Azard smiled briefly, reached back of the screen, uncovered a stud set flush into its surface, pressed the stud down and held it. The gas which drifted into the room towards the three Federation specialists was colorless, soundless, odorless. It touched them in seconds, and one after the other, they collapsed. Azard released the stud. They were already dead . . . and within an hour, the ship’s ventilation system would have filtered the poisonous vapor out of the living area again and disposed of it.
And now his duties were nearly concluded! With a sense of vast relief and triumph, he told himself the moment had come when he could turn all responsibility back to others greater than himself. Almost running in his eagerness, he returned through the ship to the sealed section. This time he didn’t bother to close its locks behind him; there was no need.
There were over two thousand widely varying genetic patterns represented in the zombie bodies provided by the Federation. One of them was truly outstanding, both in physical development and mental potential. Azard had brought a specimen of this group here the preceding day and activated the awakening mechanisms of its container. It was to receive the eld of the greatest of all those who had been in his charge so long. He now examined the zombie and its condition for the final time with great care. But it was clearly an excellent choice, the best he could have made in the circumstances.
As he was setting the last of the transfer dials, there was a touch of odd weakness, a heaviness. A feeling then as if, in an instant, all his strength had been drained from him.
With immeasurable effort, in total dismay and incredulity, he forced himself to turn his head.
And there they stood. Sashien and the woman Griliom—
The third?
The insane realization came that the third figure was himself.
“No,” the figure said, “This isn’t you, Azard. We’ve concocted a disguise which will lend me your physical appearance for a while.” The voice was Odun’s.
Staring, unable to do more than stare, Azard watched Sashien hand a device which had been pointed at him to Griliom. The two men approached, picked him up from the floor and set him in a chair.
Griliom told him, “I’m reducing the pressure. You’ll be able to speak.”
Azard drew a deep breath. Some hope flowed back into him. The elds he had provided with bodies and information should soon be arming themselves and coming here. He’d warned them to be cautious. If these three wanted him to talk, he would talk. He said hoarsely, “What do you want?”
Odun said, “Why did you try to kill us?”
“I didn’t,” Azard said. How could they possibly have escaped? “You should have been unconscious for a time, but unhurt.”
They stared at him a moment. Sashien said, “What was your purpose in making the attempt?”
Azard sighed. “I needed this ship for Malatlo.”
“Malatlo could have had the ship for the asking,” said Odun. “You knew that.”
“Yes. But we can’t stay here. This world is still too close to the Federation, and too many people would know Malatlo was here. We owe renewed gratitude to the Federation. But now we must break all ties with its people. The new Malatlo must be born on a world no one knows about—and too far away to be discovered accidentally.”
“Malatlo,” said Griliom, “did not object to maintaining limited contacts with the Federation before this.”
“Many did object to it,” Azard assured her. “And at the end many believed that our trouble arose because the Raceels of Tiurs had learned through us about the Federation. They tried to exterminate us not because they were afraid of us but because they were afraid of the Federation where the Malatlo Attitude didn’t prevail.”
“You still needed the Federation to supply you with zombie bodies,” Griliom remarked. “The number we were able to store on this ship were no more than a beginning.”
“But they were sufficient,” said Azard. “Naturally our best scientists would have been among those awakened first. Their study of the bodies and of what I recorded of the techniques involved in developing them would allow them to duplicate the process.”
He went on earnestly. “You must believe that no harm would have come to you. You would have been left here on the planet with the atmosphere cruiser and supplies. As soon as the cargo carrier was far enough away so that it could no longer be traced, we would have transmitted word to the escort ships to return and pick you up.”
Sashien and Odun looked at Griliom. She shook her head. “Analysis showed three lethal components in the gas he released,” she said. She glanced at Azard. “We weren’t in that room. What you saw and heard were programmed zombies. They died in moments—as we would have done in their place.” She added to the other two, “So we have here an alleged Malatlo Follower who was willing to kill three human beings to attain his ends. That seems difficult to believe.”
Azard said doggedly, “The fact that I am a Malatlo Follower must indicate to you that if the gas I used was in fact deadly, it could only have been a mistake! A mistake which, I must admit, might have had terrible consequences. . . . ”
Odun said thoughtfully, “Perhaps we should question one of the others.” He nodded at the case standing before the body container. “I’ll take the paralyzer, Griliom. Will you see how far along he was with that.”
Azard slowly tensed his muscles as the woman went to the eld case, stooped above it to inspect the pattern of dials inside. There was no hesitancy in her manner—did she understand what she saw?
She said, “He’s selected a specific psyche for transfer to the body. Let me see . . . ” She turned to the container, opened it, bent over the zombie. Her shoulders moved. Azard couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could assume she was checking its condition on the various instruments. She straightened again presently, looked at Odun. “Total capacity,” she said. “We can effect the transfer.”
Azard made a straining effort to arise. But they were watchful; the paralyzer’s pressure increased instantly—he could not move, and now he discovered he had also become unable to speak. A wave of dizziness passed through him, his vision blurred. He became aware next that Griliom and Sashien were moving about him; then clear sight gradually returned.
He found himself still immobilized in the chair, looking out into the room through something like a thin veil of darkness. He guessed it was an energy field of some kind. Odun stood in the center of the room. Some twenty feet from him the zombie body Azard had prepared lay on its back, on the floor. Azard realized then that Sashien and Griliom stood on either side of his chair, a little behind him.
The body stirred, opened its eyes, sat up.
It looked about the room but seemed unable to see Azard and the two on his right and left. The energy veil evidently blocked vision from that side. Its gaze fastened on Odun, who stood watching it with the face of Azard. It came to its feet.
There had been no uncertainty in any of its motions. This was a powerful eld, instantly capable of impressing its intentions on the full range of the zombie’s physical and mental response patterns. Azard should have been able to sense its presence in the room, but he could force no eld contact through the energy barrier. There was no way to transmit a warning.
“Dom belke anda grom, Azard!” the body addressed Odun. It was a strong, self-assured voice.
“Gelan ra Azard,” Odun said. “Ra diriog Federation. Sellen ra Raceel.”
The body moved instantly. It sprang sideways to a table standing ten feet away. And Azard saw only now what it must have noted in its sweeping glance about the room—the gun which lay on the table. The body snatched it up, pointed the muzzle at Odun, pulled the trigger.
And dropped limply back to the floor, the gun spinning from its hand.
“This was a test,” Odun told Azard. He no longer wore Azard’s face; the false skin or whatever it was had been removed. “You heard what I said to him. I identified myself as a human of the Federation and told him he was a Raceel. He immediately attempted to destroy me. The weapon, of course, was rigged. If the trigger was pressed, it would kill the user.”
Azard did not reply.
“So you are Raceels,” Odun went on. “And you’d kill any of us—any human being—as readily as you destroyed the people of Malatlo. We should like to know how this came about. Are you willing to talk?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Azard made his voice dull, his expression listless and resigned. But there was savage anger in him—and the longer he held these three in talk, the more certain their death and eventual Raceel victory became. The thirty elds he’d released had been a select group of superb fighters, and they must be searching the ship by now, in strong new bodies and with weapons in their hands. The demonstration here confirmed that they’d know very quickly how to put those bodies to full use.