"Two of you go and bring our comrade with us. We shall not leave her. But we must get away from here as fast as possible, before the smaller machines come."

The five nodded. Blade shifted the woman to a more comfortable position and led the way out into the street.

Chapter 21.

Blade led his survivors into the nearest deep cellar. He would have liked to sit down and spend hours or days with the command machine and the prisoner, digging out secrets. But to do that he and the others would have to live through whatever attack the three machines on guard outside Miros might still launch.

They stayed down there in the stifling, dusty darkness for a good two hours. After perhaps half an hour they heard the sound of three distant explosions, one after another. Then silence. After the savage violence that had thundered through its long-dead streets, Miros seemed to be returning to its former peace and quiet.

Blade realized that he was more exhausted than he had realized, both physically and mentally. His throat was as dry as the dust lying inches deep on the cellar floor around him. It got drier every time he breathed. His skin was caked with sweat and grime and his wounded hand sent a dull, continuously throbbing pain up his left arm to his bruised left shoulder. In the darkness Blade could not see the others. But their silence suggested that they were too stunned by the terrifying violence of the past few hours to even realize they had won a victory, let alone rejoice over it.

After the two hours had pa.s.sed, Blade stood up, brushed off as much dust as he could, and gave his orders.

"It's time we got back on the streets and out of Miros. If the smaller Looter machines were going to move in, I think we'd have heard them by now."

"This is true, Mazda," said Chara. "But what if they have gone off after our comrades?"

"Then we go on managing as best we can ourselves," said Blade. "We have done that all this day and so won our victory. We can go on doing it as long as necessary." He bent and lifted the Looter woman onto his shoulders again.

The first living things they met in the streets of Miros were not Looters, but a party of six of their own scouts on horseback. These broke into a gallop when they saw Blade's party, and came pounding up in a cloud of dust. In the lead was Anyara. She sprang down out of her saddle and ran up to Blade.

"Mazda, the Looters are gone from here, all of them."

"The other three machines?"

"Half an hour after the battle in the city ended, they exploded with much flame and smoke. They are nothing but pieces of black metal now, harmless to everyone."

"Good." No doubt the machines had been programmed to destroy themselves if they lost contact with the command vehicle. The Looters had realized that it was not wise to let their enemies capture their machines. "Are the four machines we captured in the first battle intact?"

"They are."

"Good again. Let them be brought into the city. I want to examine the machine in which the Looters themselves rode. There may be heavy things in it we want to take away, too heavy for our horses to carry."

"Mazda has spoken. And-the prisoner?" She pointed at the woman still slung across Blade's shoulder.

"She should not be harmed for now. If we treat her well, she may tell us much about the Looters and their machines." Blade was determined that the woman should be well-treated at all times and never tortured. But the people would not accept this att.i.tude toward an enemy even from Mazda unless he gave them some good reason.

Anyara's eyes wandered past Blade to the two men carrying the dead woman. Blade shook his head. "The prisoner did not do that. It was one of the two men with her. They are both dead. The woman is the only one left, the only one who can tell us anything."

"Only three of them?" said Anyara, wonderingly.

"Yes. Their machines still did most of their own thinking. These people only gave them orders when the machines could not figure out what to do on their own."

"It didn't help them much, did it?" said Anyara with a grin. "They lost just the same as they did the first time."

Blade nodded. He did not point out how little they would still know about the Looters if the woman refused to talk. That would only start Anyara thinking of torture again.

Instead he said, "Three or four of the scouts ride out and take word of our victory to the others. Have them come here and bring the captured machines with them. Everyone else start making camp. We will stay here for tonight, and study the big Looter machine."

There were uneasy looks around the streets where smoke still lay thick over piles of rubble and around ruined and mutilated buildings. Obviously no one cared for the idea of spending the night in the devastation that had been the city of Miros. But no one ventured a protest. Once more, Mazda had spoken.

Before sunset the rest of the expedition appeared, bringing all their gear and the captured machines with them. A foraging party to the lakesh.o.r.e brought back firewood. Campfires crackled and sparked among the tents, driving back the darkness and some of the gnawing fear. But no one sang, no one cracked a joke, no one slipped off into the shadows to make love. This was not a time for laughter or joking, and the shadows were unfriendly.

Blade worked through the night, examining the wrecked command machine. It was one marvel after another, and he learned much. He knew that he would have learned much more with the woman helping him. But the woman still sat unsmiling and unspeaking in her closely guarded tent. She took food and water when it was given to her, and showed no sign of fear or panic. But she said nothing, and her alertness never slackened. Blade hoped she would decide to speak soon. Otherwise he would have trouble persuading Anyara and the others that she should not be tortured.

Like the other Looter machines, the command machine was obviously old, perhaps centuries old. The design and construction were such that it would not wear out for a long time unless it was very poorly maintained. But it was also obvious that for some years at least it had received very little of the maintenance it needed.

Blade suspected that the woman and the two men were of two different peoples. The woman was small and slender, with a dark complexion. The two men were both tall, large-boned, heavily muscled, pale under their tans. Their curly hair was reddish brown. They also had the callused hands and feet of men accustomed to hard work-or handling weapons-and hard walking. A people of scientists and a people of soldiers or workmen? The woman knew, certainly. But the woman wouldn't say anything! Blade felt like pounding his fists against the walls of the command machine.

He had just reached that point of frustration when he found something that made him forget it and the woman alike in a single moment. In a heavy locker sprung open by the damage the machine had taken, Blade found a long, finned cylinder. It was about eight feet long and two feet in diameter, with an unmistakable fusing mechanism at one end. On its gray metal flank was the even more unmistakable symbol of an atom, in luminous red.

This had to be one of the Looters' atomic bombs. If the woman would only talk about it-!

Blade had taken the basic nuclear weapons course at the British Army's Royal Engineer school, and all atomic bombs were more or less alike. They had to be. But the same wasn't true for b.o.o.by traps or fusing mechanisms. The woman might save his life, and she would certainly save him weeks of tedious and perhaps dangerous work, by revealing the secrets of the bomb.

There was no way around it-the woman would have to speak. Anyara would be more than happy to try direct and drastic methods. Blade himself had to admit that a time might come when it would be a choice between torturing the woman and risking the existence of the people of Tharn.

But he would try other methods first. He would start by getting the woman away from the nightmarish ruins of Miros. Why not get her away from the rest of the people entirely, while he was at it? With no witnesses, he could be as gentle as he wanted to be with her. He suspected that if the woman responded at all, it would be more to gentleness than to threats or abuse.

Fortunately, he had the perfect excuse. The atomic bomb weighed nearly half a ton, far too heavy to be carried back to the lands of the people on horseback. To send for wagons or chariots would take weeks. But if the bomb could be loaded aboard one of the captured machines, Mazda could fly it swiftly back to the New City of the People. And if Mazda wanted to take back the prisoner as well, since she was almost as important as the bomb, who would object?

No one objected. Before dawn the next morning, twelve strong fighters carried the bomb to the rear platform of one of the captured machines. Then Blade carried the Looter woman, carefully bound hand and foot, into the machine.

He took off and circled three times over the battered city, watching the people in the camp below wave and brandish their weapons. He was very conscious of the burden he was carrying. It was not only the atomic bomb and the prisoner, but perhaps the whole future of the people of Tharn.

He hoped he would not stumble while he had this burden on his shoulders.

Chapter 22.

Blade flew straight west at low alt.i.tude for several hours, politely ignoring the woman. She lay quietly on the furs spread across the cabin floor, still not speaking a word. But Blade had the impression that his flying away with her was not what she had expected. Perhaps she had been expecting the torture Anyara would have inflicted? Perhaps. In any case, she was surprised-too surprised to be able to completely hide the fact.

As the plain rolled past beneath them, the woman began to relax. She stretched out as much as her bonds would let her. She stopped staring continuously at Blade as though expecting him to attack her or turn into a monster at any moment. Finally she quietly drifted off to sleep. Blade left the controls long enough to spread a fur over her, then returned to his seat. The woman would need that sleep, whatever happened to her in the next few days.

About four hours out of Miros, Blade spotted a small lake to the north. This was as good a place as any to land and begin his "interrogation" of the woman. They were hundreds of miles from both the people and the Looters, as alone for the moment as Adam and Eve.

Blade landed the machine without waking the woman. Still without waking her, he carefully locked away all the weapons except his own sword, then disconnected the main controls. He tied the hatch key, the locker key, and the sword to his belt. Then he sat down beside the woman and gently rested one hand on her shoulder.

She came awake in an instant, eyes widening and body going rigid. Her eyes never blinked or left Blade's face as he drew his sword. But he could see her teeth biting into her lower lip until beads of blood appeared and a trickle crept down her chin. She was seeing death in that drawn sword, and she was determined to face it and endure it without a cry or a moment's loss of courage.

This, Blade realized, was a warrior. Or at least a brave woman determined to look as much like a warrior as she could.

He reached over behind her back with the sword. A quick flick of the sword, and the leather thongs binding her hands fell to the floor. Another flick, and her feet were also free.

This time the woman not only didn't hide her surprise, but looked as though she was going to faint from it. Blade quickly rose and got her a cup of water. Slowly she sat up, straightening and flexing bruised and cramped arms and legs. Then she took the cup and drank, holding it in shaking hands.

"Drink as much as you want," said Blade. He spoke quietly and politely, as he would have spoken to a female guest in his own London flat. "There is plenty of water and food. I do not wish to harm you in any way."

"You are-who?" the woman said. Her voice was low and husky, more with strain than with anything else. Blade nearly sighed with relief. He had seriously begun to wonder if by some mad joke of fate the woman was a mute! That would have meant a thousand kinds of unwanted fun in trying to interrogate her about the Looters!

"I am the Mazda of the people of the land of Tharn," he replied. "I lead them in their wars."

"My name is Silora," the woman said. "I am a-" She stopped suddenly and her mouth clamped shut.

"Yes," said Blade. "You are a-?"

"Why should I tell you?" said Silora, her voice chilly. "You are Princ.i.p.al Technician of War for your people. Anything I tell you, you may use against mine. You are an enemy."

"I do not know that this is so," said Blade. "Even if it is so now, it need not be so in the future. But I know almost nothing about your people, so how can I tell? You know practically nothing about the people of Tharn, so how can you tell either?

"I ask you to think this over. In the meantime you are free to walk about, drink, eat, bathe-to make yourself as comfortable as you wish. As I said, I do not wish to harm you. You have no good reason to wish to harm me, either." Blade rose and went to the hatch, opened it, and stepped out onto the platform, leaving the hatch open.

He wasn't going to trust the woman enough to leave her with any easy chances to try escaping or killing him. But he was going to trust her to respond to decent treatment and no threats.

Besides, there was that intriguing possibility that the Looters might be two different peoples in an alliance. An uneasy alliance? Possibly. An alliance that might be broken? Also possibly. If he could just learn enough- Blade stepped down off the platform and started walking around the machine, trying to walk off some of his impatience.

He kept walking for an hour, moving in wider and wider circles, farther and farther from the machine. Finally he walked over to the sh.o.r.e of the lake and hid himself behind a bush, watching the machine carefully. If Silora took this apparent chance to escape, it would mean she was absolutely desperate. She would have to be desperate, to walk away barefoot into the endless plains of this unknown land. If she was even more desperate but cooler-headed, she might try to fuse the atomic bomb and set it off.

She did neither. Blade spent two tedious hours under the bush, broiled by the sun and jabbed and nibbled at by a.s.sorted bugs. At the end of that time he rose and walked back to the machine.

Silora was asleep on the floor again. An empty food container beside her showed that she had eaten. Blade bent over to listen to her peaceful breathing. So far so good. She was not desperate, at least not now. But she might take a long time to become friendly, if she ever did.

Silora didn't become particularly friendly during the next several days they spent camped by the lake. But she didn't need to. If she had been facing one of the people, the odd phrases she let fall might have been as meaningless as the gruntings of a pig. But Blade was a trained and expert interrogator. He knew a good deal about the Looters and had guessed a good deal more. He could make Silora's most casual phrases into pieces of the puzzle he was a.s.sembling.

He suspected more and more that the Looters were actually two people. But he still wasn't sure. He was still less sure what the exact relationship between those two peoples might be. Could they possibly be turned into enemies, in the ancient tradition of "divide and conquer?"

He could risk asking Silora directly, of course. But that might shatter the slim trust in him she had let herself develop. She could turn silent and sullen again. Would Anyara-or even his own son-give him the extra time to win her trust again? Could he win it? If he couldn't, sooner or later they would ask him to turn her over for torture. He would refuse-he knew it. What would the people and his own son say then, if he refused something that might save them?

d.a.m.n! There were risks either way. He could decide which course to take almost as well by flipping a coin as by any other way.

Evening came down on the plain, the evening of their fourth day at the camp. Blade had put arrows into a couple of gopherlike animals that stuck their heads up at the wrong moment. Now they made a savory smell as they roasted on a spit over a campfire laid out on the sh.o.r.e of the lake. Smoke rose into the darkening sky and the light of the fire glimmered on the gently rippling water of the lake.

Silora sat cross-legged on the gra.s.s, her freshly washed tunic and trousers steaming themselves dry on her body.

She still did not trust Blade enough to strip down in his presence, although he had gone naked day and night since the second day. This surprised her and made her nervous at first. But after a day she obviously became used to it. Blade even noticed her casting one or two interested looks at him.

He picked up the spit and cut it in two with his sword, handing her one animal. She tore greedily into the fresh, smoking meat, letting the grease ooze down her chin. That was another thing that she found hard to accept. Blade always served her first and made a special point of giving her the choicest pieces.

When they had both finished off their meat, Blade poured both their cups full of beer from the last skin bag. He drank, then smiled. "Silora, what is a 'Princ.i.p.al Technician of War'? What does he do, among your people?"

Silora did not stiffen or glare as she had done before. She only replied, "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I don't know if I am really one or not, among the people of Tharn. It's a strange t.i.tle, and you've made me curious about what it might mean."

"It means it is what the commander of the shtafari calls himself. It is not a t.i.tle that is rightfully his, but he uses it anyway." Both her eyes and her voice showed indignation.

Blade nodded. "And who-or what-are the shtafari? That's something you haven't mentioned before."

He caught the sudden tightening of her lips and the veiling of her eyes and laid a hand gently on one of her knees. "It just struck me-you know very little of how we live in Tharn. So why don't I tell you of it, and what I am as Mazda. Then you can tell me whether I am indeed a-a Princ.i.p.al Technician of War-or whatever." He said the t.i.tle as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

She nodded. "That-that seems fair enough. I would like to know more about you." The curiosity in her voice was genuine. So was the curiosity in her eyes as they ran over his body again.

Blade launched into his description of life in Tharn. He didn't say very much about the history of the people or how they had ended up in their present situation. Instead he gave the impression that life in Tharn had gone happily along this way for centuries.

Blade got quite caught up in his own tale, enough to stop paying attention to Silora. It wasn't until he broke off for a drink of water that he realized she was staring at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. He hadn't seen her eyes so wide since the day of her capture.

"What is it, Silora?" he said. "Has my face turned blue or something like that?"

Silora swallowed and shook her head. "No, it is-it is-it is-"

"It is what, Silora?" said Blade gently.

"Your warriors-your shtafari-do they rule the-the neuters?"

"What do you mean by 'rule,' Silora? They-"

"They keep them behind bars at home, don't they? And the women-no, there aren't any women neuters-but if there were women, they would-" She realized she wasn't making any sense, stopped, took a deep breath, and went on. "The warriors-do they give the orders and the neuters and the women obey? Or-" Her voice trailed off, as if she could not imagine any other way of living.

"I'm still not sure what you mean," said Blade. He was quite sure, in fact. The truth about the Looters was coming out at last. He had his victory, and the torturers would not have Silora. "Both our men and our women fight, as you have seen. Our neuters do not fight, but that does not mean they obey. They are often wise teachers, and much respected."

"Then-then your warriors are not-shtafari. They-there was no war between them and the neuters and women?"

"War? No." Almost the truth. "Why should there be? They-"

Silora swallowed. "The shtafari-they rule in Konis. They have ruled since their revolt, the revolt that took away all the power of the Peace Lords. All the hope of the Peace Lords." Her eyes were wet and she seemed about to burst into tears.

"The Peace Lords?" repeated Blade, nodding as though he understood absolutely. "Naturally you as a Peace Lord were-abused-by those two shtafari who were with you in the machine?" That was a gamble, a shot almost in the dark. But he couldn't think of anything to say that would do more good if by some chance it did hit its target.

Silora quivered as if she had been struck by a real arrow, and her eyes closed for a moment, squeezing out tears to make trails down her soot-darkened cheeks. "Yes. Yes. They-the shtafari do-always have done-what they wish with Peace Lord women. But these-" She could not go on. It was as though the memory of what the two shtafari had done made her so physically ill that words would not come.

Blade nodded. But this time when he spoke he made his voice sound harsher and more suspicious than he felt. "I see, almost. But-then why were you armed with that sword, if you and the shtafari were ene-"

Silora giggled hysterically. "Oh-if you had seen me with those two-animals-you wouldn't ask. I did-they thought I was so hungry for everything they wanted me to do that I would never turn against them. Never, never, never! They thought I was a hungry little pet they could keep tame by feeding what she wanted. What I wanted!" The giggle rose to a hysterical laugh. Silora threw back her head and howled and shrieked open-mouthed, eyes staring blindly up at the starlit sky. Blade reached out to take her and hold her, but she sprang to her feet and away from him. For a moment her eyes drifted down to focus on him, then she turned and ran off into the darkness.

Blade threw another armful of wood on the fire and lay back on the furs spread on the ground. There was no need to follow Silora. In fact, she might become more hysterical and run faster if he did. She would come back when she was calm enough to say to Blade all the things that were obviously bubbling up inside her. That would take time. But after tonight Silora would be talking much more freely, and Blade would be learning about the Looters-the people of Konis-much faster than he had been.

Gradually the warmth of the fire made Blade feel sleepy. He considered trying to stay awake until Silora returned, then decided there was no need. She had no weapons and could not fly away in the machine. There was small chance that she would want to either harm him or flee, in any case. Blade quietly drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace with the world than he had felt since he returned to Tharn.