Land and Overland Omnibus

CHAPTER 18



In common with the rest of his companions, Toller was so stunned by Greturk's words that—in spite of the alien's diminutive stature—he meekly allowed himself to be pushed and prodded out of the vehicle. The darkness outside was as copiously shot through with glowing colour as before, and in addition there were curved, tapering columns at the focus of which hovered a sheet of green luminance. Paying little heed to his surroundings, Toller brought Greturk to a halt by grasping his shoulders, and the rest of the humans crowded around him.

"What was that?" he demanded, using the form of words through force of habit—the telepathic communication had been perfectly clear, each word loaded with associated and corroborative layers of meaning. The Kolcorronians knew that a death sentence had been passed on their home worlds, but their minds were unable to accept the concept.

Greturk vainly tried to squirm free of Toller's grip. It is vital that we should keep moving.

"It is even more vital that you explain yourself," Toller countered, refusing to leave the spot. "Why is Overland to be destroyed?"

Greturk's black-drilled eyes swept around the group, and Toller knew at once that all of them were about to be subjected to that disconcerting form of telepathy in which many facts were implanted in the mind forcibly and simultaneously. As had been the case with Divivvidiv, he felt a cerebral beam of lighthouse intensity begin to slew across his consciousness…

As the sister worlds rotate about their common centre of gravity the disk-shaped instrument known as the Xa turns with them. Twice in the course of each revolution the Xa's axis points directly at the Dussarran home world—once when it is projected through Land, once when it is projected through Overland. It is at one of these instants of perfect alignment that the Xa will be activated, making Dussarra the focus of supra-geometrical energies which will cause the planet to be relocated in the target galaxy. In that same instant Land and Overland will cease to exist in this continuum. Because Overland is the less massive of the pair, the relocation pulse will be directed through it during the forthcoming alignment. That alignment is due to occur less than ten minutes from now. If we are to prevent the relocation taking place—and thus save your home worlds from annihilation—we must proceed with all possible speed. The Director is almost certain to unleash the Vadavaks upon us. RELEASE ME AT ONCE—AND FOLLOW ME CLOSELY!

The moment of communion ended and Toller found himself—totally convinced that what he had learned was true—running behind the little alien. They were heading towards the circle of inward-leaning columns whose tips were immersed in greenish fire. Vantara was holding Toller's left hand and Steenameert was running by his right, in step with Jerene. The three female rankers—Tradlo, Mistekka and Arvand—were keeping pace, and it was obvious from the grimly urgent set of their faces that they had absorbed Greturk's message to the full. It was impossible to see far into the ambient darkness because of the profusion of glowing blocks and crisscrossing lines of radiance, but Toller was somehow persuaded that silent battles were taking place over a wide area. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of black-clad Dussarrans were locked together in their strange form of hand-to-hand combat, clogging and coagulating, each individual content to do no more than immobilize one of his counterparts on the enemy side.

"Why are you doing this?" Toller shouted at Greturk's back, giving voice to the queries which had been accumulating in sheltered bywaters of his mind ever since the escape from the dome. "What is it to you if others perish?"

Again the swinging beam of mental radiance … but faster this time … a flaring whiplash of knowledge…

Dussarran society has long been divided over the issue of relocating the planet. Despite various pronouncements from the Palace of Numbers about Ropes, many citizens have always doubted that they exist in actuality. We believe that other interpretations of the sub-space probe data could be just as valid. In any case, it is our opinion that intergalactic relocation is an intemperate response to the situation. We had, however, failed to bring Director Zunnunun round to our point of view, or to rally a majority of the public behind us.

The relocation seemed destined to take place without any concrete opposition—and then came the rumours that one of the sacrificial worlds was inhabited by a humanoid species. It was in an attempt to prevent the spread of that knowledge that Director Zunnunun insisted on the Xa station being designed in such a way that it could be governed by a single Decisioner.

His plan could well have succeeded had it not been for one unforeseen development. The Xa, of necessity, had to have some degree of consciousness to enable it to control its own growth, but the technologists had never before produced such an instrument on that scale. They were taken by surprise when, on reaching a certain level of complexity, the Xa developed self-awareness—a personality—and began to fear its own dissolution. It was during imperfectly screened exchanges between the Xa and Decisioner Divivvidiv that adepts here on Dussarra established beyond doubt that a burgeoning civilization would be annihilated as a result of the relocation—and that was sufficient to unite and mobilize the opposition parties.

The telepathic communication, as well as lodging a store of hard facts like pebbles in the forefront of Toller's mind, was luridly stained with anxiety and urgency. There was a despairing sense of time slipping away too quickly, of great invisible doors of opportunity being slammed in his face. Toller tried to run faster to draw abreast of Greturk, but the alien was fleet of foot and easily kept ahead. They were now only forty or so paces from the tapering columns, and Toller saw that other green-dappled aliens were waiting at the centre of the circle. There were at least six of them, some beckoning to the runners, others struggling to move a white box which was about the size of a small desk.

"Why are we running?" Corporal Tradlo called out from close behind Toller, her words punctuated with gasps. "What is to be gained by … wearing ourselves out … if naught can be achieved?"

Good question, Toller thought. It had just occurred to him that there was little point in escaping by means of the alien matter transmitter to a world which was about to be obliterated.

There is much that can be done, came Greturk's reply. The problem lies in doing it quickly enough.

"What can be done?" The question came from several of the humans simultaneously.

The white object you see being dragged on to the transfer plate by my brothers is a simplified version of the machine which was used to transport this world to its present location. The plan is to take it to Overland and use it to displace the planet by a short distance. A few tens of miles would be sufficient to destabilize the Xa and start its axis wandering. Under those conditions the relocation of Dussarra could not be attempted.

Toller stumbled to a halt at the edge of the green-lit circle, his gaze fixed on the white box. "How could that move an entire planet?" he said in tones of wonder. "It is much too small."

Even in a moment of crushing urgency there was a note of ironic amusement in Greturk's reply. How large must a fulcrum be, Toller Maraquine?

Before Toller could speak further there came a vast humming sound from directly above and curved rows of lights appeared far up in the gaudy darkness. The lights were in fixed positions with regard to each other, giving the impression they belonged to a huge skyship which was taking up its station overhead. The oppressive humming rose and fell at an increasing tempo, creating a sonic bludgeoning effect which numbed mind and body.

Run to the centre of the plate! Greturk fussed and fluttered like a protective bird around the group of humans, goading them into motion. We have no more time!

Still holding Vantara's hand, Toller moved on to a circular area of coppery metal some ten paces in diameter. Steenameert and the three rankers crowded on to the disk with him, and the group coalesced with the knot of aliens who were gathered around the white box…

And suddenly—without any physical sensation—the interplanetary leap took place.

The sights of the garish, light-fractured night of the Dussarran home planet vanished on the instant, and a mellow darkness closed in around the travellers. This is impossible, Toller thought, momentarily paralyzed with wonder, only then realizing that, although he had been forced to accept the idea of teleportation intellectually, in his heart there had lurked a conviction that it could not be done. There had not been so much as a twinge or a tingle anywhere in his body to inform him that he was being transported across millions of miles of space, and yet… A single glance at the richly emblazoned age-old sky of the sister planets told Toller that he was standing in the peaceful grasslands of his home world.

Having grown up on Overland and spent his adult life navigating across its surface, Toller had the almost instinctive ability to use the companion world as a clock and compass. His brief look at Land, which was almost perfectly centred in the dome of the sky, established that he was on Overland's equator and possibly as little as fifty miles east of the capital city of Prad. The fact that the great disk of Land was divided just about evenly into night and day sides showed that dawn would soon break—which confirmed what Greturk had said about the timing of the Dussarran relocation.

When he returned his attention to earthly matters he saw by the half-light that several of the aliens were kneeling by the white box. They had opened a small door in its side and one of them was making rapid adjustments to something in the interior. A moment later that alien slammed the door shut and sprang to his feet.

The impeller is now alive and will activate itself in four minutes! He spread his arms and made violent scooping movements with his hands, a signal which—even without telepathic aid—the humans readily understood. Withdraw to the safety line!

There was a general movement away from the machine. Toller felt slim hands urging him to hurry, and it came to him that these Dussarrans—in spite of their nightmarish appearance—were altruists of the highest order. They had gone to great lengths and exposed themselves to unguessable dangers with no motivation other than the desire to preserve the existence of a totally unknown culture. Toller was reasonably certain that he would not have behaved as well in parallel circumstances, and all at once he felt a rush of mingled emotions—respect and affection—towards the Dussarrans. He ran with the others, losing contact with Vantara on the way, and slowed to a halt when they did, some sixty yards away from the enigmatic white rectangle.

"Is this far enough?" he said to Greturk, trying to visualize the unleashing of forces of sufficient magnitude to disturb a world lumbering through space and time, massively complacent in its shadowy orbit.

This is a safe distance, Greturk replied. Had the impeller not been built illegally, and in great haste, it could have been shielded in such a way that there would have been no need to move away from it. Ideally, it would also have been constructed with widespread anchor points, in such a way that it could not be overturned. Director Zunnunun, by advancing the time of relocation, has forced us to fall back on exigency plans.

Toller frowned, his mind still overwhelmed by partially absorbed ideas and concepts. "What would happen to a man who was too close to the impeller when it … when it did what is required of it?"

There would be a conflict of geometries. Greturk's eyes swam like twin moons in the grey twilight. The constituent atoms of the man's body would be sliced into a billion times a billion layers…"

"I was told my grandfather died in such a manner," Toller said in a low voice. "It must have been instantaneous … and painless … but I don't think I want to emulate him to that extent."

We are safe while we stay at this distance from the machine, Greturk replied, looking all about him. Safe from the effects of the machine, anyway.

"How much time remains until the Xa is triggered?"

Greturk did not consult any kind of chronometer, but his response was immediate. Almost seven minutes.

"And only about three minutes remain until that thing … the impeller … does its work." Toller took a deep breath of satisfaction and glanced at the other humans. "It seems to me that we are quite safe. What do you say, my fellow Kolcorronians? Shall we prepare to celebrate our deliverance?"

"I'm ready for a few beakers of good Kailian black when you are," Steenameert cried out heartily, and the other humans—watched by silent aliens—cheered and waved their arms in agreement.

Toller was gratified beyond measure when Vantara moved through the gloaming to his side and put her hand in his. Seen in the nascent light of pre-dawn, her face was impossibly beautiful, and suddenly he felt that his entire life had been nothing more than a prelude to this moment of supreme justification. He had been faced with a challenge worthy of the real Toller Maraquine, he had met every demand made of him without flinching, and now a time of reward lay ahead…

"I have been so busy congratulating myself on my good fortune that I have given little thought to you and all your companions, to whom we owe so much," he said to Greturk. "Can you return safely to Dussarra?"

Returning home poses some problems for the present, but I have more serious worries at this time. Greturk continued to scan his surroundings as though every dimly-seen tuft of grass might conceal a deadly enemy. My principal fear is that Director Zunnunun will have set the Vadavaks upon us. We have, of course, done what we could to make pursuit difficult, but Zunnunun's resources are far greater than ours…

"What are these Vadavaks?" Toller said. "Are they ferocious hunting beasts which cannot be eluded?"

No. Greturk's thoughts were shaded with something akin to embarrassment. They are Dussarrans who were born with a major defect in the areas of their brains which are concerned with perception and communication. They are incapable of direct communication with other Dussarrans. We regard the condition in much the same way as you regard deafness.

"But why should they be feared?"

They do not experience the reflux. They are capable of killing.

"You mean," Toller said, suddenly understanding Greturk's embarrassment, "they are something like me?"

To the ordinary Dussarran the taking of a life is the ultimate abhorrence.

"That may be less due to ethics than dread of the backlash." Toller knew he was in danger of offending the alien who had done so much for the group of fugitives, but he was unable to hold back his words. "After all, you noble Dussarrans were quite prepared to annihilate the entire population of my home world. Did that not offend your delicate sensibilities? Is killing all right as long as it is done at a remove?"

Many of us have put our own lives at risk to preserve your people, Greturk countered. We make no claim to be perfect, but…

"I apologize for my ingratitude and shoddy manners," Toller cut in. "Look, if you are so worried about these Vadavaks appearing out of nowhere, can you not adjust the impeller's controls and cause it to act sooner? Four minutes seems an irksome length of time to wait."

We chose four minutes to allow for variables such as having to withdraw across difficult terrain. Now that the machine has been activated, its internal processes cannot be advanced or retarded. Neither can it be switched off and returned to an inert condition.

Steenameert, who had been paying close attention to the dialogue, raised a hand. "If the machine is immune to interference … if it cannot be switched off … are we not already in an inviolable position? Is it not too late for the enemy to try to thwart us?"

Given sufficient time we could have rendered the impeller virtually immune to interference. Greturk's eyes flickered closed for a moment. As it is, it could be neutralized merely by turning it on its side…

"What?" Steenameert shot Toller a perplexed glance. "Is that all it would take to stop it working?"

Greturk shook his head in a surprisingly human manner. The impeller would not be affected internally in any way, but unless it is in a horizontal attitude—with its line of action passing through or close to the centre of the planet—its motive energies will be squandered.

"I—" Toller broke off as the faintest breath of coolness entered his mind, a feather-flick of unease so tiny and fleeting that it could have been a product of his imagination. He raised his head, separating himself from the discussion, and took stock of his surroundings. Nothing seemed to have changed. The grassy plain reached out to a horizon which was made irregular by low hills to the north; a short distance away the white casing of the impeller glowed placidly through the pewter-coloured light of early dawn; the incongruous group of Dussarrans and humans looked exactly as before—and yet Toller was vaguely alarmed.

On impulse he glanced up at the sky and there, centred on Land and almost touching the terminator on the planet's dark side, was a pulsing yellow star. He knew at once that he was looking at the Xa, thousands of miles above.

No sooner had he made the identification than a faint telepathic voice reached him—strained, enfeebled, tortured—wisping downwards from the zenith. Why are you doing this to me, Beloved Creator? Please, please do not kill me.

Feeling oddly like an intruder, Toller spoke quietly to Greturk. "The Xa is … unhappy."

It was fortunate for all of us that the Xa's increasing complexity allowed it to… Greturk suddenly flinched, as if experiencing a spasm of pain, and spun to face the east. The other Dussarrans did likewise. Toller followed their concerted gazes and his heart lurched as he saw that the previously bare plain was now the setting for a party of about fifty figures clad in white. They were perhaps two furlongs distant, and above them was a fast-fading ellipse of greenish illumination.

The Vadavaks are upon us! Greturk took one futile step backwards. And so close!

Toller glared down at Greturk. "Are they armed?"

Armed?

"Yes! Armed! Do they carry weapons?"

Greturk had begun to shiver, but his telepathic response was clear and well controlled. The Vadavaks are equipped with enervators—instruments of social correction specially designed by Director Zunnunun. The enervators are black rods with glowing red tips. The slightest contact with one of the tips will cause intense pain and paralysis for several minutes.

"I have heard of more fearsome weapons," Toller sneered, squeezing Vantara's hand before releasing it and putting an encouraging arm around Steenameert's shoulder. "What do you say, Baten? Shall we teach these bumptious pygmies a lesson or two?"

Contact with one enervator rod causes pain and paralysis, Greturk added. The Vadavaks carry an enervator in each hand—and simultaneous contact with two rods causes pain and death.

'That is a more serious matter," Toller said soberly, staring at the blurred smear of white on a drab grey-green background which was the enemy's sole manifestation thus far. "How long does it take for death to occur?"

Five seconds. Perhaps ten. Much depends on the size and strength of the individual.

"Much could be achieved in ten seconds," Toller replied, a dryness developing in his mouth as he saw that the Vadavaks had already begun to advance at speed. "If only…"

Your sword is in the possession of Director Zunnunun and can never be retrieved—but one of our number holoviewed it well enough for copying. Greturk nodded to one of the other Dussarrans who moved forward dragging a sack made of a seamless grey material. We had hoped that the Vadavaks would not make contact with us—in which case we would have destroyed these weapons without ever showing them to you—but now we have no alternative.

The Dussarran opened the sack and Toller felt a surge of fierce gladness as he saw that it contained seven swords of the distinctive late Kolcorronian pattern. He dropped to his knees and eagerly reached for the familiar weapons.

Be careful! Greturk warned. In particular, do not touch the blades with your bare hands—they now have monomolecular edges which can never be blunted, and they will penetrate your flesh as easily as they would sink into fresh snow.

"Swords!" Jerene's rounded features bore an angry expression as she stepped forward. "What do we want with a collection of antiques? Could you not have copied our pistols?"

Greturk shook his head again. There was no time … their interior mechanisms were not readily visible to us … all we could do in the limited time available was to produce five scaled-down versions of the sword for use by the smaller and weaker females of your race.

"That was most considerate of you," Jerene exclaimed sarcastically, "but you may be interested to learn that any woman here could…"

"The enemy has taken to the field!" Toller put all the power of his lungs into the shout. "Are we to squabble among ourselves or go out and do battle?"

He pointed to where the gleaming white motes which represented the Vadavaks were spreading across the field of view, becoming larger collectively and individually, each advancing speck developing arms and legs, a face, the capability of inflicting death. On the horizon behind the Vadavaks the sun was appearing as a needle-spray of blinding fire, casting a fateful and melodramatic glow over the natural arena in which the fates of three worlds were to be decided.

Toller took the sword of his fancy from the sack and tried it in his hand to make sure that the balance had not been disturbed by alien machinations. The feel of the familiar weapon was comforting—the spirit of his grandfather was with him again—but it was less reassuring than he had hoped and expected. Seven humans, only one of whom was trained with the sword, were going against at least fifty well-armed aliens. By all accounts, his fabled namesake would have gloried in such a situation—but, no matter how many versions of the forthcoming battle the present-day Toller conjured up in his mind, he could not find one in which there were no deaths among his companions. Some of them, if not all, were bound to die—and Toller could see no glory in that fact. It was degrading, brutal, depressing, obscene, terrifying…

But, even as the adjectives paraded through his mind, he was forced to acknowledge another diamond-hard fact. Unless the Dussarran machine was successfully defended for another three to four minutes, until it performed its vital task, every man, woman and child on Overland would be annihilated in an unimaginable pulse of energy. That—above all else—had to be the single truth which governed his actions in the trial which lay ahead.

He looked around his little group of warriors, wondering if his face was as pale as theirs. They had taken their swords in hand and were gazing at him with expressions which seemed to convey complete faith in his leadership. Their trust was probably a legacy from all those times when he had swaggered and boasted of his prowess in combat—and now he was appalled by the responsibility he had taken upon himself. These people knew they were facing death, and they were afraid, and in the moment of ultimate tribulation they were turning to the only source of hope they could find. It was quite likely that they now regarded Toller as a pillar of strength, and he was numbed with guilt and regret as he realized the extent of his unworthiness to play that role.

"If we advance too far to meet the enemy they will be able to outflank us and overturn the machine," he heard himself say in a firm, clear voice. "We must form a defensive line outside the radius of safety—and take a solemn vow that none of the Vadavaks shall pass.

"There are many more things I would like to say—" Toller's eyes locked fleetingly with Vantara's and he repressed an urge to reach out and touch her face—"but now is not the time. We have important work to do first."

Toller turned and ran on a curving path to a point which placed him exactly between the impeller and the oncoming force of Vadavaks. Within a few seconds the other humans had taken up stations on either side of him, at spacings which they instinctively felt could be protected by the sword. The Vadavaks were now only a hundred yards or so away, running fast, and the sound of their feet swishing through the grass could easily be heard by the defenders. Pinpoints of red light danced before them in a horizontal swarm.

Toller tightened his grip on his sword as he saw that the Vadavaks, in place of the rag-like garments of the ordinary Dussarran citizen, wore white helmets and armour. The latter was of a glistening material which seemed to have no effect on the wearer's mobility in spite of covering torso and limbs. The livid, black-holed faces glaring from under the rims of the alien helmets gave the attackers the semblance of an army of corpses, indefatigable because they were already dead.

Toller raised his sword to the first readiness position and waited. I beg of you, Beloved Creator, the Xa's words threaded down from the remoteness of the sky, do not kill me.

One of the Vadavaks outdistanced the others, nominating himself as Toller's first individual opponent, and dived forward with twin black rods outstretched like stings. The alien must have been totally accustomed to routing docile and unarmed civilians, because he came at Toller with head and torso quite unprotected. Toller struck down into his thin neck and the alien went down and backwards in a fountain of blood, his head connected to his body by only a narrow strip of tissue. The rods he had been holding fell close beside each other at Toller's feet.

Toller stamped on them, extinguishing the crimson glow at their tips, and his momentum took him into immediate conflict with two more Vadavaks. The pair apparently had not enough time to learn anything from the fate of their companion, because they remained close together and lunged at Toller with enervator rods held only a few inches apart. He took their arms off below the elbows with two transverse strokes which sheared the white armour as if it were paper. The aliens dropped to their knees, their mouths black circles of silent agony, and doubled over the stumps of their forearms.

Toller paid them no further attention—they had ceased to be combatants—and ran his gaze along the line of battle. The Vadavaks were throwing themselves into the fray with undiminished vigour and ferocity, but Toller was heartened to notice that not one Kolcorronian had been laid low. Their lack of experience in handling swords was being more than compensated for by the incredible sharpness of the blades, and the Vadavaks were being cut down as quickly as they advanced. The defence line had lost its regularity, but it was remaining intact, and the white wave of alien attackers was now liberally stained with red as its members collided with and stumbled over their wounded.

Can it be possible? Toller wondered. Are we all to be spared, after all? There can be very little time left before the impeller does its work, and if the Vadavaks are stupid enough not to change their tactics…

From the corner of his eye Toller saw a flicker of white as an alien appeared beyond one end of the battle line and ran towards the rectangular shape of the impeller. Toller broke free and ran on a course which enabled him to intercept the Vadavak about halfway across the margin of safety. The alien slid to a halt in the grass and turned on Toller, the milky marbles of his eyes gleaming beneath the rim of his helmet. He was holding one of his enervator rods as though it were a sword, darting and slicing with the glowing tip, striving to make contact with the skin of Toller's sword arm.

Toller dealt with him by making a sideways flick of his blade which lopped the end off the menacing rod. The alien threw it down, transferred his remaining rod into his right hand and resumed the duel, apparently quite unafraid. Toller—acutely aware that he was within the impeller's radius of death—decided to end the matter speedily in a rain of unstoppable blows. He was on the point of lunging forward when he heard a sound close behind him. He spun around just in time to see a second Vadavak thrusting an enervator rod into his midriff. Toller did his utmost to twist clear of the spitefully gleaming tip, but it made contact with him and pain fountained up through his chest. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, and his two opponents—now moving at a much more leisurely pace, apparently relishing their moment of victory—closed in on him with black rods upraised.

A second touch from one of the red tips would bring about his death, Toller had been warned, and it was obvious that the Vadavaks intended to make sure of him by administering multiple contacts. But he had no intention of accepting death so easily, not with so much at stake. In spite of the debilitating pain which was washing through his body, he made a despairing effort to raise his sword to fend off the descending rods—and was thrilled to find his arms responding with close to normal speed and control.

The Vadavaks, abruptly realizing their peril, stabbed at him with their enervators, but his sword was now moving swiftly in a near-visible defensive arc. The black rods were destroyed and scattered in an instant as Toller rose to his feet. One of the aliens got away from him by sprinting off to safety; the other was transfixed as he turned to flee. Toller withdrew his sword from the twitching body and ran back to rejoin the main battle. He noticed a soreness in his legs for the first few paces, but it quickly faded and he deduced that a Dussarran enervator was a fairly inadequate weapon when used against a large and healthy human.

That seemed a favourable omen, but when Toller reappraised the continuing struggle he saw the situation had altered for the worse in the brief time that he had been sidetracked. One of the women was on the ground and surrounded by Vadavaks who were jabbing at her with red-glowing enervators. Fearing that the inert figure might be Vantara, Toller pounded his way towards her attackers with a hoarse cry of rage. He reached them simultaneously with Steenameert, taking them unawares, and in an impossibly short space of time—a time of raging red mists speckled with seething bright-rimmed corpuscles—the two humans had reduced at least five of the enemy to a bloody mass of carrion.

The woman on the ground was revealed as Corporal Tradlo. An enervator had been driven down her throat, her blonde hair was matted with blood, and it was obvious that she was dead.

Toller raised his eyes from her and saw that the remaining four women had split into pairs, each of which was busily engaged in close combat. To his left, Jerene and Mistekka had taken on four Vadavaks and were giving every appearance of being able to deal with the threat; to his right, Vantara and Arvand were almost hidden by a larger group of aliens who were pressing in on them from all sides.

Marvelling at the aliens' carelessness over the essential matter of guarding their flanks, Toller nodded to Steenameert and they flung themselves at the milling group of white-clad figures. Again they wrought a fearful slaughter in the space of a few heartbeats, inflicting terrible gouting wounds which either levelled the recipients at once or sent them staggering blindly away to sink down and expire in pools of blood.

Other aliens were coming forward to take their places, but Toller was beginning to sense a change in the overall situation. The Vadavaks, possessing not even a rudimentary battle sense, were pressing their attack with undiminished fervour in spite of conspicuous lack of success—and their forces were rapidly being depleted. Snatching a quick glance around the complex scene, Toller guessed that less than half of the Vadavaks were still on their feet, and a proportion of those were becoming slow and uncertain in their movements.

It had to be less than a minute until the impeller unleashed the energies which would displace the planet, and from that time onward Director Zunnunun's warriors would—presumably—have no reason to continue the struggle. They should be well content to withdraw at that stage and limit the number of their dead. Feeling a resurgence of optimism, Toller risked looking in the direction of Greturk and his fellow Dussarrans, hoping for an indication that the machine was about to function. He felt a dull shock when he saw that his allies had disappeared—the only sign that they had ever been present being a fast-fading tinge of green in the morning air.

An instant later Toller paid the price for allowing himself to be distracted from the deadly conflict all about him. Pain exploded through him as something touched his left shoulder, and an instant later the sensation was repeated again in the region of his left hip. He had twice been hit from behind by enervators, but this time—miraculously—the effect was less devastating than before and he was able to remain on his feet. His attacker, who had clearly expected a quick and easy kill, was still gaping at him in astonishment when Toller swung an ill-controlled blow which was intended to sever the alien's neck. The strike was slightly lacking in reach, because of Toller's partial immobility, and the sword tip reached no further than the Vadavak's throat, slicing cleanly through his windpipe. He clapped a hand to his throat and backed rapidly away, only to be impaled from behind by a sword held by the tall, dark-haired figure of Mistekka.

"These large bodkins are quite fun," she called out to Toller, her brown eyes glinting as she casually pushed the dying alien away. "I'm beginning to see why you always carried one."

"Just don't get careless!" No sooner had Toller spoken than he heard Steenameert give a bellow of pain. He turned and saw that his friend was surrounded by four Vadavaks who were jabbing at him with their enervators, at least one of which had found its mark.

"Stay on your feet, Baten!" Toller shouted. He threw himself forward, closely followed by Mistekka and the stockier figure of Jerene. They descended on Steenameert's attackers in a murderous swoop which, again in what seemed the blink of an eye, had a significant effect on the balance of forces. Steenameert had been hit with enervators several times and was sinking to the ground in spite of Arvand's attempts to hold him up. But when Toller took a broader view he was uplifted to see that the humans were running out of live opponents. Of the original attacking force only two were on their feet in the immediate vicinity, and they were being competently dealt with by Jerene and Mistekka.

Three other Vadavaks, having faced strong and well-armed enemies for the first time, were withdrawing in dismay, fleeing across the plain towards the point where they had materialized. The only other movements among the aliens, Toller noted with an exultant feeling of relief, came from the white-and-crimson carpet of the wounded. It was a tragedy that even one of the Kolcorronians had been lost, but…

"Behind you, Toller!"

Jerene's warning shriek came too late. Toller heard the sudden movement shockingly close behind him, and realized at once that he had become too complacent, too certain that the diminutive Vadavaks had none of the tenacity of a genuine warrior. Now he felt a curious, unmanning sensation in the calf of his left leg. There was no pain to speak of, and yet he had just received the most serious injury of his life. He looked down and saw that a Kolcorronian sword, almost certainly Tradlo's, had gone to the bone in his leg. He struck backwards at the wounded Vadavak who had been lying on the ground, feigning death and awaiting his chance to strike. The alien sighed and rolled away to meet the point of Jerene's sword.

"We must finish the lot of them," Jerene shouted. "Show no mercy!"

"Keep everybody well away from the machine," Toller said to her, wondering why Vantara was not more in evidence in her capacity as Jerene's commander. "It is bound to detonate, or whatever it does, any second now."

Jerene nodded and signalled for the combatants to move farther away from the box, which was now glowing like fresh snow in the light of the rising sun. "And we had better take a look at that leg of yours."

"I'll be…" Toller glanced down at his leg and felt a moment of giddiness as he saw that a grinning red mouth had opened right across the calf. It was spewing blood down his ankle on to the grass, and in its depths he could see the gleam of bone. When he tried to move the leg his foot remained obstinately on the ground.

"That has to be stitched here and now," Jerene said in a hard and unemotional voice. "Somebody give me a held kit."

Toller allowed himself to be lowered to the ground beside Steenameert, who was beginning to show signs of regaining consciousness. He felt nauseated, and was glad to surrender all responsibility to another for a period, even when the pain of the stitching began. With his chin resting on folded hands, Toller clenched his teeth and distracted himself from the pain by thinking about the impeller. What would the crucial moment be like? Would they hear great explosions or be blinded by flashes of lightning? And why was the cursed box taking so long to unleash its power?

"Surely more than four minutes have passed since we arrived in this place," he said to those who had clustered around to watch his leg being repaired. "What say you? Can you see anything happening?"

Steenameert, who was lying with his face towards the sky, startled Toller by answering his question as though he had never been unconscious. "I don't know about our wonderful white box, Toller—but I think something very strange is happening up there."

He pointed straight up to the zenith and others followed his example. Toller twisted his upper body around, grunting as he involuntarily disturbed the work being done on his leg, and looked into the centre of the sky. The vast disk of Land was divided equally by the terminator, and mounted exactly on the central line was the pulsing yellow star the watchers knew to be the Xa. But changes had taken place since Toller had first looked at it.

The Xa had grown much brighter—it now resembled a miniature sun—and its pulsations had become so rapid that they were almost merging into each other. It came to Toller that he had been so preoccupied with Greturk's impeller, and the events surrounding it, that he had practically forgotten about that infinitely greater impeller which had spread itself across the weightless zone. The collective attention focused on the distant Xa seemed to throw a telepathic gateway wide open…

I cannot believe you are doing this to me, Beloved Creator! The anguish-laden message washed down out of an aureate sky. After all I have done for you, you are bringing forward the time of my death! I implore you, Beloved Creator, do not deny me a last few minutes in your treasured company…

"What's going on here?" Toller growled, tearing the needle and suture from Jerene's fingers as he raised himself to a sitting position. "Greturk told us that his cursed box of tricks would do its job long before the Xa … long before Dussarra was hurled into another galaxy … but the way things are going…" He fell silent, a chill perspiration gathering on his brow as he realized that he, and everybody he knew, and his entire home world could be on the point of instantaneous destruction.

Steenameert raised himself on one elbow. "It may be that Greturk's device is imperfect. He told us it was built in too much haste. Dussarrans can make mistakes, also, and it may be that the delay mechanism he spoke of is not…" Steenameert's voice faded and his eyes grew wide as he pointed with one trembling finger at something beyond Toller's shoulder.

Toller followed his gaze and swore savagely as he saw something which had the power to dismay him, even in this time of astonishing and momentous events. The gleaming white figure of a Vadavak, one who must have concealed himself during the closing chaotic moments of battle, had appeared by the boxy shape of the impeller. Professional training must have made him much stronger than the average Dussarran because, as the petrified humans watched, he squatted and put his hands under one edge of the impeller, then slowly but steadily straightened up.

The impeller tilted in unison with his movements and fell on its side. An instant later, almost as though triggered by impact, something in the white box began to emit a mechanical scream.

Toller tried to scramble to his feet, but his left leg refused to take his weight and he lurched painfully to the ground. "That's the final warning," he shouted, undergoing a unique kind of torment because of his inability to move. "The machine must be uprighted—otherwise all is lost!"

He looked to the three women who were standing in his field of view, willing them to undertake what he could not. Mistekka and Arvand continued to stare down at him, frozen to the spot by a new kind of fear. Vantara dropped to her knees, covered her face and began to sob.

"I expect promotion for this," Jerene exclaimed as she leapt to her feet, took her sword in hand and began to run towards the impeller. The strength inherent in her solid limbs, sprinter's strength, drove her through the impeding grass at a speed Toller doubted he could have matched even had he not been wounded.

The lone Vadavak, showing vastly greater courage and obduracy than his vanquished comrades, chose not to retreat. He ran towards Jerene and, when separated from her by several paces, dived at her ankles. She partially thwarted him with a scything blow of her sword—a touch of crimson was abruptly added to the bleached palette of the scene—but the alien succeeded in clamping his hands around one of Jerene's shins, bringing her to the ground. There followed a moment in which it was impossible to see what was happening, a moment in which Toller was struck dumb with anxiety, and then Jerene was up and running again.

The shrieking of the white rectangle seemed to intensify as she reached it. She grasped its nearer top edge and tried to pull it downwards, but it resisted her efforts. She ran around to the farther side and disappeared from view as she stooped to gain a more effective hold on the massive cabinet. And then, with nerve-destroying slowness, the impeller rotated into its normal attitude.

In less than one heartbeat, Jerene had reappeared from behind the impeller and was sprinting—head thrown back and limbs blurring—towards the fear-stricken watchers. She had covered perhaps a third of the distance to safety when the impeller suddenly fell silent. In the absence of its frenetic screaming another message of hysteria was perceived with silent and dreadful clarity, beating down from the remote apex of the heavens.

Do not kill me, Beloved Creator! Do not…

Toller, his face contorted into an inhuman mask of dread, looked beyond Jerene and saw the lustrous cabinet of the impeller begin to change its appearance. It glimmered and threw off expanding pale images of itself, layered versions of reality which flowed outwards to encompass all that could be seen of space and time.

Jerene was running through that shimmering matrix of what was and what might be, and Toller fancied she was calling his name. In one agonizing thrust of his limbs he forced himself into an upright position and tried to move towards her.

But above Jerene the entire dome of the sky had begun to convulse and contort. Concentric rings of eye-searing brilliance were pulsing and flooding outwards from the Xa, and they were clashing in intolerable discords with the emanations from the white box…

Too much is happening at once. Toller thought in the wildest extremities of terror.

EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING AT ONCE…