"A year."
"A year!" Sol was dismayed.
"There is no substitute for careful preparation. A mediocre tribe could perhaps be formed in a few months, but not an organization fit to conquer an empire. That would have to be prepared for every contingency, and that takes times. Time and constant effort and patience."
"I do not have patience."
The girl finished her work and returned to listen. There were no compartments within the cabin, but she had gone around the column to the shower stall and changed. She now wore an alluring gown that accentuated a fine cleavage and a narrow waist.
Sol remained thoughtful, not seeming to notice the girl though she drew her stool close to him. "Where would there be a suitable place for such training, where others would not spy and interfere?"
"In the badlands."
"The badlands! No one goes there!"
"Precisely. No one would come across you there, or suspect what you were doing. Can you think of a better situation?"
"But it is death!" the girl said, forgetting her place.
"Not necessarily. I have learned that the kill-spirits of the Blast are retreating. The old books call it radiation, and it fades in time. The intensity is measured in Roentgen and it is strongest in the center. It should be possible to tell by the plants and animals whether a given area within the markers has become safe. You would have to be very careful about penetrating too far inside, but near the edge-"
"I would not have you go to the mountain," Sol broke in. "I have need of a man like you."
"Nameless and weaponless?" He laughed bitterly. "Go your way, fashion your empire, Sol of all instruments. I was merely conjecturing."
Sol persisted. "Serve me for a year, and I will give you back a portion of your name. It is your mind I require, for it is better than mine."
"My mind!" But the black-haired one was intrigued. He had spoken of the mountain, but did not really want to die. There were many curious things remaining to be fathomed, many books to be studied, many thoughts to be thought. He had employed his weapon in the circle because it was the established method of manhood, but despite his erstwhile prowess and physique he was a scholar and experimenter at heart.
Sol was watching him. "I offer-Sos."
"Sos-the weaponless," he said, mulling it over. He did not like the sound of it, but it was a reasonable alternative, close to his original name. "What would you want me to do, in return for the name?"
"The training, the camp, the building of empire you described-I want you to do it for me. To be my fighter of the mind. My advisor."
"Sos the advisor." The notion grew on him, and the name sounded better. "The men would not listen to me. I would need complete authority, or it would come to nothing. If they argued, and I with no weapon-"
"Who argues, dies," Sol said with absolute conviction. "By my hand."
"For one year-and I keep the name?"
"Yes."
He thought of the challenge of it, the chance to test his theories in action. "I accept the offer."
They reached across the table and shook hands gravely. "Tomorrow we begin the empire," Sol said.
The girl looked up. "I would come with you," she said. Sol smiled, not looking at her. "She wants your bracelet again, Sos."
"No." She was troubled, seeing her hints come to nothing. "Not-without-"
"Girl," Sol reminded her sternly, "I want no woman. This man fought well; he is stronger than many who still bear weapons, and a scholar, which I am not. You would not be shamed to wear his emblem."
She thrust out her lip. "I would come-myself."
Sol shrugged. "As you wish. You will cook and wash for us, until you take a man. We will not be staying in a cabin always, though." He paused, thinking of something. "Sos, my advisor-is this wise?"
Sos studied the woman, now petulant but still lovely. He tried, not to be moved by her cleavage. "I do not think so. She is excellently proportioned and a talented cook, but headstrong. She would be a disruptive influence, unattached."
She glared at him. "I want a name, as you do!" she snapped. "An honorable name."
Sol crashed his first against the table so hard the vinyl surface flexed. "You anger me, girl! Do you claim the name I give lacks honor?"
She retreated hastily. "No, man of all weapons. But you do not offer it to me."
"Take it, then!" He flung his golden bracelet at her. "But I need no woman."
Baffled but exultant, she picked up the heavy piece am squeezed it together to fit her wrist. Sos looked on, ill at ease.
CHAPTER TWO
Two weeks later they struck the red markers of warning in the open country to the north. The foliage did not change, but they knew there would be few animals and no men beyond the sinister line of demarcation. Even those who chose to die preferred the mountain, for that was a quick, honorable leavetaking, while the badlands were reputed to bring torture and horror.
Sol stopped, discommoded by the markers. "If it is safe, why are they still here?" he demanded. Sola nodded heartily, unashamed of her fear,
"Because the crazies haven't updated their maps in fifty years," Sos replied. "This area is overdue for resurvey, and one of these months they'll get around to it and set the markers back ten or fifteen miles. I told you radiation isn't a permanent thing; it fades away slowly."
Sol was not convinced, now that commitment was imminent. "You say this radiation' is something you can't see or hear or smell or feel, but it kills you just the same? I know you studied the books, but that just doesn't make sense to me."
"Maybe the books are lying," Sola put in, sitting down. The days of forced marching had tightened the muscles of her legs but diminished none of her femaleness. She was a good-looking woman and knew it.
"I've had doubts myself," Sos admitted. "There are many things I don't understand, and many books I've never had the chance to read. One text says that half the men will die when exposed to 450 Roentgen, while mosquitoes can survive over a hundred thousand-but I don't know how much radiation one Roentgen is, or how to spot it. The crazies have boxes that click when they get near radiation; that's how they know."
"One click to a Roent, maybe," she said, simplifying it. "If the books are honest."
"I think they are. A lot of it makes no sense at all, at first, but I've never caught them in an error. This radiation-as nearly as I can make it, it was put here by the Blast, and it's like fungus-light. You can't see the fungus glow in the daytime, but you know that light is still there. You can box it with your hands to shut out the sun, and the green-"
"Fungus-light," Sol said solemnly.
"Just imagine that it is poisonous, that it will make you sick if it touches your skin. At night you can avoid it, but in the day you're in trouble. You can't see it or feel it... that's what radiation is, except that it fills up everything where it exists. The ground, the trees, the air."
"Then how do we know it's gone?' Sola demanded. There was an edge to her voice which Sos put down to fear and fatigue. She had gradually lost the air of sweet naïveté she had affected the first evening at the hostel.
"Because it affects the plants and animals, too. They get at the fringe, and everything is dead at the center. As long as they look all right, we should, be safe. There should be several miles clear of it beyond the markers now. It's a risk-but a worthwhile one, in the circumstances."
"And no cabins?" she asked a little forlornly.
"I doubt it. The crazies don't like radiation any better than we do, so they'd have no reason to build here until they survey it. We'll have to forage and sleep out."
"We'd better pick up bows and tents, then," Sol said.
They left Sola to watch Sol's barrow while they backtracked three miles to the last hostel. They entered its heatpump interior comfort and selected two sturdy bows and arrow-packs from its armory. They donned camping gear: light plastic leggings, helmets and traveling packs. Each man placed three swift shots in the standing target near the battle circle, feeling out the instruments, then shouldered them and returned to the trail.