Medusa: A Tiger by the Tail (17 page)

And now I had reliable reports from above somewhere that the Wild Ones were reputed shape-changers, that they were at least on equal terms .with the harrar. So, logically, the third choice seemed the most probable. Medusa wanted them, but had been singularly unsuccessful in catching those primitive folk. That conclusion led, too, to the question of just how primitive they might be, but this was something I could only learn by going and seeing for myself. If they were indeed a bunch of tribal types munching roots and grunting, I’d be stuck with them and out of luck.

Right now working both sides of the street had its advantages for me, but that, too, couldn’t last forever. Major Hocrow would keep me going on the leash only as long as I was feeding her information that was either useful or might lead to useful information. If too long a dry spell came along, or if she decided that was all I could get, I knew my future wasn’t too bright no matter what her assertions were as to my ultimate destiny. She was a good agent, with just the right nose for trouble, and she smelled a rat in me.

On the other hand, no matter how disappointing a debating forum these so-called rebels were, they were scared enough of the Medusan government and TMS to kill at the first sign of a double cross. Since they were such nervous amateurs, it wouldn’t take much to push at least a couple of them over the edge against me. The man in the middle is always living on borrowed time.

About the only bright spot was that both sides realized I was not sentimental enough for them to use Ching against me. I was really fond of her. As hard as that was to admit, I also had to admit that I was really far more comfortable with her around, even if she was just
there,
doing something else quietly in the same room, than on the few occasions when I was alone. I liked to think that my feelings were more paternal than anything else. It was deadly for anyone in my line of work to ever form real attachments—and never more so than here and now. I was convinced I was above really needing other people except as tools or means to ends, but I did sort of realize that Ching needed me.

It would have been ridiculous and unfair to drag her to the café at irregular intervals while in Rochande, then knock her out for a period and try and cover. Not only was doing so impractical, the routine would soon become something she would do anything to avoid. Actually, it was Hocrow’s tech who came up with the answer, with my help. Ching already knew I was up to something with TMS, and she trusted me. Therefore I was able to put her under the second time at Hocrow’s and use the tech to reinforce the hypno. With a simple posthypnotic command I could make her either a totally loyal member of Medusan society or a totally committed Opposition member, pretty much-going along with whatever I was playing at the time—only believing in it. Since we already knew their screening procedures, it was pretty easy to fake her past the Opposition’s security checks.

In the meantime, the routine continued. Ching was bright enough to understand that my position, and thus, hers as well, was precarious at all times. I had to admit that I was not fond of that situation. I felt a little guilty at having thrust her into it, but, dammit, I hadn’t
asked
for her.

Winter snows gave way, at last, to spring, and yet the situation dragged on, with me stuck at a stone wall. I
knew
my proposal for revolution was valid, and I was even more certain that those in the top levels of the Opposition not only agreed but had the means, somehow, to crack that needed stimulus. The only real question was why they didn’t act. Certainly it wasn’t out of fear of failure—what they had now was dead-ended and stagnating—but something else. If, in fact, I was correct about the off-planet origins of that leadership, it might mean that we were waiting for a concerted, multiplanet effort—but that wouldn’t do any good here, I knew. These people simply didn’t have adequate training, nor did we really know what sort of “soldiers” they would be if push came to shove.

And yet, I was curiously reluctant to move on my own. I was still trapped by the system as well, and I didn’t like it at all. Sooner or later, I began to understand, I would have to break free, and take the chances beyond the simple ones I had taken to date. But somehow I was reluctant to do it. I had so little data. If only I knew more about the Wild Ones! I couldn’t help but wonder if my counterparts on the other three worlds were feeling this frustrated. In a perverse sort of way I kind of hoped they were—I wouldn’t like to be the only flop.

Not that I really gave a damn about the mission any more, though I was very slow to realize that. When I had awakened on that ship, even before planetfall, I had pretty much closed my mind to the dear old Confederacy and its causes and ways. It was odd how easy it was to slam the door on a lifetime—but then,
I
wasn’t the one who slammed the door. They threw me out, then slammed it shut behind me.

Still, the primary objective of the mission and my own personal objective remained the same. I wanted the Medusan system overthrown, and I wouldn’t have minded knocking off Talant Ypsir one bit. And yet, here I was, months in, stalled and half-beaten. Damn it all, I didn’t even know where Ypsir was, and I had no means to get to him if I did.

What was happening to me down here? What was I changing into? In my quest for the key to physical metamorphosis, had I, somehow, had a mental metamorphosis that slipped right by unnoticed?

As had happened before, my next play was forced on me by factors beyond my control. It began with the summons to a particularly urgent meeting of the Opposition, : one which all cell members were expected to attend. I was actually a little excited by the summons—maybe, just maybe, somebody had finally decided to move.

What I found in the maintenance room was not just my cell, but five separate cells, perhaps sixty people, all crowded into a place that could hardly hold one-third that number. Up front somebody had set up a screen and small recorder. A sense of extreme tension pervaded the air, yet few speculated or even said much to one another. The cells were uncomfortable being this packed together, and not just in the physical sense.

A tall woman from one of the other cells, all masked and robed as usual—even Ching was so disguised, although I still refused—looked around, took a count, then, satisfied, began by asking for quiet. The request was quickly granted by the uncomfortable crowd. Ching and I climbed up in the back on top of some crates so we could get out of the crush and still see at least the top part of the screen.

“We have been directed by our leadership board to gather you here and play this recording for you,” the woman told us. “None of us have any more idea of what it contains than you do. Therefore, we will proceed to find out as quickly as possible. I am told that the recording card will destroy itself as it plays, so there can be no repeats.” She punched the card into the recorder, and the screen flickered to life.

They could have saved themselves the trouble of a screen for all it was worth. It simply showed a man, masked and robed himself, sitting at a desk. It was impossible to tell anything about the scene, even the planet of origin, and it was obvious from the start that even the voice was distorted.

“Fellow comrades in opposition to the Lords of the Diamond,” he began, “I bring you greetings. As some of you may have guessed, you are a part not only of a planet-wide organization but a systemwide group devoted to the overthrow of all Four Lords of the Diamond.”

There were gasps and some rumbling in the crowd.

“All of you have your personal reasons for wishing to overthrow the Medusan system, reasons we well understand. Simply because you are a part of a larger plan, please do not for one moment think that your own hopes and objectives are not part of that plan,” the man went on. “Events have a way of overtaking plans, however, and that has happened in this case. The Confederacy itself is taking an active hand against the Four Lords, and has some chance of success. It is time, therefore, to explain to you all a little of what this is about.

“An alien race, totally alien to anything we know, discovered humanity before humanity discovered it. That race is somehow bound up with our homeland, the Warden system itself, and they are very clever and have a very good understanding of the way people work. Instead of warring with the Confederacy, they contacted the Four Lords, who jointly accepted a contract to destroy human civilization outside of the Diamond.”

A lot more whispering and rustling now, and I could hear some snatches that included the words “mad” and “insult” and the like. Clearly this cloistered group, few or none of whom had ever known anyplace except the Warden Diamond, either didn’t believe the man or they couldn’t care less about the aliens. This reaction was understandable, and, I found, exactly what the speaker had anticipated. Either he was a psych or he had some good ones prepare the talk.

“Now, I know this doesn’t seem to apply to you, but the fact is, it does. The Four Lords have made this contract and they are in the process of carrying it out. Their means are irrelevant to you, since they are worked against non-Diamond people, but those means depended on secrecy to the very last minute. Now that secrecy is blown. The Confederacy knows. Knows, but not enough. They are left with two options. We are one. The Four Lords must go, and be replaced by more honest, Warden-oriented people who will work for the Diamond and not on some sort of mass revenge. But we are no tools of the Confederacy, I assure you. We do this for our own good.”

Nice dramatic pause here, I thought.

“The second and only remaining option as to the overthrow of the Four Lords and the consequent flushing out of these aliens is simple. The Confederacy, if it can not achieve or see the first, will not hesitate to do on a mass scale what they fail to do on a simple scale. They propose to incinerate the four Warden Diamond worlds totally and kill every living person and thing upon them.”

Another pause and much agitation and some really loud comments rose from the crowd. It sounded angry and upset.

“They have the power to do this. They have the means. And those aliens won’t save us. If they could, they wouldn’t have needed the Four Lords in the first place. Therefore, this organization of good, serious men and women of the Diamond, very different on each world but nonetheless there, was formed not to save the Confederacy, which means nothing to us, but to save our homes, our worlds, our very lives. The Four Lords will not back down. They are in this to the death, since anything less than the aliens’ total victory will destroy them. And since we know very little about them ourselves, we have no reason to think that, even in the case of a now improbable alien and Four Lords victory, those aliens would then be friendly to us. We have no choice.

“However, each planet is different, and must be dealt with by different methods—and is best dealt with by the natives of those worlds. Therefore, the members of Medusa’s Opposition must now sit back, reflect, and discuss the situation among themselves. Cells will be asked within no more than two weeks to propose plans for action. Those plans will be examined and coordinated by us, and then a single master plan will be developed. We will win. We must win. I leave you now to discuss the situation in your individual cells. With your help, Medusa, TMS, and the very idea of monitors that strangles the world will be vanquished within a year.”

With that the recording stopped, and there was instant pandemonium that took the group leader some time to quiet down to a dull roar. Finally she got enough of a lull to yell, “Discussion will be in individual cell groups. Those with numbers beginning in four will file out first, then those with six, following your cell leaders. Those in my cell will remain here! Do it now!”

Everyone stood around for a few moments, then a small group of four started toward the exit, followed by the rest, still grumbling and talking. As for me, I was reasonably excited by this development, since it meant action in the foreseeable future. I could just, imagine the furious debates that would ensue when we met in private from now on. But something still bothered me a little. Was it
really
true that they had no plan, or was this simply a test? And would the truth sell to these folks?

I saw Sister 657, and turned to Ching. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” I told her. “I knew it before I ever got to Medusa.”

She thought about that one for a moment. Finally she said, “But
is
it any of our business, really? I’m not sure I even know what he means by aliens, and as for the Confederacy, all Outside is just a fairy tale to us, anyway.”

I expected more of this logic when we assembled in our cell meeting. A lot more. What could you expect from people who weren’t even sure what wild animals lived on their own native world? What did the concept of “alien” mean to them, anyway? Cerberan or Charonese was as alien as they could probably think. The idea that somebody, somewhere, could or would give an order and be willing and able to blow up a world was incomprehensibly abstract. I suspected that the Opposition leader had his hands full. I could tell just from his accent that he was a transportee himself, probably from the civilized worlds. His fancy, wood-paneled office wasn’t in the Medusan style, at least none I’d ever seen, leading to the inescapable conclusion that our leaders were Cerberan or Charonese, not Medusan. That would also be the ultimate conclusion of the group, I knew—and would cause even more intense anti-leadership feelings. For the first time these play rebels were being asked to do something, possibly to put their lives on the line, and they would do anything to avoid that.

Our, group was going out, and I jumped down and helped Ching down as well. We turned and followed the others, bringing up the rear of the group. I moved only a few paces outside the door when I stopped and ducked back inside. Ching, startled, looked at me. “What’s the matter?”

‘TMS!” I shouted so that everybody could hear. “It’s a trap!”

The monitors also heard my echoed warning, because there was the sudden sound of an amplified official voice. “This is TMS! Everyone inside that room will come out, one by one, hands on heads, starting exactly one minute from now! We will gas anyone left after the rest have emerged, so there is no reason to hold back. You are trapped, and there is no way out. You have fifty seconds!”