The Tar-aiym Krang

by Alan Dean Foster

  “We must.”

  “But suppose it’s geared to respond only to the electromagnetic patterns generated by a Tar-Aiym mind?”

  “We have no indication that ‘electromagnetic patterns’ are even the type of whatever is necessary to activate the machine,” retorted Tse-Mallory. “But if that does prove to be the case, then unless you can produce a live and cooperative Tar-Aiym, I am very much afraid that we might as well pack and go home.” He shrugged. “Tru and I feel we’ve more or less reached a dead end as far as mere circuit-tracing goes. We could continue to poke around in this pile of complexity for a thousand years—fascinating as that might be—and not come any closer to making it work.”

  “Trying it . . . couldn’t that be awfully dangerous?” asked Atha.

  “It could very well be lethal, my dear. We decided that long ago. For instance, there might be a feedback which could . . . for that very reason, and for several others, I shall try it first. If we have still failed to activate it and no obviously harmful results are forthcoming, I see no reason why everyone here should not have an opportunity to try the same.”

  “Not me!” said Sissiph loudly.

  “Now wait a minute!” began Malaika, ignoring her.

  “Sorry, captain.” Truzenzuzex, now. “Starhe! Don’t bother, as you would say. Bran is correct. Our training may not exactly qualify us as operators of this thing, but our familiarity with the works of the Tar-Aiym and what little we know of their psychologies might help us cope with any unforeseen problems that could develop. Such designs might arise which would overwhelm a complete novice. Sorry, but there is too much involved to permit you to make the initial attempt, at least. We are not on board ship. You are momentarily overruled, captain.”

  “Je!” rumbled Malaika.

  Tse-Mallory stepped to the entrance of the dome. “Let’s be on with it, then.”

  “You mean, saraa kuume?” asked Malaika.

  Tse-Mallory paused. “I don’t see why not.” He hesitated again at the entrance, looked back. “I don’t expect much to happen, let alone anything dangerous. And if it does I wouldn’t expect this to be much protection, but for my own psychological comfort, everyone off the dais, please. It certainly ought to be safe enough in the seats, or lounges, or whatever they are. Obviously the Tar-Aiym used them when this thing was in Operation, so they should be safe for us as well. Theoretically speaking.”

  “Sociologist, theoretical injury I don’t mind.” Malaika smiled in what was intended to be a reassuring manner and joined the others in moving off the raised area into the rows of “seats” below.

  Truzenzuzex was the only other one to remain on the platform. Ostensibly he was there to observe, but both he and Tse-Mallory knew that if anything went wrong the insect’s aid would not likely be of much use. He took the proverbial and ritual deep breath and entered the dome.

  The ceramic-plastic slab was now familiar from days of prolonged and minute inspections. He climbed up onto the smooth, cold surface and turned, facing out and slightly up. From inside the dome the roof of the monolith seemed almost visible. Possibly the transparent material had an actual slight magnifying effect. It did not seem significant.

  The slab was much longer than was necessary to hold his lanky frame. It wasn’t heated, though. He found himself squirming uncomfortably on the hard, chilly surface and wishing it were a bed. This was too much like the molds in a cryogenic suspension lab. Do it quick, his mind told his body! Digging into the unyielding surface with his heels, he shoved himself upward. In one motion his head was fully within the helmet.

  Flinx didn’t know what to expect. Explosions, earthquake, a collapsing building, perhaps. In any case the results were disappointing, if safe.

  The helmet took on a pale red tinge, shifting to yellow, and thence to a light green. Also, a slight humming sound became audible. Apparently it came from within the slab itself. That was all. No fireworks, not even a few simple flashes of lightning.

  Tse-Mallory’s face within the dome was twisted, but it was obviously in concentration and not pain. Oddly, his mind was unreachable to Flinx. If nothing else the dome blanketed the thoughts of whoever lay within.

  Twenty minutes later he was out of the dome, shaking his head while the others crowded around.

  “Je?” asked Malaika.

  The sociologist looked irritable. “Je? Well, we proved one thing. If this machine is still capable of functioning as it was intended, that helmet is certainly the initiating point.”

  “I can’t believe that this entire insanity was built just to make pretty colored lights in a plastic headdress!”

  “No, of course not.” Tse-Mallory looked wistfully back at the slab and the once-again transparent helmet. “It seems as though I was able to activate it, but only a very little. Apparently there’s a necessary something missing from my mind. Or maybe it merely takes a kind of training we know nothing about. I don’t know. I tried everything I could with my mind. Self-hypnosis. Yoga. The Banda exercises. Total objective concentration. An open subconscious. You saw the results. Or rather, the lack of them.”

  “Could you feel anything, anything at all?” asked Flinx.

  “Umm. Yes, it was peculiar. Not painful or threatening. Just peculiar. Like something was trying to get inside my head. A tickling of the outside of the brain, barely noticeable. And when I tried to concentrate on it, it went away and hid. I must say I’m disappointed.”

  “Je? You think perhaps you’ve got a monopoly on it?” The merchant looked upset, as well he had a right to be. “What now?”

  “Now I suggest the rest of the humans give it a try. I believe that I’ve amply demonstrated its harmlessness, if nothing else. Keeping it attuned to one type of mind might have a beneficial cumulative effect.”

  One at a time the rest of them took a turn under the innocuous helmet. Excepting of course Sissiph, who refused even to go near it. Malaika managed to generate a strong yellow glow in the transparent material. Flinx did as well (or as poorly, no one could say) as Tse-Mallory, only his coloring also possessed an uneven pulsing. As if to counter Tse-Mallory’s claim, he emerged from the domed chamber with a definite headache. Atha and Wolf could each manage a light red, almost rose color. They had better luck when Truzenzuzex at last made his attempt.

  The second that aging, iridescent head entered the zone of effectiveness, the soft colors immediately ran from pink up to a deep blue. Tse-Mallory had to remark on it to get everyone’s attention. Repeated failure had led to discouraging boredom. But no one was bored now. Even outside the dome the humming from the base of the slab was clearly audible. On one of the open panels of the great gray bulk of the machine, lights were beginning to glow faintly. The helmet had by now turned a deep lavender.

  “Look at the dome!” Flinx pointed.

  For several inches of its height the dome was glowing a solid and unwavering crimson. Every now and then the cottony light would creep upward a few millimeters, only to sink back and disappear into the floor.

  An hour later Truzenzuzex staggered out of the dome. Tse-Mallory had to support the philosoph around the b-thorax, as the old insect’s legs proved too shaky to manage on their own. The philosoph was visibly tired. Together they lurched down to the first row of alien benches. Truzenzuzex’s visage did not wrinkle as did a primate’s, but the usual healthy glow of his eyes was more subdued than before.

  “You certainly labeled it correctly, brother,” he finally gasped, “when you said there was something trying to get inside your head! I felt like a youth again, trying to break out of my crysalis. Whew! I could tell it did no good, though.”

  “Not true,” said Flinx. Malaika nodded confirmation. “You had the dome itself glowing red—around the base, anyway.”

  “I did?” The whistling thranx laughter followed. “I suppose that is an accomplishment of sorts. I could not detect it from the inside. I was concentrating rather deeply, and my optics weren’t the nerves I was working with. Does that mean perhaps we
are on a proper track?” He turned to face Malaika. The tone was gradually returning to his muscles. “Captain, I retract my earlier statement. Give me another three or four weeks at this and I believe I’ll be able to tell you, one way or another, whether this thing can ever be operated by man or thranx. Or whether your investment has proved itself a loss.”

  Malaika looked resigned rather than frustrated. His own unsuccessful strivings with the Krang had produced a little patience, if no other results.

  “Bado Juzi. ‘Yet the day before yesterday.’ An old saying in my family, gentlemen. You’ve done already much more than I had a right to hope. Take your time, gentlesirs, take your time.”

  Far below in the secret places of the planet the consciousness of the Krang stirred sluggishly. It considered more fully the impulses which had awakened the Prime Nexus with feeble, childish probings and pressures. Even in its semisomnolent state it was reasonably certain (+prob., 90.97,—prob., 8.03, random factoring, 1.00) that there was an A-class mind present above. One fully capable of arousing the Krang to the state of Naisma, or total effectiveness. Apparently it had chosen not to reveal itself yet. The machine considered and allowed the sections of itself which controlled intelligence to lapse back to dormancy, ready.

  When the mind was ready, the Krang would be.

  After all, it had been built that way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As it developed, Truzenzuzex did not get his month. Nor his three weeks. They had been pouring over the accessible portions of the machine’s innards for only three days when Malaika’s comm signaled an extra-atmosphere incoming call. As a matter of safety his portable comm was hooked to the big transmitter in the crawler. Flinx was present when the signal came in, helping the two scientists with the more physical aspects of their work. Sissiph, Atha, and Wolf were back in the crawler, rearranging their supplies in its cavernous hold.

  In order to facilitate their work, two cots (one modified) had been placed next to the scientists’ portastove. The others still found it more comfortable to sleep within the familiar confines of the crawler, despite the attendant daily walk it engendered.

  Both scientists paused in their work the moment they spotted the strange expression which had come over Malaika’s face. Flinx picked it up from the sudden confusion of the merchant’s thoughts. He had been watching them labor over strange markings and unfamiliar alien switching devices all morning. Nine tenths of what they were trying to do mechanically eluded him. He had been able to help them with the more delicate portions of their operations, having, as they put it, a certain “feel” for where things were located. And as always, their conversation on both the vocal and mental level had been fascinating.

  “Captain . . .” began Tse-Mallory.

  “We’re being called,” the merchant replied. “Extra-atmospheric.”

  His thoughts reflected suspicion as much as disbelief. He flipped over the broadcast switch of the tiny communit.

  “Wolf, are you monitoring this?”

  “Yes, captain,” came the unmodulated reply from the distant crawler.

  “All right. Send an acknowledgment and put it over. Someone knows where we are. Not much use denying it.” He turned to the others. “We might be being monitored now, although I doubt it’s possible through these walls. But then, I also doubt we’re receiving a call from another starship, and that is the case. Haidhuru. Nothing matters. Leave your comms off and listen on mine, if you wish. No point in broadcasting how many units we have in operation. If they don’t know already.”

  It was the first time Flinx had seen the merchant so downcast. Obviously the strain was taking a bigger toil of his resources than he cared to show. At any rate, all he said into the comm was, “Yes?”

  The voice that responded was naturally high. But if the tone was slightly effeminate, the words were not.

  “Captain Maxim Malaika, House-Head and Plutocrat? I bring you greetings, sir, from Madame Rashalleila Nuaman and Nuaman Enterprises.” Malaika’s lips twisted in a subvocal oath which made Flinx blush. “Congratulations!”

  That superciliousness was sufficient to stimulate the merchant’s tongue.

  “Damned decent of you. And who are ninyi nyote?”

  “Pardon? Oh, I. I am of little consequence. But for purposes of facilitating further conversation . . . which, I assure you, will be forthcoming . . . you may know me as Able Nikosos.”

  “Je, Mister Nikosos. I agree wholeheartedly that your personage is doubtless of little consequence. I am curious as to how you got here. This planet seems to be acquiring a universal notoriety.”

  “How so? Umm. As to your question, Captain, why,” and the voice reflected mock astonishment, “we followed you. Most of the way from Moth. At a discreet distance, of course. Speaking of which, you certainly changed your course a good deal at the beginning of your journey. Yes you did. But after the first week we had no trouble plotting your approximate course. You know, this is the fourth system in this sector with planets that we’ve visited. We knew more or less where the one we wanted was, but not its exact coordinates. It made it hard on us, yes hard, when we lost you completely. Those coordinates were on a bit of material which. . . . but never mind that. That’s long in the past now, isn’t it?”

  “You didn’t by any chance get some help from a certain AAnn baron?”

  “An AAnn baron?” The squeaky voice reflected surprise. Malaika glanced at Flinx.

  “He’s telling the truth, sir. And they’re definitely in a set orbit.”

  The two scientists looked in surprise at Flinx. Neither said anything, but he could sense a mild resentment of his secrecy in their thoughts. He wanted desperately to tell them of how necessary it was to maintain that secrecy. Even today, psi-sensitives were not universally popular, a fact he had found out early and painfully as a child. Now was not the time, though. The voice on the comm continued.

  “What would we have to do with the AAnn? Nasty people, those, nasty! No indeed, sir. We found you all by ourselves, in spite of the difficulties your disappearance occasioned us. But we did find you, didn’t we? So no harm done. Besides, no use trying to share the blame, and I refuse to share the credit. Not that it should matter to you in the long run. Or even the short one.” A brief giggle broke the commentary. “My ship is parked a couple of field-lengths from your Gloryhole. We beamed it first. When we did not receive a reply and when the lock refused us entrance—how clever of you, captain!—we assumed you had already made your drop to the surface. A glance at your shuttlebay confirmed it.”

  “Thelathini nguruwe! Thirty pigs. Which is the ultimate number which can be fitted into a standard captain’s cabin, in case you didn’t know.”

  The voice seemed immune to insult as well as to modesty. “Tut, tut, Captain. You’ll offend my modest nature.”

  “Small chance of that.”

  “Anyway, the emanations from your components would have revealed your location to us even if you had declined to acknowledge our call. As I am sure you were well aware.”

  “Captain,” said Flinx, “I thought you said. . . .”

  “Forgot about the relay to the shuttle’s comm. That’s what they’d pick up. They could hardly miss us anyway.” He was already setting up a last-ditch defense in his mind.

  “Where are you now, friend Nikosos, other than in orbit?”

  “A good guess, Captain. Why, we’re drifting over this moisture-poor continent. Rather close to you, I’ve no doubt. We should be down in a short while, at which time I hope to greet you personally.” The voice paused, then resumed again. “Whatever you are hiding in must really be something. We’re having no end of trouble picking up your signal.”

  “You’ve traveled a long way for a lot of nothing, Nikosos. We’ve been working on this ‘whatever,’ as you so accurately say, for weeks now. We haven’t been able to figure out what it does, much less how it does it.”

  “Certainly, captain, certainly!” The voice carried a humoring tone now. “Personally
, whenever the cold of space affects me too deeply, I like to fly through the nearest M supergiant to warm my chilly bones. As I said, we’ll be seeing you shortly.”

  “He doesn’t believe you,” said Flinx.

  Malaika nodded. “And then?”

  “Well, that does pose a problem, eh? I certainly can’t wave you on your happy way home, because then all my hard work would have been for naught, wouldn’t it? But then, assassination really isn’t my line, either. Perhaps something can be worked. . . .” Malaika cut the comm. He turned to the others.

  “Je, you heard. Where new planets are concerned, possession is nine tenths of the ancient law. I doubt Rasha will leave me be to call in a Church Evaluation Force.” He switched the comm to interpersonnel frequency.

  “Wolf, you heard everything?”

  “Yes Captain.” The shadow-man’s reply was even. Flinx wondered if the pilot were capable of an excitement he never showed. “I fear that your pet took it rather hard, though. She’s fainted. Miss Moon is caring for her now.”

  “Je! She will be quiet for a while then, anyway. We’re going to join you shortly. We’d best all remain pamoja.” He flipped off the comm again.

  “What do you propose?” asked Tse-Mallory.

  “Not much I can, sociologist. Even if this Nikosos person should be mjinga enough to come down without a portable defensive screen, it would be awkward to attempt to fight our way out. Although we are not,” and here he looked directly at Flinx, “without surprises of our own. However, I am certain the men he leaves on his ship—only one this time, for a change—will be monitoring everything that happens. We’d be at their mercy in the shuttle. If this Nikosos doesn’t bring a screen, and if we could surprise him and get off a crippling few shots before they had time to warn their starship, and if we could slip up to the Gloryhole under their detectors, and if we could get inside and get the generator powered before they noticed—why, we might have a good chance of sneaking off or fighting them.”