The Fugitive Worlds (37 page)

And suddenly—without any physical sensation—the inter
planetary leap took place.

The sights of the garish, light-fractured night of the Dussar
ran home planet vanished on the instant, and a mellow
darkness closed in around the travelers.
This is impossible,
Toller thought, momentarily paralyzed with wonder, only
then realizing that, although he had been forced to accept
the idea of teleportation intellectually, in his heart there had lurked a conviction that it could not be done. There had not
been so much as a twinge or a tingle anywhere in his body
to inform him that he was being transported across millions
of miles of space, and yet
...
A single glance at the richly
emblazoned age-old sky of the sister planets told Toller that
he was standing in the peaceful grasslands of his home world.

Having grown up on Overland and spent his adult life navigat
ing across its surface, Toller had the almost instinctive ability
to use the companion world as a clock and compass. His
brief look at Land, which was almost perfectly centered in the
dome of the sky, established that he was on Overland's
equator and possibly as little as fifty miles east of the capital

city of Prad. The fact that the great disk of Land was divided just about evenly into night and day sides showed that dawn would soon break—which confirmed what Greturk had said about the timing of the Dussarran relocation.

When he returned his attention to earthly matters he saw by the half-light that several of the aliens were kneeling by the white box. They had opened a small door in its side and one of them was making rapid adjustments to something in the interior. A moment later that alien slammed the door shut and sprang to his feet.

The impeller is now alive and will activate itself in four
minutes!
He spread his arms and made violent scooping movements with his hands, a signal which—even without telepathic aid—the humans readily understood.
Withdraw to the safety line!

There was a general movement away from the machine. Toller felt slim hands urging him to hurry, and it came to him that these Dussarrans—in spite of their nightmarish appearance—were altruists of the highest order. They had gone to great lengths and exposed themselves to unguessable dangers with no motivation other than the desire to preserve the existence of a totally unknown culture. Toller was reasonably certain that he would not have behaved as well in parallel circumstances, and all at once he felt a rush of mingled emotions—respect and affection—towards the Dussarrans. He ran with the others, losing contact with Vantara on the way, and slowed to a halt when they did, some sixty yards away from the enigmatic white rectangle.

"Is this far enough?" he said to Greturk, trying to visualize the unleashing of forces of sufficient magnitude to disturb a world lumbering through space and time, massively complacent in its shadowy orbit.

This is a safe distance,
Greturk replied.
Had the impeller
not been built illegally, and in great haste, it could have been shielded in such a way that there would have been no need to
move away from it. Ideally, it would also have been con
structed with widespread anchor points, in such a way that it
could not be overturned. Director Zunnunun, by advancing
the time of relocation, has forced us to fall back on exigency
plans.

Toller frowned, his mind still overwhelmed by partially absorbed ideas and concepts. "What would happen to a man who was too close to the impeller when it . . . when it did what is required of it?"

There would be a conflict of geometries.
Greturk's eyes
swam like twin moons in the grey twilight.
The constituent atoms of the man's body would be sliced into a billion times a billion layers.
..."

"I was told my grandfather died in such a manner," Toller said in a low voice. "It must have been instantaneous . . . and painless . . . but I don't think I want to emulate him to that extent."

We are safe while we stay at this distance from the machine,
Greturk replied, looking all about him.
Safe from the effects of the machine, anyway.

"How much time remains until the Xa is triggered?"

Greturk did not consult any kind of chronometer, but his response was immediate.
Almost seven minutes.

"And only about three minutes remain until that thing . . . the impeller . . . does its work." Toller took a deep breath of satisfaction and glanced at the other humans. "It seems to me that we are quite safe. What do you say, my fellow Kolcorronians? Shall we prepare to celebrate our deliverance?"

"I'm ready for a few beakers of good Kailian black when you are," Steenameert cried out heartily, and the other humans—watched by silent aliens—cheered and waved their arms in agreement.

Toller was gratified beyond measure when Vantara moved through the gloaming to his side and put her hand in his. Seen in the nascent light of pre-dawn, her face was impossibly beautiful, and suddenly he felt that his entire life had been

nothing more than a prelude to this moment of supreme justification. He had been faced with a challenge worthy of
the real Toller Maraquine, he had met every demand made
of him without flinching, and now a time of reward lay
ahead.. . .

"I have been so busy congratulating myself on my good
fortune that I have given little thought to you and all your
companions, to whom we owe so much," he said to Greturk.
"Can you return safely to Dussarra?"

Returning home poses some problems for the present, but
I have more serious worries at this time.
Greturk continued
to scan his surroundings as though every dimly-seen tuft of
grass might conceal a deadly enemy.
My principal fear is that
Director Zunnunun will have set the Vadavaks upon us. We
have, of course, done what we could to make pursuit difficult,
but Zunnunun's resources are far greater than ours.
. . .

"What are these Vadavaks?" Toller said. "Are they ferocious hunting beasts which cannot be eluded?"

No.
Greturk's thoughts were shaded with something akin
to embarrassment.
They are Dussarrans who were born with
a major defect in the areas of their brains which are concerned
with perception and communication. They are incapable of
direct communication with other Dussarrans. We regard the
condition in much the same way as you regard deafness.

"But why should they be feared?"

They do not experience the reflux. They are capable of
killing.

"You mean," Toller said, suddenly understanding Gre
turk's embarrassment, "they are something like me?"

To the ordinary Dussarran the taking of a life is the ultimate
abhorrence.

"That may be less due to ethics than dread of the back
lash." Toller knew he was in danger of offending the alien
who had done so much for the group of fugitives, but he
was unable to hold back his words. "After all, you noble
Dussarrans were quite prepared to annihilate the entire
population of my home world. Did that not offend your
delicate sensibilities? Is killing all right as long as it is done
at a remove?"

Many of us have put our own lives at risk to preserve your people,
Greturk countered.
We make no claim to be perfect,
but.
. . .

"I apologize for my ingratitude and shoddy manners,"
Toller cut in. "Look, if you are so worried about these
Vadavaks appearing out of nowhere, can you not adjust the
impeller's controls and cause it to act sooner? Four minutes
seems an irksome length of time to wait."

We chose four minutes to allow for variables such as having
to withdraw across difficult terrain. Now that the machine has
been activated, its internal processes cannot be advanced or
retarded. Neither can it be switched off and returned to an
inert condition.

Steenameert, who had been paying close attention to
the dialogue, raised a hand. "If the machine is immune to
interference
...
if it cannot be switched off . . . are we not
already in an inviolable position? Is it not too late for the
enemy to try to thwart us?"

Given sufficient time we
could
have rendered the impeller
virtually immune to interference.
Greturk's eyes flickered
closed for a moment.
As it is, it could be neutralized merely
by turning it on its side. . . .

"What?" Steenameert shot Toller a perplexed glance. "Is
that all it would take to stop it working?"

Greturk shook his head in a surprisingly human manner.
The impeller would not be affected internally in any way, but
unless it is in a horizontal attitude
—
with its line of action
passing through or close to the center of the planet
—
its motive
energies will be squandered.

"I—" Toller broke off as the faintest breath of coolness
entered his mind, a feather-flick of unease so tiny and fleeting
that it could have been a product of his imagination. He
raised his head, separating himself from the discussion, and

took stock of his surroundings. Nothing seemed to have changed. The grassy plain reached out to a horizon which was made irregular by low hills to the north; a short distance away the white casing of the impeller glowed placidly through the pewter-colored light of early dawn; the incongruous group of Dussarrans and humans looked exactly as before —and yet Toller was vaguely alarmed.

On impulse he glanced up at the sky and there, centered on Land and almost touching the terminator on the planet's dark side, was a pulsing yellow star. He knew at once that he was looking at the Xa, thousands of miles above.

No sooner had he made the identification than a faint telepathic voice reached him—strained, enfeebled, tortured —wisping downwards from the zenith.
Why are you doing this to me, Beloved Creator? Please, please do not kill me.

Feeling oddly like an intruder, Toller spoke quietly to Greturk. "The Xa is . . . unhappy."

It was fortunate for all of us that the Xa's increasing com
plexity allowed it to.
. . . Greturk suddenly flinched, as if experiencing a spasm of pain, and spun to face the east. The other Dussarrans did likewise. Toller followed their concerted gazes and his heart lurched as he saw that the previously bare plain was now the setting for a party of about fifty figures clad in white. They were perhaps two furlongs distant, and above them was a fast-fading ellipse of greenish illumination.