The Fugitive Worlds (24 page)

Toller's head filled with crimson thunder. His mind
blurred, became a montage of smeared visions of Vantara
and death-hued alien predators; and the rage, a special rage
—beguiling and repugnant, shameful and joyous—took hold
of his being. He pulled the alien towards him, at the same
time going in hard with the sword, and it was only a startled
cry from Steenameert which returned him to sanity.

You
hurt
me!
The alien's silent words were shaded with
astonishment and the beginnings of fearful comprehension.
You
could
have done it! You were prepared to kill me!

"That's what I have been telling you, greyface," Toller
ground out.

My name is Divivvidiv.

"You resemble a corpse to begin with, greyface," Toller
went on, "and it would occasion me not the slightest qualm
of conscience were I forced to reconcile appearance with
reality. I repeat, if you do not tell me—"

He broke off, disconcerted, as the alien's face rippled with
muscular convulsions, and the frail shoulder gripped in his
left hand began to vibrate in tune with internal tremors.
The black-rimmed mouth underwent asymmetrical changes, flowing in one direction and then another like a sea anemone pulled by conflicting currents, sending threads of discharged
saliva snaking weightlessly through the air. Blurred mental
echoes picked up by Toller told him that his captive had
never been directly threatened with death before. At first it had been impossible for Divivvidiv even to believe that his
life was in danger, and now he was undergoing an extremely
violent emotional reaction.

Toiler, receiving his first insight into a culture totally
dissimilar to his own, responded by renewing the pressure
of his sword point. "The women, greyface
...
the
women!
Where are they?"

They have been transported to my home world.
Divivvidiv
was regaining some physical control, but his words reeked
with fear, revulsion and barely contained hysteria.
They are
in a secure place
—
millions of miles from here
—
in the capital
city of the most advanced civilization in this galaxy. I can
assure you that it is far beyond the abilities of a Primitive like
you to alter those circumstances in any way, therefore the logical thing for you to do is—

"Your logic is not my logic," Toller cut in, hardening his
voice in the hope of concealing the dismay which was washing through him. "If the women are not brought back unharmed,
I will send
you
to another world—one from which no man has ever returned. I trust my meaning is clear. . . ."

The room was large and almost bare, its principal item of
furniture being a blue oblong which looked like a bed except
that it lacked restraint nets. Ranged around the walls were
rectangular and circular panels which continuously changed
color, slowly in some cases, rapidly in others. The floor was
of a grey-green seamless material closely perforated with
small holes. Toller noticed that his feet tended to stick to
the floor, obviating the need for zero-gravity lines, and he guessed the holes formed part of a vacuum system.

He was, however, giving little thought to his surroundings
—his attention being concentrated on Divivvidiv, who was busy removing his skysuit. The silvery garment had seams
which opened readily when a toggle was drawn along
them, an intriguing feature which enabled Divivvidiv to
shed the suit in only a few seconds, revealing a frail-looking
body of humanoid form and proportions. The alien's thin frame was clad in a one-piece suit made up of dozens of
sections of black material which overlapped like birds'
feathers.

The outlandishness of the costume; the bald grey cranium;
the virtually noseless, corpselike face—all of these combined
to inspire in Toller a powerful xenophobia which was aug
mented by the discovery that the alien had a smell. The
odor was not unpleasant in itself—it was sweet and soupy,
like a rich beef broth—but the incongruity of the source
rendered it highly distasteful to Toller. He glanced at Steenameert
and wrinkled his nose. Steenameert, who had been
surveying the strange room, did likewise.

You may be interested to learn that you also have an
objectionable smell,
Divivvidiv commented.
Though I suspect
that yours is much to do with inadequate hygiene and would draw complaints from members of your own species.

Toller smiled coldly. "Recovering from your little bout of the shakes, are you? Backbone beginning to stiffen again? Let me remind you that I can still end your life at any second and am quite prepared to do so."

You are a blusterer, Toller Maraquine. At heart you doubt your ability to fulfill the role you have assumed in society, and you try to disguise that fact in various ways
—
one of which is the issuing of flamboyant threats.

"Take care, greyface!" Toller was disconcerted at having a ghoulish figure from some distant region of the universe so casually penetrate the innermost recesses of his mind and then blurt out its findings, revealing secrets which he scarcely ever admitted to himself. He glanced at Steenameert, but the younger man had resumed his scanning of the room, almost certainly being diplomatic.

I
advise you to divest yourselves of those clumsy insulated suits,
Divivvidiv replied unconcernedly.
Crude though they look, they are probably quite efficient and will soon make you highly uncomfortable at these temperatures.

Toller, who was already sweating, gazed suspiciously at Divivvidiv. "If you are hoping to surprise me while I am entangled with—"

Nothing could be further from my thoughts.
Divivvidiv was now free of his silver suit and was standing close to Toller, swaying slightly above anchored feet.
You know that.

The multiplex levels of communication inherent in mental contact left Toller with no doubt about the alien's truthfulness. But, he wondered, could that be a telepathic technique? Could super-speech be a vehicle for a super-lie, one which carried total conviction for the listener?

"Keep the pistol on him while I get out of this suit," he said to Steenameert. "If he moves ... if he even blinks . . . put a ball in him."

Your thought processes are unusually complicated for a
Primitive.
Divivvidiv seemed increasingly at his ease, and his
silent words might have been shaded with amusement.

"I'm glad you realize you are not dealing with simpletons,"
Toller said as he struggled out of his skysuit. "And why are
you becoming so satisfied with yourself, greyface? What
reason is there for it?"

Reason is the reason.
An incongruously human chuckle escaped Divivvidiv's black-rimmed mouth.
Now that I have
had the opportunity to appraise your mental structure more
thoroughly—and find you fairly amenable to reason
—I
realize
that I can protect myself and my interests simply by making your position clear to you. The more information 1 impart to you, the more stable our relationship will be. That is why I suggested moving to these more comfortable surroundings, where we can converse without so many distractions.

"Nothing can distract me in this matter," Toller said, wondering if the full extent of the lie would be apparent to
Divivvidiv. The mode of communication alone was enough to swamp his mind with wonder, and when the outlandish
nature and appearance of the alien—to say nothing of the
bizarre circumstances of the meeting—were taken into con
sideration it was a matter of some surprise to him that his
brain was able to function at all. He would have to keep
Vantara in the forefront of his thoughts at all times. Nothing else mattered but the need to find and rescue her, and return
her to the safety of Overland. . . .

There is no need to keep pointing that barbaric weapon at
me,
Divivvidiv said as Toller got free of his skysuit and took
the pistol from Steenameert to enable him to strip down as
well. I
told you that logic will prevail over force.

"In that case you have nothing to be alarmed about,"
Toller replied comfortably, 'if it comes to a falling out, you can fire syllogisms at me and I will have to make do with
firing mere bullets at you."

You grow complacent.

"And you grow tiresome, greyface. Tell me how you plan

to retrieve the women and thus preserve your own life."

Divivvidiv projected feelings of exasperation. I
have a question for you, Toller Maraquine. It may seem irrelevant to our circumstances, but if you will control your impatience for a short time understanding will come. Is that reasonable?

Toller nodded reluctantly, with an uneasy suspicion that he was being manipulated.

Good! Now, how many worlds are in your planetary system?

"Three," Toller said. "Land, Overland and Farland. My paternal grandfather—whose name I am proud to bear— died on Farland."

Your knowledge of astronomy is deficient. Has it not come to your attention that there are now four worlds in the local system?

"Four
worlds?" Toller stared at Divivvidiv, frowning, as he half-remembered someone having spoken to him in recent days about a blue planet.
"Now
four worlds? You speak as if a new world had been added to our little flock by magic."

That is exactly what has happened
—
although no magic was involved.
Divivvidiv leaned forward.
My people have transported their home planet—which is called Dussarra
—
across hundreds of light years. They plucked it from its ancient
orbit about a distant sun, and they placed it in a new orbit about your sun. Does that suggest anything to you about their powers?

"Yes—powers of imagination," Toller said with a show of scorn in spite of a dreadful conviction that the alien was presenting the unvarnished truth. "Even if you could move an entire world, how could its inhabitants survive in the coldness and darkness between the stars? How long would such a journey take?"

No time at all! Interstellar travel has to be accomplished instantaneously. The concepts are far beyond your grasp
—
through no fault of your own
—
but I will try to implant
analogies which will give you some measure of understanding.

Divivvidiv's inhuman eyes closed for a second. Toller felt a wrenching sensation within his head, disturbing and yet curiously pleasurable, and he gasped as—like a slewing beam from a lighthouse—a flaring intellectual luminance swept through his mind. For one tantalizing instant he seemed on the verge of knowing everything that a complete being ought to know, then there came a wavering, an accelerating slippage, followed by an aching sense of loss as the light moved away from him. The philosophical darkness which rolled in to take its place was, however, less oppressive, less monolithic than before. There were twilight areas. Toller had a fleeting glimpse of vacuums within vacuums; of interstellar space as a spongy nothingness riddled with tubes and tunnels of a greater nothingness; of insubstantial galactic highways whose entrances coincided with their exits. . . .