Deathworld (29 page)

Brion frowned in concentration, sipping at the drink. "It's making
some kind of sense now. Symbiosis, parasitism and all the rest are
just ways of describing variations of the same basic process of
living together. And there is probably a grading and shading between
some of these that make the exact relationship hard to define."

"Precisely. Existence is so difficult on this world that the
competing forms have almost died out. There are still a few left,
preying off the others. It was the cooperating and interdependent
life forms that really won out in the race for survival. I say life
forms with intent. The creatures here are mostly a mixture of plant
and animal, like the lichens you have elsewhere. The Disans have a
creature they call a "vaede" that they use for water when traveling.
It has rudimentary powers of motion from its animal part, yet uses
photosynthesis and stores water like a plant. When the Disans drink
from it the thing taps their blood streams for food elements."

"I know," Brion said wryly. "I drank from one. You can see my scars.
I'm beginning to comprehend how the Disans fit into the physical
pattern of their world, and I realize it must have all kinds of
psychological effects on them. Do you think this has any effect on
their social organization?"

"An important one. But maybe I'm making too many suppositions now.
Perhaps your researchers upstairs can tell you better; after all,
this is their field."

Brion had studied the reports on the social setup and not one word
of them made sense. They were a solid maze of unknown symbols and
cryptic charts. "Please continue, Doctor," he insisted. "The
societics reports are valueless so far. There are factors missing.
You are the only one I have talked to so far who can give me any
intelligent reports or answers."

"All right then—be it on your own head. The way I see it, you've
got no society here at all, just a bunch of rugged individualists.
Each one for himself, getting nourishment from the other life forms
of the planet. If they have a society, it is orientated towards the
rest of the planetary life—instead of towards other human beings.
Perhaps that's why your figures don't make sense. They are set up
for the human societies. In their relations with each other, these
people are completely different."

"What about the magter, the upper-class types who build castles and
are causing all this trouble?"

"I have no explanation," Dr. Stine admitted. "My theories hold water
and seem logical enough up to this point. But the magter are the
exception, and I have no idea why. They are completely different
from the rest of the Disans. Argumentative, blood-thirsty, looking
for planetary conquest instead of peace. They aren't rulers, not in
the real sense. They hold power because nobody else wants it. They
grant mining concessions to offworlders because they are the only
ones with a sense of property. Maybe I'm going out on a limb. But
if you can find out
why
they are so different you may be onto
the clue to our difficulties."

For the first time since his arrival Brion began to feel a touch of
enthusiasm. Plus a sense of the remote possibility that there might
even be a solution to the deadly problem. He drained his glass and
stood up.

"I hope you'll wake your patient early, Doctor. You might be as
interested in talking to her as I am. If what you told me is true,
she could well be our key to the answer. She is Professor Lea
Morees, and she is just out from Earth with degrees in exobiology
and anthropology, and has a head stuffed with vital facts."

"Wonderful!" Stine said. "I shall take care of the head, not only
because it is so pretty but because of its knowledge. Though we
totter on the edge of atomic destruction I have a strange feeling
of optimism—for the first time since I landed on this planet."

The guard inside the front entrance of the Foundation building
jumped at the thunderous noise and reached for his gun. He dropped
his hand sheepishly when he realized it was only a sneeze—though a
gargantuan one. Brion came up, sniffling, huddling down into his
coat. "I'm going out before I catch pneumonia," he said. The guard
saluted dumbly, and after checking his proximity detector screens he
slipped out and the heavy portal thudded shut behind him. The street
was still warm from the heat of the day and he sighed happily and
opened his coat.

This was partly a reconnaissance trip—and partly a way of getting
warmed up. There was little else he could do in the building; the
staff had long since retired. He had slept for a half an hour, and
had waked refreshed and ready to work. All of the reports he could
understand had been read and reread until they were memorized. He
could use the time now, while the rest of them were asleep, to get
better acquainted with the main city of Dis.

As he walked the dark streets he realized how alien the Disan way of
life was to everything he knew. This city—Hovedstad—literally
meant "main place" in the native language. And that's all it was. It
was only the presence of the offworlders that made it into a city.
Building after building, standing deserted, bore the names of mining
companies, traders, space transporters. None of them was occupied
now. Some still had lights burning, switched on by automatic
apparatus, others were as dark as the Disan structures. There
weren't many of these native constructions and they seemed out of
place among the rammed earth and prefab offworld buildings. Brion
examined one that was dimly illuminated by the light on the corner
of VEGAN SMELTERS, LTD.

It consisted of a single large room, resting right on the ground.
There were no windows, and the whole thing appeared to have been
constructed of some sort of woven material plastered with stone-hard
mud. Nothing was blocking the door and he was thinking seriously of
going in when he became aware that he was being followed.

It was only a slight noise, almost lost in the night. Normally it
would never have been noticed, but tonight Brion was listening with
his entire body. Someone was behind him, swallowed up in the pools
of darkness. Brion shrank back against the wall. There was very
little chance this could be anyone but a Disan. He had a sudden
memory of Mervv's severed head as it had been discovered outside the
door.

Ihjel had helped him train his empathetic sense and he reached out
with it. It was difficult working in the dark; he could be sure of
nothing. Was he getting a reaction—or just wishing for one? Why did
it have a ring of familiarity to it? A sudden idea struck him.

"Ulv," he said, very softly. "This is Brion." He crouched, ready
for any attack.

"I know," a voice said softly in the night. "Do not talk. Walk
in the direction you were going before."

Asking questions now would accomplish nothing. Brion turned
instantly and did as he was bidden. The buildings grew further apart
until he realized from the sand underfoot that he was back in the
planet-wide desert. It could be a trap—he hadn't recognized the
voice behind the whisper—yet he had to take this chance. A darker
shape appeared in the dark night near him, and a burning hot hand
touched his arm lightly.

"I will walk ahead. Follow close behind me." The words were louder
and this time Brion recognized the voice.

Without waiting for an answer, Ulv turned and his dimly seen shape
vanished into the darkness. Brion moved swiftly after him, until
they walked side by side over the rolling hills of sand. The sand
merged into hard-baked ground, became cracked and scarred with
rock-filled gulleys. They followed a deepening gulley that grew into
a good-sized ravine. When they turned an angle of the ravine Brion
saw a weak yellow light coming from an opening in the hard dirt
wall.

Ulv dropped on all fours and vanished through the shoulder-wide
hole. Brion followed him, trying to ignore the growing tension and
unease he felt. Crawling like this, head down, he was terribly
vulnerable. He tried to shrug off the feeling, mentally blaming it
on tense nerves.

The tunnel was short and opened into a larger chamber. A sudden
scuffle of feet sounded at the same instant that a wave of
empathetic hatred struck him. It took vital seconds to fight his way
out of the trapping tunnel, to roll clear and bring his gun up.
During those seconds he should have died. The Disan poised above him
had the short-handled stone hammer raised to strike a skull-crushing
blow.

Ulv was clutching the man's wrist, fighting silently to keep the
hammer from falling. Neither combatant said a word, the rasp of
their calloused feet on the sand the only sound. Brion backed away
from the struggling men, his gun centered on the stranger. The Disan
followed him with burning eyes, and dropped the hammer as soon as it
was obvious the attack had failed.

"Why did you bring him here?" he growled at Ulv. "Why didn't you
kill him?"

"He is here so we can listen to what he says, Gebk. He is the one
I told you of, that I found in the desert."

"We listen to what he says and then we kill him," Gebk said with a
mirthless grin. The remark wasn't meant to be humorous, but was made
in all seriousness. Brion recognized this and knew that there was no
danger for the present moment. He slid the gun away, and for the
first time looked around the chamber.

It was domed in shape and was still hot from the heat of the day.
Ulv took off the length of cloth he had wrapped around his body
against the chill, and refolded it as a kilt, strapping it on under
his belt artifacts. He grunted something unintelligible and when
a muttered answer came, Brion for the first time became aware of
the woman and the child.

The two sat against the far wall, squatting on either side of a heap
of fibrous plants. Both were nude, clothed only in the matted hair
that fell below their shoulders. The belt of strange tools could not
be classified as clothing. Even the child wore a tiny replica of her
mother's. Putting down a length of plant she had been chewing, the
woman shuffled over to the tiny fire that illuminated the room. A
clay pot stood over it, and from this she ladled three bowls of food
for the men. It smelled atrocious, and Brion tried not to taste or
smell the sickening mixture while he ate it. He used his fingers, as
did the other men, and did not talk while he ate. There was no way
to tell if the silence was ritual or habit. It gave him a chance for
a closer look at the Disan way of living.

The cave was obviously hand-made; tool marks could be clearly seen
in the hard clay of the walls, except in the portion opposite the
entrance. This was covered with a network of roots, rising out of
the floor and vanishing into the roof of earth above. Perhaps this
was the reason for the cave's existence. The thin roots had been
carefully twisted and plaited together until they formed a single
swollen root in the center, as thick as a man's arm. From this hung
four of the vaedes: Ulv had placed his there before he sat down. The
teeth must have instantly sunk in, for it hung unsupported—another
link in the Disan life cycle. This appeared to be the source of the
vaede's water that nourished the people.

Brion was aware of eyes upon him and turned and smiled at the little
girl. She couldn't have been over six years old, but she was already
a Disan in every way. She neither returned his smile nor changed her
expression, unchildlike in its stolidity. Her hands and jaw never
stopped as she worked on the lengths of fibrous plant her mother had
placed before her. The child split them with a small tool and
removed a pod of some kind. This was peeled—partially by scraping
with a different tool, and partially by working between her teeth.
It took long minutes to remove the tough rind; the results seemed
scarcely worth it. A tiny wriggling object was finally disclosed
which the girl instantly swallowed. She then began working on the
next pod.

Ulv put down his clay bowl and belched. "I brought you to the city
as I told you I would," he said. "Have you done as you said you
would?"

"What did he promise?" Gebk asked.

"That he would stop the war. Have you stopped it?"

"I am trying to stop it," Brion said. "But it is not that easy.
I'll need some help. It is your life that needs saving—yours and
your families'. If you would help me—"

"What is the truth?" Ulv broke in savagely. "All I hear is
difference, and there is no longer any way to tell truth. For as
long as always we have done as the magter say. We bring them food
and they give us the metal and sometimes water when we need it. As
long as we do as they ask they do not kill us. They live the wrong
way, but I have had bronze from them for my tools. They have told us
that they are getting a world for us from the sky people, and that
is good."

"It has always been known that the sky people are evil in every way,
and only good can come from killing them," Gebk said.

Brion stared back at the two Disans and their obvious hatred. "Then
why didn't you kill me, Ulv?" he asked. "That first time in the
desert, or tonight when you stopped Gebk?"

"I could have. But there was something more important. What is the truth?
Can we believe as we have always done? Or should we listen to this?"

He threw a small sheet of plastic to Brion, no bigger than the palm
of his hand. A metal button was fastened to one corner of the wafer,
and a simple drawing was imbedded in the wafer. Brion held it to the
light and saw a picture of a man's hand squeezing the button between
thumb and forefinger. It was a subminiaturized playback; mechanical
pressure on the case provided enough current to play the recorded
message. The plastic sheet vibrated, acting as a loudspeaker.

Though the voice was thin and scratchy, the words were clearly
audible. It was an appeal for the Disan people not to listen to the
magter. It explained that the magter had started a war that could
have only one ending—the destruction of Dis. Only if the magter
were thrown down and their weapons discovered could there be any
hope.