Brother Rodrik
"So?" queried Chuck Lafferty.
"So then--" continued Steve--"she told me that the first time I speak
out of turn, my recording gets burned up. And there I go--_boom_! Out
like a light! A swell mess _I_ made of things! Try to outsmart the
Daans and get caught in their booby-trap!"
He kicked savagely at a hapless clod. He had reason to worry, had
Stephen Duane. Three days had passed since his departure from the Daan
fortress. Now every step, each passing second, brought him and his
companions nearer Fautnox, and he had not yet puzzled a way out of his
difficulties.
Chuck said, "It's distinctly ungood, pal. You're in a lock. If the
Daans ever catch on that you're really one of the Slumberers--_bing_!
And I'm all alone in this wacky world with that skunk, von Rath.
But--but how about this here now Rodrik person? Where does _he_ fit
into the picture?"
"He," growled Steve bitterly, "is one of my brand-new 'Brothers.' At
the last moment, just as we were leaving Sinnaty, I was advised that he
was to accompany us on our journey. I'm not certain, but I suspect that
was the doing of Malgro. Remember him? The Daan councillor who wanted
to lop off our heads without giving us a chance to explain ourselves?"
Chuck groaned, "Then Malgro don't exactly trust you, eh?"
"Possibly not. Or maybe it's just routine. Like the Nazis of our day,
the Daans don't even trust their own. They set spies to spy on their
spies. But--shhh! Here's Rodrik now!"
The Mish-kinite wore a worried look as he approached. He glanced at
Lafferty hesitantly, said to Steve:
"If we could speak privately--?"
Chuck snorted, "Don't mind me. I'm just one of the Jones boys--" but
Duane silenced him.
"It's all right, Chuck. Run along." Then, as Chuck moved forward to
where Beth led the little group, "Well?" he asked, "What's the matter,
Rodrik?"
"I do not like this," complained the traitor. "There is something
strange going on here, Brother. These Women of your equipage--do you
trust them?"
"Completely. Why?"
"Well--we are supposed to be a scouting party," said the other,
"seeking the hidden shrine of Fautnox. But we make no effort to conceal
ourselves from others. Thrice have we encountered armed groups of
warriors, but never once did you ask them the whereabouts of the place
we seek. And we press forward through these leafy jungles surely,
certainly, almost as if we had some destination in view."
Steve laughed curtly.
"Oh, is that all? We do."
"We ... do?"
"Of course. Our destination is--Fautnox."
Rodrik gestured impatiently.
"Yes. That I know, Brother. But according to such rumors as we have
heard, Fautnox lies more to the east of the road we travel--"
It was the "Brother" that did it. For three days now Steve Duane had
been pondering which course it would be best to pursue as regarded
Rodrik of Mish-kin. Now, hearing again that fraternal salutation on the
other's lips, he decided.
For the sake of the dream he had within him, he could endure labor
and pain, trouble and hardship. But one thing he could not stand was
hearing himself coupled in traitorous Brotherhood with such humans as
this standing before him. He grinned, and dropped his pretenses.
"That," he said grimly, "is what _you_ think."
"Yes. Of course. Then should we not change--" In that instant, Rodrik
understood. His eyes opened wide. "You mean--you _know_ where Fautnox
is?"
"That's it, Brother Rat," said Steve.
"Then--then why did you not tell Malgro?" demanded the other man. "Why
did you pretend ignorance ... let them send us from Sinnaty...."
"Because," gritted Duane, "we _came_ from Fautnox, and wanted to get
back there! And if I'm not mistaken, it's just beyond that rise--Hold
it, Rodrik! You're not going back to Sinnaty! You're staying here with
us! Jain! Seize this man; bind him. He is our prisoner!"
In vain the "Brother of the Daans" fought to escape. Seconds later he
was securely trussed and, flanked on either side by watchful warriors,
being prodded up the last hill. A few more yards, and the little group
topped the crest, stood looking down into the secluded valley which was
their refuge.
* * * * *
But the forest-hid fortress had changed much in the days which had
elapsed since they left it. Before, it had been a desolate-seeming
barracks, surrounded by the crumbling shell of a wall; its denizens had
dwelt invisibly underground. But now the entire clearing was athrong
with humans. The Mother Maatha and Jon, leader of the Wild Ones, had
made good their promises; they had summoned to this gathering place
all over whom their words held any persuasion. The result was a motley
array of humankind.
Here, close beside a buttress of the old wall, were pitched a huddle of
dingy, goatskin tents: the shelters of the Wild Ones. Elsewhere about
the courtyard where once Men and Women had met in bloody combat had
been erected crude, wooden _hoams_ for the Women of visiting Clans.
Their number was great as could be seen even from this distance by the
differences in their tribal trappings.
Strangest sight of all to the eyes of Beth and Jain, the three
fighting-women, was that of Wild Ones and Clanswomen seated side by
side before scattered campfires ... laboring side by side on still
other dwelling-places for the expected reinforcements ... toiling side
by side at the forges, in the fields.
Chuck said, "Good golly, look at 'em! Cozyin' up like bugs in a rug,
Steve. Boy! They took to the New Order like a duck to water!"
Even Rodrik stopped muttering threats as he stared incredulously at the
sight before them. He said, "But this is madness! Women and Wild Ones
joined together, working in harmony! Even in my tribe--"
And the priestess Beth raised troubled eyes to Steve. "Is this," she
asked, "is this what you had planned for, O my mate?"
Steve answered quietly, "Yes, Beth. This is the way it shall henceforth
be. This is how it was in the old days."
And he led the way down the hill to the encampment. Sentries glimpsed
them from afar, challenges turned to cries of joyous recognition. "_The
Slumberers! The Slumberers are returned!_" And center of a spontaneous
exhibition that woke the very hills to jubilee, the voyagers shouldered
their way through roaring hosts to seek the _hoam_ of the Mother.
They found her seated in council with not only Jon but the leaders of
a dozen other tribes of Wild Ones as well as the Mothers of as many
neighboring Clans. She rose, moved forward to greet them, her wise old
eyes soft with tears of happiness.
"You have returned. Now, thanks be unto great Jarg, who has given you
back to us! See, I step down from the rostrum, O Dwain! The council is
thine. Tell us what you have learned, and what must next be done."
"First," said Steve, "suppose you tell us the number now gathered at
Fautnox, O Mother. It must be great."
"They are as the sands of the sea," said the Mother proudly. "Of Women
there are fourteen Clans.... Of Wild Ones a dozen tribes. And more
pour in from every direction daily. Already our poor resources are
overtaxed; we have sent bands of hunters into the woods to find us
meat, and Workers slave in the fields night and day that all mouths may
be fed."
"And the number of actual fighting men and women?"
"Hear, O Dwain, and be staggered!" said the matriarch triumphantly.
"For surely this is the greatest army ever to be assembled! We number
two thousand, eight hundred and four strong warriors--all armed and
ready to strike for freedom!"
* * * * *
Von Rath gasped aloud. "Two thousand--!"
Steve interrupted him swiftly before his disappointment could
communicate itself to the humans now gazing at him with such radiant
pride mirrored in their faces. He knew how the German felt. After their
plans, their high hopes, to be given this handful of soldiers ... this
pitiful little force with which to undertake the reclamation of a
world....
But--was it such a pitiful little force, after all? Of all who heard
the number, only he and von Rath and Lafferty were negatively stirred.
The priestess Beth's red lips were agape with wonder, the eyes of Jain
had lighted with grim joy, and even Rodrik--who knew the ways of the
Daans--was hushed with something akin to awe.
And Duane, searching his own brain--the refurbished brain supplied him
by the Treatment--realized suddenly that he was guilty, as were his
time-exile comrades, of anachronistic thinking. In the era whence they
came, such an army would be a mere nothing ... a suicide squad with
which to withstand an enemy's advance for a day, an hour ... but in
_this_ day it was a force to be reckoned with. The Daans themselves
held Sinnaty with less than five thousand souls, while some of their
less important citadels were manned by detachments numbering only in
the hundreds....
"You have done well, O Mother!" he said. "We have now the strength
to--" He stopped suddenly, turned--"Von Rath!" he said.
"Yes, Duane?"
"Take Rodrik away from here, will you? We don't want him to hear our
plans. And--guard him well! I'll tell you what we decide later."
"_Sehr gut!_" The German took Rodrik's arm, propelled him roughly from
the chamber. Chuck glared after them disdainfully.
"There goes a sweet pair," he groused. "I wouldn't trust either of
'em any farther'n I could throw a cow by the tail! Steve, if you want
Rodrik guarded, why didn't you ask me to--"
"Because," explained Steve, "I wanted you here, in the first place. And
in the second place, because I'm not any too sure of von Rath myself.
But, now--" And he turned to his audience--"as to our next step--"
"Tell us, O Dwain," said one of the gathered Mothers. "We are yours
to command. Aye, and more are yet to come, for word of your Wakening
spreads throughout Tizathy like flames in the forest. Do we wait for
still further strength, or--"
"We do not!" declared Steve boldly. "We change our gathering-place to a
larger and more central city. One which will amply feed and house our
ever-increasing numbers."
"And that place, O Dwain?"
"The nearest," said Steve, "of the strongholds now held by the Daans.
Send messengers to spread the word and bid the fighters prepare.
Tomorrow, at dawn, we march on Loovil!"
* * * * *
Dawn ... and the first thin silver of gold limning the crests of the
eastward hills. Dawn ... and two men crouching in a field of waving
grain.
All night long these two had led their troops across broken,
weed-strewn ground which had once been verdant farmland, down cracked
_creet_ roads which had been highways, over hills and streams and
mounds of tumbled masonry which marked forgotten home-sites. Now they
lay within sight of the city, and the time was ripe for action.
Chuck said, "You sure we ain't bitin' off more than we can chew, Steve?"
"I think not. This much is certain: if we can't take Louisville, our
whole dream is blasted. There are only four hundred Daans in the entire
city."
"Yeah, I know. But that gun they have--"
"Is deadly. Make no mistake about that. It expels some sort of
radiation which will either kill or stun, depending on the way its dial
is set. But we have the advantage of surprise."
"How about the Daans? Don't they have some sort of communication, like
radio or telephone? Any race as smart as theirs--"
"They have. An instrument they call the 'telaudio.' But our objective
is to take this city and set up a fortress here before outside help can
arrive. Jain--all are ready?"
"Ready and eager, O Dwain!" answered she who was in general command of
the allied fighters.
"Then--" Steve drew a deep breath--"let's go!"
Thus simply, without fanfare or threat, declaration or parley, was
launched the first reprisal blow of long-time captive humankind
against its extraterrestrial oppressors.
Like a wave rose the earthlings from their places of concealment to
hurl themselves forward into the city. It did not matter that they had
marched thirty-five miles during the night; these were strong women and
stronger men, their sinews were hardened in the never-ending struggle
against nature.
Their hearts were strong, too, and their voices. As they charged the
Daans' citadel they roared, and their cries were a paean of deliverance.
"For the Slumberers--_strike_! _Strike for the Slumberers!_"
What happened during the next hour was all chaos and confusion. At the
head of the advancing Tuckians, Steve had neither the perspective from
which to view the battle in its entirety nor the time to analyze its
tide. He was swept away in a torrent of action ... of blow-dealing and
blow-fending ... of movement and halt ... life and death ... which was
beyond the scope of any single mote's comprehension.
[Illustration: Louisville became a hell of battle.]
All he did realize was that the attack achieved its purpose in taking
the Daans completely by surprise. Years of rulership had made them
contemptuous of their human enemies; they paid now, dearly, for this
contempt. Before an alarm was sounded, the advancing allies had swept
into the heart of the city; before sleep-befogged soldiers could man
the ramparts of the central fortress, those ramparts were aswarm with
clambering human warriors.
* * * * *
The weapon of the Daans was deadly. Its flaming ray withered whole
ranks of the attackers, mowing them down with the grim, mathematical
precision of a husbandman's scythe--but this slaughter seemed only
to increase the fury of those who remained. Where a Wild One dropped,
stricken lifeless before ever he hit the ground, there was a warrior
Woman to seize the sword from his falling hand ... and fill his place
in the ranks. Where Women tumbled in grotesque heaps, there were
Workers to hurdle their bodies and plunge on ... ever on!
And when a Daan fell, there was a Daan's ray-weapon for his nearest
foe. Thus the battle, which was one of science against sheer brute
power in its early stages, shifted to one of science against science.
It did not matter that the earthlings could not understand the weapons
with which they fought. They could sight, and aim, and press a
grip--and after each such deed there was one less foeman to overcome.
By what miracle Steve Duane came through that battle unscathed, he
could never afterward say. Comrades fell before and behind him, on
either side of him; their places were taken by still others who
joyously fought and happily died with the battlecry frozen on their
lips. But somehow he won through, and it was he who, at the end,
accepted the capitulation of a dwindling handful of Daans hopelessly
trapped, violently defeated, in the innermost chambers of their citadel.
This stricken remainder Jain would have ordered put to the sword but
for Steve's refusal.
"No!" he commanded. "They have surrendered; we have their weapons. That
is enough."
"But these are the Daans, O Slumberer," protested one Clansmother, "who
have annually levied tribute on our people, despoiled our villages,
seized our crops, chosen the strongest of our men and women and
transported them to slave miserably in the stinking swamps of their
native planet--"
"Nevertheless," avowed Steve, "there shall be no more slaughter. We
will hold these prisoners as hostages--Yes, Chuck? What is it?"
Lafferty had burst through the mob excitedly; now he clutched
his friend's arm. "There's one guy around here _is_ goin' to be
murdered--if I have to take him out somewhere and do it myself. The
dirty, connivin' scoundrel--"
"Who?" demanded Steve. "What are you talking about?"
"Von Rath!" screamed Chuck. "That's who! Steve, I warned you not to
trust him. The dirty Nazi rat has _murdered_ you, just as sure as if he
stuck a knife in your back--"
A quick pang of fear coursed through Stephen Duane's arteries. Even
as his suddenly-dry lips framed the question, he thought he knew its
answer. He said harshly, "What--what did he do?"
"Do?" howled Lafferty. "Drag him out here, Beth, so we can see him!
I'll tell you what he done! He set Rodrik free! And Rodrik's on his way
back to Sinnaty, hell-on-fire, to tell them that _you're_ one of the
Slumberers--so they can destroy you by remote control!"