Dwight V. Swain

“ Visibly, Vydys stiffened. Her head came round—dark eyes flashing, jet hair ashimmer; and when she spoke her words were edged with fury. "Have a care, Zenaor! I've no taste for taunts, even from the chief of barons."
"The truth is no taunt." Zenaor gave not a fraction. "Because pain is your passion, you drive our serfs to rebellion."
"Rebellion—!" The woman's eyes glinted like crater diamonds. "How many of the Baemae have flown south with their cursed discs already, off to the djevoda ranges? There lies your rebellion—and only torture will stop it!" ”

“ Green fire seared through the night, mingling with the crashing thunder of some other, heavier weapon. Craig glimpsed a djevoda torn asunder in mid-stride, its six massive legs gone suddenly limp and sprawling.
But no human power could stop that hurtling, murderous tidal wave of flesh. Through the whole column the djevodas raged—crushing carriers, overturning them, stomping them to masses of shapeless metal.
At the far end of the pass, the last of the vehicles wheeled about in blind, desperate haste. Engines roaring, they raced for the safety of the open grasslands. ”

“ As one, the assembled Kukzubas barons and their ladies pressed closer about the pit-rail, tense and eager with anticipation.
High on his dais, Lord Zenaor chuckled. "A pretty thing, is she not, Vydys?" he queried of the woman who sat beside him, dark vision of sinister beauty.
Hot with strange passion, the woman's eyes clung to the cringing figure in the pit. The pink tip of her tongue flicked at her lips. "If you can see your way to calling any Baemae woman pretty. For my part, I prefer her in her proper role, as prey here in the games." ”

“ Craig came close behind her. "Time's short."
She shrugged; leaned against him for a moment. "Why do you want her, Earthman—that pale slut, Narla?"
Involuntarily, Craig stiffened, then stood wooden-faced, unmoving. "Why does any man want a woman, my lady?"
"A woman—?" Vydys' laugh held an edge of scorn ... or was it fury? "You call that creature a woman, Earthman? There's water in her veins, not blood!" ”

“ The scene below was like some vast migration—a sudden shift that turned the behemoths ever northward towards the barrier that separated this free land from the tyranny of the Kukzubas barons.
Too, these new herds were moving faster, hardly pausing to tusk up the rich roots on which the monsters fed.
They crossed a river. Bukal drifted his disc in close to Craig's. "Watch, now. From here on we may find ourobos."
Even as he spoke, a wild scream of rage, of terror, rose from a distant group of the djevoda. ”

“ Craig's lips were dry. His voice shook. "Then—this planet, Lysor—"
"Lysor is doomed, you mean?" Triumph rang in the chief barons' voice. "Indeed it is, alien! Now that I've brought the ourobos from Xumar, nothing can stop them! Your sacrifice is wasted! There's barely enough tanagree oil to treat a handful of our barons!"
Craig choked. "No, Zenaor! Not even you could doom a whole race—"
But Zenaor still was speaking: "This is my answer to the free Baemae, Earthman! They wanted Lysor—they shall have it! ”

“ Up on the dais, the Baemae youth surged to his feet—fists clenched, face working.
Vydys laughed aloud ... a throaty chortle, somehow hideous, more befitting fiend than woman. "Ah, Zenaor! Was that not well turned?" Her features shone with strange, evil radiance.
The chief of barons shrugged, face wooden.
Down in the ring, the roller came to rest. Panting, shaking, the Baemae girl scrambled to her feet.
Vydys' smooth brow furrowed. Slowly, the roller began to move again—in a spiral, this time, circling and converging on its fear-straught prey. ”

“ He shrugged sullenly. "All I know is that a one called Tumek learned of some new weapon you planned to use against the free Baemae in the djevoda lands to the south. Secretly, then, he sent word to the Federation, saying that if you ever used the thing you planned, it would imperil all other worlds as well as ours."
No flicker of emotion showed in Zenaor's lean, high-boned face. "And do you believe him?"
"Who am I to know or judge? Baemae are only good for dying!" The youth gave vent to a bitter laugh. "But at least the far Federation thought the peril was worth a starship." ”

“ Craig crept back to his own saucer and wheeled it out into the open. Ten seconds later he, too, was climbing into Lysor's dark night sky.
Climbing—to what end, with every man's hand against him? Bukal or Zenaor, Baemae or barons, one and all sought his blood.
All but Narla.
Somehow, he had to reach her.
Grim, tight-lipped, he set a course southeast, veering just far enough north of the village so that he might pass Vydys' serfs undetected. Their very numbers might slow them. There was at least a bare chance that a lone man might reach Narla ahead of them. ”

“ Bleakly, Craig turned and looked back across the grasslands.
No longer were they a serfman's refuge. Not now. Not with the ourobos' slime upon them.
A flurry of movement caught his eye. Faintly, he heard djevoda bellow panic.
The panic that came with the ourobos. The same kind that turned free Baemae into wolves, hunting down his Narla.
"If you do not give them up, I'll know my daughter's dead and you will die with her!" the amplifier shrieked. "Give her up, Baemae! Give her up and live! Why should you care what happens to the alien, Nesom?" ”

“ Still climbing, the whole flight topped the crest of the hills behind the village.
Here browsed a great herd of the animals Craig had seen grazing. Sweeping low over them, the discs wheeled towards a log stockade atop a knoll, hovered above it for a moment, and then settled slowly.
At last Craig's feet touched ground inside the stockade. Shaking, he sank to the grass, fumbling to free his wrist from the whiplash.
It came free. Scrambling up, he stumbled to where Narla lay in a crumpled, sobbing heap, and tugged loose the lash that held her. ”

“ Craig stepped away from her, not answering.
For an instant lines of quick anger slashed Vydys' face. Then the tempest faded. Together, the two of them, they went out through the corridor to the force shaft. Rode it down in pulsing silence to the seventh level. Walked echoing halls where the tension crawled like a living thing.
Ahead, an intersection loomed. Down the right-hand passage, a guard paced slowly.
Vydys breathed in sharply. "There—he watches over Zenaor's chambers!" ”

“ For an instant the woman's nostrils flared. Then, once again, she was close to him—her breasts, her body, smooth and firm against him. "Please, Earthman! Do not make me believe that you are one of those who can love no woman!"
Craig held his silence.
A flush came to Vydys' dark, lovely face. She stepped back, eyes bright with anger. "Is it another, then—that blonde hag, Narla?"
Craig's fists clenched. His shoulders stiffened.
"It is, then! You'd scorn me for her!" Vydys' scarlet lips peeled back. "Very well! You shall have her—as soon as you give me the secret of the crystal!" ”

“ Men's faces paled, and women shrank back as if to hide behind their partners.
Beside Craig, Narla whispered, "That man—he is my father's chief of guards, the master of the rollers! They must already guess you're on your way to Tumek—"
Once more, Craig glanced round at the doorway—and found himself staring straight into the guard-chief's eyes.
For a taut, vibrant moment the silence echoed. Then the man in the doorway lashed, "On your feet, Earthling!"
Craig felt Narla's nails dig into his arm. Her whisper hissed so faint it might have been imagination: "Window—room behind this...." ”

“ Bukal begged, "Give it up, Craig Nesom. There is no hope. Besides, this is between the Kukzubas, the barons. Vydys seized your Narla only as a weapon against Lord Zenaor. She will not harm her."
Craig cursed him.
The bronzed Baemae's lips drew thin. "What would you have us do, then, alien? Throw our discs against her defenses? Gut ourselves on her guards' weapons?"
Bleakly, Craig stared up at the shining ramparts. Bitterness seethed in him.
And yet ... was it his right to be bitter? These were brave men, dedicated to the Baemae's fight against the barons. But Narla was not of them. ”

“ Craig held his voice cold and level: "Where's Zenaor?"
"At ... this hour?" The swollen lips bubbled. "Down—seventh level."
"And between?"
"The guest chambers—Lady Vydys—her party."
"Vydys...." Craig paused—frowning, searching his memory. Where had he heard that name before? From Tumek, or Narla? Or in a report, while he briefed for this mission?
He scowled, probing. "Why are you here, then, when this level's empty?"
"Why—? With Vydys in the tower?" The bloodshot eyes widened. "My lord Zenaor loves life. He knows better than to trust her." ”

“ I seek a man of blood and iron as well as passion—a champion to aid me against Zenaor."
In spite of himself, Craig smiled thinly. "Some might call that a tribute. To me, it seems left-handed."
Vydys frowned, ever so slightly. "I do not understand you, alien. Would it be such punishment to sit beside me, ruling Lysor?" And then, eager again: "For we can do it, with your valor and the weapon they say you received from the one called Tumek."
"The weapon—!"
"Yes. A crystal, to win power even over the Xumarian ourobos my spies say Zenaor plans to use against the Baemae. You have it, do you not?" ”

“ One of Zenaor's men clawed past it, whipping up a weapon that might have been a pistol.
The old serf threw himself upon the guardsman.
Green fire blazed. The serf fell back.
Craig dropped from the window-sill into an alley. The haze of pain was clearing now. He could run again, though his right arm still trailed useless at his side.
Desperate, a hunted thing, he plunged off down the passage.
More cries behind him. More green fire blazing.
But these ancient alleys were like a maze, a rabbit-warren. Given ten seconds' lead, a man had at least a gambler's chance to lose himself, find safety. ”

“ Taut-nerved, he stood rigid, drifting slowly down against the lift of an upward flow of some strange current.
Below him, the guard reached out and caught a metal hand-hold jutting from the shaft's wall, then slid back a panel like the one above and stepped out into a broad hall.
But where the top level had shown stark and bare here lay luxury to stagger man's imagination. The walls were a shimmering tapestry of translucent color. Craig's feet sank into raaltex carpeting so thick and soft that it was like stepping onto a cloud.
He gripped the guard's arm. "Now—Vydys!" ”

“ Zenaor stood inflexible as duroid.
The girl gestured helplessly. "What can I say, when not even the fate of our world can touch you?"
"Our world—this puny dot that men call Lysor?" Zenaor laughed aloud. "This planet of ours means nothing, Narla! By using the slime-things, the ourobos, I can reach out across the void till even the far Federation's chiefs will tremble! Nothing can stop me! ”

“ Vydys was almost purring. "I must have protection against Zenaor and his ourobos. Unless you share the crystal's secret with me, I shall be forced to sell the wench back to her father for tanagree oil to drive off the slime-monsters."
Dry-lipped, Craig said, "So be it."
"But I had such pleasant fantasies of how I would amuse myself with her in my torture chambers!" Vydys' eyes grew wide and doleful. "There are so many things that one can try! And a young, nubile girl may live for hours...." ”

“ It's better that you stay here with the Baemae."
"Vydys, in the name of our ancestors—our common blood as Kukzubas—"
"I remember it, Zenaor. You shall not stand unprotected." Vydys brought a flat object from beneath her waist-cape, tossed it onto a table. "Here. I leave you this weapon."
It was the jewel-box that held Tumek's crystal.
Zenaor's fists clenched. "Curse you, Vydys—!"
She turned away as if he had not spoken. Smiling at Craig, she purred, "A last chance for you, Earthling. Would you join me?"
Craig's eyes met Narla's. Then, quietly, he said, "You know my answer, Vydys." ”

“ The Baemae girl caught her breath, the sound rasping over-loud in the sudden hush that had fallen upon the crowd. Eyes wild and wide, she shrank, back against the wall, hands splayed out flat against the polished duroid surface.
Still smiling, Vydys spoke to her victim—gentle, coaxing: "This is a game wench—a game betwixt you and me. Do not fear the roller. In itself it is harmless, a mere ball of flesh with so little brain that it barely knows enough to feed. ”

“ Craig thrust a foot across one's path; snatched a fire-gun as the man fell sprawling.
The room was empty, then ... empty save for dead Vydys and her guard, and Zenaor, and Narla, and Craig Nesom.
And the ourobos.
Coolly, Zenaor stood his ground beside the cubicle. Ourobos swept in close about his feet, then eddied back. They would not touch him.
He laughed; gestured. "You see, alien? The tanagree oil is in my veins; they will not touch me. But you...." He laughed again.
Craig said, "Much good may it do you, Zenaor. A corpse is a corpse, even if the worms won't eat it." ”

“ Bukal was frowning when Craig finished. "There's too much here I don't understand," he grunted. "Ourobos are not of Lysor, but of our sister-planet, Xumar—a loathsome, crawling horror beyond man's controlling. Innoculations with a rare oil will repel them, but no one has ever found a way to kill them. If Zenaor were mad enough to bring them here, to Lysor...." ”

“ He whipped up his own weapon.
Craig fired.
Zenaor died.
Then Narla was in the Earthman's arms again, heedless of the ourobos' creeping tendrils. "So we die, Craig Nesom. But at least we die together."
Craig held her close. "No, Narla."
"No—?" He could feel her body stiffen. "But—what—?"
"I said no, Narla. We don't die. Neither of us."
She stared at him.
He said, "Don't you see? The ourobos—they're thallophytes. That's the answer." And then, when she still showed no comprehension: "Tumek knew. That's why he said his crystal was the only weapon that would stop them. ”