Golden Age of Science Fiction Vol VIII

by Various

  There were broken stones again in the well curb and the pile of stone brought for repair wasn't neatly stacked. He frowned.

  This was not the first time he'd had to take a firm hand in Tibara. Of course, he had replaced headmen in other villages--more than once in some cases. But Tibara was working on its third headman. There was something really wrong in that village.

  To be sure, Tibara was the village where most caravan slaves were quartered. A lodge had been built there for that purpose and it was in frequent use. Naturally, it was maintained by the villagers. But that was even less excuse for shoddiness. This should be the neatest, best kept village in all Kira Barra. It wasn't.

  The frown deepened. This time, Tibara was going to be cleaned up, and he'd keep his attention on it. The village would stay clean if the villagers had to spend every second of their time on it when they weren't taking care of their herds, their boats, and their guest lodge.

  And there'd be no slacking in those other areas, either.

  He looked around the clearing. There were, he was forced to admit, no idlers about at the moment. The only people he could see were women and children. And the women were busily occupied.

  Again, he studied the scene. The men would be coming in from their fields and from the lake in another hour. He would examine a few other villages, then return his attention to Tibara.

  * * * * *

  Wearily, Retonga, headman of Tibara, pulled himself to a sitting position. He looked over to the other side of the room. Mir was already on her feet. She smiled at him uncertainly.

  "It's morning," she said. "Rest day, at last."

  "Yes." Retonga closed his eyes for an instant. It had been bad for her, too, he knew. He'd probably been pretty hard to live with these past few days. He sighed.

  "Rest day," he mused. "But it means nothing. There's still work. There's always work these days." He got to his feet.

  "I wish I were just a herd boy--in some other village." He went to the door and looked out.

  Someone had disturbed the pile of building stones. Children had been playing in the clearing the night before and the earth was scuffed up. Bits of wood and cloth lay scattered here and there.

  He looked at the houses. Folshan's roof was sagging a trifle, he noticed. And there were a couple of dolls lying outside his door. He shook his head and went out into the clearing.

  Old Tamiso was squatting by the well. Retonga walked over to him.

  "Your stone pile," he said. "A few of the stones are scattered."

  The old man looked over, then shrugged.

  "I just picked this one out," he explained. "When I get it laid, I'll have to get another. I'll straighten the pile when I finish here."

  Retonga smiled wearily. "And if the master sees your pile now?"

  Tamiso pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his back thoughtfully.

  "Yes," he said. "The master can give great pain, and it seems he is always watching these days." He walked over to the stones.

  For a moment, Retonga watched as he rearranged his pile, then he turned, tilting his head back.

  "Awaken," he shouted. "For the sun looks down and shall he find us asleep?"

  A head poked out of a door.

  "It's a rest day. We'll be at it soon enough, but what's the hurry?"

  Retonga shook his head. "I know it's rest day. You know it's rest day. But there's one who forgets these things. Remember the other evening?"

  Folshan winced and Retonga pointed.

  "Better get those dolls picked up. And there's that roof of yours. I'll give you a hand with it."

  Folshan came out of his hut, then looked back.

  "No," he said slowly. "You're headman. Remember how that happened? Let the master catch you helping with the work and we'll need yet another headman." He shook his head.

  "This time, it could be me." He bent over to pick up the toys his daughter had left.

  "Kina," he called, "tell Chama to keep her toys picked up, or she might be needing a new father." He turned again.

  "I'll get Kesonta to help with that roof. It'll be straight in an hour or so."

  Retonga looked after him for a moment, then caught the eyes of a couple of the women. He made a sweeping motion toward the earth of the clearing, then walked back to his own door.

  [Illustration]

  He turned, inspecting each detail of the village.

  "Let's see. Is there anything else for the master to find wrong?" Again, he examined each house closely.

  At last, he turned away, walking toward a path.

  "He'll probably be looking at the waterfront, too," he told himself, "and at the lodge."

  He walked slowly along the path, checking the forest floor as he went. As he got to the beach, he looked toward the pier, then winced.

  A few hundred yards out in the lake, a high wedge of water was sweeping toward him. At the apex of the vee, he could see the shape of a boat, its bow riding high over the water.

  "Oh, no," he groaned to himself. "Trouble again!" He waited.

  As the wave splashed to the pier, he dashed forward to secure the boat. Kio Barra merely glanced at him. Briefly, he caught the impression of a wide field. A line of great beasts were crossing it, their long necks bobbing as they walked. He nodded in understanding.

  A caravan was coming in. That would be trouble, of course, but of minor nature. He turned, to follow the glittering figure as it floated toward the path and on, into the village.

  * * * * *

  As the caravan came to a stop, Naran's beast bent its knees and crouched. He swung himself to the ground.

  He was getting the hang of this, he told himself. At first, he had been forced to fight an almost uncontrollable compulsion to float down normally, but now it seemed quite sensible to grab the heavy fiber strands and swing forward till his feet were solidly on the ground. He spun about.

  "All right," he shouted. "Take your reins. Form your unloading circles on me. We'll be here for a day or two."

  He watched as the slings were lifted from the brutes' backs, then turned his attention to the man who was greeting Dar Girdek.

  So this was the Lord of the Mountain Lake. He shook his head. The fellow glittered almost from head to foot. Naran examined the jewelry appraisingly. He wore a fourth-order cap. They didn't make them any heavier than that one. And if there was a device that had been left out, he had never heard of it.

  In addition, he could identify three heavy-duty shields, a power levitator, a handful of destructor and paralysis rings, and a projector medallion capable of forming several hundred cubic feet of solid, detailed illusion. He shook his head.

  This man must have spent the entire income of his estate for several years in assembling this array. There was enough there to outfit a battle group of competent psionics.

  "If this guy needs all that stuff just to get by, he's as near to psionic zero as you can get," Naran told himself. "Either that, or he's loaded with a power compulsion that's never been equalled." He frowned.

  "Or both," he added thoughtfully.

  He looked again at the blaze of jewelry.

  Faintly, he could sense the sour feel of fear. It acted as a carrier for a mixture of hatred, envy, and contemptuous hauteur. Naran whistled softly. There was more, too. He wished he dared try a probe, but with all that arsenal of psionic crystalware, it would be unwise.

  "Hit those shields of his and I'd bounce off with a noise like a million bells," he thought. He turned away.

  He'd have to keep his own mind fully hooded around here. He looked back again, glancing at the distorter rod Barra carried. His eyes widened a little.

  "Given adequate drive, that thing would stop a Fifth Planet battleship." He grinned.

  "Arm a couple of hundred men with those things and they could go out and take the Fifth apart, bit by bit. Then we wouldn't have to worry about those people and their mechanical gadgets."

  He dragged his attention back to the business at hand, tapping in on Dar Girdek's
thoughts.

  "... And we can tour the Estates later today," Barra was saying. "I may be able to show you some worthwhile goods, as well as a few good draft beasts to carry them."

  Naran risked a light probe, taking advantage of Barra's diverted attention.

  He had been right, he thought. It was the "or both." He shook his head. The guy was almost pathetic. Obviously, he wanted to be the greatest man on the planet. And equally obviously, without his amplifier jewels, he'd be little stronger psionically than one of Dar Girdek's drivers.

  As Dar Girdek followed his host toward the village, Naran turned his attention back to his drivers. He would have to make camp and then get together with that village headman. There'd be plenty of arrangements they would have to make.

  He was surprised at the arrangements Retonga had already made. There wasn't much question about it, the entertainment of caravans was familiar business with this headman. He knew all the problems--and their answers.

  Of course, Dar Girdek had told him about the hospitality of Kira Barra, but this had to be seen to be believed. He spent his first really restful night in weeks.

  The next morning, he walked slowly along the path to the drivers' lodge, paying little attention to his surroundings. Somehow, in spite of the reception given the caravan, he was uneasy.

  He recalled his conversation with Retonga the night before.

  The man had asked questions about the conditions of the trail. He had been curious about the treatment of the drivers by the master of the train. Then he had shaken his head, looking out over his village.

  "It is far different here. This is an estate of death and terror, and our master is the very lord of these. I was a child when his father died, but I think things were different then." He had looked searchingly at Naran.

  "I've never mentioned these things before," he went on. "But there's something--" He had looked down at the ground, then up again.

  "Our master became Kio through the death of his brother," he went on, "and it was through the deaths of other headmen that I was placed in charge of this village." He had glanced back into the door of his hut.

  "I had no part in causing those deaths. The life of a headman here in Tibara is short and none but a fool would fight for this position of mine. It is not a good one. The master's demands are heavy and his hand is even heavier."

  This didn't match with the reputation of Kio Barra as a considerate host--a fair man to do business with. It made him wonder.

  Had his brother actually ever left this place? But if not, where were his drivers? What had happened to his train of draft brutes? How had the cargo he carried been disposed of?

  Oh, of course, he knew there were caravan masters who would accept freight and ask a minimum of questions. Goods could be disposed of. And this was a breeding estate. The slaves? He shook his head. Too simple!

  He brought himself back to the present, looking thoughtfully at the drivers' lodge ahead of him. Then he probed gently, trying to establish rapport with Dar Girdek. The man could be in real danger.

  He frowned and probed with more force. There was nothing. The frown deepened.

  After his talk with Retonga, he had established rapport with the caravan master, but the older man had attached no importance to his suspicions.

  "No," he had thought back, "you are seeing a robber behind every rock now. Kio Barra is a tough master, of course. He's got a big estate here, and he really keeps it up to the mark. He's a good host and a really good man to deal with--liberal trader. Remember, I know this guy. I've been here before." There had been the impression of a smile.

  "Besides, this guy's harmless, remember? Sure, he's a businessman. But if he should try anything violent, I could take care of him without taking time out to think about it." A final, dismissing thought had come.

  "Look, forget about it, will you? If you had to suspect someone of dirty work, pick on some of those northerners. Kio Barra's too well known for fair dealing. I'll make a deal with him, then we can go up to the northern swing and really look around to see if we can find any trace of that caravan of your brother's."

  Naran kicked at the trail. Dar Girdek was a good trader and a successful caravan master. He knew goods and their value, and he was expert in handling beasts and drivers. But he had never been too sensitive. And he'd absolutely refused to wear a probe amplifier.

  "Look," he'd thought disgustedly, "how would you like to do business with some guy that wore a great, big, yellow headlight to tell you he wanted to poke around in your mind?"

  Naran put his foot on the lowest rung of the short ladder leading to the lodge door.

  Unless he was badly mistaken, he knew now where his brother had gone. And now Dar Girdek had joined him. The details? He shrugged.

  They were unimportant. But what was next? What would be the next step in Barra's plans? And what could be done about this guy? He climbed the ladder and went into the lodge.

  Of course, if the Council found out about this, they could deal with the situation. All they'd need would be a little proof and Kio Barra would be well and promptly taken care of. But how would someone get word out?

  The estate was loaded with surrogates, he knew that. A caravan--even a single man--would find it impossible to either enter or leave without the knowledge and consent of the Master Protector. He smiled.

  He could just visualize Kio Barra letting anyone out with proof of his activities. The smile faded.

  A distant projection? There were those surrogates again. They were broad tuned and he knew it. They'd flare like a field of beacons.

  Of course, he could get out a flash appeal and it would be heard. He grinned.

  Now, there was a nice way to commit suicide. There'd be no time for help to arrive, he was sure of that. And no shield would stand up under that heavy-duty distorter, even if Barra could only summon a minimum of power to operate it. He shook his head, looking around the room.

  * * * * *

  Drivers were beginning to stir and get to their feet. Naran looked at the flunky.

  "Better get with it, Bintar," he said. "Going to be a bunch of hungry men around you in a couple of minutes."

  "Yeah." The man started out the door, yawning. "Got to eat, if we don't do anything else." He climbed down the ladder.

  Naran glanced at the drivers.

  "Soon's we've eaten," he said, "I'd like to check up on the long-necks. See whether they've wandered during the night. I'd hate to have them get mixed up with the village herd."

  A driver looked around at him.

  "Aw," he protested, "the master probably pinned 'em down good before he left. Besides, he can identify 'em anyway. They won't go far--not with those herd boys running around."

  "Sure," Naran told him. "The master would really like spending half a day cutting out his long-necks from the village herd. And how about that Master Protector? What would he think of our caravan?"

  The other looked at him disgustedly. "Aw, who cares about that? Why worry about what one of them witchmen thinks about another? Long's we don't get twisted around, what's the difference?"

  Naran growled to himself. He'd blundered on that one. There was no answer to that argument that he could present. He had learned to understand--and in some measure sympathize with--the deep-seated resentment of the non-psi for the psionic. The non-psionics felt they were just as good men as anyone, yet here were these psionics with their incomprehensible powers. And there was nothing to be done about it except obey.

  Of course, they didn't like it--or their masters.

  As far as that went, the caravan herd was unimportant now. The only trouble was Retonga. If the herds were mixed, he would be in real trouble.

  "Well," he said aloud, "I'm not about to get the master to spinning. Long's we keep him happy, we'll all be a lot better off. As I said, right after breakfast. I want everyone out on the herd." He started to turn away.

  "Aagh," growled the other. "Why don't you face it? You're just one of those guys likes to toss ord
ers around and make people jump. It's about time someone showed you a few things."

  Naran turned back. Rosel had been resentful ever since the caravan had formed. He had expected to be lead driver on this trip and he'd made no effort to hide his fury and disappointment at being displaced in favor of a newcomer.

  For an instant, Naran considered. There was no point in continuing his masquerade any further. Dar Girdek was gone and he'd have to take the caravan back anyway--if he could work his way out of here, past Barra.

  If he couldn't get out--if he joined his brother and Dar Girdek--it would make no difference what the caravan drivers thought.

  He could put this man in his place right now. Then, he could give him the job of lead driver.

  But there was something else to think of. If he got the train out of here, he would have to work with this guy. And there would always be an even greater resentment added to the normal fear and hatred of the psionic. That could demoralize the whole train. Naran sighed.

  Rosel had put his feelings in the open now and Naran would have to play out the role he had assumed.

  He crossed the room to confront Rosel. Abruptly, he thrust a hand out. The other made a grab for it and Naran moved smoothly forward, locking the grasping hand.

  Quickly he extended a leg and threw Rosel over it. As the man hit the floor, Naran retained his grip and brought his other hand over, twisting the man's arm. His foot went out, to smack into the man's face, pinning him to the floor. Slowly, he put pressure on the prisoned hand.

  "Once more," he said coldly, "I'm going to have everyone out on the herd right after breakfast. Now, do you want to go out and work with 'em, or do I keep winding up on this thing and then have 'em load you up with the rest of the spare gear?"

  "Aw, look." Rosel's voice was muffled. "Didn't mean a thing, I was just making a crack."

  "Yeah, sure." Naran's voice was scornful. "Just having a little fun before breakfast. Now you listen to me. So long as I'm lead driver, you're going to do what I say--when I say it. If you give me any more trouble, I'll pull your head off and make you carry it under one arm. Got it?"

  "Ow! Yeah, I got it. You're the lead driver."