Neq the Sword

by Piers Anthony

  technical equipment! We cannot do without it!"

  "Maybe some are alive, inside." Knowing Tyi's effi-

  ciency, he doubted'it, but he had to offer her some hope.

  She moved around the center column of the hostel,

  looking for something. This hostel had not been ravaged,

  but there was no food in it. She opened the shower stall

  and stepped in.

  "You're still dressed," Neq reminded her.

  "I know it's here," she said, as though he hadn't spoken.

  "I memorized the instructions." She counted tiles along

  the wall, then pressed on one. She counted from another

  direction and pressed again. And once more. Nothing

  happened.

  "You have to turn the knobs," he said. "One for hot, the

  other for cold. But you don't need to take a shower right

  now, just when you're beginning to smell like a true

  nomad—"

  "I must have done it too slowly," she said. "Now I know

  the tiles, I'll try it faster."

  She went through her mysterious ritual again, while

  Neq watched tolerantly. The crazies were crazy!

  Something snapped inside the inner wall. Neqa pushed

  on yet another tile and it tilted out, revealing a handle.

  Neq gaped; he had never known there were handles be-

  hind the shower wall! If not for hot or cold water, what?

  She twisted and gave a sharp jerk—and the entire wall

  swung toward her.

  There was a compartment behind the shower—in the

  heart of the hostel's supposedly solid supporting column!

  "Come on," she said, stepping inside.

  Neq joined her, clasping his sword nervously. There

  was barely room for them both. She pulled the wall shut

  and touched a button inside. There was a hum; then the

  floor dropped.

  Neq jumped, alarmed, but she laughed. "This is civili-

  zation, nomad! It's called an elevator. We have them in

  our buildings, and the underworld uses them too. This is

  a secret entrance, that we use for transfer of supplies.

  When nomads see a crazy truck outside, they assume it's

  a routine servicing—but the truth is we're taking supplies

  out. Most of the heavy stuff pomes through other depots

  in the area, of course, that the nomads never see."

  The floor stabilized. She pushed open the side again,

  and now there was a tunnel, curving into darkness.

  "Bad," she said. "The lift is on hostel power, that

  charges whenever the sun shines. But the tunnel is on

  Helicon power. That means the underworld is dead, as

  you said." She turned on a flashlight Neq hadn't known

  she possessed. "But we'll have to look."

  The passage opened into a room where empty boxes

  were stacked. "Someone's been here," she remarked. "They

  took the merchandise. But the crates were never restored."

  "Probably the last truck—that didn't return."

  "Our men never went beyond this point," she said.

  "But obviously there is a pasage to Helicon. We'll have

  to find it."

  -"It may not be pretty." He had heard the tales of laby-

  rinthine underground tunnels choked with bodies. Such

  claims were probably exaggerated; still. . . .

  "I know it." She kissed him—she was able to do that

  now, and was proud of herself—and began pushing again

  at places in the wall, randomly.

  "If they didn't want you inside, it wouldn't open that

  way," he pointed out. "Might even be booby-trapped."

  "I don't think so. They might guard it, but they wouldn't

  do anything to antagonize us. The crazies, I mean. Helicon

  needed us as much as we needed it, because they'd largely

  shelved their hydroponics and couldn't grow really decent

  vegetables, and of course no wood. It was more efficient

  to trade with us, so they concentrated on the heavy in-

  dustry we couldn't touch. Dr. Jones can talk endlessly

  about such things—what he calls the essential interactions

  of civilization."

  "So it's safe to break in, you think," he said.

  She continued to tap at panels without effect. Neq

  studied the wear-marks on the floor, analyzing their pat-

  tern as though he were verifying the situation of a va-

  cated campsite. "There," he said, touching one section of

  the wall. "It opens there."

  She joined him at once. "Are you sure? This seems

  solid."

  He pointed to the floor marks her flash illumined, and

  she understood. With this hint, they were able to locate a

  significant crevice. "But it doesn't open inward," he said.

  "No hinge on this side, no scrape-marks."

  "I don't find any other crease," she said. "But it has to

  open somehow." She banged at the corner with the butt

  of the light. "Unless it slides—"

  Neq forced the point of his sword into the crevice and

  leaned on it. The wall gave a little, sidewise. "It slides—

  but it's locked or blocked."

  "Naturally it would lock from the other side," she said.

  "Can you free it?"

  "Not with my sword. But we can get a crowbar from

  the truck. Enough leverage, it'll give."

  They returned to the vehicle and collected an armful of

  tools. And in due course they had it open.

  Behind the wall was a set of tracks. "They used a rail-

  road!" she said. "To haul the supplies along, maybe by

  remote control. How clever."

  But there was no wheeled cart, so they had to walk

  between the tracks. Neq was nervous about this, not lik-

  ing the confinement, but she didn't seem to mind. She

  took his hand in the dark and squeezed it.

  He counted paces. It was over a mile before the tracks

  stopped. There were platforms, with boxes stacked, and

  sidings with several carts. Neq opened one crate and dis-

  covered singlesticks—perhaps fifty of the metal weapons.

  So it was true: the underworld had made the nomad

  arms. Hadn't the Weaponless known that when he de-

  stroyed it?

  They walked along to the end of the platform and

  passed through a dark doorway. Then up a gradual ramp,

  through a charred aperture, and into a larger hall. The

  air was close and not sweet. Neqa passed the beam of the

  flashlight over the floor.

  Ashes lay across it, with occasional charred mounds.

  The ambient odor was much stronger here.

  "What happened?" she inquired, perplexed.

  Neq saw that she didn't comprehend. "Fire. They

  couldn't get out in time."

  "TTiey?" Then she recognized the shape of the nearest

  mound and screamed. It was the remains of a human

  being.

  Neq led her back down the ramp. "See—after they

  were dead, the wooden door finally burned through. It

  must have locked or jammed, like the panel back there.

  Someone must have poured gasoline all over everything

  and—" «

  She turned to him in the darkness, the flashlight off.

  "The nomads did this?"

  "Tyi said it happened before they broke in, actually.

  The fires were still hot, and the smoke was everywhere,

  so they didn't stay long. I
don't know."

  She made a choking sound. He felt something warm on

  his arm, and knew that she was vomiting against him.

  "Helicon was the last hope of man!" she exclaimed, and

  heaved again.

  "I don't think we need to look any more," he said. He

  took the flashlight from her flaccid hand and guided her

  away.

  Neqa insisted on writing her report. "In case anything

  happens, this will tell the story," she explained. "Also, I'm

  sure of the details now. I hope I forget them by the time

  we get back."

  They slept in the truck that night, though the hostel

  bunks were handy. The tunnel connection to the Helicon

  carnage was too direct; it felt as though the fumes of

  death were filtering along, enclosing the hostel in their

  horror. Neq had been objective about the scene at the

  time, but at nighf his imagination enhanced the under-

  world's gruesomeness. Fresh death in the circle, or fight-

  ing outlaws—that was one thing. But this helpless doom

  of confined fire....

  There was no question of trying to make love. They

  clung tightly together, holding the morbid blackness off.

  Next day Neqa completed her report and locked it in

  the dash compartment of the truck. They moved out. Neq

  still didn't see any reason for a written description; the

  place was dead, and that was it. Such a message would

  hardly be any comfort to the crazies. They would be

  finished anyway, and the nomad culture would degenerate

  into complete savagery.

  What colossal folly had led the Weaponless to lay siege

  to Helicon? He had brought it down, somehow—but had

  destroyed both the crazies and the nomads with it. The

  dark age of man was beginning.

  Neqa didn't say much either. He was sure that similar

  thoughts were obsessing her. If information was all they

  had come for, the mission had been successful. But what

  a miserable mission it wasi

  The second day of the return trip they encountered a

  barricade that had not been there before. Neq was in-

  stantly on guard; this surely meant trouble.

  "Coincidence?" Neqa inquired.

  "Can't be. They saw us go by before, knew we would

  have to come-back this way. So they set it up."

  They had to stop. There was no way around, no room

  to turn.

  "If we're lucky, they won't have more than a guard or

  two here right now. They wouldn't know exactly when

  we might come along," he said.

  They were not lucky. Men converged from both sides.

  Sworders, clubbers, staffers—at least a score of warriors.

  A number stood back with drawn bows.

  "Do you think this is where the other trucks were lost?"

  she inquired as though it were an interesting footnote for

  her report.

  "Most of them. This. is well organized." He studied the

  situation.. "Too many to fight. And if we try to back out

  now, those arrows will get us. See, they're aiming at the

  tires. We'll have to go along—as far as we can."

  A sworder strode up to Neq's side. "You're a warrior.

  What are you doing in a crazy truck?"

  Before Neq could reply, a man called from the other

  side: "Hey, this one's a woman!"

  "What luck!" another exclaimed. "Is she young?"

  " 'Bout nineteen."

  "OK. Out, both of you!" the sworder said.

  Neq was furious, but glanced again at the bows cover-

  ing them and dismounted. No honest nomad would use

  the hunting bow against a man, but that didn't dimmish

  its effectiveness as a long-distance weapon. Neqa slid over

  to step down on his side. She stood close to him, but clear

  of his sword, so as not to obstruct his draw. He knew

  she was ready to snap her dagger into her hand: she

  was tense.

  "Know what I think?" the sworder said. "I think they're

  crazies, both of them, pretending to be nomads. They

  want us to think they hijacked the truck themselves, so

  we'll leave 'em be. See, her hands are smooth, and he's

  too small to really handle a sword. And unmarked—no

  scars on him."

  "Pretty smart," a staffer said.

  "The crazies are awful smart—and awful stupid."

  "All right, crazy," the sworder said. "We'll play this

  game. We got the time. Who do you claim to be?"

  "Neq the Sword."

  "Anybody hear of any Neq the Sword?" the man

  shouted.

  There was a reaction. "Yeah," a dagger said.

  "Me too," a clubber agreed. "In Sol's tribe. A top

  sworder—third or fourth of a hundred swords, I heard.

  And better against other weapons."

  The sworder smiled. "Crazy, you picked the wrong

  name. Now you'll have to prove it—in the circle. With

  your doll watching. And if you can't—"

  Neq didn't answer. The circle was exactly where he

  wanted to be—with Neqa in sight. These were certainly

  outlaws, but the tribe seemed to be large enough to re-

  quire the discipline of the circle code. It was a matter of

  logistics: one tough man could control five or ten war-

  riors by force of personality on an informal basis, and a

  few more by judicious intimidation; but when the num-

  ber was thirty or forty, it had to be more formal. The

  circle code was not purely a matter of honor; it was a

  practical system for controlling large numbers of fighting

  men in an orderly fashion.

  And where the circle code existed, even imperfectly,

  Neq could prevail. He had indeed been third or fourth

  sword of a hundred. But first sword had been Tyi, who

  had retired largely to managerial duties of empire. Sec-

  ond had been killed in a noncircle accident. Third had

  been Tor, now retired. And Neq had kept practicing. The

  result was that at the time of the breakup of the empire

  he had been unofficially conceded second sword—of three

  thousand. And he had had private doubts about Tyi's

  continuing proficiency in the circle.

  It was true, too, that the empire training had brought

  particular competence in inter-weapon combat-,There had

  been half a dozen staffers who could balk Neq in the

  circle, one or two stickers. Bog the Club who was now

  dead, and no daggers or stars. Against these men he would

  take his chances, sometimes prevailing in friendly matches,

  sometimes not.

  Neq feared no man in the circle.

  They were conducted to a camp similar to those of the

  empire. A large canvas tent was surrounded by a number

  of small tents, and there were separate latrine, mess, and

  practice sections. A good layout.

  The chief of this tribe was a huge sworder, grizzled and

  scarred. Chiefs were generally sworders, for the weapon

  had a special quality that awed others into submission

  that an equally competent staff could not. When the man

  stood, he towered over Neq.

  "Neq the Sword, eh? I am Yod the Sword. And she

  wears your band?"

  "Yes."

  "Now I know of Neq," Yod said. "Maybe the top />
  sworder of the empire, a few years back. He never gave

  his bracelet to a woman. Isn't that strange?"

  Neq shrugged. The chief thought he was toying with

  the captive.

  "Well, all shall be known," Yod said. "I shall give you

  the tour."

  And a tour it was. "I have fifty excellent warriors," Yod

  said, gesturing to the tent. "But for some reason we're

  short of young women, and that makes the young men

  restive. So the girl will have a place with us, regardless."

  Neqa walked closer to Neq and let her bracelet show,

  defensively.

  "I have supplies enough for many months," Yod boasted.

  "See."

  Four crazy trucks were parked behind the main tent.

  There was no longer any doubt who was the main hi-

  jacker. But it made little difference, since Helicon was

  dead.

  "And entertainment." Yod gestured to a hanging cage.

  Neq looked at this curiously. There was a man inside,

  huddled within a filthy blanket. Metal cups lay on the

  wire floor, evidently for his eating, and ordure had cumu-

  lated underneath. Apparently they did not release him

  even for natural functions. He had room to move about

  some, making the cage rock and swing, which no doubt

  provided much of the tribe's "amusement." By the look