Of course, that didn’t mean that his crystal master couldn’t misjudge the odds. . . .
“I claim shelter as a traveler!” Hansen shouted to the blank patch of wall that he’d identified as a gate without asking Walker. Though there was no difference in the sheer plastic surface, the mud had been trampled into a trough leading to this point.
The mini-towers to either side buzzed internally.
“Strombrand has the information you want, then?” Hansen asked as they waited.
“Strelbrand controls the data bank,” Walker replied. “They are batch brothers, Strelbrand and Strombrand, dextro- and laevo-rotating twins; and it may be that Strombrand can get us access to what his brother holds.”
The section of wall slid downward. Two sullen humans wearing slave collars stood inside with a double-headed android. The slaves weren’t much cleaner than Hansen—who’d swum a ribbon of muddy water when Walker assured him that there was nothing beneath of a size to concern him.
The android lounged against the inner surface of the wall. He held a bell-mouthed mob gun in his arms.
“Welcome traveler to the palace of the great lord Strombrand,” the slaves sing-songed together in Standard.
“Boy, you look a treat,” said one of the android’s mouths. The other laughed. “C’mon,” the first head continued. “I’m s’posed to take you to my father.”
His free arm gestured toward the huge dome. His gun continued to point at Hansen’s midsection.
The courtyard was mud surfaced, but there were arched pens—or houses—built into the surrounding wall. Dozens of humans worked at various tasks in the courtyard, all of them wearing slave collars.
They glanced sidelong at Hansen. Their expressions were not very different from those on the faces of the Lomeri as the lizardmen discussed their next meal.
“Father?” Hansen whispered as he stamped toward the dome. “Android batches capable of reproduction are destroyed at once.”
“Androids that can reproduce are destroyed—or are very carefully controlled, Kommissar,” Walker replied. Hansen thought he heard amusement in the tone. “The batches that can reproduce have a level of cunning which is missing from their normal fellows . . . and which is very useful for certain purposes. For your Consensus.”
Solbarth. Was Solbarth from the same batch as Strombrand?
“And sometimes very dangerous, when they get loose,” Hansen muttered. But I was better than he was.
Slaves at the entrance to the dome hosed off Hansen without ceremony. “C’mon, c’mon,” one of them ordered. “Turn, won’t cha?”
Hansen wasn’t in a position to complain about the treatment—and behind him, the android’s muddy boots were cleaned the same way.
The interior of the dome was illuminated by the tubes of light along each junction line of the facets. The colors varied from one bar to the next—never bright, never saturated; never quite pleasing. Their mixture threw a muddy ambiance around the hundred or more figures, slaves and androids, in the center of the hall.
“G’wan,” said the two-headed android as he prodded Hansen in the back with the mob gun. “Grovel fer the ole man and let’s find something t’ eat.”
You’ll grovel for me if you poke me again with that gun, Hansen thought; but that was just for his soul’s sake. A scene wouldn’t help him get the job done, and doing the job had always been Hansen’s goal. It didn’t really matter what the job was, so long as it was his to do. . . .
Hansen stepped through the loose crowd. Several of the androids were as perfectly formed as Solbarth had been—physically. Others were hideously misshapen, with extra limbs and multiple heads like Hansen’s guide.
The androids dressed in layers of flowing garments and were heavily bedizened with gold and jewels. Some of the human slaves were able to follow the same fashion. The plump man speaking to the android seated on the room’s only chair (“Strombrand,” Walker said, but that was obvious) wore a gold torque which almost hid the plastic collar which controlled him.
“The herdsmen still haven’t reported in, sir,” the slave said.
“Well, then raise the amplitude when you ask, Donner!” Strombrand said. “Do I have to tell you everything?”
Strombrand had the normal complement of head and limbs, but no one could have mistaken him for a human. He was brutally massive, literally three times as broad as a normal man. His bare arms were roped with sinew and as thick as flowing basalt; the coiled bracelets he wore would have fit around Hansen’s waist.