He concentrated on their lush figures, picturing Vex, making his penis rise so that all would know he was not bluffing, though of course he was. It was an effective threat; the minionettes drew back with a common expression of pain at the prospect of his specific enjoyment. Any of them would happily have submitted to rape by him, but not love.
“Meanwhile, we shall prepare several secret exits to the main caverns,” Arlo continued. “We can put out the fire in one of the torch tunnels—I presume you can get fire extinguishers and heat suits—and lower a party that way, through the back tunnels. We shall also require a series of long, narrow wells through the floor. We’ll need drilling equipment. Get it here in three hours.”
They did not question him. The minionettes scattered. Arlo turned his chippers loose to graze, then lay down for a nap. He knew he would be foolish to overtax himself before the real battle began; he was not yet fully recovered.
He dreamed of Valhalla, the hall of Asgard where the gods feasted. Thor was there, celebrating with his father Odin, chief of the gods, and so were Frigga, and golden-haired Sif and all the lesser gods.
Then Loki appeared. “Come make merry with us,” Odin invited him. But Loki demurred.
“Why should I carouse with one who cuckolds his stupid son? Do you think I don’t know the secrets of all you hypocrites?”
Arlo woke, sweating. What were Aton and Vex doing at this moment? They were now outside his telepathic range.
A signal caught his eye. He looked—and found a Xest standing beside Torment. It was exactly as in his vision, standing on eight spindly legs, with a globular body somewhat larger than a man’s hand. It was bright orange; perhaps his vision had told him that, but in the flesh it surprised him. Almost immediately he realized that this was a stress color: gravity here was much beyond Xest normal, and it had to make a constant effort to adapt. Etiquette required that he not dwell on this.
“Apologies for waking you,” the minionette said. “I am speaking for the Xest, who is telepathic like us, only more so. I merely translate its signals.”
Arlo found he could read much of the creature’s mind directly, but elected not to advertise that fact. He did not know the galactic sign language at all well, never having had opportunity to practice it with galactics, so the translation was helpful. And he realized that something important was up. “Continue.”
“Antipathetic pressures are on your mind.”
“They sure are!” Arlo agreed. “This is Ragnarok, the battle of all time.”
Torment spoke again as the Xest signaled. “Bedside—Loki—Chthon—these entered your mind while your guard was down. To spread dissent—”
Arlo’s eyes narrowed. “You mean my dream was not my own?”
“That is correct. It was projected from the enemy.”
Arlo nodded. He knew his father and sister were not betraying him; both were persons of integrity, however difficult that might be at times, and he had seen into their minds. The antagonist he faced was Doc Bedside, now organizing Chthon’s power. Obviously Bedside wanted him out of the Life camp and back in his home cave in a hurry. Why?
“Representatives from the other Vanir have arrived,” Torment said.
“Bring them in.” The Chthon matter would have to wait.
One Lfa and one EeoO entered. The first looked like a pile of fractured rubble with sticks protruding randomly. The second resembled a translucent pool of water that somehow needed no basin. It was a delicate blue throughout.
The Lfa came right to the point. Torment translated its peremptory signals. “We govern half the galaxy. Humans govern a tenth. We do not accept your proffered leadership.”
Arlo smiled in such a way that the minionette had to smile with him. “Have you been able to abate the non-explosion wave?”
The Lfa shifted its bricks uncomfortably. “Not yet,” Torment said.
“Can you abate it within fourteen Earth-days from this moment?”
“These things take time.”
“Time is gone,” Arlo said. “This is Ragnarok. If we do not conquer Chthon within our deadline, the original chill-wave will intersect this planet, enabling Chthon to initiate the fluorine-oxygen compounder wave, to be known as the killchill, that will destroy all life in the galaxy beyond this planet—and perhaps here too, for the mineral intellect will have no further need of local life. It regards us as fetid slime, a pestilence on the sacred matter of the galaxy. Not even a microbe will live after the killchill passes; Life will be eternally extinct.
“You will not be able to counteract that wave because you will no longer exist. I am the only one who can find his way into the secret heart of Chthon’s caverns to destroy the broadcast mechanism—and to do that it will be necessary to destroy Chthon itself, for Chthon is the mechanism. Are you ready to gamble that you can penetrate that key region, or learn to nullify the non-explosion field so that you can blast apart this planet—in time?”
Now the EeoO signaled. How it signaled Arlo could not tell, but Torment translated: “Your campaign is useless.”
Arlo faced it. His gaze passed through its serene interior. Amazing how this thing could function without visible organs, nerves, or bones! “Why?”
“Chthon is aware of it. Chthon-controlled life permeates this cavern.”
“I have the assurance of the minionettes that this is not so,” Arlo said. “Our dialogue should be private.”
The EeoO quivered, and Torment’s mouth dropped open. “The glow!” she exclaimed.
Arlo clapped his hand to his forehead. That was a mistake, because the gauntlet he wore gave his skull a mighty crack. “The glow!” Of course the EeoO was right. The green glow covered every wall; its light was essential to their vision. And it was an organic substance. If they burned it off, they would be dependent on artificial light. That would complicate the campaign phenomenally. In any combat, the Chthon forces would have only to eliminate the lights to assume a decisive advantage. And they were already winning.
No, perhaps not. If the forces of Life depended on the glow, so did the living forces of Chthon. Perhaps in the dark the fight would be even. But that still wasn’t good enough.
“And the cavern entity knows your mind,” Torment continued translating from the EeoO’s jiggles. “You have been closer to it than any sane sapient living entity. Your leadership means that it is dealing with a known intelligence. That is why it does not act against you, only seeking to guide you subtly. It prefers your influence to that of some unanalyzed form of life.”
“Such as the Lfa?” Arlo inquired dryly.
He needed no translation to pick up the two creatures’ agreement. Yet he was sure it would mean disaster if he yielded his leadership to them. He had to convince them to accept him.
How? His father was clever; Aton could have debated these balky aliens and made them look ridiculous. Arlo lacked that educational background, that ready wit, that minion-prompted sarcasm. And his motive was suspect, for Chthon obviously did want him in power. Was he really his own man, or was he forwarding Chthon’s cause?
No matter. Alien domination of this campaign meant certain loss. He had to do it. Maybe he wasn’t Aton—but he had an idea how Aton would have gone about it. There were little tricks of approach. Perhaps they would not work for Arlo, but he had to give it his best try.
His mind reached out—and it was as though it linked with that of his father. Illusion it might be, but suddenly his confidence grew.
Try them on the time scale, son.
“How long did it take the Lfa to colonize half the galaxy?” Arlo asked.
“Approximately half a million years,” Torment answered.
“We Humans colonized our tenth in three hundred years,” Arlo said. “That is approximately three thousand times your rate—and we were limited only by the fact that nothing was left to
colonize. Does that suggest anything to you?”
“An impetuous velocity,” came the reply.
It’s trying to g
et cute. Nail it. Make it give your answer.
“What type of entity would you assign to supervise the conquest of a difficult planet—in fourteen days?”
“I must take time to consider,” the Lfa signaled.
One down. Don’t let the other get away!
Arlo turned to the EeoO. “Have I made my point?”
“You must answer the question of Chthon’s knowledge of your mind,” the EeoO replied.
This is a sharper entity. Appeal to its intellect.
“It should be obvious that if Chthon knows my mind best, the converse is true. I know Chthon best.” Arlo leaned forward persuasively, though he had no certainty that the gesture meant anything to the galactics. “This is like a chess game— Torment, translate that analogy into terms they understand; surely they have similar exercises—wherein all pieces and all moves are conducted in the sight of both players. There can be no secrets. The more powerful, original, more reliable player wins—usually.”
“Your expertise is questionable,” one of the creatures signaled; Arlo was not certain which, since Lfa, EeoO and Xest were all moving now. But it was a good score to a vulnerable area, for Arlo had already muffed the green glow matter.
What would Aton do? Counterattack!
“Would you substitute your expertise? Would any of you go into the depths of Chthon blindly to tackle a planetary sentience in its home territory? Your chances may seem less than even, with me—but they will be virtually nothing with you. At least I have some notion of the rules of the game.”
And the three entities were without signals.
Nail it down!
“All right,” Arlo said briskly, as though they had formally accepted his position. “We can’t operate in complete secrecy but unless Chthon can read my mind, it doesn’t know exactly what use I mean to make of your contingents. If my strategy is original and sound, Chthon will not be able to counter it. I may ask you to do some seemingly foolish things. Do not challenge me on them; they may be foolish—so as to conceal my real intent. Only by keeping Chthon ignorant of the details of my campaign can I hope to prevail. Now I want you to bring down the drills and firefighting equipment and proceed as I outlined to the minionettes before.”
The Lfa and EeoO made motions very like a human shrug, and departed. Watching them move was an experience: one seemed to tumble over itself like debris down a slope, while the other slid gracefully along its pastel-hued base.
“You’re lucky they aren’t telepathic,” Torment murmured. “If they had read the doubt in your mind—”
“Remind me never to try to bluff a Xest,” Arlo said.
“And get kissed again? Remind yourself!”
He smiled, making her wince. “In fact, I’d better level with our Xest representative right now.”
“No need.” she said. “The Xest understands. The Xest feels you are the most qualified leader for the endeavor.”
“I’m getting to like the Xest,” he said. Then he thought of something else. “The Xest—they use the Taphid, don’t they?”
“Yes. They import it—”
“Have them bring a good supply down here. We may need the Taphid when we lose.”
“When we—?”
“How would you like an affectionate hug?”
She departed without further word. The Xest projected a benign sentiment, and followed her.
Soon the equipment arrived. “What’s this?” Arlo inquired, picking up a Xest artifact. “It looks like a hammer.”
“It is a power mallet,” Torment translated.
“The Xests’ limbs are not as strong as those of many other creatures, especially on high-gravity surfaces. So Xest force is amplified by means of specialized tools. With this mallet one Xest can pound apart solid rock without personal fatigue.”
“Could I use it?”
“It should be feasible. Merely hold it firmly and depress the stud in the handle. It vibrates at sonic frequency.”
Arlo tried it. He put it to the wall and touched the stud with the thumb of his gauntlet. The stone powdered out beneath the point of contact.
“Very nice,” Arlo said. “Do you have a larger model?”
The Xest produced a version whose head was the size of Arlo’s two fists. Arlo tried it, and watched the thing blast a head-sized hole in the wall with one strike. Evidently that did not count as an explosion, or Chthon’s repressive field would have interfered. But it was powerful! “Thor’s Hammer,” he said.
“Now Chthon undoubtedly knows what we have been doing,” Arlo told Torment. “So we’ll proceed according to schedule. Meanwhile, I’ll finish my nap.” He lay down on the rock.
Torment looked at him silently.
“Hold my hand,” he told her. “Put me to sleep.” Perchance to dream...
She knelt and took his hand. Arlo gave his turmoil and apprehension free rein, knowing that it came through to her like sweet music. He was leading the forces of life into disaster—and he had no counterplan. What was he to do?
Torment smoothed his forehead with her cool hand. “You darling boy,” she murmured.
After a while he slept.
“He hasn’t returned,” Vex said. “Life has lost, as was fated at Ragnarok. Coquina is confined to her cave. What remains for us, in these few hours remaining?”
“Love,” Aton said. “As it was fated to be.” He took her into his arms.
Arlo wrenched himself awake. “I’m going home!”
Torment restrained him. “Don’t make decisions now; you’re crazed by a dream-projection.”
“Go sit on a stalagmite—a sharp one,” Arlo snapped. He sent a mental summons to his two goat segments.
“This is of course in poor taste to suggest,” Torment said carefully. “But is she worth it? We need you here, as the battle begins. We have women very like your minionette to console you, and far more experienced.”
“I’m aware of that. You come with me. Bring one member of each Vanir species—no, make that four EeoO, one of each sex. Relinquish command of the Life campaign to the Lfa leader.”
“The Lfa!” Now she was alarmed. “There will be no imagination! Completely predictable procedure, child’s play for Chthon to counter!”
“If you aren’t coming. I’ll go alone!”
She ran after him. “Arlo, you’re lovely like this! I can hardly refrain from embracing you. But can’t you see—Chthon put that dream into your mind! I was with you, I felt it—the same signal the Xest picked up before! When you sleep, your guard goes down—”
“If I had a way to hurt you, I’d do it!” Arlo told her wrathfully. “But it’s impossible right now.” That damned inversion—his rage, her bliss. “So you just shut up and fetch the Vanir.”
“Stop and think!” she cried. “Chthon wants you out of here and back at your home cave. You’re playing into its scheme.”
Arlo came up to his chippers, who had stopped grazing and were ambling toward the sledge. “Unseal the main exit.”
“No.”
He backhanded her across the face in fury. Torment accepted the blow unhurt, unable to repress her smile of pure animal pleasure despite her need to convince him intellectually. “We won’t let you walk into Chthon’s trap.”
Arlo hitched the sledge, cursing as he struggled with the unfamiliar and crude fastenings. He finally got it right and started off. When he got to the sealed exit he dismounted, took his great hammer in his gloves, and pounded a gaping hole through the mortar.
By the time he finished, Torment had returned with a Xest, a large Lfa, and four EeoO units: translucent blue, green, yellow, and pink. “If you insist on this disaster, we’re your bodyguard,” Torment said, and they all piled onto the sledge.
“Suit yourselves.” He snapped the reins, though his real command was mental: the bits were gone. The two chippers, recharged by their rest, took off. The sledge was heavy with the weight of the group, so that the fibers of it sagged, but the chippers were so powerful it seemed to make little dif
ference. They careened through the passages at a dizzying rate.
As they moved, Arlo spoke into Torment’s ear, “I doubt Chthon can hear us talk right now, or read your signals, and we’ll know if there’s any myxo siege against any of our little group. I believe you all understand that it is not madness but doom I have brought you into.”
Torment didn’t bother to translate. “We know,” she agreed grimly.
“Small as we are, we are the real invasion spearhead. The main attack, back at the sealed cavern, is only a decoy, a diversion.”
“Yes.” But she looked surprised.
“By seeming to fall into Chthon’s trap, we lull it into complacency. But we shall soon be ambushed. We shall have to elude that trap just before it snaps, seemingly by accident. Now let me talk to the EeoO.”
Torment signaled to the four translucent entities.
“Soon we shall pass a series of dry holes,” Arlo said. “They are ancient gas vents, long since inactive. The vents are narrow, and they twist through the rock, so that no solid living thing of any size can pass through them. But a liquid might—and the holes drain into a common chamber in the heart of the planet. It is very near Chthon’s wave-generating circuitry.”
Torment signaled, then gave their reply. “We comprehend.”
The sledge came to the vents. “I can’t stop the chippers without giving it away,” Arlo said. “The EeoO will have to jump.”
The E, e, o, and O entities jumped, bouncing up like balls to get free of the moving sledge. They landed, rebounded, and rolled across the rock behind. They would soon liquefy, dissolve into pools, and seep through the vents until they merged in the deeper caverns Chthon thought were secure. But Arlo had learned more than Chthon had told him, during their interaction; he knew many of the secret secrets.
Mindless in their melted state, the E’s and O’s should broadcast few telltales of sentience. With luck, the new little EeoO emerging from the generative pool would be able to disrupt Chthon’s circuits before the mineral entity caught on.
“Now the Lfa,” Arlo said. “Can you disassociate, then reform as two or more subentities in some unobserved cavern?”