Barrington Bayley - The Zen Gun

“I’ll do as the Council says, of course,” Archier said curtly. “Just as long as they are aware of what my previous orders were.”

“Yes. Look, do you mind if we rest up on the flagship for a few hours? Then we’ll make off on the Barge again, and find some little retreat for ourselves.”

Archier was puzzled. “You’re not going back to Diadem? Don’t you want to do what you can to help the Empire?”

“I’ve already told you, we’re not trusted! We’ve been dismissed! They wouldn’t even have given us this little job if it had had any political overtones.”

“I see. Well, my adjutant will take you to some staterooms.”

Crane rose. He and Oblescu sauntered to the door, followed by the mouse. Before he left, Crane turned casually.

“If you make a good job of this, young feller, I dare say you’ll receive promotion when a new High Command is put together. How do you fancy being an Admiral Overlord, eh?”

He laughed. But Archier could not raise a smile.

When he informed his command staff of developments, Archier was met mainly with stunned silence. Gruwert, however became excited.

“ It has been disregarded, because it is small ,” he repeated. “Now there’s something to think on! You know what this means? The ‘weapon’ isn’t a weapon at all! If it were a small weapon, it couldn’t destroy an empire, that’s obvious. And ‘It has been there a long time’. What are the most dangerous things; politically, sometimes lying dormant for centuries? Ideas, of course! What we are faced with is a political idea that’s about to burst forth and give us trouble. Pre-emptive annihilation is the best way to deal with a threat like that!”

“Do you mean of all Escoria?” The image of a giraffe, relayed from The Peaceful Star, turned to him in Archier’s conference room.

“Certainly, if we can’t track it down and stamp it out any other way.”

“Actually, the rumoured weapon has become a secondary consideration,” Archier said, surprised by the Fire Command Officer’s reaction. “Don’t you think we should address ourselves first to the invasion from the Simplex?”

The pig snuffled in what sounded like annoyance. “we should take no notice of it,” he said finally. “It’s a natural phenomenon, like an earthquake or a star blowing. What can we do about that?”

Gruwert wasn’t able to grasp the significance of it, Archier realised. Like all animals, he lacked the imagination. Only the humans present seemed really frightened.

“Perhaps, but we’re going to have to forget about our task here in Escoria for the time being,” he said. “The Imperial Council takes the space rent even more seriously, and therefore so shall we.”

“Wait a minute!” Gruwert objected furiously. “What about apprehending rebels? There’s one on Earth just waiting to be nabbed! We can’t just move off and let him go free! It isn’t competent!”

Archier reflected. “You’re probably right. In any case, not all the fleet has reported in yet. We shan’t be ready to move for several hours.” He turned to Brigadier Carson of the Drop Commando. “You may make a drop. But be back in ten hours or less.”

The last he heard, as he switched off the conference room, was Gruwert lustily pleading with Carson to let him accompany the mission.

To Pout, the moving city had been a disappointment. Mo, the city mind, had insisted on bombarding him with boring lectures on subjects he had no interest in. He had found the Mohists themselves irritatingly difficult to have fun with (and, mindful of the ever-watchful Mo, he had refrained from enslaving any of them with his zen gun). Also, he could feel his grip on his own little group weakening. So, calling them together (this had entailed a few electric prods-at-a-distance) he had decided to leave. Sadly he had been unable to find the girl Hesper, and if he had it would not have been much use—she was not yet under his spell.

The best thing, he told himself, was to get off this planet altogether. He toiled along now on the hills above the plain wondering how to find a spaceport. The brothers said there was one to the south somewhere. The kosho would probably know—but Pout had learned already that he couldn’t look to him for information. The warrior ignored all his attempts to converse.

The sun was hot, and Pout, when he glanced up and saw the glint in the sky, took it for a bird or passing aircraft. Then, as it grew like a stone falling with terrible swiftness, he stopped while the others bunched up behind him.

The big metal shape didn’t seem to slow down at all as it fell. It hit the landscape with an audible thump less than half a mile away, sending up a cloud of dust, then squatted undamaged, banging open wedge-like doors our of which poured a yelping pack of about twenty variegated figures—dogs, hyenas and cheetahs in dazzling harness and all shouting in human voices, one or two humans in bulging armour that made them look like shining robots; and, waddling to one side, encased in some sort of cloth of gold, a fat pig that sniffed and looked about him.

The carnivers all raced to and fro in intense excitement, waiting for orders. “Oh no,” quavered the eldest brother behind Pout. “Empire Commando!”

“What?” Pout knew of these much-feared shock troops, and terror struck him. But he pulled himself together. “Don’t worry! You’re safe with me!”

He drew the zen gun. Kill, kill , he thought. Kill, kill, kill .

He was sure the gun could deal with all of them. He pressed the stud that he had learned intensified the electric stitch beam, whether to hurt, maim or kill. He pointed the muzzle and pressed the firing stud.

The wavery stitching was much weaker than he had expected. It probed towards the noisy pack, raked across the body of a dog which howled and squirmed on the ground, firing its weapons at random.

Then it went out!

Pout gaped. He pressed the intensifier stud again, squeezed the firing stud, thought of killing as hard as he could.

Nothing happened. The zen gun was not working!

Had its power pack run out? He had never even considered that it might have an exhaustible power pack. It had seemed so marvellous, so personally his , that he had presumed it would keep functioning as long as he kept functioning.

But now one of the armoured humans, seeing one of the dogs fall, and seeing from where the attack had come, raised an arm and pointed, bellowing a command. The whole commando unit swept forward, fanning out to form a crescent that began to sweep round Pout and his group.

He began to tremble, and his voice rose to a warbling, panicky contralto. “ Kosho! Defend me, kosho ! I need you!”

Ikematsu had been walking well to the rear, several paces even behind the laggard Sinbiane. When the party came to a halt he had seated himself upon the ground and entered into his customary suspended consciousness, apparently disinterested in the nearby commando landing.

At Pout’s summons he rose, turning slowly to survey the scene. A few strides took him in advance of Pout’s frightened following and there he stood, still in seeming trance, his eyes half closed, his face expressionless.

An astonishing transformation came over his accoutrements. He did not move his hands or raise his arms from his sides. But the rifles he carried in his rack rose of their own volition, hovering around his head and shoulders. Partly they were under his mental control, partly extensions of his nervous system and knowing themselves what they should do.

Selectively, they let loose a barrage of fire. At his waist, his mortar tube began to lob grenades, picking out patches of ground in flashes of green fire.