The Fugitive Worlds (23 page)

"Glass!" He pointed at the pistol slung on Steenameert's
equipment belt. "Blow a few holes in it and we'll soon be
out of here."

"Yes, yes. . . ." Steenameert unclipped the weapon and
at the same time removed a pressure sphere from his carrier net. He was feverishly screwing it to the pistol's underside
when a silent voice—cool, all-knowing and totally convincing
—reverberated inside Toller's head.

I advise you not to fire the weapon. The material with which you are surrounded is protected by a reciprocal energy layer. The layer's prime function is to deflect meteors away from the
parent construction, but it is effective against any kind of
projectile. If the weapon is fired the bullet will ricochet around
the interior of the sphere with undiminished velocity until its
energy is absorbed by one of your bodies. If the weapon is
discharged the sphere will not be weakened in any way, but
one of you may be killed.

Toller knew at once, without being able to explain why,
that both he and Steenameert had been party to the same
communication. The non-voice, modulations of silence, had
addressed itself directly to their inner selves . . . mind had
spoken to mind . . . which meant that. . . .

He glanced to his left and flinched as he saw that there
was a figure just outside the sphere. The glass honeycomb surface of the sphere was distorting and fragmenting the
outline, but the figure was man-sized, human in its general appearance, and was holding itself in place by gripping the
handrail as any man would have done. Toller had no doubt
that it was the source of the mentally-heard voice, but he
was unable to understand how the alien newcomer had
crossed the metallic plain so quickly and without being seen.

He also felt afraid. His fear was unlike anything he had
experienced before—a compound of xenophobia, shock and
simple concern for his own safety which rendered him speech
less and almost unable to move. He saw that Steenameert
was equally stricken, equally immobilized, and had stopped
attaching the pressure sphere to his pistol. The voiceless communication had not merely been a statement—it had passed on pure knowledge and now both men
understood
that a bullet striking the inside of the sphere would be repelled by a force whose magnitude was directly influenced by its speed.

There is no reason for you to be alarmed.
The non-voice conveyed assurance and something which might have been mistaken for kindliness but for its underlying condescension and lack of warmth.

We are not afraid ...of...
Toller's unspoken challenge was lost in the chaos of his mind as he began to wonder if he could communicate with his captor.

Speaking in your normal way will organize your thoughts sufficiently for us to exchange ideas,
the alien told him.
But do not waste time on untruths, empty boasts or threats. You were about to assert that you are not afraid of me, and that is manifestly untrue. What you must do now is compose yourselves and avoid the mistake of trying to offer me any form of resistance.

The utter confidence with which the alien spoke, the sheer smugness of the assumption of superiority, triggered in Toller a response—inherited from his grandfather—which he had never been able to control. A surge of red-clouded anger erupted through his system, freeing him from the stasis which had affected his mind and body.

"You
are the one in danger of making a mistake," he cried out. "I don't know what your design is, but I will resist it to the death—and the death I have in mind is
yours!"

This is quite interesting.
The alien's thought was tinged with amusement.
One of your females reacted with exactly the same kind of irrational belligerence, Toller Maraquine
—
and I am almost certain she was the one to which you are emotionally bonded.

The reply jolted Toller into a wider frame of awareness. "Have you taken our women?" he bellowed, suddenly forget
ful of his own situation. "Where are they? If they have come
to any harm. ..."

They have not been harmed in any way. I have simply
transported them to a place of safety far from here
—as I
am
about to do with you. I shall now inject a sedative gas into the
confine. Do not be alarmed by it. The gas will cause you to
enter a deep sleep, and when you recover consciousness you
will be in comfortable surroundings. And although it will
be necessary to detain you there indefinitely, you will be
adequately provisioned.

"We are not animals to be penned and provisioned,"
Toller snapped, his anger further fuelled. "We will go with
you to the place to where the women are imprisoned, but of
our own free will and with our eyes wide open. Those are
my terms, and if you consent to them I give you my word that neither of us will cause you any injury."

Your arrogance is quite astonishing—and equaled only by
your ignorance,
came the reply, calm and amused.
Beings at
your primitive stage of development could never injure me,
but I will sedate you, nevertheless, to prevent your causing
any minor inconvenience while you are being transported.

The figure beyond the crystal wall made a slight movement
—which was translated into flowing color transformations of icy facets—and then a particular darkening of one of the
hexagonals showed that something was being placed against
its outer surface. Steenameert completed his arming of the pistol, raised it and aimed at the focus of activity.

Suicide, Baten Steenameert?
The non-voice held something
of the detached pity of a naturalist watching a delicate fly
drift closer to a spider's web.
Surely not!

Steenameert glanced at Toller, his eyes unfathomable in the narrow space between scarf and cowl, and lowered the
pistol. Toller nodded to him in evident approval of his
prudence and—with a deliberate abandonment of conscious intention—drew his sword and in a single swift movement
drove the point of it into the crystal wall. He had clamped
his left forearm around the handrail, turning his body into a closed system of forces, and the tip of the steel blade buried itself in the shining cells with a power which sent vitreous
fragments spinning outwards from the point of impact.

The crystal sphere screamed.

The scream was noiseless, but had no other resemblance
to the type of precisely shaped and controlled mental communication employed by the alien. Toller knew, without understanding how, that it was emanating from the walls of
the sphere and also from the frozen lake beyond—a multi
plied shriek of agony in which chance harmonics and discor
dant echoes clashed again and again until they hid away and a strange, whimpering non-voice made itself heard. . . .

I
have been hurt, Beloved Creator! You did not tell me that
the Primitives would be able to damage my body.

Toller, obeying warrior's instinct, did not allow the unex
pected voice to inhibit him or blunt his attack. He had hurt an enemy and that was the signal to press forward with
renewed vigor, to go for a kill. His sword seemed to be meeting a peculiar resistance, as though passing through a
layer of invisible sponge, but his repeated thrusts were retaining enough force to damage and dislodge glassy cells. In only
a few seconds he had shattered an adjacent pair and created
a small hole in the sphere.

Changing the style of attack, he used the haft of his sword
to strike the damaged area, and in spite of the unseen
resistance he succeeded in dislodging the two cells entirely,
sending them tumbling away into the outer void. Feverishly
inspired, he transferred the sword to his other hand and
punched the same area of wall with his gauntleted fist. This
time there was no magical barrier to soften the blow and several more of the hexagonal cells, their structural unity
weakened, went spinning out of sight, greatly enlarging the
hole in the sphere.

The silent, inhuman screaming began again.

Steenameert followed Toller's example and—bracing him-

self against the handrail—began raining blows on the irregular edge of the hole, adding to the destructive effect.

In the roaring furnace of Toller's mind virtually no time passed until the way ahead of him had been cleared and he was outside the sphere and, in weightless flight, closing on a silver-suited figure which was turning to flee. His left arm clamped around the alien's neck in the instant of collision, and he whipped the sword—which seemed to have returned to his right hand of its own accord—into position for a thrust into the alien's side.

How did you achieve this?
The alien's words were tinged with revulsion because of the physical contact, but Toller was unable to feel any fear.

You had fully coordinated control of all your muscles,
the
voice went on,
but there was no coherent mental activity that I could detect. It was impossible for me to anticipate your actions. How was it done?

"Be silent," Toller snarled, hooking a leg around the handrail to prevent himself and his captive drifting free of the metal surface of the station. "Where are the women?"

All you need to know,
the alien said imperturbably,
b that
they are in a place of safety.
Again, and to Toller's bafflement,
the mental contact revealed no shadings of alarm.

"Listen
to me!" Toller gripped the alien by the shoulder and thrust him to arm's length, a movement which brought them face to face for the first time. In one searching, wondering, dismayed moment Toller took in every detail of a face which was surprisingly human in the disposition of its features. The principal differences were that the skin was grey; the eyes, lacking pupils, were white orbs drilled with black holes; and the small upturned nose had no central division. Toller could see far back into the nasal cavity, where red-veined orange membranes fluttered back and forth or clung together in tune with the alien's breathing.

"You haven't been
listening."
Toller, repressing an urge to push himself away from the hideous caricature of a human
being, leaned harder on his sword and forced it deep into
the reflective material of the other's suit. "You will tell me what I need to know—
immediately
—or I will kill you."

The alien's charcoal lips slackened into what could have
been a smile.
At this range? So close? While we are in actual physical contact? No member of a humanoid species could
possibly. . . .