Deathworld (34 page)

Lea's eyes widened. "Are you suggesting that your girls see if a man
can father children
before
considering marriage?"

"Of course. Otherwise Anvhar would have been depopulated centuries
ago. Therefore the woman does the choosing. If she is interested in
a man, she says so. If she is not interested, the man would never
think of suggesting anything. It's a lot different from other
planets, but so is our planet Anvhar. It works well for us, which
is the only test that applies."

"Just about the opposite of Earth," Lea told him, dropping the apple
core into a dish and carefully licking the tips of her fingers. "I
guess you Anvharians would describe Earth as a planetary hotbed of
sexuality. The reverse of your system, and going full blast all the
time. There are far too many people there for comfort. Birth control
came late and is still being fought—if you can possibly imagine
that. There are just too many of the archaic religions still around,
as well as crackbrained ideas that have been long entrenched in
custom. The world's overcrowded. Men, women, children, a boiling mob
wherever you look. And all of the physically mature ones seem to be
involved in the Great Game of Love. The male is always the
aggressor. Not physically—at least not often—and women take the
most outrageous kinds of flattery for granted. At parties there are
always a couple of hot breaths of passion fanning your neck. A girl
has to keep her spike heels filed sharp."

"She has to
what
?"

"A figure of speech, Brion. Meaning you fight back all the time,
if you don't want to be washed under by the flood."

"Sounds rather"—Brion weighed the word before he said it, but
could find none other suitable—"repellent."

"From your point of view, it would be. I'm afraid we get so used to
it that we even take it for granted. Sociologically speaking...."
She stopped and looked at Brion's straight back and almost rigid
posture. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in an unspoken
oh
of sudden realization.

"I'm being a fool," she said. "You weren't speaking generally at
all! You had a very specific subject in mind. Namely
me
!"

"Please, Lea, you must understand...."

"But I do!" She laughed. "All the time I thought you were being a
frigid and hard-hearted lump of ice, you were really being very
sweet. Just playing the game in good old Anvharian style. Waiting
for a sign from me. We'd still be playing by different rules if you
hadn't had more sense than I, and finally realized that somewhere
along the line we must have got our signals mixed. And I thought you
were some kind of frosty offworld celibate." She let her hand go out
and her fingers rustled through his hair. Something she had been
wanting to do for a long time.

"I had to," he said, trying to ignore the light touch of her
fingers. "Because I thought so much of you, I couldn't have done
anything to insult you. Such as forcing my attentions on you. Until
I began to worry where the insult would lie, since I knew nothing
about your planet's mores."

"Well, you know now," she said very softly. "The men aggress. Now
that I understand, I think I like your way better. But I'm still not
sure of all the rules. Do I explain that yes, Brion, I like you so
very much? You are more man, in one great big wide-shouldered lump,
than I have ever met before. It's not quite the time or the place
to discuss marriage, but I would certainly like—"

His arms were around her, holding her to him. Her hands clasped him
and their lips sought each other's in the darkness.

"Gently ..." she whispered. "I bruise easily...."

"He wouldn't come in, sir. Just hammered on the door and said,
'
I'm here, tell Brandd.
'"

"Good enough," Brion said, fitting his gun in the holster and
sliding the extra clips into his pocket. "I'm going out now, and I
should return before dawn. Get one of the wheeled stretchers down
here from the hospital. I'll want it waiting when I get back."

Outside, the street was darker than he remembered. Brion frowned
and his hand moved towards his gun. Someone had put all the nearby
lights out of commission. There was just enough illumination from
the stars to enable him to make out the dark bulk of a sand car.

"Brion Brandd?" a voice spoke harshly from the car. "Get in."

The motor roared as soon as he had closed the door. Without lights
the sand car churned a path through the city and out into the
desert. Though the speed picked up, the driver still drove in the
dark, feeling his way with a light touch on the controls. The ground
rose, and when they reached the top of a mesa he killed the engine.
Neither the driver nor Brion had spoken a word since they left.

A switch snapped and the instrument lights came on. In their dim
glow Brion could just make out the other man's hawklike profile.
When he moved, Brion saw that his figure was cruelly shortened.
Either accident or a mutated gene had warped his spine, hunching him
forward in eternally bent supplication. Warped bodies were rare—his
was the first Brion had ever seen. He wondered what series of events
had kept him from medical attention all his life. This might explain
the bitterness and pain in the man's voice.

"Did the mighty brains on Nyjord bother to tell you that they have
chopped another day off the deadline?" the man asked. "That this
world is about to come to an end?"

"Yes, I know," Brion said. "That's why I'm asking your group for
help. Our time is running out too fast."

The man didn't answer; he merely grunted and gave his full attention
to the radar pings and glowing screen. The electronic senses reached
out as he made a check on all the search frequencies to see if they
were being followed.

"Where are we going?" Brion asked.

"Out into the desert." The driver made a vague wave of his hand.
"Headquarters of the army. Since the whole thing will be blown up in
another day, I guess I can tell you it's the only camp we have. All
the cars, men and weapons are based there. And Hys. He's the man in
charge. Tomorrow it will be all gone—along with this cursed planet.
What's your business with us?"

"Shouldn't I be telling Hys that?"

"Suit yourself." Satisfied with the instrument search, the driver
kicked the car to life again and churned on across the desert. "But
we're a volunteer army and we have no secrets from each other. Just
from the fools at home who are going to kill this world." There was
a bitterness in his words that he made no attempt to conceal. "They
fought among themselves and put off a firm decision so long that now
they are forced to commit murder."

"From what I had heard, I thought that it was the other way around.
They call your Nyjord army terrorists."

"We are. Because we are an army and we're at war. The idealists at
home only understood that when it was too late. If they had backed
us in the beginning we would have blown open every black castle on
Dis, searched until we found those bombs. But that would have meant
wanton destruction and death. They wouldn't consider that. Now they
are going to kill everyone, destroy everything." He flicked on the
panel lights just long enough to take a compass bearing, and Brion
saw the tortured unhappiness in his twisted body.

"It's not over yet," Brion said. "There is more than a day left,
and I think I'm onto something that might stop the war—without
any bombs being dropped."

"You're in charge of the Cultural Relationships Free Bread and
Blankets Foundation, aren't you? What good can your bunch do when
the shooting starts?"

"None. But maybe we can put off the shooting. If you are trying to
insult me—don't bother. My irritation quotient is very high."

The driver merely grunted at this, slowing down as they ran through
a field of broken rock. "What is it you want?" he asked.

"We want to make a detailed examination of one of the magter. Alive
or dead, it doesn't make any difference. You wouldn't happen to have
one around?"

"No. We've fought with them often enough, but always on their home
grounds. They keep all their casualties, and a good number of ours.
What good will it do you anyway? A dead one won't tell you where the
bombs or the jump-space projector is."

"I don't see why I should explain that to you—unless you are in
charge. You are Hys, aren't you?"

The driver gave an angry sound, and then was silent while he drove.
Finally he asked, "What makes you think that?"

"Call it a hunch. You don't act very much like a sand-car driver,
for one thing. Of course your army may be all generals and no
privates—but I doubt it. I also know that time has almost run out
for all of us. This is a long ride and it would be a complete waste
of time if you just sat out in the desert and waited for me. By
driving me yourself you could make your mind up before we arrived.
Could have a decision ready as to whether you are going to help me
or not. Are you?"

"Yes—I'm Hys. But you still haven't answered my question. What do
you want the body for?"

"We're going to cut it open and take a good long look. I don't think
the magter are human. They are something living among men and
disguised as men—but still not human."

"Secret aliens?" Hys exploded the words in a mixture of surprise
and disgust.

"Perhaps. The examination will tell us that."

"You're either stupid or incompetent," Hys said bitterly. "The heat
of Dis has cooked your brains in your head. I'll be no part of this
kind of absurd plan."

"You must," Brion said, surprised at his own calmness. He could
sense the other man's interest hidden behind his insulting manner.
"I don't even have to give you my reasons. In another day this world
ends and you have no way to stop it. I just might have an idea that
could work, and you can't afford to take any chances—not if you are
really sincere. Either you are a murderer, killing Disans for
pleasure, or you honestly want to stop the war. Which is it?"

"You'll have your body all right," Hys grated, hurling the car
viciously around a spire of rock. "Not that it will accomplish
anything—but I can find no fault with killing another magter. We
can fit your operation into our plans without any trouble. This is
the last night and I have sent every one of my teams out on raids.
We're breaking into as many magter towers as possible before dawn.
There is a slim chance that we might uncover something. It's really
just shooting in the dark, but it's all we can do now. My own team
is waiting and you can ride along with us. The others left earlier.
We're going to hit a small tower on this side of the city. We raided
it once before and captured a lot of small arms they had stored
there. There is a good chance that they may have been stupid enough
to store something there again. Sometimes the magter seem to suffer
from a complete lack of imagination."

"You have no idea just how right you are," Brion told him.

The sand car slowed down now, as they approached a slab-sided mesa
that rose vertically from the desert. They crunched across broken
rocks, leaving no tracks. A light blinked on the dashboard, and Hys
stopped instantly and killed the engine. They climbed out,
stretching and shivering in the cold desert night.

It was dark walking in the shadow of the cliff and they had to feel
their way along a path through the tumbled boulders. A sudden blaze
of light made Brion wince and shield his eyes. Near him, on the
ground, was the humming shape of a cancellation projector, sending
out a fan-shaped curtain of vibration that absorbed all the light
rays falling upon it. This incredible blackness made a lightproof
wall for the recessed hollow at the foot of the cliff. In this
shelter, under the overhang of rock, were three open sand cars. They
were large and armor-plated, warlike in their scarred grey paint.
Men sprawled, talked, and polished their weapons. Everything stopped
when Hys and Brion appeared.

"Load up," Hys called out. "We're going to attack now, same plan I
outlined earlier. Get Telt over here." In talking to his own men
some of the harshness was gone from his voice. The tall soldiers of
Nyjord moved in ready obeyance of their commander. They loomed over
his bent figure, most of them twice as tall as he, but there was no
hesitation in jumping when he commanded. They were the body of the
Nyjord striking force—he was the brains.

A square-cut, compact man rolled up to Hys and saluted with a
leisurely flick of his hand. He was weighted and slung about with
packs and electronic instruments. His pockets bulged with small
tools and spare parts.

"This is Telt," Hys said to Brion. "He'll take care of you. Telt's
my personal technical squad. He goes along on all my operations with
his meters to test the interiors of the Disan forts. So far he's
found no trace of a jump-space generator, or excess radioactivity
that might indicate a bomb. Since he's useless and you're useless,
you both take care of each other. Use the car we came in."

Telt's wide face split in a froglike grin; his voice was hoarse and
throaty. "Wait. Just wait! Someday those needles gonna flicker and
all our troubles be over. What you want me to do with the stranger?"

"Supply him with a corpse—one of the magter," Hys said. "Take it
wherever he wants and then report back here." Hys scowled at Telt.
"Someday your needles will flicker! Poor fool—this is the last
day." He turned away and waved the men into their sand cars.

"He likes me," Telt said, attaching a final piece of equipment.
"You can tell because he calls me names like that. He's a great man,
Hys is, but they never found out until it was too late. Hand me that
meter, will you?"

Brion followed the technician out to the car and helped him load his
equipment aboard. When the larger cars appeared out of the darkness,
Telt swung around after them. They snaked forward in a single line
through the rocks, until they came to the desert of rolling sand
dunes. Then they spread out in line abreast and rushed towards their
goal.