In the hall Barch set the locator on the table, went to look out into the night. Arn and Ardl, lounging close together, sprang apart with a guilty start. "Damn it," cried Barch, "if you can't stop love-making or whatever you call it long enough to stand watch, I'll strip you naked and then there'll be an end to this foolishness."
Ardl went smartly on his rounds. Barch turned to Arn. "Don't let that Splang pilot get past you."
"No, Roy."
Barch looked up into the sky. Suppose the position of the barge had been noted. If so, a barge-load of Podruod troops might drop down at any minute. He shrugged. If they came, they came.
Back in the hall, Tick was seated on the table, a hand placed proprietarily on the locator. "Many pilots fly dead; they set the cell, they sleep. Not I. I look at my locator"- he patted the box-"and I fly with my hands." He held up his hands. The fingers ended in knobs, like a tree toad's.
Barch saw Chevrr sitting in a corner scornfully. He crossed the room, squatted beside him. "Are all his race like him?"
Chevrr nodded dourly. "We stay in the mountains to avoid them. They breed twins once a year, they swarm in the trees, they are worthless except as acrobats and prostitutes."
"But how can I control him?"
"Kill him."
Barch grimaced. "I find killing hard to get used to. Besides he is the only one who can fly that barge."
The folds of Chevrr's gloomy face went through an amazing process of opening, smoothing, widening. Chevrr was smiling. "He wears a lucky charm; all coast-folk do. It is his birth sac, with the diagram of his beach sands. You will find it inside a leech which sucks at his belly. Take this charm and you are his master."
"Ah," said Barch.
"Be careful. If he knows what you plan, he becomes a demon, a giant. No one in the room could hold him."
Barch stood up, went to Kerbol, spoke briefly, passed on to Flatface, then to Moranko.
Barch went to the table, moved the locator to the side of the room. Tick weighed no more than a hundred thirty pounds. He looked stringy and agile.
Kerbol and Flatface came up behind. Each seized an arm; Moranko grasped the spidery legs.
Tick looked up in sudden wonder. Barch stepped forward, pulled up the front of his yellow blouse.
Tick's eyes popped forward until more was out than in. He writhed his shoulders; Kerbol and Flatface were dragged half across the table. He tensed his legs; incredibly Moranko was jerked a foot from the floor.
There on the sweating writhing skin was a flat brown spot. Barch pulled it free with his fingernails. Two objects dropped to the stone floor of the cave: a metal locket and the leech which humped sluggishly toward the fire. Tick leaned down at the locket, his eyes protruded as if on stalks. He drew his arms forward; Flatface and Kerbol, panting and gasping, came across the table like pillows. Barch picked up the locket, snapped it open, drew out a wisp of membrane.
"Tick," said Barch, "sit still."
Tick's eyes receded into his head. Kerbol and Flatface gained their feet.
"Tick," said Barch, "will you behave?"
Tick sighed. "My life is no longer my own."
"Not one of us here owns his life. We're in this together; we'll leave Magarak together or we'll die together. Do you understand that?"
Tick made no answer. His eyes sought out Chevrr's, as if seeking sympathy.
Barch said, "Where I go, your charm goes. When we get free of Magarak, you'll have it back."
Tick said nothing.
Barch returned the locator to the table, looked in at the pulsing pastel landscape. "What are those transparent white squares?"
"I don't know," said Tick.
"What are the black lines?"
"Those are the underground belts."
"I see a bright orange spot with things like fish bones waving on top. How would I find out what place that is?"
Tick looked. "That's on the Ptrsfur Peninsula, Zcham District."
"How do you know?"
"The signs are on the strip at the top."
"And the orange block?"
Tick twisted a knob. A black dot moved across the panorama, centered on the orange block. Tick pointed to a line of glowing orange symbols on the cylinder at the side. "There you will read the function of the block."
Barch scrutinized the symbols. "Can you read them?"
"No."
Barch glanced around the room. "Ellen, can you read this?"
Indifferently she came to look. "The manufacture of padisks verktt."
"And what is that?"
" 'Padisks' is number nine in series ten-or eleven-of the artificial elements. Verktt are a kind of radiation valves."
Barch grunted. "Oh." He tentatively turned the dial again. "This thing should be a big help to us." He looked around. No one appeared to be excited. "It's a great piece of luck."
Flatface pressed his agate eyes against -the slit, twisted the dial. "Ah-there is the Purpurat, where I wound bobbins for five years."
Barch turned to Komeitk Lelianr. "Tick told me about a Magarak coordinator-a calculating machine of some kind."
"Yes," said Komeitk Lelianr. "A manufacturing world is coordinated by what is called a 'brain'-a scheduling machine, which keeps the elements of the world running efficiently."
She twisted the locator dial, reading the characters. Barch watched a moment. "Ellen, it looks like you've got yourself a job."
She nodded in agreement. Barch glanced around the table. Eyes were on him; eyes black, blue, white, red, slate-green. He said hesitantly to the hall at large, "We might as well talk this project over."
He waited, there was no reply. They were, perhaps, not accustomed to talking things over.
"We've got the barge," said Barch. "My idea was to fit on some kind of air-tight balloon, net it over with cable."
There was silence. Barch looked around the table. Moses, the dwarf, threw wood on the fire. Barch said edgily, "I don't see why it wouldn't work, but I'm no spaceship engineer. Maybe somebody has a better idea."
Komeitk Lelianr said off-handedly, "Far simpler to obtain another barge, and weld the two of them face to face."
Barch sat perfectly still a moment, to make sure of himself. "That sounds like a very good idea." He paused. "There's a point to consider. In space we'll depend on the lift units for propulsion, so that we can keep to our feet. I hope for at least one gravity constant acceleration, which will bring us to light-speed-or as close as possible-in somewhere near a year. After that-I don't know. Earth scientists are convinced that light-speed is the ultimate."
Komeitk Lelianr smiled faintly. "Earth scientists have little practical experience in space-travel."
Barch continued as if he had not heard. "The point I was trying to make was, if we carry the extra mass of a second barge, can we reach that acceleration?"
"Certainly. More easily than with only one barge. You will have available the lift of both barges; they work on a positive-negative principle, like electric magnets."
Barch, a little at a loss, said, "Oh. I didn't know."
Pedratz the taffy-colored one, said, Two coils of welding tape, two hours, and two barges are one!"
Barch rose to his feet, walked outside to check on the Calbyssinians. Arn, standing alone by the doorway, gave him an aggrieved glance. Barch bent to look at the wrist watch. "Your time's about up. I'll send out your relief."
He returned within, gave the Griffits instruction, went out with them, explained the wrist watch, then came back to the table, with the feeling of returning into a chess match. He said, "Before we weld the barges together, it might be a good idea to deck over the first barge, with the effect of doubling our floor space. Also, we'd better install whatever machinery we need-the air conditioners, water condensers, the-"
Komeitk Lelianr said, "Lekthwans use a single unit, a sustenator. Carbon dioxide and water vapor are extracted from the air; water, oxygen are produced, as well as basic food-stuff. The Klau presumably employ something similar."
Barch wondered if she might be deliberately flaunting her superior knowledge. Probably not, he decided wearily; it wouldn't occur to her as desirable. He looked for Tick. "Hey, Tick-where do the Klau build spaceship sustenators?"
Tick came over the locator, twisted the nob. "That's the growing plant for the shell down there-the black and green. The final assembly is at Stalkoa-Skel, Magdkoa District, on the fourth tier. I once picked up a cargo for the space-works on Gdoa." He twisted the dial. "There, the red block."
It would be easier, thought Barch, if I weren't so darned nervous. He studied the rock-colored hulk to his right. Kerbol had no more nerves than a lizard. Ahead was the thin crouched back of Tick, piloting the raft, completely at ease, making a chirping cricket sound with his lips.
Barch looked back over the side. They flew low; under and among a stream of barges, rafts, spheres and occasional flashing snapping objects like sheets of silver lightning. Overhead rose the massive, sooty towers of Magarak, crowding the sky, crowding the imagination. Even higher, feathery trusses flickered back and forth; smoke boiled and drifted. Colored flares fumed and dazzled; the air rolled with sound: clanging, chugging, roaring, hissing.
Tick flew confidently, almost happily, as if he were in a favorite stamping-ground. Barch shook his head in wonder, giving grudging respect to a brain which so casually encompassed and accepted this appalling bedlam.
The raft halted. Tick gestured with a hand like a monkey-paw. "That's it." They hung over what appeared to be a funnel of concentric terraces, vast as a crater, shining with leaden rings of light. A great black building, diamond-shaped, hung precariously over the gap, the sharp corner reaching to the center. Pillars of green light, like thick neon-tubes, rose from each of the steps into the building.
The diamond-shaped building expanded, the funnel opened out like a target. "Hold it!" cried Barch. "Are you going to land on that roof?"
Tick waved his arm in a kind of lunatic light-hearted reassurance. "That's where the loaded barges come out; you want a loaded one› don't you?"
"That's what we want," said Barch. "Drop down and be ready to land on one as soon as it's safe."
"Safe?" Tick suddenly thought of his loss. "Nothing is safe, surety has fled; death rides one's shoulders like a brain-sucker." He turned to Barch. "Did you know that without the beach diagram, a man may not even die properly?"
"Watch that barge," said Barch unfeelingly. "It's coming out."
A barge slid up into the air, round black bosses making a polka-dot pattern in the hold. "Hell and damnation!" said Barch. "Do they ship an army corps to guard the things?"
Kerbol squinted. "A dozen Lenape, six Bornghalese guards -worse than the Podruods."
Tick slanted down. "Tell me when to land."
Barch yelled, "Pull up, you idiot! We can't kill all those men!"
Tick turned the raft off to the side in injured silence. After a moment Barch said, "We'll have to wait for the next one. How long should that be?"
Tick waved his arm. "I have no knowledge. Perhaps one hour, perhaps two. But we had better go back to the mountains; the project is impractical. Without my charm, I feel death close at my side."
"We don't go back till we get one or two of those sustenators. We can't breathe five years on a barge-load of air."
"But you do not attack," complained Tick. "The barge comes out, you draw back, you hesitate. Better to go back to Palkwarkz Ztvo and sleep."
"The next barge may have no guards on it."
"All sustenator barges carry guards. They watch the Lenape, who have grown and modulated the sustenators, and who go along to fit them into the spaceship frames."
"Oh," said Barch.
Tick pointed. "Now here comes a barge to be loaded." He looked quickly at the locator. "Rust-orange-out of Mem-pas Six, a Bornghaleze District."
Barch said, "We'll board that barge. By the time it comes back out, it'll be loaded with what we want. Sustenators and Lenape brains. Quick!"
Tick skidded the craft sidewise through the air; a trick Barch had never known the raft capable. It flipped over the rail, settled to the floor of the hold.
Barch jumped off, onto the solidity of the barge. "Come along, Tick. Kerbol, slide the raft up under the forward apron."
Barch ran lightly forward, slid open the dome. The pilot was a graceful maroon creature, handsome as a hero's mask; but, when he turned to look, Barch saw the four-point star in his eyes-Bornghalese. No occasion for delicacy. Barch shot, pushed Tick into the pilot's seat. "Take over. Fly the barge down to the sideway, then stay put in the dome. Don't come out, don't say anything! When you get a full load, start out for Gdoa."
Tick nodded, reached down, detached the dead man's assignment card, fixed it to himself. Barch seized the dead Bornghalese, hesitated. If he dragged the body back into the hold, he might be seen from the black diamond building.
"Kick him out," said Tick off-handedly. "Let him fall."
Why not? thought Barch. He opened the front portal, shoved; the maroon body flapped down through the shadows like a demon-bird.
Barch turned to give last instructions to Tick, thought better of it. No need to instruct Tick in brass: that was carrying coals to Newcastle. He hastened back into the hold. The forward catwalk created a dark shelter; Kerbol had slid the raft below, raised it to press up against the overhead.
Barch looked around the hold for a hiding place, and perforce came back to the apron, under the forward catwalk. Where was Kerbol? Barch crouched in sudden cat-like caution, slunk forward, gun in hand.
"Up here," rumbled a hoarse voice.
Barch ducked, looked up into the cross-bracing under the catwalk. "Oh." He swung himself up alongside, peered out through the lattice of metal lath. "I hope this turns out to be a good idea."
The barge grounded on a yielding floor; there was cessation to the near-soundless hum of the motors. The barge gave a lurch, slid into position, moved slowly along the slide-way. Lurid lights glowed on Barch's face; he turned his head, saw Kerbol huddled tightly in the corner as if impersonating a shadow.
A tall man yellow as a lemon, thin as a heron, wearing a conical green hat, leaped down into the barge, stalked thoughtfully back and forth, his eyes on the deck as if seeking a lost object. He bent, made a mark, stepped out with one stride of spidery leg.
The raft slid on. On one side gleamed high prismatic panes, from the other came a soft hum with forms and shapes moving, twitching, jerking, contracting.
A musical horn blast sounded; a second spidery man stepped into the hold, walked peering back and forth. He bent over the first man's mark, straightened, looked up. A tremendous black shape dropped with frightening suddenness, buffeting the air three feet from Barch's face, cutting off his view.
A moment passed. The great black shape snapped away like the flick of an eyelid, and now the hold was clear of all litter.
The barge slid placidly, as if floating in a quiet canal. Peering through the cracks, Barch saw a low portal ahead. The barge passed through into darkness.
A tremendous hand seized Barch, banged him against the metal. A roar like a million whirlwinds rang in his ears. He seized the bracing, gripped for dear life against the pressure.
The barge slid into light. Barch unfolded his bruised body, looked across to Kerbol. "Are you still there?"
Kerbol grunted. Barch fitted himself gingerly back against the angle struts, which now seemed cunningly designed to press into his aches.
Two men with long pony-faces, mottled white and brown skin, wearing hats like mushrooms, hopped down into the hold, waited. They looked up, reached. A black case hanging on a tube, like a berry on a stalk, dropped into the hold. The piebald men shoved it into a corner; the stalk snapped away.
A minute passed, the raft drifted past a bank of blue, red and green lights. Then another sustenator dropped into the hold. Another rank of lights, another sustenator.
The struts ground into Barch's flesh, he shifted and twisted. Kerbol sat like a lump of putty, motionless. The hold gradually filled, the loaders backing stolidly toward the forward apron.
After an interminable period, the hold was full. The barge slid on, around and up. Sudden vast bright space surrounded the barge. They had come out into a hall. The diamond-shaped building? Barch craned his neck, could see nothing but a high glowing ceiling.
He heard voices of a peculiar brazen timber that his skin recognized with instant contraction: Podruods. He saw massive red legs stalking around the catwalk; he thought he heard Tick's light rhythmical intonations. A moment later the deck sounded to the thud of new feet. Barch glimpsed a round yellow-brown face. Greenish-yellow splotches like grease paint surrounded eyes like balls of opal.
One after another, perhaps a dozen, they jumped on rubbery legs into spaces between the sustenators, stood silent as bisque dolls.
Two Podruods went one to each of the rear comers, planted themselves like a pair of statues. The little round men looked up with the blank eyes of sheep.
Barch inspected them critically. Who were these? What would he do with them? They looked completely inept, useless-a burden to the tribe. He wanted brains-Lenape mechanics, technicians; what he got was little fat men.