The Demu Trilogy - The Demu Trilogy Part 52
Library

The Demu Trilogy Part 52

"Whatever that may be, it is of good."

"We find it so," the Filj'ar replied. "On a day of ef- fort, the release given by the dreif adds to what may be done well." For a moment, Kimchuk was silent. "For that day, once is ail-for help or harm, more would do nothing. You feel so?"

"Yes." Barton felt-knew-that sleep would be nec- essary to reset the mind's mechanisms, before the sub- stance could act again. He found it strange to know such a thing by intuition or instinct, but he did not doubt it.

Nor was he surprised to see a similar dish at Tarieton's place, and at Slobodna's.

Combined-fleet logistics occupied the afternoon ses- sion. Tarieton, proposing a tentative plan, put Scalsa's double-track computer readouts to good use. Again Tamirov interpreted.

The point was that taking the whole Earth-Tilaran fleet to Larka and then to Filj, to pick up the con- tingents from those planets, was the slow way and the hard way. Tarieton had a better idea.

"Once we're ready," he said, "it makes sense to dis- perse-and assemble later, down-Arm, in striking dis- tance of the major Demu planets. First we iron out the weapons problems, and the organizational stuff. Then,

196.

with the planning done and only the hard work left to do, we can start setting schedules.

"At that point, one of our squadrons-I had yours in mind, Slowboat-can accompany Larka-Te ships to Larka, and help there in any way that is needed. Such as design modifications of Larkan ships to carry the laser, and so forth.

"At the same time, yo^ squadron, Tamirov, can be doing the same drill with the Filjar. Cummings, your group stays here and comes to rendezvous with the Tilari ships. AU, right so far?" There were no complaints.

"Meanwhile, as soon as Squadron One is rigged with as many new-to us-weapons systems as it can use, it takes a high-grav trip to Larka and to Filj. Mostly just to say hello and confirm schedules. By then, some will already be heading for rendezvous. On that, we're still working out the timing."

Vertan rose. "And have all heard and understood choice of meeting point?"

Barton caught a nudge in the ribs. "This is your baby,"

Tarieton muttered. "You explain it."

Barton stood. "Flash the map, will you, Tarn?" On the wall, distorted only slightly by the curvature, ap- peared a section of the galactic Arm. Tilari, Larka-Te, Filjar, and Demu areas glowed in different colors. Bar- ton walked closer to the wall, and pointed to a blink- ing spot of light, near a patch ot deep black.

"Here's rendezvous," he said. "Just short of Demu territory, and hidden from their guard planets by this dust cloud." He spoke through Tamirov; his reasonably fluent Tilaran was not, he felt, up to precise technical description. "We hope to synchronize well enough to meet and barge out all together before they spot us- and close enough that, from then on, acceleration dif- ferences won't be much of a problem.

"We want to converge on their major world, Demmon, before they have any chance to gather and meet us. If we can take that planet as hostage, we figure they won't dare force a fight-they'll have to talk instead, and that's what we're after." Well, the hostage principle had got him free from the Demu. There were worse means -especially if the bluff worked.

"At least, that's the plan, unless someone comes up with something better." He paused. "Questions?" There were several, but none he couldn't answer.

197.

Slobodna took charge again; the discussion concerned ways of installing Earth's "big-daddy laser" in ships not designed to leave the central axis vacant for it. The problem was not simple. Slobodna suggested parallel- tube construction outside the main hull. A TUaran ex- pert countered with the proposal of a folded-path generator to be mounted at front-center of each ship.

People brought out calculating machines, textbooks, and charts-and the argument was on. Barton decided they were doing fine without him, and relaxed.

Corval approached and sat beside him. "You Earthani decide, what is to be done."

Barton remembered not to smile. "Not of our need, Corval. We say what may be done. Perhaps someone- you, Vertan-says a better thing. We speak together- it is the better thing, all agreed, that we do."

"I am not of complaint," said the Larka-Te. "It is good that one says, this we will do. It is good that an- other says, it can be better, and is heard. When I say that you decide, I say it as a needed thing you do, that is of good."

Not a gripe, then, but a compliment-Barton kept his sigh of relief sotto voce. "It is of good that Larka-Te and Earthani have minds together." As Corval rose and moved away, his nonsmile gave Barton a warm feeling.

But, Piljar supennud or no. Barton was pooped. He sat suently, half-listening, until Tarieton approached him.

"I think we're about wound up. Ready to go?"

"You never spoke a truer word."

Hands shaken to completion, the two escaped. Out- side in the ground car, the young Tilaran woman waited.

Barton hoped she hadn't waited all day, then decided that Limila's people would not so waste an individual.

Maybe, he thought, he'd spent too much time in the Army. Or in the Demu cage.-. . .

As they approached the ship, Tarieton spoke. "What do you think?"

Barton wasn't sure what he thought, because he wasn't sure what Tarieton meant. He turned to look at the big- ger man, and saw in his face only expectancy.

Then he knew. "I think," he said, "I like the new neighbors."

It was close to dinner time, but Barton didn't go into the ship. He let Tarieton off there and asked to be

198.

taken to Limila, at the TUaran "surgical place." Despite his sketchy description the woman nodded, and drove toward the far end of the spaceport. Soon they were off the bare field, moving among trees and buildings.

There was little traffic-only a few other cars-and Barton realized he knew practically nothing about the Tilaran economy or way of life. This was the rush hour?

There were no streets. Buildings were placed seem- ingly at random, interspersed with trees and shrubbery.

In the open spaces the ground cover looked a little like moss and a little less like grass; its greenness was quite Earthlike. The car's soft, bulky tires left no marks.

The building, when they reached it, didn't look, to Barton, much like a hospital. It was not large-about the size of a two-story, ten-room house-and was irregularly convex with, here and there, dished concave sections, Some of the latter were tinted windows; others were opaque. The Tilaran flair for shading colors was evident.

A broken corner near the entrance showed Barton that the color-at that point a pale blue-green-was not any kind of paint; it went solidly through the material.

His artist's curiosity was roused-he decided to ask later about the techniques. Meanwhile, his interest lay inside.

He arranged for the driver to leave him and return later, after she had eaten. The time period, if Barton's grasp of Tilaran chronometry were at all accurate, was about an hour. '

He left the car and entered the building. He found no registration desk or information counter-in what appeared to be a combined bedroom and living room, a male Tilaran sat, reading. As Barton entered, the man looked up but said nothing.

"I would meet with the woman Limila," said Barton.

"She is here?"

The Tilaran nodded, stood, and led the way along a curved, narrow corridor. They passed three doors. At the fourth he stopped, nodded again, turned, and went back the way they had come.

Barton knocked on the door. The material was some- what elastic; his knock made hardly any sound. He lifted the handle and opened the door. The room was much like the first one he'd seen. And Limila, sitting in profile to him, was also reading.

For a moment, making no n^/e to draw her atten- tion, he looked. The long wig, tumbled loose over the

199.

shoulders of a turquoise robe, hid part of her face-bu( the lines of brow and nose, of cheekbone and mouth, caught at him.

"Limila. . . ."

"Barton!" Tossing the hair back with a quick move of her head, she rose. He moved to embrace her, but she put a palm against his chest. "Hold me, yes-but greatly gentle." All right-he could do that, and did.