[p 8]
THE WEAKLING

By
EVERETT B. COLE

A strong man can, of course, be dangerous,
but he doesn’t approach the vicious
deadliness of a weakling—with a weapon!

Illustrated by van Dongen

[p 9]

[p 10]

aran Makun looked
across the table at the
caravan master.

“And you couldn’t
find a trace of him?”

“Nothing. Not even a scrap of his
cargo or so much as the bones of a
long-neck. He just dropped out of
sight of his whole train. He went
through this big estate, you see. Then
he cut back to pick up some of his
stops on the northern swing. Well,
that was all. He didn’t get to the first
one.” The other waved a hand.

“Weird situation, too. Oh, the null
was swirling, we know that, and he
could have been caught in an arm. It
happens, but it isn’t too often that an
experienced man like your brother
gets in so deep he can’t get out somehow—or
at least leave some trace of
what happened.” The man picked up
his cup, eying it thoughtfully.

“Oh, we’ve all had close ones, sure.
We’ve all lost a long-neck or so, now
and then. Whenever the null swirls,
it can cover big territory in a big hurry
and most of that northern swing is
null area at one time or another. One
of those arms can overrun a train at
night and if a man loses his head, he’s
in big trouble.” He sipped from his cup.

“Young caravan master got caught
that way, just a while back. A friend
of mine, Dr. Zalbon, was running
the swing after the null retracted. He
found what was left.”

“Told me he ran into a herd of
carnivores. Fifteen or twenty real big
fellows. Jaws as long as a man. He
killed them off and then found they’d
been feeding on what was left of Dar
Konil’s train.”

He shook his head. “It’s not a nice
area.”

“Hold everything.” Naran leaned
forward. “You said my brother went
through this big estate. Anyone see
him come out?”

[p 11]
Dar Girdek smiled. “Oh, sure. The
Master of the Estates, Kio Barra,
himself. He saw him to the border
and watched him go on his way.”

Naran looked doubtful. “And what
kind of a character is this Barra?”

“Oh, him!” Dar Girdek waved a
hand. “Nothing there. In the first
place, he holds one of the biggest estates
in the mountain area. So what
would he want to rob a freight caravan
for?” He laughed.

“In the second place, the guy’s
practically harmless. Oh, sure, he’s
got a title. He’s Lord of the Mountain
Lake. And he wears a lot of
psionic crystalware. But he’s got about
enough punch to knock over some
varmint—if it’s not too tough. Dar
Makun might be your weak brother,
but he’d have eaten that guy for
breakfast if he’d tried to be rough.”

“Psionic weakling, you mean? But
how does he manage to be a master
Protector of an Estate?”

Dar Girdek smiled wryly. “Father
died. Brother sneaked off somewhere.
That left him. Title’s too clear for
anyone to try any funny business.”

“I see.” Naran leaned back. “Now,
what about this null?”

“Well, of course you know about
the time the pseudomen from the
Fifth managed to sneak in and lay
a mess of their destructors on Carnol?”

“I might. I was one of the guys
that saw to it they didn’t get back to
celebrate.” Naran closed his eyes for
an instant.

“Yeah. Way I heard it, you were
the guy that wrapped ’em up. Too
bad they didn’t get you on the job
sooner. Maybe we wouldn’t have this
mess on our hands now.” Dar Girdek
shrugged.

“Anyway, they vaporized the city
and a lot of area around it. That was
bad, but the aftereffect is worse.
We’ve got scholars beating their
brains cells together, but all they can
tell us is that there’s a big area up
there just as psionically dead as an
experimental chamber.” He grinned.

“I could tell ’em that much myself.
It’s a sort of cloud. Goes turbulent,
shoots out arms, then folds in again.

“We’d by-pass the whole thing,
but it’s right on the main trade route.
Only way around it is plenty of days
out of the path, clear down around
the middle sea and into the lake region.
Then you have to go all the way
back anyway, if you plan to do any
mid-continent trading. And you still
take a chance of getting caught in a
swirl arm.”

[p 12]
Naran tilted his head. “So? Suppose
you do get into a swirl? All you
need to do is wait.” He smiled.

“You know. Just sort of ignore it.
It’ll go away.”

“Uh huh. Sounds easy enough. It’s
about what we do when we have to.
But there are things living there.
They can be hard to ignore.”

“You mean the carnivores?”

“That’s right. If you meet one of
those fellow out in normal territory,
he’s no trouble at all. You hit him
with a distorter and he flops. Then
you figure out whether to reduce him
to slime or leave the carcass for his
friends and relations.” He smiled.

“From what your brother said, you
wouldn’t need the distorter.”

Naran smiled deprecatingly.
“That’s one of the things they pay me
for,” he remarked. “We run into some
pretty nasty beasties at sea.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard. Big, rough fellows.
Our varmints are smaller. But
what would you do if you ran into
twenty tons or so of pure murder,
and you with no more psionic power
than some pseudoman?”

Naran looked at him thoughtfully.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted.
“I might not like it. Jaws as longs
as a man, you said?”

The other nodded. “Longer, sometimes.
And teeth as long as your hand.
One snap and there’s nothing left.

“When they kill a long-neck, they
have a good meal and walk away
from whatever’s left. But people are
something else. They just can’t get
enough and they don’t leave any
crumbs.” He waved a hand.

“There’ve been several trains
caught by those things. A swirl arm
comes over at night, you see, and the
caravan master loses his head. He
can’t think of anything but getting
out. Oh, he can yell at his drivers.
They’ve got a language, and we all
know it. That’s easy. But did you ever
try to get a long-neck going without
psionic control?”

“I see what you mean. It could be a
little rough.”

“Yeah. It could be. Anyway, about
this time, everybody’s yelling at everybody
else. The long-necks are
squealing and bellowing. Drivers are
jerking on reins. And a herd of carnivores
hears the commotion. So,
they drop around to see the fun. See
what I mean?”

Naran nodded and Dar Girdek
went on.

“Well, that’s about it. Once in a
great while, some guy manages to get
into a cave and hide out till the null
swings away and another caravan
comes along. But usually, no one sees
anything but a little of the cargo and
some remains of long-necks. No one’s
ever come up with any part of man or
pseudoman. As I said, one snap and
there’s nothing left.”

Naran smiled wryly. “Tough to be
popular, I guess.” He leaned forward.

“But you’ve been over the trail
several times since he disappeared.
And you said you’ve seen nothing. No
trace of the train. That right?”

The other shook his head. “Not
even a cargo sling.”

“You’re making up a train now,
aren’t you? I’d like to go along on this
[p 13]
next trip. Fact is, I’ve been thinking
some nasty thoughts. And I’m going
to be uneasy till I find out whether
I’m right or not.”

Dar Girdek rubbed his chin. “Want
to buy in, maybe?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll work my
way—as your lead driver.”

“Oh, no!” Dar Girdek laughed.
“You don’t put a psionic on some
long-neck. Lead driver’s pseudoman,
just like the rest.” He sobered.

“Oh, sure. You could handle the
drivers, but it just isn’t done.”

Naran smiled. “Oh, as far as the
other drivers’ll know, I’m just another
pseudoman. I’ve been a ship’s non-psi
agent, remember? We earn our
keep by dealing with the people in
non-psi areas.”

“It won’t work.” The caravan master
shook his head. “These drivers can
get pretty rough with each other.
You’d have to set two or three of
them back on their heels the first day.
It would be either that, or get a lot of
bruises and end up as camp flunky.”

“Could be,” Naran told him. “Tell
you what. You turn me loose in an
experimental chamber so I can’t
fudge. Then send your toughest driver
in and tell him to kick me out of there.
I’ll show him some tricks I learned
from the non-psi’s overseas and he’ll
be a smarter man when he wakes
up.”

Leuwan, Kio Barra, Lord of the
Mountain Lake, Master of the Estates
Kira Barra, and Protector of the
Common Good, stood examining the
assortment of crystals in a cabinet.
He hesitated over a large, brilliantly
gleaming sphere of crystallized carbon,
then shook his head. That one
would be pretty heavy going, he was
sure. The high intensity summary
said something about problems of the
modern world, so it could be expected
to be another of those dull reports on
the welfare of the Commonwealth.

Why, he wondered, did some projection
maker waste good time and
effort by making up things like that?
And why did they waste more time
and effort by sending them around?
When a man wanted to relax, he
wanted something to relax with.
What he was looking for was something
light.

He turned his attention to other
crystals, at last selecting a small, blue
prism. He held it up, regarding it,
then nodded and placed it on the
slender black pedestal near his chair,
where he could observe without undue
effort.

He turned, examining each corner
of his empty study, then took his sapphire-tipped
golden staff from under
his arm, placing it carefully on a rack
built into his chair arm, where it
would be convenient to his hand
should the need arise.

One could never be too careful, he
thought. Of course, he could deal with
any recalcitrant slave by other means,
but the distorter was convenient and
could be depended upon to give any
degree of pressure desired. And it
was a lot less trouble to use than to
concentrate on more fatiguing efforts
such as neural pressure or selective
paralysis.

[p 14]
One must conserve one’s powers
for times when they might be really
needed.

Too, there was the remote possibility
that some lackland wanderer
might come by and find a flaw in the
protection of the Estates—even somehow
penetrate to the Residence. Barra
shuddered at that thought, then
shrugged it off. Kira Barra was well
protected, of that he had made sure.
Ever vigilant surrogates were deposited
in all the strategic spots of the
Estates—not only to allow quick observations
of the condition of the
lands, but also to give automatic
warning of the approach of anyone of
inimical turn of mind.

He eased his bulk into the chair,
twisted about for a few moments as it
adjusted to fit his body, then leaned
back with a sigh of relaxation and directed
his thoughts to the crystal before
him.

Under the impulses of his amplified
thought, the crystal glowed, appeared
to expand, then became a
three-dimensional vista.

The high intensity summary and
excerpt leader had been not too deceptive,
Barra told himself as the
story unfolded. It was a well done adventure
projection, based on the war
with the Fifth planet. Critically, he
watched the actions of a scout crew,
approving of the author’s treatment
and selection of material. He, Barra,
was something of a connoisseur of
these adventure crystals, even though
he had never found it necessary to
leave the protection of Earth’s surface.

He shrugged, taking his attention
from the projection.

The lacklanders, he told himself—entertainment
people, caravan masters,
seafarers, other wanderers of
light responsibility—were the natural
ones to be selected to go out and
deal with remote emergencies.

Like all stable, responsible men of
property and worth, he was far too
valuable to the Commonwealth to
risk himself in wild dashes to the
dead, non-psionic lands, or out into
the emptiness of space. As far as risking
himself on combat missions of
interplanetary war— He shook his
head. This was pure stupidity.

He frowned uneasily. It had been a
bit unfair, though, of the Controllers.
They had completely excused him
from service on the basis of inaptitude.
It had rankled ever since.

Of course he couldn’t be expected
to dash madly about in some two-man
scout. Even as his brother’s assistant,
he had been a person of quite
definite standing and responsibility
and such antics would have been beneath
his dignity. He had made that
quite plain to them.

There had been responsible posts
where a man of his quality and standing
could have been of positive value.
And, as he had pointed out, they
could have assigned him to one of
those.

But no! They had merely excused
him. Inapt!

As far as that went, he told himself
angrily, he, Kio Barra, could comport
himself with the best if necessity
demanded.

[p 15]
Those dashing characters in this
projection were, of course, the figments
of some unstable dreamer’s
imagination. But they showed the instability
of the usual lackland wanderers.
And what could such men do
that a solid, responsible man like
himself couldn’t do better?

He returned to the crystal, then
shook his head in disgust. It had become
full—flat—meaningless. Besides,
he had matters of real import
to take care.

He directed his attention to the
chair, which obediently swung about
until he faced his large view crystal.

“Might as well have a look at the
East Shore,” he told himself.

As he focused his attention, the
crystal expanded, then became a huge
window through which he could see
the shores of the inland sea, then the
lands to the east of the large island on
which he had caused his Residence to
be built. He looked approvingly at
the rolling, tree-clad hills as the view
progressed.

Suddenly, he frowned in annoyance.
The great northern null was in
turbulence again, thrusting its shapeless
arms down toward the borders of
Kira Barra. He growled softly.

There, he told himself, was the result
of the carelessness of those lackland
fools who had been entrusted
with the defense of the home planet.
Their loose, poorly planned defenses
had allowed the pseudomen of the
Fifth to dash in and drop their destructors
in a good many spots on the
surface. And here was one of them.

Here was a huge area which had
once been the site of a great city and
which had contained the prosperous
and productive estates of a Master
Protector, now reduced to a mere
wasteland into which slaves might
escape, to lead a brute-like existence
in idleness.

He had lost pseudomen slaves in
this very null and he knew he would
probably lose more. Despite the vigilance
of the surrogates, they kept
slipping across the river and disappearing
into that swirling nothingness.
And now, with that prominence
so close—

He had no guards he could trust to
go after the fellows, either. Such
herd guards as he had would decide
to desert their protector and take up
the idle life which their fellow pseudomen
had adopted. A few of them
had gone out and done just that.
Their memories of the protection
and privileges granted them were
short and undependable. He sighed.

“Ungrateful beasts!”

Some Master Protectors had little
trouble along that line. Others had
managed to hire the services of halfmen—weak
psionics, too weak to
govern and yet strong and able
enough to be more than mere pseudomen.

These halfmen made superb, loyal
guards and overseers—for some—but
none had remained at Kira Barra.
They had come, to be sure, but they
had stayed on for a time, then drifted
away.

And, he thought angrily, it was illegal
to restrain these halfmen in any
[p 16]
way. Some soft-headed fool had
granted their kind the rights of Commonwealth
citizenship. Halfmen had
even managed to take service with
the fleet during the war with the
Fifth Planet. Some of them had even
managed somehow to be of small value—and
now many of them held the
status of veterans of that victorious
war—a status he, one of the great
landholders, was denied.

No, he told himself, until such
time as the nulls were solved and
eliminated, such pseudomen as managed
to cross the northeastern river
were safe enough in their unknown
land. And, he thought sourly, the
scholars had made no progress in
their studies of the nulls.

Probably they were concerning
themselves with studies more likely
to give them preferment or more immediate
personal gain.

Of course, the wasteland wasn’t entirely
unknown, not to him, at least.
He had viewed the area personally.
There were hilltops on the Estates
from which ordinary eyesight would
penetrate far into the dead area, even
though the more powerful and accurate
parasight was stopped at its borders.
Yes, he had seen the affected
area.

He had noted that much of it had
regained a measure of fertility. There
was life now—some of it his own
meat lizards who had wandered across
the river and out of his control. And
he had even seen some of the escaped
pseudomen slinking through the
scrub growth and making their crudely
primitive camps.

“Savages!” he told himself. “Mere
animals. And one can’t do a thing
about them, so long as they let that
dead area persist.”

Eventually, the scholars had reported,
the dead areas would diminish
and fade from existence. He smiled
bitterly. Here was a nice evasion—a
neat excuse for avoiding study and
possible, dangerous research.

So long as those nulls remained,
they would be sources of constant loss
of the responsible Master Protectors,
and would thus threaten the very
foundations of the Commonwealth.

Possibly, he should— He shook
his head.

No, he thought, this was impractical.
Parasight was worthless beyond
the borders of the null. No surrogate
could penetrate it and no weapon
would operate within it. It would be
most unsafe for any true man to enter.
There, one would be subject to
gross, physical attack and unable to
make proper defense against it.

Certainly, the northern null was no
place for him to go. Only the pseudomen
could possibly tolerate the conditions
to be found there, and thus,
there they had found haven and were
temporarily supreme.

Besides, this matter was the responsibility
of the Council of Controllers
and the scholars they paid so
highly.

He concentrated on the crystal,
shifting the view to scan toward the
nearest village.

Suddenly, he sat forward in his
chair. A herd of saurians was slowly
[p 17]
drifting toward one of the arms the
null had thrust out. Shortly, they
would have ambled into a stream and
beyond, out of all possible control.
Perhaps they might wander for years
in the wastelands. Perhaps they and
their increase might furnish meat for
the pseudomen who lurked inside
the swirling blankness.

He snarled to himself. No herders
were in sight. No guard was in attendance.
He would have to attend
to this matter himself. He concentrated
his attention on the power crystals of
a distant surrogate, willing his entire
ego into the controls.

At last, the herd leader’s head came
up. Then the long-neck curved, snaking
around until the huge beast stared
directly at the heap of rocks which
housed the crystals of the surrogate
himself. The slow drift of the herd
slowed even more, then stopped as
the other brutes dimly recognized
that something had changed. More of
the ridiculously tiny heads swiveled
toward the surrogate.

Kio Barra squirmed in his chair.
Holding these empty minds was a
chore he had always hated.

Certainly, there was less total effort
than that required for the control
of the more highly organized pseudomen,
but the more complex minds
reacted with some speed and the effort
was soon over. There was a short,
sometimes sharp struggle, then surrender.

But this was long-term, dragging
toil—a steady pushing at a soggy, unresisting,
yet heavy mass. And full
concentration was imperative if
anything was to be accomplished. The
reptilian minds were as unstable as
they were empty and would slip away
unless firmly held. He stared motionlessly
at his crystal, willing the huge
reptiles to turn—to waddle back to
the safe grasslands of the estate, far
from the null.

At last, the herd was again in motion.
One by one, the huge brutes
swung about and galloped clumsily
toward more usual pastures, their
long necks swaying loosely with their
motion.

Switching from surrogate to surrogate,
Barra followed them, urged
them, forced them along until they
plunged into the wide swamp northeast
of Tibara village.

He signed wearily and shifted his
viewpoint to a surrogate which overlooked
the village itself. What, he
wondered, had happened to the
herdsmen—and to the guards who
should be overseeing the day’s work?

Half hidden among ferns and the
mastlike stems of trees, the rude huts
of Tibara nestled in the forest, blending
with their surroundings, until
only the knowing observer could
identify them by vague form. Barra
shifted his viewpoint to the central
village surrogate.

There were other open spaces in
the village, but this was the largest.
Here was the village well, near which
a few children played some incomprehensible
game. An old man had
collected a pile of rock and had started
work on the well curb. Now, he
sat near his work, leaning against the
[p 18]
partly torn down wall. Spots of sunlight,
coming through the fronds high
above, struck his body, leaving his
face in shadow. He dozed in the
warmth, occasionally allowing his
eyes to half open as he idly regarded
the scene before him.

Before some of the huts surrounding
the rude plaza, women squatted
on the ground, their arms swinging
monotonously up and down as they
struck their wooden pestles into
bowls of grain which they were
grinding to make the coarse meal
which was their mainstay of diet.

A few men could be seen, scratching
at small garden plots or idly repairing
tools. Others squatted near
their huts, their attention occupied by
fishing gear. Still others merely leaned
against convenient trees, looking at
each other, their mouths moving in
the grotesque way of the pseudoman
when he could find an excuse to idle
away time.

Barra listened to the meaningless
chatter of grunts and hisses, then disregarded
the sounds. They formed, he
had been told, a sort of elementary
code of communication. He coughed
disparagingly. Only some subhuman
could bring himself to study such
things.

Of course, he knew that some lacklanders
could make vocal converse
with the pseudomen and caravan
masters seemed to do it as a regular
thing, but he could see no point in
such effort. He could make his demands
known without lowering himself
by making idiotic noises.

His communicator crystals would
drive simple thoughts into even the
thick skulls of his slaves. And he
could—and did—thus get obedience
and performance from those slaves
by using normal, sensible means as
befitted one of the race of true men.

And what would one want of the
pseudomen other than obedience?
Would one perhaps wish to discuss
matters of abstract interest with these
beast men? He regarded the scene
with growing irritation.

Now, he remembered. It was one
of those days of rest which some
idiot in the Council had once sponsored.
And a group of soft-headed
fools had concurred, so that one now
had to tolerate periodic days of idleness.

Times had changed, he thought.
There had been a time when slaves
were slaves and a man could expect
to get work from them in return for
his protection and support.

But even with these new, soft laws,
herds must be guarded—especially
with that null expanding as it was.
Even some lackland idiot should be
able to understand that much.

He turned his attention to the
headman’s hut.

The man was there. Surrounded by
a few villagers, he squatted before his
flimsy, frond-roofed hut, his mouth in
grotesque motion. Now, he stopped
his noisemaking and poised his head.
Then he nodded, looking about the
village.

Obviously, he was taking his ease
and allowing his people to do as they
would, without supervision.

Barra started to concentrate on the
[p 19]
surrogate, to make his wishes and his
displeasure known. Then he turned
impatiently from the crystal, seizing
his staff. Efficient as the surrogates
were, there were some things better
attended to in person.

He got to his feet and strode angrily
out of the study, sending a peremptory
summons before him. As he
entered the wide hallway, an elderly
slave came toward him. Barra looked
at the man imperiously.

“My cloak,” he demanded, “and the
cap of power.”

He projected the image of his fiber
cloak and of the heavy gold headpiece
with its precisely positioned
crystals, being careful to note the red,
green and blue glow of the various
jewels. Meticulously, he filled in details
of the gracefully formed filigree
which formed mounts to support the
glowing spheres. And he indicated
the padded headpiece with its incrustation
of crystal carbon, so his
servitor could make no mistake. The
man was more sensitive than one of
the village slaves, but even so, he was
merely a pseudoman and had to have
things carefully delineated for him.

As the man walked toward a closet,
Barra looked after him unhappily.
The heavy power and control circlet
was unnecessary in the Residence,
for amplifiers installed in the building
took care of all requirements. But
outside, in the village and fields, a
portable source of power and control
was indispensable and this heavy
gold cap was the best device he had
been able to find.

Even so, he hated to wear the circlet.
The massive crystals mounted
on their supporting points weighed a
couple of pounds by themselves and
though the gold insulating supports
were designed as finely as possible,
the metal was still massive and heavy.
It was a definite strain on his neck
muscles to wear the thing and he always
got a headache from it.

For an instant, envy of the powerful
psionics crossed his mind. There
were, he knew, those who required no
control or power devices, being able
to govern and direct psionic forces
without aid. But his powers, though
effective as any, required amplification
and when he went out of the
Residence it was essential that he
have the cap with him.

Proper and forceful handling of
the things of the Estates, both animate
and inanimate, demanded considerable
psionic power and this
made the large red power crystal at
the center of his cap most necessary.

Besides, simultaneous control
problems could be difficult—sometimes
even almost impossible—without
the co-ordinating crystals which
were inset at the periphery of the
headband.

And there was the possibility that
he might meet some trespassing lacklander
who might have to be impressed
with the resources of the master
of Kira Barra. He knew of more
than one instance wherein a Master
Protector had been overcome by some
predatory lackland wanderer, who had
then managed by one means or another
to secure his own accession to
[p 20]
the estates of his victim. He smiled
grimly.

Carelessness could be costly. He
had proved that to his brother.

Kio Barra still remembered the
first time he had quarreled violently
with Boemar. He still remembered
the gentle, sympathetic smile and the
sudden, twisting agony that had shot
through him as his power crystal
overloaded. The flare of energy had
left him incapable of so much as receiving
a strongly driven thought for
many days.

He laughed. But, poor, soft fool
that he had been, Boemar had carefully
nursed his brother’s mind back
to strength again.

Yes, Boemar had been a powerful
man, but a very unwise one. And he
had forgotten the one great strength
of his weaker brother—a strength
that had grown as Leuwan aged. And
so, it was Leuwan who was Kio Barra.

But such a thing would never
again happen at Kira Barra. With his
controls and amplifiers, he was more
than a match for the most powerful of
the great psionics—so long as they
didn’t meet him with affectionate
sympathy.

He stood silently as the servitor
put the cap on his head and placed
the cloak about his shoulders. Then,
tucking his heavy duty distorter under
his arm, he turned toward the
outer door. The control jewels on his
cap burned with inner fire as he
raised himself a few inches from the
floor and floated out toward the dock.

Not far from the forest shaded village
of Tibara, logs had been lashed
together to form a pier which jutted
from the shore and provided a mooring
for the hollowed logs used by
men of the village in harvesting the
fish of the lake. Several boats nested
here, their bows pointing toward the
fender logs of the pier. More were
[p 21]
drawn up on the gravel of the shore,
where they lay, bottoms upward, that
they might dry and be cleaned.

A few villagers squatted by their
boats and near the pier. Others were
by the nets which had been spread
over the gravel to dry.

One large section of the pier was
vacant. Always, this area was reserved
for the use of the Lord of the
Mountain Lake.

As Barra’s boat sped through the
water, he concentrated his attention
on the logs of the pier, urging his
boat to increasing speed. The sharp
prow rose high in the water, a long
vee of foam extending from it, to
spread out far behind the racing
boat.

As the bow loomed almost over the
floating logs, Barra abruptly transferred
his focus of attention to his
right rear, pulling with all the power
of the boat’s drive crystals. The craft
swung violently, throwing a solid
sheet of water over pier and shore,
drenching the logs and the men
about them.

Then the bow settled and the boat
lay dead in the water, less than an
inch from the pier’s fender logs.

Barra studied the space between
boat and logs for an instant, then
nodded in satisfaction. It was an adequate
landing by anyone’s standards.

His tension somewhat relieved, he
raised himself from the boat and hovered
over the dock.

Sternly, he looked at the villagers
who were now on their feet, brushing
water from their heads and faces.
They ceased their movements, eying
him apprehensively and he motioned
imperiously toward the boat.

“Secure it!”

The jewels of his control cap
glowed briefly, amplifying and radiating
the thought.

The villagers winced, then two of
them moved to obey the command.
Barra turned his attention away and
arrowed toward the screen of trees
which partially concealed the village
proper.

As he dropped to the ground in the
clearing before the headman’s hut,
men and women looked at him, then
edged toward their homes. He ignored
them, centering his attention
on the headman himself.

The man had gotten to his feet and
was anxiously studying his master’s
face.

For a few seconds, Barra examined
the man. He was old. He had been
headman of the village under the old
Master Protector, his father—and his
brother had seen no reason for
change, allowing the aging headman
to remain in charge of the welfare of
his people.

But this was in the long ago. Both
of the older Kio Barra had been soft,
slack men, seeking no more than
average results. He, Leuwan, was different—more
exacting—more demanding
of positive returns from the
Estates.

Oh, to be sure, Kira Barra had
somehow prospered under the soft
hands of his predecessors, despite
their coddling of the subhuman pseudomen,
but there had been many laxities
which had infuriated Leuwan,
[p 22]
even when he was a mere youth. He
frowned thoughtfully.

Of course, if those two hadn’t been
so soft and tolerant, he would have
been something other than Lord of
the Mountain Lake. He would have
had to find other activities elsewhere.
He dropped the line of thought.

This was not taking care of the
situation.

He put his full attention on the
man before him, driving a demand
with full power of cap amplifier.

“Why are all your people idling
away their time? Where are your
herdsmen and guards?”

The headman’s face tensed with effort.
He waved a hand southward and
made meaningless noises. Faintly, the
thought came through to Barra.

“In south forest, with herd. Not
idle, is rest day. Few work.”

Barra looked angrily at the man.
Did this fool actually think he could
evade and lie his way out of the trouble
his obvious failure to supervise
had brought? He jabbed a thumb
northward.

“What about that herd drifting toward
the north river?” The two
green communicator crystals gleamed
with cold fire.

The headman looked confused.
“Not north,” came the blurred
thought. “No herd north. All south
forest, near swamp. One-hand boys
watch. Some guard. Is rest day.”

Unbelievingly Barra stared at the
pseudoman. He was actually persisting
in his effort to lie away his failure.
Or was he attempting some sort
of defiance? Had his father and brother
tolerated such things as this, or
was this something new, stemming
from the man’s age? Or, perhaps, he
was trying the temper of the Master
Protector, to see how far he could go
in encroaching on authority.

He would deal with this—and
now!

Abruptly, he turned away, to direct
his attention to the central surrogate.
It was equipped with a projector
crystal.

The air in the clearing glowed and
a scene formed in the open space.
Unmistakably, it was the northern
part of Kira Barra. The lake was
shown, and sufficient landmarks to
make the location obvious, even to a
pseudoman. Carefully, Barra prevented
any trace of the blank, swirling
null from intruding on the scene.
Perhaps the subhuman creature before
him knew something of its properties,
but there was no point in making
these things too obvious.

He focused the scene on the stream
and brought the approaching herd
into the picture, then he flashed in
his own face, watching. And he
brought the view down closely
enough to indicate that no human
creature was near the herd. Finally, he
turned his attention to the headman
again.

“There was the herd. Where were
your people?”

The old man shook his head incredulously,
then turned toward one
of the few men who still remained in
the clearing.

He made a series of noises and the
[p 23]
other nodded. There were more of the
growls and hisses, then the headman
waved a hand southward and the other
nodded again and turned away, to
run into the trees and disappear.

The headman faced Barra again.

“Send man,” he thought laboriously.
“Be sure herd is still south.” He
pointed toward the area where the
projection had been.

“That not herd,” he thought. “That
other herd. Never see before.”

Barra scowled furiously.

“You incapable imbecile! You dare
to call your master a liar?”

He swung about, his furious gaze
scanning the village. The pile of
stones he had noticed before caught
his attention. He focused on it.

A few stones rose into the air and
flew toward the headman.

The old man faced about, his eyes
widening in sudden fear. He dodged
one of the flying stones, then turned
to flee.

Barra flicked a second control on
him briefly and the flight was halted.

More stones flew, making thudding
sounds as they struck, then
sailing away, to gain velocity before
they curved back, to strike again.

At last, Barra turned from the litter
of rock about the formless mass on
the ground. He stared around the village,
the fury slowly ebbing within
him.

A few faces could be seen, peeping
from windows and from between
trees. He motioned.

“All villagers,” he ordered. “Here
before me. Now!” He waited
impatiently as people reluctantly came
from their huts and out of the trees,
to approach the clearing.

At last, the villagers were assembled.
Barra looked them over, identifying
each as he looked at him.
Apart from the others, one of the
younger herd guards stood close to his
woman. Barra looked at him thoughtfully.

This man, he had noted, was
obeyed by both herds and herdsmen.
He had seen him at work, as he had
seen all the villagers, and obviously,
the man was capable of quick decisions—as
quick, that was, as any pseudoman
could be. He pointed.

“This village needs a new headman,”
he thought peremptorily. “You
will take charge of it.”

The man looked toward the huddled
mass in the center of the litter of
rocks, then looked back at his woman.
A faint wave of reluctance came
to Barra, who stared sternly.

“I said you are the new headman,”
he thought imperiously. “Take
charge.” He waved a hand.

“And get this mess cleaned up. I
want a neat village from now on.”

As the man lowered his head submissively,
Barra turned away, rose
from the ground, and drifted majestically
toward the lake shore. He
could check on the progress of the
village from his view crystal back at
the Residence.

The situation had been taken care
of and there was no point in remaining
in the depressing atmosphere of
the village for too long.

Besides, there was that adventure
[p 24]
projection he hadn’t finished. Perhaps
it would be of interest now.

As the projection faded, Barra
looked around the study, then got out
of his chair and picked the crystal
from its pedestal. He stood, looking
at it approvingly for a few seconds,
then went over to the cabinet and set
it back in its case. For a time, he
looked at the rest of the assortment.

Finally, he shook his head. Some of
them, he would sell unscanned. The
others—well, they could wait.

Yes, he thought, the record crystals
had better be left alone for a while.
He hadn’t finished his inspection of
the Estates and the situation at Tibara
might not be an isolated case. It
would be well to make a really searching
inspection. He sighed.

In fact, it might be well to make
frequent searching inspections.

Shortly after his accession to the
Estates, he had seen to the defense of
Kira Barra. He smiled wryly as he
thought of the expense he had incurred
in securing all those power
and control crystals to make up his
surrogate installations. But they had
been well worth it.

He had been most thorough then,
but that had been some time ago. His
last full inspection had been almost
a year ago. Lately he had been satisfying
himself with spot inspections,
not really going over the Estates
from border to border.

Of course, the spot inspections
had been calculated to touch the potential
trouble spots and they had
been productive of results, but there
might still be hidden things he should
know about. This would have to be
looked into.

He turned and went back to his
chair, causing it to swivel around and
face the view crystal.

There was that matter of Tibara,
as far as that went. Possibly it would
be well to count that herd and identify
the animals positively.

Maybe the pasturage was getting
poor and he would have to instruct
the new headman to move to better
lands. Those strays had looked rather
thin, now that he thought of it.

Maybe some of the other long-necks
had strayed from the main herd
and he would have to have the headman
send out guards to pick them up
and bring them in.

He concentrated on the viewer,
swinging its scan over to the swamp
where he had driven that small herd.

They were still there, wallowing in
the shallow water and grazing on the
lush vegetation. He smiled. It would
be several days before their feeble
minds threw off the impression he
had forced on them that this was
their proper feeding place.

Idly, he examined the beasts, then
he leaned forward, studying them
more critically. They weren’t the
heavy, fat producers of meat normal
to the Tibara herd. Something was
wrong.

These were the same general breed
as the Tibara long-necks, to be sure,
but either their pasturage had been
unbelievably bad or they had been
recently run—long and hard. They
looked almost like draft beasts.

[p 25]
He frowned. If these were from the
Tibara herd, he’d been missing something
for quite a while.

Thoughtfully, he caused the scan to
shift. As he followed a small river, he
noted groups of the huge, greenish
gray beasts as they grazed on the tender
rock ferns. Here and there, he
noted herdsmen and chore boys either
watching or urging the great
brutes about with their noisemakers,
keeping the herd together. He examined
the scene critically, counting
and evaluating. Finally, he settled
back in his chair.

The herd was all here—even to the
chicks. And they were in good shape.
He smiled wryly.

Those brutes over in the swamp
really didn’t belong here, then. They
must have drifted into the Estates
from the null, and been on their way
back. The headman— He shrugged.

“Oh, well,” he told himself, “it was
time I got a new headman for Tibara,
anyway. And the discipline there
will be tighter from now on.”

He started to shift scan again, then
sat up. The view was pulsing.

As he watched, the scan shifted automatically,
to pick up the eastern
border of the Estates. Stretching
across the landscape was a thin line of
draft saurians, each with its driver
straddling its neck. The train had
halted and a heavily armored riding
lizard advanced toward the surrogate.
Its rider was facing the hidden crystals.

As Barra focused on him, the man
nodded.

“Master Protector?”

“That is correct.” Barra activated
his communicators. “I am Kio Barra,
Master of the Estates Kira Barra.”

The other smiled. “I am Dar Makun,
independent caravan master,” he
announced. “The null turbulence
forced me off route. Lost a few carriers
and several days of time. I’d like
to request permission to pass over
your land. And perhaps you could
favor me by selling some long-necks
to fill my train again. The brutes I’ve
got left are a little overloaded.”

Barra considered. It was not an unusual
request, of course. Certain caravans
habitually came through, to do
business with the Estates. Others were
often detoured by the northern null
and forced to come through Kira
Barra.

Of course, the masters of the caravans
were lacklanders, but they had
given little trouble in the past. And
this one seemed to be a little above
the average if anything. In his own
way, he was a man of substance, for
an owner master was quite different
from someone who merely guided
another’s train for hire.

The northern null was a menace,
Barra thought, but it did have this
one advantage. The regular caravans,
of course, passed with the courtesy of
the Estates, doing business on their
way. But these others paid and their
pasturage and passage fees added to
the income of the Estates.

In this case, the sale of a few draft
saurians could be quite profitable. He
shifted the view crystals to allow two-way
vision.

[p 26]
“To be sure.” He waved a hand.
“Direct your train due west to the
second river. Cross that, then follow
it southward. I will meet you at the
first village you come to and we can
kennel your slaves there and put your
beasts to pasture under my herdsmen.
From there, it is a short distance
to the Residence.”

“Thank you.” Dar Makun nodded
again, then turned and waved an arm.
Faintly, Barra caught the command to
proceed.

He watched for a few minutes and
examined the long train as it moved
over the rolling land and lumbered
into a forest. Then he shifted his
scan to continue his inspection of the
rest of the lands. It would be several
hours before that caravan could reach
Tibara and he could scan back and
note its progress as he wished.

He relaxed in his chair, watching
the panorama as the Estates unrolled
before him. Now and then, he halted
the steady motion of the scanner, to
examine village or herd closely. Then
he nodded in satisfaction and continued
his inspection.

The Estates, he decided, were in
overall good condition. Of course,
there were a few corrections he would
have to have made in the days to
come, but these could be taken care
of after the departure of the caravan.

There was that grain field over in
the Zadabar section, for example.
That headman would have to be
straightened out. He smiled grimly.
Maybe it would be well to create a
vacancy in that village. But that could
wait for a few days.

He directed the scan back to the
eastern section, tracing the route he
had given the caravan master. At last,
the long line of saurians came into
view and he watched their deceptively
awkward gait as the alien crawled
through a forest and came out into
deep grass.

They were making far better progress
than he had thought they would
and he would have to get ready if he
planned to be in Tibara when they
arrived.

He was more careful of his dress
than usual. This time, he decided,
he’d want quite a few protective devices.
One could never be quite sure
of these caravan masters.

Of course, so long as they could
plainly see the futility of any treacherous
move, they were good company
and easy people to deal with, but it
would be most unwise to give one of
them any opening. It just might be he
would be the one who was tired of
wandering.

He waited patiently as his slave attached
his shield brooches and placed
his control cap on his head, then he
reached into the casket the man held
for him and took out a pair of paralysis
rings, slipping one on each of his
middle fingers. At last, he dismissed
the man.

He floated out of the building and
let himself down on the cushions in
the rear of his speedboat. Critically,
he examined the condition of the
craft. His yardboys had cleaned everything
up, he noted. The canopy
was down, leaving the lines of the
boat clean and sharp.

[p 27]
He turned his attention to the
power crystal and the boat drew out
of its shelter, gained speed, and cut
through the water to the distant
shoreline.

With only part of his mind concentrated
on controlling the boat, Barra
looked across the lake. It was broad in
expanse, dotted with islands, and
rich in marine life.

Perhaps he might persuade this
Dar Makun to pick up a few loads of
dried lake fish, both for his own rations
and for sale along the way to
his destination. Some of the warehouses,
he had noted, were well
stocked and he’d have to arrange for
some shipments soon.

The boat was nearing Tibara pier.
He concentrated on setting it in
close to the dock, then made his way
to the eastern edge of the village,
summoning the headman as he passed
through the village center.

His timing had been good. The
head of the long train was nearly
across the wide grassland. For a moment,
the thought crossed his mind
that he might go out and meet the
caravan master. But he discarded it.
It would be somewhat undignified
for the master of the estate to serve
as a mere caravan guide. He stood,
waiting.

He could see Dar Makun sitting
between the armor fins of his riding
lizard. The reptile was one of the
heavily armored breed he had considered
raising over in the northwest
sector.

They were, he had been told,
normally dryland creatures. Such brutes
should thrive over in the flats, where
the long-necks did poorly. He would
have to consider the acquisition of
some breeding stock.

The caravan master drew his
mount to a halt and drifted toward
the trees. Barra examined the man
closely as he approached.

He was a tall, slender man, perfectly
at ease in his plain trail clothing.
A few control jewels glinted
from his fingers and he wore a small
shield brooch, but there was no heavy
equipment. His distorter staff, Barra
noted, was a plain rod, tipped by a
small jewel. Serviceable, to be sure,
but rather short in range. Barra’s lip
curled a trifle.

This man was not of really great
substance, he decided. He probably
had his entire wealth tied up in this
one caravan and depended on his fees
and on the sale of some few goods of
his own to meet expenses.

As Dar Makun dropped to the
ground near him, Barra nodded.

“I have instructed my headman to
attend to your drivers and beasts,” he
said. “You have personal baggage?”

The other smiled. “Thank you. I’ll
have one of the boys bring my pack
while the drivers pull up and unload.
We can make our stack here, if you
don’t mind.”

As Barra nodded in agreement, Dar
Makun turned, waving. He drew a
deep breath and shouted loudly, the
sounds resembling those which Barra
had often heard from his slaves. The
Master Protector felt a twinge of
disgust.

[p 28]
Of course, several of the caravan
masters who did regular business at
Kira Barra shouted at their slaves at
times. But somehow, he had never
become used to it. He much preferred
to do business with those few
who handled their pseudomen as
they did their draft beasts—quietly,
and with the dignity befitting the
true race.

He waited till Dar Makun had finished
with his growls and hisses. One
of the caravan drivers had swung
down and was bringing a fiber cloth
bundle toward them. Barra looked at
it in annoyance.

“This,” he asked himself, “is his
baggage?” He recovered his poise
and turned to Dar Makun.

“He can put it in the boat,” he told
the man. “I’ll have one of my people
pick it up for you when we get to the
island. Now, if you’ll follow me, the
pier is over this way.” He turned and
floated toward the dock.

As they pulled out into the lake,
Dar Makun settled himself in the
cushions.

“I never realized what a big lake
this is,” he remarked. “I’ve always
made the northern swing through this
part of the continent. Oh, I’ve seen
the lake region from the hills, of
course, but—” He looked at the water
thoughtfully.

“You have quite a lot of fresh-water
fish in there?”

Barra nodded. “We get a harvest.”

Dar Makun closed his eyes, then
opened them again. “I might deal
with you for some of those,” he
commented. “People out west seem to
like fresh-water stuff.” He looked at
Barra closely.

“I’ll have to open my cargo for
you,” he went on. “Might be a few
items you’d be interested in.”

Barra nodded. “It’s possible,” he
said. “I always need something
around the place.” He speeded the
boat a little.

The boat came to the dock and
Barra guided his guest into the Residence
and on into the study, where he
activated the view crystal.

“There’s still light enough for you
to get a look at some of the herds,” he
told Dar Makun. “I believe you said
you might need some more draft
beasts.”

Makun watched as the hills of Kira
Barra spread out in the air before
him.

“It’s a good way to locate the herds
and make a few rough notes,” he admitted.
“Of course, I’ll have to get
close to the brutes in order to really
choose, though.”

“Oh?”

“Fact. You see, these big lizards
aren’t all alike. Some of ’em are really
good. Some of ’em just don’t handle.
A few of ’em just lie down when you
drop the first sling on ’em.” Makun
nodded toward the projection.

“That big fellow over there, for instance,”
he went on. “Of course, he
might slim down and make a good
carrier. But usually, if they look like
a big pile of meat, that’s all they’re
good for. A lot of ’em can’t even
stand the weight of a man on their
necks. Breaks ’em right down.”

“I don’t like those nuisances,” he
explained. “They can kill a slave if he
gets careless. And they annoy the
stock.” He tilted his head forward.

“There’s the herd,” he went on,
“at the other end of this open water.
I’ll run up close and you can look
them over if you wish.”

Makun looked around, then
shrugged. “Not necessary. I’ll go
ahead from here. Won’t take me too
long.”

He lifted himself into the air and
darted toward one of the huge saurians.
Barra watched as he slowed
and drifted close to the brute’s head,
then hovered.

A faint impression of satisfaction
radiated from his mind as he drifted
along the length of the creature. He
went to another, then to another.

At last, he returned to the boat.

“Funny thing,” he commented. “A
couple of my own carriers seem to
have wandered clear through that
null and mixed with your herd.” He
smiled.

“Stroke of luck. Too bad the rest
didn’t manage to stay with ’em, but
you can’t have everything. I’ll pay
you trespass fees on those two, of
course, then I’d like to bargain with
you for about four more to go with
’em. Got them all picked out and I
can cut ’em out and drive them over
to the train soon’s we settle the arrangements.”

Barra frowned.

“Now, wait a minute,” he protested.
“Of course, I’ll bargain with
you for any or all of this herd. But
I’m in the breeding and raising business,
[p 31]
remember. I certainly can’t give
away a couple of perfectly good
beasts on someone’s simple say-so.
I’d like a little proof that those two
belong to your train before I just
hand them over.”

“Well, now, if it comes to that, I
could prove ownership. Legally, too.
After all, I’ve worked those critters
quite a while and any competent
psionic could—” Makun looked at
Barra thoughtfully.

“You know, I’m not just sure I like
having my word questioned this way.
I’m not sure I like this whole rig-out.
Seems to me there’s a little explaining
in order about now—and kind of
an apology, too. Then maybe we can
go ahead and talk business.”

“I don’t see any need for me to explain
anything. And I certainly don’t
intend to make a apology of any
kind. Not to you. I merely made a reasonable
request. After all, these
brutes are on my land and in my
herd. I can find no mark of identification
on them, of any kind.” Barra
shrugged.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t even
know yet which two you are trying to
claim. All I ask is indication of which
ones you say are yours and some reasonable
proof that they actually came
from your train. Certainly, a mere
claim of recognition is … well,
you’ll have to admit, it’s a little thin.”

Makun looked at him angrily.

“Now, you pay attention to me.
And pay attention good. I’m not
stupid and I’m not blind. I can see
all those jewels you’re loaded down
with and I know why you’re wearing
them. They tell me a lot about you,
you can be sure of that. Don’t think I
haven’t noticed that patronizing air
of yours, and don’t think I’ve liked it.
I haven’t and I don’t.

“I know you’re scared. I know
you’re worried to death for fear I’m
going to pull something on you. I
spotted that the first time I talked to
you.” He paused.

“Oh, I’ve been trying to ignore it
and be decent, but I’ve had about
enough. I’ve been in this caravan
business for a long time. I’ve dealt
square and I’m used to square dealing.
Now, you’ve been putting out a
lot of side thoughts about thievery
and I don’t appreciate being treated
like some sneak thief. I’m not about
to get used to the idea, either.

“Now, you’d better get the air
cleared around here and then we can
talk business. Otherwise, there’s going
to be a lot of trouble.”

Barra felt a surge of fury rising
above his fear. This lacklander clown
actually dared to try to establish
domination over a member of the
ruling class? He breathed deeply.

“I don’t have—”

“All right, listen to me, you termite.
You’ve come way too far out of
your hole. Now, you just better crawl
back in there fast, before I turn on the
lights and burn your hide off.”

The surge of mental power blazing
at Barra was almost a physical force.
He cringed away from it, his face
wrinkling in an agony of fright.
Makun looked at him contemptuously.

[p 32]
“All right. Now, I’ll tell you—”

Smoothly, Barra’s hand went to the
haft of his distorter. The jewel
seemed to rise of its own accord as it
blazed coldly.

For an infinitesimal time, Makun’s
face reflected horrified comprehension
before it melted into shapelessness.

Barra put the distorter back in its
rack, looking disgustedly at the mess
on the cushions. There was nothing
for it, he thought. He’d have to destroy
those, too. Cleaning was out of
the question. He shook his head.

Like all these strong types, this
Makun had neglected a simple principle.
With fear as his constant companion,
Barra had been forced to
learn to live with it.

Extreme mental pressure was
merely another form of fright. It
could paralyze a braver soul—and often
did. It merely made Barra miserably
uncomfortable without disturbing
his control. And the hatred that was
always in him was unimpaired—even
amplified by the pounding terror.

The more thoroughly Barra was
frightened, the more effectively he
attacked.

He leaned back in his seat, letting
the drumming of his heart subside.
Eventually, he would recover enough
to guide the boat out of the swamp
and back to the Residence.

Tomorrow? Well, he would have
to inventory the freight the man had
carried. He would have to check
those draft beasts. Perhaps he could
discern the hidden identification
Makun had mentioned.

And he would have to make disposition
of some twenty slaves. He
summoned up a smile.

Now that he thought of it, this
affair could be turned to profit. After
all, Dar Makun had been diverted
from his route and he had lost some
of his train. And caravans had been
known to disappear in the vicinity
of turbulent nulls.

All he had to do was deny knowledge
of the fate of Dar Makun’s caravan
if there were any inquiry. Oh,
certainly, he could tell any inquirer,
Dar Makun had arrived. He had
stayed overnight and then taken his
departure, saying something about
cutting around the null and back to
his normal, northern swing.

He was feeling better now. He
turned his attention to the control
crystal and the boat swung about, to
make its way back toward the lake.

It took longer than he had thought
it would. It was evening of the day
after the death of Dar Makun when
Barra turned in his seat and raised
his hand, then waved it in a wide
circle.

A quickly directed thought halted
his mount and he looked about once
more, at the thick forest.

This clearing was as close to the
village of Celdalo as he wanted to
come. The villagers never came into
this heavy screen of trees, but beyond
the forest, there might be some
who would watch and wonder. He
smiled grimly.

Of course, it didn’t make too much
difference what slaves might think—if
[p 33]
they could think at all, but there
was no reason to leave unnecessary
traces of the day’s work.

He swung about in his cushions
and looked back at the line of draft
beasts. They were swinging out of
line now, to form a semicircle, facing
the trees ahead.

He impressed an order on his
mount to stand, then lifted himself
out of the cushioned seat between
the armor fins. For a few seconds, he
hovered, looking down at the beast
he had been riding.

Yes, he thought, he would do well
to raise a few of these creatures.
They were tractable and comfortable
to ride. A good many caravan masters
might be persuaded to get rid
of their less comfortable mounts in
exchange for one of these, once they
had tried a day’s march.

One by one, the big saurians came
to the forest edge and entered the
clearing, then crouched, to let their
drivers swing to the ground. Barra
looked at the lead driver.

“Make your cargo stack over here,”
he ordered, “at this side of the clearing.
You will wait here for your
master.”

The man looked confused. A
vague, questioning thought came
from him. It wasn’t really a coherent
thought, but just an impression of
doubt—uncertainty. Barra frowned
impatiently.

It had been much the same when
he had ordered this man to load up
back at Tibara. Perhaps it was no
wonder Dar Makun had been forced
to learn vocalization if this was the
best slave he could find to develop
into his headman.

Carefully, he formed a projection.
It showed the carriers gathering in
their unloading circles. He made one
of the projections turn and drop its
head over another’s back. The wide
mouth opened and stubby, peg teeth
gripped the handling loop of a cargo
sling. Then the long-neck swiveled
back, to repeat the performance.

Barra watched as the man before
him nodded in obedient understanding.
He shot out a sharp, peremptory
order.

“Do it, then! Do it as shown.”

The man made noises, then turned,
shouting at the other drivers.

Barra watched as the stack of cargo
grew. At last, the final sling was positioned
and a heavy cloth cover was
dropped over the great piles. Barra
looked at the headman.

“Bring your drivers close,” he ordered.
“I have something for them
to see.”

Again, there was the moment of
confusion, but this time the man had
gathered the main sense of the command.
He turned again, shouting.

The drivers looked at each other
questioningly, then moved slowly
forward, to form a tight group before
Barra, who watched until they were
in satisfactory position.

He concentrated on the group for
a few seconds, starting the formation
of a projection to his left.

As the air glowed and started to
show form, the eyes of the drivers
swung toward it. Barra smiled tightly
and swung his distorter up. The
[p 34]
crystal flamed as he swept it across
the group of slaves.

He kept the power on, sweeping
the distorter back and forth until all
that remained was a large pool of
slime which thinned, then oozed into
the humus. At last, he tucked the rod
back under his arm and examined the
scene.

There was the pile of goods. There
were the carrier beasts. But no man
or pseudoman remained of the caravan.
His smile broadened.

Once he had sorted this cargo and
moved it to the Residence and to
various warehouses about the Estates,
all traces of Dar Makun and
his train would be gone.

To be sure, a few villages would
find that their herds had increased,
but this was nothing to worry about.
He sighed.

It had been a hard day and it
would be a hard night’s work. He
would have to forget his dignity for
the time and do real labor. But this
was necessity. And there was plenty
of profit in it as well.

So far as the rest of the world
might know, Dar Makun and his
caravan had left Kira Barra to cut
back to the northern swing. And the
turbulent null had swallowed them
without trace.

He turned away. He would have
to bring work boats in to the nearby
beach. Their surrogates were already
attuned and ready, and one of them
had been equipped with an auxiliary
power crystal. He would need that.

As the boats arrived at village
piers, the various headmen would
merely follow instructions as given
by the boat’s surrogates. He would
be done with this operation in a few
hours.

The days went on, became weeks,
then hands of weeks. Little by little,
Barra changed his attitude toward
caravan masters. Once, he had been
cautious about dealing with them,
allowing only a chosen few to do
business within his borders.

Now, however, he had found a
whole, new source of income. And a
new sense of power had come to
him. Caravans were more than welcome
at Kira Barra.

He leaned back on his new chair,
enjoying the complete ease with
which it instantly shaped to fit his
body. It was precisely like hovering
a short distance above the floor, yet
there was no strain of concentration
on some control unit. He allowed
himself to relax completely and
turned his attention to the viewer
crystal.

It was new, too. The old one of his
father’s which he had brought to the
new Residence had seemed quite inadequate
when the Residence was
redone. This new viewer had been
designed for professional use. It was
a full two feet in diameter and could
fill thousands of cubic feet with solid
projection.

Animals, trees, pseudomen, all
could be brought before him as
though physically present in the
study. Too, it was simpler than the
old one and much more accurate in
its control. He sighed.

[p 35]
The Estates had prospered. Of
course, he had been cautious. Many
caravans had come to Kira Barra and
left again, their masters highly
pleased with the fair dealings of the
Estates. Several had returned, time
and time again.

There had been others who had
come through during times when the
null was in turbulence and it was
from these that he had taken his harvest.
He had been particular in his
choices, making careful evaluation
before taking any action.

By this time, his operation was
faultless—a smooth routine which
admitted of no error. He smiled as he
remembered his fumbling efforts
with the first caravan and his halting
improvements when he had dealt
with the next. What were those fellows’
names?

He shrugged. He could remember
that first fellow practically begging
him to take action and he could remember
his own frightened evaluation
of the situation after the first
step. He had gone over a whole, long
line of alternative choices, rejecting
them one by one until the inevitable,
ideal method of operation had come
out. He smiled.

When he had finally settled on his
general method, it had been elegantly
simple. But it had been very nearly
perfect. Basically, he was still using
the same plan.

Now, of course, it was smoother
and even more simplified. There
were two general routines involved.

Most caravan masters were treated
with the greatest of consideration.
They were allowed to pass through
the Estates with only nominal fees
and invited to avail themselves of the
courtesy of the Estates at any time in
the future. If trades with the Estates
were involved, the fees were waived,
of course. And many of them had returned,
bringing goods and information,
as well as taking away the
produce of the Estates.

Then, there were those caravans
which came during turbulences in
the null and which seemed worthwhile
to the now practiced eyes of
Kio Barra. These were the ones ripe
for harvest. Their owners had been
offered the courtesy of the Estates—and
more.

They had been taken for sightseeing
tours—perhaps of the lake—perhaps
to see valuable carrier stock
which could be had at bargain rates.

Then, in complete privacy, a distorter
beam had made neat disposition
of them.

Their goods had been distributed
through the various warehouses and
later disposed of through the safe
channels which Barra had carefully
cultivated. Their slaves, of course,
had been eliminated.

Barra regretted this waste of valuable
property, but this way there
could be no leak of information
and no inquiry could be successful.

There had been an inquiry at one
time, but that had been in the earlier
days.

The inquirer had gone away with
no suspicion in his mind. He had examined
the null from the hills and
had agreed with Kio Barra that it was
[p 36]
indeed a menace. He had listened
sympathetically to Barra’s rueful
comments about slaves and stock
which had drifted into the null, never
to be heard from again.

Barra activated the view crystal. It
was time for another inspection of
the Estates.

The projection formed and Barra
was suddenly in a wood, looking
across a wide field. Grain waved in
the breeze and here and there, the silhouettes
of both long-neck and fin-back
could be seen, half hidden by
grass and trees.

The scanner progressed, crossing
the field and continuing to another
forest, operating on the route impressed
on it. Barra relaxed as he
watched. As the scan progressed
through field, swamp and forest, he
nodded in satisfaction. The Estates
were in far better shape than ever
before.

Suddenly, he halted the scan, looking
critically at the scene. He was in
the central clearing of Tibara. And
the village didn’t match with the
standards he wanted.

He looked critically at the huts.
They were becoming run-down. It
had been too long since the roof
thatches had been replaced. Uprights
were bending a little here, a trifle
out of plumb there.

There were broken stones again in
the well curb and the pile of stone
brought for repair wasn’t neatly
stacked. He frowned.

This was not the first time he’d
had to take a firm hand in Tibara.
Of course, he had replaced headmen
in other villages—more than once in
some cases. But Tibara was working
on its third headman. There was
something really wrong in that village.

To be sure, Tibara was the village
where most caravan slaves were quartered.
A lodge had been built there
for that purpose and it was in frequent
use. Naturally, it was maintained
by the villagers. But that was
even less excuse for shoddiness. This
should be the neatest, best kept village
in all Kira Barra. It wasn’t.

The frown deepened. This time,
Tibara was going to be cleaned up,
and he’d keep his attention on it. The
village would stay clean if the villagers
had to spend every second of
their time on it when they weren’t
taking care of their herds, their boats,
and their guest lodge.

And there’d be no slacking in
those other areas, either.

He looked around the clearing.
There were, he was forced to admit,
no idlers about at the moment. The
only people he could see were women
and children. And the women
were busily occupied.

Again, he studied the scene. The
men would be coming in from their
fields and from the lake in another
hour. He would examine a few other
villages, then return his attention to
Tibara.

Wearily, Retonga, headman of Tibara,
pulled himself to a sitting position.
He looked over to the other side
of the room. Mir was already on her
[p 37]
feet. She smiled at him uncertainly.

“It’s morning,” she said. “Rest day,
at last.”

“Yes.” Retonga closed his eyes for
an instant. It had been bad for her,
too, he knew. He’d probably been
pretty hard to live with these past
few days. He sighed.

“Rest day,” he mused. “But it
means nothing. There’s still work.
There’s always work these days.” He
got to his feet.

“I wish I were just a herd boy—in
some other village.” He went to
the door and looked out.

Someone had disturbed the pile of
building stones. Children had been
playing in the clearing the night before
and the earth was scuffed up.
Bits of wood and cloth lay scattered
here and there.

He looked at the houses. Folshan’s
roof was sagging a trifle, he noticed.
And there were a couple of dolls lying
outside his door. He shook his
head and went out into the clearing.

Old Tamiso was squatting by the
well. Retonga walked over to him.

“Your stone pile,” he said. “A few
of the stones are scattered.”

The old man looked over, then
shrugged.

“I just picked this one out,” he explained.
“When I get it laid, I’ll have
to get another. I’ll straighten the pile
when I finish here.”

Retonga smiled wearily. “And if
the master sees your pile now?”

Tamiso pushed himself to his feet,
rubbing his back thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said. “The master can
give great pain, and it seems he is
always watching these days.” He
walked over to the stones.

For a moment, Retonga watched
as he rearranged his pile, then he
turned, tilting his head back.

“Awaken,” he shouted. “For the
sun looks down and shall he find us
asleep?”

A head poked out of a door.

“It’s a rest day. We’ll be at it soon
enough, but what’s the hurry?”

Retonga shook his head. “I know
it’s rest day. You know it’s rest day.
But there’s one who forgets these
things. Remember the other evening?”

Folshan winced and Retonga
pointed.

“Better get those dolls picked up.
And there’s that roof of yours. I’ll
give you a hand with it.”

Folshan came out of his hut, then
looked back.

“No,” he said slowly. “You’re headman.
Remember how that happened?
Let the master catch you
helping with the work and we’ll
need yet another headman.” He
shook his head.

“This time, it could be me.” He
bent over to pick up the toys his
daughter had left.

“Kina,” he called, “tell Chama to
keep her toys picked up, or she
might be needing a new father.” He
turned again.

“I’ll get Kesonta to help with that
roof. It’ll be straight in an hour or
so.”

Retonga looked after him for a
moment, then caught the eyes of a
couple of the women. He made a
[p 38]
sweeping motion toward the earth of
the clearing, then walked back to his
own door.

He turned, inspecting each detail
of the village.

“Let’s see. Is there anything else
for the master to find wrong?” Again,
he examined each house closely.

At last, he turned away, walking
toward a path.

“He’ll probably be looking at the
waterfront, too,” he told himself,
“and at the lodge.”

He walked slowly along the path,
checking the forest floor as he went.
As he got to the beach, he looked
toward the pier, then winced.

A few hundred yards out in the
lake, a high wedge of water was
sweeping toward him. At the apex of
the vee, he could see the shape of a
boat, its bow riding high over the
water.

“Oh, no,” he groaned to himself.
“Trouble again!” He waited.

As the wave splashed to the pier,
he dashed forward to secure the boat.
Kio Barra merely glanced at him.
Briefly, he caught the impression of
a wide field. A line of great beasts
were crossing it, their long necks
bobbing as they walked. He nodded
in understanding.

A caravan was coming in. That
would be trouble, of course, but of
minor nature. He turned, to follow
the glittering figure as it floated toward
the path and on, into the village.

As the caravan came to a stop,
Naran’s beast bent its knees and
[p 39]
crouched. He swung himself to the
ground.

He was getting the hang of this,
he told himself. At first, he had been
forced to fight an almost uncontrollable
compulsion to float down normally,
but now it seemed quite sensible
to grab the heavy fiber strands
and swing forward till his feet were
solidly on the ground. He spun
about.

“All right,” he shouted. “Take your
reins. Form your unloading circles
on me. We’ll be here for a day or
two.”

He watched as the slings were
lifted from the brutes’ backs, then
turned his attention to the man who
was greeting Dar Girdek.

So this was the Lord of the Mountain
Lake. He shook his head. The
fellow glittered almost from head to
foot. Naran examined the jewelry
appraisingly. He wore a fourth-order
cap. They didn’t make them any
heavier than that one. And if there
was a device that had been left out,
he had never heard of it.

In addition, he could identify three
heavy-duty shields, a power levitator,
a handful of destructor and paralysis
rings, and a projector medallion capable
of forming several hundred cubic
feet of solid, detailed illusion. He
shook his head.

This man must have spent the entire
income of his estate for several
years in assembling this array. There
was enough there to outfit a battle
group of competent psionics.

“If this guy needs all that stuff just
to get by, he’s as near to psionic zero
as you can get,” Naran told himself.
“Either that, or he’s loaded with a
power compulsion that’s never been
equalled.” He frowned.

“Or both,” he added thoughtfully.

He looked again at the blaze of
jewelry.

Faintly, he could sense the sour
feel of fear. It acted as a carrier for a
mixture of hatred, envy, and contemptuous
hauteur. Naran whistled
softly. There was more, too. He
wished he dared try a probe, but with
all that arsenal of psionic crystalware,
it would be unwise.

“Hit those shields of his and I’d
bounce off with a noise like a million
bells,” he thought. He turned away.

He’d have to keep his own mind
fully hooded around here. He looked
back again, glancing at the distorter
rod Barra carried. His eyes widened
a little.

[p 40]
“Given adequate drive, that thing
would stop a Fifth Planet battleship.”
He grinned.

“Arm a couple of hundred men
with those things and they could go
out and take the Fifth apart, bit by
bit. Then we wouldn’t have to worry
about those people and their mechanical
gadgets.”

He dragged his attention back to
the business at hand, tapping in on
Dar Girdek’s thoughts.

“… And we can tour the Estates
later today,” Barra was saying.
“I may be able to show you some
worthwhile goods, as well as a few
good draft beasts to carry them.”

Naran risked a light probe, taking
advantage of Barra’s diverted attention.

He had been right, he thought. It
was the “or both.” He shook his head.
The guy was almost pathetic. Obviously,
he wanted to be the greatest
man on the planet. And equally obviously,
without his amplifier jewels,
he’d be little stronger psionically
than one of Dar Girdek’s drivers.

As Dar Girdek followed his host
toward the village, Naran turned his
attention back to his drivers. He
would have to make camp and then
get together with that village headman.
There’d be plenty of arrangements
they would have to make.

He was surprised at the arrangements
Retonga had already made.
There wasn’t much question about it,
the entertainment of caravans was
familiar business with this headman.
He knew all the problems—and their
answers.

Of course, Dar Girdek had told
him about the hospitality of Kira
Barra, but this had to be seen to be
believed. He spent his first really restful
night in weeks.

The next morning, he walked
slowly along the path to the drivers’
lodge, paying little attention to his
surroundings. Somehow, in spite of
the reception given the caravan, he
was uneasy.

He recalled his conversation with
Retonga the night before.

The man had asked questions
about the conditions of the trail. He
had been curious about the treatment
of the drivers by the master of the
train. Then he had shaken his head,
looking out over his village.

“It is far different here. This is an
estate of death and terror, and our
master is the very lord of these. I
was a child when his father died, but
I think things were different then.”
He had looked searchingly at Naran.

“I’ve never mentioned these things
before,” he went on. “But there’s
something—” He had looked down at
the ground, then up again.

“Our master became Kio through
the death of his brother,” he went on,
“and it was through the deaths of
other headmen that I was placed in
charge of this village.” He had
glanced back into the door of his hut.

“I had no part in causing those
deaths. The life of a headman here
in Tibara is short and none but a fool
would fight for this position of mine.
It is not a good one. The master’s
demands are heavy and his hand is
even heavier.”

[p 41]
This didn’t match with the reputation
of Kio Barra as a considerate
host—a fair man to do business with.
It made him wonder.

Had his brother actually ever left
this place? But if not, where were
his drivers? What had happened to
his train of draft brutes? How had
the cargo he carried been disposed
of?

Oh, of course, he knew there were
caravan masters who would accept
freight and ask a minimum of questions.
Goods could be disposed of.
And this was a breeding estate. The
slaves? He shook his head. Too simple!

He brought himself back to the
present, looking thoughtfully at the
drivers’ lodge ahead of him. Then
he probed gently, trying to establish
rapport with Dar Girdek. The man
could be in real danger.

He frowned and probed with more
force. There was nothing. The frown
deepened.

After his talk with Retonga, he had
established rapport with the caravan
master, but the older man had attached
no importance to his suspicions.

“No,” he had thought back, “you
are seeing a robber behind every rock
now. Kio Barra is a tough master, of
course. He’s got a big estate here, and
he really keeps it up to the mark.
He’s a good host and a really good
man to deal with—liberal trader. Remember,
I know this guy. I’ve been
here before.” There had been the
impression of a smile.

“Besides, this guy’s harmless,
remember? Sure, he’s a businessman.
But if he should try anything violent,
I could take care of him without
taking time out to think about
it.” A final, dismissing thought had
come.

“Look, forget about it, will you?
If you had to suspect someone of
dirty work, pick on some of those
northerners. Kio Barra’s too well
known for fair dealing. I’ll make a
deal with him, then we can go up to
the northern swing and really look
around to see if we can find any trace
of that caravan of your brother’s.”

Naran kicked at the trail. Dar
Girdek was a good trader and a successful
caravan master. He knew
goods and their value, and he was expert
in handling beasts and drivers.
But he had never been too sensitive.
And he’d absolutely refused to wear
a probe amplifier.

“Look,” he’d thought disgustedly,
“how would you like to do business
with some guy that wore a great, big,
yellow headlight to tell you he wanted
to poke around in your mind?”

Naran put his foot on the lowest
rung of the short ladder leading to
the lodge door.

Unless he was badly mistaken, he
knew now where his brother had
gone. And now Dar Girdek had
joined him. The details? He
shrugged.

They were unimportant. But what
was next? What would be the next
step in Barra’s plans? And what
could be done about this guy? He
climbed the ladder and went into the
lodge.

[p 42]
Of course, if the Council found out
about this, they could deal with the
situation. All they’d need would be a
little proof and Kio Barra would be
well and promptly taken care of.
But how would someone get word
out?

The estate was loaded with surrogates,
he knew that. A caravan—even
a single man—would find it impossible
to either enter or leave
without the knowledge and consent of
the Master Protector. He smiled.

He could just visualize Kio Barra
letting anyone out with proof of his
activities. The smile faded.

A distant projection? There were
those surrogates again. They were
broad tuned and he knew it. They’d
flare like a field of beacons.

Of course, he could get out a flash
appeal and it would be heard. He
grinned.

Now, there was a nice way to commit
suicide. There’d be no time for
help to arrive, he was sure of that.
And no shield would stand up under
that heavy-duty distorter, even if
Barra could only summon a minimum
of power to operate it. He
shook his head, looking around the
room.

Drivers were beginning to stir and
get to their feet. Naran looked at the
flunky.

“Better get with it, Bintar,” he
said. “Going to be a bunch of hungry
men around you in a couple of minutes.”

“Yeah.” The man started out the
door, yawning. “Got to eat, if we
don’t do anything else.” He climbed
down the ladder.

Naran glanced at the drivers.

“Soon’s we’ve eaten,” he said, “I’d
like to check up on the long-necks.
See whether they’ve wandered during
the night. I’d hate to have them
get mixed up with the village herd.”

A driver looked around at him.

“Aw,” he protested, “the master
probably pinned ’em down good before
he left. Besides, he can identify
’em anyway. They won’t go far—not
with those herd boys running
around.”

“Sure,” Naran told him. “The master
would really like spending half a
day cutting out his long-necks from
the village herd. And how about that
Master Protector? What would he
think of our caravan?”

The other looked at him disgustedly.
“Aw, who cares about that?
Why worry about what one of them
witchmen thinks about another?
Long’s we don’t get twisted around,
what’s the difference?”

Naran growled to himself. He’d
blundered on that one. There was no
answer to that argument that he
could present. He had learned to
understand—and in some measure
sympathize with—the deep-seated
resentment of the non-psi for the psionic.
The non-psionics felt they were
just as good men as anyone, yet here
were these psionics with their incomprehensible
powers. And there was
nothing to be done about it except
obey.

Of course, they didn’t like it—or
their masters.

[p 43]
As far as that went, the caravan
herd was unimportant now. The only
trouble was Retonga. If the herds
were mixed, he would be in real
trouble.

“Well,” he said aloud, “I’m not
about to get the master to spinning.
Long’s we keep him happy, we’ll all
be a lot better off. As I said, right
after breakfast. I want everyone out
on the herd.” He started to turn
away.

“Aagh,” growled the other. “Why
don’t you face it? You’re just one of
those guys likes to toss orders around
and make people jump. It’s about
time someone showed you a few
things.”

Naran turned back. Rosel had been
resentful ever since the caravan had
formed. He had expected to be lead
driver on this trip and he’d made no
effort to hide his fury and disappointment
at being displaced in favor of a
newcomer.

For an instant, Naran considered.
There was no point in continuing his
masquerade any further. Dar Girdek
was gone and he’d have to take the
caravan back anyway—if he could
work his way out of here, past Barra.

If he couldn’t get out—if he joined
his brother and Dar Girdek—it
would make no difference what the
caravan drivers thought.

He could put this man in his place
right now. Then, he could give him
the job of lead driver.

But there was something else to
think of. If he got the train out of
here, he would have to work with
this guy. And there would always be
an even greater resentment added to
the normal fear and hatred of the
psionic. That could demoralize the
whole train. Naran sighed.

Rosel had put his feelings in the
open now and Naran would have to
play out the role he had assumed.

He crossed the room to confront
Rosel. Abruptly, he thrust a hand out.
The other made a grab for it and Naran
moved smoothly forward, locking
the grasping hand.

Quickly he extended a leg and
threw Rosel over it. As the man hit
the floor, Naran retained his grip and
brought his other hand over, twisting
the man’s arm. His foot went out, to
smack into the man’s face, pinning
him to the floor. Slowly, he put pressure
on the prisoned hand.

“Once more,” he said coldly, “I’m
going to have everyone out on the
herd right after breakfast. Now, do
you want to go out and work with
’em, or do I keep winding up on this
thing and then have ’em load you up
with the rest of the spare gear?”

“Aw, look.” Rosel’s voice was muffled.
“Didn’t mean a thing, I was just
making a crack.”

“Yeah, sure.” Naran’s voice was
scornful. “Just having a little fun before
breakfast. Now you listen to me.
So long as I’m lead driver, you’re going
to do what I say—when I say it.
If you give me any more trouble, I’ll
pull your head off and make you carry
it under one arm. Got it?”

“Ow! Yeah, I got it. You’re the
lead driver.”

Naran released his pressure and
stepped back.

[p 44]
“All right,” he said. “Let’s forget
it. Now, we’ll get breakfast over with
and then we’ll take care of the long-necks.
You take the drivers out,
Rosel. I’m going to make some arrangements
in the village. Be with
you later.” He swung away.

Barra looked at his reflection with
satisfaction. It was too bad, he
thought, that he didn’t have some
companion to appreciate his wealth
and power. He examined his equipment
carefully.

Everything was clean. Everything
was in order. There was no device
lacking.

Proudly, he looked down at the
huge, yellow pendant he was wearing
for the first time. It was funny, he
thought, that he had never considered
a probe unit before. Now that
he thought of it, this was a most satisfactory
device. Now, he could look
into his villagers’ minds and see
clearly what lay there. Even, he could
get some ideas of the intentions of
visiting caravan masters.

Fitting the device and becoming
familiar with it had been hard work,
of course, but he had mastered it.
And today, he could wear the jewel
and use it. It would make the day’s
work easier.

He activated his levitator, floated
to his boat, and pulled it away from
its shelter, setting the course toward
Tibara.

The hard part of this operation
was over, he thought. The rest was
simple routine.

This caravan master had given him
a bit more trouble than some of the
others, but his final reaction had been
just like all the others. He smiled.

That flash of incredulity, followed
by sudden, horrified comprehension,
then blankness, was becoming perfectly
familiar. In fact, even this was
simple routine.

He wondered if he might be able
to extend just a little. Perhaps he
could operate on a wider scale. There
should be some way he could work
out to take over a neighboring estate
and go from there.

Surely, there must be some outlet
for his abilities, beyond mere increase
in the wealth of Kira Barra.
And there must be some way to gain
a companion of sorts. He would have
to think that over.

He swung the boat to the pier and
floated away, grandly ignoring the
pseudomen who hurried to secure his
lines.

He examined the village with approval
as he stood in the center of
the clearing. There had been a great
improvement since he had taken that
headman in hand. Perhaps this fellow
would be satisfactory—might
even learn to take some pride in the
appearance of his village—if, that
is, a pseudoman were capable of
pride.

He looked over toward the headman’s
hut.

The fellow had come out, followed
by the lead driver of the caravan.
Good, that would save the trouble of
hunting the fellow out.

He concentrated on the caravan
slave.

[p 45]
“Your master has decided to remain
at the Residence for a time,” he
thought confidently. “You may have
your drivers load up and move to a
more permanent location.”

The answering thought was unexpectedly
distinct.

“This location looks as though it
were designed for a caravan’s stay.
Where’s Dar Girdek?”

Barra looked at the man in surprise.
What was this? This fellow
didn’t think like any pseudoman.
Had Dar Girdek somehow managed
to persuade a halfman to act as his
lead driver? But why?

He drew back a little, tensing.
There was something wrong here.

“Now, look,” persisted the man before
him. “I’d like to see Dar Girdek.
I’d like to know why I haven’t been
able to get in touch with him this
morning.”

Barra blinked, then activated the
new probe. He would have to find
out what this man knew—how much
others might know. Abruptly, he felt
a violent return of the fear sickness
which had temporarily subsided with
the death of Dar Girdek.

The probe was met by an impenetrable
barrier. Barra’s eyes widened.
This man was no halfman, either. He
was one of the great psionics. Frantically,
Barra’s thought retraced the
past.

Was this an investigator from the
Council? Was he, Kio Barra, suspect?
But how had any leak occurred? The
fear grew, till he could almost smell
the sour stench of it. And with it,
came a buoying lift of pure fury.

This man may have unmasked
him, to be sure. The Council might
even now be sending men to take
him, but this spy would never know
the results of his work. He would
profit nothing here.

He flipped the distorter from under
his arm.

As the Master Protector started to
raise his distorter, Naran felt a sharp
twinge of regret. He had resigned
himself to this, and had made his
preparations, but he hated to leave
Barra to someone else. Of course, the
man had no chance now. The disturbance
he had keyed himself to
make if he were hit with a distorter
would be heard by every scholar in
Ganiadur, and by half the Council.
But—

Suddenly, he felt a sort of pity for
the killer before him. The guy wasn’t
really altogether to blame. He’d been
living for all these years with everything
against him.

Born into a psionic family, he had
been the family skeleton—a thing of
disgrace—to be hidden from the rest
of the world and given tolerant protection.

And when this barely tolerated
being had managed somehow to gain
power and get amplifying devices?
Well—

The crystal was leveled at him
now. He looked at it indifferently,
thinking of the man who held it.

“Poor, lonesome weakling!”

Abruptly, the clearing was lit up
by a blinding red glare. Naran closed
his eyes against the searing light.
[p 46]
Seconds went by and he opened his
eyes again, looking about the village
in confusion.

Had he somehow managed to retain
full consciousness of ego, even
after being reduced by a distorter
beam? Was there a release into some
other state of being? He had felt
no—

He looked at Kio Barra. The man
stood, slack-faced, still holding his
distorter rod, but gradually allowing
it to sag toward the ground. Naran
shook his head.

“Now, what goes on?”

He probed at the man’s mind.

There was consciousness. The man
could think, but the thoughts were
dim and blurred, with no trace of
psionic carrier. The control and amplifier
jewels he wore had lost their
inner fire—were merely dull, lifeless
reflectors of the sunlight. This man
could do no more toward bringing
life to the jewels than could the village
headman—perhaps, even less.

Naran looked at him in unbelieving
confusion, then turned as a sudden,
screaming thought struck his
mind.

“A stinking, high-nosed witchman!
And we thought he was one of
us! Ate with him. Argued with him.
Even fought with him. I’ve got to get
away. Got to!”

There was desperation in the
thought. And there were hatred overtones,
which blended, then swelled.

As the terrorized ululation went
on, Naran swung his head, locating
the source. He’d have to do something
about that—fast. The fellow
would really demoralize the caravan
now—even infect the big saurians—cause
a stampede.

This guy had some power of projection
and his terror was intensifying
it till anyone could receive the
disturbing impulses, even though
complete understanding might be
lacking.

Naran lifted himself from the
ground, arrowing rapidly toward the
caravan, his mind already forming
the thoughts which he hoped would
soothe the frantic fear and—at least
to some degree—allay the frenzy of
hatred that swelled and became
stronger and stronger.

Barra could wait.

As Barra swung his distorter to
bear, he concentrated on the violent
pulse needed to trigger the jewel, his
mind closed to all else. He turned his
attention on his target.

Suddenly, he recognized the curiously
tender expression which had
formed on the face of the man before
him.

Frantically, he tried to revise his
thoughts—to recall the blaze of
energy he had concentrated to build
up.

It was too late.

With a sense of despair, he recognized
the sudden, lifting, twisting
agony that accompanied the flare of
the overloaded power crystal. For an
eternal instant, his universe was a
blinding, screaming, red nightmare.

The flare died and he watched
dully as the unharmed man before
him looked about unbelievingly, then
[p 47]
looked back to carefully examine him.

“Oh,” he told himself dully. “I suppose
they’ll take care of me, but what
of it? They’ll put me somewhere. I’ll
lose everything. It’ll be just like the
place Boemar thought of sending me,
when I—”

Furiously, he tried to summon
some tiny bit of energy to activate
the distorter.

Nothing happened.

The man whose pity had destroyed
him suddenly frowned, then turned
and darted away. Dully, Barra
watched him, then he turned, to look
around the village. His face contorted
in new terror.

Some of the village men were
moving toward him, curious expressions
on their faces. He backed away
from them and turned.

A few more had moved to block
his path.

They were grunting and hissing to
each other. Barra looked from face to
face, then looked over toward the
well.

There were men over there, too,
by the pile of stones. The old man
who worked on the retaining walls of
the village had picked up some of
his building material.

He stood, eying Barra calculatingly,
a stone poised in each hand.

THE END