So much had happened so quickly during the past hour that Dalgard had
no chance to plan or even sort out impressions in his mind. He had no
guess as to where this stranger, now taking some of the burden of the
wounded merman from him, had sprung from. The other's clothing, the
helmet covering his head were more akin to those worn by the aliens
than they were to the dress of the colonist. Yet the man beneath those
trappings was of the same breed as his own people. And he could not
believe he was a Peaceman of Pax--all he had done here spoke against
those legends of dark Terran days Dalgard had heard from childhood.
But where had he come from? The only answer could be another outlaw
colony ship.
"We are in the inner ways," Dalgard tried to reach the mind of the
merman as they pounded on into the corridors which led from the arena.
"Do you know these--" He had a faint hope that the sea man because of
his longer captivity might have a route of escape to suggest.
"--down to the lower levels--" the thought came slowly, forced out by
a weakening will. "Lower--levels--roads to the sea--"
That was what Dalgard had been hoping for, some passage which would
run seaward and so to safety, such as he had found with Sssuri in that
other city.
"What are we hunting?" the stranger broke in, and Dalgard realized
that perhaps the other did not follow the mind talk. His words had an
odd inflection, a clipped accent which was new.
"A lower way," he returned in the speech of his own people.
"To the right." The merman, struggling against his own weakness, had
raised his head and was looking about as one who searches for a
familiar landmark.
There was a branching way to the right, and Dalgard swung into it,
bringing the other two after him. This was a narrow passage, and twice
they brushed by sealed doors. It brought them up against a blank wall.
The stranger wheeled, his odd weapon ready, for they could hear the
shouts of pursuers behind them. But the merman pulled free of Dalgard
and went down on the floor to dig with his taloned fingers at some
depressions there.
"Open here," the thought came clearly, "then down!"
Dalgard went down on one knee, able now to see the outline of a trap
door. It must be pried up. His sword-knife was gone, the spear they
had given him for the arena he had dropped when he dragged the merman
out of danger. He looked to the stranger. About the other's narrow
hips was slung a belt from which hung pouches and tools the primitive
colonist could not evaluate. But there was also a bush knife, and he
reached for it.
"The knife--"
The stranger glanced down at the blade he wore in surprise, as if he
had forgotten it. Then with one swift movement he drew it from its
sheath and flipped it to Dalgard.
On the track behind the clamor was growing, and the colony scout
worked with concentration at his task of fitting the blade into the
crack and freeing the door. As soon as there was space enough, the
merman's claws recklessly slid under, and he added what strength he
could to Dalgard's. The door arose and fell back onto the pavement
with a clang, exposing a dark pit.
"Got 'em!" the words burst from the stranger. He had pressed the
firing button of his weapon. Where the passage in which they stood met
the main corridor, there was an agitated shouting and then sudden
silence.
"Down--" The merman had crawled to the edge of the opening. From it
rose a dank, fetid smell. Now that the noise in the corridor was
stilled Dalgard could hear something: the sound of water.
"How do we get down?" he questioned the merman.
"It is far, there are no climbing holds--"
Dalgard straightened. Well, he supposed, even a leap into that was
better than to be taken a second time by Those Others. But was he
ready for such a desperate solution?
"A long way down?" The stranger leaned over to peer into the well.
"He says so," Dalgard nodded at the merman. "And there are no climbing
holds."
The stranger plucked at the front of his tunic with one hand, still
holding his weapon with the other. From an opening he drew a line, and
Dalgard grabbed it eagerly, testing the first foot with a sharp jerk.
He had never seen such stuff, so light of weight and yet so tough. His
delight reached the merman, who sat up to gaze owlishly at the coils
the stranger pulled from concealment.
They used the door of the well for the lowering beam, hitching the
cord about it. Then the merman noosed one end about him, and Dalgard,
the door taking some of the strain, lowered him. The end of the cord
was perilously close to the scout's fingers when there was a signaling
pull from below, and he was free to reel in the loose line. He turned
to the stranger.
"You go. I'll watch them." The other waved his weapon to the
corridor.
There was some sense to that, Dalgard had to agree. He made fast the
end of the cord and went in his turn into the dark, burning the palm
of one hand before he was able to slacken the speed of his descent.
Then he landed thigh-deep in water, from which arose an unpleasant
smell.
"All right--Come--" he put full force into the thought he beamed at
the stranger above. When the other did not obey, Dalgard began to
wonder if he should climb to his aid. Had the aliens broken through
and overwhelmed the other? Or what had happened? The rope whisked up
out of his hands. And a moment later a voice rang eerily overhead.
"Clear below! Coming down!"
Dalgard scrambled out of the space under the opening, heading on into
the murk where the merman waited. There was a splash as the stranger
hit the stream, and the rope lashed down behind him at their united
jerk.
"Where do we go from here?" The voice carried through the dark.
Scaled fingers hooked about Dalgard's right hand and tugged him on. He
reached back in turn and locked grip with the stranger. So united the
three splashed on through the rancid liquid. In time they came out of
the first tunnel into a wider section, but here the odor was worse,
catching in their throats, making them sway dizzily. There seemed to
be no end to these ways, which Raf guessed were the drains of the
ancient city.
Only the merman appeared to have a definite idea of where they were
going, though he halted once or twice when they came to a side passage
as if thinking out their course. Since the man from the arena accepted
the furred one's guidance, Raf depended upon it too. Though he
wondered if they would ever find their way out into the open once
more.
He was startled by sudden pain as the hand leading him tightened its
grip to bone-bruising force. They had stopped, and the liquid washed
about them until Raf wondered if he would ever feel clean again. When
they started on, they moved much more swiftly. His companions were in
a hurry, but Raf was unprepared for the sight which broke as they came
out in a high-roofed cavern.
There was an odd, cold light there--but that light was not all he saw.
Drawn up on a ledge rising out of the contaminated stream were rows of
the furred people, all sitting in silence, bone spears resting across
their knees, long knives at their belts. They watched with round,
unblinking eyes the three who had just come out of the side passage.
The rescued merman loosened his grip on Dalgard's hand and waded
forward to confront that quiet, waiting assembly. Neither he nor his
fellows made any sound, and Raf guessed that they had some other form
of communication, perhaps the same telepathic ability to broadcast
messages which this amazing man beside him displayed.
"They are of his tribe," the other explained, sensing that Raf could
not understand. "They came here to try to save him, for he is one of
their Speakers-for-Many."
"Who are they? Who are you?" Raf asked the two questions which had
been with him ever since the wild adventure had begun.
"They are the People-of-the-Sea, our friends, our knife brothers. And
I am of Homeport. My people came from the stars in a ship, but not a
ship of this world. We have been here for many years."
The mermen were moving now. Several had waded forward to greet their
chief, aiding him ashore. But when Raf moved toward the ledge, Dalgard
put out a restraining hand.
"Until we are summoned--no. They have their customs. And this is a
party-for-war. This tribe knows not my people, save by rumor. We
wait."
Raf looked over the ranks of the sea folk. The light came from globes
borne by every twentieth warrior, a globe in which something that
gave off phosphorescent gleams swam around and around. The spears
which each merman carried were slender and wickedly barbed, the knives
almost sword length. The pilot remembered the flame-throwers of the
aliens and could not see any victory for the merman party.
"No, knife blade against the fire--that is not equal."
Raf started, amazed and then irritated that the other had read his
thoughts so easily.
"But what else can be done? Some stand must be taken, even if a whole
tribe goes down to the Great Dark because they do it."
"What do you mean?" Raf demanded.
"Is it not the truth that Those Others went across the sea to plunder
their forgotten storehouse of knowledge?" countered the other. He
spoke slowly as if he found difficulty in clothing thoughts with
words. "Sssuri said that was why they came."
Raf, remembering what he had seen--the stripping of shelves and tables
of the devices that were stored on them--could only nod.
"Then it is also true that soon they will have worse than fire with
which to hunt us down. And they shall turn against your colony as they
will against Homeport. For the mermen, and their own records, have
taught us that it is their nature to rule, that they can live in peace
only when all living things on this world are their slaves."
"My colony?" Raf was momentarily diverted. "I'm one of a spacer's
crew, not the member of any colony!"
Dalgard stared at the stranger. His guess had been right. A new ship,
another ship which had recently crossed deep space to find them had
flown the dark wastes even as the First Elders had done! It must be
that more outlaws had come to find a new home! This was wonderful
news, news he must take to Homeport. Only, it was news which must
wait. For the sea people had come to a decision of their own.
"What are they going to do now?" Raf asked.
The mermen were not retreating, instead they were slipping from the
ledge in regular order, forming somewhat crooked ranks in the water.
Dalgard did not reply at once, making mind touch not only to ask but
to impress his kinship on the sea people. They were united in a
single-minded purpose, with failure before them--unless--He turned to
the stranger.
"They go to war upon Those Others. He who guided us here knows also
that the new knowledge they have brought into the city is danger. If
an end is not put to it before they can use it, then"--he
shrugged--"the mermen must retreat into the depths. And we, who can
not follow them--" He made a quick, thrusting gesture as if using a
knife on his own throat. "For a time Those Others have been growing
fewer in number and weaker. Their children are not many and sometimes
there are years when none are born at all. And they have forgotten so
much. But now, perhaps they can increase once more, not only in wisdom
and strength of arms, but in numbers. The mermen have kept a watch on
them, content to let matters rest, sure that time would defeat them.
But now, time no longer fights on our side."
Raf watched the furred people with their short spears, their knives.
He recalled that rocky island where the aliens had unleashed the fire.
The expeditionary force would not have a chance against that.
"But _your_ weapons would." The words addressed to him were clear,
though they had not been spoken aloud. Raf's hand went to the pocket
where two more of the blast bombs rested. "And this is your battle as
much as ours!"
But it wasn't his fight! Dalgard had gone too far with that
suggestion. Raf had no ties on this world, the _RS 10_ was waiting to
take him away. It was strictly against all orders, all his training,
for him to become involved in alien warfare. The pilot's hand went
back to his belt. He was not going to allow himself to be pushed onto
anything foolish, whether this "colonist" could read his mind or not.
The first ranks of the mermen had already waded past them, heading
into the way down which the escaping prisoners had come. To Raf's eyes
none of them paid any attention to the two humans as they went, though
they were probably in mental touch with his companion.
"You are already termed one of us in _their_ eyes," Dalgard was
careful to use oral speech this time. "When you came to our rescue in
the arena they believed that you were of our kind. Do you think you
can return to walk safely through the city? So"--he drew a hissing
breath of surprise when the thought which leaped into Raf's mind was
plain to Dalgard also--"you have--there are more of you there! But
already Those Others may be moving against them because of what you
have done!"
Raf who had been about to join the mermen stopped short. That aspect
had not struck him before. What had happened to Soriki and the
flitter, to the captain and Lablet, who had been in the heart of the
enemy territory when he had challenged the aliens? It would be only
logical that the painted people would consider them all dangerous now.
He must get out of here, back to the flitter, try to help where
unwittingly he had harmed--
Dalgard caught up with him. He had been able to read a little of what
had passed through the other's mind. Though it was difficult to sort
order out of the tangled thoughts. The longer he was with the
stranger, the more aware he became of the differences between them.
Outwardly they might appear of the same species, but inwardly--Dalgard
frowned--there was something that he must consider later, when they
had a thinking space. But now he could understand the other's
agitation. It was very true that Those Others might turn on the
stranger's fellows in retaliation for his deeds.
Together they joined the mermen. There was no talk, nothing to break
the splashing sound of bodies moving against the current. As they
pressed on, Raf was sure that this was not the same way they had come.
And once more Dalgard answered his unspoken question.
"We seek another door into the city, one long known to these
tribesmen."
Raf would gladly have run, but he could not move faster than his
guides, and while their pace seemed deliberate, they did not pause to
rest. The whole city, he decided, must be honeycombed with these
drains. After traversing a fourth tunnel, they climbed out of the
flood onto a dry passage, which wormed along, almost turning on itself
at times.
Side passages ran out from this corridor like rootlets from a parent
root, and small parties of mermen broke from the regiment to follow
certain ones, leaving without orders or farewells. At the fifth of
these Dalgard touched Raf's arm and drew him aside.
"This is our way." Tensely the scout waited. If the stranger refused,
then the one plan the scout had formed during the past half-hour would
fail. He still held to the hope that Raf, with what Raf carried, could
succeed in the only project which would mean, perhaps not his safety
nor the safety of the tribe he now marched among, but the eventual
safety of Astra itself, the safety of all the harmless people of the
sea, the little creatures of the grass and the sky, of his own land at
Homeport. He would have to force Raf into action if need be. He did
not use the mind touch; he knew now the unspoken resentment which
followed that. If it became necessary--Dalgard's hands balled into
fists--he would strike down the stranger--take from him--Swiftly he
turned his thoughts from that. It might be easy, now that he had
established mental contact with this off-worlder, for the other to
pick up a thought as vivid as that.
But luckily Raf obediently turned into the side passage with the six
mermen who were to attack at this particular point. The way grew
narrower until they crept on hands and knees between rough walls which
were not of the same construction as the larger tunnels. The smaller
mermen had no difficulty in getting through, but twice Raf's equipment
belt caught on projections and he had to fight his way free.
They crawled one by one into a ventilation shaft much like the one he
had climbed at the Center. Dalgard's whisper reached him.
"We are now in the building which houses their sky ship."
"I know that one," Raf returned almost eagerly, glad at last to be
back so close to familiar territory. He climbed up the hand- and
footholds the sea-monster lamp disclosed, wishing the mermen ahead
would speed up.
The grille at the head of the shaft had been removed, and the invaders
arose one by one into a dim and dusty place of motionless machinery,
which, by all tangible evidence, had not been entered for some time.
But the cautious manner in which the sea people strung out to approach
the far door argued that the same might not be true beyond.
For the first time Raf noticed that his human companion now held one
of the knives of the merpeople, and he drew his stun gun. But he could
not forget the flame-throwers which might at that very moment be
trained upon the other side of that door by the aliens. They might be
walking into a trap.
He half expected one of those disconcerting thought answers from
Dalgard. But the scout was playing safe--nothing must upset the
stranger. Confronted by what had to be done, he might be influenced
into acting for them. So Dalgard strode softly ahead, apparently not
interested in Raf.
One of the mermen worked at the door, using the point of his spear as
a lever. Here again was a vista of machinery. But these machines were
alive; a faint hum came from their casings. The mermen scattered,
taking cover, a move copied by the two humans.
The pilot remained in hiding, but he saw one of the furred people
running on as light-footedly as a shadow. Then his arm drew back, and
he cast his spear. Raf fancied he could hear a faint whistle as the
weapon cut the air. There was a cry, and the merman ran on, vanishing
into the shadows, to return a second or two later wiping stains from
his weapon. Out of their places of concealment, his fellows gathered
about him. And the humans followed.
Now they were fronted by a ramp leading up, and the mermen took it
quickly, their bare, scaled feet setting up a whispering echo which
was drowned by the clop of Raf's boots. Once more the party was alert,
ready for trouble, and taking his cue from them, he kept his stun gun
in his hand.
But the maneuver at the head of the ramp surprised him. For, though he
had heard no signal, all the party but one plastered their bodies back
against the wall, Dalgard pulling Raf into position beside him, the
scout's muscular bare arm pinning the pilot into a narrow space. One
merman stood at the crack of the door at the top of the ramp. He
pushed the barrier open and crept in.
Meanwhile those who waited poised their spears, all aimed at that
door. Raf fingered the button on his gun to "spray" as he had when he
had faced the attack of the scavengers in the arena tunnels.
There was a cry, a shout with a summons in it. And the venturesome
merman thudded back through the door. But he was not alone. Two of the
black guardsmen, their flamers spitting fiery death, ran behind him,
and the curling lash of one of those flames almost wreathed the runner
before he swung aside. Raf fired without consciously aiming. Both of
the sentries fell forward, to slide limply down the ramp.
Then Dalgard pulled him on. "The way is open," he said. "This is it!"
There was an excited exultation in his voice.
17