Sense of Obligation

  XI

  Facing the silent Disans, Brion's thoughts hurtled about in sweepingcircles. There would be no more than an instant's tick of time beforethe magter avenged themselves bloodily and completely. He felt afleeting regret for not having brought his gun, then abandoned thethought. There was no time for regrets--what could he do NOW.

  The silent watchers hadn't attacked instantly, and Brion realized thatthey couldn't be positive yet that Lig-magte had been killed. Only Brionknew the deadliness of that blow. Their lack of knowledge might buy hima little more time.

  "Lig-magte is unconscious, but will revive quickly," Brion said,pointing at the huddled body. As the eyes turned automatically to followhis finger, he began walking slowly towards the exit. "I did not want todo this, but he forced me to, because he wouldn't listen to reason. NowI have something else to show you, something that I hoped it would notbe necessary to reveal."

  He was saying the first words that came into his head, trying to keepthem distracted as long as possible. He must only appear to be goingacross the room, that was the feeling he must generate. There was eventime to stop for a second and straighten his rumpled clothing and brushthe sweat from his eyes. Talking easily, walking slowly towards the hallout of the chamber. He was halfway there when the spell broke and therush began. One of the magter knelt and touched the body, and shouted asingle word.

  "Dead."

  Brion hadn't waited for the official announcement. At the first movementof feet he dived headlong for the shelter of the exit. There was aspatter of tiny missiles on the wall next to him and he had a briefglimpse of raised blowguns before the wall intervened. He went up thedimly-lit stairs five at a time.

  The pack was just behind him, voiceless and deadly. He could not gain onthem--if anything they closed the distance as he pushed his alreadytired body to the utmost. There was no subtlety or trick he could usenow, just straightforward flight back the way he had come. A single slipon the irregular steps and it would be all over.

  There was someone ahead of him. If the woman had waited a few secondsmore, he would certainly have been killed. But instead of slashing athim as he went by the doorway she made the mistake of rushing to thecenter of the stairs, the knife ready to impale him as he came up.Without slowing Brion fell onto his hands and easily dodged under theblow. As he passed he twisted and seized her around the waist, pickingher from the ground.

  When her legs lifted from under her the woman screamed--the first humansound Brion had heard in this human anthill. His pursuers were justbehind him, and he hurled the woman into them with all his strength.They fell in a tangle and Brion used the precious seconds gained toreach the top of the building.

  * * * * *

  There must have been other stairs and exits because one of the magterstood between Brion and the way down out of this trap. Armed and readyto kill him if he tried to pass.

  As he ran towards the executioner, Brion flicked on his collar radio andshouted into it. "I'm in trouble here, can you--"

  The guards in the car must have been waiting for this message. Before hehad finished there was the thud of a high-velocity slug hitting fleshand the Disan spun and fell, blood soaking his shoulder. Brion leapedover him and headed for the ramp.

  "The next one is me--hold your fire!" he called.

  Both guards must have had their telescopic sights zeroed on the spot.They let Brion pass, then threw in a hail of semiautomatic fire thattore chunks from the stone and screamed away in noisy ricochets. Briondidn't try to see if anyone was braving this hail of covering fire; heconcentrated his energies on making as quick and erratic a descent as hecould. Above the sounds of the firing he heard the car motor howl as itleaped forward. With their careful aim spoiled, the gunners switched tofull automatic and unleashed a hailstorm of flying metal that bracketedthe top of the tower.

  "Cease ... firing!" Brion gasped into the radio as he ran. The driverwas good and timed his arrival with exactitude. The car reached the baseof the tower at the same instant Brion did, and he burst through thedoor while it was still moving. No orders were necessary. He fellheadlong onto a seat as the car swung in a dust-raising turn and groundinto high gear back to the city.

  Reaching over carefully, the tall guard gently extracted a bit ofpointed wood and fluff from a fold of Brion's pants. He cracked open thecar door, and just as delicately threw it out.

  "I knew that thing didn't touch you," he said, "since you are stillamong the living. They got a poison on those blowgun darts that takesall of twelve seconds to work. Lucky."

  Lucky! Brion was beginning to realize just how lucky he was to be out ofthe trap alive. With information. Now that he knew more about themagter he shuddered at his innocence in walking alone and unarmed intothe tower. Skill had helped him survive--but better than average luckhad been necessary. Curiosity had gotten him in, brashness and speed hadtaken him out. He was exhausted, battered and bloody--but cheerfullyhappy. The facts about the magter were shaping themselves into a theorythat might explain their attempt at racial suicide. It just needed alittle time to be put into shape.

  A pain cut across his arm and he jumped, startled, pieces of histhoughts crashing into ruin around him. The gunner had cracked the firstaid box and was swabbing his arm with antiseptic. The knife wound waslong, but not deep. Brion shivered while the bandage was going on, thenquickly slipped into his coat. The air conditioner whined industriously,bringing down the temperature.

  There was no attempt to follow the car. When the black tower had droppedover the horizon the guards relaxed, ran cleaning rods through theirguns and compared marksmanship. All of their antagonism towards Brionwas gone--they actually smiled at him. He had given them the firstchance to shoot back since they had been on this planet.

  The ride was uneventful and Brion was scarcely aware of it. A theory wastaking form in his mind. It was radical, unusual and startling--yet itseemed to be the only one that fitted the facts. He pushed at it fromall sides, but if there were any holes he couldn't find them. What itneeded was dispassionate proving or disproving. There was only oneperson on Dis who was qualified to do this.

  * * * * *

  Lea was working in the lab when he came in, bent over a low-powerbinocular microscope. Something small, limbless and throbbing was on theslide. She glanced up when she heard his footsteps, smiling warmly whenshe recognized him. Fatigue and pain had drawn her face, her skinglistening with burn ointment, was chapped and peeling. "I must look awreck," she said, putting the back of her hand to her cheek. "Somethinglike a well-oiled and lightly cooked piece of beef." She lowered her armsuddenly and took his hand in both of hers. Her palms were warm andslightly moist.

  "Thank you, Brion," was all she could say. Her society on Earth washighly civilized and sophisticated, able to discuss any topic withoutemotion and without embarrassment. This was fine in most circumstances,but made it difficult to thank a person for saving your life. Howeveryou tried to phrase it, it came out sounding like a last act speech froman historical play. There was no doubt, however, as to what she meant.Her eyes were large and dark, the pupils dilated by the drugs she hadbeen given. They could not lie, nor could the emotions he sensed. He didnot answer, just held her hand an instant longer.

  "How do you feel?" he asked, concerned. His conscience twinged as heremembered that he was the one who had ordered her out of bed and backto work today.

  "I should be feeling terrible," she said, with an airy wave of her hand."But I'm walking on top of the world. I'm so loaded with pain-killersand stimulants that I'm high as the moon. All the nerves to my feet feelturned off--it's like walking on two balls of fluff. Thanks for gettingme out of that awful hospital and back to work."

  Brion was suddenly ashamed of having driven her from her sick bed."Don't be sorry!" Lea said, apparently reading his mind, but reallyseeing only his sudden drooped expression. "I'm feeling no pain.Honestly, I feel a little light-headed and foggy at times, nothing more.And this is t
he job I came here to do. In fact ... well, it's almostimpossible to tell you just how fascinating it all is! It was almostworth getting baked and parboiled for."

  She swung back to the microscope, centering the specimen with a turn ofthe stage adjustment screw. "Poor Ihjel was right when he said thisplanet was exobiologically fascinating. This is a gastropod, a lot like_Odostomia_, but it has parasitical morphological changes so profound--"

  "There's something else I remember," Brion said, interrupting herenthusiastic lecture, only half of which he could understand. "Didn'tIhjel also hope that you would give some study to the natives as well astheir environment. The problem is with the Disans--not the local wildlife."

  "But I am studying them," Lea insisted. "The Disans have attained anincredibly advanced form of commensalism. Their lives are so intimatelyconnected and integrated with the other life forms that they must bestudied in relation to their environment. I doubt if they show as manyexternal physical changes as little eating-foot _Odostomia_ on the slidehere, but there will be surely a number of psychological changes andadjustments that will crop up. One of these might be the explanation oftheir urge for planetary suicide."

  "That may be true--but I don't think so," Brion said. "I went on alittle expedition this morning and found something that has moreimmediate relevancy."

  For the first time Lea became aware of his slightly battered condition.Her drug-grooved mind could only follow a single idea at a time and hadoverlooked the significance of the bandage and dirt.

  "I've been visiting," Brion said, forestalling the question on her lips."The magter are the ones who are responsible for causing the trouble,and I had to see them up close before I could make any decision. Itwasn't a very pleasant thing, but I found out what I wanted to know.They are different in every way from the normal Disans. I've comparedthem. I've talked to Ulv--the native who saved us in the desert--and Ican understand him. He is not like us in many ways--he would certainlyhave to be, living in this oven--but he is still undeniably human. Hegave us drinking water when we needed it, then brought help. The magter,the upper-class lords of Dis, are the direct opposite. As cold-bloodedand ruthless a bunch of murderers as you can possibly imagine. Theytried to kill me when they met me, without reason. Their clothes,habits, dwellings, manners--everything about them differs from that ofthe normal Disan. More important, the magter are as coldly efficientand inhuman as a reptile. They have no emotions, no love, no hate,anger, fear--nothing. Each of them is a chilling bundle of thoughtprocesses and reactions, with all the emotions removed."

  "Aren't you exaggerating?" Lea asked. "After all, you can't be sure. Itmight just be part of their training not to reveal any emotional state.Everyone must experience emotional states whether they like it or not."

  "That's my main point. Everyone does--except the magter. I can't go intoall the details now, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Even atthe point of death they have no fear or hatred. It may sound impossible,but it is true."

  * * * * *

  Lea tried to shake the knots from her drug-hazed mind. "I'm dull today,"she said, "you'll have to excuse me. If these rulers had no emotionalresponses, that might explain their present suicidal position. But anexplanation like this raises more new problems than it supplies answersto the old ones. How did they get this way? It doesn't seem humanlypossible to be without emotions."

  "Just my point. Not _humanly_ possible. I think these ruling classDisans aren't human at all, like the other Disans. I think they arealien creatures--robots or androids--anything except men. I think theyare living in disguise among the normal human dwellers."

  First Lea started to smile, then she changed her mind when she saw hisface. "You are serious?" she asked.

  "Never more so. I realize it must sound as if I've had my brains bouncedaround too much this morning. Yet this is the only idea I can come upwith that fits all of the facts. Look at the evidence yourself. Onesimple thing stands out clearly, and must be considered first if anytheory is to hold up. That is the magters' complete indifference todeath--their own or anyone else's. Is that normal to mankind?"

  "No--but I can find a couple of explanations that I would rather explorefirst, before dragging in an alien life form. There may have been amutation or an inherited disease that had deformed or warped theirminds."

  "Wouldn't that be sort of self-eliminating?" Brion asked. "Antisurvival?People who die before puberty would find it a little difficult to passon a mutation to their children. But let's not beat this one point todeath--it's the totality of these people that I find so hard to accept.Any one thing might be explained away, but not the collection of them.What about their complete lack of emotion? Or their manner of dress andtheir secrecy in general? The ordinary Disan wears a cloth kilt, whilethe magter cover themselves as completely as possible. They stay intheir black towers and never go out except in groups. Their dead arealways removed so they can't be examined. In every way they act like arace apart--and I think they are."

  "Granted for the moment that this outlandish idea might be true, howdid they get here? And why doesn't anyone know about it besides them?"

  "Easily enough explained," Brion insisted. "There are no written recordson this planet. After the breakdown, when the handful of survivors werejust trying to exist here, the aliens could have landed and moved in.Any interference could have been wiped out. Once the population began togrow the invaders found they could keep control by staying separate, sotheir alien difference wouldn't be noticed."

  "Why should that bother them?" Lea asked. "If they are so indifferent todeath, they can't have any strong thoughts on public opinion or alienbody odor. Why would they bother with such a complex camouflage? And ifthey arrived from another planet what has happened to the scientificability that brought them here?"

  "Peace," Brion said. "I don't know enough to even be able to guess atanswers to half those questions. I'm just trying to fit a theory to thefacts. And the facts are clear. The magter are so inhuman they wouldgive me nightmares--if I were sleeping these days. What we need is moreevidence."

  "Then get it," Lea said with finality. "I'm not telling you to turnmurderer--but you might try a bit of grave-digging. Give me a scalpeland one of your fiends stretched out on a slab and I'll quickly tell youwhat he is or is not." She turned back to the microscope and bent overthe eyepiece.

  That was really the only way to hack the Gordion knot. Dis had onlythirty-six more hours to live, so individual deaths shouldn't be of anyconcern. He had to find a dead magter, and if none were obtainable inthe proper condition he had to violently get one of them that way. For aplanetary savior he was personally doing in an awful lot of thecitizenry. He stood behind Lea, looking down at her thoughtfully whileshe worked. The back of her neck was turned up to him, lightly coveredwith gently curling hair. With one of the about-face shifts the mind iscapable of his thoughts flipped from death to life, and he experienced astrong desire to lightly caress this spot, to feel the yielding textureof female flesh....

  Plunging his hands deep into his pockets he walked quickly to the door."Get some rest soon," he called to her. "I doubt if those bugs will giveyou the answer. I'm going now to see if I can get the full-sizedspecimen you want."

  "The truth could be anywhere, I'll stay on these until you come back,"she said, not looking up from the microscope.

  * * * * *

  Up under the roof was a well-equipped communications room, Brion hadtaken a quick look at it when he had first toured the building. The dutyoperator had earphones on--though only one of the phones covered anear--and was monitoring through the bands. His shoeless feet were on theedge of the table and he was eating a thick sandwich with his freehand. His eyes bugged when he saw Brion in the doorway and he jumpedinto a flurry of action.

  "Hold the pose," Brion told him, "it doesn't bother me. And if you makeany sudden moves you are liable to break a phone, electrocute yourselfor choke to death. Just see if you can set the transc
eiver on thisfrequency for me." Brion wrote the number on a scratchpad and slid itover to the operator. It was the frequency Professor-commander Kraffthad given him for the radio of the illegal terrorists--the Nyjord army.

  The operator plugged in a handset and gave it to Brion. "Circuit open,"he mumbled around a mouthful of still unswallowed sandwich.

  "This is Brandd, director of the C.R.F. Come in please." He went onrepeating this for more than ten minutes before he got an answer.

  "_What do you want?_"

  "I have a message of vital urgency for you--and I would also like yourhelp. Do you want any more information on the radio?"

  "_No. Wait there--we'll get in touch with you after dark._" The carrierwave went dead.

  Thirty-five hours to the end of the world--and all he could do was wait.