 IV. OF LAST ENEMY by H. BEAM PIPER, read by Mark Nelson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A real civil war was developing even as Clarnud spoke. By mid-morning of the next day the fighting that had been partially suppressed by the constabulary had broken out anew. The assassins employed by the solar hotel, heavily reinforced during the night, had fought a pitched battle with statisticalist partisans on the landing stage above Verk and Valls Suite, and now several constabulary airboats were patrolling around the building. The rule on constabulary interference seemed to be that, while individuals had an unquestionable right to shoot out their differences among themselves, any fighting likely to endanger non-participants was taboo. Just how successful in enforcing this rule the constabulary were was open to some doubt. Ever since arising, Verk and Valls had heard the crash of small arms and the hammering of automatic weapons in other parts of the towering city unit. There hadn't been a civil war on the acorn neb sector for over five centuries, he knew, but then Hadron Dalla, doctor of psychic science and intertemporal trouble carrier extraordinary had only been on this sector for a little under a year. If anything, he was surprised that the explosion had taken so long to occur. One of the servants furnished to him by the hotel management approached him in the drawing room, holding a four-inch square wafer of white plastic. Lord Virzal, there is a masked assassin in the hallway who brought this under Assassin's truce, he said. Verk and Valls took the wafer and paired off three of the four edges, which showed black where they had been fused. Unfolding it, he found, as he had expected, that the pyrographed message within was in the alphabet and language of the first paratime level. Vall, darling, am I glad you got here. This time I really am in the middle, but good. The assassin, Deerzid, who brings this, is in my service. You can trust him implicitly. He's about the only person in Darsh you can trust. He'll bring you to where I am. Dalla. P.S. I hope you're not still angry about that musician. I told you at the time that he was just helping me with an experiment in telepathy, D. Verk and Valls grinned at the post-script. That had been twenty years ago, when he'd been eighty, and she'd been seventy. He supposed she'd expect him to take up his old relationship with her again. It probably wouldn't last any longer than it had the other time. He recalled a fourth-level proverb about the leopard and his spots. That certainly wouldn't be boring, though. Tell the assassin to come in, he directed. Then he tossed the message down on a table. Outside of himself nobody in Darsh could read it, but the woman who had sent it. If, as he thought highly probable, the statisticalist had spies among the hotel staff, it might serve to reduce some crypt-analyst to gibbering insanity. The assassin entered, drawing off a cow-like mask. He was the man whose arm Dalla had been holding in the visa-plate picture. Verk and Valls even recognized the extremely ornate pistol and knife on his belt. "'Dear Zid, the assassin,' he named himself, "'if you wish, we can vis-a-phone Assassin's Hall for verification of my identity.'" "'Lord Virzol of Verkin, and my assassins, Marnik and Orlirzin.'" They all hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with the newcomer. "'That won't be needed,' Verk and Valls told Dear Zid. "'I know you from seeing you with the Lady Dallona on the visa-plate. Your Dear Zid, her faithful assassin.'" Dear Zid's face, normally the color of a good walnut gun-stock, turned almost black. He used shockingly bad language. "'And that's why I have to wear this abomination,' he finished, displaying the mask. "'The Lady Dallona and I can't show our faces anywhere. If we did, every Statisticalist and his six-year-old brat would know us, and we'd be fighting off an army of them in five minutes.'" "'Where's the Lady Dallona now? In hiding, Lord Virzol, at a private dwelling dome in the forest. She's most anxious to see you. I'm to take you to her, and I would strongly advise that you bring your assassins along. There are people at this dome, and they are not personally loyal to the Lady Dallona. They have no reason to suspect them of secret enmity, but their friendship is based entirely on political expediency." "'And political expediency is subject to change without notice,' Verkanvall finished for him. "'Have you an airboat? On the landing-stage below. Shall we go now, Lord Virzol?' "'Yes.'" Verkanvall made a two-handed gesture to his assassins as though gripping a submachine-gun. They nodded, went into another room, and returned carrying light automatic weapons in their hands and pouches of spare drums slung over their shoulders. "'And may I suggest, dear Zid, that one of my assassins drives the airboat? I want you on the back seat with me to explain the situation as we go.'" Dears' teeth flashed white against his brown skin as he gave Verkanvall a quick smile. By all means, Lord Virzol, I would much rather be distrusted than to find that my client's friends were not discreet. There were a couple of hotel assassins guarding Dears' airboat on the landing-stage. Marnik climbed in under the controls with O'Learson beside him. Verkanvall and Dears' it entered the rear seat. Dears' it gave Marnik the coordinate reference for their destination. "'Now, what sort of a place is this where we're going?' Verkanvall asked. "'And who's there whom we may or may not trust?' "'Well, it's a dome-house belonging to the family of Starfa. They own a five-mile radius around it, oak and beach forest and underbrush, stocked with deer and boar, a hunting lodge. Prince Jeerson of Starfa, Lord Gearson of Roxor, and a few other top-level volitionalists know that the Lady Dolona's hiding there. They're keeping her out of sight till after the election, for propaganda purposes. We've been hiding there since immediately after the Discarnation Feast of the Lord Garnon of Roxor.' What happened after the feast, Verkanvall wanted to know? "'Well, you know how the Lady Dolona and Dr. Harnash of Hosh had this telepathic sensitive there. In a trance and drugged with a Xurfa derivative alkaloid the Lady Dolona had developed. I was Lord Garnon's assassin. I discarnated him myself. Why, I hadn't even put my pistol away before he was in control of this sensitive, in a room five stories above the banquet hall. He began communicating at once. We had visa plates to show us what was going on. Right away, Nierzavov Shona, one of the statisticalist leaders who was a personal friend of Lord Garnon's in spite of his politics, renounced statisticalism and went over to the volitionalists on the strength of this communication. Prince Geerson and Lord Geerson, the new family head of Roxor, decided that there would be trouble in the next few days so they advised the Lady Dolona to come to this hunting lodge for safety. She and I came there in her airboat, directly from the feast. A good thing we did too, if we'd gone to her apartment we'd have walked in before that lethal gas had time to clear. There are four assassins of the family of Starfa, and six men servants, and an upper servant named Tarnad, the gamekeeper. The Starfa assassins and I had been keeping the rest under observation. I left one of the Starfa assassins guarding the Lady Dolona when I came for you, under Brother Leoth to protect her in my name till I returned. The airboat was skimming rapidly above the treetops toward the northern part of the city. What's known about that package-bomb, Verkanvall asked? Who sent it? Deersage shrugged. The statisticalists, of course. The wrapper was stolen from the Reincarnation Research Institute, so was the case. The constabulary are working on it. Deersage shrugged again. The dome, about a hundred and fifty feet in width and some fifty in height, stood among the trees ahead. It was almost invisible from any distance. The concrete dome was of mottled green and gray concrete. Trees grew so close as to brush it with their branches, and the little pavilion on the flat and top was roofed with translucent green plastic. As the airboat came in, a couple of men in assassin's garb emerged from the pavilion to meet them. Marnick, stay at the controls, Verkanvall directed. I'll send a leersun up for you if I want you. If there's any trouble, take off for Assassin's Hall and give the code word. Then come back with twice as many men as you think you'll need. Deersid raised his eyebrows over this. I had known the assassin president had given you a code word, Lord Verzal, he commented. That doesn't happen very often. The assassin president has honoured me with his friendship, Verkanvall replied noncommittally, as he, Deersid and O'Leersun climbed out of the airboat. Marnick was holding it an unobtrusive inch or so above the flat top of the dome, away from the edge of the pavilion roof. Two assassins greeted him, and a man in upper-servance garb and wearing a hunting-knife and a long hunting-pistol approached. Lord Verzal of Verkan, welcome to Starfa Dome. The Lady Delona awaits you below. Verkanvall had never been in an acorn-neb dwelling dome, but a description of such structures had been included in his hypnomech indoctrination. Originally they had been the standard structure for all purposes. About two thousand elapsed years ago, when nationalism had still existed on the acorn-neb sector, the cities had been almost entirely underground, as protection from air attack. Even now the design had been retained by those who wished to live apart from the towering city units to preserve the natural appearance of the landscape. The Starfa hunting lodge was typical of such domes. Over it was a circular well, eighty feet in depth and fifty in width, with a fountain and shallow circular pool at the bottom. The storerooms, kitchens, and servants' quarters were at the top, the living quarters at the bottom, in segments of a wide circle around the well, back of the balconies. Tarzad, the gamekeeper, deers had performed the introductions, and Irarno and Kirzal, assassins. Verkanvall hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with them. Tarzad accompanied them to the lifter tubes, two percent positive gravitation for descent and two percent negative for ascent, and they all floated down the former, like air-filled balloons, to the bottom level. The Lady Delona is in the gun room, Tarzad informed Verkanvall, making as though to guide him. Thanks, Tarzad, we know the way, deersad told him shortly, turning his back on the upper servant and walking toward a closed door on the other side of the fountain. Verkanvall and Olirzan followed. For a moment Tarzad stood looking after them, then he followed the other two assassins into the ascent tube. I don't relish that fellow, deersad explained. The family of Starfa used him for work they couldn't hire an assassin to do at any price. I've been here often, when I was with the Lord Garnon. I've always thought he had something on Prince Jirzan. He knocked sharply on the closed door with the butt of his pistol. In a moment it slid open, and a young assassin with a narrow mustache and a tuft of chin-beard looked out. Ah, deersad, he stepped outside. The Lady Delona is within. I return her to your care. Verkanvall entered, followed by deersad and Olirzan. The big room was fitted with reclining chairs and couches and low tables. The walls were hung with the heads of deer and boar and wolves, and with racks holding rifles and hunting pistols and fouling pieces. It was filled with a soft glow of indirect cold light. At the far side of the room a young woman was seated at a desk, speaking softly into a sound transcriber. As they entered she snapped it off and rose. Hadrandala wore the same costume Verkanvall had seen on the visa-plate. He recognized her instantly. It took her a second or two to perceive Verkanvall under the brown skin and black hair of the Lord-Versal of Verkan. Then her face lighted with a happy smile. Why, Val, she whooped, running across the room and tossing herself into his not particularly reluctant arms. After all, it had been twenty years. I didn't know you at first. You mean in these clothes, he asked, seeing that she had forgotten, for the moment, the presence of the two assassins. She had even called him by his first-level name, but that was unimportant. The acorn-neb affectionate diminutive was formed by omitting the ears or arm. Well, they're not exactly what I generally wear on the plantation. He kissed her again, then turned to his companions. Your pardon, gentlemen assassins, it's been something over a year since we've seen each other. O'Learson was smiling at the affectionate reunion. Dears had wore a look of amused resignation as though he might have expected something like this to happen. Verkanvall and Dala sat down on a couch near the desk. That was really sweet of you, Val, fighting those men for talking about me. She began. You took an awful chance, though. But if you hadn't, I'd never have known you were in Darsh. Oh! Oh! That's why you did it, wasn't it? Well, I had to do something. Everybody either didn't know or weren't saying where you were. I assumed, from the circumstances, that you were hiding somewhere. Tell me, Dala, do you really have scientific proof of reincarnation? I mean, as an established fact. Oh, yes! These people on this sector have had that for over ten centuries. They have hypnotic techniques for getting back into a part of the subconscious mind that we've never been able to reach. And after I found out how they did it, I was able to adapt some of our hypno-epistemological techniques to it, and... All right, that's what I wanted to know, he cut her off. We're getting out of here, right away. But where? Gamma, in an airboat I have outside, and then back to the first level, unless there's a paratime transposition conveyor somewhere nearer. But why, Val? I'm not ready to go back. I have a lot of work to do here yet. They're getting ready to set up a series of control experiments at the institute, and then I'm in the middle of an experiment, a 200-subject memory recall experiment. See, I distributed 200 sets of equipment for my new technique, injection ampules of this Zerfa derivative drug, and sound records of the hypnotic suggestion formula which can be played on an ordinary reproducer. It's just a crude variant of our hypno-mech process, except that instead of implanting information in the subconscious mind to be brought at will to the level of consciousness, it works the other way, and draws into conscious knowledge information already in the subconscious mind. The way these people have always done has been to put the subject in a hypnotic trance and then record verbal statements made in the trance state. When the subject comes out of the trance, the record is all there is, because the memories of past reincarnations have never been in the conscious mind. But with my process, the subject can consciously remember everything about his last reincarnation, and, as many reincarnations before that as he wishes to. I haven't heard from any of the people who received these auto-recall kits, and I really must, DALLA. I don't want to have to pull Paratime Police authority on you, but so help me, if you don't come back voluntarily with me, I will. Security of the Secret of Paratime Transposition. Oh, my eye, DALLA exclaimed. Don't give me that, Val. Look, DALLA, suppose you get dis-carnated here, Verkanvall said. You say reincarnation is a scientific fact. Well, you'd reincarnate on this sector, and then you take a memory recall under hypnosis, and when you did, the Paratime Secret wouldn't be a secret any more. Oh, DALLA's hand went to her mouth in consternation. Like every Paratimer, she was conditioned to shrink with all her being from the mere thought of revealing to any out-time dweller the secret ability of her race to pass to other timelines, or even the existence of alternate lines of probability. And if I took one of the old-fashioned trance recalls, I'd blad out everything. I wouldn't be able to keep a thing back. And I even know the principles of transposition. She looked at him aghast. When I get back, I'm going to put a recommendation through department channels that this whole sector be declared out of bounds for all Paratime transposition, until you people at Rogom Foundation work out the problem of dis-carnate return to the first level, he told her. Now, have you any notes or anything you want to take back with you? She rose. Yes, just what's on the desk. Find me something to put the tape spools and notebooks in while I'm getting them in order. He secured a large game-bag from under a rack of fouling pieces and held it while she sorted the material rapidly, stuffing spools of record tape and notebooks into it. They had barely begun when the door slid open and Olyrsaan, who had gone outside, sprang into the room, his pistol drawn, swearing vilely. They've double-crossed us, he cried. The servants of Starfa have turned on us! He holstered his pistol and snatched up his submachine gun, taking cover behind the edge of the door and letting go with a burst in the direction of the lifter-tubes. Got that one, he grunted. What happened, Olyrsaan, Verkanfall asked, dropping the game-bag on the table and hurrying across the room. I went up to see how Marnock was making out, as I came out of the lifter-tube one of the obscenities took a shot at me with a hunting-pistol. He missed me, I did miss him. Then a couple more of them were coming up with fouling pieces. I shot one of them before they could fire and jumped into the descent-tube and came down, heels over ears. I don't know what's happened to Marnock. He fired another burst and swore. Missed him. Assassin's truce, assassin's truce! A voice howled out of the descent-tube. Hold your fire! We want to parley! Who is it, Dersid shouted, over Olyrsaan's shoulder? Use our knacks! Come on out! We won't shoot! The young assassin with the moustache and chin beard emerged from the descent-tube, his weapons sheathed and his clasped hands extended in front of him in a peculiarly ecclesiastical looking manner. Dersid and Olyrsaan stepped out of the gun-room, followed by Verkenvall and Hadron Della. Olyrsaan had left his submachine-gun behind. They met the other assassin by the rim of the fountain-pool. Lady Delona of Hadron, the Starfa assassin began, I and my colleagues in the employ of the family of Starfa have received orders from our clients to withdraw our protection from you and to discarnate you and all with you who undertake to protect or support you. That much sounded like a recitation of some established formula. Then his voice became more conversational. I and my colleagues, Errarno and Kirzall and Harniff, offer our apologies for the barbarity of the servants of the family of Starfa in attacking without declaration of cessation of friendship. Was anybody hurt or discarnated? None of us, Olyrsaan said. How about Marnik? He was warned before hostilities were begun against him, Sarnak's replied. We will allow five minutes until—Olyrsaan, who had been looking up the well, suddenly sprang at Dalla, knocked her flat and at the same time jerking out his pistol. Before he could raise it, a shot banged from above and he fell on his face. Dersid, Verkenvall and Sarnak's all drew their pistols, and whoever had fired the shot had vanished. There was an outburst of shouting above. Get to cover, Sarnak's told the others. We'll let you know when we're ready to attack. We'll have to deal with whoever fired that shot first. He looked at the dead body on the floor, exclaimed angrily and hurried to the ascent tube, springing upward. Verkenvall replaced the small pistol in his shoulder holster and took Olyrsaan's belt with his knife and heavier pistol. Well, there you see, Dersid said, as they went back to the gun-room. So much for political expediency. I think I understand why your picture and the Lady Delonas were exhibited so widely, Verkenvall said. Now anybody would recognize your bodies and blame the statisticalist for discarnating you. That thought had occurred to me, Lord Verzal, Dersid said. I suppose our bodies will be atrociously but not unidentifiably mutilated to further enrage the public, he added placidly. If I get out of this carnate, I'm going to pay somebody off for it. After a few minutes there was more shouting of Assassin's truce from the descent tube. The two assassins, Irarno and Kirzal, emerged, dragging the gamekeeper Tarnad between them. The upper servant's face was bloody and his jaw seemed to be broken. Sarnak's followed, carrying a long hunting pistol in his hand. Here he is, he announced. He fired during Assassin's truce. He's subject to Assassin's justice. He nodded to the others. They threw the gamekeeper forward on the floor, and Sarnak shot him through the head, then tossed the pistol down beside him. Any more of these people who violate the decencies will be treated similarly, he promised. Thank you, Sarnak's, Dersid spoke up. But we lost an assassin. Discarnating this lackey won't equalize that. We think you should retire one of your number. That at least, Dersid, wait a moment. The three assassins conferred at some length, then Sarnak's hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with his companions. See you in the next reincarnation, brothers, he told them, walking toward the gun-room door, where Verkonval, Dalla, and Dersid stood. I'm joining you, people. You had two assassins when the parley began, you'll have two when the shooting starts. Verkonval looked at Dersid in some surprise. Had run Dalla's assassin nodded. He's entitled to do that, Lord Virzal. The assassin's code provides for such changes of allegiance. Welcome, Sarnak's, Verkonval said, hooking fingers with him. I hope we'll all be together when this is over. We will be, Sarnak's assured him cheerfully. Discarnate! We won't get out of this in the body, Lord Virzal. A submachine gun hammered from above, the bullets lashing the fountain pool. The water actually steamed so great was their velocity. All right, a voice called down, assassin's truce is over. Another burst of automatic fire smashed out the lights at the bottom of the ascent tube. Dersid and Dalla struggled across the room, pushing a heavy steel cabinet between them. Verkonval, who was holding Olyrza's submachine gun, moved aside to allow them to drop it on edge in the open doorway, then wedged the door half shut against it. Sarnak's came over, bringing rifles, hunting pistols, and ammunition. What's the situation up there, Verkonval asked him? What force have they, and why did they turn against us? Lord Virzal, Dersid objected, scandalized. You have no right to ask Sarnak's to betray confidences. Sarnak spat against the door. In the face of Jirzin of Starfa, he said, and in the face of his Zortan mother and of his father whoever he was. Dersid do not talk foolishly. One does not speak of betraying betrayers. He turned to Verkonval. They have three men-servants of the family of Starfa. Your assassin, Olyrzin, discarnated the other three. There is one of Prince Jirzin's poor relations named Girsad. There are three other men, volitionalist precinct workers, who came with Girsad, and four assassins, the three who were here, and one who came with Girsad. Eleven against the three of us. The four of us, Sarnak's, Dala corrected. She had buckled on a hunting pistol, and had a light deer rifle under her arm. Something moved at the bottom of the descent tube. Verkonval gave it a short burst, though it was probably only a dummy, dropped to draw a fire. The four of us, Lady Dalauna, Sarnak's agreed. As to your other assassin, the one who stayed in the airboat, I don't know how he fared. You see, about twenty minutes ago, this Girsad arrived in an airboat, with an assassin and these three volitionalist workers. Erarno and I were at the top of the dome when he came in. He told us that he had orders from Prince Jirzin to discarnate the Lady Dalauna and Dirsad at once. Tarnad, the gamekeeper, Sarnak spat ceremoniously against the door again, told him you were here, and that Marnak was one of your men. He was going to shoot Marnak at once, but Erarno and I and his assassin stopped him. He warned Marnak about the change in the situation, according to the code, expecting Marnak to go down here and join you. Instead, he lifted the airboat, zoomed over Girsad's boat, and let go a rocket blast, setting Girsad's boat on fire. Well, that was a hostile act, so we all fired after him. We must have hit something because the boat went down, trailing smoke about ten miles away. Girsad got another airboat out of the hangar, and he and his assassin started after your man. About that time, your assassin, Olirzin, happy reincarnation to him, came up, and the Starfa servants fired at him, and he fired back and discarnated two of them, and then jumped down the descent tube. One of the servants jumped after him. I found his body at the bottom when I came down to warn you formally. You know what happened after that. But why did Prince Girsin order our discarnation, Dala wanted to know? Was it to blame the statisticalists with it? Sarnax, about to answer, broke off suddenly and began firing at the opening of the ascent tube with a hunting pistol. I got him, he said, in a pleased tone. That was Ararno. He was always playing tricks with the tubes, climbing down against negative gravity and up against positive gravity. His body will float up to the top. Why, Lady Delona, that was only part of it. You didn't hear about the big scandal on the newscast, then? We didn't have it on, what scandal? Sarnax laughed. Oh, the very father and family head of all scandals! You ought to know about it, because you started it. That's why Prince Girsin wants you out of the body. You devised a process by which people could give themselves memory recalls of previous reincarnations, didn't you? And distributed apparatus to do it with? And gave one set to young Tarnov, the son of Lord Tirsov of Fastor? Dala nodded. Sarnax continued. Well, last evening, Tarnov's of Fastor used his recall outfit. And what do you think? It seems that thirty years ago, in his last reincarnation, he was Girsin of Starfa, Girsin's older brother. Girsin was betrothed to the Lady Anitra of Zabna. Well, his younger brother was carrying on a clandestine affair with the Lady Anitra, and he also wanted the title of Prince and family head of Starfa. So he bribed this fellow Tarnod, whom I had the pleasure of discarnating, and who was an underservant here at the Hunting Lodge. Between them they shot Girsin during a boar hunt. An accident, of course. So Girsin married the Lady Anitra, and when old Prince Jarnad, his father, discarnated a year later, he succeeded to the title. And immediately Tarnod was made head game-keeper here. What did I tell you, Lord Virzol? I knew that son of a Zortan had something on Girsin of Starfa, Dirsin exclaimed. A nice family, this of Starfa. Well, that's not the end of it, Sarnax continued. This morning, Tarn of Afastor, late Girsin of Starfa, went before the High Court of Estates, and entered suit to change his name to Girsin of Starfa, and laid claim to the title of Starfa family head. The case has just been entered, so there's been no hearing, but there's the blazes of an argument among all the nobles about it. Some are claiming that the individuality doesn't change from one reincarnation to the next, and others claiming that property and titles should pass along the line of physical descent, no matter what individuality has reincarnated into what body. They're the ones who want the Lady Dolona discarnated and her discovery suppressed. And there's talk about revising the entire system of estate ownership and estate inheritance. Oh, it's an utter obscenity of a business. This, Verkenval told Dala, is something we will not emphasize when we get home. That was as close as he dared come to it, but she caught his meaning. The working of major changes in out-time social structures was not viewed with approval by the Paratime Commission on the first level. If we get home, he added, then an idea occurred to him. Dear Zid, Sarnax, this place must have been used by the leaders of the Volitionalists for top-level conferences. Is there a secret passage anywhere? Verkenval shook his head. Not from here. There is one on the floor above, but they controlled it. And even if there were one down here, they would be guarding the outlet. That's what I was counting on. I'd hope to simulate and escape that way, then make a rush up the regular tubes. Verkenval shrugged. I suppose Manrix our only chance. I hope he got away safely. He was going for help? I was surprised that an assassin would desert his client. I should have thought of that, Sarnax said. Well, even if he got down Carnate, and if Gearsad didn't catch him, he'd still be a foot ten miles from the nearest city unit. That gives us a little chance, about one in a thousand. Is there any way they can get at us, except by those tubes? Dala asked. They could cut a hole in the floor, or burn one through, Sarnax replied. They have plenty of thermite. They could detonate a charge of explosives over our heads, or clear out of the dome and drop one down the well. They could use lethal gas or radio dust, but their assassins wouldn't permit such illegal methods. Or they could shoot sleep gas down at us, and then come down and cut our throats at their leisure. We'll have to get out of this room, then, Verkonval decided. They know we've barricaded ourselves in here. This is where they'll attack. So we'll patrol the perimeter of the well. We'll be out of danger from above if we keep close to the wall, and we'll inspect all the rooms on this floor for evidence of cutting through from above. Sarnax nodded. That's sense, Lord Verzell. How about the lifter tubes? We'll have to barricade them. Sarnax, you and Deersit know the layout of this place better than the Lady Dolona or I. Suppose you two check the rooms while we cover the tubes and the well, Verkonval directed. Come on, now. End of Part 4. Part 5 of Last Enemy by H. B. Piper, read by Mark Nelson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Last Enemy, Part 5. They pushed the door wide open and went out past the cabinet. Hugging the wall they began a slow circuit of the well, Verkonval in the lead with a submachine gun, then Sarnax and Deersit, the former with a heavy bore rifle, and the latter with a hunting pistol in each hand, and Hadrandalla brought up the rear with her rifle. It was she who noticed a movement along the rim of the balcony above and snapped a shot at it. There was a crash above and a shower of glass and plastic and metal fragments rattled on the pavement of the court. Somebody had been trying to lower a scanner or a visa plate pickup or something of the sort. The exact nature of the instrument was not evident from the wreckage Dala's bullet had made of it. The rooms Deersit and Sarnax entered were all quiet. Nobody seemed to be attempting to cut through the ceiling, fifteen feet above. They dragged furniture from a couple of rooms, blocking the openings of the lifter tubes, and continued around the well until they had reached the gun room again. Deersit suggested that they move some of the weapons and ammunition stored there to Prince Deersin's private apartment, half way around to the lifter tubes, so that another place of refuge would be stocked with munitions in event of there being driven from the gun room. Leaving him unguarded outside, Verkonval, Dala and Sarnax entered the gun room and began gathering weapons and boxes of ammunition. Dala finished packing her game bag with the recorded data and notes of her experiments. Verkonval selected four more of the heavy hunting pistols, more accurate than his shoulder holster weapon or the dead Olirzin's belt arm, and capable of either full or semi-automatic fire. Sarnax chose a couple more bore rifles. Dala slung her bag of recorded notes and another bag of ammunition and secured another deer rifle. They carried this accumulation of munitions to the private apartments of Prince Deersin, dumping everything in the middle of the drawing room except the bag of notes from which Dala refused to separate herself. Maybe we'd better put some stuff over in one of the rooms on the other side of the well, Deersit suggested. They haven't really begun to come after us. When they do, we'll probably be attacked from two or three directions at once. They returned to the gun room, casting anxious glances at the edge of the balcony above and at the barricade they had erected across the openings to the lifter tubes. Verkanval was not satisfied with this last. It looked to him as though they had provided a breastwork for somebody to fire on them from, more than anything else. He was about to step around the cabinet, which partially blocked the gun room door when he glanced up and saw a six-foot circle on the ceiling turning slowly brown. There was a smell of scorched plastic. He grabbed Sarnax by the arm and pointed. Thirmite, the assassin whispered. The ceiling's got six inches of spaceship insulation between it and the floor above. It'll take them a few minutes to burn through it. He stooped and pushed on the barricade, shoving it into the room. Keep back. They'll probably drop a grenade or so through first, before they jump down. If we're quick, we can get a couple of them. Deersit and Sarnax crouched, one at either side of the door, with weapons ready. Verkanvall and Dalla had been ordered, rather peremptorily, to stay behind them. In a place of danger an assassin was obliged to shield his client. Verkanvall, unable to see what was going on inside the room, kept his eyes and his gun muzzle on the barricade across the openings to the lifter tubes, the erection of which he was now regretting as a major tactical error. Inside the gun room there was a sudden crash, as the circle of Thirmite burned through and a section of ceiling dropped out and hit the floor. Instantly Deersit flung himself back against Verkanvall and there was a tremendous explosion inside, followed by another and another. A second or so passed, then Deersit, leaning around the corner of the door, began firing rapidly into the room. From the other side of the door Sarnax began blazing away with his rifle. Verkanvall kept his position, covering the lifter tubes. Suddenly from behind the barricade a blue-white gun flash leaped into being and a pistol banged. He sprayed the opening between a couch and a section of bookcase from whence it had come, releasing his trigger as the gun rose with the recoil, squeezing and releasing and squeezing again. Then he jumped to his feet. Come on, the other place, hurry! he ordered. Sarnax swore in exasperation. Help me with her, Deersit! he implored. Verkanvall turned his head to see the two assassins drag Dala to her feet and hustle her away from the gun room. She was quite senseless, and they had to drag her between them. Verkanvall gave a quick glance into the gun room. Two of the starfish servants and a man in a rather flashy civil dress were lying on the floor, where they had been shot as they had jumped down from above. He saw a movement at the edge of the irregular, smoking hole in the ceiling and gave it a short burst, then fired another at the exit from the descent tube. Then he took to his heels and followed the assassins and had drawn Dala into Prince Jeersen's apartment. As he ran through the open door, the assassins were letting Dala down into a chair. They instantly threw themselves into the work of barricading the doorway so as to provide cover and at the same time allow them to fire out into the central well. For an instant, as he bent over her, he thought Dala had been killed, an assumption justified by his knowledge of the deadliness of Acord Neb bullets. Then he saw her eyelids flicker. A moment later he had the explanation of her escape. The bullet had hit the game-bag at her side. It was full of spools of metal tape, in metal cases, and notes in written form, pyrograft upon sheets of plastic ring, fastened into metal binders. Because of their extreme velocity, Acord Neb bullets were sure killers when they struck animal tissue, but for the same reason they had very poor penetration on hard objects. The alloy steel tape and the steel spools and spool cases and the notebook binders had been enough to shatter the little bullets into splinters of magnesium nickel alloy, and the stout leather back of the game-bag had stopped all of these. But the impact, even distributed as it had been through the contents of the bag, had been enough to knock the girl unconscious. He found a bottle of some sort of brandy and a glass on a serving-table nearby and poured her a drink, holding it to her lips. She spluttered over the first mouthful, then took the glass from him and sipped the rest. What happened, she asked. I thought those bullets were sure a death. Your notes! The bullet hit the bag. Are you all right now? She finished the brandy. I think so. She put a hand into the game-bag and brought out a snarled and tangled mess of steel tape. Oh, blast! That stuff was important. All the records on the preliminary auto-recall experiments. She shrugged. Well, it wouldn't have been worth much if I'd stopped that bullet myself. She slipped the strap over her shoulder and started to rise. As she did, a bedlam of firing broke out, both from the two assassins at the door and from outside. They both hit the floor and crawled out of line of the partly open door. Verkanvall recovered his submachine gun, which he had set down beside Dalla's chair. Sarnaks was firing with his rifle at some target in the direction of the lifter-tubes. Deersid lay slumped over the barricade, and one glance at his crumpled figure was enough to tell Verkanvall that he was dead. "'You fill magazines for us,' he told Dalla, then crawl to Deersid's place at the door. What happened, Sarnaks?' They shoved over the barricade at the lifter-tubes and came out into the well. I got a couple, they got Deersid, and now they're holed up in rooms all around the circle. They—ah! He fired three shots quickly around the edge of the door. That stopped that. The assassin crouched to insert a fresh magazine into his rifle. Verkanvall wrist one eye around the corner of the doorway, and as he did there was a red flash and a dull roar, unlike the blue flashes and sharp cracking reports of the pistols and rifles, from the doorway of the gun room. He wondered, for a split second, if it might be one of the fouling pieces he had seen there, and then something whizzed past his head and exploded with a soft plop behind him. Turning he saw a pool of gray vapor beginning to spread in the middle of the room. Dalla must have got a breath of it, for she was slumped over the chair from which she had just risen. Dropping the sub-machine gun and gulping a lungful of fresh air from outside, Verkanvall rushed to her, caught her by the heels, and dragged her into Prince Jeersen's bedroom beyond. Holding her in the middle of the floor he took another deep breath and returned to the drawing room where Sarnax was already overcome by the sleep gas. He saw the serving-table from which he got the brandy and dragged it over to the bedroom door, overturning it and laying it across the doorway, its legs in the air. Like most Acord Neb serving-tables it had a gravitation counter-action unit under it. He set this for double minus gravitation and snapped it on. As it was now above the inverted table the table did not rise, but a tendril of sleep gas curling toward it bent upward and drifted away from the doorway. Satisfied that he had made a temporary barrier against the sleep gas, Verkanvall secured Dalla's hunting-pistol and spare magazines and laid down at the bedroom door. For some time there was silence outside. The besiegers evidently decided that the sleep gas attack had been a success. An assassin wearing a gas mask and carrying a sub-machine gun appeared in the doorway, and behind him came a tall man in a tan tunic similarly masked. They stepped into the room and looked around. Knowing that he would be shooting over a two hundred percent negative gravitation field, Verkanvall aimed for the assassin's belt buckle and squeezed. The bullet caught him in the throat. Evidently the bullet had not only been lifted in the negative gravitation, but lifted point first and deflected upward. He held his front sight just above the other man's knee and hit him in the chest. As he fired he saw a wisp of gas come sliding around the edge of the inverted table. There was silence outside, and for an instant he was tempted to abandon his post and go to the bathroom, back of the bedroom, for wet towels to improvise a mask. Then when he tried to crawl backward he could not. There was an impression of distant shouting which turned into a roaring sound in his head. He tried to lift his pistol, but it slipped from his fingers. When consciousness returned he was lying on his back and something cold and rubbery was pressing into his face. He raised his arms to fight off whatever it was and opened his eyes to find that he was staring directly at the red oval and winged bullet of the Society of Assassins. A hand caught his wrist as he reached for the small pistol under his arm. The pressure on his face eased. It's all right, Lord Versal, a voice came to him. Assassin's truce. He nodded stupidly and repeated the words. Assassin's truce, I won't shoot. What happened? Then he sat up and looked around. Prince Jirson's bedchamber was full of assassins. Dala, recovering from her touch of sleep gas, was sitting groggily in a chair, while five or six of them fussed around her, getting in each other's way, handing her drinks, chafing her wrists, holding damp cloths on her brow. That was standard procedure when any group of males thought Dala needed any help. Another assassin, beside the bed, was putting away an oxygen mask outfit, and the assassin who had prevented Virk and Vol from drawing his pistol was his own follower, Marnik. And Clarnud, the assassin president, was sitting on the foot of the bed, smoking one of Prince Jirson's monogrammed and encrested cigarettes critically. Virk and Vol looked at Marnik, and then at Clarnud, and back to Marnik. You got through, he said. Good work, Marnik. I thought they'd downed you. They did. I had to crash land in the woods. I went about a mile on foot, and then I found a man and a woman and two children, hiding in one of these little log rain shelters. They had an airboat, a good one. It seemed that rioting had broken out in the city unit where they lived, and they'd taken to the woods till things quieted down again. I offered them assassin's protection if they'd take me to assassin's hall, and they did. By luck I was in when Marnik arrived, Clarnud took over. We brought three boatloads of men and came here at once. Just as we got here, two boatloads of Starfa dependents arrived. They tried to give us an argument, and we'd discarded the lot of them. Then we came down here, crying assassin's truths. One of the Starfa assassins, Kirzal, was still Carnate. He told us what had been going on. The President General's face became grim. You know, I take a rather poor view of Prince Jirzen's procedure in this matter, not to mention that of his underlings. I'll have to speak to him about this. Now, how about you and the Lady Delona? What do you intend doing? We're getting out of here, Verkan Vahl said. I'd like air transport and protection as far as Gama to the establishment of the family of Zorda. Brarnand of Zorda has a private space-yacht. He'll get us to Venus. Clarnud gave a sigh of obvious relief. I'll have you and the Lady Delona airborne and all for Gama as soon as you wish, he promised. I will, frankly, be delighted to see the last of both of you. The Lady Delona has started a fire here at Darj that won't burn out in a half-century, and who knows what it may consume. He was interrupted by a heaving shock that made the underground dome-dwelling shake like a light airboat in turbulence. Even eighty feet under the ground they could hear a continued crashing roar. It was an appreciable interval before the sound and the shock ceased. For an instant there was silence, and then an excited bedlam of shouting broke from the assassins in the room. Clarnud's face was frozen in horror. "'That was a fission bomb,' he exclaimed, the first one that has been exploded on this planet in hostility in a thousand years.' He turned to Verkanvall. "'If you feel well enough to walk, Lord Verzal, come with us. I must see what's happened.' They hurried from the room and went streaming up the ascent tube to the top of the dome. About forty miles away, to the south, Verkanvall saw the sinister thing that he had seen on so many other timelines and in so many other paratime sectors, a great pillar of very colored fire-shot smoke rising to a mushroom-head fifty thousand feet above. "'Well, that's it,' Clarnud said sadly. "'That is civil war.' "'May I make a suggestion,' assassin president Verkanvall asked. "'I understand that assassin's truce is binding even upon non-assassins. Is that correct?' "'Well, not exactly. It's generally kept by such non-assassins as one to remain in their present reincarnations, though.' "'That's what I meant. Well, suppose you declare a general, planet-wide assassin's truce in this political war, and make the leaders of both parties responsible for keeping it. "'I'll make the list of the top two or three thousand statisticalists and volitionalists, starting with Mirzak of Bashad and Prince Jirzin of Starfa, and inform them that they will be assassinated in order if the fighting doesn't cease.' "'Well,' a smile grew on Clarnud's face, "'Lord Virzol, my thanks! A good suggestion. I'll try it, and furthermore I'll withdraw all assassin protection permanently from anybody involved in political activity, and forbid any assassin to accept any retainer connected with political factionalism. It's about time our members stopped discarnating each other in these political squabbles. He pointed to the three air-boats drawn up on the top of the dome, speedy black craft bearing the red oval and winged bullet. Take your choice, Lord Virzol. I'll lend you a couple of my men, and you'll be in gamma in three hours.' He hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with work and vol, bent over Dalla's hand. "'I still like you, Lord Virzol, and I have seldom met a more charming lady than you, Lady Delona. But I sincerely hope I never see either of you again.' The ship for Jergabar was driving north and west. At seventy thousand feet it was still daylight, but the world below was wrapping itself in darkness. In the big visit screens, which served in lieu of the windows, which could never have withstood the pressure and friction heat of the ship's speed, the sun was sliding out of sight over the horizon to port. Virk and Vald and Dalla sat together, watching the blazing western sky, the sky of their own first-level timeline. "'I blame myself terribly, Vald,' Dalla was saying. And I didn't mean any of them the least harm. All I was interested in was learning the facts. I know, that sounds like, I didn't know it was loaded, but—' "'It sounds to me, like those fourth-level, Europo-American sector physicists who are giving themselves guilt complexes because they designed an atomic bomb,' Virk and Vald replied. "'All you were interested in was learning the facts. Well, as a scientist, that's all you're supposed to be interested in. You don't have to worry about any social or political implications. You'll have to learn to live with newly discovered facts. If they don't, they die of them. But, Vald, that sounds dreadfully irresponsible. Does it? You're worrying about the results of your reincarnation memory-recall discoveries, the shootings and riotings and the bombings we saw. He touched the pommel of Alirzen's knife, which he still wore. You're no more guilty of that than the man who forged this blade is guilty of the death of Marnak of Barshad. If he'd never lived, I'd have killed Marnak with some other knife somebody else made. And what's more, you can't know the results of your discoveries. All you can see is a thin film of events on the surface of an immediate situation, so you can't say whether the long-term results will be beneficial or calamitous. Take this fourth-level, Europo-American atomic bomb, for example. I choose that because we both know that sector. But I could think of a hundred other examples in other paratime areas. Those people, because of deforestation, bad agricultural methods, and general mismanagement, are eroding away their arable soil at an alarming rate. At the same time, they're breeding like rabbits. In other words, each successive generation has less and less food to divide among more and more people. And for inherited, traditional, and superstitious reasons, they refuse to adopt any rational program of birth control and population limitation. But fortunately they now have the atomic bomb, and they are developing radioactive poisons, weapons of mass effect. And their racial, nationalistic, and ideological conflicts are rapidly reaching the explosion point. A series of all-out atomic wars is just what that sector needs to bring their population down to their world's carrying capacity. In a century or so, the inventors of the atomic bomb will be hailed as the saviors of their species. "'But how about my work on the acorn neb sector?' Dala asked. It seems that my memory recall technique is more explosive than any fish and bomb. I've laid the train for a century-long reign of anarchy. I doubt that. I think Clarnud will take hold now that he has committed himself to it. You know, in spite of his sanguinary profession, he's the nearest thing to a real man of goodwill I've found on that sector. And here's something else you haven't considered. Our own first-level life expectancy is from four to five hundred years. That's the main reason why we've accomplished as much as we have. We have, individually, time to accomplish things. On the acorn neb sector, a scientist or artist or scholar or statesman will grow senile and die before he's as old as either of us. But now a young student of twenty or so can take one of your auto-recall treatments and immediately have available all the knowledge and experience gained in four or five previous lives. He can start where he left off in his last reincarnation. In other words, you've made those people time-benders, individually, as well as racially. Isn't that worth the temporary discarnation of a lot of warred healers and plug-uglies, or even a few decent types like Deer-Zid and Oleirzin? If it isn't, I don't know what scales of values you're using. Val, Dala's eyes glowed with enthusiasm. I never thought of that. And you said, temporary discarnation. That's just what it is. Deer-Zid and Oleirzin and the others aren't dead. They're just waiting, discarnate, between physical lives. You know, in the sacred writings of one of the fourth-level peoples it is stated, death is the last enemy. By proving that death is just a cyclic condition of continued individual existence, these people have conquered their last enemy. Last enemy but one, Verkanvall corrected. They still have one enemy to go, an enemy within themselves. Call it semantic confusion, or illogic, or incomprehension, or just plain stupidity. Like Clarnud, stymied by verbal objections to something labelled political intervention, he'd never have consented to use the power of his society if he hadn't been shocked out of his inhibitions by that nuclear bomb. Or the statisticalists, trying to create a classless order of society through a political program which would only result in universal servitude to an omnipotent government. Or the volitionalist nobles, trying to preserve their hereditary futile privileges. And now they can't even agree on a definition of the term hereditary. Might they not recover all the silly prejudices of their past lives along with the knowledge and wisdom? "'But I thought you said,' Dali was puzzled, a little hurt. Verkanvall's arm squeezed around her waist and he laughed comfortingly. You see, any sort of result is possible, good or bad, so don't blame yourself in advance for something you can't possibly estimate." An idea occurred to him, and he straightened in the seat. "'Tell you what, if you people at Rogan Foundation can get the problem of discarnate, paratime transposition licked by then, lets you and I go back to the acorneb sector in about a hundred years and see what sort of a mess those people have made of things." "'A hundred years! That would be year twenty-two of the next millennium. It's a date, Val, we'll do it!' They bent to light their cigarettes together at his lighter. When they raised their heads again and got the flame glare out of their eyes, the sky was purple-black, dusted with stars, and dead ahead, spilling up over the horizon, was a golden glow, the lights of Jurgabar and home. The End of Last Enemy by H. B. Piper.