IV
Rohbar glared, but I could have smiled. Smiled in welcome. He was extricating me from a most embarrassing position. I faced him and spoke steadily.
“My friend, you were rude to me at our first meeting. Now you threaten. I begin to think you don’t like me, and that we’ll only be happy shedding each other’s blood.”
“Amen to that!” he snarled. And to Doriza: “Get out, get away from him.”
I moved a step closer, and rapped him on the chest with my knuckles. “She came to speak courteously to me, and she shall go only if she so desires.” As I spoke, I reflected that she might be worth fighting for, after all. I turned to her.
“Doriza, is this true? Do you belong to Rohbar.”
She shook her bright head, and for once her eyes did not meet mine. I felt a sudden joy and relief, such as Elonie’s frank throwing of herself at my head could not bring.
But Rohbar had drawn his pistol-weapon. Another moment, and he would have brought it in line with my chest. But I caught his weapon wrist in my left hand, and with the heel of my right I whacked him solidly on his bearded chin. His head bobbed, and a moment later I had twisted the pistol away from him, throwing it back into the niche. A moment later, Gederr and several others had hurried in, seizing him. He struggled and cursed.
“Put him under arrest!” Gederr bade, and Rohbar ceased struggling. He drew himself up.
“So that’s it!” he roared. “Do you think you dare treat me thus, Gederr? I do not care if you’re of the Council—I know a secret very close and very valuable—”
“Stop his mouth!” Elonie was imploring, and he cursed her, too.
“It seems,” I put in, “that Rohbar makes a practice of rudeness to women.”
I got smiles from Elonie and Doriza both, and Rohbar fairly blackened in the face as he strove to pull free and get at me.
“You!” he choked. “Yandro you call yourself—you’re a fraud, a figurehead, foisted by these scheming, sneaking Council folk—a living lie!”
“Let him go,” I bade those who held him. “Nobody says ‘lie’ to me and goes unpunished.”
There was silence, as far as my voice had reached. Only in the background did music and pleasant conversation continue. It was Elonie who spoke first:
“Yandro, you have privileged me in my speech to you. May I dare point out that this is dangerous—that Rohbar, long a guard officer, is skilled in every weapon—”
“Elonie, you now make it impossible for me to withdraw, without being thought cowardly,” I said. I put my hand to the saber I wore. “Is there a quiet place apart? Let the two of us fight.”
Rohbar was quiet again, in the hands of his captors. He now spoke, almost as gently as Elonie: “I have no friends here. The fight might not be fair.”
“Nonsense,” I snapped, and looked past the little group. There was a face I knew—the man with the deep voice. “You,” I hailed him, “come here.”
He came respectfully, and stood at attention.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Klob is my name, great Yandro. Under-officer of the guard.”
“Klob, do you know Rohbar?”
“I do, sir.”
“If I, Yandro, ordered you to act as second for a man in a duel, would you perform the office faithfully?”
He braced more stiffly to attention. “Though I died for it, sir.”
“You shall not die, but be commended if you do well. Represent Rohbar in the formal duel he is about to fight.”
“As Yandro commands. And his adversary—the man he will fight?”
“Me.”
Klob was embarrassed, and so were the others. I spoke sharply. “Am I the one you take for your war leader? Then obey. This man has threatened me. I have been placed in a position where I must fight or be thought cowardly. Come into this passageway.”
They followed me. Nobody was in the corridor. I spoke again, and they released Rohbar. “What weapon?” I asked him.
“Ray-sabers,” he growled, and drew his. A touch of his thumb on the hilt-stud, and it glowed brilliantly.
“I shall be second to Yandro, if it pleases him.” That was Doriza, my appointed aide. But I waved her back.
“Since we fight, partially at least, for you, it is not well that you take, sides,” I reminded. “I need no seconds. If play does not continue fair, I can change it.”
I drew my own ray-saber. My thumb, seemingly wiser than my blank brain, touched the stud and the blade pulsed out its heat-rays. Those of the Council who had come along moved back out of the way. Rohbar and I touched blades, and the fight was on.
From the first, it was no contest.
Rohbar wore armor, on chest and head, while I fought without. He was in a cold rage, and I was only puzzled. Despite his lesser height, he had strangely long arms, that gave him an inch or two of reach beyond mine. But he was like a child before me. Indeed, I had leisure to observe myself, to wonder and puzzle over my own skill. I knew this weapon, that should be strange to me, as if it were born a part of me. Rohbar slashed and fenced; I parried easily, almost effortlessly. Avoiding an engagement, I clanged home against his armored flank. He moaned and swore, for even through that metal protection the heat of the blade must have hurt him. A moment later I sped a backhand blow that knocked his helmet flying. He threw caution to the winds, and charged close. So sudden was his attack that I was caught almost unawares, and parried his blade within inches of my own chin. Our blades crossed, close to the guards, and we stood for a moment looking into each other’s eyes at a bare foot’s distance.
“You ignorant fool!” he spat at me. “To be made a tool, and then to believe—”
“Silence, you crawling informer!” bawled Gederr, and his deadly warning startled Rohbar, who sprang back from me. At the same time I advanced in my turn, touched his blade as if to engage, then cut under quickly and came solidly home where the neck and shoulders join.
The ray-mechanism in my weapon hummed and sang. A great red spark leaped from the point of contact, and Rohbar, stricken with heat and current alike, spun around like a top. His saber fell, and he went down beside it. There was life in him, for he struggled up on an elbow, turning an agonized face toward me.
“You haven’t forgotten that skill!” he cried, as if charging me with a crime. “Have you forgotten anything, then? Are you truly here without memory, or are you a traitor to—”
Gederr stepped close to him. He leveled a pistol-device, which threw rays. Rohbar suddenly lacked a head.
“That was the most merciful thing to do,” said Gederr, holstering his weapon. “Send someone to drag the rest of him away.” He faced me. “Yandro will please accept my admiring congratulations. What better proof of his great gifts and high destiny than this easy conquest of one who was judged skilful with the ray-saber.” He strode toward the sound of faint music. “Come, you others. The entertainment has certainly not been spoiled.”
I switched off my saber’s power, and sheathed it. I had just killed a man, because I felt I had to, but I had no sense of triumph. I walked at the rear of the group, Doriza moving respectfully beside me.
“Doriza,” I said, “he tried to tell me something. What?”
She shook her head. “I did not know Rohbar’s mind.”
“Yet he felt close to you. Wanted to fight to keep you from me. That’s another thing. Why did you ask me if I wanted you?”
She smiled a little, with a certain shy humor. “Do not all things on Dondromogon belong to Yandro?”
I smiled back. “Doriza, perhaps I should act complimented. Yet it seems to me that Gederr and Elonie told you to make the offer. And I’m not sure—I can say this to my personal aide, can’t I?—that I want any favors at their hands.”
“Or at mine?” And she smiled again.
“Come off it, Doriza, you’re not the best of flirts. Shall we take a drink together? It wasn’t pleasant, killing that man, though you don’t seem to mourn him.”
Back in the great chamber, a sort of cloud of light was thrown in the center by several reflectors, and a sort of motion picture show was going on in the midst of it. I drank much, but the wine did not affect me greatly. Finally I felt tired, and said so. Gederr and Doriza escorted me to sumptuous apartments, where I quickly slept.
I do not know how many hours I lay asleep, but I woke refreshed. A breakfast of strange synthetic foods was waiting, on a lift that rode up in a slot of the wall. I ate with relish, took a brisk shower in a room behind my sleeping quarters, and resumed the costume of Yandro. Then came a buzz at the door, and a voice came through a speaker system: “Gederr requests that Yandro admit him.”
I opened the door. Gederr was there, and Doriza behind him. I felt the gaze of her blue eyes, very soft and pretty. Gederr smiled respectfully.
“We have talked much about the duel, we of the Council. It is agreed that great Yandro’s value is more than inspirational. If a single combat could be arranged, with some champion of the Newcomers, ill be their fate! Some boasting successor to Barak—”
“Barak,” I repeated and wondered again why his name stuck so in my fogged mind. “I—I do not know how to say it, but I seek no quarrel with Barak. I do not fear him, or anyone else; but I do not wish to fight him.”
“Barak is dead,” snapped Gederr, quite ungraciously. “Yandro need have no apprehensions.”
“I have said I fear nobody,” I reminded, stiff and lofty.
Gederr bowed. “Who could doubt it? But to return to our talk of battle; at the South Pole an inner blaze of flame from within Dondromogon has kept opposing forces from contacting each other. Only here at the North Pole can we fight, and there has been a lull since—since the destruction of their champion, Barak. We have taken advantage to hollow out a great pocket underground. See, I will show you.”
He went to a little televiso screen, and switched on the power, then dialed. I saw a great domed cavern, larger than the hemisphere room of last night’s recreation period. Around its edges toiled men with ray-batons, shaping and enlarging.
“Elsewhere we have set up cunning defenses,” explained Gederr. “Great force-fields, that interfere with their digging advance. But at one point we have purposely allowed their advance tunnels to come along easily. What you see here is behind that point. We fall back—”
“Fall back?” I repeated.
Gederr winked. “Their forces will follow, and fill this chamber. Beyond, we have entrenchments, sortie tunnels, weapons. And the floor of the chamber is mined—enough explosive even to wreck those power-shields. Their van, with its heavy equipment, will perish. We’ll wipe out the others easily!”
“How many?” ventured Doriza.
“Who can say?” Gederr responded. “They are many, but most of them must work to sustain life and action in the section of Dondromogon they have seized. They have not the sunken cities, the synthesizing advances, the other time-seasoned devices for living that we have developed. Several hundred fighting men, not many more than ours, are all that can be sent against us.”
“Are they brave?” I demanded.
“They have stubborn courage. They will rush after their comrades who fall. Perhaps if we capture a few, they will try a rescue. It will bring them to defeat—us to glory!”
His voice rose in exultation, and I chose to disagree.
“Not glory, Gederr. We can claim cunning for such a plan—yes. The pride of successful ambush and deceit—yes. But there is hardly any glory in trickery. Not as I see it, anyway.”
He bowed again. “Great Yandro is bravest of the brave, but his thoughts are those of the First Comers, ages ago. He does not understand modern sophistication and practicality.”
“I understand the practicality,” I assured him, “but I don’t glory in it. A fair combat, like the one last night with Rohbar, is like a game—grim, but like a game. Not so these strategems and pitfalls, which are only an unpleasant job to be done.”
“The strategems need not affect Yandro,” stated Gederr. “As for a simple single combat, I say that will be arranged. We broadcast, Yandro will remember, a warning and a challenge. The enemy has sent back a message that they are making ready a fighter to face anyone we can furnish.”
“I see,” said I. “Well, they speak my language.” Both Doriza and Gederr started violently, and stared. “Probably they are simple of battle-viewpoint, like me. They’ll blunder easily into your trap.” I said those last two words to assure Gederr that I considered the whole deception his. “Now, when is all this to happen?”
“Perhaps within twenty hours. Perhaps within thirty.”
“I feel like a puppet,” I said. “Like the figurehead poor Rohbar called me. Perhaps I am, and perhaps it is as well, because I’m not in tune with your strategy. Understand me, I see its need and its practicability. That is all I see, though.”
“Will Yandro walk forth?” asked Doriza. “There are troops waiting to be reviewed.”
We went into a corridor, and entered one of the purring vehicles. It took us away—toward the fighting sector, I judged—and I dismounted in a great low stretch of subterranean cavern. This was lighted by great glowing bulbs hung to the ceiling, and men were drawn up in triple rows, armed and at attention. An officer was speaking to them, and toward one side stood the two unarmed men, under guard.
“Not yet, mighty Yandro,” counselled Doriza beside me. “There is—a ceremony.”
I could hear the officer speaking, though not clearly:
“In this moment, the eve of certain triumph over the enemy, two men see fit to circulate lies that calculate to dismay and destroy our plans. For them is only one fate, as judged by the Council. Attention to that fate!”
The two unarmed men were marched forward. I stared and scowled.
“I’ve seen them before,” I said to Doriza. “The broad face of one—the figure of the other! Aren’t they—”
“Yes!” Doriza said tonelessly.
The officer lifted his hand, with a disintegrator pistol in it. Pale green rays leaped. The two familiar figures gyrated, great parts of them vanished. They fell, and two men carried the bodies away.
“They were the two guards I first met!” I cried.
“Yes,” she agreed softly. “Men who served under Rohbar, and who spoke rebelliously because Yandro killed him. They said that Yandro was not Yandro.”
I smiled ruefully. “From the first they didn’t seem to believe that. Nor did Rohbar. Nor did you, until Sporr identified me.” I looked into her blue eyes, calculatingly. “It comes to mind, Doriza, that of all who doubted me you are the only one left alive.”
“I, too, have thought that,” she said, and her voice was quiet but not frightened. “Perhaps my turn is next.”
I shook my head. “I seem to have power on Dondromogon, and I will not let you be destroyed without more warrant than I see now.”
“Yandro is kind,” she said.
“And Doriza is attractive,” I rejoined. “Well, that unpleasant little formality seems to be at an end. Shall we inspect the troops?”
So saying, I moved forward. The officer in charge saluted and accompanied me on my inspection. The first two ranks of soldiers were men of various builds and feature, solemn-looking fellows for the most part. The first rank was headed by Klob, whom I had named for Rohbar’s second last night. I was struck by the efficient air of their armor and equipment, as contrasted with their almost frail physiques. Again I thought, the stock of Dondromogon’s natives must be running down.
The third rank was women.
They, too, wore armor, and bore weapons and tools, but I judged that they were more of a reserve than a first fighting force. More thoughts coursed through my head—if my earlier memories were departed, they left the more room for recent happenings and speeches. The Council had insisted that it was necessary to keep the population of Dondromogon small, for the sake of good living. Yet it seemed false reasoning if even women must be armed for battle. And the women, on the whole, were better specimens than the men. They were not large—none anywhere near as tall as Elonie or as compactly vigorous as Doriza—but seemed healthy and intelligent for the most part, and some were even handsome. One or two gave me an appraising, admiring look, such as soldiers should not give frankly to commanders.
I concluded the inspection, and returned to a position in front of the force. “At ease,” I bade them. “I have words to say.
“Some, at least, must have seen me last night at the recreation hour. I spoke then as to the general population of Dondromogon. Now I speak to you specifically, as soldiers facing battle duty. Your commanders think that the time is at hand for a victorious termination of the war with those strangers you call the Newcomers.”
I paused, and watched the expressions of my listeners. At the phrase, “termination of the war,” some of them positively yearned. As Gederr had admitted, the commoners of Dondromogon wanted no more fighting. Perhaps my coming was indeed by providence, to bring peace. A better peace, I now decided, than they had ever known.
“When the war is over,” I went on, “I propose to lead you still. Since I am accepted as a leader, I have a right to do that. It seems that your health and happiness will be bettered if, in some way, we achieve a new conquest—conquest of the outdoors. There may be storms, but there are also natural sunlight and fresh air. Yes, and perhaps fresh natural foods, that will strengthen you more than synthetics. Does that appeal to you?”
Plainly it did.
“As to the Newcomers, I do not know them. Yet it seems that, with the fighting ended, some friendly agreement may be reached. If they do not harm us, they may help us. That will follow victory. I feel thus assured. That is all I have to say.” I faced the officer in charge. “Take over.”
Doriza and I walked away, back to our vehicle. “Where now?” I asked.
For answer, she pointed to a white oblong on the inner wall of the vehicle. It was a little screen, on which figures appeared. “Gederr requests that we return to him. He feels that we may be too close to possible violent action, and he is not yet ready that Yandro risk himself.”
We rolled back toward the main passages of the community, and eventually to an office, where Gederr was in close, muttered conversation with Sporr and Elonie. They greeted my entrance in various ways—Sporr with a senile smirk that he hoped was ingratiating, Elonie with a most inviting smile, Gederr with blank embarrassment. Gederr bowed and gestured toward an inner door. “Will Yandro pleasure me with a private conference?”
I bowed in turn, and followed him in.
“I heard Yandro’s words to the troops, by speaker system,” he began silkily. “Eloquent and inspiring—but Yandro must realize some salient facts.”
“Such as?” I prompted.
“The talk of friendly agreement with the Newcomers—ill be their fate! They must be wiped clean off of Dondromogon.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, and he smiled.
“I am honored that Yandro agrees so quickly—”
“I said, perhaps. Because I do not know the Newcomers as yet. It may be that they deserve death to the last man. But they may also deserve honorable treatment, alliance even.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but interruption came from outside. Sounds of struggle, and the cry of Doriza:
“Help me—help!”
I bounded to the door and tore it open, injuring the automatic lock. An officer stood in the outer office, and two soldiers had Doriza by the wrists. I made a lunge, knocked one of them spinning against a wall. “What is this?” I roared. “She is my aide.”
“Her arrest has been commanded,” spoke up Elonie in a sullen voice.
“Who commanded it? I countermand it!” I faced the roomful of protesting faces. “You call me Yandro, your leader from divine source. Let me say that nothing will happen to Doriza except by my will.”
Gederr spoke from the inner doorway: “Great Yandro speaks in riddles. I had thought that he had no attachment for Doriza.”
“Oh, you tried to make me a gift of her last night,” I exploded, “but that has nothing to do with the present case. Doriza lives. She remains free. Understand?”
“Perhaps,” mused Sporr, as if to himself. “There have been accidents. …”
“Come,” I said to Doriza. “To my quarters.” I faced the others again. “Danger to her shall be answered by me. Is it understood?”
We rode silently in the vehicle, and came to the rooms set aside for me. Once inside, I made sure that speaking tubes and televiso were turned off. Then:
“Doriza! There are things I do not know. Tell them to me.”
She hung her head. “They would have seen me dead, like the others, to shut my mouth.”
“And I saved you. Now speak. All I seem to find familiar is the name of Barak.”
She looked up again. “You remember the name?”
“Faintly. Vaguely. But what is happening just beyond my knowledge?”
She caught me by the forearm, her small, strong hands gripped like vises.
“I’ll tell you! Tell you everything! Those devils of the Council have long exploited and drained Dondromogon—with lies about the First Comers, and the exclusive use of science! The Newcomers are to be trapped through you, the natives deluded through you! But you—you are to die when your usefulness is through!”
“They’d do that?” I demanded. “After they name me as Yandro, their legendary hero?”
“That’s part of the great lie!” And Doriza was sobbing. “You aren’t Yandro—you’re Barak of the Newcomers!”