by Unknown
A second squat ovoid came into view above the treetops, then a third. They moved slowly, spaced an almost equal distance apart. As they drew nearer, he saw they were far larger than he had first supposed. Large and deadly.
Suddenly conscious he was standing in the open, he began a cautious retreat without taking his eyes from them. As they moved over an unburned stretch another silver thread shot down; again the forest erupted in flames.
He stifled the impulse to call Zandro, beg him to stop the horrible machines. But that would be surrender! He’d never surrender. Not to Zandro. Not if he had a million machines. Not if he burned the Universe. Zandro was…a monster! But what could he do? If he could talk to Arla.
Arla! He couldn’t call her! He remembered as if in a bad dream. The Tommies wouldn’t answer — hadn’t answered in days. Zandro, he thought. Zandro had destroyed them. Now Arla was gone; he could never talk with her again! He looked bitterly at the black shapes in the sky.
To his horror, the black ovoid nearest him swung around, moving toward him. Instantly the other two followed. Whirling, he plunged back into the
labyrinth of rock. Finding his path blocked by a towering spire, he raced frantically around its base.
Darting across a clearing at the far side, he cast a frightened glance behind him. The first ovoid, moving ponderously through the sky, was approaching the spire. He gazed at it, fascinated, thinking a collision inevitable.
A silver thread shot out from the snout, and a billowing mushroom-shaped cloud enveloped the rock. A thunderclap rolled out, reverberating in the stone canyons. Passing into the cloud, the ovoid emerged unscathed at the opposite side. It took him an instant to realize that the rock was gone, obliterated as completely as if it had never existed. Horrified, he wheeled and sped toward the heart of the great stone desert.
By late morning his steps were faltering, his hands were ripped and bleeding, his legs leaden. With the smoke far off to one side, the sun blazed intolerably in the emerald sky. He failed to locate the ovoids but knew they were not far behind; two whitish mushrooms, drifting upward from his trail, were proof of that.
Lurching into the shade of a rocky ledge, he slumped to the ground while wearily searching the scene ahead. Ravines, jagged ridges, great slanting green-black slabs that notched the sky — the rocks went on and on; they never seemed to end. But he had to cross it. Behind lay only fire, the metal birds, ugly black ovoids that burned the world.
There was no retreat.
He forced himself to his feet and stumbled ahead. His lungs burned, his legs ached, sweat filled his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. Aware he was moving in a zigzag course, he fixed his sight on a distant ridge. He had to hurry…
The ridge blossomed from the desert floor, growing larger and larger. Rather than attempt to scale it, he shifted his course to pass around its base. Staggering, he fell, rose again, and plunged ahead.
The sky was emerald. No, it was white, a brilliant white, white and red with flame. The sun was a crazy dancing thing that bobbed from side to side. Visions of the meadow flooded his mind. Tall grasses, the blue-green stream — he had to reach it. The pool where Zandro lived; he’d drink it dry, then what would Zandro do?
He tried to run but fell again. Struggling to his feet, he stared dully around. There was no meadow; there was only the horrible trickery of his imagination. No meadow! The thought was staggering.
“Zandro!” The name, torn from his lips, filled his mind.
“Danny?” The answer came immediately.
“Zandro!” He hurled a great telepathic shout. Why was he calling? He felt a quick befuddlement. He didn’t want Zandro. No! No! He was trying to escape Zandro. Zandro had sent the birds — the burners of worlds! He had to escape.
“Wait, Danny.” The words were gentle and beguiling.
“For what?” he croaked.
“For the sky hounds, Danny.”
“Sky hounds?” He had a horrible suspicion. “Those things that are burning the world?”
“They will bring you safely to the meadow.”
“They’re trying to kill me,” he screamed.
“They could do that quite easily,” Zandro corrected. “No, Danny, they’re guiding you. Hadn’t you noticed? It was necessary to fire the forest to turn your steps back toward the meadow. Why don’t you wait, let them return you safely?”
“You want to kill me!”
“No, Danny.”
“You said so. You tried to make me die. You said the Lord of the Stars had ordered it.”
“Not now, Danny. Things have changed.”
“Changed?” He clung to the word, feeling a ray of hope.
“It is not necessary that you die.”
“What has changed? I don’t believe you!”
“A strange vessel from one of your worlds has entered into orbit around Wenda,” Zandro confessed. “Others of your kind are coming.”
“My kind?” he asked wonderingly.
“Your people have come for you.”
“My people.” A great hope flared within him.
“Their detectors undoubtedly will locate the lifeboat by the meadow, Danny. That’s where they will center their search. But they won’t land unless their bioscans show you are there. That is why you have to return.”
“Why do you want them to land?” he demanded. “It’s a trick! I won’t go to the meadow. I won’t! I won’t!”
“Then the sky hounds will bring you back,” Zandro replied haughtily.
“You said once that I had to die, that all humans had to die,” he shouted. “You’re a…monster!” He felt a chilling moment of silence.
“You can’t escape the sky hounds.” Zandro’s words, when they came, were cold and ominous.
“You want to kill them,” he accused.
“When I am through with them, they will die. So will you.”
“But why? Why do you want them?”
“To drain their minds,” Zandro returned loftily. “We need to know more about your race.”
“Why do you have to know?” he whispered fearfully.
“To annihilate them.”
“You’re a monster,” Danny screamed, “a monster.”
“No,” Zandro rebuked coldly, “you are the monsters.”
“Monster!” he shouted wildly. Trembling with rage and fear, he shut his mind. Zandro couldn’t kill them. They wouldn’t land unless he went to the meadow, and he wouldn’t go to the meadow. He wouldn’t. Zandro couldn’t make him! The sky hounds couldn’t make him! Not even if they breathed fire, burned worlds.
Hzzzzz…
He jerked erect, looking frantically into the sky. A small bird hovered off to one side, its wings motionless. Red eyes glared down at him. Terrified, he stared past it; in the distance, three black blobs were pasted against the emerald sky.
The sky hounds! He retreated backward, unable to tear his eyes from them. Strangling a cry in his throat, he turned and plunged toward the heart of the great stone desert. He had to run, run, run. He couldn’t stop! They couldn’t take him to the meadow. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t.
He stumbled…walked…stumbled. Great green-black slabs seemed to spring from the ground like grass; somehow he twisted through them. He dragged along a ravine, squeezed through a crevice, crawled along a ledge. He fell again and tried to rise. Digging his fingers into the rocky ground, he attempted to pull himself forward.
Hzzzzz…
A metal bird! He rolled over, gazing upward toward the emerald sun. A black blob was coming down! It grew larger and larger until it filled the sky. Strange metal arms came down and scooped him up. He tried futilely to resist. Then somehow he was enclosed in blackness. The belly of the sky hound!
He fainted.
Gultur, Lord of the Stars, shook with rage as he eyed his subordinate.
“You say the young alien yet lives?” he demanded.
“Mind Master Zandro has decreed it,” Subcommander Gobit replied fearfully.
“An alien vessel has entered into orbit around the laboratory world…”
“The humans?” Gultur interrupted. There was something terrifying about this soft-fleshed race. At first they had appeared merely as small bipeds who had chanced to discover the secret of the interstellar drive, thus consequently had occupied a few thousand sun systems; but the first one captured had proved telepathic, had succeeded in erecting mental shields against a mind master. Now they were crossing the black abyss! He felt a quick trepidation. “Have they knowledge of our intent?”
“Mind Master Zandro believes not, my lord.”
“Do you believe this happenstance?” Gultur demanded. “Is that what you are trying to say?”
“My lord, I…”
“Quick, explain!”
“There is but a single vessel, my lord. Were the humans suspicious, they would have sent a hundred ships — a thousand.”
“A single vessel can destroy a planet,” Gultur rebuked.
“Assuredly, my lord. I am conveying the mind master’s conviction.”
“Can he explain its mission?” he demanded.
“He believes it was sent to find the young human. As you might recall, the human had made contact with his kind on…”
“I recall quite well,” Gultur cut in. “I also recall having viewed the entire project with disfavor.”
“You were quite right, my lord.”
“Sending robots to do the work of warheads!” Gultur grimaced. “Have the alien vessel destroyed immediately.”
Gobit trembled. “Mind Master Zandro does not wish it, my lord.”
“For what reason?”
“The robots sent to Makal have not proved very fruitful…”
Gultur silenced him with the imperious wave of a tentacle. “I know that very well. A single scout cruiser could have accomplished far more.” He regarded his subordinate grimly. “Go on.”
“With more specimens, the mind master believes he could obtain the knowledge to enable the Lord of the Stars” — Gobit lowered his front tentacles and bowed humbly — “to commence the annihilation process in the very near future.”
“It should have begun years ago.”
“Your wisdom is evident, my lord.”
“And should the specimens prove unproductive?”
“He will destroy them immediately, my lord.”
“He must destroy them in any case.”
“Yes, of course, once their minds are drained.”
“Station a cruiser into orbit around the laboratory world immediately,” Gultur curtly instructed.
The ridges of Gobit’s tentacles blanched, an indication of his inner terror. His eye jerked wildly. “The mind master does not wish it,” he managed to say.
“Does he believe the alien vessel to be unarmed?”
“He believes the presence of our vessels around the laboratory world would frighten the humans away, my lord. He…”
“Answer me,” Gultur thundered.
“He believes the alien vessel might be armed,” Gobit admitted.
“How does he intend to cope with that?”
“Three sky hounds were dispatched…”
“Sky hounds against an armed space vessel?” Gultur roared wrathfully. “What kind of military logic is that?”
“Our greatest weapon is the mental power of the mind masters,” Gobit murmured. “It is written in the Book of the Conqueror.”
“I prefer the nucleonic bolt,” Gultur returned acidly.
“Your military judgment is unsurpassed, my lord.” Gobit repeated his humble bow. “I, too, prefer immediate devastation.”
“At times the High Council places entirely too much credence in the power of the mind.”
“Entirely too much,” he assented.
“That is all.” Gultur waved a tentacle in dismissal. When his subordinate had departed, he slithered out to the balcony and gazed at the distant patch of orange stars. The arrival of the alien vessel perturbed him far more than he wished to admit. If the young human had contacted his kind across the black abyss, what had he told them?
He regarded the stars musingly. Yet there was but a single vessel. Given his choice, he would destroy it immediately, and the young human with it. How many star systems had the delay cost him? How many mokols of stone? He writhed inwardly. But a mind master’s orders were law; not even he, Lord of the Stars, could offer challenge.
But he much preferred the military way.
The Wind of Death. The virulent microorganisms sown into an atmospheric system would rid a world of all life within the space of several of its days. There were drawbacks, of course. Such a world would not be safe for habitation for several generations to come. There also was the problem of establishing a new ecological balance. But no one could deny the fright factor.
The nucleonic bolt. That was the warrior’s weapon. True, it totally obliterated every trace of the civilization which fell victim to it; however, none but the scholarly mind masters were interested in such records. For pure destruction, it was without parallel. It also offered the advantage of making its effects forever visible. The devastated planet itself was the greatest monument to conquest. The sight never ceased to inspire him.
He remembered the culture of Gurth. Mechanically minded creatures who were beginning to probe their orbital space, they dwelt in strange subterranean cities on the lowlying islands that dotted the planet’s liquid face.
He had attacked by sowing the waters with great hydrogen warheads. Vast tidal waves created by the thousand simultaneous explosions had hurled the seas over every vestige of land. Victory had been achieved without the loss of a single ship. In many respects, that had been his greatest victory. The memory brought a quick satisfaction. It was not often that a planet was so cheaply won.
He moved his single eye, contemplating the vast black abyss that split the firmament. The mind masters were wrong, he reflected. In the secrecy of his thoughts, he could say that. Only total annihilation ensured total victory.
It was written in the Book of the Conqueror.
12
SAMUL STARED wonderingly at the planetary surface rushing past some hundred miles below. Yellows, tans, pale greens, the twisting purples of great mountain ranges — the colors blended into a patternless mosaic that offered no geometry he could discern. The detectors had identified the black smudges off to one side as smoke.
“Forest fire,” Captain Garron had briefly explained.
Samul shifted his gaze to the sun; even through the protective filter it was an intolerably brilliant disk. Most of the suns of his own sector were white, yellow, bluish-white, red, or far more rarely, pinkish-gray like Apar. On this side of the Ebon Deeps they ran more to orange colors. But not this sun. Alone among the visible stars it shone a pure emerald.
He didn’t like interstellar travel. On the occasional trips he had made to other systems in the 17th Sector, he had been uncomfortable. This jump was no different. The swift acceleration through Apar’s planetary field; the great, black, silent, seemingly motionless vault through hyperspace; the sudden emergence into the gravitational domain of this emerald giant — it had been both fascinating and fearsome.
He glanced at Captain Garron. The captain stood straight, almost primly, a hand at his pointed jaw. His thin face held the acid look of disapproval.
A speaker crackled to life. “The bioscan confirms the presence of a human system near the previously reported lifeboat, sir.”
The captain sniffed. “How about the other pattern?”
“Still present.” The voice on the speaker hesitated. “It’s like nothing I ever saw.”
The Captain looked irked. “All life forms above the vertebrate level have certain patterns in common,” he snapped.
“Not this one, Captain.” The denial was emphatic.
“I don’t believe it’s a vertebrate,” Samul offered tactfully.
“Not a vertebrate?” The captain was startled.<
br />
“It’s a sort of octopus,” he explained.
“On that desert down there?”
“Well, it lives in a pool.”
“You mentioned an intelligent alien…”
“That’s the octopus,” Samul hastily explained. “It’s quite bright.”
“A smart octopus,” the captain grated. “Is that all?”
“Well, there are some mechanical birds.”
“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow incredulously.
“Apparently quite a few. The boy’s shot several down with a bow and arrow.”
“How did I ever get this assignment?” the captain asked bitterly. Glaring, he snapped a look at the first officer and demanded querulously, “Mr. Lang, why isn’t detector reporting?”
“Detector?” Lang sang into a tube.
“All clear, sir.”
“All clear, sir,” Lang repeated.
“Are we going down?” Samul asked hopefully. He’d had enough of this seemingly endless orbit into which the Pioneer had entered the previous day.
“Hmmmph.” The captain snorted and turned away. Samul eyed him unhappily. Plainly the captain wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but then he had opposed the trip from the first. He’d made that quite clear.
Samul could understand his perturbation. The Pioneer wasn’t a cruiser; it wasn’t even armed. It was, in fact, an old Colonial Operations immigration vessel. Sol Houston had won his point in forcing the deportation of the Tommies, but the Regent Administrator had steadfastly refused the use of a cruiser, citing the regulation that prohibited aliens from boarding an armed vessel. To make matters worse, this was the captain’s first crossing of the Ebon Deeps.
That was part of the captain’s discomfort; there was also the matter of his passengers. The Tommies, as mechanical artifacts, couldn’t properly be classified as aliens; on receipt of his orders he’d argued that long and vociferously but unfortunately had been unable to produce a regulation to support the contention.
But he’d had a measure of revenge: As nonhumans, he’d denied the
androids cabin space. He’d been quite gloating about it. As a consequence, the Tommies were stacked in a small storage bin adjacent to the galley, with the hatch locked to prevent them from wandering. Samul didn’t believe they minded.
