief contact heartened him for a second spurt of effort.
The path they followed was so confused, winding from one ridge valley to the next, that Jony worried from time to time if Otik himself knew where they were bound. Yet the clansman never hesitated, turning right or left with the authority of one following a well-marked trail.
Now—yes! In the moonlight Jony saw the ledges rising. This he knew—the way to the cage place. And, at the top of that climb, hunched in the moonlight like a craggy rock, was Voak. Otik set Maba on her feet at the foot of the ascent. He took not only his staff, but Jony's, and began to drum with their butts. Jony threw his arm around Maba's shoulders, aiding her as they climbed.
At the crest Voak stood in the bright moonlight. He made no gesture of welcome; neither did he bar their way, but only turned and walked ahead, his own staff raised to thump in unison with Otik's two. They had slowed their pace to walk with a ponderous dignity. Then Voak raised his deep voice, echoed by the younger clansman.
“Jony—” Maba began.
He tightened his hold on her. “Hush!” he gave a single whispered warning.
Once more he felt that tingling. Only this time it was heightened, striking him as a series of small shocks. He refused to allow himself to think of what that power might do, this must be followed to the end.
The red-lighted cave opened before them. There was the cage. Only this time it held not bones, but living bodies. Here were the two spacemen and Geogee, who crouched near one. The boy's helmet was gone and he looked as if he had been rolled in mud and dust. But as far as Jony could see he was unharmed.
If the clansmen had imprisoned their captives, they had not yet collared them. But their off-world weapons and helmets were laid out in a row on the floor just beyond the bars of their prison. Stunners—and one of the red rods! Jony's fingers curled. He wanted nothing more than to seize upon that, hurl the thing so far away no one could chance on it again.
“You—Jony!” It was the spaceman who had been Geogee's companion. He advanced to the front of the cage, caught the bars with his hands.
Jony dropped Maba's hand. He paid no attention to the hail from the off-worlder. Instead he concentrated on Geogee. He read his thoughts, his memory; he reached as far as he could into the other's head.
Each new discovery he sorted out, filed to incorporate in his own store of knowledge. But what had happened to Geogee? He was—alien! Not mind-controlled as Jony had known that state before, with the boy's personality erased either temporarily or entirely, so that he knew only such thoughts as his captors wished. No, Geogee's mind was as alive as it had ever been; it was simply that he had somehow accepted an entirely different way of thought.
Geogee now held hot resentment against the clansmen. They had trapped him in a net, spoiled his chance to rescue the man beside him, to prove himself worthy of Volney's interest.
Worthy! Jony knew bitterness at that. He could read all Geogee's thoughts concerning himself. And now began to examine his own feelings in relation to the boy. Because Geogee and Maba were Rutee's, he had given them all the protection and care he could. But he never had felt toward them as he had toward Rutee, that he was a part of them, and that they were, in a way, a part of him. No, perhaps he felt revulsion because they had been born to Rutee by will of the Big Ones, the children of a mind-controlled who had taken Rutee by force. Deep down Jony hated the act which had brought them into the world. Only the promises to Rutee and his own control of his emotions had given him a friendly surface relationship with the twins.
Had the children always sensed this reserve in him, even if they could not read his thoughts? Perhaps. Now Geogee had discovered in this spaceman someone to whom he felt truly akin. The boy's mind had opened to this man, had taken in greedily and joyfully all the other had to offer. Geogee was mind-controlled by his own choice. He longed only to be another Volney.
So, having found Volney, he was now prepared to turn fully against Jony, accepting Volney's values without question. Geogee—Geogee was lost.
Was Maba also? But there was no time now to think of Maba. Jony must deal with Geogee, Volney, and the other one. That the three could be kept here as the People had imprisoned the others was impossible; not with their flyer already cruising, hunting . . .
But neither must they be allowed to use their wills on the People, this world!
Jony could see in Geogee's mind the distorted picture of the People as the spacemen judged them: great shambling animals to be dealt with as one deals with a slight obstruction which can be easily swept away. The People would not last against the might the invaders could summon.
Once more Jony searched Geogee's memory, soaking up all he could of Volney's teaching, seeking a way out for his people. He burrowed for all the details concerning the ship-communication. What he found there—but he must have time to think!
Geogee was on his feet in the cage, his face a tight grimace. He had not protection against Jony's invasion, still he was fighting dully. Jony withdrew, and Geogee lunged against the bars, his voice suddenly raised in a scream of defiance.
“You let us go, Jony! You make them let us go!” He was once again a smal
l boy swept by temper tinged with fear.
“He's right, you know.” Volney watched Jony narrowly. There was a lazy curl to his lips as if he saw in the other nothing to fear, that he himself, in spite of being a caged prisoner, had full command of the situation. “I don't know how these animals have managed to influence you, but—”
Jony gave him a long, measured look, then tried swiftly to probe. His mind-thrust was met by a locked defense, even though Volney wore no blanketing helmet. The spaceman threw back his head to laugh derisively.
“That you can't do, my friend. We have sensitives among us, too—but trained ones.”
At the same time he spoke, he counter-probed. Jony could feel his attack. However, though Jony had not consciously raised any barrier, the other could not penetrate. Volney was putting full force in his desire to reach Jony, perhaps to implant his own ideas as he had with Geogee. But those pulses of power did not reach as he intended.
The easy curve faded from the other's lips. His mouth became a grim line. Those eyes stared straight into Jony's, as if by the power of an unblinking stare alone he could force a way for his power to enter.
“You cannot,” Jony said, knowing that he spoke the truth.
The other relaxed. “So it's a standoff,” he said. Jony did not recognize the word, but understood its meaning. “We'll get you, Jony, you know that. Sooner or later.”
Jony thought of the returning flyer, of those it might have brought with it. He knew Volney was right, yet he had no intention of surrender. Now he spoke aloud. “You have no right here. This world belongs to the People.”
“Did they build that city?” countered Volney. “You, yourself, know of the status they had there. Animals—pets—things to be owned. We tested your People. They are not of a mind pattern to be considered equal with human beings within the range of galactic law. That city is a storehouse. A find such as men make once, perhaps, in a thousand years. This world—our breed need this world.”
“You need, so you take,” Jony replied. “The Big Ones needed; they took. We were then the animals within their labs. I have been caged. I have seen what they did—for sport—to increase their ‘knowledge.' Yes, they considered it gaining of knowledge from our torment, blood, death. You would do the same here, as you tried with Yaa, with Voak. Animals? You and the Big Ones are less than animals. Not even the Red Heads torment before they kill, and they kill only to live. You would take this world and make it yours, but you shall not!”
What Jony had gained from his probe of Geogee, what had lain as vague ideas in the back of his mind, now came together in a grim pattern. He was not quite sure of his counterplan as yet, only in general outlines. But whatever he could do, he must.
A hand slipped into his; Maba had moved forward to stand beside him, just as Geogee stood beside Volney radiating defiance.
“You—” she spoke to Geogee, “what have they done to you, Geogee? Yaa—they hurt Yaa! When you were sick, she carried you, and hunted a long time for the leaves to make you well. Yaa is real; Voak is real. They are not just things to be used. They are our people.”
“People?” Geogee cried out in a choked voice, his face flushed. “The ship's people are ours, and you know it. They've come to take us home, to live as we should, not wandering around with a pack of animals, with him”—he flung out a hand to point to Jony—“telling us what to do, getting into our minds and making us obey him! He's got you mind-controlled and you don't even know it. But I guess the mind-controlled don't—not when they're caught forever and ever . . .”
Jony had not heard more than a jumble of words. Gently he released Maba's hold. Then he took two steps to where the weapons of the strangers lay on the rock. Geogee's helmet was there, too. That was an added aid in what he must attempt.
He picked that up first, tried to settle it on his head, but the thick club of his hair prevented it. Impatiently he reached for the metal staff Otik held. Using its sharpened edge, he sawed through the hair, dropping that to the ground. Now the helmet would go on. He reached for the nearest stunner and the red rod.
Voak moved to bar his way.
“What you do?” the clanchief signed.
Jony had only one answer. “What I must to make sure the People remain free.”
Apparently Voak believed him, for the clansman stepped aside. Jony took up the stunner with one hand, the rod with the other.
“You can't do anything, you fool,” Volney's voice reached even inside the helmet. He sounded very confident.
“Do not be sure,” Jony answered as he turned toward the entrance of the place of the cage. There were many ways his poor plan could go wrong. He could only hope to try as hard as he could to make it succeed.
EIGHTEEN
One chance in how many? Jony shook his head. If Geogee had been right in what he had learned from Volney, such counting seemed almost like an action of a bad dream, like comparing one blade of grass to all the rest which grew in one of the wide-bottom lands. Could that be true? That the chance against the spacemen finding this world had been as small as that? Volney's own reckoning—might that be depended upon?
And if that ship never lifted from this planet, never returned to base with its burden of information concerning this world, then the chances of any such coming again were far reduced. One man—to defeat a ship? That, too, might rank with the impossible. He could only try.
“Calling Spearpoint. Come in Spearpoint! Can you read me!”
Jony's head jerked, one hand flew up to the helmet on his head. Whose voice rang in his ears? The sound had a metallic rasp he could not associate with normal speech. Then he understood. The communicator in the helmet was working. Those who had come in the flyer must be trying to locate the rest of their party.
The voice had changed now to an annoying buzz which made him want to free his head. Until he discovered that grew louder or lessened as he turned this way or that among the ridges, heading back toward the city through the night.
A possible guide! He could follow the volume of the sound to bring him to the flyer party. But he must not contact them yet. There was a greater need . . .
Jony could picture in his mind that row of looted boxes the spacemen had been bringing from the storage room. Those were bait, and they were also the danger. He swung the rod in his hand. The alien weapon weighed much less than the metal shaft which he had left with Voak, but, as he knew, this was far more deadly. How many of these lay encased there? Only one or two might be needed to win this battle with the off-worlders.
Jony filed that plan in the back of his mind and concentrated on the buzzing guide which he had not expected to bring him so easily to his goal. He traversed the ridge valleys at a steady trot. Hungry, yes, he was hungry, thirsty too. But since he had taken on that flow of energy from the stone woman, neither of those states of body seemed able to slow him. There was no time to answer his own physical needs.
Twist, turn, right and then left, with the sound growing, fading ever in his ears. At last he could see the lump of the city, silver and black in the moonlight. The buzz urged him left toward the far side. However, that was not yet his goal.
“Spearpoint come in!” Again the words, imperative and demanding.
Jony could not have replied, even if he had wanted to. These spacemen spoke to each other in patterns which they had set up before they ventured out of their ship. Even Geogee had not been able to supply him with the key to such.
The buzz dwindled. Entering the city from this angle, Jony was deliberately heading away from the ship. However, he had only to lift his head to see the rise of the pile which was his present goal. Though again he had to work from one of the paved ways to another until he came out on the main river of stone. Shadows afforded him protection. Jony dodged from one pool of them to the next, keeping to the best speed he could.
He had become adjusted to the directorial sound in his helmet. Still, as once again the voice suddenly cut through the steady buzz, he was startled into a quick halt.
“Last broadcast came from that center structure. We can only start a search from there . . .”
Those from the flyer were headed in the same direction! Hearing that, Jony threw away caution and began to run. He must get there before they did. What off-world weapons besides the stunners they might carry he did not know; Geogee's information had only concerned those. But if the spacemen could lay hands on the rods, knew their use . . . !
Gasping a little, Jony reached the ledges, looked up into the dim opening where stood the stone woman. As he scrambled up that ascent, he kept his eyes on her. Was that power which had flowed into him from her touch also something he must make very sure they did not use? He could not tell.
As Jony stood once more before her, gazing into that calm face, into the eyes which stared over his head at the city, he raised the rod. To do this was fighting a part of himself. What was her purpose? Had she been set here to guard in some way what lay in the den behind? Or the sleeper? This was no time for speculation. But he could not blast her into nothingness, not yet.
He thudded past her, running down the lines of stone trees toward the block of the sleeper, and beyond him those rows of boxes. The light in the great inner den was scant, yet something in the clear face portion of the helmet gave him power of seeing as well as if he had come here by a mid-day height of sun.
Jony reached the end of that pile of boxes. What did lie within them? Wonders of the vanished people, more than he could guess? For a second or two his curiosity and desire to learn battled with his purpose. Surely not all could contain things deadly to life. Or could they? The People must have known of this wealth, of what would be to them treasures, all these years since they had escaped the city. Yet they had turned their backs on everything to do with their former masters. At this moment it was better to accept the judgment of the clan than his own desire to explore for forbidden knowledge.
Resolutely Jony raised the rod, found that button near the base, set his thumb firmly over it. He aimed at the pile and pressed. This time the flame of the flash did not blind him—perhaps the helmet eyeplate helped. Instantly those containers at which he aimed simply were not, leaving not even dust to mark where they had once stood. Again, he raised the weapon and pressed. A second pile was gone. However, at his third attempt there was no answering flash, though he thumbed the button furiously with all his strength.
