XIII

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

'_I'm here, tell Brandd._'"

"Good enough," Brion said, fitting 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 sand car.

"Brion Brandd?" a voice spoke harshly from the car. "Get in."

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

the sand car 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 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 were 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?" the man asked. "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; he 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 merely 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 gave an angry sound, and then 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 sand-car 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.

Could have a decision ready as to whether you are going to help me

or not. Are you?"

"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 with 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 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 sand car 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 sand cars. They

were large and armor-plated, warlike in their scarred grey 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." In talking to his own men

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

Nyjord moved in ready obeyance of their commander. They loomed over

his bent figure, most of them twice as tall as he, but 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 and spare parts.

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

my personal technical squad. He 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 both take care of each other. Use the car we came in."

Telt's wide face split in a froglike grin; his voice was hoarse and

throaty. "Wait. Just wait! Someday 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

wherever he wants and then report back here." Hys scowled at Telt.

"Someday your needles will flicker! Poor fool--this is the last

day." He turned away and waved the men into their sand cars.

"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 ice-cube specialist in hell. But he knew all about it,

though 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 tell you we did our best,

but it could 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 sand cars 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.

"Line-throwers," Telt whispered. "Anchor themselves when the missile

hits, have some kind of quick-setting 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've only used them once before--can't

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

transmitter on his tack 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 the crumbled entrance as he talked.

His back was turned when Brion fired. The magter had 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 he 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. No further attack came as they ran from the tower,

other than a grenade that exploded too far behind them to do any

harm.

One of the armored sand cars 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 towards

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 said sharply. "Let me have it." He

pulled the corpse away from the unresisting Telt and heaved it

across his own shoulders. "Now use your gun to cover us!"

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

them. The driver of the sand car 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 protested, "you're as bad as Hys. You 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 sand car. 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. But the magter weren't human, he knew

that. The thought was only mildly comforting.

After they had reached the other waiting sand cars, 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 friends 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 well

up 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 his 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 the sand car 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, mouth agape.

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

him. Lea ... beautiful and cruelly dead Lea. Doctor 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!