Sutton_Jean_Sutton_Jeff_-_Lord_Of_The_Stars

by Unknown

  “I wouldn’t tell him anything like that,” she declared.

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  “There’s something wrong, Danny.”

  “Perhaps, I don’t know.” He felt confused.

  “I’d feel better if you knew more about him.”

  “But he’s nothing,” he protested, “nothing but a mind.”

  “No, he’s there,” she rebutted. “There’s no such thing as a bodiless mind.”

  “But I’ve searched. I can’t find anything.” As the denial spilled from his lips, he had the fragmentary memory of staring into a dark pool; beneath its surface a hideous pulsating shape squirmed atop a nest of writhing snakes. And that baleful eye! Red and frightening, it glared up at him through the dark water. He trembled. It was the same scene that came in his nightmares.

  “He’s there,” she insisted. “Perhaps you haven’t seen him because you’re looking for someone who looks like you.”

  “What should I look for?” he asked desperately.

  “He could have any shape, any size. He might have two legs or four, or crawl or fly. There are all kinds of life,” she stated firmly. “He might even be a plant or a tree.”

  “A tree,” he blurted.

  “There was a man on Cogno who spoke with trees. That’s one of the Deneb worlds.”

  “A talking tree?” he exclaimed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Not words but thoughts,” she insisted. “I was told.”

  “By a telepath?”

  “Yes, and by other people. It was in the news.”

  “Sounds crazy,” he declared.

  “Most people thought so.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No, it’s possible. Everything is possible.”

  “But trees?”

  “Yet we’re talking across the gulf of the Ebon Deeps.” Her thoughts came stronger. “Think how crazy that would sound to most people.”

  “I guess so. I’m used to it.”

  “There are other things just as wonderful,” she declared.

  “Such as?”

  “Well…” Her voice faded from his mind, then came back more firmly. “I’d find out who Zandro is, Danny. I wouldn’t delay. Why does he want to know all those things about us? And those Ikus you mentioned, and that Subcommander Gobit. Who are they? I get scared just thinking about them.”

  “Don’t get scared,” he counseled. “I’m not.” His words made him feel very brave and adult.

  “I’m scared for the world.”

  “But what could he do?” he protested.

  “Zandro? You don’t know his power.”

  “He doesn’t scare me!”

  “You don’t know the power of the mind, Danny. If you did…”

  “You mean telepathy?”

  “No, there’s more. Much more.”

  “What do you mean?” He was startled.

  “I…I can’t tell you. Not now. Not yet.” She added hurriedly, “But that’s not why I called you.”

  “Then why?” He felt a sudden premonition.

  “I’ve been checking on the Tommies.”

  “Checking how?”

  “Talking with them. I can locate them that way.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “Just calling them. They won’t talk with me. They’ll answer, put me through to you, but they won’t tell me anything.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they’re attuned to you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Their minds might be locked to yours. Zandro could do that, you know. Or perhaps they’ll only obey when you’re in the circuit.”

  “You kept Tommy One from entering the library,” he reminded.

  “But you were present, at least in his mind.” She said more urgently, “I’ve seen five of them. I couldn’t locate Tommy Six. He wouldn’t answer.”

  “I was trying to get him, too.”

  “For Zandro?”

  “I couldn’t reach him,” he replied evasively.

  “That’s strange.” He felt her hesitancy. “Have they ever before failed to answer?”

  “Not till this time.”

  “Do you think the police agents might have caught him or something?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted uncomfortably.

  “If so, they might find out about the rest of them.”

  “How?” He couldn’t conceive how a police agency might operate.

  “Through telepathic agents. Or through Tommy Six, if they’ve caught him. I really don’t know.” She paused. “Perhaps they should know.”

  “The agents?” He was startled. “Why?”

  “I’m afraid of the Tommies. That’s what I was going to tell you, Danny. I’ve seen them all but Tommy Six, and they all look exactly alike. It’s not natural. They all have the same mechanical walk and voice, and they’re dressed exactly alike, in space uniforms.”

  “Their faces and everything are exactly alike?”

  “Exactly, Danny. It’s frightening. Even their movements, the way they stand, their blank stares.” She hesitated before rushing on. “You know what I think? I think they’re machines.”

  “Machines?” He gulped.

  “I think so,” she answered gravely.

  “But…couldn’t everyone tell?” The prospect was bewildering.

  “Not unless they really studied them, Danny. They look normal enough. But when you get inside their minds…”

  “What about their minds?” he cut in anxiously.

  “They are blank, like vacuums — lifeless except when they are listening or answering. But between times there is…nothing. It’s not natural.”

  “But when they’re not thinking of anything in particular…”

  “That’s not it,” she interrupted. “The mind’s never totally blank, not even when a person sleeps or is unconscious. It’s always responding. But the Tommies — it’s as if someone pulled a switch, disconnected them. It’s the same with every one of them. It’s frightening.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I should tell someone.”

  “Why?”

  “That Zandro! He sent them here, I know it. And those other things.”

  “The Ikus?”

  “And that Subcommander Gobit you told me about. Oh, can’t you see? They’re dangerous. I know it.”

  “Perhaps,” he answered dubiously.

  “You said you’d learned something of Zandro’s language.”

  “What has that got to do with it?”

  “A language implies a race, a civilization, Danny. Oh, he can’t be alone, can’t be just a mind.”

  “I guess not,” he answered reluctantly.

  “Besides, if I told someone, they might go get you.”

  “Get me?” He clenched his fists, feeling a wild excitement. “Take me back to Gylan?” He conjured a vision of soaring buildings, aircars threading between tall towers, small parks, and sunny walks — all things he knew only from her words. And people! People like himself!

  “They might, Danny. Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  “We could see each other,” he exclaimed.

  “I could show you Gylan.”

  “Do you think they might come get me?” he asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps, because of what you know.”

  “About the Tommies?”

  “And Zandro.”

  “I want to go to Gylan,” he exclaimed.

  She said faintly, “You’d have to be registered.”

  “I don’t care about that!”

  “We’ll have to think it out,” she cautioned.

  “Please, see what you can do.”

  “All right.” She hesitated. “Be careful of Zandro.”

  “Don’t worry,” he retorted bravely.

  “If only you knew what he looks like.”

  “I’ll find out.”

  “I’m afraid, Danny. Don’t take any c
hances.”

  “I won’t.” He’d scarcely broken the contact when he became aware of an intrusion in his mind. Zandro! He felt a touch of fear and pushed it aside.

  “Danny?” The voice came soothingly.

  “I don’t want to talk,” he answered sullenly, then resolutely shut his mind. He could block out Zandro; he’d learned that. Except when he slept. Often, when he woke, he had the dim memory of presence that told him Zandro had been there.

  What did he learn on such forays? Did he suspect the contact with Arla? He felt the terror again and fought it. Still, what could Zandro do? Nothing, he decided. Nothing at all. Unless he could cut him off from the Tommies — from Arla! He groaned. Zandro couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t let him!

  But who was Zandro? Her warning perturbed him. And why, if she were right, had he sent the Tommies to Gylan? All at once it seemed imperative to know. Well, he would know. He’d find out right away.

  Before entering the ship, he stared up through the clearing at the black gulf in the sky. Somewhere across that gulf was the planet Makal — the wonderful city of Gylan where Arla lived.

  He wondered what it was like.

  Danny halted at the edge of the swamp, gazing perplexedly at the tall green rushes and stunted trees that sprang from the black mud. The dark water lying at the roots of the grasses emitted a putrid odor.

  He let his eyes rove. Noisy birds, insects, small animals that scampered or crawled — the swamp abounded with life. Yet it held a curious stillness, a strange sense of desolation denied by the multitude of life forms visible on every side.

  Why had he come here? To search for Zandro, of course. But why in the swamp? He gripped his bow tightly, trying to piece together his nightmares; or were they fragments of memory? At times they seemed one, at times the other. The trail, the pool, the monster with the baleful red eye — occasionally they were etched starkly clear in his mind.

  But there were fierce animals in the swamp; Zandro had warned him of them time and again. “Never go near the swamp, Danny” — the admonition reached far back in memory, always accompanied by a feeling of dread. The swamp was a place of death; that warning had been firmly implanted.

  Staring at the gnarled trees that rose like ghosts above the marsh grass, he puzzled over the warning. What animals? He’d never seen an animal that reached higher than his knees — neither in the forest nor in the meadow. But the monster in the pool! He shifted uncomfortably. Despite its nightmarish quality, the vision held a fearsome reality.

  He shut his eyes and ears to close out the distractions of the swamp, concentrating until he achieved the eerie sensation that his mind, free and uncluttered, was floating apart from his body. It was the feeling of total isolation.

  “Zandro!” He projected the name telepathically, listening for an answer or the sense of presence that would tell him Zandro was listening without answering. The silence that answered him was unbroken; no touch came into his mind. He repeated the call several times. Finally certain that the other was nowhere present, he shook himself back to reality and peered at the swamp. The familiar sounds of small life reassured him.

  He drew an arrow from the quiver slung at his side and fitted it into

  the bow. Moving stealthily forward, his hand on the weapon was warm and sweaty. A bird fluttering wildly from his path caused his heart to quicken. He halted, breathing deeply before going on. He would find Zandro, discover who he was; he had promised Arla that.

  The rushes abruptly opened ahead, revealing a muddy passage winding between sheets of dark water. He studied it, conscious of the prickling of memory, the haunting sense of familiarity. The broad path, the strange patterns in the mud, the reeds flattened at the edges…He stared ahead. He had been there before! He knew it with certainty.

  But when? Somehow it was part of the dream; and yet it wasn’t. Else why should he know that the path led to the dark pool? And he did know it; he could visualize exactly what lay ahead. The pool and the monster — he felt his hands shake.

  He edged forward, ankle-deep in the slime, conscious of a growing inner tension. Little tremors played up and down his spine, and his body was wet with sweat; it ran in little rivulets from his brow, stung his eyes. The air was so still that not a blade of grass moved. And the silence! Only the soft gurgling as he pulled his feet from the ooze broke the quiet — that and the low hum of insects, chirpings, slithery noises among the rushes.

  The pool came suddenly into view. A circular black surface hemmed in by reeds and gnarled trees, it lay just ahead. He halted, gazing nervously at it. The crushed rushes, the flattened trail leading to its edge — it was just as he remembered in his dreams. Only this was no dream! He hesitated, fearful of what he might find if he went on. But he had to know. He forced himself to move forward.

  Hzzzzz…He jerked his head around nervously at the sudden sound, his throat constricting. Controlling himself with effort, he cocked his head to listen. Hzzzzz…The sound was repeated. Again, from memory, he sensed a haunting familiarity.

  Moving his eyes to locate the source, he spotted a small bird hovering above the trail. A bird! The sight jolted him. In another time, another place, he’d seen such a bird. Stilled wings, beady red eyes…He remembered; the bird had stalked him!

  He retreated several paces without shifting his gaze. The hissing came again as the bird followed, its wings absolutely motionless. The sight was unnerving. There had been something about the bird! He groped with his thoughts. The bird had been…Wire and metal, that was it! The bird had been wire and metal!

  The remembrance shook him. Forcing himself to calmness, he stared at the small form hovering above the rushes. It’s beady red eyes, fixed unflinchingly on him, made him shudder. What was its purpose? That it was connected with Zandro he had no doubt. Zandro had sent it. Why? Was it…telepathic?

  A machine! That’s what Arla had called the Tommies. He hadn’t quite believed it; but now, looking at the bird…Was it an Iku? Or were the Ikus something else again? How many life forms did Zandro command? Perhaps they were on all sides of him. Even the trees, the plants. He felt the fear rise in his throat and pushed it down. He had killed the bird once…

  He raised the bow, sighting along the arrow as he pulled back on the drawstring. As before, the beady red eyes, watching him steadily, showed no alarm. Of course not; it was a machine! Releasing the arrow, he felt the drawstring whip against his wrist.

  Thunk! It struck squarely, hurling the small form violently backward into the rushes. He stood absolutely immobile, not knowing what to expect. Suppose the bird had been in communication with Zandro? He hadn’t thought of that. The fear brought the taste of bile to his mouth as he cast a quick glance at the pool. Trembling, he listened to the sounds of life around him.

  When his heartbeat began to subside, he searched cautiously for the

  bird. He found the crumpled form lying amid the reeds, the arrow through its middle. The beady red eyes, malignant and unblinking, stared at him. The remainder was wires and torn metal.

  He jerked erect, terrified as a loud, roiling sound broke the stillness. Whirling toward the pool, his first impression was of water erupting upward, sending waves crashing against the shore. A huge, dark globular body thrust above the surface, the gigantic eye at its apex rolling wildly. Two powerful tentacles shot up, snaking toward the shore.

  He screamed. Terror-stricken, he whirled and plunged toward the meadow, heedless of the branches that whipped at his body. His breath whistled through his teeth.

  “Danny!” Sudden, violent and commanding, the call exploded in his brain, spurring him to more frantic efforts. Zandro! The hideous monster in the pool had been Zandro!

  “Danny!” It came again, a silent thunder that shook his entire being. Despite his terror, he closed his mind, hearing only the faint echoes of his name before they died away altogether.

  What could he do? Nothing! Nothing! He couldn’t lock himself in the ship; those powerful tentacles could shred it to bits.
He had to hide! But where? Where?

  Bursting from the swamp, he sped across the meadow, the fear heavy in his throat. He had to run! He had to run and run and run! The thought was a desperation in his mind.

  He had to keep running!

  8

  SO, THERE was more than one Tommy!

  Samul Smith stared at the photo that had just arrived from one of the field agents via his desk duplicator. Taken in the vicinity of the central library, it apparently was that of a youth the exact image of Tommy Six. Even to the space suit.

  This would be Tommy what? One, Two, Three, Four, or Five? Or could it be Tommy Seven or Eight, or some higher number. How many androids had the aliens landed? Perhaps the empire was crawling with them. Well, no matter. With photographs and a description in the hands of every agent, they’d all be unmasked soon enough.

  He was preparing to leave the office when a buzzer sounded. He flipped a switch; the face of one of his agents took form on the wall screen.

  “I’ve spotted one,” the agent said.

  “Where?” Samul concealed his excitement.

  “Near the Military Star Port. I put a bioscan on it. It doesn’t return a human wave.”

  “I didn’t believe it would.”

  “It certainly looks human,” the agent reflected. “All but its movements. They’re kind of still.”

  “Keep him in sight, photograph him from as many angles as possible, but don’t alarm him,” Samul instructed briskly. “Watch for any contacts he might make.”

  “He?”

  “It,” Samul corrected. When the image faded from the screen, he took the atomic lift to the roof port and flew in his aircar to meet the agent who was watching the android near the library. He set the vehicle down in a small parking square near the building and switched on his wrist communicator. “Kelton?”

  “Kelton,” the agent acknowledged. His voice, small and tinkling in the

  diminutive transceiver, came immediately. “I’m on Minerva Lane approaching Pala. The subject is pursuing a path with the library as its center. I’ve made no attempt to contact it.” Kelton was telepathic.

  “Did you try a bioscan?”

  “Negative on the human system,” Kelton responded succinctly.