"I see,” she said. “You can expand your investigation...” Suddenly, there was a look of deep suspicion in her face. “Chief technician, why are you now so kind?” Without warning she jumped forward and twisted a tentacle backwards, just as he was about to touch a hidden sensor pad under a panel. His tegument turned an unhealthy mauve, and his eyes stared in terror.
A sense of impending doom was imparted. The iris of the security portal they'd sneaked through opened, and a cowled, contracted representative came forward, clawed hands outstretched, pleading for sanity.
"Shar-Mei,” said Daan Viil. “This has gone far enough, I say!"
"Were you aware, representative,” cut in the Battle Maiden's commander, “that these people have lost contact with the Bearer. For the past five years they've done nothing to reestablish communications with the planet he was set upon."
Daan Viil skidded to a halt.
Olam Pww, directly behind him, looked at the other technicians, stunned. “I cannot believe it.” He clutched at his heavily muscled throat, and was at a loss for words.
"Nevertheless, those are the facts."
From a pale bluish yellow-brown to a furious outraged red, the contracted representative's fur rippled in a disturbing flux. Even Daan Viil's scaled visage mottled, he was so angry.
"Traitors!” Olam Pww roared, whirling around, drawing a slim blaster from beneath his cloak. “I will have each of you sent to the pits! I will ensure that you be given life-lengthening drugs so that your condemnation will be of such lasting agony that you will pray for death, but-death-will-not-come!"
A newly arrived technician from the academy, blameless for what was happening, fainted.
Shar-Mei sighed. “This is not going to solve anything, representative."
He turned to her with a lunge, fangs gleaming. “You think not? Well, I think it will! When word of this gets out..."
A vision of sharing everyone's misfortune rose before his eyes.
"By the living stars,” he croaked. “What's to be done?” As a contracted overseer, he was lost. It was his job to ensure quality controls, and he failed miserably. His indirect employers, the Galactics, would frown, and his name would go down in infamy.
"The solution is before us,” said Shar-Mei. “My group will go to this Errth and demand my betrothed's release, or I will arrange to have their sun nova, their oceans evaporate into nothing, and their people driven mad."
"Oh, joy,” muttered Daan Viil. “Just what we need for a class three planet. Not only visitations from outré space-time, but threats.” He gave her a dismal look. “And just what will be their response to your demands?"
"They will obey or die,” she said simply. “Everyone, down to the last gnat, the last worm, the last—"
"Cetacean?” he injected.
"This is a planet of mutant sub-humans. There are no Cetaceans there."
"Excuse me, please,” said a timid technician from the back row. “But that's incorrect. Their planet is composed of five-sixths water. Six large ocean regions, and at least sixteen specific and generalized classes of Cetaceans exist here, but for the most part we've been able to identify only sub-structures in the hunter-gatherer mind-set."
Shar-Mei's eyes opened wide. “It's not possible. It couldn't be."
"Nevertheless,” said the representative in a grim tone. “It's true."
"Cetaceans. But they have their own star system, their own ethical codes. They would not interfere in outré affairs. It's even in the bloody Code of Arcturus!"
"Yes, but these are offshoots of their culture, and one the prime Cetes have long waited to join. What would you have us do after condemning and erasing their planet? Have our representative to Cetes swim around for a generation or so, trying to get somebody's attention so he can tell them we eliminated one of their long lost culture colony groups, because one woman was fixated with revenge upon a bunch of humans? What do you think would be their ultimate response?"
The last time the great whales swam, galaxies were given a show of such force that when one particular race took no notice, after having been asked to communicate with an interested whale ... the offended creature decided that if one weren't responsive, then one wasn't necessarily alive.
To this day, the ghost system is still there, filled with aliens who long ago lost their pride in the wake of their horror, when they found themselves not part of the reality spectrum.
Perhaps one day the offended female would make her way back to that spot, ask her question again, whatever it was, and upon receiving a satisfactory response might allow the system to slip into normal synch-time. Until then, nobody was holding his or her breath.
"All right,” she reluctantly admitted. “Perhaps force isn't the answer in this particular circumstance, but what else is there?"
"How about infiltration?"
She glanced at her Battle Maidens, sizing them up, and then with a nod agreed. Yes, that might do it.
Turning to the chief technician, she “asked” if a way could be opened immediately. With a nervous swallow the tech master assured her that with time and a bit of instrument tuning, a trifling balance act with stellar magnetic waves juggling kinetic-planetary mass factors, along with star differentials ... yes, they could get up to trans-velocities.
Her fingers flexed over the butt of her pistol, and he blanched. In fact, they'd be able to do it in no time at all.
A Battle Maiden leaned over to whisper into her ear, and Shar-Mei stared at the tech before asking if the place they were bound for had a station communications link? With a baleful glare, the tech had to admit ... there wasn't. One used to be there, but it was taken off-line.
At the point of a photonic pistol, along with a slight demonstration, the natives might understand commands, but what about explanations?
"So that means portable vocoders,” she said grimly. “Well, girls, this isn't going to be as easy as I thought. I may have jumped the gun in a few places, but there it is. We'll fetch him ourselves. Any questions?"
They grinned and shook their heads.
Daan Viil sighed and muttered to himself. He looked aside to Olam Pww, but there was nothing the other could offer. None of this was going as he hoped.
* * * *
A whisper of sound, a puff of foreign air, and a booted foot stepped forthrightly onto an old seal tablet. The figure inscribed upon it was one of a host of Gods about to cast a spear that might have been a thunderbolt.
The boot was then followed by a shapely leg, which was followed by the rest, and into the dim light of an overhead moon, came a fully armored, prepared Battle Maiden, ready for anything.
Shar-Mei froze. She scanned the area for attack possibilities, and she sniffed distastefully at the cold, damp, stone smell of the place. It had the taint of rot. There was something else, too. It needed a good scrubbing.
Give her a hundred happy slaves, she thought, and she'd have this place ship-shaped in no time. The sight of a patch of mold growing on the nose of one of the statues gave her the shivers. Better make that a hundred and ten.
A movement at the corner of her eye had her swiveling, right hand photonic out and set to fire on full automatic.
"Eeek!"
"All right you,” she ordered imperiously. “Out of there—and I mean now!"
Hesitantly, the form moved forward, and Shar-Mei gaped at a large hairy creature who sniffled, an enormous hankie held to a nose, incongruously funny. The eyes were remarkably intelligent for that of an animal.
She modified her tone for a possible native being. “Who are you? What are you? And where do you come from?"
Behind her, similarly garbed Battle Maidens appeared and moved forward. Then the Yeti female fainted.
A curious Battle Maiden looked over her commander's shoulder at the slumped creature on the floor and said, “Well, that's never happened before."
Shar-Mei was angry. First native on the planet, and the first to drop. She wasn't getting anywhere with this business.
"Corporal!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Secure the area. Kill—er, wait a minute...” She could imagine Daan Viil's and Olam Pww's faces as they spied through the force field. She took a deep breath. “Subdue any aliens you come across, find the head man or woman, or...” She looked at the form lying in front of her. “See if anyone else has the claim to fame in this filthy place and urge cooperation."
"Yes, ma'am!” Orders were handed out, and Battle Maidens hustled, weapons at the ready.
The Yeti in the overlarge monk's robes shivered, groaned, and struggled to get up. She stared at these newcomers, and her mouth went dry.
A squadron of Battle Maidens was too much to take. Shar-Mei stepped towards the Yeti slowly, leaned over, and casually patted her on the head.
"There, there now,” she soothed. “Everything is going to be all right. And when this is over I promise not to make too much of a meal of you. Take it easy.” The response was not what she was prepared for. “What in blazes? Are all these silly planet-footers like wilting flowers? How am I going to learn anything if every question I ask has these weak-kneed creatures fainting?"
"Well, perhaps that wouldn't happen so often," came Olam Pww's dry voice over her helm-com, "if you listened to your language orientation. Your vocoders can only do so much."
Shar-Mei scowled and tapped a finger in back of her ear. “Listen, people. When encountering these primitives, let your vocoders reprogram themselves. Apparently, they have no sense of humor."
On the lab side, Olam Pww shook his head, distracted by something behind them. He turned around, shouted, and the com-link suddenly broke off.
Shar-Mei shook her head thinking it a faulty short, but a Battle Maiden hurried to inform her that the lab station was under attack.
"Commander, Lieutenant NumNai was able to get out one thing more before it shut down."
"What was it?"
"That they would hold the lab until the last Battle Maiden!"
Shar-Mei smiled wanly. “Of course. But our return, lieutenant? How is that to be managed?"
"Relay circuit, ma'am. I discussed it with NumNai before we set out. If there were to be problems those would kick in, and the only way to short them out would be to take out the auxiliary power source. It will switch on at alternate intervals."
"Relay times?"
She checked the chrono-piece that was part of the armored sleeve. “Next broadcast wave will be at twenty-one, forty-two."
"Very good. Now continue to see to our perimeter. This would be a bad box if we didn't have another way out."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Then Shar-Mei turned, aware of the Yeti's fearful gaze. Sighing, she began again, and this time more cautiously.
"A man of my race came here years ago. I have come to collect him. We call him Reg-I-Nald."
The Yeti's face twisted as she put one and one together to come up with a sufficient power to calculate what a wrong response might mean to those she'd come to like.
She growled softly to the Battle Maiden. “What is this person to you?"
Shar-Mei's left eyebrow rose with that imperiousness, part and parcel of her very soul. “My mate.” She fingered her photonic significantly. “And I will have him, native being. I will have him else there will be suffering you cannot imagine."
She looked around at the vaulted figures, as if to her they were nothing, and when the silence stretched, she glanced back down and shook her head. What was wrong with these people?
A Battle Maiden setting up a photonic projector to cover the area in event of a surprise attack took a look for herself and snickered. Down again.
* * * *
"Mistress?” came the soft Yeti summons to Oompal's sleeping form. Oompal shifted on the mattress, and then she was out of bed and standing ready.
"What is it?"
"I have some disturbing news, and I think the High One had better know what's happening. But it would sound better coming from you."
Oompal's eyes opened wide in the darkness of her chamber, and she nodded as she put on clothes.
"What's happened?"
"We've been invaded, mistress."
Oompal stiffened, and then firmed her resolve, her mind fumbling over what this meant, knowing what it was she had to do.
"Chinese?"
"No, mistress. We're protected against incursions from that corner."
Oompal pulled out an Uzi from beneath the nightstand table, clips that held it up letting loose, and she was checking it over when her next question brought an answer that froze her.
"Where are they from?"
"They are his people, mistress. They are the Great One's own come to claim him. And one, a terrible person, is none other than the Great One's mate. I'm not sure if she's sane."
"I see..."
"No, mistress,” contradicted her friend gently. “But you will. It's a sight, believe me."
Oompal considered her friend's tone, hesitated, then replaced the Uzi where it had come from, straightened her robe for wrinkles and put her shoulders back.
"I'll see the High One now,” she said and turned for the doorway.
She was stopped by a large timid hand on her shoulder.
"One thing more, mistress,” added the Yeti female softly, almost less than a whisper.
"What?"
"It would be wise to approach this person with all the caution of a mountain squirrel on the edge of a precipice."
Oompal paused to consider it. “That dangerous, eh?"
"Yes, mistress.” The large head nodded solemnly. “That dangerous."
"Well,” Oompal smiled gently, patting the other on the arm. “I'm not one for taking chances, or for letting the situation get ahead of me. Let's take a look for ourselves, shall we?"
The Yeti sighed. It was as she feared. She wasn't really believed. And who could blame the small one? If she had been the one wearing the shoes, she'd probably take warnings like this with all the salt she could carry. But Oompal would change her mind, she knew. After all, her friend on the temple grounds had taken one look and fainted thrice. And among Yeti females, she had been known as a terror.
"High One?"
The muffled figure bound in blankets to protect from the cold tossed a moment. “Mmph! Not here! Go away!” Then he went back to sleep.
"High One!” urged a frantic Oompal, shifting him into a reasoning plane, her face an unnatural white in the taper she held up. “High One, get up. We've got trouble in this here little city!"
"Eh?” He roused himself from the blankets to look blearily around. He blinked and shook his head. “Oompal? What is the problem?"
"Remember you said it was lucky the Yetis were content with their lot, running around in monk's robes, playing hide and seek with every one not of the temple grounds? Remember what you said it was fortunate they didn't think in terms of organization, party structure, and democracy?"
"Er, yes, I remember something like that...” He wiped a hand across his face, blinking his eyes to clear them.
Oompal looked over her shoulder, fearing she had only a few moments before disaster descended upon them all. “Remember about keeping a watch on the temple monitors? That if there was the slightest fluctuation in the field aperture, someone should get on down there and investigate?"
He came awake then.
"Well,” she said with a trace of satisfaction in her voice. “There was a fluctuation all right. And someone went on down there to investigate."
"Oompal! What's happened?” He looked around and caught a glimmer of light playing outside his window.
"High One, I suggest you get dressed quickly. The Great One's people have made contact."
"They sent word?” With a lunge, he spilled out of the covers, pulling on clothing with haphazard haste. “What did they say?"
"It's not what they said. It's what they sent,” she corrected, handing him his outside robe. He froze while it was over his head, and then wriggled until the garment was on.
"What do you mean, girl?"
"Brace yourself, High One."
He cursed softly, fumbling at a belt. “I'm getting a bad feeling. Just what is it you're trying to tell me?"
A gamin grin played over her face. “They're h-e-r-e."
* * * *
"Regis!"
Regis snapped awake. “What?"
"Regis!"
This time he realized it wasn't something he'd heard. It was a telepathic summons. Concentrating on the thread that touched him, he tuned in on the wavelength and found it was from the High One. A flash of the other's face showed he was in a panic.
"High One?” he called out silently. “What is it? Why have you—"
"Listen Regis," interrupted the other hastily. "There is a large woman here, with other very large women, some larger than others, all armed with terrible weapons. The large woman in charge has demanded your presence, or she will do things that will surely upset our world. You must stop her before she does that. Oompal was quite right about her."
"Calm yourself, old friend. I say again, calm yourself. I shall, of course, come instantly. And I'll have enough firepower to turn back anybody's clock. Don't worry about that!"
"No! Regis, you don't understand. These are your people. They've come to fetch you. And you must get here before they do things that will be impossible to explain!"
Regis swallowed a lump that threatened to tear down the inside of his throat.
"My people? Are you sure? Is that what they told you? This isn't something cooked up by our enemies, is it? They can be damn clever when their futures hang on it. What—"
"Regis! Listen! The woman in charge says she's come for you! She says you are Reg-I-Nald the Light Bearer, and she's come for her mate!"
An instant image of Doral-I-Nald's commercial attempts to meld his house with another's sprang to mind, along with the vision of the last time he saw his fiancé ... and shuddering, his immediate response was to go back to sleep. But the High One babbled on, and Regis sighed in resignation, listening to an even more disagreeable part of the story.
"Already she's training Yetis to ‘go and fetch,’ and it's terrible! She's even promised to deliver them from us—us! Can you imagine it? We, who've protected them from civilization for thousands of years—and now they're turning on us! To think, just when we were getting along with them, what do they want to do? The ungrateful brutes want to take over!"
The Fourth Guardian Page 26
