Having dialed drinks from the button menu on the table, he settled back in his seat, looking thoughtfully at Jofre.
"The hive tenders do not mention things they consider of little interest. Therefore, this business of the Holder is important enough to lead them to pass it on. They are the conservers and transferrers of credit; their vaults are entirely safe and have never been raided; they are keepers of a great many secrets. Doubtless even a number of the Holder's!
"Now—we come to the matter of Tssek. Over the centuries since First-In contact that world has not been too healthy a place, not only for off-worlders but for its own people. There appears to be some quirk in character there which leads to constant intrigue and war. For a long time there was no stable government, merely a string of very quarrelsome and warring small nations.
"A little more than a century ago there was born one of those individuals who appear in all our histories from time to time—a person of charisma and with inborn qualities of leadership to make him supreme. On Tssek this was Fer s'Rang. He set about vigorously and within twenty years he had united one continent under a government which for the first time appeared stable and likely to last. From there he went on to bring the eastern continent also under his control.
"Not only was he a born leader but he had the happy gift of being able to pick just the right followers for each job. And Tssek settled down into peace for the first time in the memory of that world. Things went very well indeed. Fer s'Rang, after he was proclaimed Holder, opened the spaceports for trade; he sponsored manufacturing and raised the standard of living and was generally what is seldom found, a genuinely benevolent dictator, and Tssek prospered.
"There was some dissatisfaction, of course; there could not help being, given the past history. But it was growing less and less. Then there came the Great Ingathering.
"All the clans which had been warring were invited to this. War was already a thing of the past and it was to be a peaceful celebration. In the midst of the festivities Fer s'Rang died. It was also a peaceful death, expected since he had been ailing for some time, though it was accepted that the exertion he had been put to in the last weeks of his life had told on him. He fell dead while receiving the homage of the last of the families who had caused him trouble.
"His second-in-command at once took over and it seemed for a space that there would be no change in what Fer s'Rang had started. However, the government began to tighten here and there, to dominate quietly, to take over. Now Tssek is a tight dictatorship and from all rumors a very unhappy world.
"The present Holder keeps aloof, as far as I have heard, from any off-world contact. And, as you know, only when a world is one of the Great Council can there be any examination of its internal problems. Tssek has never applied for such an inclusion. The rumor is that Fer s'Rang was on the verge of it when he died.
"There is a good amount of trade with Tssek. They provide a number of very much needed minerals as well as manufactured goods. But off-worlder contact is limited to the spaceport, as it is on any non-Council world, even as it was on Asborgan. There is good reason to believe that the Holder is anything but beloved by his present subjects. However, that is not for off-worlders to meddle with."
"But this Holder wants contact with you—" said Jofre slowly.
"Just sssoooo—and why? Not for anything I think I would have an interest in," Zurzal returned.
Jofre's movement was so sudden that it might have been intended to deceive the eye. The nose of his sidearm appeared on the surface of the table, pointing past the Zacathan at the screens provided by two of the potted plants which were large and thick enough to be considered bushes and far too good a cover. The Shadow was on his feet in one supple movement. Though the eyes of his companion glittered and his frill stirred Zurzal made no move himself. Instead he raised his voice a fraction.
"Company expecting welcome moves in the open," he stated, then swung around in turn, though he produced no weapon of his own.
Their answer came from another direction: a man advanced into the open with the casualness of one moving about his proper business. He was fully humanoid— perhaps even Terran stock—but small. And he lacked the heavy browning of skin developed by a spacer. Against the high collar of his tunic his chin was jowly, and his eyes were small, set in darkened pouches of unhealthy grayish-appearing skin.
They were half-shadowed by the bill of a uniform cap generously embroidered with glittering thread, a matching device worked also on that high collar, and modifications of it up the sleeves of his tunic. The color of that tunic was a dead black, as were his tight breeches and the boots beneath. He also sported a wide belt from which hung, close to hand, a blaster sheath.
Jofre's second move had taken him crabwise, so that he was now in a position to defend the Zacathan from both this newcomer and that bush screen behind which his alert senses told him there was at least one more lurker.
Slowly the uniformed man smiled. "You are to be commended, Learned One, on the alertness of your guard. Harse"—the bush in the pots shook a fraction—"come out, man. We have no quarrel with the Learned One. On the contrary we come with open hands." And he held up both of his, palm out, demonstrably empty indeed.
From behind the screen of vegetation moved now a second man, much taller than his officer but wearing the same black clothing, though this was plain except for a shoulder patch in the jagged form of a red lightning bolt. He walked a little stiffly, holding his hands carefully away from a belt on which there were a number of loops all well occupied by rods of various sizes and lengths.
The officer clicked his fingers and Harse, if that was the subordinate's name, wheeled so that his back was to the three of them, forming a barrier between the table and the trio now by it and the outer world.
The Tssekians might be playing the part of being harmless in the most straightforward forms their culture recognized; however, Jofre did not relax. His trained senses could not pick up hints of anyone else in concealment. However, he had little idea of what weapons that festoon of belt equipment might represent and he was not to be caught off guard. Nor did he retreat from his position of guardianship for his employer as the alien officer moved closer to the table.
"I am addressing Sopt s'Qu?" Zurzal had leaned back in his seat with the appearance of one fully at ease. Yet Jofre sensed that the Zacathan in his own way was as wary as he was.
"News travels fast—" Was there or was there not a note of irritation in the other's comment? "Yes, I am Horde Commander Sopt s'Qu at your service, Learned One." And he sketched, so neglectedly that it bordered on an insult, a salute. "You are doubtless one who does not wish to waste time in formalities, thus I will say plainly that I have business to discuss, Learned One, a proposition to benefit us both."
Zurzal, with a flick of his good hand, indicated the chair from which Jofre had arisen. His oathed took two steps back, still in a position to view both the Tssekian officer and the firmly planted back of his subordinate, now playing screen for this meeting.
Sopt s'Qu's thin lips still sketched a half smile but he plainly was not pleased with Zurzal's greeting. He was undoubtedly used to a more receptive audience when he spoke of business. But he seated himself and was at a slight disadvantage with the greater bulk of the Zacathan looming at the other side of the small table.
"Since we have set aside formality," he continued, "I shall come directly to the matter. My Great Leader," his hand flapped up again as if he were saluting, "was informed that you were to be found here. He also knows that you have suffered from the refusal of your peers to believe in your splendid achievement of past retrieval. You seek now for an occasion—and a site—to demonstrate the value of your discovery. You are offered such with every facility which you may desire—you need only ask—"
"Most interesting." Zurzal's faint hiss was still to be detected. "And what moves the Great One to such a generous offer?"
"Belief in you, Learned One," came the prompt reply, "and in your discovery
. You wish to prove that you can show the past; this is the fiftieth year of Our Leader's rule, of the sad death of Fer s'Rang. We can offer you an opportunity which will bring you fame, not only planetwide, but which will reach the stars, convince all doubters you can do what you claim to do. The Holder invites you to Tssek, to install your time scanner at Marlik and bring back the death day of Fer s'Rang. At the moment of your retrieval of this great event there shall be ready a planetwide broadcast to carry the scene to all of our people. Can you ask for more in the way of making known the value of what you have discovered?"
"Your Illustrious Holder must have heard also," Zurzal said, "that this discovery of mine is far from being perfected. That the former trials had no more than a very fleeting success. I can promise no better results and because of that I cannot, of course, accept this offer. Were the Holder to arrange such an impressive audience and occasion and then there was a failure—it would be more than a disappointment—"
"You are too modest, Learned One. Our Leader has made a close study of your achievements in the past. He believes that you are far nearer to complete success than your words now warrant. And he will see that you are well rewarded—"
"No." Zurzal was unusually curt. "I do not promise what I may not be able to produce. My thanks to the Illustrious Holder, but until I am sure of the worth of what I have to offer, I will not risk the disappointment of any who would seek to back my experiment. He will understand the logic of that certainly."
Sopt s'Qu's features had taken on a rigidity. "My Illustrious Leader is not a man to be easily disappointed."
Zurzal stood up. "No man accepts disappointment easily. But neither does any life flow with continued smoothness. I am sorry, Horde Commander, but my answer remains no— I am Zacathan and we are sworn to the gathering and preservation of knowledge. Yes, I wish to use my discovery in that cause. But until I am sure of success I must keep my actions to myself. If I can find the proper rhythm for the scanner by experiments, then I shall be only too glad to allow it to be used on any world to recreate such scenes of planetary history as the inhabitants wish to experience for themselves. That will be a proud day, but it is still far off. Thank you, Horde Commander, but make this point clear to your Illustrious Holder: I do not offer that which is not well perfected."
The Tssekian arose also. "I am sorry, Learned One. You have just thrown away that which would have brought you great glory."
"If so the loss is mine." But the Zacathan did not sound in any way disappointed. He nodded his head in a small salute as the Tssekian with no other word left them, his man falling in behind him as he passed the sentinel post.
"Now," Zurzal said slowly, "I wonder what lies behind that. I think perhaps I should speak a word or two in some places. There may be an interest in Tssek I have not heard of formally. Oh, well, we shall not be upshipping off to the Holder's hold, that is certain."
Only, of course, it was not.
THE STRIKE CAME IN THEIR OWN QUARTERS AND JUST at the first sign of dawn. Jofre had been uneasy ever since their meeting with the Tssekians, as he was sure that Sopt s'Qu was not one to consider the argument finished. He thought once of the possible theft of the scanner but at his questioning, Zurzal had informed him that no one but himself understood its use. The various modifications he had been adding to the discovery originally made were not ones which existed now anywhere except in his own scaled head.
Though the Zacathan went to sleep early, Jofre continued to prowl their suite, slipping from wall to door to wall as if he expected each time he entered one of the three rooms to find a foe waiting and ready. He had asked the Zacathan about the various weapons Harse had apparently carried in plain sight (and if he had those in sightWHAT might he have in concealment?) and Zurzal had admitted that it was certainly true that the very warlike breed on Tssek might have perfected something new—or rediscovered something old, not yet generally known in the space lanes.
The outer door was locked on their palm signatures. As long as they occupied these rooms and made sure to set palm to the plate if they wished to be undisturbed, there could be no forcing that—short of equipment which would alert the whole inn. The windows were also sealed and locked where they opened onto the terrace outside. Jofre himself had taken the precaution of moving tubbed foliage out of their carefully symmetrical pattern in order to clear the space to the banistered edge of the balcony offset. He had in addition dropped two of his warn buttons at strategic places on that terrace.
Yet with every precaution taken he could not relax. The issha sense was awake; that which he had been so long trained to do was taking over. It was well within reason that the Tssekians might attempt to capture Zurzal. With the Zacathan and his machine both in their hands they could believe they would have no trouble in forcing the action they wanted. But why were they so determined? Zurzal had questioned that himself several times during the evening. He seemed sure that if they had full knowledge of what he wished to do, they also knew how chancy would be the success. To link the experiment to planetwide broadcast and then fail would discredit the Holder as much as the Zacathan himself.
"They play some game," Zurzal had said at last. "But it is not ours. I wish we had better luck in our passage. Lochan is a fourth place world, the only visitors are Free Traders. I do not have unlimited funds—for I cannot draw upon the resources of my House since they have disowned what I would do. Thus we have to wait for a Trader already bound for Lochan to take passage—I cannot just charter the ship on my own. However, this is the port from which such take off, and sooner or later one will appear."
To the wary Jofre such waiting, especially now, was like a silent war. This city was a maze of strange buildings of which he knew very little, though he made every attempt to study maps and mark out the principal reference points. The throngs of visitors (many kinds of whom he found it very difficult to name as "people" at all) added to the general dissatisfaction the whole port raised in him. The sooner they could be free of this place the better—it was far too removed from all he knew and he had almost begun to wonder if all those skills which had been assha honed would hold in such diverse surroundings.
For the third time he made the round of the rooms, moving noiselessly, his night sight enough to take him in the circuit. He would pause every few steps to listen, sniff, call on his warn sense to pick up anything out of the ordinary. This was the second night he had spent so and he could not stand guard thus forever.
It was the faint flicker of one of his warn stones which brought him along the wall, flattened against that, to peer out on the terrace. His stunner was in hand, but in the other he had one of the throwing knives on which he would first depend, since it was an old and familiar arm and he knew his skill with that.
There was something moving in a slow sweep in towards the edge of the terrace. A grav-raft such as he had seen in use for transport through the city. Jofre raised the stunner—
It fell from fingers suddenly rendered limp, a grasp which would not obey his will, anymore than his knees would continue to hold his body upright. He crumpled forward, facedown, and found that he could hardly breathe, as if the muscles of his chest, the power of his lungs was being crushed out of him.
If assault had been meant to cause his death, the attackers did not know the quality of their victim. Jofre's inner defenses rallied instantly. He went into withdrawal, his only answer to the unknown until he could learn the nature of the weapon being used.
Though sight, hearing, other senses were dulled to near unconsciousness, he was still aware enough to know that there was movement now in the room, confident, assured, as if those invaders had nothing to fear. Would they take the common sense action and kill him as he lay? So far they had moved around him, heading towards the inner room where Zurzal slept.
The pressure holding him immobile remained steady. Only issha defense kept him breathing shallowly! Then— he had been seeking the Inner Heart, the core of strength to hold to. There was a sudden flash, a shock
as if he had heedlessly thrust a hand into a fire. He was aware of that hand now instantly. It was crumpled under him at an awkward angle, the fingers still curled as if about the stock of his missing sidearm. But he could move those fingers— a fraction. And the strength for that came from— The find he had made in the mountains—that he had brought out of Qaw-en-itter—the stone!
His thoughts seemed to slide in and out of a cloaking darkness as if he were bog-trapped. He fought to hold to them. Then there was a sudden explosion of pain in his side as he was struck a sharp blow there. And very faintly followed an explosion of sound, hardly more than a whispering, which seemed to be an argument of sorts. The answer came when he was roughly hoisted and dragged out of the room, over the terrace, to be dumped on a surface which vibrated under him—the lift platform.
A moment later a weight rolled against him and he smelled the musky scent of the Zacathan, who was plainly also helpless in the hands of these captors.
The platform gave a quick bound upward and it seemed to Jofre that it was whirling around. His precarious hold on consciousness grew even less, though he had somehow been able to move his hand so that the palm lay across the very slight bulge which concealed the mountain talisman.
There was clearly no move he might make now; he must wait until he could work around or break whatever the compulsion was which held him so pinned. But he could hold to the Inner core and so far had been able to survive. While a man lived there was always chance— which favored one who was ready to seize upon it.
How long they were airborne Jofre could not tell. It was much lighter and though he could not turn his head and dared not even lift those eyelids more than a slit high, he surveyed what he could of his surroundings.
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