Ddwng was evidently no ignorant functionary. He had given Darius a mission that might exploit his particular talent, if it were operative here. Ddwng might be extremely interested in knowing the status of that talent.
Darius decided to assume that this was a good connection and that he could be effective in dealing with the monster. He let his peculiar awareness extend, seeking a mind that was in some fashion similar to his own. A mind that could transfer joy—or other emotion. Or simply the deadly absence of emotion that was unconsciousness.
In a moment he found it. To his perception it was a nucleus of malignancy. Something was hating.
Darius had not had occasion to magnify or broadcast hate. There just was no market for it. But the principle was the same as for joy. He could transfer it without affecting himself. If there were no suitable recipients, the emotion would be lost—but that was a suitable way to deal with hate.
All this happened in a moment. Meanwhile, he was answering: “It shall be known soon enough.” Then he set forth with his Felines into the cordoned region.
Most of it was native. The Yils came out to meet them. They were indeed like snails with the body mass of men or greater, and slow moving. One had positioned itself to be in the main aisle they were following. Did it want a dialogue?
Darius stopped before it. “What is your concern?” he inquired.
The snail wiggled feelers. “You are the Empire Captain come to abolish the menace?” the translator ball inquired.
“I am.”
“This mischief is not of our doing.”
“But is it of your toleration?” Darius inquired sharply.
“It is known that we have no power to inhibit human beings from doing what they choose.”
“Such as exporting your citizens as cuisine?”
“This is a concern.”
“I will ask the Emperor that this be stopped. But the power is his, not mine.”
“We thank you, Captain.” The snail withdrew into its shell, clearing the aisle ahead.
Pussy lifted a hand. Darius nodded, giving her leave to speak. “Why should you do anything for the natives?”
“Because they are feeling creatures, and deserve sympathetic treatment.”
“This is an odd concept.”
“You deserve it too.”
“That is odder yet.”
Darius smiled, not arguing the case. He tuned in on the bolus of hate, walking that way. “I suspect your weapons will not be effective,” he told them both. “But have them ready. Should I fall unconscious, kill whatever creature is before us. It may be a human being.”
They nodded. They were responsive to his will.
The snails did not use houses; their shells were sufficient. They had many slick paths through their cultivated sections; the paths branched and rebranched, becoming smaller, like the structure of trees. It was evident that there was no centralized feeding system; each snail had its own patch to graze. It seemed to be a live-and-let-live society. Unfortunately the human conquerors did not have a similar philosophy. Now they wanted to break into other Modes, so as to get new genes to revivify their stock, so they could maintain and expand their Empire. His sympathy was with whatever power had decided to confine this Empire to this one Mode.
But if he told Ddwng no, what then? Destruction for Colene, if torture of her did not make him yield. Then probably torture of him. And in the end, if he died without yielding, Ddwng would still be able to set out on the Virtual Mode and perhaps find Darius’ Mode and the Chip. He was an anchor person; he should be able to sense the right direction the same way Darius and Provos did, and as Colene surely had. He merely wanted to avoid the serious risks of traveling alone into unknown territory. But he could take them if he chose. What would defiance accomplish, in the end?
They were coming close to the source of the hate. But there seemed only to be a snail snoozing at the end of its pathlet, having grazed its fill. It was withdrawn into its shell.
But hiding behind that shell was a human child. “I see you,” Darius said.
The child stood, and the nucleus of hate shifted with his body. This was the monster: a boy of perhaps seven years. No wonder he had escaped detection! He was just an ordinary gamin, a neglected urchin, probably stealing food to survive. But his mind was an absolute horror.
“In the name of the Empire, I am come to bring you to justice,” Darius said, observing the ritual. “Yield, and you will not be killed.”
Both Felines looked at Darius, evidently suspecting that he had gotten severely confused. A little human boy? Hardly a monster!
For answer, the boy unleashed his fury. It struck Darius—and was rebroadcast outward. He was unaffected. But he had learned something: the boy could direct his power. He did not strike at every mind within his range. Harnessed, this could probably be useful to the Empire.
“Yield, and perhaps you will be granted a good life in return for the use of your power on behalf of the Empire,” Darius said.
He sensed the lad’s understanding. But there was no trust there. The boy hated his own kind. He must have been rejected, cast out, orphaned. There was something strange and vulnerable about his mind, as if it had been weakened, not strengthened, and in its distress had channeled most of its force to this incubus of hate. So great was that destructive force that it could overwhelm even a “deaf” mind, such as those of this Mode. But the hammer that could shatter a stone could not do the same with a sponge or a rubber ball. The boy could not prevail against Darius.
The lad seemed shaken by the failure of his attack on Darius. But his little face was set in a grimace of hate which echoed that of his mind. He had no intention of yielding to the Empire. But Darius tried again. “I have the means to destroy you. I ask you to yield and save yourself.”
Apparently it was a lost cause. The mind-monster would not or could not be reasonable. He would have to be stunned and taken in; perhaps the Empire super-scientists could do something with him, or at least confine him so that he could not do physical damage, such as torching granaries.
“Dial him, Pussy,” Darius said.
The Feline lifted the dial and turned it on. Level Three discomfort struck Darius. He had never reset the device! It was tuned to him as well as to others. The Felines expected to be affected, and were prepared to endure it in order to accomplish the mission. It would surely be far more potent against the boy than against them.
Indeed, the boy felt it. He staggered as if physically struck. Then he sent a jolt of hate directly at Pussy.
Pussy collapsed with a little meow of pain. She could not ward off the power.
The boy staggered forward and snatched the dial from her hand. He touched the detune switch, then turned the dial up to maximum.
He had not understood the dial well enough. All he had done was to restore Darius’ exemption—and hit himself with the maximum degree of pain. He collapsed.
Darius stepped forward and took the dial from the boy’s flaccid hand. He turned the dial down to zero.
But it was too late. Pussy, already unconscious, was unaffected. Tom, caught by the dial, was now sprawled on the ground. And the boy was dead.
Darius had after all killed the monster. And, in his own judgment, bungled the mission.
BACK on the Flay with his staggering minions, Darius was the object of covert stares of awe. “The monster took out your bodyguards, sir—and you killed it alone?” Jjle inquired. “Without a weapon?”
“Not exactly. It was the pain dial that killed him. His mind was more vulnerable to it than others. But my success was chance as much as design.”
“As you say, sir.” But the awe remained.
When he reached his chambers, the wall-screen was on. There was Colene, in her preternatural beauty. “Oh, Darius—you’re all right!” she cried.