The door opened and they dragged away Bec. Shortly afterwards the door opened again.
“Which one is Klein?” the tall figure in the doorway said in his boyish voice.
“I am,” I said, and immediately was jerked to my feet and the ropes binding them cut. “I’ll be seeing you,” I said to Harmen, “I hope.”
They led me down a sloping passage and into a large, fairly luxurious room. Bec was there, without his eye-shades and with his eyes tightly closed against the glare. His jacket and shirt had been ripped off. Blood ran down his side from where a torturer’s instruments had been at work. The torturer stood on one side of the room, the bloody pincers still in his hands.
But he was only a bit player in the scene. Bec faced an even larger than average Meramite who sat behind a table on which were laid devices that were strange to me. I guessed immediately that he was a big shot. Behind him stood two more companions, themselves of high rank judging by their insignia, but who stood respectfully at attention.
Bec’s face was drawn, but he had evidently managed to control the pain. His blind face turned towards me.
“Is that you, Klein?” he asked, speaking Klittmann.
“That’s right, Bec,” I answered.
“I want you to meet Chief Imnitrin, grand commander of the invasion forces and one of the big chiefs up on Merame. I insisted on having you here so you would know what was going on.” To the Meramite, in Rheattite, he said: “Now we can talk. But first the covers for my eyes.”
Chief Imnitrin nodded. The torturer stepped forward and placed the goggles in Bec’s hands. He fumbled them over his eyes and looked around himself slowly. The torturer, meanwhile, was applying some kind of tape-like stuff to the wounds he had caused. The bleeding stopped.
Imnitrin looked at me. “Your leader withstands pain and does not answer our questions. We Rotrox respect men who withstand pain. Of course, it has not yet been proved of you.”
“It’s just their way of breaking the ice, Klein,” Bec told me grimly. “Just a shaking of hands, as it were. I don’t think they’ll start on you.”
For a moment my mind went back to Klittmann. I remembered a small room back of the garages where we wound a wire round some guy and jolted the electricity in. It was just a way of getting information. Mob men like us were not strangers to torture.
As I contrasted that scene with the one before my eyes I realised that there was a difference. In Klittmann we were purely direct and masculine: it was all technique. There was something frighteningly eerie, almost effeminate, about these big ungainly Meramites. I formed the impression that they probably had all kinds of fetishes and incomprehensible pleasures.
“You are here to speak with me,” Imnitrin rebuked sharply, “not to converse with one another. You mentioned advantages in our meeting. Speak forth. Tell me from where you come.”
“I am also full of curiosity about you,” Bec replied brashly. “I presume you have reasons for invading Rheatt. Let us talk of those.”
Imnitrin shrugged, as if it was a foolish question whose answer was already known. “Is it not obvious? The Rotrox tribe, having conquered all nations and sectors of Merame, determines to extend its empire to Earth. We shall gain slaves, much wealth, natural resources not found on Merame. Soon many nations of Earth will feel the boot of Rotrox.”
“And you thought Rheatt would make an ideal bridgehead, didn’t you? A soft people, easily subdued. But it hasn’t gone quite according to plan, has it?”
The other frowned slightly, “The Rheattites are not well practised in war, it is true… but you are mistaken to call them soft. Have you found them so? Perhaps with your weapons… But in a border village you will not have encountered the fighting men of Rheatt, the airmen and the infantry. These we enjoyed the sport of crushing. Furthermore the battle is not yet won. Extra forces mass beyond Rheatt’s borders. A great fight is ahead. Nothing, however, can withstand the might of Rotrox.”
“Sure, you win all the battles,” Bec said, chuckling in spite of his pain, “but what about afterwards? An empire’s no good if you can’t make any use of it, is it?”
The Meramite stood up and chinked round the table, looming over Bec. “You speak insolently, yet with knowledge.” For a moment he leaned threateningly over Bec, as if he would reach out and squash him with one huge hand. Then he stood back pensively.
“It is as you say. Some disease seems to afflict the Rheattites once they are conquered. Their spirits are broken. They cannot be made to work. They merely lie around and die, no matter how much we beat them.”
“And you really don’t know why?” Bec asked, seemingly amused.
Imnitrin shrugged. “Their spirits are broken.”
Bec uttered a short, sharp laugh. “I thought so!” Turning to me, he said in Klittmann: “These people are pretty ham-fisted, Klein. They don’t do their research properly — they don’t even know about Blue Space.”
Turning back to Imnitrin, he went on: “I can make the Rheattites into useful slaves for you. I can help you win that last battle. As it’s their last effort the Rheattites will put their all into it. Who knows, you might even lose — without our help.”
“How will you do this?” the other demanded suspiciously. “With new weapons? New torments for the Rheattite slaves?”
“Nothing so crude. The Rheattites are dependent on a drug they take. If they can’t get it they fall to pieces. When you conquer a region the people inside have their supply cut off. You’ve seen what happens.”
Imnitrin looked sharply at his officers, then back at Bec. “You speak truly? Or shall I call for more torturers?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Bec said firmly. His voice rose. “How is it you don’t already know this? Did you not enquire why the Rheattites seemed to become ill?”
“Our task is conquest, not to enquire after the health of slaves,” Imnitrin sneered mincingly. “If there is truth in your explanation, we shall appoint Rheattite slave-administrators to deal with it. Men of the Rotrox Tribe do not soil their hands with such matters. Indeed, once our Earth Empire is founded there are few who would wish to spend their time here.” He retreated back behind the table and seated himself, his expression becoming dour and gloomy. With the odd, slightly inhuman cast of the Meramite face it made him look almost tearful. “Here the air is too thick, all objects are too heavy, and outlines are blurred and difficult to see. Perhaps you, who claim also to hail from another world, appreciate how unpleasant Earth is.”
Bec nodded. “I’m glad we are agreed on one thing. Perhaps we can agree on other things. I can supply the drug the Rheattites need to your slaves and subject populations, making the supply dependent on their co-operation and good behaviour. An addict will do anything to get… well, maybe you’re not familiar with that aspect of human affairs. I can also cut off the supply from the forces that oppose you, reducing their fighting efficiency almost to zero. This drug, though you haven’t realised it yet, is the means to the most perfect control over the whole of Rheatt.”
He paused, giving the Meramite commander time to think. Then, forcefully and loudly, he said: “It is we, not you, who have that control.”
“For such impertinence you should die,” the other said coldly. “What the men of Rotrox want, they take. You say you control the drug? We will take it from you. If necessary we will manufacture it ourselves, using Rheattite technicians.”
“I’m afraid not.” Slowly and carefully Bec explained about Blue Space Valley, the one and only source of Rheattite dope. He finished by bringing me into the conversation. “Klein, tell them what orders our boys in the valley have.”
“To destroy everything and burn the orchards if anybody tries to get in. It’s quite easy to do: the valley isn’t very large. Either me or Bec has to turn up or there won’t be any Blue Space any more.”