Short Fiction · Warrior of Two Worlds (4/6) (2/2)

They, too, wore armor, and bore weapons and tools, but I judged that they were more of a reserve than a first fighting force. More thoughts coursed through my head⁠—if my earlier memories were departed, they left the more room for recent happenings and speeches. The Council had insisted that it was necessary to keep the population of Dondromogon small, for the sake of good living. Yet it seemed false reasoning if even women must be armed for battle. And the women, on the whole, were better specimens than the men. They were not large⁠—none anywhere near as tall as Elonie or as compactly vigorous as Doriza⁠—but seemed healthy and intelligent for the most part, and some were even handsome. One or two gave me an appraising, admiring look, such as soldiers should not give frankly to commanders.

I concluded the inspection, and returned to a position in front of the force. “At ease,” I bade them. “I have words to say.

“Some, at least, must have seen me last night at the recreation hour. I spoke then as to the general population of Dondromogon. Now I speak to you specifically, as soldiers facing battle duty. Your commanders think that the time is at hand for a victorious termination of the war with those strangers you call the Newcomers.”

I paused, and watched the expressions of my listeners. At the phrase, “termination of the war,” some of them positively yearned. As Gederr had admitted, the commoners of Dondromogon wanted no more fighting. Perhaps my coming was indeed by providence, to bring peace. A better peace, I now decided, than they had ever known.

“When the war is over,” I went on, “I propose to lead you still. Since I am accepted as a leader, I have a right to do that. It seems that your health and happiness will be bettered if, in some way, we achieve a new conquest⁠—conquest of the outdoors. There may be storms, but there are also natural sunlight and fresh air. Yes, and perhaps fresh natural foods, that will strengthen you more than synthetics. Does that appeal to you?”

Plainly it did.

“As to the Newcomers, I do not know them. Yet it seems that, with the fighting ended, some friendly agreement may be reached. If they do not harm us, they may help us. That will follow victory. I feel thus assured. That is all I have to say.” I faced the officer in charge. “Take over.”

Doriza and I walked away, back to our vehicle. “Where now?” I asked.

For answer, she pointed to a white oblong on the inner wall of the vehicle. It was a little screen, on which figures appeared. “Gederr requests that we return to him. He feels that we may be too close to possible violent action, and he is not yet ready that Yandro risk himself.”

We rolled back toward the main passages of the community, and eventually to an office, where Gederr was in close, muttered conversation with Sporr and Elonie. They greeted my entrance in various ways⁠—Sporr with a senile smirk that he hoped was ingratiating, Elonie with a most inviting smile, Gederr with blank embarrassment. Gederr bowed and gestured toward an inner door. “Will Yandro pleasure me with a private conference?”

I bowed in turn, and followed him in.

“I heard Yandro’s words to the troops, by speaker system,” he began silkily. “Eloquent and inspiring⁠—but Yandro must realize some salient facts.”

“Such as?” I prompted.

“The talk of friendly agreement with the Newcomers⁠—ill be their fate! They must be wiped clean off of Dondromogon.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed, and he smiled.

“I am honored that Yandro agrees so quickly⁠—”

“I said, perhaps. Because I do not know the Newcomers as yet. It may be that they deserve death to the last man. But they may also deserve honorable treatment, alliance even.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but interruption came from outside. Sounds of struggle, and the cry of Doriza:

“Help me⁠—help!”

I bounded to the door and tore it open, injuring the automatic lock. An officer stood in the outer office, and two soldiers had Doriza by the wrists. I made a lunge, knocked one of them spinning against a wall. “What is this?” I roared. “She is my aide.”

“Her arrest has been commanded,” spoke up Elonie in a sullen voice.

“Who commanded it? I countermand it!” I faced the roomful of protesting faces. “You call me Yandro, your leader from divine source. Let me say that nothing will happen to Doriza except by my will.”

Gederr spoke from the inner doorway: “Great Yandro speaks in riddles. I had thought that he had no attachment for Doriza.”

“Oh, you tried to make me a gift of her last night,” I exploded, “but that has nothing to do with the present case. Doriza lives. She remains free. Understand?”

“Perhaps,” mused Sporr, as if to himself. “There have been accidents.⁠ ⁠…”

“Come,” I said to Doriza. “To my quarters.” I faced the others again. “Danger to her shall be answered by me. Is it understood?”

We rode silently in the vehicle, and came to the rooms set aside for me. Once inside, I made sure that speaking tubes and televiso were turned off. Then:

“Doriza! There are things I do not know. Tell them to me.”

She hung her head. “They would have seen me dead, like the others, to shut my mouth.”

“And I saved you. Now speak. All I seem to find familiar is the name of Barak.”

She looked up again. “You remember the name?”

“Faintly. Vaguely. But what is happening just beyond my knowledge?”

She caught me by the forearm, her small, strong hands gripped like vises.

“I’ll tell you! Tell you everything! Those devils of the Council have long exploited and drained Dondromogon⁠—with lies about the First Comers, and the exclusive use of science! The Newcomers are to be trapped through you, the natives deluded through you! But you⁠—you are to die when your usefulness is through!”

“They’d do that?” I demanded. “After they name me as Yandro, their legendary hero?”

“That’s part of the great lie!” And Doriza was sobbing. “You aren’t Yandro⁠—you’re Barak of the Newcomers!”