Dancers in the Afterglow (12 page)

Genji came up after tending the fire, and the group was complete.

"What do you think it all means?" Moira's man, Harber, asked pensively. "You believe all that stuff?"

Yuri shrugged. "Well, we
knew
the Machists were missionaries. They said as much at the first contact. And he sure made some telling points."

"Yeah, but how do we know that
their
way is any better than ours?" Azure put in. "Maybe it's worse." Most nodded.

Yuri smiled bitterly. "I don't think that's the point," he told them. "It really doesn't matter. Look at us, here. Hairy, naked, dirty savages. Hair stringy, matted, tangled. Bitten by so many bugs we don't even notice them anymore, like the little gnats buzzing around us now. And we go from here to our crude huts, and tomorrow we'll tend to our poorly planted crop, go hunting, for more food in the forest, maybe bag an antelope. And this is
it.
No rejuve, no medicos. Until we get killed by some accident, or we don't get there quickly enough to scare off a hungry lion, or we get crippled and can't pull our share of the weight. It's only a matter of time, and that
they
have on their side. Now they're saying to us, 'Okay, live like this forever or join us and go our way.' It's the only out they're giving. That's where they got us by the short hairs."

"Speak for yourself," Moira responded haughtily. "I, for one, can't see any difference between their way and this. Personally, I'll keep this. The Combine won't let us down. They'll come back someday."

Then it was Genji's turn. "Hey! You know how many human worlds the Machists have taken? Well, I asked, and it's fourteen. Know how many we took back? None. Zip. Zero."

The thought made Azure unsteady. "You really don't think they'd just leave us here—like this?"

Yuri nodded. "Probably. Or, when they got all the converts they could and got tired of spending time and money on us, take us and put us in a zoo someplace. Maybe mess up our minds a little so we really
were
apes. A great object lesson and reminder for those who
do
convert."

The thought appalled them. It was only a tiny step from their present condition.

Finally, Moira said, "Well, maybe we'll play along with them if we have to, if it comes to that, I mean. But I don't think anybody can convert me into somebody I'm not."

"I don't know," Yuri sighed. "I really don't know anymore. It's their game played by their rules, and I'm pretty sure of one thing. They've done this all before."

All over the camp, in small groups, variations on that conversation were being repeated. The greatest enemy, their own inner fear, was loose among them. That suited Ponder just fine.

Rauco

DANIEL WAS FURIOUS, NOT ONLY AT STEN ROLVAG BUT
at himself as well. That was the
second
robot he'd lost on Ondine through carelessness, or by misplaying the situation.

He thought long and hard about the tactics he'd now have to use. He couldn't be himself this time, he knew. Not at the start, anyway. Not until he'd disposed of that nasty pistol of Rolvag's, and maybe Rolvag himself. He needed those people badly; the whole plot fell apart without Lamarine.

Already there had been some trouble, too. The Crede group had gotten impatient and attacked the supply depot on their own. Most had been killed, and a few caught, so now his presence was known to the Machists, at least in one spot. Surely they'd be on their guard, knowing that the Combine was at large on the planet and that they were indeed in a race over the available time. He was concerned that it would drive the enemy to employ more desperate measures on the captive population, but he had few ways of checking that out.

Or did he? he wondered suddenly. He wished he'd had the presence of mind when he arrived to put one of his selves in one of the camps. Before the silver collars, before a newcomer would be suspicious even to the people in the camps.

Now that he knew the measure of Rolvag, though, he knew what he had to do there. He could just rage in and give a show of strength, but Rolvag's pistol would quickly demonstrate the limitations of that tactic. No, doing what he wanted would take subterfuge.

And Rolvag seemed to have one big weakness.

It was something Daniel didn't want to do, something he wasn't sure he
could
do, but it was the quickest, easiest, and sneakiest way to accomplish what he was after. And a group the size of Rolvag's would not be ignored forever, not with known human agents about organizing the uncaptured rabble.

His other selves analyzed and surveyed and picked and chose until they had the right model for the new robot. The subject was examined down to the smallest detail; there would be no telltale manicured perfection here. The walk, the voice, the manner were also studied carefully, without telling the subject, who was, after all, on another continent and would never know of this project, of the imitation.

The computer had no trouble duplicating the subject, but pulling off this coup still would be difficult. He would have to devote most of his attention to this one robot for the duration of the project, at a time when the other groups needed a firm hand.

But without Lamarine the rest didn't matter. He only hoped his acting ability was up to the job.

Sten Rolvag was having a party. He liked parties, and if he liked them—well, then, so did everyone else. Most of the people thought him mad, but they all feared and respected him and so went along with his whims. For the occasion they'd set up a long table made of boards, on which were dishes of various kinds. People had blankets spread out under the trees in anticipation, but none would eat as yet.

The Princess Amara, as she insisted on being called,
arrived first. Rolvag's Concubines, as his all-woman armed guard was called out of his and their earshot, bowed slightly in deference to her, and she acknowledged their homage regally. She was dressed in black— knee-length service boots, the mini bathing suit she'd kept, and, tied at the throat, a silken cape made from somebody's fancy hotel sheet. A black leatherlike belt with her marine service energy pistol in its holster circled her hips. She was a handsome woman now, well built and strongly muscled. Life in the caves had unproved her body, but she had cold, dark eyes and a personality that hardened her current situation.

She reached the table and snapped her fingers. Immediately a woman with a shotgun rushed up and handed her a cigar; another woman lighted it with a burning ember.

Amara eyed the food as everyone else waited impatiently; they were hungry, but Rolvag's Concubines controlled the food supply.

Then it was Rolvag's turn. Fat and broad, wearing hunting boots and grass skirt as well as his. own pistol, he looked like an ancient Polynesian king rather than the Viking he imagined himself to be. Only the huge tangle of whiskers recalled his Scandinavian models. Everyone applauded in the obligatory manner as he made his approach; they really
were
glad to see him. Once he had his plate filled, they could fill theirs.

And finally, they did, and roast wild pig and mounds of vegetables disappeared fast into glad stomachs. Afterward there was dancing, even an improvised bong dance with a kettle instead of the steel drum, which His Majesty joined but Her Majesty disdained. She was busy surveying the crowd, picking out those she'd have later on. As a marine she'd had the usual sex depressants, but now that they'd worn off she was insatiable. Rolvag didn't mind. Although Amara liked both sexes and he was a confirmed heterosexual, the women he favored and surrounded himself with were more than adequate. The important thing was that Amara had been there when he'd needed her; they were bound by something other than just nightly sex.

The merrymaking continued well into the darkness.

Suddenly there was a disturbance, and they all stopped and looked as two of the guards came into view, marching a woman before them at gunpoint.

She was large, larger than Amara, and about as muscular, but extremely well built and kind of exotic, almost Latin. Her skin had been toughened by exposure to the elements, and there were some pits and small scars, indicating she'd been through a lot. She was naked, and there was a narrow, white ring-shaped discoloration around her neck.

The dancers fell back, and Rolvag walked out to the fire to meet her. She stood there, looking a little bewildered.

"Who are you?" he demanded of her. "What do you want here?"

She stood straight, as tall as Rolvag, and noted sardonically that his gaze was not really on her face but on the twin protuberances below her neck. Sten Rolvag liked them big.

"I am Elvandrille Samone," she told him, her voice rich, deep, and musical, a singer's voice.

Rolvag's tone became gentle. "Where do you come from, child?" he asked sweetly.

"I was—well, I was in one of
their
camps," she replied hesitantly.

There was a general exclamation of surprise from the crowd, and some murmuring.

"How'd you escape?" he asked her, genuinely fascinated. "I thought that ring," he pointed at the mark on her neck, brown but not nearly the deep brown of the rest of her, "killed you if you took it off."

She nodded. "It does. Or, it's supposed to, anyway. But I'd had it with living like that. Like a filthy animal, a monkey in a zoo. My brother and I decided to end it We took each other's collar in our hands, and we pulled." There was great sadness in her eyes, and she looked down. "It killed him, all right—but I was still there. No feeling, nothing." She stopped for a minute, composing herself.

"I don't know how long I stood there before I realized what had happened. I don't know why, either. Maybe my collar was bad. Maybe pulling each other's collar off caused my charge to go to him along with his. He was standing back to the generator, shielding me. Anyway, I was free. I ran, made the mountains in a couple of days with the help of food from a few camps, and met a spotter there. He told me about your colony, here, and I just made it."

Rolvag nodded sympathetically, then turned to Amara. She smiled and nodded.

"What say you?" he called to the people. "Do we accept this poor girl as one of us?"

"Yeaah!"
the crowd roared back, genuinely touched by the girl's story and her escape.

"Come!" Rolvag invited her. "You shall sleep in our cave as our guest tonight, and we'll find a place for you." He leered at her while they walked into the mountain. "I'm sure we'll find a place for you in our community."

If she noticed the look she ignored it, and nodded appreciatively.

There were several women in the cave, and she did notice that a couple of them gave her looks similar to Rolvag's. Then the big leader told them to leave for an hour or so, and sat her down on a cushioned bench.

"Let me get you some wine," he offered, pouring from a large flagon. "We make it here. Not the best vintage, but probably the best on Ondine at the moment."

She smiled and took the glass, and wasn't the least bit surprised when he sat just to her right.

"I'm sure the wine will be wonderful," she gushed. "I haven't had any in so long I've almost forgotten what .it tastes like."

He beamed. The high-potency stuff he'd given her would work wonders, and she'd never know she was becoming drunk.

A couple of toasts, a couple of glasses, and she was
acting silly and relaxed. He put his arm around her, she put hers around him, and they leaned into each other.

Suddenly her hand shot out, ripped his pistol from its holster with force, and pushed him away violently.

He was surprised, even a little shaken, but as she pointed the weapon at him he laughed.

"So!" he roared. "All a trick, eh? Well, it won't do you any good! Go ahead!" he invited, picking himself up off the floor. "Pull the trigger! See what it gets you."

She pressed the firing stud, and nothing happened.

He roared with laughter. "A few others have tried," he told her. "They learned the same lesson as you. The pistol is matched to me alone. It won't work for anyone else." Suddenly the expression on his face grew serious, his tone nasty.

"All right, you bitch, now I'm gonna take what I want and then throw you to the wolves." He moved toward her.

She looked at the gun in frustration, then took it and squeezed it tightly in her hand. The blue crystalline structure crumbled.

Rolvag stopped, looking bug-eyed at the impossible. "You shouldn't have killed my brother Daniel, you pompous, self-centered son of a bitch," the girl said softly, then reached out, striking him a knockout blow.

Daniel looked down at the unconscious form. He didn't feel at all comfortable or natural, but he'd accomplished what he had to do.

Partly. There was still Amara and the other energy pistol.

He went to the cave mouth, and, taking care not to show himself, adjusted the frequency on the oral simulator. Voiceprints of Rolvag taken by the ship helped, but he could never be sure
if
an impersonation was effective until it was tested. If it was off, there'd be a hell of a fight.

"Guard!" he called in Rolvag's voice. "C'mere and take this bitch away!"

He was right; the guard was never far from the cave mouth. Two women with shotguns entered the cave.

He leaped at the first one with enough force to ram both his body and that of the first guard into the second.

He rolled, was up before either guard recovered. One started to scream, but he cut her off with a threatened blow and picked up both shotguns, pointing one at the two women.