TEN
Wearily, Rynason switched off the interpreter, leaving the wires stillconnected to the alien. He walked through the faintly echoing,dust-filled temple and stepped out onto the colonnade around it. It wasalmost dark now; the deep blue of the Hirlaj sky had turned almost blackand the pinpoint lights of the stars broke through. The wind was risingfrom the Flat; it caught his hair and whipped it roughly around hishead. He looked up at the emerging stars, remembering the day when Hornghad suddenly, inexplicably stood and walked to the base of a brokenstaircase. He had looked up those stairs, past where they had broken andfallen, past the shattered roof, to the sky. The Hirlaji had neverreached the stars, but they might have. It had taken a god, or a jumbledlegacy from an older, greater race, to forestall them. And now all theyhad was the dust and the wind.
Rynason could hear the rising moan of that wind gathering itself aroundhim, building to a wailing planet-dirge among the columns of the Temple.And inside, the Hirlaji were dying. The knives and bludgeons of theEarth mob outside would only complete the job; the Hirlaji were tootired to live. They dreamed dimly under the shadowed foreheads ...dreamed of the past. And sometimes, perhaps, of the stars.
Behind the altar, the huge and intricate mass of alien circuits glowedand clicked and pulsated ... slowly; seemingly at random, but steadily.The brain must be self-perpetuating to have lasted this long ... feedingits energy cells from some power-source Rynason could only guess at, andrepairing its time-worn linkages when necessary. In its memory banks wasstored the science of the race which had preceded even the ancientHirlaji. The Outsiders had sprung up when this planet was young, hadfought their way to the stars and galaxies, and eventually, when aeonsof time pressed down, had pulled in their outposts and fallen back tothis world. And they had died here, on this world, falling to dust whichwas ground under by the grey race which had followed them to dominance."Before time," Horng had said; that must have meant before the Hirlajihad developed telepathy, before the period covered by the race-memory.
But the Outsiders were still here, alive in that huge alien brain ...the science, the knowledge, the strange arts of a race which hadconquered the stars while men still wondered about the magic oflightning and fire. A science was encapsuled here which could speak ofwar and curiosity as discontent, but could say nothing definite ofcontentment. An incomplete science? A merely alien science? Rynasondidn't know.
And the Hirlaji.... Twenty-six of their race remained, dreaming underheavy domes through which the stars shone at night and silhouetted theworn edges of broken stone. Twenty-six grey, hopeless beings who had noteven been waiting. And the Earthmen had come.
For a moment Rynason wondered if the Hirlaji did not perhaps carry amessage for the Earthmen too: that decadence was the price of peace,death the inevitable end of contentment. The Hirlaji had stilledthemselves, back in the grey past ... had taken their measure of quietand contentment for thousands of years, the searching drives of theirrace dying within them. And this was their end.
THERE IS NO PURPOSE.
Rynason shook himself, and felt the cold wind cut through his clothing;it reawakened him. Stooping, he gathered up several of thedisintegrators and brought them with him to the head of the massivestairs up which the attackers must come. He crouched beside thosestairs, watching for movement below. But he couldn't see anything.
Something about the Hirlaji still bothered him; kneeling in thegathering darkness he finally isolated it in his mind. It was theirhopelessness, the numbness that had crept over them through thecenturies. No purpose? But they had lived in peace for thousands ofyears. No, their death was not merely one of decadence ... it wassuffocation.
They had not chosen peace; it had been thrust upon them. The Hirlaji hadbeen at the height of their power, their growth still gathering momentum... and they had to stifle it. The end in view didn't really matter: ithad not been what they would have chosen. And, having had peace forcedupon them before they had been ready for it, they had been unable toenjoy it; and the stifling of scientific curiosity that had beennecessary to complete the suppression of the war-instinct had left theHirlaji with nothing.
But it had all been so unnecessary, Rynason thought. The ancientOutsiders brain, computing from insufficient evidence probably gatheredduring a brief touchdown on Earth, had undoubtedly been able to giveonly a tentative appraisal of the situation. But the proto-Hirlajilanguage was not constructed to accommodate if's and maybe's, and thejudgments of the brain were taken as law by the Hirlaji.
Now the Earthmen for whom this race had deadened itself intonear-extinction would complete the job ... because the Hirlaji hadlearned their mistake far too late.
Rynason shook his head; there was a sickness in his stomach, a gnawinganger at the ways of history. It was capricious, cruel, senseless. Itplayed jokes spanning millennia.
Suddenly there were sounds on the stairs below him. Rynason's headjerked up and he saw five of the Earthmen climbing the stairs, moving asquickly as they could from level to level, crouching momentarily at eachbeneath the cover of the steps. He raised one of the disintegrators,feeling the rage building up within him.
There was a humming sound by his ear; the beam of one of the stunnerspassed by him, touching the rock wall. The wall vibrated at the touch,but the range was too great for the beam to have done it any damage.They were close enough, though to stun Rynason if they hit him.
He dropped flat, looking for the man who had fired. In a moment he foundhim: a small, lean man slipped almost silently over the edge of one ofthe step-levels and rolled quickly to cover beneath the next. He had gotfurther than Rynason had realized; only three levels separated them now.He could see, from this distance in the near-dark, the cruel lines ofthe man's face. It was a harsh, dirty face, with wrinkles like seams;the man's eyes were harsh slits. Rynason had seen too many faces likethat here on the Edge; this was a man with a bitter hatred, looking forthe chance to unleash it upon anyone who got in his way. And theenjoyment which Rynason saw gleaming in the man's eyes chilled himmomentarily.
In that moment the man leaped to the next level, sending off a beamwhich struck the wall two feet from Rynason; he felt the stingingvibration against his body as he lay flat. Slowly he sighted thedisintegrator at the top of the level under which the man had crouchedfor cover, and waited for his next leap. Within him he felt only abitter cold which matched the wind whipping above him.
Again the man moved--but he had crept to the side of the stairs beforehe leaped, and Rynason's shot bit into the stone beside him as he rolledto safety. Now only one level separated them.
Further down the stairs, Rynason saw the others moving up behind thesmaller man. Still more were moving out from the other buildings anddarting to the stairs. But he had no time to hold them back.
There was silence, except for the wind.
And the man leaped, firing once, twice. The second beam took Rynason inthe left wrist and spun him off-balance for a moment. But he was alreadyfiring in return, rolling to one side. His third shot took the man'sright shoulder off, and bit into his neck. The man staggered forward twosteps, trying to raise his stunner again, but suddenly it clattered tothe floor and he crumpled on top of it. A pool of blood spread aroundhim.
Rynason moved back to the cover of the side wall, and watched for theother men. The first one had got too near; Rynason hadn't realized howeasily they could approach in this near-darkness. He felt the numbnessof the stunnerbeam spreading nearly to his shoulder; his left arm wasuseless. Cursing, he trained the disintegrator along the line of thesteps and fired.
The disintegrator cut through the stone as though it were putty, for arange of twenty feet. Rynason played the beam back and forth along thesteps, cutting them down to a smooth ramp which the attackers would haveto climb before they could get to him.
One of them tried to leap the last few levels before Rynason could cutthem, but he sliced the man in two through the chest. The separate partsof the man's body fell and rolled back to the untouched levels belo
w. Hehad not had time to utter even a cry of pain.
For a time, now, there was complete silence in the wind. Rynason couldsee the inert legs of the last attacker projecting out over the edge ofthe third level down, and undoubtedly the others saw them too. They werehesitating now, unsure of themselves. Rynason stayed pressed to thestone floor, waiting. The wind whipped in a rising moan through theupper reaches of the building.
Another of the men slipped over the edge of the massive stairs, huggingthe deeper darkness at the side of the stair-wall, and slowly inched hisway up the newly-flattened ramp. Rynason watched him coldly, through agrey haze of fury which was yet tinged with despair. What use was allthis, the killing, the blood and sweat and pain? It disgusted him--yetby its perverse senselessness it angered him too.
He cut a swathe through the crawling man, through head and neck andback. A gory shell-like hulk slid back to the foot of the ramp.
And abruptly the remaining men broke and ran. One of them rose andstumbled down the steep levels of the stairs, heedless of his exposure;with a shock, Rynason saw that it was Rene Malhomme. Another followed... and another. There were almost a dozen of them on the stairs; theyall broke and ran. Rynason sent one beam after them, biting a depressioninto the rock wall beside them. Then they were gone.
Rynason moved back from the head of the stairs and leaned wearilyagainst the stone. His left arm was beginning to tingle with returningcirculation now; he rubbed it absently with his good hand and wonderedif they would try the sheer walls on the other side of the Temple. Hehad scaled one of these ancient walls, but would they try it? Certainlythey stood little chance coming up the stairs, unless they gathered fora concerted rush. And who would lead such a suicidal attack? These menwere vicious, but they valued their lives too.
Yet he couldn't watch the black walls. Leaving the stairway unguardedwould be the most dangerous course of all.
In a few minutes the hand-radio, forgotten on the stone floor behindhim, flashed an intermittent light which caught his eye in the dusk.That would be Manning.
Rynason slid the radio over to the head of the stairs and switched onthere, keeping an eye on the stairway.
"Lee, do you hear me?"
"I hear you." His voice was low and bitter.
"I'm coming in to talk. Hold your God damned fire."
"Why should I?" said Rynason,
"Because I'm bringing Mara with me. It's too bad you don't trust me,Lee, but if that's the way you want it I won't trust you either."
"That's a good idea," he said, and switched off.
Almost immediately he saw them come out from behind the cover of afallen wall across the dusty street. Mara walked in front of Manning;her head was high, her face almost expressionless. The cold wind threwdust against their legs as they crossed the open space to the base ofthe steps.
Rynason stood motionless, watching them come up. Manning still had histwo stunners, but they were in their holsters. He kept behind the girlall the way, pausing before pushing her up the open ramp at the top,then moving even more closely behind her. Rynason stood with thedisintegrator hanging loosely in one hand at his side.
On the colonnade Manning gripped the girl by her undamaged arm. Henodded to one of the doorways into the temple, and Rynason preceded himinside.
As they entered Manning lit a handlight and set it on the floor. Theroom was thrown into stark relief, the shadows of the motionless aliensstriking the walls and ceiling with an almost physical harshness.Manning paused a moment to look at the Hirlaji, and at the altar acrossthe room.
"We can hear each other in here," he said at last.
"What do you want?" said Rynason. There was cool hatred in his voice,and the knife-scar on his forehead was a dark snake-line in the hardglare of the handlight.
Manning shrugged, a bit too quickly. He was nervous. "I want you out ofhere, Lee, and I'm not accepting any argument this time."
Rynason looked at Mara, standing helplessly in the older man's grip. Heglanced down at the disintegrator in his hand.
Manning drew one of his stunners quickly, and trained it at Rynason'sface. "I said no arguments. Put the weapon down, Lee."
Rynason couldn't risk a shot at the man, with Mara in front of him. Hecarefully laid the disintegrator on the floor.
"Slide it over here."
Rynason kicked it across the floor. Manning bent and picked it up,returned the stunner to its holster and held the disintegrator on him.
"That's better. Now we can avoid arguments--right, Lee? You've alwayslike peaceful settlements, haven't you?"
Rynason glared at him, but didn't say anything. He walked slowly intothe center of the room, among the Hirlaji. They paid no attention.
"Lee, he's going to kill them!" Mara burst out.
Rynason was standing now next to the interpreter. The handlight whichManning had set on the floor across the room was trained upwards, andthe interpreter was still in the darkness. He lowered his head as if inthought and switched on the machine with his foot.
"Is that true, Manning? Are you going to kill them?" His voice was loudand it echoed from the walls.
"I can't trust them," Manning said, his voice automatically growinglouder in response to Rynason's own. He stepped forward, pushing Mara infront of him. "They're not human, Lee--you keep forgetting that, forsome reason. Think of it as clearing the area of hostile native animallife--that comes under the duties of a governor, now doesn't it?"
"And what about the men outside? Did you put it that way to them?"
"They do what I say!" Manning snapped. "They don't give a damn who theykill. There's going to be fighting here whether it's against the Hirlajior between the townsmen. As governor, I'd rather they took it all out onthe horses here. Domestic tranquillity, shall we say?" He was smilingnow; he had everything in control.
"So that's your purpose?" Rynason said. There was anger in his voice,feigned or real--perhaps both. But his voice rose still higher. "Isbutchery your only goal in life, Manning?"
Manning stepped toward him again, his eyes narrowing. "Butchery? It'sbetter than no purpose at all, Lee! It'll get me off of these damnedoutworlds eventually, if I'm a good enough butcher. And I mean to be,Lee ... I mean to be."
Rynason turned his back on the man in contempt, and walked past Horng tothe base of the ancient altar. He looked up at the Eye of Kor, dim nowwhen not in use. He turned.
"_Is_ it better, Manning?" he shouted. "Does it give you a right tolive, while you slaughter the Hirlaji?"
Manning cursed under his breath, and took a quick step toward Rynason;his hard, black shadow leaped up the wall.
"_Yes!_ It gives me any right I can take!"
It happened quickly. Manning was now beside the massive figure of thealien, Horng; in his anger he had loosened his grip on Mara. He raisedthe disintegrator toward Rynason.
And Horng's huge fist smashed it from his hand.
Manning never knew what hit him. Before he had even realized that thedisintegrator was gone Horng had him. One heavy hand circled his throat;the other gripped his shoulder. The alien lifted him viciously and brokehim like a stick; Rynason could almost hear the man's neck break, sofinal was that twist of the alien's hands.
Horng lifted the lifeless body above his head and hurled it to the floorwith such force that the man's head was stoved in and his body laytwisted and motionless where it fell.
Afterwards there was silence in the room, save for the distant sound ofthe wind against the building outside. Horng stood looking down at thebroken body at his feet, his expression as unfathomable as it had everbeen. Mara stared in shocked silence at the alien.
Rynason walked slowly to the mike lying beside the interpreter. Heraised it.
"You can move quickly, old leather, when there's a reason for it," hesaid.
Horng turned his head to him and silently dipped it to one side.
* * * * *
Rynason lifted the broken form of Manning's body and carried it out tothe to
p of the steps leading down from the temple. Mara went with him,carrying the handlight; it fell harshly on Manning's crushed features asRynason waited atop the huge, steep stairway. The wind tore at his hair,whipping it wildly around his head ... but Manning's head was caked withblood. In a moment, the men from the town came out from cover; theystood at the base of the steps, indecisive.
They too were waiting for something.
Rynason hefted the body up over one shoulder and drew a disintegratorwith the hand he had freed. Slowly, then, he descended the steps.
When he had neared the bottom the circle of men fell back. They wereuneasy and sullen ... but they had seen the power of the disintegrator,and now they saw Manning's crushed body.
Rynason bent and dropped the body to the ground. He looked up coldly atthe ring of faces and said, "One of the Hirlaji did that with his hands.That's all--just his hands."
For a moment everyone was still ... and then one of the men broke fromthe crowd, snarling, with a heavy knife in his hand. He stopped justoutside the white circle of the handlight, the knife extended beforehim. Rynason raised the disintegrator and trained it on him, his facefrozen into a cold mask.
The man stood in indecision.
And from the crowd behind him another figure stepped forward. It wasMalhomme, and his lips were drawn back in disgust. He struck with anopen hand, the side of his palm catching the man's neck beneath his ear.The man fell sprawling to the ground, and lay still.
Malhomme looked at him for a moment, then he turned to the men behindhim. "That's enough!" he shouted. "_Enough!_" Angrily, he looked down atthe crumpled form of Manning's body. "Bury him!" he said.
There was still no movement from the men; Malhomme grabbed two of themroughly and shoved them out of the crowd. They hesitated, lookingquickly from Malhomme to the disintegrator in Rynason's hand, then bentto pick up the body.
"It's a measure of man's eternal mercy," said Malhomme acidly, "that atleast we bury each other." He stared at the men in the mob, and the furyin his eyes broke them at last. Muttering, shrugging, shaking theirheads, they dispersed, going off in two and threes to take cover fromthe wind-driven sand.
Malhomme turned to Rynason and Mara, his face relaxing at last. The hardlines around his mouth softened into a rueful smile as he put his armaround Rynason's shoulder. "We can all take shelter in the buildingshere for the night. You could use some rest, Lee Rynason--you look likehell. And maybe I can put a temporary splint on your arm, woman."
They found a nearby building where the roof had long ago fallen in, butthe walls were still standing. While Malhomme ministered to Mara he didnot stop talking for a moment; Rynason couldn't tell whether he wastrying to keep the girl's mind off the pain or whether he was simplyunwinding his emotions.
"You know, I've preached at these men for so many years I've gotcallouses in my throat. And one of these days maybe they'll know whatI'm talking about, so that I won't have to shout." He shrugged. "Well,it would be a dull world, where I didn't have a good excuse to shout.Sometimes you might ask your alien friends up there, Lee ... what didthey get out of choosing peace?"
"They didn't choose it," said Rynason.
Malhomme grimaced. "I wonder if anybody, anywhere, ever will. Maybe theOutsiders did, but they're not around to tell us about it. It's anintriguing question to think about, if you don't have anything to drink... what do you do, when there's nothing more to fight against, or evenfor?"
He straightened up; the splint on Mara's arm was set now. He settled herback in a drift of sand as comfortably as possible.
"I've got another question," Rynason said. "What were you doing amongthose men who came at me on the steps earlier?"
Malhomme's face broke into a wide grin. "That was a suicidal rush onyou, Lee. A damned stupid tactic ... a rush like that is only as strongas the weakest coward in it. All it takes is one man to break and run,and everybody else will run too. So it was easy for me to break it up."
Rynason couldn't help chuckling at that; and once he had started, thetension that had gripped him for the past several hours found release ina full, stomach-shaking laugh.
"Rene Malhomme," he gasped, "that's the kind of leadership this planetneeds!"
Mara smiled up from where she lay. "You know," she said, "now thatManning is dead they'll have to find someone else to be governor...."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Malhomme.