Neq the Sword

  She seemed nonplussed for a moment, but made a deci-

  sion. "We have brought him to you," she said. She ges-

  tured, and the other four approached the wagon.

  Neq grabbed the leader with his left arm, his pincers

  threatened near her face, and held her before him as a

  shield against Yod's gun. She did not resist. Her sleek

  buttocks touched him.

  The cover came up. The man inside was exposed.

  It was Yod. But the man had no gun. He was dead, his

  hands servered, the hilt and blade of a dagger protruding

  from his mouth, and soaking in his own blood.

  "Our men were bonded to him, and afraid," the captive

  woman said. "But we were not. We have brought your

  vengeance to you. Only spare the rest, for our children

  will perish if we are left without men."

  "This is not vengeance," Neq said, troubled. "You have

  denied me my vengeance."

  "Then kill us too, for we five killed Yod. Only leave this

  place."

  Neq considered killing them, as she suggested, for they

  were trying to buy the reprieve of the guilty. But he found

  himself sick of it all. Now both Neqa and vengeance had

  been taken from him. What else was left?

  He turned loose the woman. She merely stood, awaiting

  his response, and the others stood too, like waking dead.

  They were all young and fair, but there were pockets under

  their eyes and tension lines about their mouths, and they

  were less buxom than they might have been. Their vigil

  and their act of murder had scarred them already.

  Neq lifted his sword and touched it to the leader's

  bosom. She blanched but managed not to flinch. He slid

  the blade along her front so that it cut open her dress of

  availability and the handmade halter beneath it, exposing

  her breasts and letting them droop. Yet they were full

  and handsome.

  He had only intended to check her for weapons. If she

  had a knife on her person he would know for whom it

  had been intended, and that would justify what he might

  do. But there was no knife. Those t

  forcefully of Neqa's breasts ... a

  wanted to forget.

  Vengeance was too complicated.

  He pushed her away .and fled.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Neq next took stock of himself, three years had

  passed. He was a scarred veteran of 28, still deadly in

  combat at an age when injury or death had retired many

  warriors. He had killed more men than any nomad he

  knew of—most of them outside the circle, for the circle

  code was virtually dead.

  Abruptly' he realized three things—or perhaps it was

  these things that had brought him to this sudden aware-

  ness. First, he was now the age Neqa had been when he

  knew her. Second, he was no closer to true vengeance

  than ever. Third, the true culprit had not been Yod and

  Yod's tribe, but the situation that had brought about the

  dissolution of the circle code. In the old days no woman

  had been molested, and no man had been required to fight

  unless he chose.

  It came to him that his only true vengeance had to be

  constructive. Killing gained him nothing. What he had to

  abolish was not the men who had injured him, but the

  system.

  That meant that Helicon had to be rebuilt.

  Perhaps he had been working it out subconsciously the

  whole time. A concept of this complexity could not have

  struck him full-blown. But suddenly he had a mission,

  and the hurt that was the memory et Neqa abated, and

  the blood on his sword-arm assumed a certain vindication.

  He had no further desire to kill, for he had plumbed the

  depths of that and found it futile. He had no need to

  impress women, for there had been only one for him. He

  required no tribe, no empire, for he had long since experi-

  enced the heights of power and tired of them. He had his

  mission, and that was enough.

  Rebuild Helicon, and the circle code could be restored.

  There would be supplies for the crazies, who would re-

  stock the hostels and subtly enforce their usual require-

  ments, and the nomads would find themselves conforming,

  and the world he had known would come back. Slowly,

  perhaps; it might take decades. But it would surely come.

  And when the circle code lived again, outlaws like Yod

  would have no chance. Women would pass freely from

  hostel to hostel and from bracelet to bracelet, never forced,

  never hurt. The circle code was civilization, and Helicon

  was the ultimate enforcement of that code.

  First he marched to the ruins of the mountain. He

  entered by Dick the Surgeon's passage and cleaned out the

  bones and the ashes. He reconstructed the damaged exits

  as well as he could and resealed the premises against intru-

  sion and made the entire labyrinth bare but theoretically

  habitable. He worked slowly and carefully, pausing to feed

  himself when the need came and to search out supplies.

  A surprising amount had not burned. Perhaps the fire had

  suffocated soon after the people. Under layers of ashes the

  majority of Helicon's furnishings remained salvageable.

  Neq sought no help, though his metal extremities were

  inefficient for this type of work and greatly extended the

  time that would normally have been required. It was

  tedious shoving a mass of cloth across interminable floors

  with his sword, mopping up the grisly grime, and his

  pincers were poor for setting hinges in new doors. But this

  was the place he had shared with Neqa, however briefly

  and horribly, and Helicon was somehow suffused by her

  presence, and blessed by it.

  When he was done, a year had passed.

  Then he went to see the crazies.

  The minor crazy outposts had all long since been

  devastated, but the fortress-like administration building of

  Dr. Jones remained intact. And the old crazy,chief was

  there, much the same as ever. He seemed never to have

  been young, and he did not age.

  But there was now no girl at the front desk.

  "How have you survived, with no defense?" Neq de-

  manded. "It has been four years since I was here, and

  they have not been kind years. By the sword men live.

  But no man challenged me as I entered here. Anyone

  could ravage this place."

  Jones smiled. "Would a guard have prevented you from

  entering?" When Neq merely glanced at his weapon, he

  continued: "I am tempted to inform you that our philoso-

  phy of pacifism prevailed . .. but that would not be entirely

  accurate. We hoped that the diminished services we offered

  would dissuade the tribesmen from violence, but there

  always seemed to be another more savage tribe on the

  horizon whose members were immune to reason. Our

  organization has been devastated many times."

  "But you live unchanged!"

  "Only superficially, Neq. My position remains tenuous."

  Dr. Jones began unbuttoning his funny vest.

  The old crazy must have
hidden when the outlaws

  invaded, Neq thought, and emerged to rebuild after the

  region was clear again. Tribes would not stay here long,

  for there would be little food, and the building itself was

  alien to the nomad way. Still, Dr. Jones must have courage

  and capability that did not show on the surface.

  The crazy had finally finished with his buttons. He

  opened his vest and began on the clean white shirt beneath.

  "How did you know me?" Neq inquired, hoping the

  man wasn't senile.

  "We have met before, you remember. You took Miss

  Smith and released Dr. Abraham—"

  "Who?"

  "The Helicon Surgeon. He has been of immense assis-

  tance to us. Do you recognize his handiwork?" He opened

  his shirt to reveal his bony old chest.

  Scars were there. It looked as though a dagger had cut

  him open, chopped up the ancient ribs, and made a careless

  foray into the meager gut. But somehow everything had

  been put together again, and what should have been a fatal

  wound had healed.

  "Dick the Surgeon," Neq said. "Yes, he worked on me

  too." But did not raise his sword to demonstrate the

  surgery, afraid the gesture would be mistaken.

  "I think it safe to assume I would have perished after

  that particular episode," Dr. Jones said, beginning the

  slow task of buttoning his shirt and vest. "But Dr. Abraham

  restored me. Since he would not have been present except

  for your timely assistance, I belief it is not farfetched to

  infer that I owe my preservation to you."

  'Tor every life I may have saved," Neq said, "I have

  taken fifty."

  Dr. Jones seemed not to have heard. "And of course his

  report enabled us to dispense with any further effort in the

  region of Helicon."

  "Neqa died."

  "Miss Smith ... your bracelet.. ." Dr. Jones murmured,

  sifting through his information. "Yes, so Dr. Abraham

  informed us. He said the two of you were very close, and

  I am gratified to know that. She was a remarkable person,

  but alone." He did not say more, and Neq was sure the old

  crazy knew everything.

  "I come to avenge her."

  "Your reputation precedes you. But do you feel that

  more killing will satisfy your loss?"

  "No!" And, with difficulty, Neq explained his conclu-

  sion about the real cause of Neqa's death, and his deter-

  mination to rebuild Helicon.

  Dr. Jones did not respond this time. He sat as if suffer-

  ing from his venerable wound, eyes almost closed,

  breathing shallow.

  Neq waited for several minutes, then raised his pincer-

  ann to touch the man and determine whether he was all

  right. Death by old age was something he had never

  encountered and was almost too horrible to contemplate.

  What were its symptoms?

  Dr. Jones was alive, however. His eyes reopened,

  "Do you require proof that I was there, in the moun-

  tain?" Neq asked. "I brought papers for you. I do not know

  what they say." He had saved out these singed writings

  because of Neqa's literacy; any writing reminded him of

  her.

  Now the crazy reacted beautifully. "Papers' from Heli-

  con? I would be extremely interested! But I do not question

  your veracity. My thoughts were momentarily elsewhere."

  Momentarily? Crazies were crazy, naturally!

  Then Dr. Jones got up and left the room.

  Neq remained, baffled.

  A few minutes later Dr. Jones returned with another

  man, a rotund crazy in spectacles. "Please tell Dr. Abra-

  ham and you told me," Jones said. "About your plans."

  It was Dick the Surgeon—the man Neqa had rescued

  from the cage! Now he only remotely resembled the thin

  fugitive of four years ago.

  Neq repeated his philosophy and his plan.

  "Why do you come to us?" Dick asked, as though he

  had never had experience with the wilderness.

  "Because I am a sworder, not a builder. I can't read, I

  can't operate the machinery of Helicon. You crazies can."

  "He knows his limitations," Dr. Jones observed.

  "But he is a killer."

  "Yes," Neq agreed. "But I have had enough of killing."

  He lifted his arm. "I would make this sword into—"

  "A plowshare?" Dr. Jones asked.

  Neq did not answer, not being familiar with the term.

  "Your former leader, Robert of Helicon," Dr. Jones

  said to Dick. "Was he not a ruthless man?"

  "Robert? Oh, you mean Bob. Yes, ruthless but efficient.

  Maybe you're right." Dick looked at Neq. "It is ugly,

  but—"

  Neq did not follow much of this. "I have cleaned and

  restored the mountain, but I cannot do more without your

  help. I can't fill it with people who can make it function.

  That is why I'm here."

  "It would take a year for a man in your condition to

  tidy up that carnage!" Dick exclaimed.

  "Yes."

  There was a silence. The crazies hardly seemed enthu-

  siastic!

  Finally Dr. Jones brought out a sheet of paper. "Bring

  me these people," he said, handing it to Neq. "Those who

  have survived."

  "I can not read. Is this the service you require of me in

  exchange for your help?"

  "In a manner of speaking, yes. I must ask you to tell

  no one of your project. And I must advise you that your

  weapon will be valueless in this endeavor—perhaps even a

  liability."

  That seemed to be the extent of his answer. Neq glanced

  at his sword, wondering whether he should remind the old

  crazy that it was impossible for him to set aside his weapon,

  useful or not. "Tell me the names."

  "You can remember them accurately?"

  "Yes."

  Dr. Jones picked the paper out of Neq's pincer-grasp

  and read. "Sos the Rope. Tyi of Two Weapons. Jim the

  Gun."

  Neq halted him, astonished. "Sos the Rope went to the

  mountain ... oh, I see. He may be alive after all. Tyi is

  master of the largest remaining tribe. Jim the Gun—"

  "You may know Sos better by his later designation: the

  Weaponless."

  "The Weaponless! Master of Empire?" And yet of

  course it fit. Sos had gone to the mountain; the Weapon-

  less had come out of it. To take the wife he had always

  wanted—Sola. Neq should have made the connection

  long ago.

  "Have you changed your mind?"

  Angry, Neq kept silence while he considered. The crazies

  were trying to set him an impossible task! Was it to be

  certain he would fail? Was this really their way of refusing

  assistance? Or was Dr. Jones serious, having decided that

  it was necessary, before Helicon could be rebuilt, to elimi-

  nate its destroyers? The Weaponless, Tyi, Jim the Gun—

  these had been the architects of 'Helicon's demise. The

  Weaponless had provided the motive; Tyi the manpower;

  Jim the weapons. . . .

  Perhaps it made sense. But how to locate the Weapon-

  less now! If the man lived, so did the empire, and Neq


  himself still owed him fealty!

  "I think the Weaponless is dead," Neq said at last.

  "Then bring his wife."

  "Or his child," Dick said.

  "And if I bring these people to you, then you will give

  me the help I need for Helicon?"

  "There are more names." Dr. Jones read them: all un-

  familiar. '-

  "I'll bring every one that lives!" Neq cried recklessly.

  "Will you help me then?"

  Dr. Jones sighed. "I should be obliged to."

  "I do not know where to find them all."

  "I will travel with you," Dick the Surgeon said. "I know

  many of the Helicon refugees by sight, and have some

  notion where they might hide. But it would be your job

  to persuade them to come—without killing them."

  Neq mused on this.. The company of the surgeon did

  not appeal to him, but it did promise to facilitate an

  onerous task. "I can't tell them and I can't kill them. Yet I

  must make them come. The leading warriors of the old

  empire, including the very man who—" He shook his

  head. "All because I want to rebuild Helicon, and restore

  your source of supply, so that you can bring back the

  circle code."

  Dr. Jones didn't seem to comprehend Neq's irony. "You

  have the essence, warrior."

  Angry and disappointed, Neq walked out. But Dick the

  Surgeon followed.