“That’s Bert Kosler!” Belsnor shouted, panting for breath. “You killed an old man!”
“No,” he said, and looked down. He saw Bert Kosler, the settlement’s custodian, lying there. “He fell into the possession of the Form Destroyer,” he said, but he did not believe it–he saw what he had done, knew what he had done. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll ask the God-Above-God to bring him back.” He turned and ran into his room; locking the door he stood there shaking. Nausea flung itself up into his throat; he gagged, blinked . . . deep pains filled his stomach and he had to bend over, groaning with pain. The Sword fell heavily from him, onto the floor; its clank frightened him and he retreated a few steps, leaving it to lie there.
“Open the door!” Glen Belsnor yelled from outside.
“No,” he said, and his teeth chattered; terrible cold dashed through his arms and legs; the cold knotted itself into the nausea in his stomach, and the pains became greater.
At the door a terrible crash sounded; the door hesitated and creaked, then abruptly threw itself open.
Glen Belsnor stood there, gray-haired and grim, holding a military pistol pointed directly into the room. Directly at Tony Dunkelwelt.
Bending, Tony Dunkelwelt reached to pick up the Sword.
“Don’t,” Glen Belsnor said, “or I’ll kill you.”
His hand closed over the handle of the Sword.
Glen Beisnor fired at him. Point blank.
10
As the raft drifted downstream, Ned Russell stood staring off in the distance, cloaked by his own thoughts.
“What are you looking for?” Seth Morley asked him.
Russell pointed. “There, I see one.” He turned to Maggie. “Isn’t that one of them?”
“Yes,” she said. “The Grand Tench. Or else one almost as large as he.”
“What kind of questions have you asked them?” Russell said.
Showing surprise, Maggie said. “We don’t ask them anything; we have no way of communicating with them–they don’t have a language or vocal organs insofar as we can determine.”
“Telepathically?” Russell said.
“They’re not telepathic,” Wade Frazer said. “And neither are we. All they do is print duplicates of objects . . . which puddle in a few days.”
“They can be communicated with,” Russell said. “Let’s steer this raft over into the shallows; I want to consult with your tench.” He slid from the raft, into the water. “All of you get off and help me guide it.” He seemed determined; his face was relatively firm. So, one by one, they slid into the water, leaving only B .J. ‘s silent body aboard the raft.
In a matter of minutes they had pushed the raft up against the grass-covered shore. They moored it firmly–by shoving it deep into the gray mud–and then crawled up onto the bank.
The cube of gelatinous mass towered over them as they approached it. The sunlight danced in a multitude of flecks, as if caught within it. The interior of the organism glowed with activity.
It’s bigger than I expected, Seth Morley said to himself. It looks–ageless. How long do they live? he wondered.
“You put articles in front of it,” Ignatz Thugg said, “and it pushes a hunk of itself out, and then that hunk forms into a duplicate. Here, I’ll show you.” He tossed his wet wristwatch onto the ground before the tench. “Duplicate that, you jello,” he said.
The gelatin undulated, and presently, as Thugg had predicted, a section of it oozed out to come to rest beside the watch. The color of the production altered; it became silverlike. And then it flattened. Design appeared in the silversubstance. Several more minutes passed, as if the tench were resting, and then all at once the excreted product sank into the shape of a leather-bound disk. It looked exactly like the true watch beside it . . . or rather almost exactly, Seth Morley noted. It was not as bright; it had a dulled quality. But– it was still basically a success.
Russell seated himself in the grass and began to search through his pockets. “I need a dry piece of paper,” he said.
“I have some in my purse that’re still dry,” Maggie Walsh said. She rummaged in her purse, handed him a small tablet. “Do you need a pen?”
“I’ve got a pen.” He wrote darkly on the top sheet of paper. “I’m asking it questions.” He finished writing, held the sheet of paper up, and read from it. ” ‘How many of us will die here at Delmak-O?’ “He folded the paper and placed it before the tench, next to the two wristwatches.
More of the tench’s gelatin burbled out, to come to rest in a mound beside Russell’s piece of paper.
“Won’t it simply duplicate the question?” Seth Morley asked.
“I don’t know,” Russell asked. “We’ll see.” Thugg said, “I think you’re barmy.” Eyeing him, Russell said, “You have a strange idea, Thugg, of what’s ‘barmy’ and what isn’t.”
“Is that meant to be an insult?” Thugg flushed an angry red.
Maggie Walsh said, “Look. The duplicate piece of paper is forming.”
Two folded sheets of tablet paper rested directly in front of the tench. Russell waited a moment, then, evidently deciding that the duplicating process had finished, took the two sheets, unfolded both of them, studied them for a long time.
“Did it answer?” Seth Morley said. “Or did it repeat the question?”
“It answered,” Russell handed him one of the sheets of paper.
The note was short and simple. And impossible to misinterpret. _You will go out onto your compound and not see your people_.
“Ask it who our enemy is,” Seth Morley said. “Okay.” Russell wrote again, placed the sheet of paper, folded, before the tench. “‘Who is our enemy?'” he said. “That’s so to speak the ultimate question.”
The tench fashioned an answering slip, which Russell at once grabbed. He studied it intently, then read it aloud. “_Influential circles_.”
“That doesn’t tell us much,” Maggie Walsh said.
Russell said, “Evidently that’s all it knows.”
“Ask it, ‘What should we do?’ ” Seth Morley said. Russell wrote that, again placing the question before the tench. Presently he had the answer; again he prepared to read aloud. “This is a long one,” he said apologetically.
“Good,” Wade Frazer said. “Considering the nature of the question.”
Russell read, “_There are secret forces at work, leading together those who belong together. We must yield to this attraction; then we make no mistakes_.” He pondered. “We shouldn’t have split up; the seven of us shouldn’t have left the settlement. If we had stayed there Miss Berm would still be alive. It’s obvious that from now on we must keep one another in visual sight all the–” He broke off. An additional glob of gelatin was extruding from the tench. Like those before, it formed into a folded slip of paper. Russell took it, opened and read it. “Addressed to you,” he said, and handed it to Seth Morley.
“_Often a man feels an urge to unite with others, but the individuals around him have already formed themselves into a group, so that he remains isolated. He should then ally himself with a man who stands nearer to the center of the group and can help him gain admission to the closed circle_.” Seth Morley crumpled up the slip of paper and dropped it onto the ground. “That would be Belsnor,” he said. “The man who stands nearer to the center.” It’s true, he thought; I am outside and isolated. But in a sense all of us are. Even Belsnor.
“Maybe it means me,” Russell said.
“No,” Seth Morley said. “It’s Glen Beisnor.”
Wade Frazer said, “I have a question.” He held out his hand and Russell passed him the pen and paper. Frazer wrote rapidly, then, finished, read them his question. “‘Who or what is the man calling himself Ned Russell?’ ” He placed that question in front of the tench.
When the answer appeared, Russell took it. Smoothly and without effort; one moment it lay there and the next he had it in his hand. Calmly, he read it to himself. Then, at last, he passed it to Seth Morley and said, “You read it aloud.”
Seth Morley did so. “_Every step, forward or backward, leads into danger. Escape is out of the question. The danger comes because one is too ambitious_.” He handed the slip over to Wade Frazer.
“It doesn’t tell us a damn thing,” Ignatz Thugg said.
“It tells us that Russell is creating a situation in which every move is a losing move,” Wade Frazer said. “Danger is everywhere and we can’t escape. And the cause is Russell’s ambition.” He eyed Russell long and searchingly. “What’s your ambition all about? And why are you deliberately leading us into danger?”
Russell said, “It doesn’t say I’m leading you into danger, it just says that the danger exists.”
“What about your ambition? It’s plainly referring to you.”
“The only ambition I have,” Russell said, “is to be a competent economist, doing useful work. That’s why I asked for a work-transfer; the job I was doing–through no fault of my own–was insipid and worthless. That’s why I was so glad to be transferred here to Delmak-O.” He added, “My opinion has somewhat changed since I arrived here.”