"What do you believe he will do, friend Ethan?" asked Hunnar as the wooden walls ground shut behind the departing four.

"I don't know. I really don't know. Usually I can tell when I've got a customer bubbled-when I've convinced someone of something-but Trail's too numbed to read. Skua?"

"I don't know either, young feller-me-lad. Trell's tryin' to decide whether immortality's worth the pleasures of the present. It's the old human dilemma: do you live for today or work for a place in heaven?

Problem is, we can't counter with the threat o' h.e.l.l. We'll know in an hour."

"a.s.suming he refuses, Skua? what _do_ we do?" September said nothing. His expression was answer enough.

*XVIII*

The skimmer hovered alongside the royal raft of the Poyolavomaar fleet. Within the central cabin Trell, RoVijar, and Rakossa conversed. The two peaceforcers stood nearby, chatting idly to each other and ignoring the curious stares of the Tran around them.

"Friend Calonnin," Trell said wearily, "I keep telling you but you refuse to understand. I no longer have a choice in this. Events have taken it beyond my control."

"You are right," replied RoVijar tightly. "I do not understand why you say you have no choice. Why do you not use your light weapon to make heart-hashes of those three outworlders and scatter their ashes upon the ocean?"

"It's not a question of three people any more." Trell sat in the too-large Tran chair and worked his fingers. They rubbed, scratched, entwined and folded upon one another.

"Everything they said about the future of your people is quite correct, given the accuracy of their inter-pretation of the discoveries they made. I'm inclined to accept both. Besides, I like the idea of having my name in the history tapes. You will, too."

"Your history is not mine."

"It will be."

"That remains to be seen."

"Neither of us will sink into poverty because of these developments, Calonnin. You'll still be Land-grave of Arsudun. As the port of Bra.s.s Monkey expands to handle increased trade from the rest of Tran-ky-ky, Arsudun and you will benefit"

"In how many of your years?"

"Soon, soon," Trell insisted.

"What of other, new ports?"

"There might be one or two," Trell conceded. "But Arsudun will still be foremost."

"I am little interested in what will occur after I am dead, friend Trell. I am interested only in what will happen tomorrow, perhaps also the day following."

Trell glanced across the room at a figure standing in shadow. "What about you, Rakossa of Poyolavomaar? What do you want?"

Rakossa stepped out into the light. "We have wealth enough to satisfy us for all our future days. We have position and power. As to what happens to our name after we die we care not a k'nith. We do not even care what happens tomorrow, but only today. What do we want? We want justice! These merchants who dare to defy us and I -"

"Yes, I know, I know." Trell sighed, exasperated by the childish obsessions of these ignorant primitives. "Calonnin explained to me about the concubine. Your desires are as limited as your vision, Rakossa."

"You think us beneath you, offworlder. Our vision," he said in a way which started a funny p.r.i.c.kling at the back of Trell's neck, "may not be so limited as you think."

"Meaning what?"

"We attempt to foresee all," Rakossa explained obtusely. "That is how we have been able to survive as long as we have in a court filled with intrigues and crafty enemies all about us. They too think we are foolish and mad, that we are blinded by silly desires. But obsession is not blindness, and we are not so ob-sessed that we cannot see possible futures. Cannot see all possibilities."

Trell's right hand began sliding cautiously toward the pocket in his survival suit, opening the interior heat seal to admit the hand into the coveralls beneath.

"First you said you care only for today. Now you claim to look into the future. You're inconsistent if not truly mad, Rakossa."

" Tis our way of protecting our desires of today, offworlder."

Trell had a sudden thought. Hand still moving, he turned a stunned gaze on RoVijar, who had moved to stand against a far wall. "Calonnin, what is-!"

The first arrow struck the Resident Commissioner just above his pushed-back ice goggles. It glanced off the skull and so failed to kill him outright. Subse-quent arrows did not.

Both RoVijar and Rakossa had ducked from the line of fire, RoVijar out the door he'd ambled so casually toward, Rakossa behind the table and into shadows. Trell had just enough foresight to get off a shot. His beamer pierced only the cabin roof.

As soon as their task was completed, the sailors who'd been hidden in the rafters above and outside the doors and windows returned to their usual tasks. All save a few who were directed by Rakossa.

The bodies of the three dead humans, for the peaceforcers had fallen as well, were rendered almost un-recognizable by the profusion of arrows sticking from them.

"Were so many necessary?" inquired RoVijar, eyeing the corpses a mite uncomfortably.

" 'Twas yourself, Landgrave of Arsudun, who told us you could be not certain of the location of then-vital organs. We do not take chances. Wait!"

The procession halted, their grisly cargo staining the clean wood of the deck. Rakossa walked to stand next to Trell's limp form. Reaching through a small forest of arrows he lifted the vacant-eyed head by its hair, stared into it with blazing black and yellow eyes.

"Think you still so much smarter than us, Trell of the offworlders?" He grinned a bloodthirsty grin at RoVijar. "Odd. He does not answer. Perhaps we have changed his mind for him." He let the skull fall with a loose-jointed hobbling, a rotting apple in a stream. The sailors carried the bodies from view.

"Are you certain you can operate the offworlder's great weapon?" he asked Calonnin.

"I tried in many ways most subtle on our journey here to induce Trell to show me, but he was too clever for that. However, when we confronted the humans before the wall, I watched intently as the female pre-pared the machine. I am sure she was ready to protect Trell, so the weapon should have been ready to fire. I memorized the procedure required as best I could."

"Excellent. What will happen now that we have slain the offworlders' leader?"

"He is but the leader of the single small town they maintain on our world," RoVijar explained thought-fully, scratching at one ear where a persistent mite had been troubling him for days. "If you or I were to die, the knights and n.o.bles would rise our offspring or one of their own to the throne. I suspect it is much the same with the skypeople. They will choose one among them to replace Trell until a new leader can be sent from beyond the sky to take his position.

"Whoever they send will know naught of what trans-pired here. Those in their outpost who know me will believe me, will believe my account of his death and that of his companions, as there is naught else for them to believe."

"And you will remain secure as the only go-between twixt skypeople and Tran."

" Tis truth, friend, Rakossa." RoVijar has sloughed off a slight feeling of apprehension. He knew to a certain extent the powers the offworlders possessed. But what of powers he knew nothing about?

Trell had bled and died as readily as any Tran when the arrows transfixed him. No offworlder had arrived to save him or revenge him. It seemed likely none would. He was feeling much, much better now.

"I will control all the trade. As promised, you will receive your recompense for this day's work."

"And the raft. Do not forget the raft."

"Yes, the great iceraft shall be yours also." RoVijar conceded the ownership of the icerigger easily.

And why not? There was the skypeople's skimmer which needed no runners to travel across ice or land faster than any ice ship. There were doubtless other devices he could purchase or steal from the human traders. He could blame any such thefts on others. The Poyos, for example. All knew of their ruthless treach-eries. What need had he of an iceship, no matter its size?

"We will still strive to persuade the three offworlders in the city to surrender," he told Rakossa. "They have the small light weapons."

"Do we not have three of our own now, in addition to the great one in the sky raft?"

"True, friend Rakossa. But we are not experienced in their use. Best to avoid trouble if possible."

"If they surrender, we will have six instead of three. They will inquire about Trell. Then they must die."

"That is obvious," agreed RoVijar calmly. " 'Tis good that we agree."

Ethan leaned against the wall. He was watching several Moulokinese soldiers play a game familiar in a thousand manifestations throughout the galaxy. On ancient Terra it had been known as sunka, kalaha, and in a dozen other incarnations. One soldier had just collected seven of his opponent's pebbles when the horribly familiar sound of paper tearing was heard.

Across the gate from his present position a gap had appeared in the top of the wall. It was roughly three meters long and three and a half deep, almost perfectly circular save for the jagged edges of a few stones sticking into it. Within that circle everything: stone, soldiers and weapons, had vanished. Or more properly, had become either part of the molten debris lying at the bottom of the cut or of the ashy vapor drifting downcanyon. Mist formed above it as the cold air of Tran-ky-ky contacted the superheated rock.

He hadn't seen the bolt from the cannon, not that he had to. A frantic look over the wall showed the skimmer still floating in place in front of the nearest Poyo raft. September put a hand on his shoulder, stared alongside him.

"feller-me-lad, that's no man at the controls."

As the skimmer started toward them, moving awkwardly in fits and jerks, Ethan was able to confirm the giant's observation. The skimmer held several Tran, but no survival-suited humans.

"I recognize RoVijar. He's the one operating the gun."

The skimmer halted just out of hand beamer range. The Landgrave of Arsudun rose behind the weapon. "I do not form phrases so pretty as offworlders. You will all surrender: now. Or I vow every man, woman and cub in Moulokin will die."

Ethan shouted across the ice. "Where's the human Jobius Trell?"

"Trell has traveled the path destined for all traitors, offworld or otherwise. He cannot help you now."

Several Tran chivaned forward. They carried be-tween them three feathered bodies, which they uncere-moniously dumped on the ice. The corpses were not so far away that Ethan and the others on the wall couldn't distinguish the limp forms of the former Resident Commissioner of Tran-ky-ky and his two attendant peaceforcers.

An anxious voice sounded behind him. "What means this, friend Ethan?"

He did not try to evade minister Mirmib's ques-tion. "It means that our enemies now control weapons more powerful than our own. They've killed the humans who brought those weapons. I had doubts the man Trell would use such power against you and your people. I have no such doubts about Rakossa and RoVijar."

"We cannot surrender." Mirmib looked adamant and worried simultaneously. "We cannot let them into the city."

"I know." Ethan considered. "Maybe if we three gave ourselves up?"

"Easy, feller-me-lad. RoVijar might be sittin' behind the convincer, but it's that fella Rakossa who's in control out there."

"Teeliam would give herself up to save the city. She's already tried to, once."

"Use your head, lad. We didn't let her do it before for the same reasons we won't now. Rakossa's got con-trol of something that can level this whole town. He's tryin' to control a bunch of angry, embarra.s.sed and bloodied troops. Do you think he's going to let RoVijar leave anyone alive here, maybe to tell the next Commissioner what really happened? Not a chance. We've got to fight."

"Use your own head, Skua." Frustration made Ethan sound angrier than he was. "We can't fight a beam cannon."

"Let's fake a retreat. Pull back, maybe even let 'em into the city proper. We can split up, some of us head up the main canyon and hide in the mists, then come down and try and take the cannon on the chance they'll relax. A few thousand would die, but better that than the whole population."

"I have a better idea, gentlemen."

Ethan and September turned to see a puffing Wil-liams mount the last of the ramp leading to the wall top.

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been, Milliken?" September growled.

"We thought it best to keep one beamer in reserve," replied Milliken, ignoring the big man's tone.

"I've been working on an idea with EerMeesach and some of the local craftsfolk," the teacher cont-inued, "ever since the Poyolavomaar fleet began their blockade." Williams's shyness pa.s.sed for self-control at a time when everyone around him exuded an air of imminent defeat.

"I ain't too proud o' mine," said September. "Let's hear yours."

"Have you forgotten the battle of Sofold? Have your forgotten, Sir Hunnar?"

"Nice thought, Milliken, but that won't work this time." September jerked a thumb back in the direction of the waiting fleet of rafts. "There was no beam can-non at Sofold, and Sagyanak traveled by raft, not on a skimmer above the ice."

"I am aware of that," Williams replied, with just a twinge of reproval. "I did not think we could repeat the battle of Sofold here."

"Then why ask us to remember it?" wondered Ethan confusedly.

Williams proceeded to explain.

"We have waited long enough." Rakossa stood in the bow of his craft and yelled to RoVijar on the skimmer. "Let them die if they wish and die if they do not. Our soldiers would let out their heat. We have promised them Moulokin and they shall have it. If at this moment you have become fainthearted and uncertain like the offworlders?"

"Calonnin RoVijar hears his friend Rakossa. Time enough has pa.s.sed. It shall be as you wish."

Turning, the Landgrave of Arsudun squirmed down into the too-small seat and repeated the sequence he'd memorized while watching the human female earlier. There was a crackling and a narrow shaft of glowing azure jumped from the end of the weapon. It struck the left side of the ma.s.sive wooden gate at the place where it was hinged to a stone tower. A gaping hole appeared in the base of the tower. Slowly, accompanied by a tired groaning noise, the tower collapsed, bring-ing half the gate down with it.

An expectant, humorless cheer rose from the as-sembled soldiers on the rafts as they saw the hereto-fore impregnable gate go down so easily. In tumbling, the fallen tower had also pulled down the pikapina cables behind it, opening the way to the inner canyon.

RoVijar had to try several times, but finally succeeded in adjusting the att.i.tude of the weapon so that it was pointed at the other half of the gate and its still-standing supportive tower.

"I can reduce the whole wall, if you wish to watch," he called back to Rakossa.

"No. The stones left behind would cause my ships more trouble than the wall itself. We waste time.

Make but a proper entry for us and we will do the rest."