Attack From Atlantis, page 10
"Then you'll help us?" Don was up from the cot, new hope running through him. "You've got a weapon, and maybe you know where all the others are. Help us get away, and we'll take you back with us in the Triton! They won't expect . . ."
Muggins shook his head again and the grin vanished. "Nope. No reason I should try to get away. They saved my life, and they treated me all right here. I like it. Got a wife, family, friends. I don't mind if you can escape—but don't count on my helping you. This here's my city, and I ain't turning traitor to it. Anyhow, you couldn't get out. You've got a blamed sight better ship than we ever had, but it ain't that good. When you get in here, there's no going back. And don't figure you can swipe a suit and go up to the surface. That stuff goes fine in the books, but here the bubble-suits aren't allowed for anyone without a permit—and his family, if he says so. Once you get to Mlayanu, there's no return to the surface. Sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be."
"What about the others?" Don asked. He could see by Muggins' expression that it would do no good to argue. And it was hardly worth making plans for escape when all he'd seen of the interior of the city was a single room!
Muggins relaxed, and his smile came back. "Reckon I can show you that. Don't get me wrong, youngster. I'll do anything I can for you people—I'm tickled pink to see somebody from the surface. Use to dream about getting a chance to pay a visit up there again." He went to the wall and shoved back a small flush-set panel Don hadn't noticed, revealing a glass-covered opening. "Your friends are in there. Been before the Council all morning. I guess they're waiting to hear the results."
Don looked, and his heart sank. All twelve of the men from the Triton were there, but he could tell from their expressions that things had gone anything but well. He spotted his uncle talking unhappily with
Drake and Haller. Then he frowned. In the back of the room, and held by four strong chains, was Shep.
The dog was chewing futilely at the metal. Now he seemed to see Don, and tried to stand up, opening his mouth in what looked like a bark, though no sound came through. At the same time, Simpson glanced toward the window. Don's uncle got up quickly and came to the glass, making motions.
Muggins closed the panel at once, and Don went back to the pad. "What will happen to them?" he asked. "And why am I separate?"
"Donno what," Muggins answered. "No precedent for this. I don't reckon they'll hurt your friends much. You? Heck, here you're just a baby. They figure you're a child. Mlayanu kids don't even start school till they're eighteen. Before that, they're not supposed to know or amount to much."
There was a muffled sound from the door, and the old man went to it. He stuck his head out, and a babble of liquid-sounding conversation began. At last, the old man nodded, and turned back to Don.
"Come along. K'mith wants to see you now."
Don got up and followed the older man. Whoever had spoken before was gone, and there was nothing but a long hallway, lighted by the same glowing ceiling as had been in his room. They went past doors and up a ramp, to follow a somewhat better hallway; the layout was the same, but the stone was better-grained and the doors now had peculiar curlicues on them.
Muggins finally stopped at one of the doors. He tapped on it, and waited. There was a faint sound from inside. The old man opened the door and motioned Don inside.
The room was somewhat fancier. There was a mat on the floor, and benches along the walls. In the center of the room, a large man about fifty-five sat at a boxlike desk. His complexion was gray and his hair the yellow-white of all the Atlanteans, but his face seemed squarer than any other Don had seen.
"iCmith," Muggins introduced him. "And it's an honor down here to have only that much of a name. So call him that. He wants to ask you some questions."
Don nodded, studying the man. He seemed to be a man of considerable strength, but his face was pleasant, and a rugged smile somehow gave the feeling of natural warmth. K'mith's arm moved, indicating a small seat by the desk, and Don dropped onto it.
"You might tip me off if I say something wrong," he suggested to Muggins.
The big head of K'mith tilted back, and a low laugh came from his mouth. He sobered quickly, however. "That was the first wrong something, Don Miller," he said in precise English, with only a faint accent. "As you can hear, I have learned your language—from Muggins and from the books which my people have rescued from your ships that sank, before the water ruined them." He indicated a shelf of books that had obviously been water-soaked and carefully dried. "Also, we send up an antenna and sometimes listen to your radio. That is how we heard of atomic-powered submarines. Naturally, we were interested, and have been trying to discover one. Yours was the first we located in our scouting. Are there many such ships?"
Don nodded. "Fifty, not counting the cargo ones," he admitted. There was no point in telling K'mith that those were all older models, not related to the Triton.
K'mith nodded thoughtfully in turn. "So. I heard it, but so much of your books and radio is not true-fiction you call it, though we say it lies. And of course, all your adults have been schooled to the fantasies, so I can learn nothing from them. Even Muggins here, though he is a good man."
It was obvious from Muggins' grunt that this was a sore subject. But after reading a mixture of Gulliver's Travels, Alice in Wonderland, and Haggard's She, K'mith had reason to be confused. The books were an odd mixture of fiction and out-of-date fact books. Don saw that one was a copy of Plato's Republic, and wondered how that serious but impossible scheme of government compared with what K'mith had heard.
K'mith had followed Don's quick glance. He grimaced. "An odd world you have. All your books are fantasies, it seems. Truth may be in them, but I cannot find the key that tells what is true. And your friends will not help. At what age do your children start to school?"
Don started to answer. Then he saw Muggins gesturing below the table. Don stared at the figure the old man was writing. "Eighteen," he said, without thinking, reading the figure aloud.
K'mith let out a satisfied chuckle before Don could correct himself. "Aha. The same age as we use. Naturally—who would risk burning out the delicate mind of a child before it was ripe enough for study? So I can learn the truth from a child who can't know anything I need—and I get only lies from those who may know."
"I know enough," Don said quickly. "Would you let us all go back, if . .."
K'mith shook his head, looking like a father laughing at a child. "No, Don Miller. Don't pretend things. And you needn't worry. We don't punish children for the acts of their adult friends. You'll be treated just like one of our own children. Muggins will find you a place to stay until you're a few months older. Then we'll find a teacher for you. In a few years, you'll be one of us. For now, go out and meet some other children and enjoy yourself. You're quite free, as long as you don't try to leave the city."
"What about the others?" Don asked.
K'mith shrugged. "That's a problem between adults, Don Miller," he said, and held out his hand. "Thank you for seeing me. When you are eighteen, I'll help you pick a teacher. Now good-by."
Don tried to protest, but Muggins was beside him, steering him out. They began threading their way down the hall again, before Don could face the old man. "What was the idea of making me say eighteen?"
"Pretty simple, youngster. Now they think you're uneducated, so you're harmless. You can do just about anything you like. Otherwise, you'd have been locked up, or something. It made a liar out of me, but I figured it'd help you. So don't go kicking about favors done you."
Don turned it over. It would have advantages, at that. He'd had thirteen years of schooling, with added study given by his uncle, but people here would think he knew nothing. Definitely, it put him at an advantage. He should be able to figure some way to get the others out of that room where they were being kept.
Muggins caught him suddenly, and tried to turn him. But Don resisted, long enough to see what had caught the old man's attention. Then he gasped.
Passing down a corridor that crossed the hall he was on were the others from the Triton. Each wore a crude set of handcuffs with a weight attached that pulled their hands down in front of them. And they were surrounded by more than a dozen guards, each armed with the weapons he had seen used before.
His uncle was toward the rear, walking hopelessly, with his face a picture of sick misery.
"Uncle Eddy!" Don shouted.
Simpson looked up, and surprise gave place to pleasure and then to determination. He jerked his arms up, bringing the weight above his hips and suddenly broke out of the group, running toward Don. The guards let out a surprised shout, and started after Simpson. The others from the Triton immediately blocked their way.
Simpson was almost at the corner, where he could swing down it and perhaps dart into one of the offices. Don jumped for one at random and tried the door. It started to open, and Simpson headed for it.
Then there was a faint hissing sound, and Don's uncle collapsed in a heap. The guard who had fired his weapon came forward and lifted him up, slinging Simpson over his shoulder and heading back to the group.
Don started toward them, but Muggins' hand fell on his shoulder. "None of that, Don. You've made
trouble enough. Now you come along peacefully or Til have to stungun you."
"Go ahead," Don told him bitterly. "Go on. You expect me to stand here quietly while they take Uncle Eddy and the others off to be executed or something?"
"They won't be hurt. They're just being put where they can't make any trouble. Jail, you might say. I tell you, they don't kill people down here. They don't even mistreat people unless they have to. At least, I never heard of anyone being hurt." But Muggins sounded doubtful as he finished.
Don saw that the group had vanished beyond his sight. He let Muggins lead him outside, still burning with resentment at die treatment he had seen. "They have no right. .."
"Maybe not," Muggins agreed. "But they can't let your people escape, youngster. They have to be locked up. Prisoners of state, I guess. They know too much to be let go. And don't go planning to go getting them out or running off yourself. I told you before—this is the city of no return. Once you get here, you stay here!"
Chapter 13 The Dog-God
I
here's no place that can't be escaped," Don argued hotly. "It just takes more work and skill in some places. If you think you can keep me from trying by scaring me off, you're wrong!" The old man chuckled. "You think so? Ever try figuring how you'd stand the pressure once you got out? Without a license, you couldn't get one of those suits. They're kept locked up good and tight. And you'd sure need a bubble to get out of here. Anyhow, once you got to the surface, how'd anyone ever find you?"
"There's the submarine," Don pointed out. "If you think I'm going to let K'mith or anyone else hold the whole crew prisoners, while he tries to blow everyone up working on the atomic plant. . ."
"Don't know anything about atomic plants," Muggins said stubbornly. "But I know this place. I should. If they got you with a whole crew aboard, how you figure you can get the machine out alone? How you gonna get it through the dome?"
Don had no idea, but he couldn't admit defeat. Not when K'mith left him free, and the others were being kept prisoners for life, or worse. They wouldn't be hurt for a while, though; the Atlanteans would need the crew, if they intended to try to learn more about atomics.
Then a familiar sound caught his ear. It was the short, protesting bark of a dog. There was no question in Don's mind. It was Shep's bark. And the last time he'd seen the dog in chains. . . .
"Shep!" he yelled.
Immediately, the barks rose to a frenzy, with a new note added. Don started toward the sound at a run, with Muggins trailing along behind. He shot around a corner, and then down the street toward the sounds. They seemed to be coming from the back of the same big building from which he had just come.
He reached a little square behind it—and spotted Shep. The dog was fastened with half a dozen small ropes, and each was held by an Atlantean. The six men stretched out to form a network that kept Shep from leaping in any direction. He was hopping up and down wildly, trying to get his mouth around to tear at the ropes, but not succeeding. When he caught sight of Don, he seemed to go crazy. One of the men reached for a stungun.
"Quiet, Shepl" Don ordered. "Down!"
The dog stopped his noise at once and settled down to the stone paving, panting furiously but obeying the familiar commands. Don swung about, studying the men who were around. Then he spotted K'mith at the top of the stone steps. The big man was coming toward him with a curious expression on his face.
"What are they doing with my dog?" Don demanded.
K'mith frowned in quick surprise. "Your dog, Don Miller? Then those books . . . But what do you want with him?"
"He's my pet, my friend," Don answered. "What goes on here, anyhow?"
The Atlantean studied the quiet animal thoughtfully. "Once," he said, and he sounded as if he were quoting, "men lived on the forbidden highest level, and there they were surrounded by great beasts. And the beasts were wild and savage, killing the men and destroying them. There were beasts higher than houses, and beasts smaller than the hand. But they all bit and trampled and killed. And when the upper level rested in darkness, that showed the god's displeasure that man had found only half his proper way, then the beasts came roaring and wailing out of this darkness, since some of the beasts were angry gods, who led the others. And no man could stay the strong jaw and the savage teeth."
"You may be remembering your people's accounts," Don told him. "But my people had a tough time of it, too, and they tamed the dogs to help them. Maybe that's the start of our whole civilization. Shep isn't any wild beast. He's an old friend."
K'mith considered it. Finally he indicated that the men holding the ropes should let them go. Their faces froze at that, but after a few words in the language of the city, K'mith convinced them somehow. They dropped the ropes and ran back as fast as their legs would carry them. Only K'mith remained beside the boy.
"C'mere, Shep," Don said.
Shep was up at a single leap, hopping stiff-legged into the air and trying to lick Don's face. There was a shriek from the crowd, then an awed mutter of surprise as Don stretched out his arms and Shep leaped into them. The animal wriggled and licked happily, whining faintly, until Don finally put him down. Then he began running in circles around his master.
"Wild, yes," K'mith decided. "But not dangerous. Come with me—just beyond this corner." He led the way, until they had rounded the corner of the building, and then pointed to another small square with a statue mounted on a pedestal.
The statue was probably carved from pure tradition. No animal had ever looked like it. The parts were from several animals—the head even had a bit of a trunk and tusks. But oddly enough, it was a little like Shep.
The crowd had streamed after them, and now a great cry began to go up. Muggins grinned, and K'mith shook his head. "They are crying that this animal of yours is the dog-god, the one the statue is carved to show. And that after all the centuries, the dog-god has repented his evil ways and has come back to do good for all his old harm. There is a prophecy that when the dog-god swims through the water in the belly of a fish and comes into our city with a smile, then all will go well with us as long as he stays. It looks as if you've fulfilled the prophecy, though it didn't say the fish would have atomic power."
He addressed the people briefly, while Muggins grinned. The old man leaned over and whispered into Don's ear. "Three weeks ago, he was telling me these people didn't have no superstitions. Said all this dog-god stuff was just legends they liked to remember because it was in such nice poetry. Now he's telling them he will keep the dog-god for them. Smart boy, this K'mith. He'll never miss a chance to put himself in solid with the voting citizens!"
Cheers were going up as K'mith talked. Finally, some of the more curious came up to examine Shep more closely. The dog growled, but Don shushed him.
K'mith watched for a moment and then went over to the dog. Shep growled again, but relaxed at a word from Don. The Atlantean reached out carefully and stroked the black head as Don had done. Shep sniffed his hand, and finally decided the smell was friendly enough to deserve a halfhearted lick on the fingers. At the sight, a wild cheer went up, and the people began to disperse, as if it had been a sign.
"Yet I have heard often the expression *mad dog'," K'mith said.
"That means a sick dog." Don tried to describe hydrophobia to the Atlantean, along with assurances that the disease was rare now.
"No wonder the beast was feared," K'mith decided. "But no matter. Even if your Shep were wild, the people want him, and I must obey. You will live with me, then, even as would a child of mine, and you will bring your dog with you to my house. In this emergency, the people must have what comfort they can find. I don't believe the legend; but some of them do."
"Take the offer," Muggins said quickly. "It's the best chance you'll have. And you'll like the big shot's boy, S'neifa."
Don hesitated. There were advantages in being on good terms with an important man, of course. But it would also mean that he was more carefully watched. He balanced it in his head, uncertainly. Finally, he let it rest on Muggins' words; the old man might or might not be his genuine friend, but he'd have to act as if he were until it was proved one way or the other.
"Thank you," he agreed. "But Shep isn't to be put in a zoo, or anything like that."
"The dog is yours. I ask only the honor," K'mith said formally. "And now, I am finished here. Let's go to your new home."
