The Great Hydration

They followed him through the throng to the side of the cavern. Guards standing at the entrance of a narrow passage stood aside, then trooped after them as they entered it and emerged into a chamber which, like the passage itself, had obviously been carved from the rock by hand.

Here was yet another strange sight. Gamintes, stripped of weapons, were chained to the walls. Their glowing red eyes turned to the newcomers. The radium lamp fitted in the roof gave their silvery hair a greenish glow.

To see the favoured police force of the Tlixix in such a situation was a shock in itself. The Gamintes’ faces, too, showed their outrage that such a thing could happen to them, as well as their trepidation as to what their fate was to be. They were half starved, their bodies thin and wasted. That meant that they had been here for quite a long time. Energy-economical dehydrate bodies needed food only at infrequent intervals. Hrityu himself had eaten only once since leaving his home camp, although his wheeled vehicle carried plentiful supplies.

The elder issued clipped orders. The shackles were thrown off one of the Gamintes, who was pushed roughly into the centre of the chamber.

The Artaxan elder made a gesture. “Proceed. Kill the captive.”

An unsettling thought came to Hrityu, put there by the unfamiliarity of events. What would the Tlixix do if they learned of this vast camp and of the plot being concocted there?

Why they would muster all the resources at their command to destroy it!

And what gratitude might they show to the tribe which informed them of such a threat?

No! Hrityu pushed the thought aside. Even if he could now warn the Tlixix, he could not rely on them. They had proved that were not to be trusted. The only hope of survival for the Analane lay with the Artaxa.

Slowly Hrityu lifted the weapon. Remembering the attack in the desert, his reluctance vanished. The Gamintes stared at him blankly, including the one offered him for target practice.

The weapon did not look like a weapon. It was not a flinger, and simply looked like an arbitrarily shaped object.

Hrityu strove to recall what the moss-headed humanoid had said. Press this stud.

He did so. Nothing visible issued from the square-nosed device, but the effect on the Gaminte was instantaneous. He recoiled, seemed to convulse, then fell to the floor of the chamber and was still.

Karvass stepped forward, knelt and examined him.

“He is dead.”

“A flinger could have done as much,” pointed out the elder skeptically.

“There is more,” Hrityu said. “Stand aside, Karvass. Let us see if this works, too.”

With the fingers of his free hand, he turned the ring Northrop had shown him. He pointed the beamer at the line of prisoners directly in front of him.

Only the Gaminte directly in line with the gun knew that he was doomed and glared his hatred. Those on either side failed to appreciate that their turn had also come. They hung their heads in shame at not being able to help their comrade and uttered keening noises.

Again Hrityu pressed the stud.

The beam encompassed five Gamintes, though unlike the first victim they took some moments to die. First they went rigid, shivered, then slumped in their chains. While the surviving Gamintes looked on with horror Karvass announced them all, on inspection, to be dead. The elder gestured and led the way from the chamber.

He spoke first to Karvass.

“You have acquitted yourself well, Karvass. You have provided us with three new inventions, as well as with alliances with two more tribes. Your praises will be shouted at the next mass convocation.”

He spoke then to Hrityu. “You, too, have performed excellently for your tribe. Your praises too will be shouted, if we are in time to help save your people from extinction. By the way, could not your radiator tell us what the situation is at your camp?”

“Only if we are within a hundred langs.”

“I see … Well, a hundred langs is certainly a useful distance.”

“There is something else that you should know,” Hrityu said, making up his mind to reveal everything. “Karvass has described to you the strangers who gave me my weapon. That there are of an unknown tribe is not perhaps so unusual, for there are many tribes, and for that matter few know of the Artaxa. But I have seen members of this tribe before—in the Pavilion of Audience at the World Market. They were talking with the Tlixix. And they were consuming water, just as the Tlixix do!”

“Water? Did you say water?”

“Yes, elder!”

The Artaxa paused for long thoughtful moments. “That is hard to believe, for water is a deadly poison to all humanoids. Who is there to back up your word? Did you see this, Karvass?”

“No, elder, I did not. But I believe the Analane.”

The elder’s voice fell to a mutter. “What can it mean? What can it mean?”