by Colin Kapp
“I don’t know. For one of such size, it’s very lightly armed. A research ship of some sort, I should think. Anyway, we’ll soon find out …”
While Penemue was speaking, a ring of battleships suddenly sprouted bright-blue tractor beams, which gently but firmly gripped the small ship and began to move it toward the giant vessel. Here, a craft-lock easily able to contain Kasdeya’s entire ship opened its huge jaw. Then additional tractors from within reached out and guided the vessel into a vast dock area. At the exact moment of touchdown the crash-web disappeared, and Kasdeya looked speculatively at the power plant controls.
“Blowing the power plant wouldn’t work,” said Penemue from behind. “The entire dock is lined with collapsite. We’d destroy nobody but ourselves.”
They watched from the flight-bridge dome as a hatch finally opened and a group of uniformed figures came out into the dock area.
“Reception committee—or firing squad?” Asbeel was apprehensive.
“A committee of investigation,” said Kasdeya, and his voice was tense. “If they had intended to destroy us quickly they could have done it all too easily out there.”
Something metallic was affixed to the outside of the hull with a loud clang, and a voice was induced through the hull itself. It spoke in a language Wildheit did not recognize.
“They’re telling us to come out naked and without weapons,” said Kasdeya. “We have two minutes. Then they’re going to fill the hull with corrosive nerve gas. Anyone who remains inside the hull will die in acute pain.”
“Nice people,” commented Wildheit.
“For the Ra, that is restrained behavior. Usually it is a touch of the gas first, and the warning afterward. That makes their prisoners run to them willingly. They have very persuasive ways, the Ra.”
“Then we’d better get down there,” said Wildheit. “It’s impolite to keep an anxious host waiting.”
At the hatch they all stripped, Roamer very unwillingly, but encouraged by Wildheit’s anxious frown. Kasdeya demonstrated the right attitude for surrender as they stepped out, walking with his arms outstretched and fingers wide open so that there could be no suspicion that he had a weapon concealed in his hands. When he reached the waiting reception party, a strong white yoke was passed behind his neck and across his shoulders to maintain his arms outstretched, each arm being fastened to the yoke at the wrist, elbow, and shoulder. They all, including Roamer, were similarly fastened on descent.
Orders were given, which Kasdeya translated.
“Now we march. Anyone who is not completely docile and compliant will be given lance.”
“What’s that?”
“I think, Marshal, you might call it malignant acupuncture. It’s done with hypodermic arrows, and they’re very good at it. The cruelty is in denying you the death for which you’re praying.”
Following a curt imperative, Kasdeya led the way through the dock and into a metal chamber beyond. Wildheit had momentarily wondered why the prisoners were secured with yokes instead of simple limb-bindings or handcuffs, but at this point he understood. A metal frame was brought up under the yoke ends to raise them all clear of the deck and leave them hanging by their arms, with their heads at roughly uniform height. Then their captors retired from the chamber. The next instant stinging jets of some liquid almost too hot to bear, struck out from all the walls of the chamber and from the floor and ceiling, setting the unfortunate recipients swinging like dolls on the frame.
“What the hell is this?” Wildheit shouted above the shriek of the swirling sprays.
“Combined degradation, decontamination, and identification.” Kasdeya had difficulty shouting his answer back. “It gets interesting in a minute.”
Upon the cessation of the sprays, the chamber was rapidly flooded with pale straw fluid, the level of which rose rapidly, and the temperature of which was uncomfortably hot. The fluid had an organic, strongly aromatic smell which caught at the backs of their throats and made breathing a strain. Such was the speed of the pumping, that great reflected waves surged back and forth across the chamber and soon threatened to drown them as the level rose close to their throats.
Then with a great surge of the pumps, the level rose rapidly right over their heads and remained so for an interval in which each was convinced he would drown. Then, as rapidly, the fluid was withdrawn, and Kasdeya’s description of the process as identification became apparent. As Wildheit managed to clear his stinging eyes a gasp of amazement escaped him—for he and all his companions had been dyed a luminescent yellow-gold; and they hung like gilded statues, shining against the shadowed background.
There was more to follow then. Restrained always by the yoke across his arms and occasionally by clamps around his ankles, Wildheit found himself spun on a wheel before a battery of lamps, run through a series of machines which he took to be medical diagnostic equipment. They were examined by a team of men who used a painfully agonizing probe to elicit responses from virtually every muscle in his body. Although separated from the rest, he periodically caught sight of the others undergoing the same treatment, and he felt particularly sorry that Roamer should be subjected to some of the less delicate aspects of the ordeal.
Finally the processing was ended. He was then taken to a small cell, given a brief yellow garment, and his yoke was fastened to a wall on a fixture prepared to receive it. The height of the fixture was adjusted so that he could take the weight from his arms only by standing uncomfortably on tiptoe. Kasdeya and Penemue, gilded and grave, were already racked alongside. Asbeel and Jequn were secured there shortly after. Roamer was brought in somewhat later, but of all of them she alone possessed a face which was confident and calm. She hung like a golden nymph before them, and her composure did much to quiet the continuing sense of panic that predominated their mood as they waited to find out what new things the Ra would do to them.
“Why did they dye us gold?” Wildheit asked Kasdeya.
“Primarily because it’s the one skin tone not native to the nations of the Ra. Historically it symbolizes degradation—a reference to legendary golden beasts in Ra prehistory that contributed the gross animal instincts to human nature. Psychologically, it’s used as a foil. A Ra feels no conscience about killing or ill-treating a golden victim. The fact that he first dyed his victim gold is a piece of double-thinking conveniently overlooked.”
“Give a dog a bad name and hang it,” Wildheit commented.
“Ah, you should be so lucky as to hang! The Ra never believe in making the way out easy for their enemies.”
THIRTEEN
DURING the next hour the great ship began to make headway. From its ever-increasing engine song, which rose swiftly beyond the limits of audibility, Wildheit surmised they were going back through the trans-continuum junction. At least for this he was glad, because only the Ra possessed the means to get him back to the vicinity of the Chaos Weapon. Secured as he was, an absolute prisoner, he had no idea how he might accomplish his task. But the Ra’s reaction to the predicted catalytic effects of Roamer and himself appeared to show that they were destined to strike some great and decisive blow at the Ra, and he could imagine no act more potent than destroying the Chaos Weapon itself.
Before long, they began to experience the same peculiar sensation they had experienced on Kasdeya’s ship as it approached the light barrier. But this time they immediately experienced a far more intense effect as they penetrated the fabric of the luxon wall itself. Having to absorb these sensations in an uncomfortable tiptoe stance added greatly to the trials of the experience, so they were all relieved when the great ship finally slipped into the sensationless silence of the trans-continuum domain itself.
At this point, Jequn, Asbeel, Penemue, and Kasdeya were taken away by guards. They went as unwillingly as their bondage would permit.
Wildheit bit his lip. “What do you see in the patterns, Roamer?”
“The ultimate catastrophe. The mind can’t comprehend its magnitude. This is the disaster at whic
h all other disasters end.”
“Does it arise from destroying the Chaos Weapon?”
“It’s difficult to see, but I think not.”
“How can that be?”
“The patterns are too complex to be sure of anything. All I know is that it will happen.”
Somehow Wildheit slept.
He woke occasionally to find Roamer always awake and watching him with her accustomed calmness. He marveled at the inner strength that kept her functioning when the trials to his own supposedly superior physique had brought him to a pitch of exhaustion which overcame all discomfort. Once he was awakened by someone he presumed to be a medic. The man examined the shoulder on which Coul resided, then compared his findings with some white platelet records. Despite his probing he discovered nothing of significance, perhaps because his perception was too weak to enable him to see the god on Wildheit’s shoulder.
Later, Kasdeya was brought back, this time without the yoke on his shoulders. Although apparently physically unharmed, his eyes held a haunted look, as if his experience had destroyed much of the man he used to be.
“Marshal, now it’s your turn. You and the chicken. To buy a few extra hours of life, I’ve volunteered to translate for you.”
“And the other three?”
“They suffered, but they’ll recover. Apparently we are not important now. The Great Anger has turned into the Great Curiosity—about you and the chicken and about the threat which Chaos says you hold for them. They cannot credit the existence of so powerful a catalytic effect, yet neither can they doubt the probability of their own predictions.”
“Tell them,” said Wildheit, “that I insist the yokes be taken from our shoulders.”
Kasdeya was concerned. “They will punish you for even making such a suggestion.”
“Tell them nonetheless. Also tell them the message must be conveyed to their commander.”
“What do you hope to gain by such tactics?”
“From what their Chaos readings must have told them and from the account I think they extracted from you, Roamer and I should be something of a legend by now. A good legend needs to be kept alive.”
“I hope they keep me alive as well to retell it.” Kasdeya was still dubious. “But I’ll give it a try.” He turned toward the guards and spoke rapidly at some length. Finally the incredulity and anger gained a note of hesitation, then one of the guards was despatched presumably to consult with a superior. After ten long minutes, the messenger returned. He was followed by one who, from the deference he received, promised to turn out to be a very senior person indeed.
“You have them worried,” said Kasdeya quietly. “The yokes are to be removed.”
“Fine! Take your cues from me, Kasdeya. Translate not only what I say but also the spirit of the delivery. And don’t be surprised at anything.”
“I wish I know what you were up to, Marshal.”
“I’m going to capitalize on our assets, such as they are. That is what space-marshals are trained to do best. Did you never think it strange that the Federation needs send only one man to settle a war?”
The senior officer who had accompanied the guard watched narrowly as Roamer and Wildheit were freed from their yokes. Their arms were stiff from having been pinioned so long, and Wildheit made a deliberate point of exercising in bold defiance of the weapons held by the escort. The movement gave him the opportunity to study the officer and prepare his approach. The man’s face was set with deep lines. The massive, craggy skull, surmounted by iron-gray hair, warned of a formidable intellect and completed the picture of the officer as a man of considerable stature in all respects.
At weapon-point Roamer and Wildheit were marched into a large chamber with walls of the smoothest white. They were made to stand on a low circular stage in the center. The officer took his place at a transparent-topped table and clenched his hands beneath his chin thoughtfully. Armed guards, three against each wall, covered the captives with their weapons. Kasdeya anxiously took his place out of the direct line of fire should the time come when the marshal’s Ra-baiting received its logical reward.
“To whom am I speaking?” Wildheit began the questioning.
The lines on the officer’s face creased with deep amusement.
“You are standing before Fleet Commander Zecol of the Scientific Wing of the Ra War Force. I am a specialist in Chaos, Marshal Wildheit.”
Kasdeya was translating verbatim, attempting to reproduce the tone as well as the content of the exchange.
Wildheit rubbed his chin speculatively. “Then we meet on common ground. We also are specialists: Roamer in Chaos, and I in the protection of the Federation. It is fortunate for you, Commander, that I am a tolerant man, otherwise I would resent you treating us like this. I understand your pathetic need for caution, but you lack a basic understanding of what you are doing.”
“Oh?” Zecol’s amusement increased. “I take it you object to being gilded?” Kasdeya managed to reproduce the edge of sarcasm with great fidelity.
“Not at all!” Wildheit smiled blandly. “That was your mistake which played to our advantage. Golden beasts were in our ancestry too. But we contrive not to outgrow our legends. Of all creatures, the beasts will ultimately survive. Thus you help us to represent not only your progenitors but also your successors. So it behooves you to show proper humility.”
A frown of anger crossed Zecol’s face, and he looked at Kasdeya to verify the translation. Then he ran his fingers through a pile of platelet records on the table.
“This wasn’t what I expected. Nothing here would indicate megalomania nor an over-developed death wish. I conclude, Marshal, that you’re playing a game with me. It’s a stupid thing to try. You’ll certainly regret it.”
He waved his hand to the guards. “Take the marshal away and give him some treatment to cure his attack of insubordination. When he returns I want to see him on his knees, pleading. Take the girl also, to witness his education. I’ll continue the questioning later.”
“You bloody fool!” Kasdeya was worried. “You touched him on a raw spot when you spoke of the golden beasts. Did you really think he’d stand for that idiocy?”
“Not yet, but he will,” said Wildheit. “He just needs a little softening-up first.”
The guards put the yoke back on Wildheit’s shoulders and took him to an adjoining chamber. Here the yoke was suspended on a fixture, and his feet were also secured to eyebolts. With the thoughtful look of a specialist, one of the Ra began to heat long metal pins in a furnace until they were bright red. Then he turned back to his helpless victim and began to examine Wildheit’s thigh and arm muscles.
“Marshal, I advise you to start begging for mercy now,” said Kasdeya. “Then perhaps you may escape with the minimum of pain.”
“Keep translating,” said Wildheit. “You won’t understand, but everything is going my way.”
“Angels of space! Don’t you know what he intends doing to you?”
“Yes. But he doesn’t know what I have in store for him.”
The Ra torturer began clipping handles on to his heated pins, then picked one up and held it close to the marshal’s eyes.
“We shall see, golden beast, how many of these you can take before you yield. With most, it’s only three or four. It’s an art, you see—knowing where to place them for the best effect.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to try it,” said Wildheit coolly.
“Marshal, in the name of all space-demons!” Kasdeya was growing frantic. He looked desperately at Roamer for support, but her face registered only its accustomed calm.
The Ra took the cooling needle for reheating. Then, picking one of the right degree of heat, he selected a spot on Wildheit’s thigh and made a precise and deliberate thrust. There was an immediate stench of scorched flesh and a howl of anguish, but it was the Ra who staggered back as the pin completely penetrated his own forearm. For half a second he stared at it stupidly, his brain refusing to accept what his senses screamed wa
s the truth—that it was his own arm that he had so painfully pierced. The final realization brought forth a whimper of fright. Possibly in that moment he had actually caught a glimpse of the ugly, transient god who lived on Wildheit’s shoulder. Whether or not he comprehended what he saw was beyond guessing, but he cried a phrase in a tongue even Kasdeya could not translate, and fled out of sight.
“Thanks, Coul,” breathed Wildheit. “You did a good job there.”
“I promised you special dispensation since I soon expect to leave. But I think your need is not yet over.”
Soon, three of the Ra guards appeared—one, his original tormentor, now with a sprayed surgical dressing on his arm. The three were engaged in a heated argument. Finally two came toward the shackled marshal, while the third held back nervously.
“They’re discussing the possibility of the incarnate … sitting over you.” Kasdeya himself still had not grasped the nature of the apparent accident.
The pair inspected Wildheit’s neck and shoulders carefully, but it was apparent they detected nothing even though Coul’s transient presence remained unaltered. The first guard was encouraged to proceed with the programmed persuasion, but he declined to do so, saying his injury rendered him unfit. So one of the others took a pin from the furnace and advanced upon Wildheit with menace. Instantly the injured man drew back, convinced that he could see the crouched incarnate being. He cried a warning to his companion with the pin, who ignored him. Wildheit felt the ache in his shoulder suddenly increase, whereupon he braced himself to expect the unexpected.
There came a sound like distant thunder. The man with the heated pin stopped and shook his head, as if he believed the sound was inside his own skull rather than out. The next pulse of thunder was deeper and nearer and could be felt in a strong vibration of the metal walls of the chamber. Assuming the effect to be elsewhere in the ship, one of the guards ran off to locate the cause of the disturbance. The man with the pin continued his advance.
Then the thunderbolt struck.
A black something burst in the middle of the chamber and smote about with soft, concussive blows. The furnace cooled instantly, and the pin in the fellow’s hand drove itself lengthwise into the startled man’s forearm. The black whirlwind—or whatever it was—ripped at the chamber with twisting, invisible fingers, and all things not secured were lifted by its curious spinning force and sent rattling and clattering around the metal walls. Then the curling wind tightened its coils and heaped all the debris into a pile in the center of the room. To this pile was added the bodies of the two guards, their faces already gray—the cause of death, unexplained.
