Becmath had not stepped outside his tower for years. I myself had not seen him in the flesh since I had killed Tone; but he had been there, the constant shadow that followed and instructed me by television.
So it was something of an event when Bec called us together. When I entered his apartment Reeth, Grale and Hassmann were already there, sitting around waiting for me. Bec was sitting in the same chair that I had seen him in five years before, still surrounded by flickering television screens.
Of us all, Bec had aged the most. His white face had become slightly puffy and his eyes were tired. The others were simply ten years older, but fit and alert. At that, though, Bec was the only one who hadn’t put on weight through eating so much rich food.
He wasted no time in getting down to business.
“I guess you boys didn’t believe me, that time when we were on the outside and running, that one day we’d be back to get even with all those klugs who crossed us,” he said, “but that day has come. Now’s the time for the push on Klittmann.”
Reeth shrugged. “I’m happy as things are. But anything you say, boss.”
Grale grinned. His face had become more swarthy in the years we’d lived in Rheatt. “It can’t be too soon for me. We’ve been too long in this damned sun-drenched, green-skinned place.”
“That’s the idea,” Bec said approvingly. “You think we’re doing all right here? So we are. But we’re living on the wrong planet. Wait till we’ve finished on Killiboclass="underline" Klittmann’s only the beginning, we’re going to move all over. I’ll give you a city apiece all for your own. Ten cities apiece. Nobody knows just how many cities there are on Killibol.”
“What about the Rotrox, Bec?” Hassmann rumbled, “Where do they fit in?”
Bec snorted, making a vague gesture with his hand. “They’ll expect it to be their empire, like Rheatt. But don’t worry: I don’t intend to be their hireling for very long. In the cities of Killibol we’ll be in a world they don’t understand at all. Furthermore we’ll have gigantic industries and the energies of trained populations all at our disposal. It’ll make our effort here look like protein peanuts.”
Grale gave a delighted laugh. “You mean we’re gonna push those klugs out of it, boss? I like that!”
“That’s right. We’ll play along with them for a short while, but we’ll soon push them off Killibol; and then we’ll push them right off Rheatt and back up on to Merame. They can have Merame, I don’t want it.”
Reeth made a face. “What do we want with Rheatt, if it comes to that? Let them have it. We can guard the gateway and they’d never get through. We could even destroy it again.”
“We’ll need Rheatt for a while,” Bec said without explanation.
I presumed he meant we’d need it for the sake of the Rheattite troops who would be on the campaign. He wouldn’t want to throw away all the work we’d done here. At that, it would be some months, at least, before we were sufficiently consolidated in Klittmann to consider turning against our blood brothers, the Rotrox tribe.
I had kept silent so far because I already knew Bec’s mind on these matters. Now he turned to me.
“We have to straighten out the position with the Rotrox, Klein. I want you to make a trip to Merame and talk to the Council.”
A slight chill went up my spine at the thought of appearing before those cold, cruel men on their own ground.
“What do I tell them?”
“Formally it’s a request from me for them to order the campaign and contribute their own forces. I’ll give you a recorded message in my own voice. Besides that, we have to cover our rear. I don’t want any funny business going on while we’re all away in Klittmann settling scores. So make it look like we have a common accord and play the good servant.”
Hassmann, Grale and Reeth were all grinning.
Grale clapped his hands together. “I’ve waited nine years to get my hands on some white women!”
I travelled in one of the cylinders that regularly dropped out of the sky and ascended again to Merame. This was my first time off-planet — the first time for any of us.
The cylinders worked by acting on the Earth’s magnetic field in some way, and they gave off a loud humming when they moved that reverberated through the crude, cavernous interior. Crossing between Earth and Merame was as much as they could manage: they were helpless deeper in interplanetary space.
I would have liked to take a look at a deep space, but there weren’t any windows. The crossing lasted about a day; then a heavy jolt told me we had landed on Merame.
The Rotrox crew gladly stripped off their muscle assists. They were in their own element now.
A section of the wall opened up to form a ramp. The cold, thin air of Merame breezed in.
The sun was on the horizon, looking small and hot. The landscape was dull and grey, the soil lead-like. Some stunted, scrubby-looking bushes grew here and there, looking poor and wretched and cowed by the sharply rising mountains to the south.
At one time, according to Harmen, Merame had possessed neither life nor air. It was habitable now only because of the work of man, who either by accident or design had introduced species which had survived and adapted themselves gradually to local conditions, like the Meramites themselves. Plants and bacteria had released an atmosphere out of the soil and in the course of time a self-supporting ecology had developed.
Neither the Earth nor the Meramite races were aware of this. It had all happened a million years ago, back before the dawn of their history.
The Rheattite secretary I had brought with me to help with the language scanned the scene. I could see the revulsion written on his face. To his cultured eyes the bleak landscape was like hell, an impression intensified by his already having served a spell here as a slave.
But I found that I quite liked it. It reminded me of Killibol, except that the light was still far too bright. Half a mile away some low hut-like structures were the only sign of human life. Our Rotrox guides stepped down the ramp and led the way. Gone was the half-stalking, half-loping gait that had characterised them on Earth: their tall, gangling, broad-chested bodies really were adapted to low gravity and they walked upright with a new confidence.
My Rheattite had already advised me how I should walk: body leaning forward slightly, taking small gliding steps, and always thinking one step ahead. I got the hang of it after a few yards and was able to continue looking around.
There was one other feature of Merame that gave it an even closer, though bizarre, resemblance to Killibol. Dotted about the landscape were lumpy monoliths of a rough, concrete-like substance, looking for all the world like scale models of Killibol cities.
But these were built by a species of insect called termites. I had seen these rocky towers on Earth also, where they rarely reached more than about seven feet in height. The Merame termites had evolved to a size of three or four inches and their silent, rocky pillars rose between fifty and a hundred feet.
We passed through the shadow of one of them to reach the Rotrox buildings. These turned out to be more extensive than had appeared at first, forming a barrack-like circle round the rim of a large crater whose further end was lost in darkness. The lip of the crater had been smoothed down to the level of the surrounding terrain and its floor, about a hundred feet below us, was lost in shadows and flickering, purple lights.
We entered one of the buildings, which was similar to the corridor-like structures I was used to on Earth, and which had open doors in each wall through which I glimpsed the crater down below. Our Rotrox guides spoke to an older countryman who wore, in addition to the tribal uniform, a long flaring cloak, and then withdrew. The elderly Rotrox stared at me, ignoring the Rheattite, and gave a cold, withering smile.