Bob Shaw - The Fugitive Worlds

“Which of you is the leader?” Toller demanded. “Which of you nightmares can speak for the others?”

The aliens made no response. Seconds dragged by in which they did nothing but stare at Toller with eyes which were like black-holed chips of white porcelain. Although no telepathic voices were ranging words in his mind, he had no doubt that silent alarms were being transmitted to other Dussarrans—a thought which prompted him to reinforce his words with action.

“I see that a little firmness is called for,” he said giving the aliens the peaceful smile with which he often prefaced an act of violence. It was a trait he had inherited from his grandfather, he had been told, and he had half-consciously cultivated it since his youth. Without further warning he changed his stance and abruptly redoubled the force he was exerting on the wall panel. The aliens caught between it and the front of the enclosure gasped aloud, their ashen faces contorting with pain, and Toller was almost sure he heard the fracturing of a fragile bone.

Stop that, you savage! One of the group by the exit took a step forward. There can be no excuse for such barbarism!

“Perhaps not,” Toller replied, giving a slight bow, “but if you and your loathsome kin had not abducted my friends and penned them like beasts—which is your kind of barbarism—you would never have been exposed to my kind of barbarism. Do you see the principle involved? Or is the concept of natural justice cherished only by untutored Primitives?”

Primitive is an appropriate word for you, Toller Maraquine, came the alien’s voiceless reply. Can you not understand that it is impossible for you to leave this world?

“And can you not understand that I will leave this world—one way or another? And if it should transpire that death is my only escape, I will take some of your kind along the same road.” Toller glanced to his left and saw that the rest of the humans had reached the enclosure. To his surprise, Vantara was at the rear of the group and was looking at him with uncertain, troubled eyes.

“We are with you. Toller,” Steenameert called out.

“Excellent!” Toller returned his attention to the alien speaker. “You were elected spokesman, so I am going to assume that you possess some degree of some importance. You therefore will have the honor of being my principal hostage. Come to my side!”

What if I refuse?

“I have scarcely begun to squeeze these fine specimens of Dussarran manhood, and already their puny bones are beginning to crack.” Toller’s two upright captives moved their heads anxiously as he shifted his weight.

II you kill my deputies you will lose what little advantage you have at this moment.

“That would only be the start of the killing,” Toller said, longing for the reassurance of his sword. He had judged the Dussarrans to be lacking in physical courage, but to his growing unease the alien confronting him was proving to be unexpectedly stubborn. In appearance he was not distinguished from his fellows—the multiplex costume of pendant dark-hued scraps seemed to be universal among the aliens—but this individual conveyed the impression of being much more resolute than Divivvidiv.

Perhaps … An incredible idea began to flicker far back in Toller’s consciousness. Can it be that fortune has delivered into my hands the best hostage of all? Could this unremarkable and unprepossessing figure be the King of all the Dussarrans? What was the title Divivvidiv had accorded him? Director! And what name? Zunnunun!

“Tell me, scarecrow,” he said in a gentle voice, “what is your name?”

My name is of no relevance, the alien replied. I shall make one last appeal to your powers of reason. Your plan—if such an insane vision can be dignified with that word — is to force us to send you back whence you came by way of an instantaneous relocation unit. You and your followers would then return to one of your home planets, either by balloon or parachute. Is that a fair summation of your ambitions?

“I congratulate you, corpse-face!” The alien’s refusal to divulge his name was a fresh inspiration and encouragement for Toller.

The plan can never succeed! The more rational members of your group have severe doubts about attempting it, and in that respect they display considerable wisdom.

Toller’s eyes were again drawn to Vantara, but she lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze.

I am not at liberty to go into details at this time, Toller Maraquine, the alien went on, but the fact is that all of you are very fortunate to be here on Dussarra. You must believe what I…

“I believe that you are the King of all the Dussarrans,” Toller shouted, giving way to a rage which was fuelled by subtle new fears. “This thing is going on far too long! Tell me your name right now, or—and I swear by my honor—I will crush these three until the blood spurts from their eyes!”

The alien figure brought a hand up to its concave chest. My name is Zunnunun.

“I thought so!” Toller glanced triumphantly at Vantara, Steenameert and the others. “I will now give…”

You will do precisely nothing, Zunnunun cut in, silencing Toller with a curious ease. I had planned to study the psychological relationship between you and your chosen female, but I have come to realize that in an unmodified state you will either kill yourself or continue to cause more trouble than you are worth. Accordingly, I have made the decision to bring your existence to an end.

Toller shook his head and his voice was no longer human. “It would take more than you and the likes of you to kill me.

Oh, I have no intention of killing you. The Dussarran’s psychic tone was now light, amused and confident. Your body will remain in perfect health—and will be useful to me in breeding experiments — but it will be inhabited by a different and more docile personality.

“You cannot do that!”

But I can! In fact, the process has already begun — as you will realize if you try to move. Zunnunun’s mouth flowed into a ghastly parody of a smile. You were right when you began to suspect that our confrontation was going on too long. I was then assembling sufficient of my people to form a telepathic lens. That lens is now focused on your brain, and in a few seconds you will cease to exist.

Goodbye, Toller Maraquine!

Toller tried to hurl himself at the alien, but—as had been predicted—he found himself unable to move. And something was happening within his mind. There was an invasion, a loosening, a shameful but joyous sense of yielding, an acceptance of the fact that life as Toller Maraquine II had always been wearisome, and the time had come when he could—gladly—lay that burden down…

“Twelve ships! Is that all?” Daseene gave Cassyll Maraquine a reproving stare. “I was sure we could have done much better than that.”

“I am sorry, Majesty, but the factory is hard-pressed even to prepare that number,” Cassyll said, concealing his impatience over being required to repeat the same statements for the third time in an hour. “One of the major problems is the lack of reliable engines and parts.”

“But I have seen hundreds of engines stacked in the old parade ground at Kandell. With my own eyes I have seen them. Stacked!”

“Yes, but they are the old-style brakka wood units, and they have been replaced by steel engines.”

“Well, unreplace them in that case!” Daseene snapped, adjusting her coif of pearls.