"Dead?" Zen said.
"Y-es. But how did you know?"
"Just a hunch. What caused it, shock?"
"I imagine so. After she was violated, she wanted to die. So she really died because she wanted to. I—I—" Tears appeared in Nedra's violet eyes and ran down her cheeks. But she did not sob, though muscles moved in her throat.
West glanced at the bronze girl. He seemed to know, without being told, what had happened. His face became bleak. The lieutenant regarded the body of the dead girl with regret. When the soldier who had violated her came out of the room, the lieutenant ordered him to remove the body.
Zen got the impression that the lieutenant, even though he was talking earnestly with the craggy man, was waiting. Forty of the new people were herded into the room and forced to stand against the walls. Bronze striplings, they were. Not a one was out of his twenties and several were obviously in their teens. Though they were confused, they kept silent.
"Is this all?" Zen heard the lieutenant ask West.
The craggy man must have known at a glance the answer to this question but he took the time to count every person. "This is all," he said positively. The lieutenant seemed to believe him but Zen would have given odds that the man was lying.
The lieutenant continued to wait.
A guard, entering hastily, saluted. When Zen saw who was following the soldier he realized why the lieutenant had been waiting.
Cuso came into the gallery.
The Asian leader was a giant almost seven feet tall and big in proportion. He looked capable of killing a man with his bare hands, and probably was. Just looking at him, Zen knew why he had been selected to lead the airborne landing in America. Radiating power and strength, he was the type for this kind of mission.
Besides power, he radiated something else. Zen sensed this something else as a sickening feeling at the pit of his stomach, a tightening of muscles in the diaphragm.
When Cuso appeared, the lieutenant stiffened himself to attention and almost broke his arm saluting. He and Cuso spoke together in a sing-song dialect that Zen did not pretend to understand. As they talked, the lieutenant continued to point at West. A grin broke out on Cuso's face. He beckoned the craggy man to him.
The craggy man approached, but did not salute. Prisoners were not permitted to salute. Nor did he get down on his hands and knees, which was not only permitted but required among the Asians. West stood arrow-straight.
In spite of his disagreements with him, Zen felt proud of Sam West now. Cuso was grinning placatingly but in spite of the grin, West surely knew that he was looking at death, that the slightest show of resistance on his part would have only one result, although Cuso might save him until he had wrung all possible information out of him. Zen did not in the least doubt that information was what the Asian wanted first. After that, there was the tradition of torturing helpless prisoners.
"I have heard much about you," Cuso said. For an Asian, he spoke fair English.
"I am greatly honored," West answered. "However, I am curious as to how you heard about me."
A sly grin flitted across the Asian's face. "We 'ave our sources of information."
"Spies?" West asked.
"We 'ave spies, of course, but they could not find out much about you. There are other ways—how do you say it?"
"Clairvoyants?" West asked.
"Yes, that is right." Cuso looked pleased to be given the right word. He also looked startled because he had been given the right fact. Zen, listening, was surprised too. He knew that the suggestion to use clairvoyants to find out what the enemy was doing had often been made. As an intelligence officer, he had investigated several clairvoyants who had volunteered for this purpose. He knew that such a project had been set up but he did not know what the results had been, if any. However, to learn that the enemy had not only entertained the same ideas, but had used them with some success, startled him.
"I suspected clairvoyants," West said.
"Ah," Cuso said. "Did you also suspect that the only reason this airborne landing was made on these shores was to capture you?"
Even West's perfect control of his features could not hide the start of surprise at these words. "I am not that important," he said.
Cuso smiled deprecatingly and made a little gesture with his hand which said that such modesty was becoming in the truly great. Oddly, Zen had the impression that the Asian leader meant this. "As to that, I have the great privilege of offering you a commission as a field marshal in the armies of United Asia." His voice dripped oil and awe, oil because he was selling, awe because he was truly impressed by the rank of field marshal. Perhaps as a result of the successful achievement of this difficult mission, even he might have this rank. Hunger thickened on Cuso's face as he thought of this.
West blinked, then smiled back at Cuso. "That is interesting. But what makes you think I would be interested in such a commission—or in any commission—in your armies?"
"For protection, for one reason," Cuso answered promptly. "Our reports indicate that you are not a citizen of any country. Since this leaves you with no friends to protect you, this is an undesirable position. On the other hand, since you belong to no one, every country feels that you are an enemy. Because of this, your life is constantly in danger. However, holding our commission, you are automatically a citizen of United Asia, and thus are under our protection."
Cuso spoke as if being a citizen of United Asia was important and that holding a commission in its armies was even more so.
"Do you think I have no friends?" West asked.
"Well, you are not a citizen of—"
"Why do you think I need protection?" West continued.
The oily smile slid off of the giant Asian's face. For an instant, the wild beast underneath showed through. "Perhaps you do not need protection personally. But under the circumstances as I have outlined them, our mantle would automatically extend to the people working with you." His eyes went around the room to the youths standing rigidly against the wall. In this circuit, his gaze flicked contemptuously past the corpses lying on the floor.
The face of the craggy man got bleak again. He understood only too well what lay back of Cuso's words. "I see what you mean. But what do you wish of me?" His voice carried an intimation of surrender in the face of odds that he recognized as being hopeless.
Zen, with his back to the wall, tried to keep from squirming. Emotions that were causing actual pain were in his body. Why would the race mind permit such an outrage as this?
The smile on Cuso's face went from ear to ear. Here was victory, here was the submission of the enemy. Here was what his leaders wanted. Here was a marshal's baton for him.
"Really very little." He drew in his breath with a hiss as he addressed West, a sign of deferent politeness. "Merely that you show us what you have here. And, of course, that you should explain it all to our scientists and engineers, showing them how your equipment operates."
The room got very quiet after Cuso had finished speaking. West seemed to muse. "What do you think we have here?" he said.
"If I knew the answer to that question, I would not be asking such a stupid thing," Cuso answered.
"Quite true," West agreed. "I was stupid to even ask such a question."
"The time is here to end stupidity," Cuso said.
"Again I agree," the craggy man answered. He shrugged. "Well, when and where do you want me to start?" The smile on his face was a mixture of fear and resignation. It indicated that he had given up completely.
"Now you are talking the kind of words I like to hear," Cuso said emphatically. "You will start now, and show me, personally, everything that is of importance in this mountain."
"Very well. Follow me." West turned and moved toward the opening that led to the chamber where the super radar was hidden.
"Wait here," Cuso snapped at his lieutenant. "Shoot any person who moves."
"Yes, great one," the lieutenant answered, saluting. This was the kind of order he l
oved to obey.
Cuso and West went out of sight.
Jake, Cal, and Ed stood in the middle of the room. Ed approached the lieutenant, nodded toward Nedra, and spoke earnestly to the man. The lieutenant shook his head vigorously, a gesture which seemed to indicate that Ed was being very stupid. The bantam grumbled to himself and moved away. Out of the corners of his eyes he kept watching the nurse.
Nedra ignored him. She also ignored Kurt Zen. As silent as so many statues, the new people stood against the stone walls. They seemed stunned. The impossible had happened to them and they were having difficulty in adjusting to it. John was not in the room. Either he had succeeded in hiding or he had been killed.
The fat youth was standing directly across the gallery from Zen. Farther down the wall, clad in pants and a bra, was a shapely blonde. When he was not watching Nedra, Ed paid attention to her. His actions seemed to irritate the lieutenant. Lifting his rifle, he fired a single shot through the head of the bantam.
Ed collapsed, dead before he hit the floor. Two Asian soldiers carried the body away.
"That lieutenant is hell on lovers," Zen whispered.
Nedra did not answer him. Her face was pale and her breathing was shallow. A film of sweat glistened on her forehead. Glancing at her, Zen had the impression that she was listening.
For what? he wondered. The only thing that was left for any of them was the sounding of the trump of doom. Zen had no illusions that Cuso would keep his promises for any longer than was expedient. First, West and all the others must be pumped dry of information, the whole interior of the mountain must be thoroughly explored, then—more bodies for the deep hole.
Zen had no illusions that either West or the new people would long survive the information they could be forced to divulge. As to Cuso's talk of West being given a commission as a marshal of the Asian Federation, for protection, the colonel knew that Asian field marshals had been listed among the missing before now. A field marshal who fell from grace vanished.
Across the gallery the fat youth also vanished.
One second he was there, the next second he was—gone!
XII
Neither the lieutenant nor any of the Asians noticed that a man had vanished. Cal and Jake, with the memory of Ed's death still very fresh in their minds, were engaged in making themselves inconspicuous. As far as Zen could tell, none of these clean, tall kids knew anything out of the ordinary had happened.
Beside the colonel, Nedra seemed slightly more composed. Her eyes were blank as if she were not seeing. The thin film of moisture was still visible on her forehead. Zen started to whisper to her, to ask her if she had noticed anything different, then changed his mind. There was no point in taking such a risk at such a time.
A sound was in the room, a thin, high note that was close to the upper limits of hearing. It passed beyond the range of hearing, or diminished in volume, then came again with the frequency of the ears, moving like a microscopically small but very powerful honey bee. Had the sound been present all the time? Or had it come into existence just before the fat youth vanished? Zen did not know about the sound.
A face appeared in the middle of the room. About ten feet above the floor, it looked around briefly, then vanished.
Cal seemed to see it too. A startled expression appeared on the face of the ragged man. His eyes opened wide. He blinked them hastily when the face vanished, then looked furtively around the room.
Jake said, very loudly, to the face, "Hi, bud. Long time no see. Where you been?"
"Shut up your crazy head!" Cal snarled at him.
"But I just saw an old buddy," Jake tried to explain.
"You saw nothing."
"What are you two talking about?" the lieutenant demanded.
"Nothing," Cal answered. He pointed his finger at his forehead and made circling motions in the air, then nodded toward Jake. "You know he's a looney, lieutenant."
"Oh, yes," the Asian officer said, as if he had just remembered something. Again he lifted the rifle to his shoulder. Jake fell dead.
The lieutenant slid another cartridge into his rifle.
"As long as you needed us—" Cal began.
"But I no longer need you to help me find the hidden ones," the lieutenant answered. "That makes things different, doesn't it?"
"It sure does," Cal agreed. "But why did you shoot him?"
"I made up my mind months ago to shoot him as soon as I no longer needed him," the Asian officer answered. "He was too crazy to trust."
"But he found this place for you and he got you past those hell generators," Cal said.
"That is true. But the place is now found and we are past the odd devices that make weaklings afraid." His tone said that this also made the situation different and that the ragged man had better understand this and guide himself accordingly. Cal started to speak, then changed his mind.
"What were you two talking about?" the Asian asked.
"He said he saw a face in the air," the ragged man answered. "I told him that he was nuts and to shut up."
"Was there a face?"
"I didn't see nothing," Cal answered.
While the two were talking, Zen was watching a youth in a loin cloth across the room. Standing erect against the wall, looking as if he were being crucified there, but without making any sound, the youth was slowly vanishing.
While the youth was sliding away, the violin note throbbed softly in the air. As he vanished, it went into silence, ending on a note of triumph.
The lieutenant became suspicious. He scanned the people against the wall.
"I thought there were more—" he muttered. Slowly he counted them. "Thirty-eight," he said. As if to engrave the number on his memory, he repeated it.
Simultaneously, one of the Asian soldiers spoke to him in a swift flow of sound.
Zen could not understand what was being said, but he guessed from the way the soldier pointed to the spot where the fat youth had stood that he was reporting what he had seen happen.
While they were talking the face appeared again in the air high in the middle of the room. The face was that of a man. He was wearing a mustache and he looked around the room with alert brown eyes. Nodding to himself with apparent satisfaction, he vanished.
Down the wall from Zen, a young woman vanished.
She went rapidly, in the flicker of an eye.
A youth standing next in line to her, followed suit.
Turning, the lieutenant saw that something had happened. Hastily he counted those standing against the wall.
"Thirty-six! Who slipped out while my back was turned?"
As he asked the question, three of the new people vanished behind him. No one answered him. He turned again, and realized that more blank places had appeared while he was not looking.
Again, keeping behind him, another one of the new people vanished.
Watching, Zen was treated to the spectacle of seeing an Asian officer grow crazy. While the lieutenant was watching one particular person, nothing happened to the one under his scrutiny. But directly behind him a person flicked out of existence.
For a time, the lieutenant almost had Zen's sympathy. The colonel knew what would happen to this officer when Cuso returned and found his prey had been permitted to escape. The Asians were not known for leniency to their own men who failed an assigned duty.
The lieutenant knew as well as Zen what would happen to him. But he was helpless. No matter which way he looked, his back was always turned to someone. The person he was not watching—vanished.
Unnoticed by the lieutenant, the face that seemed to be directing the vanishing operation appeared and disappeared in the center of the room. It kept directly above the lieutenant's head, moving as he moved, vanishing as he looked up.
The note of the violin came into hearing and went out again, repeating this action time and time again.
Sweat dripped off Zen's chin and formed a puddle on the floor under him. He did not know what was happening. Terror that was close to
panic was in him but he did not move a muscle. For all he knew, the face might look at him and he might be the next one to vanish.
Where would he find himself if he vanished? Would he find himself again? Or did these people slide forever into nothingness, into some dimensional interspace where there was no Earth, no moon, and no stars?
Only he and Nedra were left along the walls.
The others had vanished.
The lieutenant had gone completely crazy. Sputtering a mixture of Chinese and English, he was jabbing his rifle against Nedra's stomach and was yelling at her.
"Tze! Go away. I will kill you if you do. N-oten. Where did they go? I demand an answer. Speak!"
"I do not know," the girl answered.
"Speak! I command it. Cuso will have my throat slit if I let all of you get away!"
"I have already—"
The lieutenant jabbed the muzzle of his rifle against her stomach.
"If you go away, I will kill you."
He meant what he said.
Smiling at him, the girl vanished.
He pulled the trigger of the weapon. The bullets howled madly through the gallery. Zen dropped hastily to the floor. Death was too close for him to be amazed at the sight of an Asian officer shooting at nothing.
The lieutenant stopped shooting when the magazine was empty. As he clicked another clip into place, some measure of sanity seemed to return to him. He did not shoot the colonel.
Instead Zen found himself being prodded with the muzzle of the still hot and smoking rifle.
"If you go away—"
Zen got to his feet.
"If I knew how to do it, I'd be gone," he said.
"Where did they go? How did they do it?" Fine flecks of spittle were blown from the lieutenant's lips.
The sound of hot lead was still strong in Zen's ears. At any moment, the lieutenant might start shooting again, for any reason. Or for no reason.
"I don't know," Zen said.
"But you've got to know. You're one of them."
"Would I stand around here and let you shoot me if I was one of them?" Zen answered.
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