The Complete LaNague

by F. Paul Wilson

  Tella used this opportunity to make his exit. He rose. “Well, time for me to get to work.”

  “And just what kind of work might that be, Mr. Company Man?” Chornock asked, his surliness coming to the fore again.

  “Convincing these aliens to send a few volunteers back to Derby with you, for one thing. Who can take me to them?”

  “I’ll let Sergeant Prather take you over – just to make sure you don’t try anything foolish. You’ll probably find him in the courtyard behind this building.”

  PRATHER WAS RUNNING his daily check on the a-g combat unit that stood in a sheltered corner of the courtyard. It towered a full four meters in height. Once inside, a seasoned trooper could clear a forest, level a city, or hide at the bottom of a lake for a month. Prather was the Federation Defense Force representative on Rako. A cruiserful of troopers waited in orbit. Just in case.

  The sergeant was preoccupied and ignored Tella’s request for a tour around the city. But Tella knew how to break through the soldier’s barrier of military professionalism.

  “Doesn’t look like they’ve changed the unit much since I was in the Force.”

  Prather’s glossy shaved head snapped up. “You were in the Force? When?” Tella was suddenly a real person to Prather.

  “Eight standards ago. Infantry, like you. Used to be pretty damn good in one of these things.”

  “Howcum you’re out?”

  Tella shrugged. “Didn’t get along too well with the brass. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah,” Prather agreed with a nod. “They get to some people more than others. But you say you used to operate a unit like this?”

  “Almost like it; this must be a newer model.”

  Tella stepped back and looked at the combat suit. It was squatter than the one he’d trained in, and looked lighter. Except for the prominent Federation star-in-the-ohm insignia, the unit’s surface was a dull black from the anti-gravity plates in the feet to the observation dome on the shoulders, but only because it wasn’t activated. In action it could assume any color scheme for instant camouflage.

  “It’s the latest. Easy maintenance, for which I’m glad at the moment. With the Tarks calling it quits on the research, there’s no telling what they might try.”

  “You don’t really think they’d try anything against Chornock and his crew, do you?”

  “They wouldn’t dare. They know we’re fully armed up there,” he said, jerking a thumb at the sky, “and they know I’m down here with my unit. We made sure they knew about that – although we were careful to hide the unit from the natives; they might not understand that this monstrosity is here for their protection. What I do worry about is the Tarks trying some sneaky way of wiping out the Rakoans so they won’t have to wait for them to die of natural causes.”

  Tella was at once sickened and amazed at the simple, direct logic of such a solution. And if the Tarks were only one half as ruthless as their reputation, ways and means had no doubt long been formulated to bring about such an end.

  “Well, I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Tella said, turning away, “but I’ve got to get over to the Rakoan section of the city. And if you won’t take me, I’ll just have to find my own way.”

  “Now just wait a minute there… Andy, isn’t it?” Tella nodded. “My first name’s Bentham – Ben – and I don’t see why I can’t take a few minutes out to show an ex-trooper around the city. Let me get this lubricant off my hands and we’ll be on our way.”

  TELLA WAS GETTING his first good look at the city. The Rakoans obviously had a thing for spires – every building he saw tapered to a graceful point. And there was a strange quality to the streets in the way they twisted and turned and interconnected around the buildings; almost as if the buildings had been set down wherever the constructor’s fancy indicated, and the roads put in later as a sort of afterthought. The small, open flitter did not have to make many turns before Tella was hopelessly lost.

  “You know where you’re going, Ben?”

  “Sure. I make the trip every day to keep an eye on the natives and make sure the Tarks aren’t up to anything. You’ll know we’re there when we get there.”

  Tella puzzled over that last remark until they rounded the corner of the next building. There in a clearing stood a building without a spire. It was a low dome, remarkably crude in comparison to the other architecture of the city, and around it stood a circle of Rakoans, male and female, shoulder to shoulder.

  “What’s going on?”

  “That’s the temple of Vashtu, the ancient god of Rako. At any time of the day or night you can find five hundred and twelve natives standing around it as a guard. Why that particular number?” he asked, anticipating Tella. “If you remember that the Rakoans have four digits on each hand, it’s no surprise that their number system has a root of eight.”

  Prather let the flitter glide toward an ungainly old Rakoan who was strolling toward the temple carrying a long wooden staff.

  “That’s Mintab, the leader of what’s left of the natives. If you want to talk to someone, it might as well be him. He’s the mouthpiece; his people make all their decisions as a group. And don’t try to pull anything over on him – he’s a sly old bird.”

  Mintab spotted the flitter and stood waiting as Prather grounded it; he joined the two humans as they debarked. It was an unholy trio standing there beside the vehicle: the tall, shaggy-skinned, floppy-nosed Rakoan, the short, dark, stocky Tella, and the glossy-scalped Prather.

  The trooper introduced Tella as the-man-who-wants-to-buy-the-rocks. Although he addressed Mintab in the Rakoan tongue, Tella’s crash encephalo-augmented course in the language during the trip out allowed him to understand what was being said. Speaking Rakoan, however, was a different matter – there were too many nasal intonations that were impossible to reproduce without practice – but he could manage to make himself understood if he kept it short and chose his words carefully.

  “The furry ones have left,” Mintab said, turning his gaze on Tella. “When will your people remove your doctor?”

  “Soon,” Tella replied in halting Rakoan. “No answer here. Must take some people away for answer.”

  “I have tried to convince my people of this but they will not listen.” He glanced over to the encircled dome. “Don’t judge us too harshly. Our manner of living was not always so primitive. Our dead cities tell you that. We once flew through the air and talked across the oceans. But there are no longer enough of us to maintain that level of technology. As our numbers collapsed, so did our means of production, and thereafter we ran out of precision parts. We are now reduced to this.”

  “But why won’t your people cooperate?”

  Mintab started for the dome. “Come. You will see.”

  The circle of Rakoans parted for the trio as Mintab led them into the crude structure.

  “You are entering the temple of Vashtu, Giver of Light and God to us, his chosen race,” he said. “Before you is his shrine.”

  In the center of the gloomy temple stood a huge statue; a good seven or eight meters in height, it was hand-carved out of a jadelike stone and showed one creature standing over the slumped form of another.

  “It looks…old,” Tella remarked lamely. The lighting, the postures, and the sheer size of the work gave it an eerie power.

  “It is ancient. We do not know when it was carved, but throughout our recorded history it has been the focus for my race’s religion… now more than ever. It depicts Vashtu triumphant over the fallen M’lorna, God of Evil and Darkness.”

  Tella moved closer. Vashtu was Rakoanoid with a sunburst for a face; he held a staff with a huge scarlet gem affixed to the end. The creature at his feet was indistinct, however.

  “I can’t see M’lorna.”

  Mintab motioned him toward the doorway where the light was slightly better. A carving on the wall showed a biped creature with a huge single eye where the head should be, and pincerlike hands. Its body was covered with alternating green and yellow stripes
.

  “That is M’lorna.”

  “But I still…do not understand… why your people will not help us help them.”

  “It was in this very place,” Mintab said, “that Vashtu defeated M’lorna in the days when our world was new. But M’lorna was proud and swore that he would return and destroy the temple of Vashtu. The great Vashtu gave my people the mission of defending the temple when M’lorna returns.

  “Generations ago, when our cities teemed with healthy millions, we forgot Vashtu and turned our minds and hearts to other matters. We left the temple unguarded. And for this dereliction, Vashtu has allowed our numbers to decrease. Soon there will not be enough of us to adequately guard the temple. And then M’lorna will come and destroy the temple at his leisure. When that happens, we will have failed Vashtu and he will cast our spirits adrift among the stars.”

  “But…” Tella searched for the phrasing and couldn’t find it. But Mintab seemed to know what he wanted to say.

  “None will leave the planet. A race that was once ruled by reason is again enslaved to superstition: They fear the day of the Dark One is near and feel they must be here. I have tried to tell them that Vashtu will understand that they left Rako for the good of the race, so that it might go on protecting the temple. But they insist it will be taken as a sign of further desertion of our sacred trust.” The alien paused; then, “I would leave myself but I am beyond the age when I would be of use.”

  Tella could not read Rakoan expressions, posture, or vocal tone, but there was a very definite air of hopelessness about Mintab as they walked back into the waning sunlight.

  He and Prather were halfway back to the Terran camp at the edge of the city when the idea struck him. It was daring, even by his own standards, and would either land him the crystal contract or land him in a Federation prison. He decided to check with Jo first.

  On landing, he went directly to the communications setup and sent a carefully worded vocal message to Jo on Ragna. It went out via subspace laser and he decided to spend a little more time with Prather while waiting for a reply. He had given no details about what he planned to do, but had hinted that it was legally risky; he had also mentioned the antibiotic properties of the bassa and wanted to know if she could find a use for it.

  Prather was back at work on his combat unit when Tella found him.

  “Do they still have manual controls on the camouflage?” he asked the trooper. “I used to pull some fancy tricks when I was in the force.”

  Prather nodded and showed him the controls. There hadn’t been any significant changes in the past few years; the console still had a familiar feel. Tella activated the skin, then adjusted the tint and pattern controls. Prather stepped back and began to laugh as the combat unit lit up like a red and white barber pole.

  “Where’d you learn to do a thing like that, Andy?”

  “This is just one of the many things that endeared me to my superiors during my four years in the force. Whenever I got bored I’d figure out a new way to dress up my unit. Even figured out a few pornographic ones if you’re interested.”

  The communications operator came out then, saying he had a brief message from Ragna for Mr. Tella. Andy took the player and listened to the recording of Jo’s reply. Her voice was clear but sounded strained:

  Andy, I’m rushing off to Jebinose. Your success on Rako may be more crucial now than even before, especially if what you say about this bassa is true. As of now, you not only represent Fairleigh Tubes, but Opsal Pharmaceuticals as well, and can make tentative arrangements for them should the Rakoans decide to sell bassa. If you’re successful, notify the interstellar news services without delay. Good luck.”

  Tella handed the player back to the operator, then climbed back into the combat unit. “Tell me if this reminds you of anything, Ben.”

  He made some adjustments on the console, then closed the observation bubble over his head. The body, arms, and legs of the unit began to glow in green and yellow stripes while the observation bubble took on a brilliant blue-white color with a large black spot in the middle.

  Prather’s voice came through the earphones: “You know, Andy, that looks a lot like that God of Evil over in the temple. Whatsisname…?”

  M’lorna,” Tella whispered and activated the anti-grav plates.

  NOT MUCH LIGHT LEFT, but he didn’t think he’d get lost. After all, he had no intention of trying to follow the streets. He climbed for altitude and headed in the general direction of the dome. It was easy to spot from the air and he circled around in order to approach it from the far side.

  He landed at the dark edge of the park, but infra-red lenses and image intensifiers gave him a day-bright picture on his screen.

  Let’s make this short but sweet, he thought, and started the unit on a slow walk toward the dome.

  He was almost halfway there before one of the natives spotted the towering and all-too-familiar figure shambling out of the darkness. There was an instant of panic, then a great shout went up as the guardians quickly formed a barrier between M’lorna and the temple of Vashtu. Rakoans of every description – male, female, crippled, and infirm – poured onto the clearing from all sides to reinforce the living wall before the Dark One. Tella watched Mintab scurry inside the temple, then activated one of the lasers.

  A beam of green light lanced out and scored a groove along the outer wall of the dome to his right, then arced over the doorway and grooved the left wall of the dome. And then M’lorna was among the Rakoans.

  They smashed, bashed, slashed at him with fists, feet, rocks, clubs, and knives to no avail. Their proud defiance faded as they saw the God of Evil and Darkness wade inexorably through their ranks like a farmer through a grain field. M’lorna was at the entrance to the temple of Vashtu, his ancient enemy, and nothing could stop him.

  But before the Dark One could enter, a struggling, staggering Mintab emerged, holding high the jewel-tipped staff that had rested in the hands of Vashtu in the shrine. M’lorna halted abruptly and, as Mintab moved forward with the staff, gave ground. Then, before the eyes of the assembled faithful of Vashtu, the God of Evil and Darkness rose slowly, silently, and disappeared into the blackened sky.

  “YOU’RE UNDER ARREST, TELLA!” said Prather as Tella extricated himself from the unit. The sergeant’s face was scarlet, and he held a gravity cuff under one arm.

  “What’s the charge?”

  “How does assault on an alien population sound for a start?”

  “What makes you say I assaulted anyone?” Tella knew he was in trouble but was not going to allow himself to be trapped into any admissions.

  Prather smirked. “I monitored your screens from the moment you left. I saw every move you made; even made a recording of it. You’re in trouble, friend. You’re going up to the cruiser for safekeeping, and from there you’re going to Fed Central to face charges.”

  Chornock stormed into the courtyard. “But first he’s going to make an abject apology to Mintab and the Rakoan people for desecrating their shrine! He has completely destroyed whatever good will I’ve managed to build up with these people and I demand that he make an apology before he leaves!”

  After a lengthy debate, Prather reluctantly agreed to ferry Chornock and Tella over to the Rakoan section of the city, but the trip proved unnecessary: Mintab was waiting for them by the flitter.

  “My people will now go with the doctor to his homeland,” he said without preamble. He stood tall and impassive in the dark, but his respiratory rate seemed to be more rapid than usual.

  “B-but…”

  “My people are celebrating now. They have successfully defended their temple and deserve to congratulate themselves. In the morning, however, we shall begin to make arrangements with this man to trade for the stones.” He indicated Tella.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Tella will not be here in the morning,” Prather said.

  “We will deal with no one else,” Mintab shot back. It was a statement of fact.

  Chornock and
Prather glanced at each other, then shrugged. “Very well. He will be here in the morning.”

  “And bassa?” Tella asked, feeling relief flood through him; he was off the hook. “Will you trade bassa?”

  “Of course. What we shall ask in return is continued work toward assuring the future of our race.” His eyes bored into Tella’s. “With help, my people will surely be here to protect the temple on the day M’lorna really comes.”

  Tella suddenly felt as if someone had rammed a fist into his solar plexus.

  “Excuse me,” he said in his native tongue as he backed away from the alien. “I’ve got a number of very important subspace calls to make.”

  Jo

  TRAVELING IN A STATE OF mental and emotional anesthesia, Jo barely remembered the trip between Ragna and Jebinose. One shock had followed another and it was only after the commercial liner she had boarded had gone into orbit around her destination that she began taking notice of her surroundings again.

  Immediately after seeing Larry collapse during his subspace call, she had placed a call of her own to the spaceport on Jebinose. The administrator there informed her that an unidentified man had been rushed to Copia Hospital – alive but unconscious. Her next call was a message to the hospital stating that the man from the spaceport was to be given all necessary care and that all bills would be paid in full through a given account number at a sector bank.

  Then came the next shock: after deciding to go to Jebinose herself and to take Old Pete with her – she didn’t want him out of her sight – she discovered that he had departed for Jebinose days before. There could no longer be any doubt in her mind that Old Pete was involved in her father’s death… and perhaps involved in whatever had happened to Larry.

  Jebinose twirled below her now, looking like any other innocent, Earth-class planet. But Jebinose was different. Jebinose had killed her father and injured her lover. Jo was reluctant to board the waiting downward shuttle. She feared the planet.