Treasure Of The Stars

Chapter 19

Once they'd made up their minds to act, the Kananites showed they could move fast enough. Like a boulder pried loose after many hours' hard work; events now went rolling and crashing along.

Blade spent three days having his brain intensively probed. It left him with the worst headaches he'd ever had in his life, as if somebody was hitting him over the skull with a dull ax. He didn't have the vaguest memories of what he might have revealed. Kananite doctors watched him carefully, the Menel ambassador watched the doctors, and after two days in bed he was fully recovered.

He recovered just in time to have the technical data planted in his body. The doctors placed the films along the inside of his thigh, under a layer of tough but completely natural-looking artificial skin. It didn't restrict his movements at all, even in bed with Riyannah, but it gave complete protection to the films. Any time he wanted to, he could dissolve the skin with a special spray, let someone look at the films, then put them back and apply more skin. Blade was rather sorry he hadn't known about this artificial skin before and had information about it put on the films. Back in Home Dimension it would be a blessing to people with severe burns or skin diseases.

After that Blade started collecting the load of gear he would be taking to Targa for his mission: hurd-ray projectors, power cells, explosives, electronic devices, everything else he'd need to make fifty Targans into super-soldiers. Much of the equipment was Menel-manufactured. Blade detected the ambassador's fine claw in this and wondered why. Was the ambassador simply trying to save time? Or was he trying to hint to the Targan underground that the Menel might be better friends than the Kananites? Blade didn't really care. All he cared about now was getting back to Targa and starting to work on the project of blowing Loyun Chard's great starship into the smallest possible pieces.

Before he boarded the ship for Targa, Blade had one other discussion. In many ways it was the most useful hour he'd spent in this Dimension, and he spent it with a Menel.

The Menel was short, less than seven feet tall, and elderly, his arms stiff and his skin turning brown like an autumn leaf. He also was one of the most brilliant scientists of his people and head of the scientific section of the Menel embassy here on Kanan.

The Mendel stooped in a way that made him seem almost hunched and he spoke rapidly, in an unusually high-pitched voice and with many gestures. There were times during the conversation when Blade could have closed his eyes and sworn he was talking to Lord Leighton. Certainly he was talking to the same type of mind and personality, even if it was housed in a body like a giant stalk of asparagus. It was a pity that Lord Leighton and the Menel scientist would never meet.

The discussion was mostly about Blade's previous meetings with the Menel and what they implied. «The ones who made the Ice Dragons-I do not think it is needed, to worry about them,» said the Menel. «As you describe the explosion, they could not have survived it.»

«I thought so,» said Blade. «But why did they make the Ice Dragons in the first place?»

The scientist's gesture was the Menel equivalent of a shrug. «Who is to be certain, now they are dead. It is known that the leaders of Menel expeditions sometimes go mad. One out of a thousand, no more, but it has happened. Sometimes they even find the crew is behind them, not fighting them. We try to find ways that it will not happen again, and the Kananites help us. So far-no success.» Another shrug.

The discussion turned to Blade's other meeting with the Menel, where they'd been sending the birds and sea beasts against the human inhabitants of a Dimension slowly vanishing under a rising sea. The scientist agreed with Blade's guess that it was a case of a shipwrecked expedition trying to do the best it could with limited resources.

«I do not say what they did to the people or even the animals is good,» he said. «Yet-we Menel cannot live well too close to water, with air too wet. They needed land on the continents, not just on their island. The people you have described-they would not make peace with those shaped like us. Or do you think otherwise?»

Blade had to admit the scientist was right. Even highly civilized people could fly into a panic over minor differences of skin color. Tribes of barbarians seeing a Menel would shoot first and not ask questions at all.

«When they have some land of their own, they will try to make peace with the humans and help them. Otherwise they could only sit down on their island and die.»

The scientist hesitated, then went on in a tone Blade recognized even through the electronic translation of the Speaker. It was the tone of a scientist who will not pretend to knowledge he doesn't have.

«At least-these things I have said would be so, if the Menel you met were the Menel of this Dimension. I do not think both of them were. I would say that the Menel who made the Ice Dragons were of a Dimension in which they were rulers and conquerors of space and stars. Perhaps there never were Kananites, or perhaps the Menel were the masters.»

Blade swallowed. «And the Menel of the water world?»

«It is not impossible they were my people. They seem to be very much like them. Certainly starships disappear at times. Who knows if they do not pass into another Dimension, where the world they seek is not as they expect? But I think they also are a different Menel, less different than those of the Ice Dragons but still not my people.»

The scientist went on, painting a mind-freezing picture of a reality consisting of an infinite number of Dimensions, each of which might be infinite in space. The idea had occurred to Blade, but he found it hard to sit calmly and hear someone else discuss it as a real possibility.

«I don't reject this,» he said finally. «In fact it's much the simplest explanation. Among other things, it means I haven't been getting bounced around in space as well as in Dimension. But if there is this infinity of infinities, why did I end up three times in Dimensions with Menel in them?»

«If I knew that answer, I would be much closer to that Dimension X secret you would be happy we did not have,» said the scientist. «I do not. I have only the theory, that Dimensions which have things in common-«

«Such as Menel?»

«Yes. Or your race, which you have always found in Dimension X. These Dimensions with things in common-they are closer together than Dimensions which have other life or no life at all. I think the Dimension where you met the Wizard of Rentoro must have been the closest one of all, so close he could pass into it by his mind strength alone.»

Blade laughed. The Menel scientist's words gave him a picture of reality as a huge vinyard, with each grape a Dimension and each bunch of grapes a cluster of Dimensions with something in common. In some bunches the link was the Menel, in others humans, in others Kananites, in others beings who breathed hydrogen, saw by infrared, and had twelve tentacles, in still others things beyond imagining.

It was a weird picture, but then any picture of a reality that was infinite in several different ways at once couldn't be anything else. Once again Blade was glad he hadn't tried to become a scientist. He simply didn't have whatever was needed to make a person able to deal with this sort of concept day after day. His talents ran more to dealing with the practical problems of one Dimension at a time.

Lord Leighton, on the other hand, was going to have fun with this picture. Perhaps «fun» wasn't the right word. It raised an ugly question: was any reliable sort of inter-Dimension travel ever going to be possible? If it wasn't, what would be left to justify Project Dimension X? It was far too expensive to keep going as a pure research project, although Lord Leighton would still fight for it like a mother bear for her cubs.

There could be a nasty homecoming ahead, Blade realized. First, though, came the comparatively straightforward job of removing Loyun Chard's starship from this Dimension. Lord Leighton could take his turn.

Blade ended the discussion with the Menel scientist as soon as he politely could. Then he ordered several bottles of wine and called up Riyannah. He wanted a lot of both to help him get back in touch with the one reality around him.

Blade and Riyannah returned to Targa in a Kananite ship. Riyannah was now disguised as a Targan. The best doctors and surgeons on Kanan did the work, but even so it wasn't completely successful. Her hair was now dark and close-cropped but still too fine for any Targan's. Artificial skin fastened the last two fingers of each hand together into an awkward bundle but couldn't completely hide the extra joints. Chemical injections changed her skin and eye color to something that just possibly might have been Targan. There was nothing anybody could do about her slimness.

Fortunately she didn't have to fool the underground, because she never could. Blade wasn't even sure she'd be able to fool the enemy, «unless the light is weak and they're in a hurry or too drunk to see straight,» as he put it. He still didn't object, since Riyannah wanted it this way. She had almost enough reasons to justify risking her neck.

«I'm an observer for the War Council, and how can I do my job if I can't go where I can observe? Besides, you may need another pair of eyes and ears and another gun for dealing with the underground. You've said it yourself-'Bare is the back that has no brother to defend it.' Perhaps a sister will do as well.»

«If that sister is you, she will,» said Blade. He hoped things would work out so that Riyannah didn't have to follow him every inch of the way. Otherwise nothing short of locking her up would keep her out of danger.

They made the return trip considerably faster than they'd made the trip out. The captain was pushing both the ship and the passengers to their limits. After the first Transition Riyannah was unconscious for six hours and Blade was disoriented for half the next day. After that they both put away their pride and took the other three Transitions to Targa under drugs.

They spent several days on the asteroid base. Blade noticed two welcome signs that someone was taking the danger of war seriously. A Menel starship came in and unloaded a dozen short-range patrol ships. A big Kananite ship loaded several hundred civilians and all their baggage, then left for home.

On the sixth day another Kananite ship unloaded the interplanetary craft that would take Blade and Riyannah the rest of the way to Targa. She was small, sleek, heavily armored, and bristling with hurd-ray projectors and missile launchers. Her crew were proud of their ship and ready for a fight against the Targans. They were almost disappointed when Blade told them their mission on this trip was to sneak in without being detected.

«Don't worry, you'll get plenty of fighting if we fail,» Blade said. «Maybe if we succeed.» He looked at the ship again and at the two men and three women who made up her crew. They were the first Kananites other than Riyannah he'd ever met who seemed to enjoy the prospect of a fight. He could almost believe he was listening to some Home Dimension fighter pilots, all determined to become aces in their first battle.

«How many ships are there like Trenbar?» he asked.

«Only three or four ready for space,» said the captain. «We're the first one out here. I think there are five or six more building at home.»

Three or four! Blade looked at Trenbar again. He'd never seen a spacecraft with «warship» written so clearly all over her. If he and Riyannah and the Targans could give Kanan the time to build three or four hundred like Trenbar and train crews for them all, Kanan and the Menel could thumb their noses at anything Loyun Chard could do.

Blade's optimism suffered a rude shock when he and Riyannah finally landed among the fighters of the Targan underground.

The trip itself was everything Trenbar's captain promised. They came in over the uninhabited north polar continent and hedge-hopped all the way south to their landing place without being attacked. Once a Targan plane started closing on them, but the captain accelerated and left the plane behind as if it was anchored in the sky. They slipped down through a mountain pass and landed less than a hundred miles from where Blade and Riyannah first met. The Targans helped unload the equipment, then Trenbar stood on her tail and leaped into the sky vanishing in a thunderclap of torn air.

Blade and Riyannah were taken to the current main base off the underground, in a maze of limestone caves deep in the mountains. There they confronted the five surviving leaders of the underground who'd been able to make it to this rendezvous. Chard's planes and men were pulling back now, but there'd been a period of savage raids after Blade and Riyannah escaped. Of the twelve leaders Riyannah expected to meet, four were dead and three more didn't dare leave their hiding places to travel to this meeting. Hundreds of the underground's fighters and many of their weapons and key pieces of equipment were also gone. This only strengthened their suspicions of Kananites and Kananite help.

Blade and Riyannah did their best, but for a while it seemed that their best wasn't going to be good enough. The Targans twisted everything they said, asked questions even the War Council of Kanan couldn't have answered, and generally made trouble.

At least Blade felt they were making trouble. He did his best not to let that feeling run away with him, because he knew it wasn't true. The Targan underground was battered, desperate, and sullen. They knew that Kananite aid might save them, but they also knew that Kananite treachery would finish them off like a moth dropped into a laser beam. They couldn't decide if it was worth risking the treachery in order to get the aid.

Blade understood all this, sympathized, and still began to feel like knocking the leaders' heads together. If there was one thing they couldn't do, it was refuse to make up their minds until Loyun Chard made the decision for them. At the same time Blade knew he couldn't push too hard, make a nuisance of himself, or arouse anyone's suspicions. Unlike the Kananites, the Targans wouldn't hesitate a minute in shooting troublemakers.

Eventually Blade saw that he had no choice, and Riyannah agreed with him. The War Council might object, but it was thirty light-years away on Kanan. He and Riyannah were here on Targa, facing Targans who were getting more stubborn and even threatening each day. They weren't going to risk throwing everything away merely to keep the Council happy.

So Blade removed the artificial skin, then appeared before the Targans with the technical films in his hand.

«Here is everything you need to know for making the Kananites' power cells and solar converters. Once you put these in production, Targa's energy problems will soon be solved. You can go before your fellow Targans and tell them that Loyun Chard leads them to war only to satisfy his own ambitions. There is no more need to conquer other planets among the stars and loot them or die by the millions trying to do so. All they need to do is overthrow Chard, then turn their factories from making planes and lasers to making these.» He dropped the films on the table in front of the leaders.

For a while Blade wondered if he'd made a mistake. Some of the leaders seemed to favor an agreement. Others went on muttering suspiciously. Since one of the things they muttered was «holding that Kananite bitch Riyannah as a hostage,» Blade decided to leave.

As he headed toward the door, two of the leaders drew their guns and things got rather lively. Blade shot one man in the leg and clubbed another with the butt of his own pistol. Riyannah tripped up a third, then hit him over the head with a chair. Before anyone else could move, Blade and Riyannah were out of sight, on their way to the cave where their equipment was stored.

They reached the cave, left a message outside, then closed the door and fused it shut with a hurd-ray blast. The message read:

Targans,

Study the films and see if we are telling the truth. If you think we are not giving you enough, say so. We will be happy to talk about giving you more.

But we will not come out until you are ready to talk, one way or another. If you try to break down the door, we will blow up this cave, along with all of your supplies, most of you, and ourselves. We are very tired of trying to be polite to people who do not understand that we all have only one enemy-Loyun Chard.

Richard Blade

Sar Riyannah

Riyannah signed the message, but she looked hard at Blade before she did so. «Would you really blow up this cave and everything in it?»

«Not really. There are ways we can keep ourselves out of the underground's hands without doing them real damage.»

«You're bluffing?»

«More or less. But they don't know it, and they can't afford to risk finding out the hard way.»

Inside the cave they pulled out mattresses and blankets, dropped them beside the piled gear, and settled down to wait. The cave was warm, heated by an underground hot spring, and Blade pulled off his tunic and shirt. Riyannah looked at him for a moment, then jumped up and disappeared around the pile of gear.

She was back in a moment with a small package wrapped in an exotic Kananite fabric with luminous embroidery. She placed it in Blade's lap.

«Should I open it now?» he asked.

«Yes. I'd meant to wait until we were taking off for the starship. But those people out there might be angry enough to break down the door. I want you to have it now, so-«She shrugged, and Blade mentally filled in the rest of the sentence, «-so you can be wearing it if we have to make our last fight here.»

Blade unwrapped the package. It held a bracelet of Kanan's woven metal, lighter than aluminum but stronger than steel, inlaid with patterns of dust-sized jewels. Across the top was a black band that seemed to absorb light. Blade put the bracelet on, then saw faint shapes begin to glow within the blackness. The glow brightened, the shapes flowed and shimmered, then they joined into one and Blade was looking at a full-length portrait of a nude Riyannah.

He raised his head, to see Riyannah lying on her mattress, head propped on one hand, as nude as her portrait. «In the black band are more jewels, arranged to make the picture of me. The heat of your body makes them glow.»

«Yes, and the heat of your body can make me glow.» Riyannah laughed, as Blade stood up and began slipping off his trousers.

The Targans came the next morning, when both Blade and Riyannah were still comfortably asleep in each other's arms. They woke up quickly enough when they learned that the Targans were ready to make peace and start planning.

There was still more talking, but no more nonsense. The leader Riyannah had hit with the chair attended, his head bandaged, but Blade's two victims didn't. Blade never saw either of them again and suspected it wouldn't be tactful to ask what happened to them.

In any case he and Riyannah were much too busy. First he had to retrieve the technical films as soon as the Targans were through copying them, then replace them on his thigh and cover them again with artificial skin. Then there were days of studying the plans of Dark Warrior, maps of enemy bases, lists of underground bands and their available weapons-a dozen different kinds of paper, piling higher each day. They talked with the underground's leaders, with various scientists, engineers, and spaceship pilots who'd fled from Chard's bases, and with a dozen men and women who'd led the underground's field teams in combat.

Then Blade and the team leaders picked fifty of the best fighters on hand, and the serious training for the attack on the starship began.