“God in heaven!” I burst out. I was shaking. “Where is the regeneration for Fee, Poulos, Hillel’s arm, my home. Our—”
“Alas, not the little girl. I regret I did not destroy her. That was before my advent. The Greek, yes; a beautiful death. The Jew escaped me, but not a second time. No one escapes Siva twice.”
“Alas, not the little girl?” Sequoya repeated in a choked voice. “You regret you did not — ! Alas?”
“Humility and love, Dr. Guess. It is the true worship of Siva.” Suddenly he raged in the Chief’s face. “Humility and love! I am the all, the one, the destruction and regeneration, and the linga is my sacred symbol. See! See with humility and love.”
He displayed his enormous, rotting symbol. We backed away in revulsion.
Abruptly the rage was replaced by sweet reason. “You will love me even as I destroy you, for I am the maker of miracles by virtue of the penance and meditation of fifty years.”
“You’ve suffered from Lepcer for half a century, Rajah? I—” But I was stammering so badly that I had to stop.
The lion head nodded graciously. The lion face almost smiled. “It is permitted to address me by that name, my dear Curzon. Siva is only one of our thousand names. Above all, we prefer Nataraja, the Cosmic Dancer. So we are most often idealized in sacred images.”
He uttered a croaking, sawing song, “Ga-ma pa-da-ma pa-ga-ma ga-ri-sani-sa-ni ga-ri-sa…” This in a slow 4/8 and 3/2 rhythm. Then faster, “Di na a na di na a na di na a na ka a ga a ka ga dhina na dhina na dhinagana…”
And he danced to it; solemn ritual stances, quick jerking movements, then pauses for poses; around us, around the Extro center, through the broadcast bedlam, through the debris and the crackling sparks of the shorted cables. He danced his cosmic dance with the convulsive frenzy of a spasmic rubber doll with arms, legs, hands and feet that seemed to crook the wrong way and flung their own debris. Each time he jerked his head left and right, tatters of hair scattered. Nails dropped off his fingers and toes. Each gasp for breath sprayed blood.
“This is the horror that’s been using me?” Sequoya squeezed out.
“With the Extro,” I mumbled. “They’ve been going steady.”
“I’ll take the goddamn machine. You take the damned god.”
“Wilco. Give the word.”
We were both in a fever. The Rajah swept up to us. “Dhina na dhina na dhinagana…” The lion face glaring at us as hypnotic as the dance. The rubbery arms swung wide with tremendous power and knocked us apart.
“Now!” the Chief exploded, stumbled to the Extro, and began tearing at it. The burner was slung around my neck and I swung it forward to make the hit. It had to be a brain or heart shot. Siva was posturing before me in a sacred pose, arms high, hands cocked down, but there was a katar in one hand, sidebars protecting the sides of the wrist, fist clenched around the crosspiece, and the broad blade punched down at my heart. All that hypnotic singing and cosmic dancing for this one moment.
I was absolutely confounded, but the burner saved me. I’d swung it before my chest and the katar plunged through it and muscle-deep into me. The burner shattered, blew widdershins, and I went over backward with the Rajah all over me; one blunted hand crunching my neck, the katar thrusting at me like a goring bull. I thrashed desperately, trying to escape a severed throat or a split heart. I couldn’t yell to Guess for help and I was blacking out when I was released as unexpectedly as I’d been attacked.
There was the Rajah, squirming and hissing in Hic’s hands. Hic loyal? Helpful? Coming to my rescue? Imposs. It must have been the instinctive hatred and loathing that makes so many animals turn on their sick and rend them. Hic transferred his powerful grip to the lion head, held it firm, and whirled the body in the air in a tremendous circle around the neck. There was one crack. The Rajah’s neck was broken.
I gimped to my feet again, staring. Hic had hit the wrong target, and yet it was the right one. Only I saw that there were two bodies. The other was Sequoya, with Twink wrapped around his head. Much later I reasoned that its electrotropism must have been attracted by the powerful combination of Uncas and the Extro; particularly after the frustration of the shadow broadcasts.
A strong voice spoke. “That’s enough, Curzon. He’s dead. Get that thing off.”
“Dead? No. I wanted—” Then I looked around in bewilderment. One of the cryos repeated, “Get that thing off.”
“But — but you can’t talk.”
“We can now. We’re the Extro. Get the thing off Guess. Quick, Curzon. Move!”
I pulled Twink off the Chief.
“And no more demolition. Don’t let your friend start again.”
“Give me a good reason.”
“We’re in control now. It’s shifted to us. You know us. Will we permit it to go on making war?”
It had to be a quick decision and it was a tough one. I pulled Hic back from the Extro (he’d probably forgotten his mission anyway) and let him keep company with Twink again. The cryos knelt around the Chief and examined him with hands and ears.
“Dead, all right.”
“Everything’s stopped.”
“No, the heart is still spasming.”
“That’s like the case with electrocution.”
“We’ll have to regulate it again. That’s the least we can try.”
I wondered whether they were speaking from their own knowledge or the Extro’s; probably the latter, which was all right provided the hateful thing was properly humbled. They began an extraordinary cycle of operations. The Chief was pummeled, bent, flexed, stretched, lofted, dangled, prone-pressured, and mouth-to-mouthed; again and again, always in the identical tempo, 78 to the minute. My own pulse was running much faster. At last they stopped and put ears to the Chief’s chest.
“Nominal,” they said. “We’ve got him back from the edge.” They looked around with their blind eyes.
“I’m here,” I said. “He’s going to live?”
“For a long time. Do you trust us, Curzon?”
“I have to, don’t I?”
“No. You can kill us easily. If that’s the way you want it, get it over with now.”
“After that, I trust you.”
“Ta. We won’t let you down. We’ll make the Extro behave. Why lose it?”
“Why indeed.”
“We’re going to repay your trust. Give us all available data on Lepcer. Maybe the Extro can suggest a line of research leading to a remedy. Don’t count on it.”
“Thank you.”
“Try to get some viable tissue from the remains of that girl to us. It may not be too late for cloning. Don’t count on it.”
“Would you lovable freaks care for a few bars of ‘Hail to the Chief’?”
They burst out laughing. “Take Guess, Curzon. He’s all yours. Keep in touch.”
I knelt alongside Guess. “Cherokee,” I said, “it’s me, your brother. Everything’s going to be gung.”
“Ha-ja-ja,” he burbled.
“You’re rid of the Extro. The cryos have taken it over and I believe they can be trusted to do right.”
“Ha-ja-ja.”
I looked at the cryos, who were busy restoring the damage Hic and the Chief had begun. “Hey, bods, he sounds like a baby.”
“Oh, he is, Curzon. When the Extro pulled out it left nothing behind. He’ll have to grow up all over again. Not to worry. He has plenty of time.”
15
Hic had to help me carry Sequoya out. The Chief couldn’t walk. He couldn’t talk. He was helpless. And he peed and shat in his tutta; he’d have to be diapered. I was relieved to get out of the complex before the cryos asked me to get rid of the Rajah. I flagged a pogo, we hauled Tecumseh in and made the tepee in one jump. The Group was waiting there, worried and tense. When they saw us lug the infant in they were flabbergasted.