Planet of the Damned Read online

  VIII

  With each second the noise grew louder, coming their way. The trackssqueaked as the car turned around the rock spire, obviously seekingthem out. A large carrier, big as a truck, it stopped before them ina cloud of its own dust and the driver kicked the door open.

  "Get in here--and fast!" the man shouted. "You're letting in all theheat." He gunned the engine, ready to kick in the gears, and lookedat them irritatedly.

  Ignoring the driver's nervous instructions, Brion carefully placedLea on the rear seat before he pulled the door shut. The car surgedforward instantly, a blast of icy air pouring from the air-coolingvents. It wasn't cold in the vehicle--but the temperature was atleast forty degrees lower than the outer air. Brion covered Lea withall their extra clothing to prevent any further shock to her system.The driver, hunched over the wheel and driving with an intensespeed, hadn't said a word to them since they had entered.

  Brion looked up as another man stepped from the engine compartmentin the rear of the car. He was thin, harried-looking. And he waspointing a gun.

  "Who are you?" he said, without a trace of warmth in his voice.

  It was a strange reception, but Brion was beginning to realize thatDis was a strange planet. The other man chewed at his lip nervouslywhile Brion sat, relaxed and unmoving. He didn't want to startle himinto pulling the trigger, and he kept his voice pitched low as heanswered.

  "My name is Brandd. We landed from space two nights ago and havebeen walking in the desert ever since. Now don't get excited andshoot the gun when I tell you this--but both Vion and Ihjel aredead."

  The man with the gun gasped, his eyes widened. The driver threw asingle frightened look over his shoulder, then turned quickly backto the wheel. Brion's probe had hit its mark. If these men weren'tfrom the Cultural Relationships Foundation they at least knew a lotabout it. It seemed safe to assume they were C.R.F. men.

  "When they were shot the girl and I escaped. We were trying to reachthe city and contact you. You are from the Foundation, aren't you?"

  "Yes. Of course," the man said, lowering the gun. He staredglassy-eyed into space for a moment, nervously working his teethagainst his lip. Startled at his own inattention, he raised the gunagain.

  "If you're Brandd, there's something I want to know." Rummagingin his breast pocket with his free hand, he brought out a yellowmessage form. He moved his lips as he reread the message. "Nowanswer me--if you can--what are the last three events in the ..."He took a quick look at the paper again. "... in the Twenties?"

  "Chess finals, rifle prone position, and fencing playoffs. Why?"

  The man grunted and slid the pistol back into its holder, satisfied."I'm Faussel," he said, and waved the message at Brion. "This isIhjel's last will and testament, relayed to us by the Nyjordblockade control. He thought he was going to die and he sure wasright. Passed on his job to you. You're in charge. I was Mervv'ssecond-in-command, until he was poisoned. I was supposed to work forIhjel, and now I guess I'm yours. At least until tomorrow, whenwe'll have everything packed and get off this hell planet."

  "What do you mean, tomorrow?" Brion asked. "It's three days todeadline and we still have a job to do."

  Faussel had dropped heavily into one of the seats and he sprang tohis feet again, clutching the seat back to keep his balance in theswaying car.

  "Three days, three weeks, three minutes--what difference does itmake?" His voice rose shrilly with each word, and he had to make adefinite effort to master himself before he could go on. "Look. Youdon't know anything about this. You just arrived and that's your badluck. My bad luck is being assigned to this death trap and watchingthe depraved and filthy things the natives do. And trying to bepolite to them even when they are killing my friends, and thoseNyjord bombers up there with their hands on the triggers. One ofthose bombardiers is going to start thinking about home and aboutthe cobalt bombs down here and he's going to press that button,deadline or no deadline."

  "Sit down, Faussel. Sit down and take a rest." There was sympathy inBrion's voice--but also the firmness of an order. Faussel swayed fora second longer, then collapsed. He sat with his cheek against thewindow, eyes closed. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple and hislips worked. He had been under too much tension for too long a time.

  This was the atmosphere that hung heavily in the air at the C.R.F.building when they arrived. Despair and defeat. The doctor was theonly one who didn't share this mood as he bustled Lea off to theclinic with prompt efficiency. He obviously had enough patients tokeep his mind occupied. With the others the feeling of depressionwas unmistakable. From the instant they had driven through theautomatic garage door, Brion had swum in this miasma of defeat.It was omnipresent and hard to ignore.

  As soon as he had eaten he went with Faussel into what was to havebeen Ihjel's office. Through the transparent walls he could see thestaff packing the records, crating them for shipment. Faussel seemedless nervous now that he was no longer in command. Brion rejectedany idea he had of letting the man know that he himself was onlya novice in the foundation. He was going to need all the authorityhe could muster, since they would undoubtedly hate him for what hewas going to do.

  "Better take notes of this, Faussel, and have it typed. I'll signit." The printed word always carried more weight. "All preparationsfor leaving are to be stopped at once. Records are to be returnedto the files. We are going to stay here just as long as we haveclearance from the Nyjorders. If this operation is unsuccessful wewill all leave together when the time expires. We will take whateverpersonal baggage we can carry by hand; everything else stays here.Perhaps you don't realize we are here to save a planet--not filecabinets full of papers."

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Faussel flush with anger. "Assoon as that is typed bring it back. And all the reports as to whathas been accomplished on this project. That will be all for now."

  Faussel stamped out, and a minute later Brion saw the shocked, angrylooks from the workers in the outer office. Turning his back tothem, he opened the drawers in the desk, one after another. The topdrawer was empty, except for a sealed envelope. It was addressed toWinner Ihjel.

  Brion looked at it thoughtfully, then ripped it open. The letterinside was handwritten.

  _Ihjel:_

  _I've had the official word that you are on the way to relieve me and I am forced to admit I feel only an intense satisfaction. You've had the experience on these outlaw planets and can get along with the odd types. I have been specializing in research for the last twenty years, and the only reason I was appointed planetary supervisor on Nyjord was because of the observation and application facilities. I'm the research type, not the office type; no one has ever denied that._

  _You're going to have trouble with the staff, so you had better realize that they are all compulsory volunteers. Half are clerical people from my staff. The others a mixed bag of whoever was close enough to be pulled in on this crash assignment. It developed so fast we never saw it coming. And I'm afraid we've done little or nothing to stop it. We can't get access to the natives here, not in the slightest. It's frightening! They don't fit! I've done Poisson Distributions on a dozen different factors and none of them can be equated. The Pareto Extrapolations don't work. Our field men can't even talk to the natives and two have been killed trying. The ruling class is unapproachable and the rest just keep their mouths shut and walk away._

  _I'm going to take a chance and try to talk to Lig-magte, perhaps I can make him see sense. I doubt if it will work and there is a chance he will try violence with me. The nobility here are very prone to violence. If I get back all right you won't see this note. Otherwise--good-by, Ihjel. Try to do a better job than I did._ _Aston Mervv_

  _P.S. There is a problem with the staff. They are supposed to be saviors, but without exception they all loathe the Disans. I'm afraid I do too._

&
nbsp; Brion ticked off the relevant points in the letter. He had to findsome way of discovering what Pareto Extrapolations were--withoutuncovering his own lack of knowledge. The staff would vanish in fiveminutes if they knew how new he was at the job. Poisson Distributionmade more sense. It was used in physics as the unchangingprobability of an event that would be true at all times. Such asthe numbers of particles that would be given off by a lump ofradioactive matter during a short period. From the way Mervv usedit in his letter it looked as if the societics people had foundmeasurable applications in societies and groups. At least on otherplanets. None of the rules seemed to be working on Dis. Ihjel hadadmitted that, and Mervv's death had proven it. Brion wondered whothis Lig-magte was who appeared to have killed Mervv.

  A forged cough broke through Brion's concentration, and he realizedthat Faussel had been standing in front of his desk for someminutes. Brion looked up and mopped perspiration from his face.

  "Your air conditioner seems to be out of order," Faussel said."Should I have the mechanic look at it?"

  "There's nothing wrong with the machine; I'm just adapting to Dis'sclimate. What else do you want, Faussel?"

  The assistant had a doubting look that he didn't succeed in hiding.He also had trouble believing the literal truth. He placed the smallstack of file folders on the desk.

  "These are the reports to date, everything we have uncovered aboutthe Disans. It's not very much; but considering the anti-socialattitudes on this lousy world it is the best we could do." A suddenthought hit him, and his eyes narrowed slyly. "It can't be helped,but some of the staff have been wondering out loud about that nativethat contacted us. How did you get him to help you? We've nevergotten to first base with these people, and as soon as you land youhave one working for you. You can't stop people from thinking aboutit, you being a newcomer and a stranger. After all, it looks alittle odd--" He broke off in midsentence as Brion looked at himin cold fury.

  "I can't stop people from thinking about it--but I can stop themfrom talking. Our job is to contact the Disans and stop thissuicidal war. I have done more in one day than you all have donesince you arrived. I have accomplished this because I am better atmy work than the rest of you. That is all the information any of youare going to receive. You are dismissed."

  White with anger, Faussel turned on his heel and stamped out--tospread the word about what a slave-driver the new director was. Theywould then all hate him passionately, which was just the way hewanted it. He couldn't risk exposure as the tyro he was. And perhapsa new emotion, other than disgust and defeat, might jar them into alittle action. They certainly couldn't do any worse than they hadbeen doing.

  It was a tremendous amount of responsibility. For the first timesince setting foot on this barbaric planet Brion had time to stopand think. He was taking an awful lot upon himself. He knew nothingabout this world, nor about the powers involved in the conflict.Here he sat pretending to be in charge of an organization he hadfirst heard about only a few weeks earlier. It was a frighteningsituation. Should he slide out from under?

  There was just one possible answer, and that was _no_. Until hefound someone else who could do better, he seemed to be the one bestsuited for the job. And Ihjel's opinion had to count for something.Brion had felt the surety of the man's conviction that Brion wasthe only one who might possibly succeed in this difficult spot.

  Let it go at that. If he had any qualms it would be best to put thembehind him. Aside from everything else, there was a primary bit ofloyalty involved. Ihjel had been an Anvharian and a Winner. Maybe itwas a provincial attitude to hold in this big universe--Anvhar wascertainly far enough away from here--but honor is very important toa man who must stand alone. He had a debt to Ihjel, and he was goingto pay it off.

  Once the decision had been made, he felt easier. There was anintercom on the desk in front of him and he leaned with a heavythumb on the button labeled _Faussel_.

  "Yes?" Even through the speaker the man's voice was cold withill-concealed hatred.

  "Who is Lig-magte? And did the former director ever return fromseeing him?"

  "Magte is a title that means roughly noble or lord. Lig-magte is thelocal overlord. He has an ugly stoneheap of a building just outsidethe city. He seems to be the mouthpiece for the group of magter thatare pushing this idiotic war. As to your second question, I have toanswer yes and no. We found Director Mervv's head outside the doornext morning with all the skin gone. We knew who it was because thedoctor identified the bridgework in his mouth. _Do you understand?_"

  All pretense of control had vanished, and Faussel almost shriekedthe last words. They were all close to cracking up, if he was anyexample. Brion broke in quickly.

  "That will be all, Faussel. Just get word to the doctor that I wouldlike to see him as soon as I can." He broke the connection andopened the first of the folders. By the time the doctor called hehad skimmed the reports and was reading the relevant ones in greaterdetail. Putting on his warm coat, he went through the outer office.The few workers still on duty turned their backs in frigid silence.

  Doctor Stine had a pink and shiny bald head that rose above a thickblack beard. Brion had liked him at once. Anyone with enoughfirmness of mind to keep a beard in this climate was a pleasantexception after what he had met so far.

  "How's the new patient, Doctor?"

  Stine combed his beard with stubby fingers before answering."Diagnosis: heat-syncope. Prognosis: complete recovery. Conditionfair, considering the dehydration and extensive sunburn. I'vetreated the burns, and a saline drip is taking care of the other.She just missed going into heat-shock. I have her under sedationnow."

  "I'd like to have her up and helping me tomorrow morning. Could shedo this--with stimulants or drugs?"

  "She could--but I don't like it. There might be side factors,perhaps long-standing debilitation. It's a chance."

  "A chance we will have to take. In less than seventy hours thisplanet is due for destruction. In attempting to avert that tragedyI'm expendable, as is everyone else here. Agreed?"

  The doctor grunted deep in his beard and looked Brion's immenseframe up and down. "Agreed," he said, almost happily. "It is adistinct pleasure to see something beside black defeat around here.I'll go along with you."

  "Well, you can help me right now. I checked the personnel roster anddiscovered that out of the twenty-eight people working here thereisn't a physical scientist of any kind--other than yourself."

  "A scruffy bunch of button-pushers and theoreticians. Not worth adamn for field work, the whole bunch of them!" The doctor toed thefloor switch on a waste receptacle and spat into it with feeling.

  "Then I'm going to depend on you for some straight answers," Brionsaid. "This is an un-standard operation, and the standard techniquesjust don't begin to make sense. Even Poisson Distributions andPareto Extrapolations don't apply here." Stine nodded agreement andBrion relaxed a bit. He had just relieved himself of his entireknowledge of societics, and it had sounded authentic. "The more Ilook at it the more I believe that this is a physical problem,something to do with the exotic and massive adjustments the Disanshave made to this hellish environment. Could this tie up in any waywith their absolutely suicidal attitude towards the cobalt bombs?"

  "Could it? Could it?" Dr. Stine paced the floor rapidly on hisstocky legs, twining his fingers behind his back. "You are bloodywell right it could. Someone is thinking at last and not justpunching bloody numbers into a machine and sitting and scratchinghis behind while waiting for the screen to light up with theanswers. Do you know how Disans exist?" Brion shook his head. "Thefools here think it disgusting but I call it fascinating. They havefound ways to join a symbiotic relationship with the life forms onthis planet. Even a parasitic relationship. You must realize thatliving organisms will do anything to survive. Castaways at sea willdrink their own urine in their need for water. Disgust at this isonly the attitude of the overprotected who have never experiencedextreme thirst or hunger. Well, here on Dis you have a planet ofcastaways."

  St
ine opened the door of the pharmacy. "This talk of thirst makes medry." With economically efficient motions he poured grain alcoholinto a beaker, thinned it with distilled water and flavored it withsome crystals from a bottle. He filled two glasses and handed Brionone. It didn't taste bad at all.

  "What do you mean by parasitic, Doctor? Aren't we all parasites ofthe lower life forms? Meat animals, vegetables and such?"

  "No, no--you miss the point! I speak of parasitic in the exactmeaning of the word. You must realize that to a biologist there isno real difference between parasitism, symbiosis, mutualism,biontergasy, commensalism--"

  "Stop, stop!" Brion said. "Those are just meaningless sounds to me.If that is what makes this planet tick I'm beginning to see why therest of the staff has that lost feeling."

  "It is just a matter of degree of the same thing. Look. You havea kind of crustacean living in the lakes here, very much like anordinary crab. It has large claws in which it holds anemones,tentacled sea animals with no power of motion. The crustacean wavesthese around to gather food, and eats the pieces they capture thatare too big for them. This is biontergasy, two creatures living andworking together, yet each capable of existing alone.

  "Now, this same crustacean has a parasite living under its shell, adegenerated form of a snail that has lost all powers of movement. Atrue parasite that takes food from its host's body and gives nothingin return. Inside this snail's gut there is a protozoan that livesoff the snail's ingested food. Yet this little organism is not aparasite, as you might think at first, but a symbiote. It takes foodfrom the snail, but at the same time it secretes a chemical thataids the snail's digestion of the food. Do you get the picture?All these life forms exist in a complicated interdependence."

  Brion frowned in concentration, sipping at the drink. "It's makingsome kind of sense now. Symbiosis, parasitism and all the rest arejust ways of describing variations of the same basic process ofliving together. And there is probably a grading and shading betweensome of these that make the exact relationship hard to define."

  "Precisely. Existence is so difficult on this world that thecompeting forms have almost died out. There are still a few left,preying off the others. It was the cooperating and interdependentlife forms that really won out in the race for survival. I say lifeforms with intent. The creatures here are mostly a mixture of plantand animal, like the lichens you have elsewhere. The Disans have acreature they call a "vaede" that they use for water when traveling.It has rudimentary powers of motion from its animal part, yet usesphotosynthesis and stores water like a plant. When the Disans drinkfrom it the thing taps their blood streams for food elements."

  "I know," Brion said wryly. "I drank from one. You can see my scars.I'm beginning to comprehend how the Disans fit into the physicalpattern of their world, and I realize it must have all kinds ofpsychological effects on them. Do you think this has any effect ontheir social organization?"

  "An important one. But maybe I'm making too many suppositions now.Perhaps your researchers upstairs can tell you better; after all,this is their field."

  Brion had studied the reports on the social setup and not one wordof them made sense. They were a solid maze of unknown symbols andcryptic charts. "Please continue, Doctor," he insisted. "Thesocietics reports are valueless so far. There are factors missing.You are the only one I have talked to so far who can give me anyintelligent reports or answers."

  "All right then--be it on your own head. The way I see it, you'vegot no society here at all, just a bunch of rugged individualists.Each one for himself, getting nourishment from the other life formsof the planet. If they have a society, it is orientated towards therest of the planetary life--instead of towards other human beings.Perhaps that's why your figures don't make sense. They are set upfor the human societies. In their relations with each other, thesepeople are completely different."

  "What about the magter, the upper-class types who build castles andare causing all this trouble?"

  "I have no explanation," Dr. Stine admitted. "My theories hold waterand seem logical enough up to this point. But the magter are theexception, and I have no idea why. They are completely differentfrom the rest of the Disans. Argumentative, blood-thirsty, lookingfor planetary conquest instead of peace. They aren't rulers, not inthe real sense. They hold power because nobody else wants it. Theygrant mining concessions to offworlders because they are the onlyones with a sense of property. Maybe I'm going out on a limb. Butif you can find out _why_ they are so different you may be ontothe clue to our difficulties."

  For the first time since his arrival Brion began to feel a touch ofenthusiasm. Plus a sense of the remote possibility that there mighteven be a solution to the deadly problem. He drained his glass andstood up.

  "I hope you'll wake your patient early, Doctor. You might be asinterested in talking to her as I am. If what you told me is true,she could well be our key to the answer. She is Professor LeaMorees, and she is just out from Earth with degrees in exobiologyand anthropology, and has a head stuffed with vital facts."

  "Wonderful!" Stine said. "I shall take care of the head, not onlybecause it is so pretty but because of its knowledge. Though wetotter on the edge of atomic destruction I have a strange feelingof optimism--for the first time since I landed on this planet."