13
The Command System: Terminus
“One can read too much into one’s own circumstances. I am reminded of one race who set themselves against us—oh, long ago
now, before I
was even thought of. Their conceit was that the galaxy belonged to them, and they justified this heresy by a
blasphemous belief concerning
design. They were aquatic, their brain and major organs housed in a large central pod from which
several large arms or tentacles protruded.
These tentacles were thick at the body, thin at the tips and lined with suckers.
Their water god was supposed to have made the galaxy in their
image.
“You see. They thought that because they bore a rough physical resemblance to the great lens that is the home of all of us—even
taking the
analogy as far as comparing their tentacle suckers to globular clusters—it therefore belonged to them. For all
the idiocy of this heathen belief,
they had prospered and were powerful: quite respectable adversaries, in fact."
“Hmm," Aviger said. Without looking up, he asked, “What were they called."
“Hmm," Xoxarle rumbled. “Their name…" The Idiran pondered. “… I believe they were called the… the Fanch."
“Never heard of them," Aviger said.
“No, you wouldn’t have," Xoxarle purred. “We annihilated them."
Yalson saw Horza staring at something on the floor near the doors leading back to the station. She kept watching Balveda,
but said, “What
have you found."
Horza shook his head, reached to pick something from the floor, then stopped. “I think it’s an insect," he said incredulously.
“Wow," Yalson said, unimpressed. Balveda moved over to have a look, Yalson’s gun still trained on her. Horza shook his head,
watching the
insect crawl over the tunnel floor.
“What the hell’s that doing down here." he said. Yalson frowned when he said that, worried at a note of near panic in the
man’s voice.
“Probably brought it down ourselves," Balveda said, rising. “Hitched a ride on the pallet, or somebody’s suit, I’ll bet."
Horza brought his fist down on the tiny creature, squashing it, grinding it into the dark rock. Balveda looked surprised.
Yalson’s frown
deepened. Horza stared at the mark left on the tunnel floor, wiped his glove, then looked up, apologetic.
“Sorry," he told Balveda, as though embarrassed. “… Couldn’t help thinking about that fly in
The Ends of Invention.
… Turned out to be one
of your pets, remember." He got up and walked quickly into the station. Balveda nodded, looking down
at the small stain on the floor.
“Well," she said, arching one eyebrow, “that was one way of proving its innocence."
Xoxarle watched the male and the two females come back into the station. “Nothing, little one." he asked.
“Lots of things, Section Leader," Horza replied, going up to Xoxarle and checking the wires holding him.
Xoxarle grunted. “They’re still somewhat tight, ally."
“What a shame," Horza said. “Try breathing out."
“Ha!" Xoxarle laughed and thought the man might have guessed. But the human turned away and said to the old man who had been
guarding him:
“Aviger, we’re going onto the train. Keep our friend company; try not to fall asleep."
“Fat chance, with him gibbering all the time," the old man grumbled.
The other three humans entered the train. Xoxarle went on talking.
In one section of the train there were lit map screens which showed how Schar’s World had looked at the time the Command System
had
been built, the cities and the states shown on the continents, the targets on one state on one continent, the missile
grounds, air bases and naval
ports belonging to the System’s designers shown on another state, on another continent.
Two small icecaps were shown, but the rest of the planet was steppe, savannah, desert, forest and jungle. Balveda wanted to
stay and look
at the maps, but Horza pulled her away and through another door, going forward to the nose of the train. He
switched off the lights behind the
map screens as he went, and the bright surface of blue oceans, green, yellow, brown and
orange land, blue rivers and red cities and
communication lines faded slowly into gray darkness.
Oh-oh.
There are more on the train. Three, I think. Walking from the rear. Now what.
Xoxarle breathed in, breathed out. He flexed his muscles, and the wires slipped over his keratin plates. He stopped, when
the old man
wandered over to look at him.
“You are Aviger, aren’t you."
“That’s what they call me," the old man said. He stood looking at the Idiran, gazing from Xoxarle’s three feet with their
three slab toes and
round ankle collars, over his padded-looking knees, the massive girdle of pelvic plates and the flat chest,
up to the section leader’s great
saddle-head, the broad face tipped and looking down at the human beneath.
“Frightened I’ll escape." Xoxarle rumbled.