Jeffrey Lord: Jewel of Tharn

The other neuter had stepped a little away and was watching with an enigmatic look on its bland features.

Blade had promised. He whipped the rapier from its sheath and stepped between Honcho and the begging Moyna.

"It is my responsibility," said Blade. "I commanded Moyna to do what was done. If anyone is to be punished, let it be me. So, Honcho, punish me if you dare!"

For a moment they confronted each other. Blade extended the rapier in threatening fashion, watching Honcho's face for every nuance of response. He had no idea how this would turn out. That was the trouble: he didn't know exactly what he was doing. He could only follow his instincts.

Doubt and puzzlement flickered for a moment across Honcho's face. Then it laughed. "There is something very wrong here, Lordsman." No mistaking the sneer.

Honcho looked at Moyna. "In! I am being merciful. If you do not obey at once you will suffer Number 2 destruct! Do you wish that, Moyna?"

Moyna gave a little whistling sob and crawled onto the plastic pad. Blade leaped at Honcho and thrust with the rapier, a long reaching lunge that was aimed at the heart. In the practice of his profession Blade had dueled in earnest more than once and had lived. He felt a surge of primitive joy, of blood lust, as he rammed the slim rapier directly into Honcho's heart.

Blade tripped and fell, off balance. He sprawled ignominiously on the floor of the chamber. The rapier clattered from his hand. It had passed through air. He had stabbed nothing! The sharp edged teksin had sliced through a wraith.

Honcho was a dozen feet away, on the other side of the chamber. It stared at Blade with narrowed green eyes and laughed, a taunting laugh. "There is indeed something very wrong here, Lordsman. More than I thought at first. You attempt to attack a simlu? You are mad, or you have the soka illness. Or...but we will speak of that later. Moyna!"

Blade cursed and got to his feet, raging and helpless. He could do nothing. He did not understand it all, but he did understand that this Honcho was not the real neuter, the real He. It was a picture, a ghost, a wraith, call it anything, that was somehow projected into the chamber. The real Honcho was watching from some secret place.

Moyna was crouched in the middle of the pad, whimpering and trembling. Honcho - the projection of Honcho - raised a finger. Blade guessed that it was a command to some unseen soldier or servant.

Moyna vanished in mid-scream. There was a slight cloud over the pad, like steamy gauze, and a faint smell of burning in the chamber. That was all.

Honcho did not look at Blade. It spoke, apparently to the vacant walls. "Moyna destruct. See that it is entered so."

Blade picked up the rapier and sheathed it. He had been defeated but not shattered. He could not kill a simlu, as Honcho had named his image, but it was logical that where there was a simlu there had to be a real neuter. A real Honcho. Blade must bide his time.

Honcho turned to Blade. "And now, Lordsman, let us speak of you. You will answer my question. You are one of the Twenty? You have escaped from the Cage in Urcit?"

Blade tried to bluff it out. The tale had worked with Moyna. Poor Moyna.

"Yes," said Blade. "That is so. I escaped, but I suffered a bad fall. I struck my head. I do not remember much."

Honcho regarded him. No doubt of the sneer now. And yet Blade could sense that Honcho was not altogether sure of himself. Not 100 percent convinced about Blade. Something was lacking.

Honcho pointed to Blade's kilt-like nether garment "Pull it up. I would see."

Blade obeyed. He bared his genitals. The neuter gasped and took a step backward. For a moment Blade thought it was going to fall on its knees and make slaveface as Moyna had done. But no.

The green eyes had narrowed still more, until they were mere slits now. Honcho nodded and nodded and stroked its chin with the tapering fingers. Blade covered himself, adjusting the kilt, sensing that he was losing this round.

Honcho walked around Blade. Around and around, studying the big man from every angle. At last the neuter spoke.

"You are no Lordsman! That I know. Yet you are homid, one of THEY. I do not understand it. And I should understand it. My birthplate lies - I am far above 14th level, although THEY do not know that - and I should understand it." Honcho ran a finger over his close-clipped skull. "There is a great mystery here - a mystery that I will understand, I swear it - and perhaps a mystery that I can use in my own plans."

Blade had to keep reminding himself that this was only a simlu, not the real Honcho. It was hard to do. The neuter confronting him now was real in everything but substance.

Blade said: "All right, Honcho. I am no Lordsman. I may be homid, but I don't know exactly what that is. I lied. I did not strike my head. I am a stranger in your land. You appear to be an intelligent being, so let us sit down and reason together. Let us talk. You can find out about me and I can find out about you. We will be friends, not enemies."

Blade smiled at the neuter. It was his best smile and he took great pains with it. "I am sorry that I lost my temper and tried to kill you, Honcho. Shall we be friends?"

Honcho fingered its chin. "It is most strange. You speak our language. We understand each other. Yet you use words I have never heard before. Friends? What are friends?"

Blade kept his smile firm. "It means that we will not try to harm each other. That perhaps we can help each other, work together, so that each of us gets what he wants."

The neuter nodded slowly. "Yes. I understand that. Not that you could harm me with weapons as crude as these." It gestured around the large chamber. "These are arfactis, from the time of a million kronos, kept as curiosities or as playthings for the beast-soldiers."

Blade did not answer. He sensed that the neuter image was only talking to cover deep thought. It was trying to come to a decision.

The decision was made. Honcho put a finger to its lips and shook its head slightly at Blade. When it spoke it was not to Blade, but to the listening walls. Blade knew that this was only simlu, not the real flesh and blood creature, yet his skin crawled and the hairs prickled on his neck.

Honcho said: "All spiscreens in Provo of North Gorge to be shuttered. I am He who commands. There will be no memspeak of those past minikronos. I repeat - no memspeak! All to be erased. Do so on command of He."

Honcho raised his hands and clapped them sharply. Blade sensed that now the unseen listeners and watchers were gone. Honcho wanted privacy for some reasons of his own.

The neuter image stared at him. "Come," said Honcho. "We will go to my real where we can talk. In secret." He stepped toward the circular pad. Blade hesitated.

Honcho smiled at him. "You are afraid, then? Of what happened to Moyna? Do not be. It is only to teleport, not destruct. Come. No harm. As you have said, we are friends. For now. It is really very simple. A simple disestablishment of quarks."

Blade stepped onto the pad. He was very close to Honcho now, and could not resist the temptation to sweep a hand through the image. He felt nothing and the image was not disturbed. It was like passing his hand through a solid vapor. Blade did not even question the contradiction in terms. He was thinking ahead. Thinking furiously.

Honcho was staring at Blade. He laughed softly. "You do not really understand at all, do you? Such a simple thing. So now I know who you are not!"

Blade stared back. "All right. Who am I not?"

"You are not Mazda! Not HE WHO WILL COME TO THEY. That much I know. If you were Mazda you would know all things."

"We are getting a little too involved," said Blade coolly. "It is useless to talk of such things now. Let us wait, as you say, and talk in secret and in leisure, so we can come to understand each other."