Judith clung to him. “Do you have to go right now, darlin’?” she murmured. “You’ve been away so much … out prowlin’, spyin’, an’ the streets still full o’ packs huntin’ for whoever attacked that squad — I’m terrified for you.”
Her look was more inviting than anxious. Flandry kissed her absent-mindedly. “We’re patriots and all that sort of rot,” he said. “I could not love you so much, dear, et cetera. Now do let go.” He was out the door before she could speak further.
The way between her house and the underground’s went mostly from garden to garden, but there was a stretch of public thoroughfare. Flandry put hands in pockets and sauntered along under rustling feather palms as if he had neither cares nor haste. The other humans about, afoot or in groundcars, were subdued, the pinch of hunger and shabbiness already upon them. Once a party of Ardazirho whirred past on motor unicycles; their sharp red muzzles clove the air like prows, and they left a wake of frightened silence behind them. The winter sun burned low to northwest, big and dazzling white in a pale sky, among hurried stormclouds.
When Flandry let himself into the cellar, only Emil Bryce and Kit Kittredge were there. The hunter lounged on guard. From the closed door behind him came howling and sobbing. “He babbled he’d talk,” said Bryce. “But can you trust what he says?”
“Interrogation is a science too,” answered Flandry. “If Temulak is enough like a human to break under isolation, he won’t be able to invent consistent lies fast enough when I start throwing questions at him. Did you get that recorder I wanted?”
“Here.” Kit picked it up. She looked very small and alone in all the shadows. Sleeplessness had reddened her eyes. She brought the machine to Flandry, who met her several meters from Bryce. She leaned toward him on tiptoe and whispered shakily: “What will you do now?”
Flandry studied her. He had gotten to know her well on the journey here, he thought. But that was under just one set of conditions — and how well does one human ever know another, in spite of all pretentious psychology? Since capturing the Ardazirho, he had only seen her on a single brief visit to this cellar. They had had a few moments alone, but nothing very personal was said. There had been no time for it. He saw how she trembled.
“I’m going to quiz brother Temulak,” he told her. “And afterward I could use some dinner and a stiff drink.”
“With Judith Hurst?” It startled him, how ferociously she spat it out.
“Depends,” he said in a careful tone.
“Dominic—” She hugged herself, forlornly, to stop shivering. Her gaze blurred, seeking his. “Don’t. Please don’t make me do … what I don’t want—”
“We’ll see.” He started toward the inner door. Kit began to cry, hopelessly this time.
Bryce got up. “Why, what all’s the matter?” he asked.
“She’s overtired.” Flandry opened the door.
“Worse’n that.” The hunter looked from him to the girl and back again. Resentment smoldered in his growclass="underline" “Maybe it’s none o’ my business—”
“It isn’t.” Flandry stepped through, closing the door behind him.
Temulak lay shuddering and gasping. Flandry set up the recorder and unplugged the Ardazirho’s ears. “Did you want to speak to me?” he asked mildly.
“Let me go!” shrieked Temulak. “Let me go, I say! Zamara shammish ni ulan!” He opened his mouth and howled. It was so much like a beast that a crawling went along Flandry’s spine.
“We’ll see, after you’ve cooperated.” The man sat down.
“I never thought … you gray people … gray hearts—” Temulak whimpered. He dribbled between his fangs.
“Goodnight, then,” said Flandry. “Sweet dreams.”
“No! No, let me see! Let me smell! I will … zamara, zamara—”
Flandry began to interrogate.
It took time. The basic principle was to keep hitting, snap out a question, yank forth the answer, toss the next question, pounce on the smallest discrepancies, always strike and strike and strike with never a second’s pause for the victim to think. Without a partner, Flandry was soon tired. He kept going, on cigarets and nerves; after the first hour, he lost count of time.
In the end, with a full tape, he relaxed a moment. The air was nearly solid with smoke. Sweat felt sticky under his clothes. He puffed yet another cigaret and noticed impersonally the shakiness of his hand. But Temulak whined and twitched, beaten close to mindlessness by sheer psychic exhaustion.
The picture so far was only a bare outline, thought Flandry in a dull far-off way. How much could be told in one night of an entire world, its greatness and rich variety, its many peoples and all their histories? How much, to this day, do we really know about Terra? But the tape held information worth entire ships.
Somewhere there was a sun, brighter even than Cerulia, and a planet called Ardazir by its principal nation. ("Nation” was the Anglic word; Flandry had an impression that “clan alliance” or “pack aggregate” might more closely translate orbekh.) Interplanetary travel had been independently achieved by that country. Then, some fifteen standard years ago, gravities, super-light pseudo-speeds, the whole apparatus of the modern galaxy, had burst upon Ardazir. The war lords (chiefs, speakers, pack leaders?) of Urdahu, the dominant orbekh, had promptly used these to complete the subjugation of their own world. Then they turned outward. Their hunters ravened into a dozen backward systems, looting and enslaving; engineers followed, organizing the conquered planets for further war.
And now the attack on the human empire had begun. The lords of Urdahu assured their followers that Ardazir had allies, mighty denizens of worlds so alien that there could never be any fear of attack — though these aliens had long been annoyed by humankind, and found in Ardazir an instrument to destroy and replace the Terran Empire … Temulak had not inquired more deeply, had not thought much about it at all. The Ardazirho seemed, by nature, somewhat more reckless and fatalistic than men, and somewhat less curious. If circumstances had provided a chance for adventure, glory, and wealth, that was enough. Precautions could be left in care of the orbekh’s wise old females.
Flandry smoked in a thick silence. If Ymir were, indeed, behind Ardazir — it would be natural for Ymir to cooperate temporarily with Merseia, whipsawing Terra between the Syrax and Vixen crises. Maybe Merseia was next on Ymir’s list. Thereafter Ardazir would hardly prove troublesome to wreck.
But what grudge could Ymir have against oxygen breathers, or even against Terra alone? There had been some small friction, yes, inevitably — but nothing serious, surely the monsters rubbed each other more raw than … And yet Horx did his level best to kill me. Why? What could he have been hired with? What material thing from a terrestroid planet would not collapse in his hands on Jupiter? What reason would he have, except orders from his own governor, who was carrying out a policy hatched on Ymir itself … ?
Flandry clenched a fist. There was an answer to that question, but not one he dared rely on without further proof. He bent his mind back toward practicalities. Mostly the tape held such details: the number of Ardazirho ships and troops in this system, recognition signals, military dispositions across Vixen, the layout of forts and especially of the great headquarters den; the total population of Ardazir, resources, industry, army and navy … Temulak was not in on many state secrets, but he had enough indications to give Flandry gooseflesh. Two million or so warriors occupied Vixen; a hundred million were still at home or on the already conquered planets, where war materiel was being rapidly stockpiled; officers had all been informed that there were plenty of other vulnerable Imperial outposts, human colonies or the home worlds of Terran-allied species … Yes, Ardazir was surely planning to strike elsewhere within the Empire, and soon. Another one or two such blows, and the Imperial Navy must surrender Syrax to Merseia, turn inward and defend the mother planet. At which point—