The Iron Breed

by Andre Norton

  One of the guard came forward.

  “Prove on Mog.”

  “Very well.” She held the injector to the Ratton's forearm, pressed the plunger.

  He blinked, gave a little sigh, and crumpled to the floor. Oudu bent over him for a moment.

  “Truth. Mog sleeps. Let Shimog also sleep.”

  Ayana bent to that task. The easiest part of her plan was over. She screwed at the cap of the injector as if closing it. But instead she opened it to full. Now she held a weapon of a sort, one meant to handle perhaps even more than one difficult patient at a time, ones who could not be closely approached.

  What she had used on Mog and Shimog had been but a small portion of the dosage with which she had charged this. The trouble now was the difference in height between her enemies—Tan so much the taller.

  Because of his superior height and strength, she decided he must go first. Ayana arose, still watching Shimog, as if she wished to be sure of his condition. Then she turned swiftly, the injector ready.

  Straight into Tan's face went that subduing spray. She had no time to see its efficacy as she went on to aim at the Rattons.

  “You—you!” Tan's hands came at her. His fingers actually closed on her arm, then loosened as he went down. Around him the Rattons, bewildered by her attack, also wilted.

  Ayana caught up her kit. She did not know how long they would be unconscious. By the time they recovered, she must be well away from here—perhaps even back to the ship, if that were possible. But before she left she had one more duty, to make sure those poor things in the chamber were safely dead, their suffering over.

  Down one aisle, up the next, then she was at the chamber where the motor purred on. She looked in—

  It was not possible!

  With both hands flat against the glass Ayana watched something out of a wild dream. Lost, mangled limbs, mutilated bodies—they could not regrow—heal—in this fashion! She had turned the power to full force. Had she, in hopes for a swift death for the wreckage the Rattons had dragged there, done just the opposite—given them not only life, but healed such hurts as she had thought no living thing could long survive?

  If—if this was happening as her eyes reported—then she could not go and leave them. Once the Rattons recovered, knew she was gone, then the vengeance they would take on these—! She would have condemned them to far worse torment.

  But the changes, the healing, although already spectacular, would have to be complete, and how long dared she wait?

  Ayana opened her kit. She had one more charge of the sedative, but it was less than the full one she had just used. Her only chance would be to keep watch on those she had left with Shimog. What if others came? Shimog was their leader. Would there not be visitors, a changing of guard?

  Tan's weapons—the blaster—her stunner!

  Ayana ran back. She rolled Tan over, plundered his belt of everything which could serve as a weapon. Then, as she passed that terribly stained table, she swept off the instruments, the things which had been used to maim and not repair.

  Back before the chamber she piled up her strange assortment of armament. How long would she have to wait? Waiting was harder to face, she discovered, than open attack.

  In the time which followed she prowled back and forth between the cubicle and the renewal chamber.

  On her second visit to the cubicle she heard a scuttling and stood ready with the stunner.

  Moments later five more Rattons were laid out with their fellows. But how long before someone took alarm and sent a larger force, perhaps one even a blaster could not rout? There was no hurrying the healing, but every time she checked the process, Ayana was amazed at what was happening. What wonders her ancestors had been able to do! But if they could produce such miracles of life, then what had brought about the death of this city, the flight of the First Ship?

  The Rattons boasted that they had been the companion-aides of the men who had once lived and worked here. She knew that degeneration could cause awesome changes in both physical and mental states. But she did not believe that man and Ratton—Ratton? There was a familiar sound to that name—she frowned and began to search memory.

  Those others, too, the animals—Once more she went to study them. There was still the teasing resemblance to Putti—If she could only remember!

  “Ratton—” She repeated that name aloud. “Ratton—rat!”

  Rat! A tape picture came to vivid life in her mind. Rat—a creature used in lab experiments! But those had been small! What had happened to bring a four-footed, small rat to the size of the erect-standing, intelligent Ratton? Had this been the result of experiments? But rats had been tools used by men, never his aides—unless something had gone wrong. If they could only learn the truth!

  “Rat!” Ayana said again. The word was ugly, as ugly as the things it named. She looked once more to her patients. They lay as if asleep, but they breathed easily, mended steadily—if perhaps too slowly for all their future safety.

  They were akin to the creatures Tan had recorded on the bridge. Then they had gone armed. It was apparent that they walked erect and were not animals. About them that elusive memory—Putti—but not really the soft-bodied plaything of childhood. More pictures on learning tapes? Ayana tried systematically to recall what she could of those. If the Rattons had been rats—then these must also have had another beginning.

  Like a flash on a visa-screen, bright and sharply clear, she remembered at last.

  Not Putti but cat!

  “Cat!” Ayana called that name as if to awaken the sleepers.

  Cats! So the Rattons had lied. For the cat on the ancient tapes had been truly a companion of man. So much so that his children had lovingly cherished their Puttis when they could not have the real creature to solace their wandering days.

  Though these, in turn, were not cats of the past. Ayana could trace the likenesses, perhaps most in the heads with the stiffly whiskered faces, in the upstanding, pointed ears, and in the tails.

  But one of the sleepers was again different—another species. She studied him now. There were no whiskers, though he was tailed. But the tail did not lie in as limber a way. His “face” had a longer muzzle, and his ears, larger, were in flaps.

  The others were cats, or they had come from cats. But what was this one? Again Ayana returned to memory pictures. And she found what she sought—canine—dog! Again an old companion of man.

  Cat-people, dog-people, still here in man's home carrying on war with Rattons. But where were the men? How long since they had disappeared? And why had they gone? Were the Rattons responsible? Ayana could hardly believe that. Even though those horrors might be able to muster whole armies, they could not have cleared out their masters, masters who were equipped with the weapons she knew existed here—the kind she had seen the cat-person wearing.

  One of the patients stirred, opened his eyes. Large and green, they stared straight into hers. His ears flattened to his skull, he drew himself up against the wall of the chamber, his clawed hands coming up in menace.

  He must believe she was one with the Rattons! But now they had a common cause. How could she explain? Unless by understanding where he was, what was happening, he would know—

  The look in those green eyes, cold and measuring, daunted Ayana. She edged away from the window, decided it was time to check again on the sleepers. But this time went more slowly. If the cat-people, the dog-person, should turn on her, too—She could use the weapons, but if she did she would never learn the truth, perhaps never herself escape from this place in which the inhabitants apparently hunted each other with ferocious zeal.

  Ayana stood looking down at Tan. When she left he would remain. So she must give him a chance. He was no longer one with her, if he had ever really been so, but he was one of her kind. And she believed that these filthy new allies of his would turn on him viciously when they discovered what had happened. She should return the stunner to him, give the rest of the sleepers an extra spray so they would stil
l be under when his sedation wore off. In the meantime, she would try to prevent any more arrivals.

  The door at the end of the hall had no locks that Ayana could understand. But she closed it and then piled there all the loose and heavy objects she could turn into a barricade.

  When she had finished she stumbled back to the renewal chamber so tired she could barely urge one foot before the other. She had Extend pills, enough to renew her energy for the final dash out of here. But she would not waste those by premature use. There were E rations, one tube, in her belt loops. She turned the cap to heat and waited until she could twist that off and squeeze the semi-liquid contents into her mouth.

  Having eaten, she went to look in the chamber. Time was passing far too fast, she might be pushed to a move soon.

  Those inside were all conscious. The one cat-person who had first revived was standing. As she watched, he reached down to draw another up, a female, the scars of her wounds still rawly red but closed.

  There was another male, and the dog-person, who, Ayana saw, had moved away from the other three, fitting his back into a corner as if he expected to be attacked.

  There came a sudden sharp sound, enough to bring a weapon into Ayana's hand, set her looking about wildly. Then she realized that the light on the control board had gone out, the hum of the machine was subsiding. Apparently the chamber had turned itself off. Perhaps some indication that the work was done.

  Now that the time had come to release the captives, Ayana found herself hesitant. The manifest anger in the male's expression—But they were weak, helpless, and she was armed—

  With the stunner ready in her right hand, she spun the lock with her left. The door opened.

  They were gathered just within as if ready to bolt for freedom, the three cat-people to the fore, the dog-person behind. Ayana heard hisses—a rumble of growl. She did not want to use the stunner, it might plunge them all straight back into captivity.

  “No—” But they could not understand her, of course. However she babbled on as if they could. “Friend—friend!”

  Their ears were flat to their skulls, their fangs exposed, their hands up with claws extended. If they came at her she would have no recourse but to shoot.

  “Friend—”

  A louder growl in answer. Ayana moved aside, retreated slowly, step by step, leaving a clear path between them and the door through which Tan and the Rattons had earlier brought her. Though she still held the stunner at ready, she waved them on in a gesture she hoped they would understand.

  They moved slowly, stiffly, but gave no sign of pain. They moved with their heads turned toward her, their eyes watching. Then they reached the door and were gone, though for a moment or two she could still hear the shuffle of their feet.

  Ayana breathed a sigh of relief. Her waiting was done. Now she must make good her own escape. She went for the last time to the huddle of the Ratton party, giving the Rattons a dose of stunner ray and then laid the weapon in Tan's lax hand.

  He groaned and she jerked back as if he had made to seize her. He must be close to waking. She must get away fast—Ayana turned and ran, stopping only by the renewer to catch up her kit, following the path of the released captives.

  She was afraid to use her torch. Luckily there seemed to be a very dim light here, enough to show the way. She must concentrate on the route she had tried to memorize when they brought her in. But first the Extend pills. Her chest hurt as she breathed after that last spurt of speed. Ayana groped within the kit. Two ought to be enough. She mouthed the tablets.

  They were bitter and she had trouble swallowing them dry. But she hurried on even before they worked, so she was in another passage when that aching fatigue lifted. Ayana felt not only completely rested, but alert of mind, able to do anything. The euphoria which was a side effect of such a large dose of Extend gripped her and she forced herself to remember that this feeling of superb well-being was only illusionary.

  This passage—had they come this way? But they must have—The trouble was that one of these ways looked exactly like another. Where had they left Jacel? She had tried to establish landmarks on the way in but had found few. And there were several places of forking corridors. She must remember—she must!

  She had no warning. Out of some shadowed way she had not even glanced into, they sprang. Furred arms closed about her thighs as one attacker struck with force enough to crash her to the ground.

  17

  Furtig studied their captive. So—this was a Demon! Though a female, not a warrior. But still a Demon and as such to be feared. He heard a soft hiss of breath. Eu-La, somewhat accustomed now to the wonders of the legendary lairs, had moved beside him and with her Liliha. While behind them came two of the In-born males carrying a box with a coil of wire laid on its cover.

  The Demon was awake. When they had taken her captive, she had fallen heavily and struck her head, so they had taken her easily enough before she could reach for weapons. And now here came Jir-Haz, to whom they owed the capture itself.

  “You can do this?” Furtig asked Liliha. “Speak to the Demon in her own tongue?”

  “We hope to do this thing. By listening to Demon voices on their tapes we can understand their words. But we cannot make those same noises ourselves. But perhaps with this”—she laid a proprietary hand upon the box—“we can twist our speech enough for her to understand our questions.”

  But the Demon spoke first. She had been looking from one to the other of them, first in what Furtig relished as open fear (thus proving that the warriors of the People could strike fear even into Demons) and now with something close to appeal. For she spoke to Liliha, at first so fast and in such a gabble of sound, Furtig could make little of it.

  However, Liliha, her ears attuned from very young years to the teaching machines, did sort out enough of those uncouth noises to make sense.

  “She wishes to know where she is—and who we are.” Then, the In-born having set one end of the wire into the box, Liliha took up a disk fastened to the other and held it close to her mouth, speaking slowly and carefully into it.

  “This is the lair of Gammage. We are the People.”

  It was weird, for they could hear Liliha's words. But also there was a secondary gabble, like a blurred echo following.

  The Demon's face was so strange, so unlike that of a rational being that one could hardly hope to learn anything from her expression. But Furtig dared to imagine she was surprised.

  “Speak slowly,” Liliha was continuing. “We can understand Demon speech, but our tongues cannot twist to answer it.”

  He saw the Demon's tongue tip on her lower lip. She could not move; they had bound her after peeling off her coverings. For it seemed that the Demons had no fur but wore loose outer skins to be stripped off.

  “You—are—cats—” Even he could understand those queerly accented words.

  “Cats? No, People,” Liliha corrected her. “Why come you here?”

  “What—are—you—to—do—with—me?” The Demon looked beyond Liliha to Jir-Haz. “He—was—in—the—healing—chamber. I—let—him—go—”

  “Who knows a Demon's purpose?” Jir-Haz demanded of them all. “Yes, I was healed, as was Tiz-Zon, and A-San and the Barker. After we were near to death, she had the Rattons put us there. That they might return us to life and then once more rend us for their pleasure! Is that not so, Demon?” He leaned closer to hiss at her.

  “I—could—have—killed—” the Demon said. “But—I—let—him—go.”

  “That is the truth?” Liliha asked Jir-Haz.

  His tail lashed. “We told our story to the Elders. Yes, she let us go. Doubtless that the Rattons might have the sport of once more hunting us! Why else would a Demon heal our bodies and then release us?”

  Liliha spoke into the disk. “Jir-Haz says that you did this for the Rattons, that they might once more torment our people. Such was what the Demons did in the old days.”

  “The Rattons—” The Demon's face was flushe
d. She tried to loose her hands, struggled against the ties. “I—was—with—the—Rattons—against—my—will—”

  “There was another Demon, a male,” Jir-Haz cut in. “He was not with her when she came to look in upon us during the healing. Nor was he there when she loosed us. Ask her concerning him!”

  Liliha relayed the question. The Demon lay still as if she knew the folly of battling those bonds.

  “I—left—him—with Shimog. I—put them all—to sleep so I might—escape and your—people also—”

  “Why?” Liliha asked, almost, Furtig thought, as if she could believe what must be a false answer. For why should a Demon turn against one of her own kind to aid the People? No, she was false and would betray them if they believed her.

  “Because—I saw Shimog and—what—they had done to—your people. I am a healer of—hurts not one to give them!”

  “All Demons are false!” burst out Jir-Haz. “The other Demon, the Rattons, stayed out of sight that she might play friend and later point out our trail.”

  But Furtig had been thinking, and Jir-Haz's last accusation bothered him.

  “When you captured this one,” he asked, “was she not alone? Were there any Rattons or the other Demon with her?”

  “Yes,” Liliha added. “If she was alone, why was that so, supposing that she hunted you? Your story is that you had sent A-San ahead, and the Barker had gone his own way. She had three trails to follow, which did she seek?”

  Jir-Haz's tail twitched. “None,” he said slowly. “The Demon was taking a fourth way, going from our part of the lairs. And it is true she was alone. Also, after we had taken her we waited for a space, but none followed.”

  “So, we can believe that this Demon was not hunting you. She was alone when she watched you in the healing chamber, she was alone when she opened the door of that and bid you go. These are all the truth?”

  “It is so,” Jir-Haz acknowledged.

  “Then what you yourself saw and report being so much the truth, must we not begin to believe that this Demon was not engaged in any hunt devised by Rattons, and that perhaps she too speaks the truth?”