The Ecolog, page 12
Now all that was changed.
One might say the sky had fallen. At least a bit of the sky had fallen and had intruded itself into the order of his world. The outlanders were here! Commodore Briggs was here! And Briggs brought with him opportunity and danger. Briggs was the spark to ignite a blaze that could not be extinguished until it had utterly destroyed the fragile structure the Ecolog had built here. Briggs could break the three centuries of isolation that had brought Klain's civilization to the brink of a new Dark Age. Briggs could save this world or kill it!
Yet it seemed to Klain that Briggs did not understand this or, if he understood, did not care.
Klain sighed and watched his breath condense into a steamy cloud. He shivered in the night chill. Nights, at this altitude, were always cold. He gathered his cloak about his body and looked impatiently in the direction of the palace. Where was Omen? Omen had promised to be here half an hour ago. Had the fat man made a slip, been captured? Was he, at this moment, revealing Klain's name to the Ecolog's torturers?
Klain sat down on a large rock. A vision of the Ecolog appeared in his mind, and he felt a pain in his chest, a constriction in his throat. This woman, who must be killed, was probably the most remarkable person the human race had yet produced. He murmured to himself, "Whatever she did, she did it for us all."
He heard footsteps and glanced up sharply.
Omen, puffing and wheezing, was lumbering toward him out of the gloom.
"Klain?"
"I'm right here."
"Ah, good. I have news." The fat man settled himself on a nearby boulder to catch his breath. "Your friends Nord and Wing have joined us, and that little brown fellow, Sewall the scout."
Klain was uneasy. "Are you sure it's wise to have so many in on the plan?"
"After the assassination there may be some fighting. We'll need all the help we can get. There's something else, too." He thrust a fat hand into his cloak and produced a small, compact pistol-like weapon. "Sewall gave us a present."
Klain took it and examined it with a puzzled frown. "This is no ordinary gun. Where did he get it?"
"He took it from the offworlders when he captured them. He was supposed to hand it over to the Lord Mayor, but he kept it for his own purposes."
"Really? Then why is he giving it to us?"
Omen chuckled. "He wouldn't admit it, but I think he can't figure out how it works."
"He may not be the only one. Look how tiny the hole is at the end of the barrel. Is it some kind of ray gun? No, no, I don't think so." Klain turned it over in his hands, inspecting it as carefully as the nebula light permitted. "Ah, I see! There's a bullet clip in the handle." He snapped it loose and pulled it out.
Omen leaned close. "They're too small to be bullets." The clip was filled with what appeared to be 50 miniature rockets.
Klain snapped the clip back into the handle. "Nothing to do but fire it and see what happens."
"No, no! It might explode…"
"I don't think so." Klain aimed the gun into the air and pulled the trigger.
There was a high-pitched, muffled snick and a hairline of flame was traced for an instant from the gunbarrel to the distant darkness.
"What was that?" said Omen, a little frightened.
“A self-propelled dart, or maybe you could call it a miniaturized rocket missile. It probably carries poison and I wouldn't be surprised if it had a homing device to guide it to the victim's body heat."
"How do you know all that?"
"I've seen weapons like this."
"Where?"
"In the Royal Museum." Klain slipped the offworlder pistol into his belt.
Omen said thoughtfully, "It's so small, so silent, yet so deadly… perfect for an assassination."
With anguish Klain saw a flash in his mind of the Ecolog falling to the floor. A quick-acting poison would not even give her time to cry out. His voice shook. "Yes, I… I know."
Omen smiled broadly. "The gods of history are with us, my friend. This weapon falling into our hands is a sign."
Klain said scornfully, "Gods of history? You told me you weren't superstitious."
"It's no more than a figure of speech, my friend. Now all that remains is to decide on the moment to strike!" He slapped his hand on his knee. "The sooner the better."
Klain said, "Don't be in such a hurry. If I know the Ecolog she'll keep Briggs waiting for days… on principle. The longer he waits the more likely he is to come over to our side. With his support our position will be much stronger."
Omen nodded. "A good point. Ah, the Ecolog's not as clever as everyone thinks. Look how she's playing into our hands!"
Suddenly the men were startled by the sound of running footsteps from the direction of the palace. Klain's hand flew to the offworlder pistol in his belt.
Omen raised his hand. "No, don't shoot. It's Sewall."
The little scout stumbled up to them, so out of breath he couldn't speak. Sewall wasn't at all used to the thin air at this altitude.
Omen jumped up. "What is it? What's wrong? Tell us, damn you!"
At last Sewall croaked out, "The Ecolog has… granted Briggs… an audience."
Klain too leaped to his feet. "When? Tomorrow?"
Sewall paused, seeming to take a perverse satisfaction in the effect his words were having. "No. Tonight. Now."
Briggs trudged wearily along the endless passageway, his face alternately in light and shadow as he passed one after another of the simulated torches set in the walls. He had eaten, rested a little, and changed to fresh clothing brought to him by one of the Ecolog's manservants. (She did not appear to have any womanservants.) He now looked rather like one of the Ecolog's soldiers, with his blue tunic and tall black boots. From his own uniform he retained only his fingerwatch and spun-steel pocketbelt. After a moment's inner debate, he had even abandoned his dented helmet, so his almost bald head gleamed, unprotected, in the flickering torchlight.
On his right strode Lady Marcia of Green; on his left, Angora.
Mara had filled him in on all the latest gossip of the court, so he knew a great deal about these two ladies. Lady Marcia and Angora were rivals for the affection of a certain techman far below their stations; Angora sometimes drank too much; Lady Marcia was a food fadist. Briggs wondered if this information would ever do him any good. Probably not.
Lady Marcia said, "We've passed your requests on to the Ecolog."
Angora added, "She seems to be taking quite an interest in you." She favored him with an arch smile.
"If she's a reasonable woman," said Briggs, "I'm sure she'll grant my requests."
Lady Marcia's voice was mocking. "You may be in for a surprise, Commodore."
"Yes," said Angora. "Her Majesty was not happy to hear you had cost her the life of Lord Mayor Mano."
He was indignant. "I didn't kill him."
"You caused him to be killed," said Lady Marcia. "Do you think a high councillor could compromise his dignity by giving in to your threats? Omen had no choice."
"The Ecolog does not condone actions that cause her to lose her loyal citizens," said Angora.
"Her actions caused me to lose one of my men, too," Briggs said.
Lady Marcia lowered her voice. "If she was your prisoner, you could bring that up. Since you are hers, you'd be wise to be silent about it."
"Well," said Angora cheerily, "Here we are!"
The trio halted before some heavy, beautifully carved wooden doors. Lady Marcia fhumped a heavy, iron knocker. The echo of the thumps had hardly died away before Briggs heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door.
"Good luck, offworlder," said Angora a little too sweetly.
The doors swung open. A powerfully built woman soldier peered out. She carried a rifle and wore a heavy curved knife; her uniform was similar to that of the Ecolog's male soldiers—a blue tunic with tall black boots. "Follow me," she commanded.
Briggs did as he was told and, passing through the doorway, found himself in an immense, dimly lit circular hall. Ahead lay a broad marble staircase. Briggs heard the hinges squeak; then the doors shut with an echoing boom. He glanced behind to notice that Lady Marcia and Angora had remained outside.
Without another word the woman soldier led Briggs up the stairs. When they reached the top she turned to him and said in a hushed voice, "Go right in. The Ecolog is expecting you."
As the soldier stood back Briggs pushed open another heavy door much like the first, but larger. A strange aroma drifted out that Briggs recognized instantly. It was the overpowering decaying-roses smell of the ngaas.
He hesitated.
"Are you afraid?" demanded the woman soldier with contempt.
"Of course I am. I'm not an idiot!"
Nevertheless he drew himself up and stepped through the doorway. The soldier slammed the door behind him and locked it. Briggs thought, She doesn't seem to be afraid I'll do something rash, like kidnap the Ecolog. That, in itself, was somewhat disturbing.
He stepped cautiously forward into the shadowy room, glancing nervously around, searching for the ngaas his sense of smell told him were here.
It was a large chamber with a high ceiling, an intricate, serpentine mosaic floor, and imitation torches protruding from the walls to cast a ruddy dancing light over everything. There were many shadows, shadows in which almost anything might be hiding.
As he approached the center of the floor, he saw, to his right, an alcove that had been invisible from the entrance. There, almost motionless, crouched a huge ngaa, as big as a greyhound, its brown, bony armor glistening as if polished, its small, disturbingly human fingers slowly flexing open and closed. The creature was watching Briggs through a pair of half-closed yellow eyes with cold, unwinking indifference.
A terrible suspicion washed over him. Perhaps the Ecolog was not here. Perhaps no one was waiting for him but this one hungry beast.
He took a careful step backward.
A peal of rich contralto laughter echoed through the room. Briggs stopped retreating. The ngaa was still watching him, but had made no hostile moves.
Briggs moved forward, at the same time describing a wide circle around the alcove. A low platform came into view, with a short flight of steps leading up to it. On the platform was a massive carved chair decorated with glittering jewels; a throne. On the throne sat the Ecolog.
"Don't be frightened, Commodore Briggs," she said in a low melodious voice. "He's my pet."
She was smaller than he'd expected; more like a little girl than a goddess. Her slender body was firm and well muscled, though her skin was pale, and her blond hair was long and tied back in an incongruous ponytail. She lounged more than sat, without a trace of regal dignity. The platinum mask inset with jewels and carved in curving semi-geometrical patterns concealed her face. Was she an impostor?
"Are you the Ecolog?" he inquired doubtfully.
She stared at him a moment through the slanting slits in her mask; then, slowly, she began to move. First she sat up, then hesitated. Something was happening to her. A simple change in posture had transformed her into a different woman, a woman with a stage presence, a personal magnetism that might have belonged to an Isodora Duncan, a Sarah Bernhardt, an Eleonora Duse. This uncanny transformation was, somehow, more frightening by far than the sight of her pet.
"Yes, I am," was the soft answer.
He believed her.
She was sitting now with the stillness of a dead woman, an unnatural, impossible stillness. Her voluminous blue gown settled around her like smoke, like spiderwebs. The jewels in her mask flickered, reflecting the light from the torches. There he saw a glint of red, there a glint of green, there one of blue and one of the shifting rainbow hues of diamonds or cut crystal. Hanging negligently from her belt was a curved saber in a richly decorated scabbard. The pommel, too, glinted with jewels.
Slowly, slowly, her hand began to move, though the rest of her body remained motionless. Now the arm was moving too, lifting. He watched it as a chimpanzee watches a cobra. The fingers in the hand began to move too, as if each was a separate creature. He realized, with a start, that she was beckoning him to come closer.
He shuffled forward to the base of the short flight of steps leading up to her throne.
"Sit down, Commodore," she said, indicating the steps.
I will not sit at her feet, he thought.
"No, thank you," he said stiffly. "I'd rather stand." He had already noticed that the Ecolog's throne was the only chair in sight.
"You've come a long way. You must be tired."
"I'll be all right," he said stubbornly.
The ngaa stirred, shifting its position. On closer inspection the creature's body made a kind of sense. Its rear four feet bore huge, powerful claws. It was only the front two that were like human hands. The ngaa was not so much a wolf or a spider as a grotesque travesty of a centaur.
The thing sighed, lowered its head and closed its eyes.
"As you wish," she said. "Now what was it you wanted to ask me?"
Briggs opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had completely forgotten.
She laughed gently. "Never mind. Marcia of Green repeated to me the questions you asked her. First, you wished to speak to me. Well, as you see I've already granted that request. Second, you wished to talk to the head of the computer department. I am the head of the computer department, so your second wish is also granted. Third, you wished my permission to contact your orbiting starship. That, too, you may do. You see how foolish you were to be afraid of me? I've given you everything you wanted."
Briggs licked his dry lips. "Thank you, Your Highness, but there's more."
"Don't be greedy," she cautioned him playfully.
"I need to use your master computer."
"The answer is no." Without warning the playfulness had been replaced by a grim coldness.
A long, tense silence followed until she added, "I have answered your questions. Now you must answer one of mine. I noticed among the weapons taken from you and placed in my private armory a sword. Tell me, Commodore, do you fence?"
He answered cautiously, "A little."
"When you are rested you must give me the pleasure of a duel. In a few days—"
"I don't have a few days."
"Ah, but you are mistaken. Here you are and here you shall stay." She relaxed somewhat, sitting back in her throne, once again human. "You were not invited to Abbutututikan. You forced yourself upon us. Therefore you owe us at least a bit of entertainment to pay for your room and board."
"Entertainment?" said Briggs with dismay.
"It's not much to ask in return for the life of the Lord Mayor of Arbre. Not much to ask in return for the damage that garbage girl you harbor has done in my temple. Not much to ask for the shock your presence here has caused to my people. It is not healthy for them to be set dreaming of other worlds and galactic empires, of vast corrupt bureaucracies, of life-styles drowning in waste and pollution, of scientific miracles that end in disaster and philosophical ideas that make people restless, unhappy and violent. It was to escape all these evils that we came here. It was to remain free of them that we separated ourselves from the rest of mankind for 300 years."
He broke in desperately. "There are things you don't know about—"
"I'm sure there are many things out where you've come from I don't know about. Would it make me happy to know about wars between star systems? Would it make me happy to know about weapons of genocidal magnitude? Would it make me happy to know about the crime, sickness, injustice and natural catastrophe of 1,000 worlds? Would it make my people happy? I think not! My ways seem cruel to you, I'm sure. You do not understand that everything I do is to protect the simple, natural, ecological life my people lead. Before the age of terraforming, a monarch was responsible only for the human subjects of a given kingdom. Now a monarch can control the plants and animals as well, change the very water we drink, the very air we breathe, the total environment. That is what it means to be an Ecolog!" She had not raised her voice, but her tone carried a power and conviction that Briggs found almost impossible to oppose.
Yet still he said, "There are dangers. What you don't know can hurt you. For example—"
She laughed scornfully. "Dangers? Of course there are dangers. But don't you suppose I have resources to deal with these dangers? Do you think I have lived for 300 years without learning anything, without making any preparations? My people live in a low-energy technology, but I do not. Never forget, offworlder, that you and I have fought a war."
"A war?"
"In the first moments of your visit to this planet I matched my technology against yours and won. I jammed your broadcast power transmission and you were unable to unjam it. You could not have known the principles of the technology I used, or you would either have not used broadcast power or you would have known, as I know, how to unjam it. Tell the truth, Commodore. You believed it was impossible to jam gravatic power transmissions, didn't you?"
He nodded sheepishly. "That's right."
"Then what is out there in your proud galactic empire that could possibly endanger me?"
The Lorns," he blurted.
"Lorns?"
"The Lorns are a non-human, alien race. They and the humans are locked in a fight to the death as relentless as those insect battles your court watches on television. When the Lorns come upon a planet able to support life, they wipe that planet clean of every native life form down to the very germs and bacteria. Then they populate it with themselves and the slave-creatures they create by genetic manipulation. If the word evil has any meaning, they are evil!"
She sighed. "Not evil. Wise. They do what I should have done when I first came to this planet. I was too soft." She glanced at the sleeping ngaa. "I was too kind."
"But the Lorns will not be soft or kind to you or your people, and they may arrive here at any moment."
"Arrive here? Why here?" Her voice was again cold and grim.
"They may have followed us…"
