Hunt the Space-Witch! Seven Adventures in Time and Space

  “The Hammer of Aldryne, you mean,” said Domyel.

  “Yes. That was it.”

  The ponderous Legate strode up and down in the Proconsul’s tiny office. At length he said, “You know, we could have you tortured to obtain the same secret. We of the Empire are very interested in this Hammer, Duyair.”

  Duyair grinned. Everyone suddenly seemed interested in the Hammer. And many torturers were having booms in business.

  “You grin?”

  “Yes, milord. This Hammer—it does not exist, you see. It’s one of our legends. A myth. My father tried to tell your interrogators this, and they killed him. Now you will interrogate me and probably kill me as well. It is really very funny.”

  The Legate eyed him sourly. “A myth, you say? And for a myth I’ve crossed half a galaxy—”

  “The rebellion brewing on Dykran is very real,” Proconsul Quarloo reminded him gingerly.

  “Ah—yes. Rebellion. And this Hammer of Aldryne—a myth? Ah me. Boy, what brought you to Dykran?”

  “I came here to visit,” Duyair said innocently.

  They turned him loose finally after another half-hour of questioning. He stuck fairly closely to his bumpkin role, and it became quite clear to the exasperated Legate and to the Proconsul that they were going to get nothing from him. He promised not to stray far from the city, and they let him go.

  The moment he stepped outside the Proconsul’s headquarters, a shadowy figure moved alongside him, and a whispered voice said, “Are you Ras Duyair?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You were just questioned by the Proconsul, weren’t you? Speak up or I’ll knife you.”

  “I was,” Duyair admitted. “Who are you?”

  “Quite possibly a friend. Will you come with me?”

  “Do I have any choice?” Duyair asked.

  “No,” said the stranger.

  Shrugging, Duyair let himself be led down the street to a small, blue, teardrop-shaped auto that was idling there. He got in at the other’s direction, and they drove off.

  Duyair made no attempt to remember the streets as they passed through them; his driver was taking such a deliberately winding, tangled route that any such attempt would be hopeless.

  They stopped finally in front of a squat gray-brown brick building in the ugly, antiquated style popular here.

  “We get out here,” Duyair’s mysterious captor told him.

  Duyair and the stranger left the car and entered the old building. Two blank-faced guards stood within. Duyair wondered what nest of intrigue he had stumbled into now. He wondered whether he might not have been safer remaining back on Aldryne.

  “Is this Duyair?” asked a cold-faced man with a strange accent.

  Duyair’s captor nodded.

  “Bring him within,” ordered the cold-faced man.

  Duyair was shoved into a brightly lit room ringed with packed book shelves and furnished with shabby, out-of-date furniture. Three or four other men were sitting in battered chairs.

  The cold-faced man turned to Duyair and said, “I must apologize for a number of things. First, for not getting to you ahead of the Empire men—and second, for the mysterious handling you’ve had since Quarloo turned you loose.”

  “Apology tentatively accepted,” Duyair said. “Where am I, and what’s going on?”

  “My name,” said the cold-faced man, “is Bluir Marsh. I’m a native of Dervonar. You know Dervonar?”

  “The capital of the Empire, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. I’ve seen the Empire first-hand, from within. It’s rotten. It’s ready to fall, given a push.”

  “So?”

  “So I came to Dykran. I’ve established an organization, and I’d like you to join it. We’re getting set to give the Empire that one push.”

  Chapter Four

  Emperor Dervon XIV had been devoting more than usual attention to the dispatches from the Aldryne system. In fact, he had dwelled on the doings in that system with a singleminded fascination that left him little time for supervising the manifold complexities of the other worlds of his Empire.

  But he felt the time was well spent. More so than anyone, he was aware of the shakiness of his throne, and he foresaw serious trouble arising out of Aldryne.

  “Is there any report from your Legate on Dykran today, Govleq?” the Emperor asked the Minister.

  “Not yet, Majesty.”

  “Mph. See that the routing office gets about its business faster. This is serious business, Govleq.”

  “Of course, Majesty.”

  The Emperor rubbed his hairless scalp and picked up the Legate’s last report. “Can you imagine this? They had the son of that priest Duyair in custody on Dykran and released him! The Hammer—this fool of a Legate of yours tells me sententiously it’s a myth. Myth? A myth that will topple us all yet, Govleq. Who is this Legate?”

  “Olon Domyel is one of our finest men, sire. I chose him myself.”

  “More discredit to you,” Dervon said testily.

  The signal light flashed twice, blinking on and off. “Messages have come through,” the Emperor snapped. “Get them and read them.”

  “At once, sire.”

  Govleq crossed the room to the message bin that had been installed there and deftly abstracted the two tiny message crystals from the chute. “One is from Dykran, the other from Aldryne, Majesty.”

  “Go ahead, read them. I want to know what they say not where they’re from!”

  The Minister moistened his lips and split one of the crystals with his fingernail. He scanned the message, gasped a little, and opened the other crystal. The Emperor, beady-eyed, was watching him impatiently.

  “Well?” Dervon demanded. His voice was a raven’s croak.

  “One from Aldryne, one from Dykran,” Govleq repeated inanely, “Which do you want first, sire?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, sire. The one from Dykran is dated somewhat earlier. It’s from Legate Domyel. He says there are rumors of a rebel army gathering somewhere on the planet, though he’s not sure where.”

  “The idiot! What of the one from Aldryne?”

  Govleq shivered a little. “The—one—from—Aldryne—is from Proconsul Darhuel. He says—”

  “Get on with it!” Dervon raged.

  “Darhuel says he’s evacuating all Imperial forces from the planet Aldryne at once and removing his base to one of the neighboring worlds. It seems there’s an insurrection on Aldryne, too, only it’s already broken out. It’s led by a priest named Lugaur Holsp, who claims to be wielding—shield us, Majesty—the Hammer of Aldryne!”

  Ras Duyair huddled intently on the floor of Bluir Marsh’s room, listening to the Dervonarian insurrectionist outline his plan. “They’re definitely aware of what’s going on, on Dykran,” Marsh said. “We have plenty of evidence for that. Yesterday this Legate arrived from the capital—this Olon Domyel. He promptly slapped an embargo on travel between Dykran and Aldryne, and then the fool expanded it to cover every world in the system.”

  “Now there’s only one reason why he’d do that. The Emperor suspects trouble brewing in this system, and the quickest and safest way of quelling it is to isolate the planets so no germs of insurrection can wander from world to world.” Marsh chuckled. “Unfortunately, a few stray spores drifted in on the tides of the ether. Young Duyair, for one. But for all intents there’s no contact between Dykran and Aldryne.”

  “All right. First a Legate comes, and second he imposes a travel restriction. The time has arrived to make our move—now, before the Emperor sends a few million Imperial troops to quarter here and sit on us. We have our organization. We’ll have to attack. Our only hope is to re-establish contact with other planets, get them to follow along. The Emperor has a big fleet, but it can’t be everywhere at once. Simultaneous revolutions on a hundred worlds would wreck the Empire within a week.”

  A man sitting near Duyair raised his hand. “Tell me, Bluir. How many worlds do you think will go alo
ng with us?”

  “There are revolutionary organizations on at least fourteen worlds in twelve systems,” Marsh said. “I’ve built them myself over the last decade. The one on Dykran is the strongest, which is why we’re touching the thing off here. But it’ll spread. The Empire’s a relic of the past; no one wants to pay taxes to a useless monarchy simply to support a doddering old Emperor. Duyair, how is it on Aldryne?”

  Duyair said, “No one cares much for the Empire on my world. We have the legend of the Hammer, of course. It keeps our hatred of the Empire alive, knowing that the Hammer will one day smash the Empire.”

  Bluir Marsh frowned. “The Hammer—yes, I know the legend. Is there any basis to it?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Duyair said. “My father might—but the interrogators got him. He always insisted to me that there was really a Hammer and that he knew where it was, but he died without telling me.”

  “And his successor as High Priest doesn’t know, either.”

  “Too bad; a psychological focus like the Hammer could be useful. We could always fake a Hammer, I guess. As soon as the thing’s touched off on Dykran, suppose we ship you back to Aldryne to spread the good word there.”

  “I’ll do it,” Duyair said.

  “Good.” Marsh glanced around. “You all understand the parts you’re to play?”

  There was general agreement. For once a grin passed over the insurrectionist’s cold face. “We’re ready to go, then. The first operation is to seize the Proconsul and that Legate, and then to get the word rolling around the galaxy of what we’ve done.”

  A swirling mob swooped down on the office of the Proconsul of Dykran, Duyair among them. There must have been a hundred of them, armed with makeshift weapons of all sorts.

  As the tallest and most powerful man in the group, Duyair almost unconsciously gravitated toward the fore of the mob as they approached the office. Two stunned-looking Imperial corpsmen stood on guard outside, but the tide swept over them before they could do more than threaten ineffectually.

  Duyair hooked out a long arm and plucked a blaster from one of the guards; he jabbed it in the other’s ribs, ordered him to turn, and clubbed him down. Men of the mob spirited the guards away somewhere.

  “Inside!” Duyair yelled. He realized he was somehow becoming leader of the insurrection. Bluir Marsh was nowhere to be seen; obviously he had no taste for actual combat.

  The photonically actuated door caved in beneath the horde that pressed against it. From within came confused shouts of, “Guard! Guard! Protect the Proconsul!”

  The Legate, Olon Domyel, appeared. He was unarmed, clad in his splendid robes. Duyair’s appraising eyes saw he wore lift shoes and shoulder pads to enhance his size.

  “Hold back, rabble!” the Legate roared. “This is the Proconsul’s office! What right have you in here?”

  “The right of free men,” Duyair said, wiggling the blaster in his hand. “The right of those who no longer bow to the Emperor.”

  “Rebellion! Open revolution! You must be mad!” Domyel shouted. “Back! Away from here!”

  Behind him Duyair heard some of the men muttering doubtfully. The magnificence of the Legate, he knew, was having the effect Domyel desired.

  “Seize and bind him,” Duyair snapped.

  “No! I’m a Legate of the Emperor! My person is sacrosanct!”

  “Bind him!” Duyair repeated, and this time four of the Dykranians produced rope and seized the struggling Legate. Domyel kicked and pummeled in all directions, but in a moment or two he had subsided, sputtering, his arms tied.

  “Proconsul Quarloo?” Duyair called. “Come out of there—unarmed!”

  “You can’t do this!” came a quavering voice. “It’s illegal! You can’t rebel against the Empire!”

  “Come out of there!” Duyair said loudly. Quarloo appeared, trembling woefully, clutching his cloak about him. He looked an utterly dismal figure; the weather-beaten toughness Duyair had noted earlier had vanished totally from his face.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Quarloo asked.

  “An end to Empire rule in the Aldryne system,” said Duyair. He turned and ordered: “Bind this one, too! Then search the place for weapons.”

  “We’ve caught three more Imperial guards, sir,” whispered a man at his right. “They were sneaking out the back way.”

  “Armed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Duyair laughed. “The cowards! Well, distribute their weapons and bind them with the rest. We need every blaster we can lay hands on.”

  Within five minutes the place was completely in the possession of the revolutionaries. Now, from somewhere, Bluir Marsh appeared.

  “Fine work,” he said. “I like the way you led the assault, Duyair.”

  “Thanks. But where were you?”

  Marsh smiled slyly. “A leader never endangers his own life unnecessarily. Besides, you’re a much more commanding figure than I am. Someone your size gets followed; they can see you.”

  Duyair grinned at the small revolutionary. “I understand. What now?”

  “We have the entire building under occupation, yes?” Duyair nodded.

  “Good. We seize communications now and flash the word to as many systems as we can. Then we proceed to round up as many of the Empire guards on Dykran as we can find. They’re our hostages.”

  Duyair and Marsh stepped over a bench someone had thrown down in a futile attempt at barricade and entered the office of the deposed Proconsul. A battery of communication devices covered one wall; the communications links of the Empire were still strong.

  Marsh strode immediately to the subradio set and began setting up coordinates. Duyair idly picked up some papers that lay on Quarloo’s desk.

  He read them, blinked, read them again. He heard Marsh announcing word of the rebellion in vivid tones to the people of some other star system.

  “Hey,” Duyair said when Marsh was through. “Listen to this. I just found it on Quarloo’s desk—it’s a message that came through from Aldryne.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s from Proconsul Darhuel on Aldryne. He—says he’s going to evacuate Aldryne and move his base to Moorhelm—Aldryne VI. Seems there’s been an uprising on Aldryne, too.”

  Marsh looked startled. “But there was no organization on Aldrynel A spontaneous rebellion? Who’s leading it—does Darhuel say?”

  “Yes,” Duyair said strangely. “The leader’s a priest, name of Lugaur Holsp. He has a tremendous popular following that’s sprung up overnight. He—he claims to have the Hammer of Aldryne!”

  By nightfall, Dykran bore no trace of Imperial rule: the Proconsul and the handful of men who had guarded him were prisoners, the Imperial Legate as well. A provisional government had been established, with one Fulmor Narzin at its head. A blue and gold Dykran flag appeared surprisingly atop the Proconsul’s headquarters.

  Within headquarters itself Bluir Marsh and several of his lieutenants, including Ras Duyair, tried to plan their next steps.

  “I don’t understand this Hammer maneuver,” Duyair said. “Holsp can’t possibly have the Hammer unless he pulled off a miracle. So far as I know the secret of its location died with my father.”

  “Whether he has the true Hammer or not,” pointed out Marsh, “he has a hammer. The people seem to believe it—to the point of expelling their Proconsul. I think we should make contact with this Lugaur Holsp and join forces with him. The symbol of the Hammer is known through the galaxy as that which will smash the Empire. If we get the movement rolling fast enough—”

  Duyair shook his head. “I know this Holsp. He’s not the kind to be interested in overthrowing the Empire except for his own personal advantage. I don’t trust him, Marsh.”

  “Trust? How does that matter? First the revolution,” Marsh said. “With the Empire crushed, we worry about sorting the trustworthy from the treacherous. Go to Aldryne, Duyair. Find Holsp. And don’t worry whether this is the real Hammer or not. The thing
is what we call it, and if the galaxy believes the Hammer is being raised against the Empire, the Empire is doomed.” Marsh mopped away sweat. Turning to one of his men, he said, “Any word from Thyrol on the rebellion there?”

  “Heavy garrison of Imperial forces there. They’re yielding.”

  “Damn. We’ll probably lose Thyrol.” Marsh scowled. “I hope we haven’t touched this thing off prematurely. As of now only half a dozen worlds are rebelling, two of them in this system. Thousands are still loyal. Dammit, Duyair, we need the Hammer! That’s the symbol everyone waits for!”

  Suddenly a Dykranian radioman came dashing into the office. “Marsh! Marsh!”

  “Well? What news? Anything from Thyrol?”

  “No! I was trying to reach Aldryne, and I tapped a supersecret direct wire from Aldryne to the Emperor!”

  “What?”

  “I tapped a conversation between Lugaur Holsp and the Emperor himself. We’re being betrayed! Holsp is selling out!”

  Chapter Five

  “I wish this had waited five more years,” the Emperor Dervon XIV said peevishly aloud, to himself. “Or ten. Let my son worry about it.”

  Then he realized he was weakening. After threatening all through his lifetime, the rebellion had happened now. That he was old and weary was irrelevant. The rebellion would have to be put down. The Empire had to be preserved.

  “Give me the report,” he commanded as Corun Govleq entered the throne room.

  Govleq looked seriously preoccupied, but the shadow of a smile appeared on his face. “Good news, sire, for a change.”

  “Well! What is it?”

  “The rebellion seems to be confined to a handful of worlds—Aldryne, Dykran, Thyrol, Menahun, Quintak, and a few others. We’ve just about got the situation in hand on Thyrol, and word from Quintak is encouraging.”

  Dervon smiled. “This gladdens me. I think strong action is called for now. Order out a battle fleet, Govleq.”

  “To where, sire?”

  “To Aldryne. The rebellion is confined. Now we can safely devastate Aldryne and Dykran, the instigator worlds, and re-establish control.”