Charon: A Dragon at the Gate Read online

  The Warden organisms that governed everything inside us also seemed to take a more practical view. After only the third kill and feed I was aware of odd feelings, mostly numbness and a little discomfort in my mouth. I mentioned this to Darva, who had noted the same thing, and a quick examination showed that things were changing. Our teeth were becoming sharper, the front fangs growing longer and thicker. Without an additional magic spell or anything else, we were changing into true carnivores.

  Such a modification could not have been in the long-range plans of an apt like Isil; the Wardens inside us, somehow, were sensing the change in our life-style and modifying us to adapt. But what exactly were they reacting to? I wondered. Was it the changed physical circumstances? That seemed unlikely—Darva had been this way for a long time, I a very short time, yet the transformation was taking place only now. It had to be the change in our mental attitude that triggered it, I decided. Korman said we all had the power. Maybe the process was more complex than even he thought.

  But that brought up an even more mystifying question. How did the Wardens know! An apt like Isil, even a powerful sorc like Korman, hardly had the kind of mind that could literally reprogram every cell, order speeded growth, put every cell and every molecule together in such a pattern as to create a biologically functioning changeling. The Confederacy’s computers could do the job easily, of course, although doing so was illegal. But a man or woman could just wave a magic wand here, mumble some words, and somehow, force the transmutation of a human being into something else—something that functioned.

  I had here a lot of pieces of a truly great puzzle but, as yet, nothing with which to put them all together. For the first time in a long while I wondered about my counterpart, my old self, out there, somewhere, off the Warden Diamond. Was he still getting his information even though I’d been transformed? And, if he was getting information from all of us on the four Warden worlds, had he already been able to put those pieces together with the superior computer and Confederacy resources at his command?

  I no longer hated him, certainly. Now, here, the way I was, I wasn’t even sure if I envied him.

  Slowly, through it all in the final week, we moved cautiously closer to the rendezvous point Darva had selected as the main target for us, the least likely to be betrayed. It was about a kilometer off a main road, in a rock cleft near a waterfall, and we approached it cautiously and in a roundabout manner. Darva was still hesitant about going at all, particularly now.

  “We’re happy here,” she argued. “You said it yourself—we were made for the jungle and for this life. If we return, there’ll only be more fighting and trouble.”

  “What you say is true,” I admitted, “but I’m thinking of more than just you and me. For one thing, I have to know. I want to find out just what the hell is going on here, and I have a particular responsibility, since I know that all Charon might be destroyed, we and our precious jungle along with it. But there’s more. If we win, and if this Koril’s a man of his word, we can strike a blow for changelings and end this stupid discrimination. Changelings need their own land and they need the Power. Otherwise, somebody will always control and threaten us. With the Power, we could build a new race here, or many races.”

  I’m afraid she didn’t really share my vision or my curiosity, but she understood, at least, that I could not be denied—and she wasn’t going to be left out, alone, again.

  We approached the rocks cautiously. I let her take the lead because she at least knew the lay of the land from the maps. She was very cautious. Fifty meters or more from the clearing, but within the sound of the roar of the falls, she froze into the immobility we both could achieve and still found hard to believe. Seeing her, I automatically froze as well.

  The falls masked most sounds, so I started looking around, feeling a bit what she also felt—or sensed. It was, I knew, another one of those animal attributes we were either acquiring or discovering. There were others about. We couldn’t see them or hear them but we knew with absolute certainty they were there.

  Concentration on this one aspect produced an interesting sensation, I was aware that I was sensing something entirely new, outside any previous experience. For the first time, consciously, we were sensing our own Wardens—our war, as the old woman had called it—and those Wardens were not isolated or alone. Somehow some threads of energy, incredibly minute, were sending and receiving signals in all directions. No, that wasn’t right, either—not signals; more like an open communications link, waveforms of the most basic and microscopic sort; open channels to the trees, grass, rocks, stuff in the air—everything around us. This, then, was what the sorcs felt, what Korman could not explain to me.

  The jungle was alive, both with the forms of life we could see and with the Warden organism itself. It was alive, and we were a part of it What a glorious, heady feeling—unlike any I’d ever known.

  Suddenly, I realized what exactly Darva and I were sensing. In us and most of the surroundings, the Wardens were usually passive, connected to all the other Wardens but sending and receiving nothing. But there were Wardens around through which things were now being transmitted. Not changelings—as far as Darva knew-there were few with any of the Power and much of it had been blocked off by the spell. These were apts then, very minor apts, but apts nonetheless, and that meant humans.

  Fine-tuning that sense of the Wardens as much as I could, I tried to locate the sources of these emanations—and did. One was about ten meters from Darva, behind a large tree. There was another about fifteen meters in the other direction and ahead of her. A third, at least, was near the waterfall—and a fourth was on top of it. It seemed absurdly simple to pick them out now, with their very different Warden patterns. But did that mean that they had also picked us up in the same way? Almost immediately I decided that they hadn’t. Either they were totally unaware of us or they took us for bunhars. If they knew, we would have been jumped by now.

  At that moment the one nearest Darva, the one behind the tree, came into view, but he wasn’t looking at us ‘or even in our direction. We were against the best natural camouflage and remained incredibly still, so he might not have seen us anyway.

  He turned out to be a trooper in one of those black and gold uniforms. Looking very relaxed and very bored, he settled down under the tree, weapon still bolstered. I could tell from its shape that it was a laser pistol. How I wanted one of those! Both Darva and I were efficient killing machines, it was true, but nothing could outrun a laser pistol. If I had one now, I could knock the trooper off without any personal risk at all.

  I heard a short beeping sound, and the man reached to his belt and picked up a tiny transceiver. He spoke a few words into it, and I could make out that there was a reply, although not what the reply was. Checking in, that was all.

  Unfortunately, we were not small, delicate creatures. The old Park Lacoch would have been better in this situation—tiny and catlike. We had to get away from here. I was in no danger, but Darva was too damned close. Slowly, carefully, I reached down and picked up a large rock, noting idly that even the rock radiated the Warden sense.

  Darva turned her head very slowly and carefully, saw what I was doing, and gave me a careful nod; then she turned back to look at the trooper.

  Quickly I heaved the rock with all my might in the opposite direction from where we stood. It was not a good throw—my hands were tough and nasty, but my arms were really very weak. Still, the rock made a clatter in back of the trooper, and he jumped to his feet and whirled around, pistol quickly drawn, then looked around suspiciously. The rock, as I said, was weakly thrown, and though it had landed beyond us the trooper began walking slowly toward Darva. I seemed to see the man’s Wardens almost “light up,” although that’s not really the right word for it I could sense those channels of communication between his own Wardens and those around him reverberating with a sense of suspicion, a message of inquiry, as it were, although I could only guess that was what it was.

  Darva was cr
ouching a bit, flattened against broad-leafed trees and bushes of the same green as she; and she would have been nearly impossible even for me to spot had I not known she was there. It was the Warden sense that was to be feared, not any physical ones.

  For some reason he hadn’t yet picked her up—possibly we were involuntarily jamming in some way through our own apprehension—but I could see that he was soon going to be close enough to her that he couldn’t miss her no matter what. It also hadn’t escaped my notice that he had yet to call in on his communicator.

  I made up my mind in a moment, only hoping that Darva would have the presence of mind to act correctly in the split second she would have.

  The man stopped no more than two or three meters from her, turned slowly, and—I realized—saw her, first with Warden sense and then, knowing she was there, by sight. He grinned. “Well, well! A changeling with the Art,” he said, obviously enjoying himself.

  At that moment I popped up. “Hey!” I called, then gave my huge rear legs the kick of my life.

  Darva whirled as the man’s head and pistol turned toward me and struck him a blow that nearly cut off his head. Then his finger pushed the firing stud, and a beam of blue-white light shot out, burning a tree far over my head.

  She didn’t wait, but started for me, but I ran at her and at the dead body. She looked puzzled as I reached the man and tore the pistol from his hand; then I pivoted on my tail and headed for the jungle. I could hear another man’s voice yelling behind us, and heard, rather than saw, the sound of laser pistol blasts.

  Darva was still ahead of me dashing back into the jungle. When I saw she was safely out of the way I stopped, assumed my camouflage stance at a good spot, and waited.

  Two troopers—a man and a woman—came running into the jungle, pistols drawn. I suddenly realized how off my timing was going to be with my oversized, taloned hands, but the comfortable feel of the pistol was reassuring enough. I was the absolute best—and this was like shooting targets at ten meters. Picking my time, I squeezed off two easy, well-placed shots, putting neat little holes in both chests. Both fell backward and were quickly still. As fast as I could, I went to them, took both pistols and both utility belts with their precious chargers, then turned and followed Darva’s trail.

  I handed her one of the belts and a pistol, power off, and we said nothing until we were deep into the jungle and felt safe. Finally we settled back on our tails, caught our breath, and relaxed a bit. “That was close!” she wheezed.

  I nodded. “But worth it, anyway.”

  She looked puzzled. “Worth it? Why’d you take such a chance to get those pistols?” She flexed her talons. “We don’t need them.”

  “You’re wrong on that,” I told her. “Neither of us can outrun a communicator or a well-aimed shot” I grinned. “But neither can they.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “He was so—weak. Puny.” She lifted up her right hand. “I caved in his skull with one quick blow.”

  “That you did,” I agreed. “And our arms are the weakest things we have. But don’t get too cocky. Humans have always been the weakest and puniest creatures on any planet they’ve settled, and look who’s boss.”

  She looked over at me. “Well, I guess that’s it for anyplace else. If they were at that place I’m almost positive they know the alternates.”

  I shook my head. “No, we’ve got to try them. One of them might still be good. If there’s a chance, we have to take it.”

  “All right,” she sighed, sounding disappointed; then she brightened a bit “You know, I really did the right thing back there!”

  “You sure did,” I agreed. “I’m proud of you. There was no way for me to tell you what to do and you came through magnificently.”

  She beamed. “I guess maybe I’m cut out for this after all. You know—back there I was scared to death. And yet somehow I really enjoyed it.”

  “That’s the way it is,” I told her. “I hate to admit it, but it’s fun to beat them like that. It really is.”

  “You know, you talk like you’ve done this kind of thing before,” she observed. “A lot of times, just talking, you sounded like you did more than you told me about And those two shots with that pistol! Wow!”

  I sighed. “All right, I guess you should know the facts. You more than anybody.” Briefly I told her about my real career, and why I had been sent to the Warden Diamond. She listened intently, nodding.

  When I’d finished, she smiled. “Well, I guess that really explains a lot. And you’re still on the job, even after …” She let the obvious trail off.

  “More or less,” I told her, “but not in the way you think. I wasn’t kidding about reforms on Charon or the potential of the changelings. And I’m here for the rest of my life, just like you. There’s very little they can do to me, although they could, as I said, destroy Charon. So you see why finding Koril is even more important to me. He’s against the aliens—and so am I, at least from what I can see. He’s my key to getting Aeolia Matuze, and also to our future here.” I suddenly had a thought, checked one of the utility belts and found a communicator there. I picked it up and flipped it on.

  “… out of the bush, jumped Sormat—tore his throat out like some animal,” a tinny voice said. “God! Two of ‘em. Had to be. Only caught sight of one, though. Kinda looked like a bunhar. Creepy.”

  “What I want to know is how they managed to elude Sormie’s wa shield,” another voice came back. “Gives me the creeps. We should just get rid of these monsters.”

  Then signals were weakening—they were heading away from us, I could tell. The last comment made me a little mad. I looked at the communicator—a simple device, but not one I was familiar with. “Ever seen one of these before?” I asked Darva.

  She came over and looked at it. “It’s pretty much the same as the ones used to keep the Companies’ headquarters in contact with the field workers,” she replied. “A little different, but not much.”

  I nodded. “Military issue.” I turned it over. Embossed on the back was a little logo—Zemco, CB. Cerberus again. The manufacturing center of the Warden Diamond. I predicted that my counterpart there would probably do quite well. “What’s its range?”

  “Huh?”

  “About how far will it reach?”

  “Oh. Well, the ones we used—maybe three, four kilometers.”

  I nodded. “This one’s probably souped up just a little, but call it five at the top. If they’re in common use on the planet, there would have to be some limits on them or nobody could talk to one another.” I thought a moment “I wonder if they’re all using the same frequency?”

  “You have something in mind?”

  “Well, let’s head for the first alternate—whichever’s closest. It’s possible we might be able to hear if it’s occupied before we go in.”

  Some work with both belts and I managed to wrap one big combo belt around my torso, with two pistols, the communicators, and the rest all there. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was handy.

  Using some vines, we managed to rig a carrier for Darva to wear the other pistol, although without practice it was more a psychological weapon than anything else. They were tricky to use.

  We had a “window” of only thirty hours to allow for shifts to alternates. Every thirty hours the places would be checked to see if anybody was there or if they were staked out for the next four days, then—forget it.

  We traveled, therefore, most of the night. During rest and eating breaks, we discussed what both of us had felt about the Warden organism. Our experiences were almost identical—and even the trooper she’d killed had sensed she had the power. We compared notes. She was not totally ignorant of the Warden sense from the start, although her understanding of it was cloaked in the ignorant mysticism of the natives.

  “My great-grandmother, as you know, has tremendous powers,” she reminded me, “and much of her knowledge was passed down. As a kid I used to do the little exercises with her and it was really a lot of fun
, but I never got too far with it. It was Eke the torgo”—a Charonese flute—“that my brother was given at the same age. For a while it was a toy, but it soon became boring and he never kept up his studies and practice. It’s the same with the Art”

  I nodded. “That doesn’t explain my own sensitivity, though,” I told her. 1 don’t think it came from the changeling spell, either. Korman said I had a natural aptitude for it and predicted I would sense the Wardens—the wa— as we did. That’s important for a couple of reasons. It means both of us can learn it, and it means that changelings are no more limited than humans, which makes sense. We’re built differently, but we’re made of the same stuff and out of the same stuff.” Since many of the changelings had been at least at the apt stage themselves, it was evident that what was needed was training. You could go only so far without that, after which it either wasn’t usable any further or it backfired.

  It was clear that the basis of the power was the ability to concentrate while sensing the Wardens in your object. Most people just Wouldn’t have the necessary self-control or self-confidence, but I was pretty sure I did, even now—and perhaps Darva did as well. An artistic bent and a mathematical aptitude would certainly help, of course, in doing elaborate things.

  The place we were headed Darva called the Pinnacles, because of some odd rock formations. She’d never been near it, but had been shown a picture and assured me that, if she saw the real thing, she couldn’t mistake it. Initially, she had rejected the spot because it was almost astride a main road and fairly close to an inland town called Gehbrat, but it was the closest.

  We approached it in the late afternoon of the next day. I checked with my little communicator and found that there was some intermittent traffic on it, but it was mostly road patrols. Nothing was said about the Pinnacles as a staked-out place, and there was every indication that the frequency the things were on was fixed. That didn’t mean somebody clever didn’t have the place staked out using different frequencies or communicators, but the information we could get was a little reassuring.