Behind her shoulder, Spartak saw Vineta move. She came forward into the middle of the control room floor, and spoke unexpectedly in a level voice.
“I want to go to Asconel. Because that’s where Vix wants to go.”
“Shut up!” Eunora rounded on her, the skin around her eyes crinkling up as though she were about to cry.
Murmurs of astonishment came from Vix and Tiorin. Spartak was not less surprised than they at Vineta’s intervention, but he was perhaps better equipped to see how it was possible than they were. He forced his thinking along the most promising line, remembering that Eunora was exposed to all of them at once.
Deliberately he fanned the coals of his resentment into flame, visualizing her as she had been when she was brought to the ship—corpse-stiff, kept alive only by machines, and suffering unspeakable cramps and soreness. Is this how you repay our help? he whispered wordlessly inside his head. And beyond that, more subtly: Is this the life you want, for years, forever perhaps—the loneliness of power, without love, without friendship and trust?
“Stop it!” she whimpered, and dashed at him to beat with her little absurd fists on his chest. He folded his arms and stared sternly down at her.
Once you begin it, you can never stop. And behind the thought, carefully constructed pictures of faceless people, by hundreds and then by thousands, plotting to escape from her control and drive her down to final darkness.
“Stop it!” she shrieked again.
He complied, and thought instead of Asconel, a fair world, hospitable and kindly, with himself and Vix and Tiorin and Eunora too enjoying its sunshine, its wine, its fields and cities.
Helpless, the girl bent over and covered her face with, her hands. The threatened onslaught of tears overcame her. Impulsively, Vineta put her arm around her shoulders, and she turned and buried her sobs in the long dark hair.
“What—what happened?” Vix whispered, moving as though waking from nightmare.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Vineta could tell you,” Spartak answered slowly. “You’ve been underestimating this girl of yours, Vix! She thinks very clearly indeed.”
Vineta, comforting the weeping Eunora, shook her head. “I only know what store Vix sets by going to Asconel. And I couldn’t bear to think of him—and all of you—being turned into toys for her.”
“And there you have it,” Spartak grunted. “Eunora found it easy to release the conditioning the Imperial psychologists imposed on us, but to implant new commands of her own against the terrible need we all have to go home and set our people free—that’s not something one untrained child can achieve!”
“But—” Vix started to object.
“Think of it this way,” Spartak interrupted. “Anyone can take a ship out to space, yes? Because space is big and open, and there’s a margin for error of a million miles if you need it. But landing is something different again; one aims for a spaceport perhaps no more than a mile across, and probably for a berth measured in yards rather than miles. That takes skill and long practice. Similarly, wiping out commands which the victim resents is easy for Eunora. To overcome our resistance and bend us to her will proved beyond her.”
“But never mind how it was done,” Tiorin snapped, wiping sweat from his furrowed brow. “The question is, how do we cope with her from now on? If she’s apt to repeat that little performance—”
“Dump her in space,” Vix said shortly. The naked brutality of the words jolted all of them, and especially Eunora, who spun in terror to gaze at him.
“That’s disgusting, Vix!” Tiorin countered. “Nonetheless—since you’re free of the compulsion to take her to Nylock, I think we should put her down on the nearest habitable planet and be glad to be rid of her.”
“I…” Vineta let the word hang timidly in the air. Spartak gave her an encouraging nod.
“Go on, Vineta. Like I said, you’re a clearer thinker than most people. I’d be interested to hear your view.”
“Well…” Vineta licked her lips. “I’ve heard from Vix that this mysterious woman Lydis gained power over your late brother Hodat by appearing to read his thoughts. And what I’ve heard, too, about the way the people on Asconel have been changed from free independent citizens to blind fanatic dupes of the Belizuek cult sounds like the effect of some sort of conditioning. I—well, I didn’t have a very happy childhood. Even though I wasn’t set apart from everybody the way Eunora is, I often felt the way she did just now—desperate to get even with the universe, wanting to be as cruel to others as they had been to me. So I can’t even be angry with her.
“And…” She hesitated. “I can’t see into your minds the way she can, but I do believe that you’re the nicest people I’ve ever had to deal with. Vix, for all that you have a temper like a star going nova, you can be very kind, and Spartak here is such a gentle person, and strong inside too. I think perhaps when she’s recovered from the dreadful things they did to her on Delcadoré, Eunora will see that the same as I do. And when she does—well, isn’t it going to be tremendously valuable to have someone with us who can see into people’s inmost thoughts? Won’t it save months of spying and guessing, trying to find out how Bucyon keeps his hold on your citizens at home?”
There was a pause. Tiorin broke it.
“I see what Spartak means about you, girl. I hadn’t looked at it that way myself. But it’s the first really constructive suggestion I’ve heard for tackling the problem we face. My one reservation is that we can’t be sure about Eunora. Are we to undo the effects of years of maltreatment in a few days?”
Spartak drew a deep breath. “I’d be willing to try, if she’ll cooperate.”
Eunora gave a little frightened cry. “I see what’s in your mind, Spartak! No! No!”
No? His sober bearded face bent close to hers, he let himself think through the idea in detail, trying to maintain the same mood in which he had taken his vows to the order he joined on Annanworld: the sense of disgust inspired by the stupid violence attending the collapse of Imperial authority, the longing for rationality, calm judgment and peace which drove him to his self-imposed exile.
But it wasn’t that, he realized later, which impressed her. It was the memory of the agony he suffered while waiting for the antidote to be brought so that he could release her from catatone paralysis.
“I don’t like this,” Vix muttered in the background. “I still feel we’d be better off if we got rid of her.”
“Wait,” Tiorin counseled. “Look now!”
With an expression of total childlike trust, she had put her tiny hand in Spartak’s large one, and he was leading her without another word from the control room.
“What?” Vix demanded. “What?”
It was Vineta who answered, her eyes on the door which had closed behind Spartak. “I think she saw what he endured for her sake before we left Delcadoré, and decided that if he could do that for her, she could do as much for him.”
When Spartak returned, much later, his face was stamped with incredible weariness.
“She’s sleeping,” he said in answer to an eager question from Tiorin. “Oh, but I’ve dug some foulness from that mind of hers! Like seeking jewels in a pile of dung!”
Obviously not yet convinced of the wisdom of keeping Eunora aboard, Vix demanded harshly, “What did you do?”
“Hm?” Rubbing his eyes, Spartak spoke around a yawn. “Oh—I gave her some of the same drug I used on Korisu. I told you it was employed in psychotherapy. Before she’s capable of liking us, or anyone, she’s got to be cleansed of the hate she’s conceived for the human race—and are you surprised at that hate? The Empire, afraid of being toppled by some superiorly gifted assailant, made it policy to deport mutants, and the common people turned that policy into fear for their own security. You’d stand up to a raving crowd, defying them with your gun, or a sword, or your bare fists if it came to that. But she’s a child! How can she understand and forgive a mob of fools driven out of their minds with superstitious terror?”
<
br /> Vix hesitated for a long moment. Finally he shrugged. “I don’t like the idea, but—but you know a few things I don’t, having spent so long with your nose buried in your books. So far, things have turned out well for us. I’ll go along with you. But if she pulls another trick like the one she scared us with, I’ll dump her in space as I said I would!”
“She’s not less human because she’s a mutant,” Vineta summed up. “She’s a hundred per cent human—plus.”
“Well said,” Tiorin approved. “Now, though, we have a choice to make, Spartak. Vix feels we should go directly to Asconel, for fear of wasting any more time. I think it would be safer to try and contact Tigrid Zen on Gwo. Things have changed terribly on Asconel; even if we disguise ourselves, we might be betrayed by some chance ignorance”
“But will Tigrid Zen be any better informed?” Vix challenged. “If the stories we hear about Bucyon’s mastery of Asconel are correct, he won’t simply be able to come and go freely. He may not even have been able to land ships at home. And someone who’s totally cut off can’t give us much guidance.”
“I’ll give you one sound reason for visiting Gwo first,” Spartak said. “Vineta reminded us of it, just now. Lydis is alleged to be a mind-reader too. Suppose she’s one of many; suppose the technique whereby Bucyon overcame all resistance so easily is a mutant trick. How do we disguise our minds against discovery?”
Vix blanched. With the memory of Eunora’s powers fresh as it was, that shaft struck home in him. He admitted, “I hadn’t considered that. If you’re right, though, would—?”
“I don’t know if Tigrid Zen could advise us,” Spartak cut in, stretching his exhausted limbs. “But he could warn us. I say we make first for Gwo anyway.”
“I’ll set up the revised course, then,” Vix muttered, and moved to the controls.
XIV
CAUTIOUS AS a wild beast sniffing at bait in a suspected trap, they circled the mining world of Gwo. It was a lake-planet and not an ocean-planet; in other words, its land surface rather than its water surface was continuous. Although it had a CO2-water ecology, it had never been permanently settled in the days when men first blasted through the galaxy—with a vast number of more Earthlike planets to choose from, they could let places such as Gwo alone.
It wasn’t short of water, however. The atmosphere was sponge-saturated, and every least hillock was a watershed. The effect over eons of time had been to turn uplands into bare, rounded rocks, and fill all the valleys with deep layers of rich sediment supporting the typical drab vegetation. It was from these sediments that the half-dozen nearby human worlds had drawn their raw materials.
Had. Spartak reflected on the chilling implications of that word as the echo of Vix’s exclamation died in the still air of the control room.
“It seems to be dead.…”
“It can’t be,” Tiorin objected. “They might have had to cut back their mining, but to abandon it completely—”
“It’s been ten years,” Spartak broke in. “Asconel was the most stable of the planets hereabouts, and think what’s happened to it now. Revolution, civil war, plague—a dozen things might have put a stop to luxuries like mining another system. Vix, do we have no clue at all to the location of Tigrid Zen’s resistance hideout?”
“You’d expect it to be based on Asconel’s old holdings here,” Vix grunted. “Except that if it was, Bucyon could too easily locate it and wipe it out.”
“Maybe he did,” Tiorin muttered.
“Maybe.” Vix reached towards the communicator switches. “We’ll just have to risk a call, I guess.”
“Hold it,” Spartak rapped.
“What else can we do?” Tiorin glanced at him. “Agreed, we may run ourselves into a Bucyon ambush, but we could spend a lifetime hunting through the mist and drizzle here.”
“I have a better idea,” Spartak said. “Let me bring Eunora up and ask if she can help us.”
She came willingly, her hand in Spartak’s like father and daughter. He had never hoped that there would be such rapid progress in gaining her friendship and trust, but he had overlooked the fact that since she could see into his mind she could examine her personality as in a mirror, using his knowledge of psychology to afford an insight into her thinking. With incredible speed she had discovered why she nurtured blind hatred against ordinary people and why she had been senselessly persecuted; then, borrowing from Spartak’s calm assessment of human inadequacy, she had seen how to rise above mere resentment and achieve a sort of pity.
Even Vix had been impressed by the result. Now, as she came into the cabin, he gave her a smile of welcome.
“Yes, I can tell you where you’ll find your friends,” she said. “Over there!”
She pointed. “It’s a long way—half around the planet. But there are a lot of people, perhaps as many as a hundred.”
“A hundred!” Tiorin was appalled. “If that’s all he’s managed to gather together out of the nine hundred millions on Asconel, what are we hoping to do?”
“More,” Spartak said briefly. “Vix, let’s go there.”
When they broke through the cover of cloud and hovered “amid ceaseless rain, the drops trickling down the viewports, they found themselves above a heavily wooded valley. No human habitation was in evidence, and Vix jumped to one of his typical conclusions.
“Eunora’s wrong. There isn’t anybody here.”
“Yes, there is,” the girl replied stubbornly. “Hiding!”
“Hiding where?”
“Go down lower and you’ll see.”
Reluctantly Vix complied. Shortly, Tiorin let out an exclamation. “Those—those aren’t natural trees! Look, they’re on nets suspended above ground level.”
“Identify yourselves or we’ll shoot you down!”
The voice blasted from the communicator, making them jump. In earnest of the threat, a bolt of energy sizzled up from a concealed gun emplacement, leaving a streak of white steam to mark its path through the dripping sky.
Tiorin leapt to the communicator. “Vix of Asconel’s ship!” he shouted. “Spartak of Asconel and Tiorin of Asconel are aboard! We’re looking for Tigrid Zen!”
A moment of blank disbelief. Then: “Would you say that again?”—in the meekest possible tone. And lower, as if to someone beside the speaker: “Go tell the general at once!”
A gap opened in the camouflage of fake vegetation. “Come down slowly,” the distant voice instructed. “We have our weapons trained on you, so don’t make a careless move.”
“Eunora,” Spartak murmured, “can you convince them that we are who we are?”
“I’ll try,” the mutant girl agreed doubtfully, and closed her eyes.
Abruptly, the communicator sounded again. “All right, we’re satisfied. Welcome! Welcome!”
Tiorin cocked an eyebrow at Vix, who had overheard Spartak’s soft request to Eunora, and the redhead shrugged and set the ship down.
The relief of finding that there really was a nucleus of anti-Bucyon forces here was soon tempered with dismay, however. As Eunora had said, the total amounted to some hundred persons, ill-clad and half-starved, the proud possessors of two small spaceships which had formerly belonged to the Asconel navy and had been snatched from Bucyon’s grip after his own fleet attacked Asconel. One ship was here; the other had been sent on a mission to try and raise help among neighboring systems—at latest reports, without success, for everywhere the tale was the same, and the withdrawal of Imperial authority had left those systems with problems of their own.
Tigrid Zen himself, who came to embrace his former commander Vix with tears in his eyes, had aged twenty years, not ten, since Hodat’s accession. His hair was vanished from his head, and his long moustache was grizzled. His uniform was dirty and there were holes in his boots. None of his followers were in much better plight.
But he made the newcomers as welcome as he could, treating them to a meal in the mountainside cave which served as his headquarters, and from him they heard the
sorry tale of Asconel’s capitulation at first hand.
“It was terrible,” he muttered. “At first, you see, it didn’t seem too bad. This woman Lydis—granted, she followed some ridiculous cult or other, we thought, but there was some compensation in Hodat’s obsession with her. Twice she enabled us to frustrate a plot against him—though now I’m not sure she didn’t inspire the plots herself, to gain his confidence. Her, or this loathsome cripple Shry that she brought in as—well, her chaplain, I guess you’d say.
“We owe it to Grydnik that we weren’t completely duped.” He nodded at the former port controller of the main Asconel spaceport, a shrunken man who had once been fat, but since his exile on Gwo had become a body cased in the loose bag of his own skin. “He challenged the easy admission of all these people from Brinze, saying there were too many greedy priests among them and no one who could offer the hard work and technical skills we needed. But Hodat grew deaf to our pleading. First he ordered the erection of this temple, then he imposed the taxes to establish sister centers of Belizuek in every large town, and finally—well, I’m sure you know. He was murdered, and in the resulting confusion Bucyon’s fleet came from space and overwhelmed our defenses. The priests and other immigrants from Brinze proved to be a well-trained underground movement, which paralyzed our defenses and our communications. Now we are as you see: a hopeless band of loyalists stranded in exile.”
“Tell me about Bucyon,” Vix said softly, “and this woman Lydis.”
“Bucyon—he’s a big man, with swarthy skin and a bright brown beard. They say he’s a strong personality, dazzling to those who come in contact with him. But he keeps aloof.” He gestured to an aide standing by. “We have pictures of him and Lydis. Bring them.”
“And Shry,” Spartak said. “In what way is he a cripple?”
“Hunchbacked. As though some monstrous growth covered him from neck to waist, bulging out obscenely. Ah, here are the pictures. You’ll find them everywhere on Asconel now, venerated like idols by the stupid citizens!”
He slammed them down on the table. Vix, who had requested information about Bucyon and Lydis, studied them with care, lingering longest on the portrait of the woman.