The Artaxan elder made a gesture. “Proceed. Kill the captive.”
An unsettling thought came to Hrityu, put there by the unfamiliarity of events. What would the Tlixix do if they learned of this vast camp and of the plot being concocted there?
Why they would muster all the resources at their command to destroy it!
And what gratitude might they show to the tribe which informed them of such a threat?
No! Hrityu pushed the thought aside. Even if he could now warn the Tlixix, he could not rely on them. They had proved that were not to be trusted. The only hope of survival for the Analane lay with the Artaxa.
Slowly Hrityu lifted the weapon. Remembering the attack in the desert, his reluctance vanished. The Gamintes stared at him blankly, including the one offered him for target practice.
The weapon did not look like a weapon. It was not a flinger, and simply looked like an arbitrarily shaped object.
Hrityu strove to recall what the moss-headed humanoid had said. Press this stud.
He did so. Nothing visible issued from the square-nosed device, but the effect on the Gaminte was instantaneous. He recoiled, seemed to convulse, then fell to the floor of the chamber and was still.
Karvass stepped forward, knelt and examined him.
“He is dead.”
“A flinger could have done as much,” pointed out the elder skeptically.
“There is more,” Hrityu said. “Stand aside, Karvass. Let us see if this works, too.”
With the fingers of his free hand, he turned the ring Northrop had shown him. He pointed the beamer at the line of prisoners directly in front of him.
Only the Gaminte directly in line with the gun knew that he was doomed and glared his hatred. Those on either side failed to appreciate that their turn had also come. They hung their heads in shame at not being able to help their comrade and uttered keening noises.
Again Hrityu pressed the stud.
The beam encompassed five Gamintes, though unlike the first victim they took some moments to die. First they went rigid, shivered, then slumped in their chains. While the surviving Gamintes looked on with horror Karvass announced them all, on inspection, to be dead. The elder gestured and led the way from the chamber.
He spoke first to Karvass.
“You have acquitted yourself well, Karvass. You have provided us with three new inventions, as well as with alliances with two more tribes. Your praises will be shouted at the next mass convocation.”
He spoke then to Hrityu. “You, too, have performed excellently for your tribe. Your praises too will be shouted, if we are in time to help save your people from extinction. By the way, could not your radiator tell us what the situation is at your camp?”
“Only if we are within a hundred langs.”
“I see… Well, a hundred langs is certainly a useful distance.”
“There is something else that you should know,” Hrityu said, making up his mind to reveal everything. “Karvass has described to you the strangers who gave me my weapon. That there are of an unknown tribe is not perhaps so unusual, for there are many tribes, and for that matter few know of the Artaxa. But I have seen members of this tribe before—in the Pavilion of Audience at the World Market. They were talking with the Tlixix. And they were consuming water, just as the Tlixix do!”
“Water? Did you say water?”
“Yes, elder!”
The Artaxa paused for long thoughtful moments. “That is hard to believe, for water is a deadly poison to all humanoids. Who is there to back up your word? Did you see this, Karvass?”
“No, elder, I did not. But I believe the Analane.”
The elder’s voice fell to a mutter. “What can it mean? What can it mean?”
He seemed to be in a reverie. “There is a possibility. The Tlixix may have bred a new type of servant race more like themselves, even though humanoid. Perhaps they are beginning to doubt the loyalty of the Gamintes.” He pondered further. “But then they would have to share their water with them… puzzling…”
Suddenly he seemed to come to life again. “There must be an immediate convocation. This is what will be proposed. Hrityu of the Analane, you will without delay instruct our artisans in the manufacture and use of your ‘radiator’. Meanwhile a force will be assembled to speed to the aid of your tribe. Karvass, there is also a task for you. Lead a raiding force to the water-eating strangers. We need to know more about them. Capture one, and bring him back here!”
Though their pleasure was to slosh luxuriously in abundant water, Tlixix could also make their way on dry land—though preferably, of course, on spume-drenched land, being adapted for clambering over rocky shoreline. On a dozen stalk-like legs the visiting VIP dragged himself through the corridors of the Enterprise, blue-tinged chitin scraping on the floor, shelled head with its four white eyes turning this way and that.
The welcoming party consisted of O’Rourke, looking irritated as usual, Spencer the planetologist, and most of the engineering team that was assembling the shock tubes. The protocol, though a trifle perfunctory, was adequate enough, the eminent personage being treated with utmost deference—though Castaneda, the only one wearing a translation necklace, found himself being called on to act as interpreter. “You’ll know how to talk to them,” O’Rourke had muttered hurriedly. “You’ve had the experience.”
So Castaneda did his best. He had been present at a number of such courtesy tours in the past, usually conducted by the partners in person. On one occasion he had asked whether planet-bound aliens might not go into shock on being taken into space. Krabbe had scowled, dismissing the point with a wave of his hand.
“Anybody that feeble won’t do business anyway, Carlos. They’ll clam up, go into fugue.”
Castaneda took the Tlixix on a circuitous route through the starship, giving the maximum impression of its size, showing the propulsion section, the engineering departments including shock tube assembly—this he carefully explained—and finally finishing up on the navigation bridge. There he put Tenacity on the main screen. He knew the effect this would have. He had seen it before, more than once. It did not matter what the species; the astonishment was the same.
“That is our world?”
The voice of the Tlixix came through the translator as a breathless whisper.
“That’s your world,” Castaneda confirmed flatly. “The one we’re going to transform for you.”
The four milk-white eyes were fixed on the screen as though hypnotised. Castaneda could almost hear the creature’s thoughts.
His was a deliberate ploy. The vision of one’s home world as an object, rather than a limitless environment, with dark space all around it, made the idea that it could be altered much more believable.
Finally the Tlixix pulled himself out of his trance. “I will inform my colleagues that you speak the truth,” he said hoarsely.
Smiling faintly, O’Rourke nodded when Castaneda relayed the words. He turned to his secretary who stood behind him.
“Tell them to start drilling,” he murmured.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Roncie didn’t hear them coming.
Like most hot deserts, Tenacity grew cold during the night. Roncie huddled in his tent, trying to sleep. A faint thrumming sound, like a rope vibrating in the wind, filtered through the camp. It was the sound made by the drilling rig, dipping down through the basaltic crust, its e-m beam constantly returning itself to the resonance frequencies of the rock crystals it met to pull them apart molecule by molecule. A mound, or giant snake, went winding out over the desert, made up of the dust and rubble being shuffled out of the hole.