Menace Under Marswood Page 3

  "I am here to help. Whatever is behind this movement is no friend to the True People. The lessons come from elsewhere. Many of the weapons are new to us also, and I like what I hear of them as little as the lessons. Louis has lived in my clan-place. I have come to help him, and to give help. Of the two enemies, you Greenies are much the less, in my judgment. You want to pen us up and turn everyone into farmers of the dirt. What this new thing in the South wants, I have no idea, but something about it is foul. It is a concealed enemy that I think loves us no more than you, and has plans for us that are far worse. We will halt our warfare, those of us who feel this way, against you Greenies until we find and tear out the rot that has somehow sprouted down here. You will never find it without our help, that I can tell you. So you must forget that I have killed Greenies and you must let me forget that you have killed Ruckers. Once this is all over we can go back and kill one another properly." For the first time since they had seen him, he smiled. His teeth were fine but gray, not white, a Rucker characteristic, perhaps due to some mineral deficiency.

  While they digested Thau Lang's remarks, Muller's voice broke in. "Show them the thing you brought, Thau Lang."

  From a large, elaborately worked pouch slung over one shoulder, the old chief produced an object that he held out to Slater. It was a tapered metal tube about a foot long. One end was swollen into a ball. At the other, the smaller, was a fine hole. It looked like a distorted syringe of some sort save that the ball end was rigid metal. The metal felt odd. It was rather rough in texture and a bluish black in color.

  "What is it?" Slater asked, handling the thing gingerly.

  "A weapon. It is empty now. He who bore it was a young man, a warrior of the Ferkat Clan, which used these southern woods. That is, if his paint and harness were not a lie. He is dead and cannot tell us. If he were alive I could make him speak. The Wise Women of my clan could too. He tried to kill me with it, but he was noisy. The Ferkats should be ashamed of him, to miss an old man."

  "It's an interesting weapon," Muller said. "Our techs are wild to disassemble it, but I need it too badly. It only had one load left, or maybe it's a single shot. It sprayed a cloud of tiny needles, apparently ice. If Thau had not had the reflexes of a youngster, one of them would have got him. Instead they hit a tree. Within each needle was some sort of corrosive muck. The tree was full of inch-wide holes in no time."

  Feng, who now held the odd-looking thing, was obviously fascinated. "But if all of this conspiracy is so secret, sir, why did they try to kill the konsel with such a strange weapon? It would be bound to attract some attention."

  "It was meant to, eh, Thau Lang? Lots of attention. Think for a minute, Captain, about what the konsel has just told us."

  "My people were supposed to see me die in great pain from a weapon they knew nothing of," Thau Lang said. "But no one thought that the Greenies would ever hear of it. The lesson was for the True People only. A warning to obey the new commands from the South. Also it must have been thought that the weapon, whatever it is, would not be found, but only my body, full of large unpleasant holes." For the first time the chief looked sad. "My clan has some traitors. There is no other way this southern stylyag could have reached the hiding place near my cave. He had to have help from within my clan."

  "Sir?"

  "Speak up, Captain M'kembe," Muller replied.

  "This weapon—ice gun or whatever. I am the arms officer and cleared for Top Secret. This is not a Terran weapon at all. I don't believe that we even have anything like it under development. It—it looks like some other, well, alien form of technology. It doesn't feel like a gun. It doesn't seem to fit the hand properly. How does it shoot?"

  "I assume you mean where is the trigger, George. There is none. And you may take it from me that the Ares Base intelligence did everything but take it apart. We don't know how it fires. We don't know how it loads either. And, of course, we don't have the vaguest idea what it loads." He leaned forward and looked at the puzzled faces around the table before continuing.

  "Surely some light is beginning to break through, gentlemen? Are you still not in the picture? Have the extraordinary precautions about this whole weird business not come home to you yet?" He smiled crookedly and then suddenly pointed at Slater. "Speak up, Senior Lieutenant! I can see that you, at least, have a thought."

  Slater could only stammer, as the idea ricocheted around in his skull, becoming more improbable as each second passed. Finally the words got out. "The Old Martians!" There was a long silence. The colonel continued to smile dreamily, as if contemplating some lovely vision. His eyes refocused themselves on Slater finally and he spoke.

  "That's right, my boy," he said jovially. "The Old Martians."

  Chapter Three – Danna Strom

  COLONEL Muller smiled briefly then continued, "I don't mean that I believe in Old Martians or, for that matter, Old Terrans either. Or ghosts, or the dust devil things my Tottie ancestors thought lived out in the Karoo desert. But Old Martians will do. Ares Base has a code name—Project U—for something labeled Unknown, Unpleasant, and Unwanted. Something that is apparently systematically killing Ruckers who disagree with it, and Terrans who are ignorant of it." Despite his casual air, the mild-looking little man was deadly serious. His officers had no doubt of that.

  "We have to find it, you know," he went on quietly. "A concerted rising of even two-thirds of the wild tribes—minus any unknown technology, mind you-—is utterly beyond the capability of the UN forces here to handle. Nor do we have the ships to evacuate civilians. We would have to use deterrents. Ultima ratio regis, gentlemen—the king's last argument. It used to mean artillery, back in the so-called civilized past. Now it means nukes, and bacteria and viruses. Since Thau Lang and a number of the other elders of the True People are not without a fair share of reasoning power, why, they want this conspiracy stopped. Permanently." Once again the room was silent.

  "This is all new to you. Regrettably, there is little time to digest it. Since I have some ideas and am also the commander of this post, I have been given a pretty free hand in this matter. Captain Feng, Lieutenants Slater and Nakamura remain. The rest of you are dismissed. I'll deal with each of you separately later. For the present, carry out your normal duties. Be alert. Those ore carts were not stolen for fun."

  As the other officers filed out, the colonel remembered something. "Van Schouten, get busy on all those damned forms that came in since I've been gone. I don't want to see one by tomorrow except for my signature."

  Thau Lang remained as well. Slater was surprised to find that the old konsel was studying him closely, making no effort to hide the fact. His iron visage was expressionless but his eyes were interested.

  "Captain Feng." The colonel's voice brought their attention back to him at once. "What can you tell me of the five prisoners we now hold?"

  Rucker prisoners, a rarity at any time, were cared for only by Intelligence guards and medics who had received special training for that duty. Rucker prisoners were homicidal, suicidal, and cunning beyond belief. The Rucker warmen did not surrender and their base camps, usually below the ground or in caverns, had only been found once or twice, by accident. Thus women and children hardly existed as a factor in discussing prisoners.

  This was one reason that the two junior officers pricked up their ears. The last batch of prisoners had been brought in swaddled in cloaks, late at night and by helijet. Though no one could say who had started the rumor, every man in garrison was convinced that one of the captives was a woman. The fact that not a half-dozen women had been caught alive in the last fifty years made the story even more interesting.

  "There are four men and one woman," Feng admitted. "All under restraint. They have been force-fed, but no interrogation has taken place." His black eyes met those of the colonel. "There is something odd about this gang, sir. They were caught in the open by a passing heli and knocked out by gas bombs. I'm more than a little suspicious of the whole thing. I sent a coded communication detailing my sus
picions to Intelligence H.Q. in Ares but have had no answer yet, which also surprises me."

  The colonel tapped his pocket. "I have your message and I'm your answer. I'm also your superior in your own branch for the duration of this emergency. You'll get a signal to that effect today from your people. From this minute, you report to me and to no one else. Understood?"

  Feng appeared delighted. "That gives me great pleasure, Colonel. Just tell me what you want done. I'll do my best."

  "Let's go see your prisoners for a start." Muller rose and the others followed him. "Thau Lang goes with us. He goes anywhere in this fort that he wants. I've cut orders to that effect. When he returns to his people, he will report nothing of what he has seen. On the word of a True Person." He strode out of the office, the others trailing in his wake, Slater and Nakamura staring at one another.

  Prisoners were kept in the deepest section of the subbasements, directly under the central keep and its offices. Intelligence maintained a sealed section there, with its own special equipment. Of non-I-Corps personnel, only the post commander had the right of entry, and he seldom exercised it. The Intelligence branch functioned best when left to itself.

  Feng identified himself through a pinhole and they went in, the guard inside coming to attention as the heavy steel door slid into its notch. Waiting for them at the entrance to the hospital section was the pet frustration of the unattached males on the post, Lieutenant (of Intelligence) Mohini Lai Dutt, all six feet of her gorgeous body in medical whites. She did not stand at attention, simply waved a pretty hand. The Benares Bomber favored each of them with a dazzling smile. Slater reflected that her I-Corps training showed in the fact that the smile sent to Thau Lang was no whit less gleaming and kind. As he trailed after the others into the security ward, Slater aimed a hand at the white-covered roundness nearest him, only to have it gently guided past. "No free feels, today, Dirty Pathan pig," she breathed gently in his ear. He suppressed a grin and went on in. One of these days, Mohini ...

  The five beds were kept three feet from each other. The five occupants were conscious, but only their hands were free to move. Their bodies were wrapped in extended versions of the old straitjacket, each of which was secured to its bed in several places. The beds were clamped to the floor. An armed guard, carbine on hip, leaned against the wall at the entry end of the room. He paid no attention to the visitors and his eyes never left the prisoners. To a stranger, the precautions might have looked rather absurd. To a soldier familiar with the Ruck, they looked fairly adequate.

  One sight of the woman made Slater forget his training for a long, breathless instant. She lay at one end of the line of beds, her close-cropped hair outlined by the white pillow. Her eyes were a strange shade, somewhere between yellow and brown, and she was quite small. The nose was square and short above the full lips and the rounded chin. Her skin was the typical Rucker beige, a faded olive, but a faint flush of rose was visible over the cheekbones. She met his gaze impassively and her eyes moved on to examine the others, then returned to him. For a moment he thought he saw something else in their depths, a question perhaps. Then they left him.

  One of the men said something short, harsh, and savage to the others. Five sets of burning eyes settled on Thau Lang, who seemed as calm as ever. He in turn said something in a whisper to Colonel Muller. It was equally unintelligible to Slater. He must speak Rucker, thought the young officer. God, what a man Muller is!

  The five captives lay in their cloth cocoons and stared at Thau Lang, who walked slowly along the line of beds staring serenely back. When he came to the girl, for she was obviously no more, he paused and said one word, a long rolling sound, which to Slater meant nothing. It sounded like "Kareeem." The old chief turned to the officers and this time spoke in Unit.

  "Leave the room. I must speak with these people. You must not be here. Not even you, Louis."

  Muller nodded. "Come on, you types. Captain Feng, all monitoring equipment turned off at once please. That's an order. This room is to be completely private, until we are asked back."

  The Intelligence officer snapped an order to Lieutenant Dutt. Slater was pleased to see that she had lost her proverbial calm. She stepped out and gave some orders into a wall phone. Feng had meanwhile waved the armed guard out as well. Muller was the last out and closed the door behind him.

  He said, "I hope that this succession of shocks is not more than you can stand, gentlemen. There are going to be lots more and I need all three of you. But use of the spy-eyes and recorders would be a clean breach of my agreement with Lang. And I stress, gentlemen, that he is more important than any of us in this matter. With him, we have a slender chance to seek out and destroy this damned conspiracy. Without him—none."

  Nakamura had been silent and glum since the meeting had broken up. The big man took his hatred seriously, and suddenly being allied to "friendly" Ruckers did not seem to have done his feelings much good.

  "What's the matter, Nakamura? The very idea of cooperating with one enemy against a far greater one too much for you?" The sarcasm left Colonel Muller's voice. "Look, boy, I'm counting on you and a few others. I can't do this job alone. But if you feel it's too much to ask, then say so now!" He spoke the last words slowly. "There won't be any hard feelings and it will never appear on your record—my word on it. But I want volunteers, even if I do pick them myself!"

  The colonel so obviously meant the last statement that Nakamura's control broke as he realized what he had just heard. A slow grin stole across his face, followed by a rumbling laugh. The colonel stared up at his towering junior in surprise and then began to grin himself. The other three joined in the laughter.

  "Sorry, Colonel, I'm over it." Nakamura's dark-brown eyes met Muller's gaze frankly. "I'm a little slow on the reflexes, I guess. Killing those bastards is all I've had in mind for too long. Moe here actually likes the Ruck, sir, while it just makes me jumpy. Maybe I'm not the right man for this job, and if you want to wash me out that's all right. But I'd like to stay."

  "You'll do. That's the end of it. You may have qualities that you aren't aware of, Lieutenant." The colonel swung around abruptly as the door to the cell opened behind him. They stared at Thau Lang, who appeared as calm as ever. His right hand was bloodstained and he was cleaning his long dagger on a piece of torn sheet held in the left.

  "Down your piece, Private!" Slater had been the only one to see the enlisted guard by the far door to the corridor raise his carbine. Even as Slater spoke, he was in motion, a Martian leap placing his body between the old Rucker and the gun. Time froze.

  The I-Corps private lowered his weapon at once. "Sorry, sir," he said quietly. "I saw the blood and got jumpy, but that's no excuse." He appeared embarrassed.

  "Forget it," the colonel said. "We're all jumpy. I haven't briefed everyone I should. Feng, fill your people in, and quickly; no one else. The general orders on Thau Lang are already on the boards upstairs." He looked hard at Slater and said, "Thanks. That fellow was out of my vision. Inexcusable on my part." He looked back at the konsel, who had never changed his expression or moved. "What now, old friend?"

  "Come back in here. The people are all free, but they will not harm you. We must talk." He turned and led the way. Mohini Dutt had left with Feng, so only the two lieutenants were with the colonel.

  The first view was a shock. Three figures were praying, or in the attitude of prayer, on the smooth, plastic floor. Before them lay two other shapes, covered from head to foot in bloody sheets ripped from the beds. As the three officers entered, the two men and the girl stood and turned to face them, standing proudly erect.

  Slater was conscious of the same thrill again. Her eyes met his again almost involuntarily and locked on them. The faint rose color over the cheeks seemed to deepen. Then the long lashes drooped and her head turned away.

  "You see Danna Strom, a Wise Woman of the True People." Lang's deep voice roiled out the formal introduction. "You see Arta Burg and Milla Breen, who are warmen Who Have Killed. They
will help us; indeed, they were sent to help us." He turned and bowed to the two still shapes, then turned again and continued. "The dead are gone from us. They are Jon Sodo Kar and Kolai Grado. They would not help us. They accepted death rather than do so. They were brave men and they will be remembered in the Writings of the Dead. Their bodies will feed Marswood. Peace to them, warmen and kin."

  The colonel stepped forward. "Do you wish them buried now? And do you want any help?"

  "Let them lie. We will take them out tonight and we will go alone. Now we must talk, Louis. These three have much to tell us. If you think it best, let us go back up to your room, where the big maps are. We shall need them."

  As they returned to the surface, Slater studied the three Ruckers as closely as he could without seeming to. The two men were young and wiry, less than his own height—five eleven and three-quarters—by some few inches. The taller, Breen, wore a round cap of fur over his cropped black hair. Burg wore no hat and his brown hair was long, held by an embroidered band. Both were dressed in the usual oiled leather suits, dappled in green and brown. On their feet, like Slater himself, they wore the supple, tough boots, knee high, which the Ruckers had developed and the UN forces had simply copied in a synthetic. Slater suspected the leather was better, being less rigid and less pervious to cold. The men were clean shaven. All Ruckers were, and the secret of the depilatory they used was eagerly sought by every pharmaceutical house on Earth.

  Danna Strom wore the same supple leathers as the men. She was small, hardly over five feet, Slater guessed. Her curly hair was so short it needed no restraint. Around her neck was a heavy leather thong that disappeared into the collar of her suit. On her left hand she wore a heavy but worn gold ring that bore a great blue jewel in its center. Something about the ring drew Slater's curiosity, and he decided to ask for a look at it some time if the occasion presented itself.