Terry Gene Carr - Warlord of Kor

T >> Terry Gene Carr >> Warlord of Kor

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They found Horng sitting motionlessly at the edge of the cluster of
buildings, gazing out over the Flat toward the low hills which stood
black against the deep blue of the horizon sky. Rynason lowered the
telepather from his shoulder and approached him.

The alien made no motion of protest when Rynason hooked up the
interpreter, but when the Earthman raised the mike to speak, Horng's dry
voice spoke in the silence of the thin air and the machine's stylus
traced out, THERE IS NO PURPOSE.

Rynason paused a moment, then said, "We're almost finished with our
reports. We should finish today."

THERE IS NO PURPOSE MEANING QUEST.

"No purpose to the report?" Rynason said after a moment. "It's important
to us, and we're almost finished. There would be even less purpose in
stopping now, when so much has been done."

Horng's large, leathery head turned toward him and Rynason felt the
ancient creature's heavy gaze on him like a shadow.

WE ARE ACCUSTOMED TO THAT.

"We don't think alike," Rynason said to him. "To me there is a purpose.
Will you help me once more?"

There was no answer from the alien, only a slow nodding of his head to
one side, which Rynason took for assent. He motioned Mara to set up the
telepather.

After their last experience Rynason could understand the creature's
reluctance to continue. Perhaps even his statement that there was no
purpose to the Earthmen's researches made sense--for could the
codification of the history of a dying race mean much to its last
members? Probably they didn't care; they walked slowly through the ruins
of their world and felt all around them fading, and the jumbled past in
their minds must be only one more thing that was to disappear.

And Rynason had not forgotten the terrified waves of hatred which had
blasted at him in Horng's mind--nor had Horng, he was sure.

Mara connected the leads of the telepather while the alien sat
motionlessly, his dark eyes only occasionally watching either of them.
When she was finished Rynason nodded for her to activate the linkage.

Then there was the rush of Horng's mind upon his, the dim
thought-streams growing closer, the greyed images becoming sharper and
washing over him, and in a moment he felt his own thoughts merge with
them, felt the totality of his own consciousness blend with that of
Horng. They were together; they were almost one mind.

And in Horng he heard the whisper of distrust, of fear, and the echoes
of that hatred which had struck at him once before. But they were in the
background; all around him here on the surface was a pervading feeling
of ... uselessness, resignation, almost of unreality. The calm which he
had noted before in Horng had been shaken and turned, and in its place
was this fog of hopelessness.

Tentatively, Rynason reached for the racial memories in that grey mind,
feeling Horng's own consciousness heavy beside him. He found them,
layers of thoughts of unknown aliens still alive here, the pictures and
sounds of thousands of years past. He probed among them, looking again
for the memories of Tebron ... and found what he was searching for.

He was Tebron, marching across that vast Flat which he had seen before,
the winds alive around him among the shuffling feet of his army. He felt
the muscles of his massive legs tight with weariness, and tasted the
dryness of the air as he drew in long gasps. He was still hours from the
City, but they would rest before dawn....

Rynason turned among those memories, moving forward in them, and was
aware of Horng watching him. There was still the wariness in his mind,
and a stir of anxiety, but it was blanketed by the tired hopelessness he
had seen. He reached further in the memories, and....

The temple-guard fell in the shadows, and one of his own warriors
stepped forward to retrieve his weapon. The remains of the guard's body
rolled down three, four, five of the steps of the Temple, and stopped.
His eyes lingered on that body for only a moment, and then he turned and
went up to the entrance.

There was a moaning of pain, or of fright, rising somewhere in his head;
he was only partly aware of it. He walked into the shadows of the
doorway and paused. But only for a moment: there was no movement inside,
and he stepped forward, down one step into the interior.

Screams echoed through the halls and corridors of the Temple--high and
piercing, growing in volume as they echoed, buffeting him almost into
unconsciousness. He knew they were from Horng, but he fought them,
watching his own steps across the dark inner room. He was Tebron Marl,
king priest ruler of all Hirlaj, in the Temple of Kor, and he could feel
the stone solid beneath his feet. Sweat broke out on his back--his own,
or Tebron's? But he _was_ Tebron, and he fought the blast of fear in his
mind as though it were a battle for his very identity. He _was_ Tebron.

The screaming faded, and he stood in silence before the Altar of Kor.

So this is the source, he thought. For how many days had he fought
toward this? It was useless to remember; the muscles of his body were
remembrance enough, and the scar-tissue that hindered the movement of
one shoulder. If he remembered those battles he would again hear the
fading echoes of enemy minds dying within his, and he had had enough of
that. This was the goal, and it was his; perhaps there need be no more
such killing.

He opened his mouth and spoke the words which he had learned so many
years before, during his apprenticeship in the Region of Mines. The
rituals of the Temple were always conducted in the ancient spoken
language; Kor demanded it, and only the priest-caste knew these words,
for they were so old that their form had changed almost completely even
by the time his people had developed telepathy and discarded speech;
they were not communicated to the rest of the people.

"I am Tebron Marl, king priest leader of all Hirlaj. I await your orders
guidance."

He knelt, according to ritual, and gazed up at the altar. The Eye of Kor
blinked there, a small circle of light in the dark room. The altar was
simple but massive; its heavy columns, built upon the traditional lines,
supported the weight of the Eye. He watched its slow waxing and waning,
and waited; within him, Rynason's mind stirred.

And Kor spoke.

_Remain motionless. Do not go forward._

He felt a child as a wave of sensitivity spread through all of his skin
and his organs sped for a moment. Then it was true: in the Temple of
Kor, the god leader really did speak.

"I await further words."

The Eye held his gaze almost hypnotically in the dimness. The voice
sounded in the huge arched room. _The sciences quests of your race lead
you to extinction. The knowledge words offered to me by your priests
make it clear that within a hundred years your race will leave its
planet. You must not go forward, for that way lies the extermination of
all your race._

His mind swam; this was not what he had expected. The god leader Kor had
always aided his people in their sciences; in the knowledge word
offerings they reported to the Eye the results of their studies, and
often, if asked properly, the god leader would clarify uncertainties
which they faced. But now he ordered an ending to research quests. This
was unthinkable! Knowledge was godhood; godhood was knowledge, of the
essence; the essence was knowing understanding. To him, to his people,
it was a unity--and now that unity repudiated itself. Faintly in the
darkness somewhere he again heard screaming.

"Are we to abandon all progress? Are the stars so dangerous?"

_The concept wish of progress must die within your people. There must be
no purpose in any field of knowledge. You must remain motionless,
consolidate what you have, and live in peace._ The Eye in the dimness
seemed larger and brighter the longer he looked at it; all else in the
echoing room was darkness. _The stars are not dangerous, but there is a
race which rises with you, and it rises more rapidly. Should you expand
into the stars you will only meet that race sooner, and they will be
stronger. They are more warlike than your people; already you are
capable of peace, and that must be your aim. Remain on your world;
consolidate; cultivate the fruits of your civilization as it is, but do
not go forward. In that way, you will have five thousand years before
that race finds you, and if you are no threat to them they will not
destroy you._

He felt a rising anger in him as the god leader's words came to him in
the dark room, and a fear that lay deeper. He was a warrior, and a
quester ... how could he give up all such pursuits, and how could he be
expected to force all his people to do the same? There would be no hope
wish of advance, no curiosity ... no purpose.

"Is this other race so much more advanced than we are?" he asked.

He heard a low humming from the altar and the Eye grew brighter again.
_They are not so much ahead of you now ... but they are more warlike,
and will therefore develop more quickly. In both your races, war is a
quest which you use as a release for what is in you. Your sciences
questings and your wars are the same thing ... you must suppress both.
They are discontentment, and you will find that only in peace, if at
all._

He dipped his head to one side, a gesture of acquiescence or agreement.
He couldn't argue with the god leader Kor, and he had been wrong even to
think of it.

"How am I to suppress the race? Is it possible to convince each of them
of the necessity for abandoning forgetting all questing?"

The Eye hummed, and grew brighter against the darkness of the carved
wall behind it, but it was some time before Kor spoke again. _It would
be impossible to convince every one. The reasons must be kept from them,
and kept from the shared memories; you must not communicate my knowledge
words in any way. Consolidate your power, force peace upon them and lead
them into acceptance. The knowledge questing can be made to die within
them. Remember that there will be no purpose ... in that they must find
contentment._

The king priest leader of all Hirlaj waited a moment, and was ready to
rise and leave when the Eye spoke again.

_You must abolish the priesthood. The knowledge which I have given to
you must die when you die._

He waited for a long time in the dim, suddenly cold hall for the god
leader to speak again, then slowly rose and walked to the door, the
image of the Eye of Kor still bright in his vision. He stopped outside
the doorway, hearing the soft wind of the city flowing slowly past the
stone archway above him. One of his guards reached out and touched his
mind tentatively, but he blocked his thoughts and strode heavily down
the steps past them.

The sound of the wind above him rose to a screaming, and suddenly it was
as though he were tumbling down the entire length of the stairway,
fragments of sky and stone and faces flashing past in a kaleidoscope,
and the screaming all around him. He almost reached for his bludgeon,
but then he realized that he was not Tebron Marl ... he was Lee Rynason,
and the screaming was Horng and he was being driven out of those
thoughts, tumbling through a thousand memories so fast he could not
grasp any one of them.

He withdrew from Horng's mind as though from a nightmare; he became
aware of his own body, lying in the dust of Hirlaj, and he opened his
eyes and motioned weakly to Mara to break the connection.

When she had done so he slowly sat up and shook his head, waiting for it
to clear. For awhile he had been an ancient king of Hirlaj, and it took
some time to return to the present, to his own consciousness. He was
dimly aware of Mara kneeling beside him, but he couldn't make out her
words at first.

"Are you all right? Are you sure? Look up at me, Lee, please."

He found himself nodding to reassure her, and then he saw the expression
on her face and felt the last wisps of alien fog clearing from his mind.
There were tears in her eyes, and he touched the side of her face with
his hand and said, "I'm all right. But why don't you kiss me or
something?"

She did, but before Rynason could really immerse himself in it she broke
away and said, "You must have had a bad time with him! It was as though
you were dead."

He grinned a trifle sheepishly and said, "Well, it was engrossing. You'd
better unhook the beast; he had a bad time of it too."

Mara rose and removed the wires from Horng gingerly. Rynason remained
sitting; some of the meaning of what he had just experienced was coming
to him now. It certainly explained why the Hirlaji had suddenly passed
from their war era into lasting peace, and why the memories had been
blocked. But could he credit those memories of a voice of an alien god?

And sitting in the dust at the edge of the vast Hirlaj plain the full
realization came to him, as it could not when he had been Tebron. Not
only the Temple, but the Altar of Kor itself had been unmistakably the
workmanship of the Outsiders.

SIX

They left Horng sitting dully at the edge of the Flat and retraced their
steps through the Hirlaji ruins, still drawing no notice from the
aliens. Rynason had been in some of the small planetfall towns where
settlements had been established only to be abandoned by the main flow
of interstellar traffic ... those backwater areas where contact with the
parent civilization was so slight that an entirely local culture had
developed, almost as different from that of the mainstream Terran
colonies as was this last vestige of the Hirlaji civilization. And in
some of those areas interest in Earth was so slight that the offworlders
were ignored, as the Earthmen were here ... but he had never felt the
total lack of attention that was here. It was not as though the Hirlaji
had seen the Earthmen and grown used to them; Rynason had the feeling
that to the Hirlaji the Earthmen were no more important than the winds
or the dust beneath their feet.

As they passed through the settled portion of the ruins Rynason had to
step around a Hirlaji who crossed his path. He walked silently past, his
eyes not even flickering toward the Earthlings. Crazy grey hidepiles,
Rynason thought, and he and Mara hurried out across the Flat toward the
nearby Earth town.

On the outskirts of the town, where the packed-dirt streets faded into
loose dust and garbage was already piled several feet high, they were
met by Rene Malhomme. He sat long-legged with his back leaning against a
weathered stone outcropping. He seemed old already, though he was not
yet fifty; his windblown hair was almost the color of the surrounding
grey dust and rock--perhaps because it was filled with that dust,
Rynason thought. He stopped and looked down at the worn, tired man whose
eyes belied that weariness.

"And have you communicated with God, Lee Rynason?" Malhomme asked with
his rumbling, sardonic voice.

Rynason met his gaze, wondering what he wanted. He lowered the
telepather pack from his shoulder and set it in the dust. Mara sat on a
low rock beside him.

"Will an alien god do?" Rynason said.

Malhomme's eyes rested on the telepather for a moment. "You spoke with
Kor?" he asked.

Rynason nodded slowly. "I made a linkage with one of the Hirlaji, and
tapped the race-memory. I suppose you could say I spoke with Kor."

"You have touched the alien godhead," Malhomme mused. "Then it's real?
Their god is real?"

"No," said Rynason. "Kor is a machine."

Malhomme's head jerked up. "A machine? _Deus ex machina_, to quote an
ancient curse. We make our own machines, and make gods of them." The
tired lines of his face relaxed. "Well, that's a bit better. The gods
remain a myth, and it's better that way."

Rynason stood over him on the windy Flat, still puzzled by his manner.
He glanced at Mara, but she too was watching Malhomme, waiting for him
to speak again.

Suddenly, Malhomme laughed, a dry laugh which almost rasped in his
throat. "Lee Rynason, I have called men to God for so long that I almost
began to believe it myself. And when the men started talking about the
god of these aliens...." He shook his head, the spent laughter still
drawing his mouth back into a grin. "Well, I'm glad it isn't true.
Religion wouldn't be worth a damn if it were true."

"How did the men find out about Kor?" Rynason asked.

Malhomme spread his hands. "Manning has been talking, as usual. He
ridicules the Hirlaji, and their god. And at the same time he says they
are a menace."

"Why? Is he still trying to work the townsmen up against them?"

"Of course. Manning wants all the power he can get. If it means
sacrificing the Hirlaji, he'll do it." Malhomme stood up, stretching
himself. "He says they may be the Outsiders, and he's stirring up all
the fear he can. He'll grab any excuse, no matter how impossible."

"It's not so impossible," Rynason said. "Kor is an Outsiders machine."

Malhomme stared at him. "You're sure of that?"

He nodded. "There's no doubt of it--I saw it from three feet away." He
told Malhomme of his linkage with Horng, the contact with the memories,
the mind, Tebron, and of the interview with the machine that was Kor.
Malhomme listened with fascination, his shaggy head tilted to one side,
occasionally throwing in a comment or a question.

As he finished, Rynason said, "That race that Kor warned them about
sounds remarkably like us. A warlike race that would crush them if they
left the planet. We haven't found any other intelligent life ... just
the Hirlaji, and us."

"And the Outsiders," said Malhomme.

"No. This was a race which was still growing from barbarism, at about
the same level as the Hirlaji themselves. Remember, the Outsiders had
already spread through a thousand star-systems long before this. No,
we're the race they were warned against."

"What about the weapons?" Malhomme said. "Disintegrators. We haven't got
anything that powerful that a man can carry in his hand. And yet the
Hirlaji had them thousands of years ago."

"Yes, but for some reason they couldn't duplicate them. It doesn't make
sense: those weapons were apparently beyond the technological level of
the Hirlaji, but they had them."

"Perhaps your aliens _were_ the Outsiders," Malhomme said. "Perhaps we
see around us the remnants of a great race fallen."

Rynason shook his head.

"But they must have had some contact with the Outsiders," Mara said.
"Sometime even before Tebron's lifetime. The Outsiders could have left
the disintegrators, and the machine that they thought was a god...."

"That's just speculation," Rynason said. "Tebron himself didn't really
know where they'd come from; they'd been passed down through the
priesthood for a long time, and within the priesthood they did have some
secrets. I suppose if I could search the race-memory long enough I might
find another nice big block there hiding that secret. But it's
difficult."

"And you may not have time," Malhomme said. "When Manning hears that the
Altar of Kor was an Outsiders machine, there'll be no way left to stop
him from slaughtering the Hirlaji."

"I'm not sure there'll be any real trouble," Rynason said.

Malhomme's lips drew back into the deep lines of his face. "There is
always trouble. Always. Whoever or whatever spoke through the machine
knew that much about us. The only way you could stop it, Lee, would be
to hold back this information from Manning. And to do that, you would
have to be sure, yourself, that there is no danger from the Hirlaji.
You're in the key position, right now."

Rynason frowned. He knew Malhomme was right--it would be difficult to
stop Manning if what he'd said about the man's push for power was true.
But could he be sure that the Hirlaji were as harmless as they seemed?
He remembered the reassuring touch of Horng's mind upon his own, the
calmness he found in it, and the resignation ... but he also remembered
the fear, and the screaming, and the hot rush of anger that had touched
him.

In the silence on the edge of the Flat, Mara spoke. "Lee, I think you
should report it all to Manning."

"Why?"

Her face was clouded. "I'm not sure. But ... when I disconnected the
wires of the telepather, Horng looked at me.... Have you ever looked
into his eyes, up close? It's frightening: it makes you remember how old
they are, and how strong. Lee, that creature has muscles in his face as
strong as most men's arms!"

"He just looked at you?" said Rynason. "Nothing else?"

"That's all. But those eyes ... they were so deep, and so full. You
don't usually notice them, because they're set so deeply in the shadows
of his face, but his eyes are _large_." She stopped, and shook her head
in confusion. "I can't really explain it. When I moved around him to the
other side, I could see his eyes following me. He didn't move,
otherwise--it was as though only his eyes were alive. But they
frightened me. There was much more in them than just ... not seeing, or
not caring. His eyes were alive."

"That's not much evidence to make you think the Hirlaji are dangerous."

"Oh, I don't _know_ if they could be dangerous. But they're not just ...
passive. They're not vegetables. Not with those eyes."

"All right," Rynason said. "I'll give Manning a full report, and we'll
put it in his hands."

He picked up the telepather pack and slung it over his shoulder. Mara
stood up, shaking away the dust which had blown against her feet.

"What will you do," Malhomme asked, "if Manning decides that's enough
cause to kill the Hirlaji?"

"I'll stop him," Rynason said. "He's not in control here, yet."

Malhomme flashed his sardonic smile again. "Perhaps not ... but if you
need help, call to God. The books say nothing about alien races, but
surely these must be God's creatures too. And I'm always ready to break
a few heads, if it will help." He turned and spat into the dust. "Or
even just for the hell of it," he said.

* * * * *

Rynason found Manning that same afternoon, going over reports in his
quarters. As soon as he began his description of the orders given to
Tebron he found that Malhomme's warnings had been correct.

"What did this machine say about us?" Manning asked sharply. "Why were
the Hirlaji supposed to stay away from us?"

"Because we're a warlike race. The idea was that if the Hirlaji stayed
out of space they'd have about five thousand years before we found
them."

"How long ago was all this? I had your report here...."

"At least eight thousand years," Rynason said. "They overestimated us."

Manning stood up, scowling. There were heavy lines around his eyes and
he hadn't trimmed his thin beard. Whatever he was working on, Rynason
thought, he was putting a lot of effort into it.

"This doesn't make sense, Lee. Damn it, since when do machines make
guesses? Wrong ones, at that?"

Rynason shrugged. "Well, you've got to remember that this was an alien
machine; maybe that's the way they built them."

Manning threw a cold glance at him and poured a glass of Sector Three
brandy for himself. "You're not being amusing," he said shortly. "Now,
go on, and make some sense."

"I'd like to," Rynason said. "Frankly, my theory is that the machine was
a communication-link with the Outsiders. It could explain a lot of
things--maybe even the similarities in architecture."

Manning scowled and turned away from him. He paced heavily across the
room and looked out through the plasticene window at the nearly empty,
dust-strewn street for a few moments; when he returned the frown was
still on his face.

"Damn it, Lee, you're not keeping your mind on the problems here. While
you were looking into Horng's mind, how do you know he wasn't spying in
yours? You had an equal hookup, right?"

Rynason nodded. "I couldn't have prevented him in any case. Why? Are we
supposed to be hiding anything?"

"I told you not to trust them!" Manning snapped. "Now if you can't even
match wits with a senile horsehead...."

"You were the one who said they might be more adept at telepathy than we
are," Rynason said. "It was a chance we had to take."

"There's a difference between taking chances and handing them
information on a silver platter," Manning said angrily. "Did you make
any effort at all to keep him from finding out too much about us?"

Rynason shrugged. "I kept him pretty busy. All of the time I was running
through Tebron's memories I could feel Horng screaming somewhere; he
must have been too upset to do any probing in my mind."

Manning was silent for a moment. "Let's hope so," he said shortly. "If
they find out how weak we are, how long it would take us to get
reinforcements out here...."

"They're still just a dying race, remember," Rynason said. "They're not
the Outsiders. What makes you so sure that they're dangerous?"

"Oh, come _on_, Lee! Think! They're in contact with the Outsiders; you
said so yourself. And just remember this: _the Outsiders obviously
considered it inevitable that there would be war between us_. Now put
those two facts together and tell me the horses aren't dangerous!"

Rynason said slowly, "It isn't as simple as that. The order given to
Tebron was to stop all scientific progress and stifle any military
development, and he seems to have done just that. The idea was that if
the Hirlaji were harmless when we found them there might be no need for
fighting."

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