Hunt the Space-Witch! (6 page)

“I thought so once,” the squat woman said. “I'm not so sure now.”

Harkins smiled. “We'll see if I am or not. Tomorrow we march. Prepare for war—against the Tunnel City people.”

“War? But—”

“War,” Harkins said. It was a flat statement, a command. “Elsa, can you make maps?”

Elsa nodded sullenly.

“Good. Come to my hut now, and I'll tell you what I need.”

The witch-woman grinned wickedly. “What say you, Katha—will you trust me with your man alone?”

“No—I want Katha there too,” Harkins said quickly.

Disappointment was evident on Elsa's sallow face; Katha's eyes had flickered with momentary anger at Elsa's remark, though she had not replied. Harkins frowned. Another complex relationship seemed to be developing, and a dangerous one. He needed Elsa's support; she was a potent figure in the tribe. But he didn't know whether or not he could depend on her for continuing aid.

He stared down at the map scratched in the smooth dirt floor of his hut. “This is the situation, then?”

He glanced from Elsa to Katha. Both women nodded.

Gesturing with his toe, Harkins said, “We are here, and the Tunnel City is two days' march to the east. Right?”

“It is as I have said,” Elsa replied.

“And the Star Giants live somewhere out here,” Harkins said, pointing to a vaguely-bounded area somewhere on the far side of the great forest.

“Why do you want to know the home of the Star Giants?” Elsa asked. “You struck down Jorn—but that doesn't grant you a giant's strength, Harkins.”

“Quiet, Elsa.” The woman's needling was starting to irritate him. And Katha was showing signs of jealousy, which disturbed him. She was fiercely possessive, but just as fiercely inclined to hate as to love, and Harkins could easily visualize a situation in which both these women were turned against him. He repressed a shudder and returned his attention to the map.

“Elsa, tonight you'll lead the tribe in prayers for the success of our campaign. And tomorrow, the men will leave for Tunnel City.”

“And which of us accompanies you?” Katha asked coldly.

“You,” Harkins said. Before Elsa could reply, he added, “Elsa, you'll be needed here, to cast defensive spells over the village while the warriors are gone.”

She chuckled hollowly. “A clever assignment, Harkins. Very well. I accept the task.” She looked at him, eyes glinting craftily. “Tell me something, though.”

“What is it?”

“Why
are you attacking the Tunnel City people just now? What do you stand to gain by a needless war?”

“I stand to gain a world, Elsa,” Harkins said quietly, and would say no more.

That night, ritual drums sounded at the edge of the forest, and strange incantations were pronounced. Harkins watched, fascinated at the curious mixture of barbarism and sophistication.

They left the following morning, twenty-three men led by Harkins and Katha. It represented the entire fighting strength of the tribe, minus a couple of disgruntled oldsters who were left behind on the pretext that the village needed a defensive force.

The journey to the Tunnel City was a slow and halting one. A tall warrior named Frugo was appointed to guide, at Katha's suggestion; he kept them skirting the edge of the forest until well into midafternoon, when they were forced to strike off through the jungle.

Katha marched proudly at Harkins' side, as if Jorn had never existed. And, perhaps, in this historyless world, he
had
never existed, now that he was dead.

The war party sustained itself as it went. Two of the men were experts with the throwing-stick, and brought down an ample supply of birds for the evening meal; another gathered basketsful of a curious golden-green fruit. While the birds were being cleaned and cooked, Harkins picked one up and examined it, opening its jaws to peer at the teeth.

It was an interesting mutation—a recession to a characteristic lost thousands of years earlier. He studied the fierce-looking bird for a moment or two, then tossed it back on the heap.

“Never seen a bird before?” Katha asked.

“Not that kind,” Harkins said. He turned away and walked toward the fire, where three were being roasted over a greenwood fire. A sound of crashing trees was audible far in the distance.

“Star Giant?” he asked.

“Robot, probably,” Katha said. “They make more noise. Star Giants look where they're going. The robots just bull straight ahead.”

Harkins nodded. “That's what I hope they'll do when they're working for us. Straight on through the Star Giants.”

A twisted-looking brown wingless bird with a bulging breast came running along the forest path, squawking and flapping its vestigial stumps. It ran straight into the little camp; then, seeing where it was, it turned and tried to run away. It was too late, though; a grinning warrior caught it by the throat and pulled the protesting bird toward the fire.

“They keep going straight too,” Katha said. “Straight into the fire.”

“I think we'll manage,” Harkins said. He wished he were as sure as he sounded.

The Tunnel City sprawled over some ten square miles of land, bordered on all sides by the ever-approaching forest. Harkins and his men stood on a cliff looking down at the ruined city.

The crumbling buildings were old—ancient, even—but from the style of their architecture Harkins saw that they had been built after his time. What might once have been airy needles of chrome and concrete now were blackened hulks slowly vanishing beneath the onslaught of the jungle.

Harkins turned to Katha. “How many people live here?”

“About a hundred. They live in the big building down there,” she said, pointing to a truncated spire.

“And the entrance to the tunnels themselves?”

She shuddered faintly. “In the center of the city. No one goes there.”

“I know that,” Harkins said. The situation was somewhat different from expectation. He had visualized the tribe of savages living in close proximity to the tunnel entrance, making it necessary to conquer them before any subterranean exploration could be done. But it seemed it would be possible to sneak right past without the necessity of a battle.

“What's on your mind?” Katha asked.

He explained his plan. She shook her head immediately. “There'll have to be a war first. The men won't have it any other way. They're not interested in going into those tunnels; they just want to fight.”

“All right,” he said, after some thought. “Fight it is, then. Draw up the ranks and we'll attack.”

Katha cupped one hand. “Prepare to attack!”

The word traveled swiftly. Knives and clubs bristled; the throwing-stick men readied themselves. Harkins narrowly escaped smiling at the sober-minded way this ragged band was preparing to go about waging war with hand weapons and stones. The smile died stillborn as he recalled that these men fought with such crude weapons only because their ancestors had had better ones.

He squinted toward the tangle of ruined buildings, saw figures moving about in the city. The hated enemy, he thought. The strangers.

“Down the hill!
” he shouted.

Coolly and efficiently, the twenty-three men peeled off down the slope and into the city. Harkins felt ash and slag crunch underfoot as he ran with them. The Tunnel City people were still unaware of the approaching force; Harkins found himself hoping they'd hear the sound in time. He wanted a battle, not a massacre.

He turned to Katha as they ran. “As soon as the battle's going well and everyone's busy, you and I are going into the tunnel.”

“No! I won't go with you!”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” Harkins said impatiently. “We—”

He stopped. The Tunnel City men had heard, now, and they came pouring out of their skyscraper home, ready to defend themselves.

The two forces came crashing together with audible impact. Harkins deliberately hung back, not out of cowardice but out of a lack of killing desire; it was more important that he survive and reach the tunnels.

One of his men drew first blood, plunging his knife into the breast of a brawny city-dweller. There was immediate retaliation; a club descended, and the killer toppled. Harkins glanced uneasily upward, wondering if the Star Giants were watching—and, if so, whether they were enjoying the spectacle.

He edged back from the milling mob and watched with satisfaction as the two forces drove at each other repeatedly. He nudged Katha. “The battle's well under way. Let's go to the tunnel.”

“I'd rather fight.”

“I know. But I need you down there.” He grabbed her arm and whirled her around. “Are you turning coward now, Katha?”

“I—”

“There's nothing to be afraid of.” He pulled her close, and kissed her roughly. “Come on, now—unless you're afraid.”

She paused, fighting within herself for a moment. “All right,” she agreed finally.

They backed surreptitiously away from the scene of the conflict and ducked around a slagheap in the direction of a narrow street.

“Look out!” Katha cried suddenly.

Harkins ducked, but a knife humming through the air sliced through the flesh of his shoulder. A hot stream of blood poured down over his arm, but the wound was not serious.

He glanced around and saw who had thrown the knife. It was Dujar, the sleepy-eyed villager, who was standing on a heap of twisted metal, staring down wide-eyed at them as if unable to accept the fact that his aim had been faulty.

“Kill him!” Katha said sharply. “Kill the traitor, Harkins!”

Puzzled, Harkins turned back and started to scramble up the slagheap to reach Dujar. The villager finally snapped from his stasis and began to run, taking long-legged, awkward, rabbity strides.

Harkins bent, picked up a football-sized lump of slag, hurled it at the fleeing man's back. Dujar stumbled, fell, tried to get up. Harkins ran to him.

Dujar lifted himself from the ground and flung himself at Harkins' throat. Harkins smashed a fist into the villager's face, another into his stomach. Dujar doubled up.

Harkins seized him. “Did you throw that knife?”

No response. Harkins caught the terrified man by the throat and shook him violently. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes,” Dujar finally managed to say. “I threw it.”

“Why? Didn't you know who I was?”

The villager moaned piteously. “I knew who you were,” he said.

“Hurry,” Katha urged. “Kill the worm, and let's get on to what we have to do.”

“Just wait a minute,” Harkins said. He shook Dujar again.
“Why
did you throw that knife?”

Dujar was silent for a moment, his mouth working incoherently. Then: “Elsa … told me to do it. She … said she'd poison me unless I killed you and Katha.” He hung his head.

Elsa!
“Remember that, Katha,” Harkins said. “We'll take care of her when we return to the village.” The witch-woman had evidently realized she had no future with Harkins, and had decided to have him assassinated before Katha had
her
done away with.

Harkins grasped Dujar tightly. He felt pity for the man; he had been doomed either way. He glanced at Katha, saw her steely face, and knew there was only one thing he could do. Drawing his knife, he plunged it into Dujar's heart. The sleepy-eyed man glared reproachfully at Harkins for a moment, then slumped down.

It was the second time Harkins had killed. But the other had been self-defense; this had been an execution, and somehow the act made him feel filthy. He sheathed the knife, scrubbed his hands against his thighs, and stepped over the body. He knew he would have lost all authority had he let Dujar live. He would have to deal similarly with Elsa when he returned to the village.

The battle down below was still going on. “Come,” Harkins said. “To the tunnel!”

Although the city above the ground had been almost completely devastated by whatever conflict had raged through it, the tunnels showed no sign of war's scars. The tunnel-builders had built well—so well that their works had survived them by two millennia.

The entrance to the tunnel was in the center of a huge plaza which once had been bordered by four towering buildings. All that remained now were four stumps; the plaza itself was blistered and bubbled from thermal attack, and the tunnel entrance itself had been nearly destroyed.

With Katha's cold hand grasped firmly in his, Harkins pushed aside an overhanging projection of metal and stepped down into the tunnel.

“Will we be able to see in here?” he asked.

“They say there are lights,” Katha replied.

There were. Radiant electroluminescents glittered from the walls of the tunnel, turning on at their approach, turning off again when they were a hundred yards farther on. A constantly moving wall of light thus preceded them down the trunk tunnel that led to the heart of the system.

Harkins noted with admiration the tough, gleaming lining of the tunnel, the precision with which its course had been laid down, the solidness of its construction.

“This is as far as any of us has gone,” Katha said, her voice oddly distorted by the resonating echoes. “From here there are many small tunnels, and we never dared to enter them. Strange creatures live here.” The girl was shaking, and trying hard to repress her fear. Evidently these catacombs were the taboo of taboos, and she was struggling hard and unsuccessfully to conceal her fright.

They rounded a bend and came to the first divergence—two tunnels branching off and radiating away in opposite directions, beginning the network.

Harkins felt Katha stiffen. “Look—to the left!”

A naked figure stood there—blind, faceless even, except for a thin-lipped red slit of a mouth. Its skin was dry-looking, scaly, dull blue in color.

“You are very brave,” the thing said. “You are the first surface people in over a thousand years.”