XIII

"He wouldn't come in, sir. Just hammered on the door and said, _I'm

here, tell Brandd_."

"Good enough," Brion said, seating his gun in the holster and sliding

the extra clips into his pocket. "I'm going out now, and I should return

before dawn. Get one of the wheeled stretchers down here from the

hospital. I'll want it waiting when I get back."

Outside the street was darker than he remembered. Brion frowned and his

hand moved towards his gun. Someone had put all the nearby lights out of

commission. There was just enough illumination from the stars to enable

him to make out the dark bulk of a sandcar.

The motor roared as soon as he had closed the door. Without lights the

sandcar churned a path through the city and out into the desert. Though

the speed picked up, the driver still drove in the dark, feeling his way

with a light touch on the controls. The ground rose, and when they

reached the top of a flat mesa he killed the engine. Neither the driver

nor Brion had spoken a word since they left.

A switch snapped and the instrument lights came on. In their dim glow

Brion could just make out the other man's hawklike profile. When he

moved Brion saw that his figure was cruelly shortened. Either accident

or a mutated gene had warped his spine, hunching him forward in

eternally bent supplication. Warped bodies are rare--his was the first

Brion had ever seen. He wondered what series of events had kept him from

medical attention all his life. This might explain the bitterness and

pain in the man's voice.

"Did the mighty brains on Nyjord bother to tell you that they have

chopped another day off the deadline? That this world is about to come

to an end?"

"Yes, I know," Brion said. "That's why I'm asking your group for help.

Our time is running out too fast."

The man didn't answer, merely grunted and gave his full attention to the

radar pings and glowing screen. The electronic senses reached out as he

made a check on all the search frequencies to see if they were being

followed.

"Where are we going?" Brion asked.

"Out into the desert," the driver made a vague wave of his hand.

"Headquarters of the army. Since the whole thing will be blown up in

another day, I guess I can tell you it's the only camp we have. All the

cars, men and weapons are based there. And Hys. He's the man in charge.

Tomorrow it will be all gone--along with this cursed planet. What's your

business with us?"

"Shouldn't I be telling Hys that?"

"Suit yourself." Satisfied with the instrument search the driver kicked

the car to life again and churned on across the desert. "But we're a

volunteer army and we have no secrets from each other. Just from the

fools at home who are going to kill this world." There was a bitterness

in his words that he made no attempt to conceal. "They fought among

themselves and put off a firm decision so long that now they are forced

to commit murder."

"From what I had heard, I thought that it was the other way around. They

call your Nyjord Army terrorists."

"We are. Because we are an army and we're at war. The idealists at home

only understood that when it was too late. If they had backed us in the

beginning, we would have blown open every black castle on Dis--searched

until we found those bombs. But that would have meant wanton destruction

and death. They wouldn't consider that. Now they are going to kill

everyone, destroy everything." He flicked on the panel lights just long

enough to take a compass bearing, and Brion saw the tortured unhappiness

in his twisted body.

"It's not over yet," Brion said. "There is more than a day left, and I

think I'm onto something that might stop the war--without any bombs

being dropped."

"You're in charge of the Cultural Relationships Free Bread and Blankets

Foundation, aren't you? What good can your bunch do when the shooting

starts?"

"None. But maybe we can put off the shooting. If you are trying to

insult me--don't bother. My irritation quotient is very high."

The driver just grunted at this, slowing down as they ran through a

field of broken rock. "What is it you want?" he asked.

"We want to make a detailed examination of one of the magter. Alive or

dead, it doesn't make any difference. You wouldn't happen to have one

around?"

"No. We've fought with them often enough, but always on their home

grounds. They keep all their casualties, and a good number of ours. What

good will it do you anyway? A dead one won't tell you where the bombs or

the jump-space projector is."

"I don't see why I should explain that to you--unless you are in charge.

You are Hys, aren't you?"

* * * * *

The driver grunted angrily and was silent while he drove. Finally he

asked, "What makes you think that?"

"Call it a hunch. You don't act very much like a sandcar driver for one

thing. Of course your army may be all generals and no privates--but I

doubt it. I also know that time has almost run out for all of us. This

is a long ride and it would be a complete waste of time if you just sat

out in the desert and waited for me. By driving me yourself you could

make your mind up before we arrived. Have a decision ready whether you

are going to help me or not. Are you?"

[Illustration]

"Yes--I'm Hys. But you still haven't answered my question. What do you

want the body for?"

"We're going to cut it open and take a good long look. I don't think the

magter are human. They are something living among men and disguised as

men--but still not human."

"Secret aliens?" Hys exploded the words in a mixture of surprise and

disgust.

"Perhaps. The examination will tell us that."

"You're either stupid or incompetent," Hys said bitterly. "The heat of

Dis has cooked your brains in your head. I'll be no part of this kind of

absurd plan."

"You must," Brion said, surprised at his own calmness. He could sense

the other man's interest hidden behind his insulting manner. "I don't

even have to give you my reasons. In another day this world ends and you

have no way to stop it. I just might have an idea that could work and

you can't afford to take any chances--not if you are really sincere.

Either you are a murderer, killing Disans for pleasure, or you honestly

want to stop the war. Which is it?"

"You'll have your body all right," Hys grated, hurling the car viciously

around a spire of rock. "Not that it will accomplish anything--but I can

find no fault in killing another magter. We can fit your operation into

our plans without any trouble. This is the last night and I have sent

every one of my teams out on raids. We're breaking into as many magter

towers as possible before dawn. There is a slim chance that we might

uncover something. It's really just shooting in the dark, but it's all

we can do now. My own team is waiting and you can ride along with us.

The others left earlier. We're going to hit a small tower on this side

of the city. We raided it once before and captured a lot of small arms

that they had stored there. There is a good chance that they may have

been stupid enough to store something there again. Sometimes the magter

seem to suffer from a complete lack of imagination."

"You have no idea just how right you are," Brion told him.

The sandcar slowed down now, as they approached a slab-sided mesa that

rose vertically from the desert. They crunched across broken rocks,

leaving no tracks. A light blinked on the dashboard and Hys stopped

instantly and killed the engine. They climbed out, stretching and

shivering in the cold desert night.

It was dark walking in the shadow of the cliff and they had to feel

their way along a path through the tumbled boulders. A sudden blaze of

light made Brion wince and shield his eyes. Near him, on the ground, was

the humming shape of a cancellation projector, sending out a fan-shaped

curtain of vibration that absorbed all the light rays falling upon it.

This incredible blackness made a lightproof wall for the recessed hollow

at the foot of the cliff. In this shelter, under the overhang of rock,

were three open sandcars. They were large and armor-plated, warlike in

their scarred gray paint. Men sprawled, talked and polished their

weapons. Everything stopped when Hys and Brion appeared.

"Load up," Hys called out. "We're going to attack now, same plan I

outlined earlier. Get Telt over here." Talking to his own men some of

the harshness was gone from his voice. The tall soldiers of Nyjord

moved in ready obedience to the commander. They loomed over his bent

figure, most of them twice as tall as him. Yet there was no hesitation

in jumping when he commanded. They were the body of the Nyjord striking

force--he was the brains.

A square-cut, compact man rolled up to Hys and saluted with a leisurely

flick of his hand. He was weighted and slung about with packs and

electronic instruments. His pockets bulged with small tools.

"This is Telt," Hys said to Brion, "he'll take care of you. Telt's my

personal technical squad. Goes along on all my operations with his

meters to test the interiors of the Disan forts. So far he's found no

trace of a jump-space generator, or excess radioactivity that might

indicate a bomb. Since he's useless and you're useless, you can both

take care of each other. Use the car we came in."

Telt's wide face split in a frog-like grin, his voice was hoarse and

throaty. "Wait! Just wait! Some day those needles gonna flicker and all

our troubles be over. What you want me to do with the stranger?"

"Supply him with a corpse--one of the magter," Hys said. "Take it where

he wants and then report back here." Hys scowled at Telt. "Some day your

needles will flicker! Poor fool--this is the last day." He turned away

and waved the men into their sandcars.

"He likes me," Telt said, attaching a final piece of equipment. "You can

tell because he calls me names like that. He's a great man, Hys is, but

they never found out until it was too late. Hand me that meter, will

you?"

* * * * *

Brion followed the technician out to the car and helped him load his

equipment aboard. When the larger cars appeared out of the darkness,

Telt swung around after them. They snaked forward in a single line

through the rocks, until they came to the desert of rolling sand dunes.

Then they spread out in line abreast and rushed towards their goal.

Telt hummed to himself hoarsely as he drove. He broke off suddenly and

looked at Brion. "What you want the dead Dis for?"

"A theory," Brion answered sluggishly. He had been half napping in the

chair, taking the opportunity for some rest before the attack. "I'm

still looking for a way to avert the end."

"You and Hys," Telt said with satisfaction. "Couple of idealists. Trying

to stop a war you didn't start. They never would listen to Hys. He told

them in the beginning exactly what would happen, and he was right. They

always thought his ideas were crooked, like him. Growing up alone in the

hill camp, with his back too twisted and too old to be fixed when he

finally did come out. Ideas twisted the same way. Made himself an

authority on war. Hah! War on Nyjord. That's like being an icecube

specialist in hell. But he knew all about it, but they never would let

him use what he knew. Put granddaddy Krafft in charge instead."

"But Hys is in charge of an army now?"

"All volunteers, too few of them and too little money. Too little and

too damned late to do any good. I'll never be good enough. And for this

we get called butchers." There was a catch in Telt's voice now, an

undercurrent of emotion he couldn't suppress. "At home they think we

like to kill. Think we're insane. They can't understand we're doing the

only thing that has to be done--" He broke off as he quickly locked on

the brakes and killed the engine. The line of sandcars had come to a

stop. Ahead, just visible over the dunes, was the summit of a dark

tower.

"We walk from here," Telt said, standing and stretching. "We can take

our time because the other boys go in first, soften things up. Then you

and I head for the sub-cellar for a radiation check and find you a

handsome corpse."

Walking at first, then crawling when the dunes no longer shielded them,

they crept up on the Disan keep. Dark figures moved ahead of them,

stopping only when they reached the crumbling black walls. They didn't

use the ascending ramp, but made their way up the sheer outside face of

the ramparts.

"Linethrowers," Telt whispered. "Anchor themselves when the missile

hits, have some kind of quicksetting goo. Then we go up the filament

with a line-climbing motor. Hys invented them."

"Is that the way you and I are going in?" Brion asked.

"No, we get out of the climbing. I told you we hit this rock once

before. I know the layout inside." He was moving while he talked,

carefully pacing the distance around the base of the tower. "Should be

right about here."

High-pitched keening sliced the air and the top of the magter building

burst into flame. Automatic weapons hammered above them. Something fell

silently through the night and hit heavily on the ground near them.

"Attack's started," Telt shouted. "We have to get through now, while all

the creepies are fighting it out on top." He pulled a plate-shaped

object from one of his bags and slapped it hard against the wall. It

hung there. He twisted the back of it, pulled something and waved Brion

to the ground. "Shaped charge. Should blow straight in, but you never

can tell."

The ground jumped under them and the ringing thud was a giant fist

punching through the wall. A cloud of dust and smoke rolled clear and

they could see the dark opening in the rock, a tunnel driven into the

wall by the directional force of the explosion. Telt shone a light

through the hole at the crumbled chamber inside.

"Nothing to worry about from anybody who was leaning against this wall.

But let's get in and out of this black beehive before the ones upstairs

come down to investigate."

Shattered rock was thick on the floor, and they skidded and tumbled over

it. Telt pointed the way with his light, down a sharply angled ramp.

"Underground chambers in the rock. They always store their stuff down

there--"

A smoking, black sphere arced out of the tunnel's mouth, hitting at

their feet. Telt just gaped, but even as it hit the floor Brion was

jumping forward. He caught it with the side of his foot, kicking it back

into the dark opening of the tunnel. Telt hit the ground next to him as

the orange flame of an explosion burst below. Bits of shrapnel rattled

from the ceiling and wall behind them.

"Grenades!" Telt gasped. "They only used them once before--can't have

many. Gotta warn Hys." He plugged a throat mike into the transmitter on

his back and spoke quickly into it. There was a stirring below and Brion

poured a rain of fire into the tunnel.

"They're catching it bad on top, too! We gotta pull out. Go first and

I'll cover you."

"I came for my Disan--I'm not leaving until I get one."

"You're crazy! You're dead if you stay!"

* * * * *

Telt was scrambling back towards their crumbled entrance as he talked.

His back was turned when Brion fired. The magter appeared silently as

the shadow of death. They charged without a sound, running with

expressionless faces into the bullets. Two died at once, curling and

folding, the third one fell at Brion's feet. Shot, pierced, dying, but

not yet dead. Leaving a crimson track it hunched closer, lifting its

knife to Brion. He didn't move. How many times must you murder a man?

Or was it a man. His mind and body rebelled against the killing and was

almost ready to accept death himself, rather than kill again.

Telt's bullets tore through the body and it dropped with grim finality.

"There's your corpse--now get it out of here!" Telt screeched.

Between them they worked the sodden weight of the dead magter through

the hole, their exposed backs crawling with the expectation of instant

death. There were no more attacks as they ran from the tower, other than

a grenade that exploded too far behind them to do any harm.

One of the armored sandcars circled the keep, headlights blazing,

keeping up a steady fire from its heavy weapons. The attackers climbed

into it as they beat a retreat. Telt and Brion dragged the Disan behind

them, struggling through the loose sand toward the circling car. Telt

glanced over his shoulder and broke into a shambling run.

"They're following us--!" he gasped. "The first time they ever chased us

after a raid!"

"They must know we have the body," Brion said.

"Leave it behind--!" Telt choked. "Too heavy to carry ... anyway!"

"I'd rather leave you," Brion snapped. "Let me have it." He pulled the

corpse away from the unresisting Telt and heaved it across his

shoulders. "Now use your gun to cover us!"

Telt threw a rain of slugs back towards the dark figures following

them. The driver must have seen the flare of their fire, because the

truck turned and started towards them. It braked in a choking cloud of

dust and ready hands reached to pull them up. Brion pushed the body in

ahead of himself and scrambled after it. The truck engine throbbed and

they churned away into the blackness, away from the gutted tower.

"You know, that was more like kind of a joke, when I said I'd leave the

corpse behind," Telt told Brion. "You didn't believe me, did you?"

"Yes," Brion said, holding the dead weight of the magter against the

truck's side. "I thought you meant it."

"Ahhh--" Telt grumbled. "You're as bad as Hys. Take things too

seriously."

Brion suddenly realized that he was wet with blood, his clothing sodden.

His stomach rose at the thought and he clutched the edge of the sandcar.

Killing like this was too personal. Talking abstractedly about a body

was one thing. But murdering a man, then lifting his dead flesh and

feeling his blood warm upon you is an entirely different matter. Yet the

magter weren't human, he knew that. The thought was only mildly

comforting.

* * * * *

After they had reached the rest of the waiting sandcars, the raiding

party split up. "Each one goes in a different direction," Telt said, "so

they can't track us to the base." He clipped a piece of paper next to

the compass and kicked the motor into life. "We'll make a big _U_ in the

desert and end up in Hovedstad, I got the course here. Then I'll dump

you and your friend and beat it back to our camp. You're not still

burned at me for what I said, are you? Are you?"

Brion didn't answer. He was staring fixedly out of the side window.

"What's doing?" Telt asked. Brion pointed out at the rushing darkness.

"Over there," he said, pointing to the growing light on the horizon.

"Dawn," Telt said. "Lotta rain on your planet? Didn't you ever see the

sun come up before?"

"Not on the last day of a world."

"Lock it up," Telt grumbled. "You give me the crawls. I know they're

going to be blasted. But at least I know I did everything I could to

stop it. How do you think they are going to be feeling at home--on

Nyjord--from tomorrow on?"

"Maybe we can still stop it?" Brion said, shrugging off the feeling of

gloom, Telt's only answer was a wordless sound of disgust.

By the time they had cut a large loop in the desert the sun was high in

the sky, the daily heat begun. Their course took them through a chain of

low, flinty hills that cut their speed almost to zero. They ground ahead

in low gear while Telt sweated and cursed, struggling with the controls.

Then they were on firm sand and picking up speed towards the city.

As soon as Brion saw Hovedstad clearly he felt a clutch of fear. From

somewhere in the city a black plume of smoke was rising. It could have

been one of the deserted buildings aflame, a minor blaze. Yet the closer

they came, the greater the tension grew. Brion didn't dare put it into

words himself, it was Telt who vocalized the thought.

"A fire or something. Coming from your area, somewhere close to your

building."

Within the city they saw the first signs of destruction. Broken rubble

on the streets. The smell of greasy smoke in their nostrils. More and

more people appeared, going in the same direction they were. The

normally deserted streets of Hovedstad were now almost crowded. Disans,

obvious by their bare shoulders, mixed with the few offworlders who

still remained.

Brion made sure the tarpaulin was well wrapped around the body before

they pushed slowly through the growing crowd.

"I don't like all this publicity," Telt complained, looking at the

people. "It's the last day, or I'd be turning back. They know our cars,

we've raided them often enough." Turning a corner he braked suddenly.

Ahead was destruction. Black, broken rubble had been churned into

desolation. It was still smoking, pink tongues of flame licking over the

ruins. A fragment of wall fell with a rumbling crash.

"It's your building--the Foundation building!" Telt shouted. "They've

been here ahead of us, must have used the radio to call a raid. They did

a job, explosive of some kind."

Hope was dead. Dis was dead. In the ruin ahead, mixed and broken with

the other rubble, were the bodies of all the people who had trusted him.

Lea. Beautiful and cruelly dead Lea. Dr. Stine, his patients, Faussel,

all of them. He had kept them on this planet and now they were dead.

Every one of them. Dead.

Murderer!

[Illustration: Illustrated by van Dongen]