Asgard's Conquerors (28 page)

He smiled with pleasure. "Actually," he said, "we
already know the location of all the bases established by the Co-ordinated
Research Establishment—including the one built around your shaft from level
three downwards. We may be savages, in the eyes of the Tetrax, but we're not
stupid. We can understand the maps we found at C.R.E. headquarters."

So much for secrecy.

"Why do you need me?" I asked him bluntly.

"Because we don't understand much apart from the maps. We can't
read Tetron script and we can't cope with the Tetron data-storage systems. All
we know about what you discovered in the course of your adventure is what the
Kythnan told us. Why have the Tetrax not established contact with the advanced
race which you encountered—if that is indeed what happened?"

"They didn't want to be contacted. Like you, they were somewhat
surprised to discover the universe. You can probably appreciate what a shock
it was far better than I can. Like you, they wanted time to figure out what to
do about it. They had been in contact with the level we reached at the bottom
of the dropshaft—an ecology run wild, its humanoid inhabitants real savages—but
after meeting us, they decided to withdraw, and seal themselves off from it. So
they told me, anyhow."

"What did they look like? They were humanoid, I presume?"

"I presume so too," I told him. "But I only spoke to an
intermediary." Rapidly, I sketched in the story of Myrlin, and explained
that he had been adopted by the underworlders. I tried to keep the story as
simple as possible, but there were several matters of detail that I had to fill
out in response to his questions. I told him no lies, and by the time I'd
responded to all his questions I'd told him virtually all the truth as I knew
it. Which didn't necessarily mean that he believed it all.

"As far as you know, then," he said, taking up the thread of
the argument, "these people have no more idea than we do who built
Asgard?"

"So I was told," I assured him. "And there's not the
slightest reason to believe that they're your ancestors. It's entirely possible
that they're another race like your own, who have simply made more progress in
understanding the technology they found all around them."

"So you say. You also say that you know of no way to establish
contact with them. It is all very convenient—as though you are trying your
utmost to persuade me that we have nothing to gain from what you can tell
us."

"I don't know whether you'd have anything to gain by making
contact with these people—or with any other races who may be living in the
deeper levels below your empire. Maybe you could find allies to side with you
against the Tetrax. Maybe you could even find your ancestors. But I think you
already know that there are no guarantees. You have no god-given right to come
out of this situation as the winners."

I think he did know that. Certainly, he didn't want to get into a heavy
discussion about his hypothetical ancestors. As far as the origins of his
species were concerned, he seemed to be an agnostic—no matter what the rest of
his people might believe. After a pause, he brought the discussion back to more
practical matters.

"This weapon they used, which you call a 'mindscrambler'—do the
galactics have anything similar?"

"Yes. The Tetrax certainly have a similar device, and so do one or
two others. It doesn't work on all humanoids, and sometimes has to be attuned
to the particular brain- characteristics of a species, but it's basically a
matter of using a rapid-fire sensory transmission to trigger a protective
withdrawal-response from the victim. It's the visual equivalent of a shot of
anaesthetic. A messy and somewhat indiscriminate weapon, though—you can't
target a particular individual, and you can't just put it on a TV screen: you
really have to blast it out. It was neat the way they used the entire sky on
the second occasion—the first time, they used some kind of robot to deliver the
punch."

"Where would large-scale versions of such weapons be found in
Skychain City?"

"You probably won't find them now. There were mindscramblers
incorporated into the anti-sabotage devices protecting the skychain itself and
one or two other places. I suspect that you probably reduced those defences to
rubble, mindscramblers and all, when you blasted the skychain."

"I am suspicious of one part of your story," he admitted.
"I wonder why it was that you were brought back to consciousness in order
to hear what your friend had to say. Is it possible that they lied to
you?"

"I don't know," I told him. "It could be all lies."

"It could indeed," he observed, in a fashion which suggested
that he wasn't entirely convinced of my honesty.

I'd never been entirely happy with the story either, though I didn't
like to admit it. I had come back from the depths convinced that I was cleverer
than everyone else, exuberantly proud of my little secret. They might have fed
me that happy feeling in much the same spirit as an adult bribing a child with
a sweet. Maybe Myrlin was dead, and I was the dupe.

I blew my nose, and ran the back of my hand across my brow. I was
sweating quite heavily, and I felt as if my brain had been hit by a mild dose
of mindscrambling.

"Another thing puzzles me," said Dyan, after a pause during
which he sipped his mussel soup. "If these people are so much more
advanced than we are, why did they not know about the universe? Why have they
not explored Asgard thoroughly, if they have been able to move about in the
levels for so much longer? It seems too much of a coincidence to imagine that
despite their sophistication, they have only been exploring for much the same
time as ourselves, and had penetrated only a limited number of levels."

"Not necessarily," I countered. "Remember that they
started from a home base a lot further down than yours. Myrlin suggested that
they're immortal—that might imply that they long ago stopped multiplying. I
doubt that an immortal race would be troubled by something as petty as
Malthusian population problems. If their population within their own level is
stabilised, they'd have no practical interest in expanding into others.
Scholarly curiosity isn't such an urgent driving force as lust for conquest.
They may have been exploring for tens of thousands of your lifetimes before
they penetrated as many levels as you've invaded."

He nodded, abstractedly, and sipped more of his drink. "You should
try to take some," he said. "While you have a fever, you should drink
plenty of liquid. Shall I ask the doctor to look at you? He may be able to
help."

"It's okay," I muttered. "Only a cold in the head."

"Are you well enough to answer a few more questions?"

"I think so," I said—then wished that I had said no.

"I'll try to keep to essentials. I'm grateful that you have
decided to tell me all this, but there are other matters with which you might
be able to help us, and about which I must question you. I'd like you to record
for us, if you will, all the details of the plans which you and your employers
made before you returned to Asgard. We'd like confirmation of what we already
know about the groups of spies which were dropped from orbit—their personnel,
their objectives, the bases they intended to use, and the places at which they

planned to
enter the city. Can you do that?"

If I hadn't been feeling so awful anyhow, that might have been one to
set me aback. As things were, I cared somewhat less than I might have.

"So
Jacinthe Siani did know I'd left Asgard," I said, resignedly.

"No. But you were only the first member of your group to be
apprehended. We have captured others, some of whom have been co-operative.
Information about your mission reached me this morning. Some of your
companions will be joining you tomorrow. I think that our people have enough
information to round up all the invaders, but just by way of checking, I'd be
obliged if you could tell us all you know."

I looked at him sulkily, wishing that I felt in better shape to make a
decision.

"As an officer in the Star Force," I said, finally, "I'm
not able to tell you anything that might imperil my companions. It's a matter
of military honour." I was only being slightly sarcastic. Susarma Lear
might not be my favourite person in all the world, but I was hesitant about
betraying her.

"As you wish," he said, in an easy tone which suggested that
he did indeed have the information already. "In fact, you do not seem to
me to be well enough to undertake such a laborious task. I think that I will
ask the doctor to see you again. After all, we do not want you
to. ..."

Suddenly, the easy manner evaporated, and he was looking at me with a
very different expression. I thought I could read him exactly as I would
another human, and he had the appearance of a man who had been struck by a distinctly
unpleasant idea.

I swallowed. My throat was sore, and I was becoming dizzy. The sweat
was trickling from my forehead into my eyebrows, and running into the corners
of my eyes to gather like bitter tears. I had to lie back, lolling against the
leathery material of the sofa.

"Is it possible, Mr. Rousseau," he said, in a deadly voice,
"that your Tetron masters intended that you should all be captured?"

I opened my mouth to say no, but the denial wouldn't pass my lips. It
wasn't just the sore throat—it was the awful possibility dawning in my own
mind.

I had asked myself more than once how the Tetrax might plan to go to
war against the invaders of Skychain City. I had tried to weigh up the
possibilities in my mind. But I hadn't really kept it in mind that the Tetrax
aren't like humans. They aren't heavy-metal-minded. They're biotech- minded.
They would always think first in terms of biological weaponry and biological
warfare.

Now—very belatedly indeed—it occurred to me that the best way, and
maybe the only way, to get a virus weapon into a domed city would be to use
live carriers. And if the virus in question had to be carefully tailored to a
particular biological pattern, so that it would hurt the enemy far more than
the Tetrax themselves, then the carriers would have to be as similar as possible
to the targets.

Suddenly, lots of little pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into
place. The Tetrax had received messages from the surface for some days after
the attack. They had photographs of the invaders. Maybe they even had the
results of gene-analysis of invader tissue. Maybe they had all that they needed
to plan a swift and efficient counter-attack—everything except a group of
clever carriers, to take the disease into the city for them.

They knew how primitive the invaders were—how unprepared they were to
fight off a virus epidemic. They knew how easy it would be for their own people
to seize control of the city again, if only the occupying forces could be comprehensively
weakened.

And so they had used us. They had hired the Star Force, and they had
hired me, feeding us that half-way plausible story about needing us to open
lines of communication, to gather intelligence . . . when all they really
wanted to do was use us as a bunch of Typhoid Marys.

"Oh
merde!
" I said, with a great deal of feeling. "The
bastards!"

But I could see in Sigor Dyan's face that he didn't believe that I was
innocent.

It seemed the perfect time to give up the unequal struggle and let go,
so I let the dizziness and the fever take control, and I fell into
insensibility.

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