Through adventures on every far-flung world, every barren satellite,
Ketrik's uncanny "time-awareness" had never failed him. It didn't now.
He knew that it was precisely one hour and twenty minutes later when
he saw the flickering lights, so he couldn't have come far. He saw the
lights but once, quite a distance ahead and low against the ground.
Then they were gone as the sand rose in renewed fury.
He moved cautiously now. He didn't see the lights again but knew he was
going toward them. Ketrik was no stranger to this south desert. Now
the old nameless awareness was with him. It may not have been anything
he heard--but he suddenly knew that very close, just beyond the radius
of his vision, unknown shapes moved through murky darkness. The very
sands seemed to whisper the danger. But Ketrik heard other sounds now.
The sounds he heard were sibilant footsteps and they were patient, very
patient, as they kept pace with him.
He became suddenly motionless, held his ears attuned. The soft
footsteps stopped, but not before Ketrik determined that they were on
both sides of him now and probably behind him as well. He nodded grimly
and went on, no longer trying to tread softly. He loosened the electro
in his belt. These might be Rajecs or they might be the scavenger rats
that trailed a man until he dropped. In either event....
He knew very soon. They came hurtling out of darkness at him, great
black shapes, silent and swift. But they were man-size, which meant
they were Rajecs. His electro was out, but he didn't get a chance to
use it. A muscular hand seized his arm and bore it painfully backward.
Other Rajecs crowded in. Even at this close range Ketrik could see
little except their eyes, feral as flaming topaz.
Even Ketrik could not fight that which he could not see. But he tried,
tried grimly until the weight of their bodies bore him down. He
remembered that these people could see in darkness. They undoubtedly
saw that he was "Martian," and his life would be forfeit unless....
He was trying to remember something else, something out of Rajec
legendry. A single word. It came to him then, and he ceased fighting.
He whispered the word fiercely.
"_S'Relah!_"
It was magic. The clutching hands loosened. He could feel the black
muscular figures draw back, hesitant.
"You are Martian!" one of them hissed.
"But _S'Relah_, I tell you!" Ketrik spat the word. "I am one of you!"
They helped him to rise, but kept firm grip on his arms. "We will see.
Come."
They went forward through darkness. Presently they were mounting a
slight rise. From the top of it Ketrik looked down at the campfires of
a Rajec caravan, a large one.
As they moved down the slope, Ketrik realized he'd have to stick to
his word. His mind raced, building up a brief but, he hoped, suitable
story. He was sufficiently versed in Martian history. He knew that
aeons ago vast tribes of these black-skinned Rajecs had been dominant
on the planet. But the "Upper Martians," so called, had progressed
phenomenally. They were superior in the arts, social government,
science, and the "culture" of warfare. They had swept down from the
north, expanding, building their cities and developing their waterways,
the now famous Canals. A bitter thousand-years' war had driven the
Rajecs ever southward into the merciless deserts.
There they had stayed, waging periodic but futile warfare. Wild
and tribal now, they still had never forgotten. The _S'Relah_ was
a fanatic, inter-tribal society ... persisting through countless
generations, dedicated to a relentless hate of those upper Martians.
And Ketrik knew what few men knew--that among the _S'Relah_ were many
renegade Martians, outlaws and embittered "politicals" usually, working
through the Society for personal gain or revenge.
* * * * *
Ketrik had his story ready as they came into the camp. The Rajec leader
was sent for. This man was large, well proportioned, the muscles
beneath his ebon skin high-lighted in the glow of the central fire. He
was armed merely with a razor-edged dagger in a jewelled belt. Ketrik,
looking at him, felt respect and a certain foreboding--the latter
occasioned by the slight enigmatic smile about the other's lips.
The man eyed Ketrik with equal interest. His keen gaze lingered overly
long on his "Martian" features. He certainly noted the electro which
Ketrik retained, but it didn't seem to bother him. He spoke at last, in
Martian.
"You claim to be _S'Relah_. We will need proof of that. What is your
name?"
"Khosan."
"Ah, yes. Khosan. And where do you come from?"
"L'Ottli." Ketrik named a small mining camp far to the south. "Been
prospecting there for six months, trying to make stake enough to get up
to Turibek."
"Yes. We, too, go to Turibek. You knew that?"
Ketrik allowed puzzlement to show in his eyes. The other went on. "You
seem surprised, Khosan. Had you not heard, then, that your emperor, Dar
Vaajo, has signed a treaty with the consolidated tribes of Rajec?"
"I had not heard. And I believe you lie! The Rajecs would never make
treaty!" Ketrik hoped his disbelief sounded convincing.
"It is true," the black shrugged. "But that does not matter. Your going
to Turibek matters. A foolhardy thing to attempt alone!" The enigmatic
smile still lingered. "But, then, being at L'Ottli for so long, you
were not aware of Dar Vaajo's scouts everywhere. This area has become
thick with their 'copters--especially in the last few hours!" There was
calculated meaning in the last words.
Ketrik decided on a bold stroke. He said calmly, "Yes. I am aware of it
now. They blasted my plane out of the sky scarcely an hour ago. Perhaps
you saw that?"
"We all have observed a slight display in the sky to the west. You
know--Khosan--word reaches us swiftly and in many ways. It is rumored
that Vaajo's scouts are seeking to apprehend one who _may_ come here
from Earth." The black paused, but Ketrik's eyes never flickered. "They
may even search this area. They know our camp is here. There should be
a reward of many Martian credits for capture of the one they seek!"
Ketrik shrugged. "That explains why they fired at me. I guess they
mistook me for that one."
The Rajec's smile vanished abruptly. His next questions came fast. "You
are _S'Relah_? Why are you _S'Relah_?"
"Political. Irreconcilable. My father was a 'political' before me."
"Where do you go in Turibek?"
"Where the Street of the Double Moon makes juncture with the Low Canal
is a tiny shop dealing in curios from the far planets. The proprietor
is one Jal Thurlo. I go there for a meeting with him."
"And the reason? The reason--quickly!"
Ketrik's gaze leveled and he said slowly, "You would not expect me to
tell you that. He too is a 'political'."
"You can quote the oath of the _S'Relah_?"
Ketrik had been waiting for that one. Now, in a low voice, he quoted
the oath which not all Rajecs, very few Martians, and probably no
Earthman save himself had ever heard. It was a strange and terrible
oath, an oath hallowed in blood, and its implications would have made
some men blanch. But Ketrik spoke it feelingly. He finished the words
and looked closely at the black's face.
The man was satisfied and strangely moved, albeit slightly puzzled. He
drew a tremulous breath at last.
"You have proven! You may go on to Turibek with us. We travel afoot and
the way is slow, but certain."
"That is agreeable."
* * * * *
The leader drew Ketrik aside, out of hearing of the others. "At the
rear of our caravan is a small group of Martians, prospectors from the
nearby mountains--a ragged, harmless lot, whom we tolerate. I think it
advisable that you travel with them. Dar Vaajo's Specials are stationed
along our route."
Ketrik nodded curtly, started to move away. The Rajec stopped him.
"This mining camp you mention, this L'Ottli where you have been for
six months. Is it not far, far to the south, at the extreme end of the
K'Mari Range?"
"That's the place." Ketrik was on his guard.
"I thought you would like to know there is no L'Ottli. That entire town
was wiped out in a great avalanche three years ago. Oh, yes, one more
thing." The black was smiling now, looking at the place on Ketrik's arm
where the hot chunk of metal had burned the sleeve away. "That is a bad
burn, and a strange one--for a Martian."
Ketrik looked at his injured arm for the first time. Around the area
of the burn was a tiny outline of white--the white skin of an Earthman
showing through. Only the keen eyes of this Rajec would have noticed it.
"I'll give you other garments," the man said. "You had better burn
these. Good night, and sleep well--Khosan."
But Ketrik didn't sleep well. He burned his garments and donned the
others, then found the camp of the Martian prospectors. There were
six of them, all asleep now. Ketrik found a place by the fire and lay
awake, speculating.
The Rajec leader he trusted. The man was undoubtedly of the _S'Relah_.
But these six Martians would be suspicious of him, a newcomer. If
they hadn't yet heard of the search for a spy in the area, they would
certainly hear of it on the morrow! And they'd report him to any of Dar
Vaajo's "Specials" they met along the line of march.
That last thought gave Ketrik his answer, a temporary one at least.
At dawn the caravan moved. The six Martians were surprised at this
newcomer, but not yet suspicious. Ketrik didn't give them time to be.
From beneath his arm-pit he produced the thin disk which he'd taken
from the slain Martian operative. He flashed it briefly, asked a few
curt questions, and the men were properly cowed. Apparently they knew
the power of Vaajo's Specials.
"Just routine," Ketrik told them. "I'll travel along with you for a
while." Determined to play his role to the hilt, he added, "We can't be
too careful in these times. There may be _S'Relah_ among these damned
Rajecs, but we'll find them out before we get to Turibek. Dar Vaajo has
gone too far in his plans to have them thwarted now."
By tactful conversation he sought to learn something of what was going
on at Turibek. It soon became apparent that these bedraggled men didn't
know, and cared less. One of them had heard of Dar Vaajo coming to
Turibek with a complete staff of scientists, but that's as far as his
knowledge went. Another of the men had heard of the treaty, and wasn't
surprised.
"I've seen it coming," he said gruffly. "Many years I've lived in these
deserts, and I tell you the Rajecs aren't the same. Especially the last
few years. Something just seems to have gone out of them."
Something indeed had gone out of the Rajecs, if they made treaty!
Ketrik wondered what kind of magic Dar Vaajo had used to bring that
about. More particularly, _why_! There was some sort of link here,
between the Rajecs and whatever was going on at Turibek. And that, in
turn, was a pivot in Vaajo's larger plan, the plan that would deal with
Earth. Ketrik just couldn't piece it together as yet; he'd have to get
to Turibek. He thought fleetingly of those electronic walls....
The sun climbed higher, hot and dry, sapping the strength. Ketrik
marvelled at the long line of marching Rajecs--there were perhaps two
hundred. Long years in these deserts had inured them to discomfort.
Again he wondered why they were going to Turibek. Almost he was tempted
to go up and speak again with the Rajec leader--the man's name was
Aarnto, he learned--but he thought better of it.
At high noon they stopped for rations, and a few hours later the
Martian 'copters came over. They came from the direction of the city,
circled once, and flew leisurely back. Ketrik wondered what that meant.
He was soon to know.
* * * * *
Presently Aarnto dropped back, fell into step beside him and drew him
away from the others. "You saw the 'copters?"
"Yes," Ketrik replied. "Trouble ahead?"
"For you, perhaps, O mysterious one from out of the desert! Those
'copters mean there is a surveying station ahead, and the Specials will
be there. Apparently they are still searching for the spy."
"These surveying stations--what do they do there?"
"Oh, they are diabolic, these Specials of Vaajo's! They have machines
which tear a man's mind apart, probe into his inner thoughts. No spy
could ever get past them."
"Then how do _you_ propose to get by, O grinning one?"
The black continued to grin. "True," he said frankly, "I am _S'Relah_.
And there are several others among us. We shall get by the Specials all
right, and into Turibek by the main gate. For the past year we have
prepared for this, through systematic thought-control. We can submerge
our true thoughts so that all the machines will read will be obeisance
and loyalty."
"Seems ticklish," Ketrik said. "But I guess I'll try that too." He had
no intention of trying it. He was watching Aarnto's reaction.
"Listen to me." Aarnto was serious, gripping Ketrik's arm. "You could
never manage it. It takes months to perfect such mind control, and you
have only hours. I do not know why you wish to get to Turibek, but you
quoted the oath to me. I know of another way into the city for you--it
will be perilous but not so perilous as trying to run the gauntlet of
Specials!"
"I am listening, O helpful one."
"We will reach this station before sundown. If you should leave the
caravan now, and cut across desert to the foothills, you would be safe.
Once over there...."
Now it was Ketrik who grinned. "I know. Once over there, I might find
the entrance to the ancient South Canal."