Planet of the Damned

  XI

  Facing the silent Disans, Brion's thoughts hurtled about in sweepingcircles. There would be no more than an instant's tick of timebefore the magter avenged themselves bloodily and completely. Hefelt a fleeting regret for not having brought his gun, thenabandoned the thought. There was no time for regrets--what could hedo _now_?

  The silent watchers hadn't attacked instantly, and Brion realizedthat they couldn't be positive yet that Lig-magte had been killed.Only Brion himself knew the deadliness of that blow. Their lack ofknowledge might buy him a little more time.

  "Lig-magte is unconscious, but he will revive quickly," Brion said,pointing at the huddled body. As the eyes turned automatically tofollow his finger, he began walking slowly towards the exit. "I didnot want to do this, but he forced me to, because he wouldn't listento reason. Now I have something else to show you, something that Ihoped it would not be necessary to reveal."

  He was saying the first words that came into his head, trying tokeep them distracted as long as possible. He must appear to be onlygoing across the room, that was the feeling he must generate. Therewas even time to stop for a second and straighten his rumpledclothing and brush the sweat from his eyes. Talking easily, walkingslowly towards the hall that led out of the chamber.

  He was halfway there when the spell broke and the rush began. One ofthe magter knelt and touched the body, and shouted a single word:

  "Dead!"

  Brion hadn't waited for the official announcement. At the firstmovement of feet, he dived headlong for the shelter of the exit.There was a spatter of tiny missiles on the wall next to him and hehad a brief glimpse of raised blowguns before the wall intervened.He went up the dimly lit stairs three at a time.

  The pack was just behind him, voiceless and deadly. He could notgain on them--if anything, they were closing the distance as hepushed his already tired body to the utmost. There was no subtletyor trick he could use now, just straightforward flight back the wayhe had come. A single slip on the irregular steps and it would beall over.

  There was someone ahead of him. If the woman had waited a fewseconds more he would certainly have been killed; but instead ofslashing at him as he went by the doorway, she made the mistake ofrushing to the center of the stairs, the knife ready to impale himas he came up. Without slowing, Brion fell onto his hands and easilydodged under the blow. As he passed he twisted and seized her aroundthe waist, picking her from the ground.

  When her legs lifted from under her the woman screamed--the firsthuman sound Brion had heard in this human anthill. His pursuers werejust behind him, and he hurled the woman into them with all hisstrength. They fell in a tangle, and Brion used the precious secondsgained to reach the top of the building.

  There must have been other stairs and exits, because one of themagter stood between Brion and the way down out of this trap--armedand ready to kill him if he tried to pass.

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

  The guards in the car must have been waiting for this message.Before he had finished there was the thud of a high-velocity slughitting flesh and the Disan spun and fell, blood soaking hisshoulder. Brion leaped over 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 thespot. They let Brion pass, then threw in a hail of semi-automaticfire that tore chunks from the stone and screamed away in noisyricochets. Brion didn't try to see if anyone was braving this hailof covering fire; he concentrated his energies on making as quickand erratic a descent as he could. Above the sounds of the firing heheard the car motor howl as it leaped forward. With their carefulaim spoiled, the gunners switched to full automatic and unleasheda hailstorm of flying metal that bracketed the top of the tower.

  "Cease ... firing!" Brion gasped into the radio as he ran. Thedriver was good, and timed his arrival with exactitude. The carreached the base of the tower at the same instant Brion did, and heburst through the door while it was still moving. No orders werenecessary. He fell headlong onto a seat as the car swung in adust-raising turn and ground into 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 openthe car 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've got a poison on those blowgun darts thattakes all of twelve seconds to work. Lucky."

  Lucky! Brion was beginning to realize just how lucky he was to beout of the trap alive. And with information. Now that he knew moreabout the magter, he shuddered at his innocence in walking alone andunarmed into the tower. Skill had helped him survive--but betterthan average luck had been necessary. Curiosity had gotten him in,brashness and speed had taken him out. He was exhausted, batteredand bloody--but cheerfully happy. The facts about the magter werearranging themselves into a theory that might explain their attemptat racial suicide. It just needed a little time to be put intoshape.

  A pain cut across his arm and he jumped, startled, pieces of histhoughts crashing into ruin around him. The gunner had cracked thefirst-aid box and was swabbing his arm with antiseptic. The knifewound was long, but not deep. Brion shivered while the bandage wasgoing on, then quickly slipped into his coat. The air conditionerwhined industriously, bringing down the temperature.

  There was no attempt to follow the car. When the black tower haddropped over the horizon the guards relaxed, ran cleaning rodsthrough their guns and compared marksmanship. All of theirantagonism towards Brion was gone; they actually smiled at him.He had given them the first chance to shoot back since they hadbeen on this planet.

  The ride was uneventful, and Brion was scarcely aware of it.A theory was taking form in his mind. It was radical andstartling--yet it seemed to be the only one that fitted the facts.He pushed at it from all sides, but if there were any holes hecouldn't find them. What it needed was dispassionate proving ordisproving. There was only one person on Dis who was qualifiedto do this.

  Lea was working in the lab when he came in, bent over a low-powerbinocular microscope. Something small, limbless and throbbing wason the slide. She glanced up when she heard his footsteps, smilingwarmly when she recognized him. Fatigue and pain had drawn her face;her skin, glistening with burn ointment, was chapped and peeling.

  "I must look a wreck," she said, putting the back of her hand to hercheek. "Something like a well-oiled and lightly cooked piece ofbeef." She lowered her arm suddenly and took his hand in both ofhers. Her palms were warm and slightly moist.

  "Thank you, Brion," was all she could say. Her society on Earth washighly civilized and sophisticated, able to discuss any topicwithout emotion and without embarrassment. This was fine in mostcircumstances, but made it difficult to thank a person for savingyour life. However you tried to phrase it, it came out sounding likea last-act speech from a historical play. There was no doubt,however, as to what she meant. Her eyes were large and dark, thepupils dilated by the drugs she had been given. They could not lie,nor could the emotions he sensed. He did not answer, just held herhand an instant longer.

  "How do you feel," he asked, concerned. His conscience twinged ashe remembered that he was the one who had ordered her out of bedand back to work today.

  "I should be feeling terrible," she said, with an airy wave of herhand. "But I'm walking on top of the world. I'm so loaded withpain-killers and stimulants that I'm high as the moon. All thenerves to my feet feel turned off--it's like walking on two ballsof fluff. Thanks for getting me out of that awful hospital and backto work."

  Brion was suddenly sorry for having driven her from her sick bed.

  "Don't be sorry!" Lea said, apparently reading his mind, but reallyseeing only his sudden ashamed expression. "I'm feeling no pain.Honestly. I feel a little light-headed and foggy at times, nothingmore. And this is the job I came here to do. In
fact ... well, it'salmost impossible to tell you just how fascinating it all is! It wasalmost worth getting baked and parboiled for."

  She swung back to the microscope, centering the specimen with a turnof the stage adjustment screw. "Poor Ihjel was right when he saidthis planet was exobiologically fascinating. This is a gastropod,a lot like _Odostomia_, but it has parasitical morphological changesso profound that--"

  "There's something else I remember," Brion said, interrupting herenthusiastic lecture, only half of which he could understand."Didn't Ihjel also hope that you would give some study to thenatives as well as their environment? The problem is with theDisans--not with the local wild life."

  "But I _am_ studying them," Lea insisted. "The Disans have attainedan incredibly advanced form of commensalism. Their lives are sointimately connected and integrated with the other life forms thatthey must be studied in relation to their environment. I doubt ifthey show as many external physical changes as little eating-foot_Odostomia_ on the slide here, but there will surely be a number ofpsychological changes and adjustments that will crop up. One ofthese might be the explanation of their urge for planetarysuicide."

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

  For the first time Lea became aware of his slightly batteredcondition. Her drug-grooved mind could only follow a single idea ata time and had over-looked the significance of the bandage and dirt.

  "I've been visiting," Brion said, forestalling the question on herlips. "The magter are the ones who are responsible for causing thetrouble, and I had to see them up close before I could make anydecisions. It wasn't a very pleasant thing, but I found out whatI wanted to know. They are different in every way from the normalDisans. I've compared them. I've talked to Ulv--the native who savedus in the desert--and I can understand him. He is not like us inmany ways--he certainly couldn't be, living in this oven--but he isstill undeniably human. He gave us drinking water when we needed it,then brought help. The magter, the upper-class lords of Dis, arethe direct opposite. As cold-blooded and ruthless a bunch ofmurderers as you can possibly imagine. They tried to kill me whenthey met me, without reason. Their clothes, habits, dwellings,manners--everything about them differs from that of the normalDisan. More important, the magter are as coldly efficient andinhuman as a reptile. They have no emotions, no love, no hate,no anger, no fear--nothing. Each of them is a chilling bundle ofthought processes and reactions, with all the emotions removed."

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

  "That's my main point. Everyone does--except the magter. I can't gointo all the details now, so you'll just have to take my word forit. Even at the point of death they have no fear or hatred. It maysound impossible, but it is true."

  Lea tried to shake the knots from her drug-hazed mind. "I'm dulltoday," she said. "You'll have to excuse me. If these rulers had noemotional responses, that might explain their present suicidalposition. But an explanation like this raises more new problems thanit supplies answers to the old ones. How did they get this way! Itdoesn't seem humanly possible to be without emotions of some kind."

  "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 thinkthey are living in disguise among the normal human dwellers."

  At first Lea started to smile, then her feeling changed when she sawhis face. "You are serious?" she asked.

  "Never more so. I realize it must sound as if I've had my brainsbounced around too much this morning. Yet this is the only idea Ican come up with that fits all of the facts. Look at the evidenceyourself. One simple thing stands out clearly, and must beconsidered first if any theory is to hold up. That is the magters'complete indifference to death--their own or anyone else's. Is thatnormal to mankind?"

  "No--but I can find a couple of explanations that I would ratherexplore first, before dragging in an alien life form. There may havebeen a mutation or an inherited disease that has deformed or warpedtheir minds."

  "Wouldn't that be sort of self-eliminating?" Brion asked."Anti-survival? People who die before puberty would find it a littledifficult to pass on a mutation to their children. But let's notbeat this one point to death--it's the totality of these people thatI find so hard to accept. Any one thing might be explained away, butnot the collection of them. What about their complete lack ofemotion? Or their manner of dress and their secrecy in general? Theordinary Disan wears a cloth kilt, while the magter cover themselvesas completely as possible. They stay in their black towers andnever go out except in groups. Their dead are always removed so theycan't be examined. In every way they act like a race apart--and Ithink 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 writtenrecords on this planet. After the Breakdown, when the handful ofsurvivors were just trying to exist here, the aliens could havelanded and moved in. Any interference could have been wiped out.Once the population began to grow, the invaders found they couldkeep control by staying separate, so their alien difference wouldn'tbe noticed."

  "Why should that bother them?" Lea asked. "If they are soindifferent to death, they can't have any strong thoughts on publicopinion or alien body odor. Why would they bother with such acomplex camouflage? And if they arrived from another planet, whathas happened to the scientific ability that brought them here?"

  "Peace," Brion said. "I don't know enough to be able even to guessat answers to half your questions. I'm just trying to fit a theoryto the facts. And the facts are clear. The magter are so inhumanthey would give me nightmares--if I were sleeping these days. Whatwe need is more evidence."

  "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 ascalpel and one of your friends stretched out on a slab and I'llquickly tell you what he is or is not." She turned back to themicroscope and bent over the eyepiece.

  That was really the only way to hack the Gordian knot. Dis had onlythirty-six more hours to live, so individual deaths shouldn't be ofany concern. He had to find a dead magter, and if none wasobtainable in the proper condition he had to get one of them byviolence. For a planetary savior, he was personally doing in anawful lot of the citizenry.

  He stood behind Lea, looking down at her thoughtfully while sheworked. The back of her neck, lightly covered with gently curlinghair, was turned toward him. With one of the about-face shiftsthe mind is capable of, his thoughts flipped from death to life,and he experienced a strong desire to caress this spot lightly,to feel the yielding texture of female flesh....

  Plunging his hands deep into his pockets, he walked quickly to thedoor. "Get some rest soon," he called to her. "I doubt if those bugswill give you the answer. I'm going now to see if I can get thefull-sized specimen you want."

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

  Up under the roof was a well-equipped communications room. Brionhad taken a quick look at it when he had first toured the building.The duty operator had earphones on--though only one of the phonescovered an ear--and was monitoring through the bands. His shoelessfeet were on the edge of the table, and he was eating a thicksandwich held in his free hand. His eyes bulged when he saw Brionin the doorway and he jumped into a flurry of action.

  "Hold the pose," Brion told him; "it doesn't bother me. And if youmake any sudden moves you are liable to break a phone, electrocuteyourself, or choke to death. Just see if you can set the transceiveron this frequency for me." Brion wrote the number on a scratchpad and slid it over to the operat
or. It was the frequencyProfessor-Commander Krafft had given him for the radio of theillegal terrorists--the Nyjord army.

  The operator plugged in a handset and gave it to Brion. "Circuitopen," 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 likeyour help. Do you want any more information on the radio?

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

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