III
She smiled, as if I had complimented her. “Oh, the man was up for elimination. He was supernumerary. Of course, if he had succeeded in his capture of prisoners and one of the devices that make those power-shields—”
I remembered what Stribakar had said to Gederr. “He was brave,” I said, “and it was a shame that he had to die. You want me to be a leader in war like that? I have other ideas of warfare.”
All of them looked at me, and one spoke from behind Gederr: “We had hoped that Yandro would say that. Yandro means to lead us in person—in a great and decisive battle.”
“At least it would be cleaner than this mole-digging and sneaking,” I said hotly.
Gederr rose. “Sporr, tune in whatever terminal you can find among the Newcomers. I shall say something to them.”
Obediently Sporr manipulated levers, push-buttons and dials near the speaking-tube. Gederr crossed to it and spoke harshly:
“Newcomers, ill be your fate! Your defeat is at hand! We give you warning! Our engines will burrow a mighty cave near the north pole. Let you come there, with all your hosts—and so shall we, so shall we!” His voice rose to a scream. “With us—leading us—comes the greatest fighter that Dondromogon has ever known, and the sight of him shall break your hearts!”
My ears rang, as the ears of all listeners must have rung, with those last words. Gederr turned away, and Sporr dialed the power off.
“Now,” Gederr said, “is there not some plan for amusement? A pleasant hour in the Pavilion? Great Yandro’s heart is troubled—for it is as great as himself—by thoughts of war and its pains. Let him come with us for solace.”
“Amen to that,” said Elonie, and she walked toward me. I rose, and she slid her bare arm through mine. Her face was close to mine, smiling and full of invitation. It seemed that Doriza was going to say something, but Elonie spoke first: “He will need no military aide, Doriza. Nothing military about the Pavilion, you remember.”
We walked out together—Elonie and myself, then the others. We found a wider corridor, and one full of hum and motion. The smooth floor of the passage was seamed with metal-shod grooves, in which moved vehicles—ovoid vehicles, of various sizes, balancing, it seemed, on one whirring wheel apiece. Elonie escorted me to one such car, which stood poised on its wheel like a dancer on tiptoe. There was room inside for the two of us only, among luxurious cushions. At her respectful invitation I sat inside, and she operated controls.
“Thus we travel in this city,” she chatted as we rolled along. “Not swiftly, of course, in this nor in our other city, near the South Pole. The real speed is in the way-tunnels between.”
“Way-tunnels the width of a world?” I asked, wondering. “How can only seven hundred persons do such work?”
“You saw the ray-digger on the televiso. There are larger and more complex diggers of that type, by which we can journey almost anywhere underground—clear through the core of Dondromogon and up into Newcomer lands, were it not for the inner fires. Perhaps we shall dig them out by the roots in time, despite their defenses.”
Once again I thought of so much science and wealth, and of people dying because their rulers thought seven hundred were none too few to enjoy the benefits of a world.
We stopped down a fork of the vehicle-corridor, and Elonie dismounted before another of the metal curtain-doors. At her touch of a button and a word into a speaking tube, it opened to us. We passed into a smaller passageway, and then out into a place of aching beauty.
My first impression was of pastel lights, changing and mingling constantly—blue, violet, pink, green, orchid, pale. They struck from starlike points in a great domed ceiling, over a floor like a mirror. And the pastel-tinted air was filled with music, soft but penetrating and heady. There was a breeze from somewhere, scented and warm. In and out of other doorways across the floor wandered figures, male and female, murmuring together and helping themselves to cups from great trestles and tables.
“The refreshments are provided,” Elonie told me softly. “We need not wait for the others. Come, Yandro. They have poured wine—Yandro knows what wine is? And we have music, perfume, light, laughter, and for companions all of Dondromogon.”
“All?” I repeated.
“All save those on guard or garrison duty. Come, mighty one. Know happiness that is worth fighting and conquering to keep.”
She tugged at my arm, urging me toward the wine-tables.
And now there was a louder murmur, excitement and even apprehension, at my entrance. I suppose I was an extraordinary figure—taller than any person there, indeed none were anywhere near my height save the nobly proportioned Elonie herself. And I was more sinewy, and darker, as if of another race entirely. Timid memories struggled somewhere within me, as if knocking at the closed doors of my consciousness. Somewhere, somehow in the past, things had happened that might explain so much, make my present position clearer to me.
Gederr was following close behind, muttering something to Doriza. Then he pressed on beyond me, and mounted a sort of dais or platform.
“You of Dondromogon!” he called, and such was his voice, or perhaps the acoustic properties of that hemispheric room, that all could hear him easily. “Have you not heard rumors of a great happening? The ancient legend of a mighty leader to come among us—”
“Yandro!” cried a deep-voiced fellow in the front belt of listeners. His eyes were on me, studying, questioning.
“Yes, Yandro, champion of our cause, sent by the First Comers themselves!” That was Elonie, and with a hand on my elbow she urged me up on the platform beside Gederr.
Applause burst out, some of it a little drunken, but quite hearty and honest. “Yandro!” cried the deep-voiced man again, and others took it up: “Yandro! Yandro!” Whatever my own doubts, they had none.
Gederr held up an authoritative hand for silence. “He came from far in space and time, and one look will assure you of his leadership. The time for deliverance is at hand, men and women of Dondromogon! We trust in mighty Yandro!”
There was louder applause, in the midst of which Gederr sidled close. “Speak to them,” he mumbled in my ear.
Like him, I lifted a hand for silence. It came, and I eyed my audience, as I sought for words to speak.
The first thought that came was that, if Elonie were right and these people were the selected best of the race, then Dondromogon was decadently peopled. Not only were they smallish and mostly frail, but few had a distinguished or aggressive cast of countenance. The Council members had been wise-seeming, perhaps, but even they had not struck me as healthy types. To one side stood Doriza, militarily at attention, blue eyes fast upon me—she was a notable exception, compact and strong and healthy of body and mind, and at the same time quite as feminine as the more flashy and languorous Elonie just beside my platform. Through the rear ranks of listeners moved old white-bearded Sporr, who had much to say to certain members of the throng, perhaps explaining me and my legend.
“Friends,” I began at last, “I am new here. A little child might have more experience of your ways and wishes. Yet it becomes apparent that great service is expected of me, and such a service I would greatly love to do.”
“Hear! Hear! Wise are the words of Yandro!” Thus went up a new chorus. I felt reassured, and spoke more confidently.
“Your Council has explained much. Now I come to the people represented by that Council. If I am to help, you are to explain how. For the voice of a people is seldom wrong or foolish.”
“Wise are the words!” They chorused again, and the man with the deep voice suddenly put up his hand and moved forward. I saw that he had the armor and weapons of a soldier, and in one hand he held a cup, from which he had been drinking. He was fairly well knit for a Dondromogonian, and, though his face was simple, it was manly enough. He cleared his throat diffidently.
“We have been told of Yandro’s coming, throughout our halls and dwellings,” he began. “That he should ask for our word is an honor. But since he asks, I make bold to reply—” He choked a little. “Peace!” he cried hoarsely. “Peace—and comfort—”
“Peace! Peace!” cried the others around him, and “Peace!” bellowed hundreds of voices.
I was a little perplexed. After the warlike talk of the Council, this was different, and disturbing. But Gederr, beside me was not at a loss.
“Peace you shall have, as Yandro’s gift!” he cried. “The Newcomers—ill be their fate—have been warned and promised of his coming, and now they shake in dread! He shall lead you to victory, complete victory, and the fruits of victory!”
It was powerfully said, and the cheering was greater than ever. Under cover of the din, Gederr took my elbow and escorted me from the platform.
“They have been despondent, Yandro. They grow unwilling to face death and wounds. But you have changed all that. Hark to their cries of your name! Now there shall be no more speaking, only happiness.”
Elonie had joined us again. Her hand dropped warmly over mine. “This way,” she bade. “This wine is for the Council only—the best on Dondromogon. Honor us by taking some.”
She gave me a goblet, of some transparent substance clasped in bright metal, and brimming with a red liquor. I took it with a bow, and she lifted her own goblet. As we drank together, I had another impression of Doriza’s studying, wondering eyes. Did the warrior-woman, appointed as my military aide, disapprove? But the wine was excellent, and my spirits rose.
“Come,” said Elonie. Her arm was through mine again, warm and gently urging. She led me toward a niche, set deep and shadowy into the wall. There was a divan with cushions, and a table with cups and flagons for drinking. The music had begun again, and some of the people were dancing together.
“Yandro is gracious to grant me these moments alone,” purred Elonie. “Yandro is overwhelming.”
“Can’t we drop the third person?” I asked. “I do not feel much taste for formalities.”
She clutched at that with a little cry of gladness and her eyes and smile were radiant. “You offer me intimacy!” she exclaimed. “It’s honor—it thrills—” She lifted her glass. “Drink again, I beg you! You and I shall drink to each other.”
“Why not?” I said, and touched her glass with mine. “To you, Elonie.”
“To you, Yandro, my dear lord!”
The wine was galvanizingly strong. I felt my ears ring a little, and—why not admit it?—Elonie’s nearness and adulation were wine in themselves. She leaned toward me on the divan, so that our bare shoulders touched. Her lips, full and trembling, were very close.
“Yandro,” she whispered. “Yandro … you could make me happy, and yourself happy, too. …”
Suddenly I shook my head a little, to clear it. For her eyes, a moment ago so fascinating, suddenly made me uneasy. It was as if claws had reached from their brightness and fastened upon me. She steadfastly fixed my gaze with hers.
“Yandro …” Her voice was soft, monotonous. “All is well with you … trust us, trust me, Elonie … I shall guide you to victory, you need have no qualms …”
Her arm stole across my chest, curved around my neck. She drew my head toward hers. Her brilliant eyes seemed to fill the whole field of my vision, impelling, hypnotic—
Hypnotic—that was it!
The strange half-lost thoughts from my unknown former life sized the idea and held it up to me. Danger, danger, they were crying at me. Most ungallantly I took her wrist and disengaged myself from her embrace.
“Since I am destined for war, is there time for this?” I asked, trying to laugh.
“Is there not?” she murmured.
I rose from where I sat, and sipped more wine. Where it had fuddled me before, it cleared me now. “Elonie, you are charming. I do not know whether I have standards by which to judge, but you do things to men. Perhaps I should have time to make up my own mind.”
“If I have offended—” she began to stammer.
“Oh, not in the least. But there is so much for me to be sure of.”
She, too, rose, and left me without a word. Had I made her angry? Yet her last words had been of apology. I sat down again, alone and mystified.
But I did not remain alone for more than two minutes. Outside the niche, Elonie was talking to Gederr. Gederr scowled, nodded, then with an air of inspiration beckoned to Doriza. Doriza joined them, listened respectfully to Gederr. Finally she nodded, as if in acceptance of orders, and walked toward me.
I rose to meet her. She looked me steadily in the eye, but when she spoke it was hesitantly, and with a shyness most womanly, too womanly for a military person.
“Great Yandro is not pleased with Elonie of the Council. Is it possible that he would prefer another woman—me?”
Just like that, she offered herself. And if ever I had made up my mind in a hurry, it had been to the effect that Doriza was nothing but reserve and prudence.
What answer I might be able to give was suddenly unnecessary.
Just outside the niche angry voices rose. An officer, all fair beard and flapping cloak, was accosting Gederr with something less than the respect due a member of the Council.
“I say, she was promised to me—to me! And to me she goes, for my part in bringing him to you!”
“Silence, Rohbar,” commanded Gederr in a voice as sharp as a dagger, but the officer pushed him roughly aside and strode into the niche.
It was the man who had interviewed me after my first capture. His pale eyes gave off sparks in the subdued light, and one hand sought the hilt of his pistol.
“Yandro, they call you!” he flung out. “Yandro, sent from out of space and time to Dondromogon! Well, be that true or no, Doriza is not for you—and deny me if you dare! I’ll send you back out of space and time, with whatever weapon you choose!”