 Chapter 6 of the Defiant Agents This is a LibreBox recording. All LibreBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreBox.org. Recording by R.J. Davis. The Defiant Agents by Andre Norton. Chapter 6. The night comes, Tossay spoke slowly in English. Do these you fear, hunting the dark? She shook her head to free her forehead from a coil of rain, pulled loose in her struggle with Travis. They do not need eyes or such noses as those four-footed hunters of yours. They have a machine to track. Then what purpose is this brush pile of yours? Travis raised his chin at a disturbed hiding place. They do not constantly use the machine, and one can hope. But at night they can ride on its beam. We are not far enough into the hills to lose them. Lahtir went lame, and so I was slowed. And what lies in these mountains that those you fear dare not invade them? Travis continued. I do not know, save if one can climb far enough inside, one is safe from pursuit. I ask it again. Who are you? The Apache lean forward, his face in the fast-fading light, now only enters away from hers. She did not shrink from his close scrutiny, but met him eye to eye. This is a woman of proud independence. Truly a chief daughter, Travis decided. I am of the people of the Blue Wolf. We were brought across to star lanes to make this world safe for the. She hesitated, and now there was a shade of puzzlement on her face. There is a reason, a dream. No, there is a dream, and there is reality. I am Cadesa of the Golden Horde, but sometimes I remember other things. Like this speech of strange words, I am mouthing now. The Golden Horde, Travis Noonow, the embroidery, sons of the Blue Wolf, all fitted into a spatial pattern. But what a pattern. Sky-ation mark, the ornament that the warriors of Genghis Khan wore so proudly, charters, mongols, the barbarians who had swept from the fastest of the steeps to change the course of history. Not only in Asia, but across the plains of Middle Europe. The men of the Emperor Khan's who had ridden behind the yaktail standards of Genghis Khan, Kabuki Khan, Tamer Lane, the Golden Horde, Travis retreated once again. That lies far back in the history of another world, Wolf Daughter. She stared at him, a queer lost expression on her dust-grimed face. I know, her voice was so muted he could hardly distinguish the words. My people live in two times, and many do not realize that. Tashay had crouched down beside them to listen. Now he put out his hands, touching Travis' shoulder, redacks, or if like, for Travis was sure at one point. The project which had been trading three teams for space colonization, one of Eskimos, one of Pacific Islanders, and one of his own Apaches, had no reason or chance to select mongols from the wild past of the raiding hordes. There was only one nation on terror which could have picked six colonists. You're a Russian. He studied her carefully, intent on noting the effect of his words. But she did not lose that lost look. Russian? Russian? She repeated, as if the very word was strange. Travis was alarmed. Any Russian colony planted here could well possess technicians with machines capable of tracking a fugitive. And if mountain heights were protection against such a hunt, he intended to gain them, even by night traveling. He said this to Tashay, and the other empathically agreed. The horse is too lame to go on, the younger man reported. Travis hesitated for a long second. Since the time they had stolen their first mounts from the encroaching Spanish, horses had always been wealth to his people. To leave an animal which could well serve the clan was not right. But they dared not waste time with a lame beast. Leave it here, free, he ordered. And the woman? She goes with us. We must learn all we can of these people and what they do here. Listen, Wolfdaughter. Again, Travis leaned close to make sure she was listening to him as he spoke with emphasis. You will travel with us into these high places, and there will be no trouble from you. He drew his knife and held the blade warningly before her eyes. It was already in my mind to go to the mountains, she told him evenly. Untie my hands, brave warrior, you have surely nothing to fear from a woman. His hand made a swift sweep and plucked a knife as long and keen as his from the foals of the sash beneath her loose outer garment. Not now, Wolfdaughter, since I have drawn your fangs, he helped her to her feet and sliced a cord about her wrist with her knife, which he then fastened to his own belt. Alerting the coyotes, he just fastened them ahead, and the three started on. The mongo grew between the two apaches. The abandoned horse knickered lonesome and then began to graze on tufts of grass, moving slowly to favor his foot. The two moons rode the sky as the hours advanced, their beams fighting the shadows. Travis felt reasonably safe from any attack at ground level, depending upon the coyotes for warning, but he held them all to a steady pace, and he did not question the girl again until all three of them hunkered down at a small mountain stream. To dash icy water over their faces and drink from cupped hands. Why do you flee your own people, Wolfdaughter? My name is Kadesa, she corrected him. He chuckled with laughter at the prim tone of her voice. And you see here Tassay of the people, the apaches, while I am Fox. He was giving her the English equivalent of his tribal name. Apaches, she tried to repeat the word with the same accent he had used. And what are apaches? Indians, Amara Indians, he explained. But you have not answered my question, Kadesa. Why do you run from your own people? Not from my people, she said, shaking her head determinately, from those others. It is like this. Oh, how can I make you understand rightly? She spread her wet hands out before her in the moonlight. The damp patches on her sleeves clinging to her arms. There are my people of the golden horde, though once we were different, and we can remember bits of that previous life. Then there are also the men who live in the skyship and use the machine so that we think only the thoughts they would have us think. Now, why? She looked at Travis intently. Do I wish to tell you all this? It is strange. You say you are Indian, American? Are we then enemies? There is a part memory which says that we are, were. Let us rather say he corrected her that the apaches and the horde are not enemies here and now, no matter what was before. That was the truth, Travis recognized. By all accounts, his people had come out of Asia in the very dim beginnings of migrating peoples. For all her dark red hair and gray eyes, this girl who had been arbitrarily returned to a past just as they had been by redacks could well be a distant clan cousin. You, K. Desus Fingers, rested for a moment on his wrist. You, too, were sent here from across the stars. Is this not so? It is so. And there are those here who govern you now? No, we are free. How did you become free? She demanded fiercely. Travis hesitated. He did not want to tell other wreckship. The fact that his people possessed no real defenses against the Russian-controlled colony. We went to the mountains, he replied evasively. Your governing machine failed, K. Desus left. Ah, they are so great, those men of the machines, but they are smaller and weaker when their machines cannot obey them. It is so with your camp, Travis prodded gently. He was not quite sure of her meaning, but he dared not ask more detailed questions without dangerously revealing his own ignorance. In some manner, their control machine, it could only work upon those within a certain distance. They discovered that in the days of the First Lending, when hunters went out freely and many of them did not return. After that, when hunters were sent out to learn how lay this land, they went along in the flyer with a machine so that there would be no more escapes. But we knew, K. Desus fingers curled into small fists. Yes, we knew that if we could get beyond the machines, there was freedom for us. And we planned, many of us planned. Then nine or ten sleeps ago, those others were very excited. They gathered in their ship, watching their machines, and something happened. For a while, all those machines went dead. Jagatai, Koushar, my brother Hulagur, Menlik, she was counting the names off on her fingers. They rated the horse herd road out. And you? I too should have written. But there was Aljar, my sister, Koushar's wife. She was very near her time, and to ride thus, fleeing and fast, might kill her and the child. So I did not go. Her son was born that night, but the others had the machine at work once more. We might long to go here. She brought her fist up to her breast and then raised it to her head. But there was that here which kept us to the camp and their will. We only knew that if we could reach the mountains, we might find our people who had already gained their freedom. But you are here. How did you escape? Tashay wanted to know. They knew that I would have gone had it not been for Aljar. So they said they would make her ride out with them, unless I played guide to lead them to my brother and the others. Then I knew I must take up the sword of duty and hunt with them. But I prayed that the spirits of the upper air look with favor upon me, and they granted aid. Her eyes held a look of wonder. For when we were out on the plains and well away from the settlement, a grass devil attacked the leader of the searching party, and he dropped a mind control, and so it was broken. Then I rode. Blue sky above knows how I rode. And those others are not with their horses, as are the people of the wolf. When did this happen? Three sons ago. Travis counted back in his mind. Her date for the failure of the machine in the Russian camp seemed to coincide with the crash landing of the American ship. Had one thing, any connection with the other? It was very possible. The planeting spacer might have fought some kind of weird duel with the other colony before it plunged to earth on the other side of the mountain range. Do you know where in these mountains your people hide? Kadesa shook her head. Only that I must head south. And when I reached the highest peak, make a signal fire on the north slope. But that I cannot do now, for those in the flier may see it. I know they are on my trail, for twice I have seen it. Listen, Fox, I ask this of you. I, Kadesa, who am eldest daughter to the Khan, for you are like unto us, a warrior and a brave man that I believe. It may be that you cannot be governed by their machine. For you have not rested under their spell, nor are of our blood. Therefore, if they come close enough to send forth the call, the call I must obey, as if I were a slave dragged upon a horse rope. Then do you bind my hands and feet and hold me here, no matter how much I struggle to follow that command? For that which is truly me does not want to go. Will you swear this by the fires which expel demons? The utter sincerity of her tone convinced Travis that she was pleading for aid against the danger she firmly believed him. Whether she was right about his immunity to the Russian metal control was another matter, and one he would rather not foot to the test. We do not swear by your fires, Blue Wolf Maiden, but by the path of the lightning. His fingers moved so that to curl about the sacred charred wood his people had once carried as medicine. So do I promise. She looked at him for a long moment and then nodded in satisfaction. They left the pool and pushed on toward the mountain slopes, working their way back to the pass. A low growl out of the dark brought them to an instant halt. Nagintas' warning was sharp. There was danger ahead, acute danger. The moonlight from the moons made a weird pattern of light and dark on the stretch ahead. Anything from a flinking four-footed hunter to a war party of intelligent beings might have been lying in wait there. A fleeting shadow out of shadow. Nalikia do pressed against Travis' legs, making a barrier of a warm body, attracting his attention to a spot at the left, perhaps a hundred yards on. There was a great splotch of dark there, large enough to hide a really formidable opponent. That wordless communication between animal and man told Travis that sit-in opponent was just what was lurking there. Whatever lay in ambush beside the upper track was growing impatient as if destined prey ceased to advance. The coyotes reported. You're left, beyond that pointed rock, in the big shadow. Do you see it, Tasnaia demanded? No, but the envy I do. The men had their bows ready, arrows set to the courts. But in this light sits weapons for practice. useless unless the enemy moved into the path of the moon. What is it? K. Dessa asked in a half whisper, something waits for us ahead. Before he could stop her, she said her fingers to her lips and gave it piercing whistle. There was answering movement in the shadow. Travis shot at that. His arrow followed instantly by one from Tasnaia. There was a cry. Scaling up in a throat-scalding scream which made Travis flinch. Not because of the sound, but because of the hint which lay behind it. Could it have been a human cry? The thing flopped out into a patch of moonlight. It was four limbs, its body silverly, and it was large. But the worst was that it had been groveling on all fours when it fell. And now it was falling. It was groveling on all fours when it fell. And now it was rising on its hind feet, one forefall striking madly at the two arrows dancing head-deep in its upper shoulder. Man? No, but something sufficiently man-like to chill the three-down trail. A whirring forefoot of the hunter dashed in, snapped at the creature's legs, and it squalled again, aiming a blow with a forefall. But the attacking coyote was already gone. Together, Nagenta and Naliki-Adu were harassing the creature, just as they had fought the splishhorn, giving the hunters time to shoot. Travis, although he again felt that touch of horror and disgust, he could not account for, shot again. Between them, the Apaches must have sent a dozen arrows into the raving beast before it went to his knees. And Nagenta sprang for his throat. Even then, the coyote yelped and flinched, a bleeding gas across his head from the wrecking talons of the dying thing. When it no longer moved, Travis approached to see more closely what they had brought down. That smell. Just as the embroidery on Kadasa's jacket had awakened memories from his tearing past, so did this scent remind him of something. Where? When? Had he smelled it before? Travis connected it with dark, dark and danger. Been a gasp, been a half explanation. Not on this world, no, but on two others. Two worlds of that broken stellar empire, for he had been an involuntary explorer two planet years ago. The beast-things which had lived in the dark of the desert world the tarn's wandering galactic derelict had landed upon. Yes, the beast-things whose nature they had never been able to deduce. Were they the degenerate dregs of a once intelligent species? Or were they animals akin to man, but still animals? The eight things they controlled the night of the desert world. And they had been met again, also in the dark, in the ruins of the city which had been the final goal of the ship's tape voyage. So they were a part of the vanished civilization. And Travis's own vague surmise concerning Topaz was proven correct. This had not been an empty world for the long gone space people. This planet had a purpose and a use, or else this beast would not have been here. Devil, Cadesa made a face of disgust. You know it, Tosche asked Travis, what is it? That I do not know, but it is a thing left over from the star people's time. And I have seen it on two other other worlds. A man, Tosche, surveyed the body critically. It wears no clothes, has no weapons, but it walks erect. It looks like an ape, a very large ape. It is not a good thing, I think. If it runs with a pack as they do elsewhere, this could be a very bad thing. Travis, remember how those creatures had attacked in force on the other worlds? Looked about him apprehensively. Even with the coyotes on guard, they could not stand up to sit a pack closing in through the dark. They had better hole up in some defendable place and wait for the rest of the night. Nagenta brought into a cliff overhang where they could set their backs to the hard rock of the mountain. Face outward to a space they could cover with air flight if the need arose. And the coyotes laying before them with their noses resting on pause, would Travis knew, alert them long before the enemy could close in. They huddled against the rock. K-dessa between them alert at first to every sound of the night. Their hearts beating faster at a small scrape of gravel, the rustle of a bush, slowly they begin to relax. It is well that two sleep while one guards, Travis observed. By morning we must push on out of this country. So the two apaches shared the watch in turn. The tartar girl at first protesting and then falling exhausted into a slumber which left her breathing heavily. Travis on the dawn watch began to speculate about the eighth thing they had killed. The two previous times he had met this creature, it has been in ruins of the old empire. Were there ruins somewhere here? He wanted to make sure about that. On the other hand, there was a problem of the tartar Mongol settlement controlled by the Reds. There was no doubt in his mind that were the Reds to suspect the existence of the Apache camp, they would make every attempt to hunt down and kill or capture the survivors from the American ship. A warning must be carried to the ranchera as quickly as they could make the return trip. Beside him, the girl stirred, raising her head. Travis glanced at her and in watch with the tension. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes as fixed as if she were in a trance. Now she inched forward from the mountain wall, wiggling out of his shelter. What? Toshe had awakened again, but Travis was already moving. He pushed on, rushing up to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder. What is it? Where do you go, he asked. She made no answer, did not even seem aware of his voice. He caught at her arm and she pulled her for herself. When he tightened his grip, she did not bite him actively as during their first encounter, but merely pulled and twisted as if she were being compelled to go ahead. Compulsion. He remembered her pleas the night before, asking for help against recaptured by the machine. Now he deliberately tripped her, twisted her hands behind her back. She swayed in his hold, trying to win through her feet, paying no attention to him, save as a hindrance against her answering that demanding call he could not hear. This concludes the reading of Chapter 6, Chapter 7 of The Defiant Agents. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. The Defiant Agents by Andre Norton, Chapter 7. What happened, to say, took a swift stride, stood over the rithing girl, whose strength was now since that Travis had to exert all his efforts to control her. I think the machine she spoke about is holding her. She is being drawn to hit out of hiding as one draws a calf on a rope. Both coyotes had risen and were watching the struggle with interest, but there was no warning from them. Whatever called Kadesa into such mindless and willless answer did not touch the animals, and neither Apache felt it. So perhaps only Kadesa's people were subject to it, as she had thought. How far away was that machine? Not too near, for otherwise the coyotes would have traced the man or men operating it. We cannot move her, to say brought the problem into the open, unless we bind and carry her. She is one of their kind. Why not let her go to them, unless you fear she will talk? His hand went to the knife in his belt, and Travis knew what primitive impulse moved in the younger man. In the old days, a captain who was likely to give trouble was efficiently eliminated. Until, say, that memory was awake now. Travis shook his head. She has said that others of her kin are in these hills. We must not set two wolfpacks hunting us, Travis said, giving the more practical reason which might better appeal to that savage instinct for self-preservation. But you are right, since she has tried to answer this summons, we cannot force her with us. Therefore, do not take the back trail. Tell Buck what we have discovered, and have him make the necessary precautions against either these Mongol outlaws, or a red thrust over the mountains. And you? I stay to discover what the outlaws hide, and learn all I can of this settlement. We may have reason to need friends. Friends, to say spat, the people need no friends. If we have warning, we can hold our own country, as the Pinaliki Eye have discovered before. Bows and arrows against guns and machines, Travis inquired bidingly. We must know more before we make any warrior boast for the future. Tell Buck what we have discovered, also say I will join you before Travis Capsuley, 10 sons. If I do not send no search party, the clan is too small to risk more lives for one. And if these reds take you, Travis Grant, not pleasantly. They shall learn nothing. Can their machines sort out the thoughts of a dead man? He did not intend his future to end as abruptly as that, but also he would not be easy meat for any red hunting party. Tashé took a share of the rations, and refused a company of the Kyles. Travis realized that for all his seeming ease with the animals, the younger scouts had little more liking for them than Declé and the others back at the ranchera. Tashé went at dawn, aiming at the path. Travis sat down beside Cadesa. They had bound her to a small tree, and she strove insistently to free herself, turning her head at an acute and painful angle, only to face the same direction in which she had been tied. There was no breaking the spell which held her, and she would soon wear herself out without struggling. Then he struck an expert blow. The girl sagged limply, and he untied her. It all depended now on the range of the beam or broadcast of that diabolical machine. From the attitude of the Kyles, he assumed that those using the machine had not made any attempt to come close. They might not even know where their quarry was. They would simply sit and wait in the foothills for the caller to reel in a helpless captain. Travis thought that if he moved Cadesa further away from that point, sooner or later they would be out of range, and she would awake from the knockout free again. Although she was not light, he could manage to carry her for a while. So burdened, Travis started on, with the coyotes scouting ahead. He speedily discovered that he had set himself an ambitious task. The going was rough, and carrying the girl reduced his advance to a snail-faced crawl, but it gave him time to make careful plans. As long as the Reds held the balance of power on this side of the mountain range, the ranchero was in danger. Bows and knives against modern armament was no contest at all, and it would only be a matter of time before exploration on the part of the northern settlement, or some tracking down of taught their fugitives, would bring the enemy across to pass. The Apaches would move further south into the unknown continent below the wreck's ship, thus prolonging the time before they were discovered. But that would only postpone the inevitable showdown. Whether Travis could make his clan believe that was also a matter of concern. On the other hand, if the Red Overloads could be met in some practical way, Travis's mind fastened on that more attractive idea, worrying it as Nagenta worried a prey, tearing out and deviring the more delicate forces. Every bit of sense and prudence argued against sit-in approach, whose success would rest only between improbability and impossibility, yet that was the direction in which he longed to move. Across his shoulder, K. Desus stirred and moaned. The Apaches doubled his efforts to reach the outcrop of rock he could see ahead, chiseled into high relief by the winds. In a sleeve they would have protection from any sighting from below. Panning, he made it, boring the girl into the guarded cup of space and waited. She moaned again, lifted one hand to her head. Her eyes were half open, and still he could not be sure whether they focused on him and her surroundings intelligently or not. K. Desus? Her heavy eyelids lifted, and he had no doubt she could see him, but there was no recognition of his identity in her gaze, only surprise and fear. The same expression she had worn during their first meeting in the foothills. Daughter of the Wolf? He spoke slowly? Remember, Travis made that an order, an empathic appeal to the mind under the influence of the caller. She frowned, the struggle she was making necked on her face. Then she answered, You, Fox. Travis, grunted with relief, his alarms subsiding. Then she could remember. Yes, he responded eerily, but she was gazing about, her puzzlement groaned. Where is this? We are higher in the mountains. Now fear was pushing out bewilderment. How did I come here? I brought you. Swiftly he outlined what had happened at their night camp. The hand which had been at her head was now pressed tight against her lips as if she were biting furiously into its flesh to steal some panic of her own. And her gray eyes were round and haunted. You are free now, Travis said. Cadesa nodded and then dropped her hand to speak. You brought me away from the hunters? You did not have to obey them? I heard nothing. You do not hear? You feel? She shuddered. Please, she clawed at the stone beside her, pulling up to her feet. Let us go. Let us go quickly. They will try again. Move for the rim. Listen, Travis had to be sure of one thing. Have they any way of knowing that they had you under control and that you have again escaped? Cadesa shook her head, some of the panic again shadowing her eyes. Then we'll just go on. His chin lifted to the wastelands before them, tried to keep out of their reach. And away from the past to the south, he told himself silently, he dared not lead the enemy to that secret. So he must travel west or whole up somewhere in this unknown wilderness until they could be sure Cadesa was no longer susceptible to that call, or that they were safely beyond this beamed radius. There was a chance of contacting her outlaw kin just as there was a chance of stumbling into a pack of the eighth things. Before dark, they must discover a protected campsite. They needed water, food. He had a very half dozen ration tapers, but the coyotes could locate water. Come, Travis beckoned to Cadesa, motioning her to climb ahead of him so that he could watch for any indication of her succumbing once again to the influence of the enemy. But his burdened early morning flight had told on Travis more than he thought, and he discovered he could not spur himself on to a pace better than a walk. Now and again, one of the coyotes, usually Naliki, I do you, would come into view, express in patience in both stance and mental signal, and then be gone again. The Apache was increasingly aware that the animals were disturbed, yet to his tendency for roping to contact, they did not reply. Since they gave no warning of hostile animal or man, he could only be on constant guard, watching the countryside about him. They had been following a ledge for several minutes before Travis was aware of some strange features of that path. Perhaps he had actually noted them with a trained eye before his archeological studies of the recent past gave him a reason for the faint march. This crack in the mountain skin might have begun as a natural fault, but afterward it had been worked with tools, smooth, widened to serve the purpose of some form of intelligence. Travis caught it Cadessa's shoulder to slower pace. He could not have told why he did not want to speak aloud here, but he felt the need for silence. She glanced around perplexed, more so when he went down on his knees and ran his fingers along one of those ancient two marks. He was certain he was very old, inside of him anticipation bubbled. A road made with cis labor could only lead to something of importance. He was going to make the discovery, the dream which had first drawn him into these mountains. What is it Cadessa melted beside him, frowning at the ledge? This was cut by someone a long time ago, Travis half whispered and then wondered why. There was no reason to believe the road makers could hear him when perhaps a thousand years or more lay between the chipping of that stone and this day. The Tatar girl looked over her shoulder. Perhaps she too was troubled by the sense that here time was suddenly telescope, that past and present might be meeting. Or was that feeling with them both because of their enforced conditioning? Who? Now her voice sank in turn. Listen, he regarded her intently. Did your people or the Reds ever find any traces of the old civilization here? Runes? No. She leaned forward tracing with her own finger the same almost obliterated marks which had intrigued Travis. But I think they have looked before they discovered that we could be free. They sent out parties to hunt, they said. But afterward they always asked many questions about the country. Only they never asked about ruins. Is that what they wished us to find? But why? Of what value are old stones piled on one another? In themselves little, save for the knowledge they may give us of the people who piled them. But for what the stones might contain, much value. And how do you know what they might contain, Fox? Because I have seen such treasure houses as a starman, he returned absently. To him the marks on the ledge were a pledge of greater discoveries to come. He must find where that carefully constructed road ran to what it led. Let us see where this will take us. But first he gave the cheatering signal in four sharp bursts. And the tawny gray bodies came out of the tangled brush, bounding up to the ledge. Together the coyotes faced him, their attention all for his halting communication. Ruins might lie ahead, he hoped that they did. But on another planet, six ruins had twice proved to be deadly traps. And only good fortune had prevented their closing on terror and explorers. If they ate things or any other dangerous form of life had taken up residence before them, he wanted good warning. Together the coyotes turned and loaked along the now level way of the ledge, disappearing around a curve fitted to the mountain side while Travis and Kadesa followed. They heard it before they saw its source, a waterfall, probably not a large one, but high. Rounding the curve, they came into a fine mist of spray where sunlight made rainbows of color across the filming veil of water. For a long moment they stood entranced. Kadesa then gave a little cry, held out her hands to the purling mist and brought them to her lifts again to suck the gathering moisture. Water slicked the surface of the ledge and Travis pushed her back against the wall of the cliff. As far as he could discern, their road continued behind the outflung curtain of water. And putting on the wet stone was treacherous. With their backs to the solid security of the wall, facing outward into the solid drape of water, they edged behind it and came out into rainbowed sunlight again. Here, either provident nature or ancient art had hollered a pocket in the stone which was filled with water. They drank. Then Travis spilled his canteen while Kadesa washed her face, holding the cold freshness of the moisture to her cheeks with both palms. She spoke, but he could not hear it through the roar. She leaned closer and raised her voice to a half shout. This is a place of spirits. Do you not also feel their power, Fox? Perhaps for a space out of time he did feel something. This was a watering place. Perhaps a never-ceasing watering place. And to his desert-born and red race all water was a spirit gift never to be taken for granted. The rainbow, the spirit people's sacred sign, old belief stirred in Travis, moving him. I feel, he said, nodding in emphasis to his agreement. They followed the lead road to a section where a landslide of an earlier season had choked in. Travis worked a careful way across the debris, Kadesa obeying his guidance in turn. Then they were on a sloping downward way, which led to a staircase. The threads weather-worn and crumbling. The angle so steep, Travis wondered if it had ever been intended for beings with a physique approximating deterrence. They came to a cleft where an archer stone was chiseled out as a roofing. Travis thought he could make out a trace of carving on the capstone, so worn by years and weather that it was now only a faint shadow of design. The cleft was a door into another valley. Here, too, golden mist swirled in tendrils to disguise and cloak what stood there. Travis had found his rooms. Only the structures were intact, not breached by time. Mist flowed in lapping tongues back and forth, confusing outlines, now shuttering, now barring oval windows, which were spaced in diamonds of four on round tower surfaces. There were no visible cracks, no cloaking of climbing vegetation, nothing to suggest age and long roots in the valley. Nor did the architecture he could view match any he had seen on those other worlds. Travis drove away from the cleft doorway. Under his moccasins was a block pavement. Yellow and green stone set in a simple pattern of checks. This, too, was level, unshipped and undisturbed, saved for a drift or two of soil, driven in by the wind, and nowhere could he see any vegetation. The towers were the same green stone as half the pavement blocks, a glassy green which made him think of Jade, if Jade could be mined in such quantities as these five-story towers demanded. Naliki Adayu added to him, and he could hear the faint click of her claws on the pavement. There was a deep silence in this place, as if the air itself swallowed and digested all sound. The wind which had been with them all the day of their journeying was left beyond the cleft, yet there was life here. The coyote told him that in her own way, she had not made up her mind concerning that life. Wearing us in curiosity, warred in her mouth, as her pointed muscle lifted towards the windows overhead. The windows were all well above ground level, but there was no opening in the first stories as far as Travis could see. He debated moving into the range of those windows to investigate the far side of the towers for doorways. He missed, and the message from Naliki Adayu nourished his suspiciousness. Out in the open, he would be too good a target for whatever or whoever might be standing within the deep well frames. The silence was shattered by a boom. Travis jumped, slewed half-around, knife in hand. Boom, boom, a second heavy beat beat, then a clanger with a swelling echo. Kedesta flung back her head and called. Her voice rising up from the ground, she then whistled as she had done when they fronted the eighth plank, and ran on to catch at Travis's sleeve, her face eager. My people, come, it is my people. She tugged him on before breaking into a run, weaving fearlessly around the base of one of the towers. Travis ran after her, afraid he might lose her in the mist. Three hours later, Travis ran after her, afraid he might lose her in the mist. Three towers, another stretch of open payment, and then the mist lifted to show them a second carved doorway, not 200 yards ahead. The boom, boom, seemed to pull Kedesta, and Travis could do nothing but trail her. The coyotes now trotting beside him. This concludes the reading of Chapter 7, Chapter 8 of the Defiant Agents. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. The Defiant Agents by Andre Norton, Chapter 8. They burst through a last wide band of mist into a wilderness of tall grass and shrubs. Travis heard the coyotes give tongue, but it was too late. Out of nowhere whirled a leather loop, settling about his chest, snapping his arms tight to his body, taking him off his feet with a jerk to be dragged helplessly along the ground behind a galloping horse. A tawny fury sprung in the air to snap at the horse's head. Travis kicked fruitlessly, trying to regain his feet as the horse reared and fought against the control of his shouting rider. All through the melee, the Apache heard K. Dessa shrilly screaming words he did not understand. Travis was on his knees, coughing in the dust, exerting the muscles in his chest and shoulders to loosen the lariat. On either side of him, the coyotes wove a starling pattern of defiance, dashing back and forth to present no target for the enemy, yet keeping the excited horses so stirred up that the riders could use neither ropes nor blades. Then K. Dessa ran between two of the ringing horses to Travis and jerked at the loop about him. The tough raided leather eased its hold and he was able to gasp in full, long pulls of air. She was still shouting, but the tone had changed from one of recognition to a definite scolding. Travis, one to his feet, just as a rider who had lassoed him, finally got his horse under rain and dismounted. Holding the rope, the man walked hand over hand towards them, as Travis back in the Arizona range would have approached a nervous, unskilled pony. The Mongol was an inch or so shorter than the Apache and his face was young, though he had a drooping mustache bracketing his mouth with slender spear points of black hair. His breeches were tucked into high red boots and he wore a loose spelt jacket patterned with the same elaborate embroidery Travis had seen on K. Dessa's. On his head was a hat with a wide fur border in spite of the heat and that too bore touches of scarlet and gold design. Still holding his lariat, the Mongol reached K. Dessa and stood for a moment, eyeing her up and down before he asked a question. She gave an impatient twist to the rope. The coyote snarled, but the Apache thought the animals no longer considered the danger imminent. This is my brother, Hulagar. K. Dessa made the introduction over her shoulder. He does not have your speech. Hulagar not only did not understand, he was also impatient. He jerked at the rope with such sudden force that Travis was almost thrown. Then K. Dessa dragged as furiously on the lariat in the other direction and burst into a soaring haranj which drew the rest of the men closer. Travis flexed his upper arms and the slack gained by K. Dessa's action made the lariat give again. He studied the Tatar outlaws. There were five of them besides Hulagar. Lean men, hard-faced, narrow-eyed. The ragged closing of three pieced out with scraps of hide. Besides the swords with the curved blades, they were armed with bows, two to each man, one long, one shorter. One of the riders carried a lance, long tassels of woolly hair streaming from below its head. Travis saw in them a formidable array of barbaric fighting men, but he thought that man for man the Apaches could not only take on the Mongols with confidence but might well defeat them. The Apache had never been a hot-headed ride-for-glory fighter like the Cheyenne, the Sioux, and the Comanche of the Open Flames. He estimated the odds against him. He used ambush, trick, and every feature of the countryside as weapon and defense. Fifteen Apache fighting men under Chief Geronimo had kept 5,000 American and Mexican troops in the field for a year and had come off victorious for the moment. Travis knew the tales of Genghis Khan and his formidable generals who swept over Asia into Europe. Unbeaten and seemingly undefeatable, but they had been a wild wave fed by a reservoir of manpower from the steeps of their homeland, utilizing driven walls of captives to protect their own men in city assaults and attacks. He doubted if even that endless sea of men could have won the Arizona desert defended by Apaches under Cochise, Victoria, or Magnus Colorado. The white man had done it by superior arms and attrition, but bow against bow, knife against sword, craft and cunning against craft and cunning, he did not think so. Pudigar dropped the end of the lariat and Cadesa swung around, loosening the loop so that the rope fell to Travis' feet. The Apaches stepped free of it, turned, and passed between two of the horsemen together up the bow he had dropped. The coyotes had gone with him and when he turned again to face the company of Tatars, both animals crowded past him to the entrance of the valley, plainly urging him to retire there. The horsemen had faced about also, and a warrior with the lance balanced the shaft of the weapon in his hand as if considering the possibility of trying to spear Travis. But just then Cadesa came up towing Huligar by a firm hold on his safe belt. I have told this one, she reported to Travis, how it is between us, and that you also are enemy to those who hunt us. It is well that you set together beside a fire and talk of these things. Again that boom boom broke her speech, coming from farther out in the open land. You will do this, she made of it a half-question, half-statement. Travis glanced about him. He could dodge back into the misty valley of the towers before the Tatars could ride him down. However, if he could patch up some kind of truce between his people and the outlaws, the Apaches would have only the reds from the settlement to watch. Too many times in Terran past had wore on two fronts been disastrous. I come carrying this, and not pulled by your ropes. He held up his bow in an exaggerated gesture so that Hulgar could understand. Coiling the lariat, the mongrel looked from the Apache bow to Travis. Slowly and with obvious reluctance, he nodded agreement. At Hulgar's call, the lancer rode up to the waiting Apache, stretched out a booted foot in the heavy stirrup and held down a hand to bring Travis up behind him, writing double. Kadesa mounted in the same fashion behind her brother. Travis looked at the coyotes. Together, the animals stood in the door to the tower valley, and neither made any move to follow as the horses charted off. He beckoned with his hand and called to them. Heads up, they continued to watch him go in company with the mongrels. Then without any reply to his coaching, they melted back into the mist. For a moment, Travis was tempted to slide down and run the risk of taking a lance point between the shoulders as he followed Nagenta and Naliki and Nadu into retreat. He was startled, jarred by the new awareness of how much he had come to depend on the animals. Ordinarily, Travis Fox was not one to be governed by the wishes of an imbecile, intelligent and unanimal like as it might be. This was an affair of men, and coyotes had no part in it. Half an hour later, Travis sat in the outlaw camp. There were 15 mongrels in sight, a half dozen women and two children adding to the count. On a hillock near their yurts, the round brush and hide shelters, not too different from the wiki-ups of Travis's own people, was a crude drum. A hide stretch taught over a hallowed section of load, and next to that stood a man wearing tall pointed cap, a red robe, and a girdle from which slung a fringe of small bones, tiny animal skulls, and polyspits of stone and carved wood. It was this man's efforts which sent the boom-boom sounding at intervals over the landscape. Was this a signal, part of a ritual? Travis was not certain, though a guess that the drummer was either medicine man or shaman. And so of some power in his company. Such men were credited with the ability to prophesize and also a doubt with mediumship between man and spirit in the old days of the great hordes. The Apache evaluated the rest of the company. As was true of his own party, these men were much the same age, young and vigorous. And it was also apparent that Hulagar held a position of some importance among them, if he were not their chief. After a last resounding roll on the drum, the shaman thrust the sticks into his girdle and came down to the fire at the center of the camp. He was taller than his fellows, whole thin under his robes, his face narrow, clean shaven, with brows arched by nature to give him an unchanging expression of skepticism. He showed along, his tinkling collection of charms providing him with a not unmusical accompaniment and came to stand directly before Travis, eyeing him carefully. Travis copied his silence in what was close to a duel of wills. There was that in the shaman's narrow green eyes was suggested that Hulagar did, in fact, lead these fighting men. He had an advisor of determination and intelligence behind him. This is Menlick. K. Dessa did not push past the men to the fireside for their voice carried. Hulagar growled at his sister, but his adjudmation made no impression on her and she replied in as hot a tone. The shaman's hand went up, silencing both of them. You are who? Like K. Dessa, Menlick spoke a heavenly accent in English. I am Travis Fox of the Apaches. The Apaches? The shaman repeated. You are of the West, the American West, then. You know much? Man of spirit, talk. One remembers? At times, one remembers. Menlick answered almost absolutely. How does an Apache find his way across the stars? The same way Menlick and his people did, Travis. You were sent to settle this planet, and so were we. There are many more of you, countered Menlick swiftly. Are there not many of the horde? Would one man or three or four be sent to hold a world? Travis. You hold the North. Weed the South of this land. But they are not governed by a machine. K. Dessa cut in. They are free. Menlick frowned at the girl. Woman, this is a matter for warriors. Keep your tongue silent between your jaws. She stamped one foot, standing with her fist on her hips. I am a daughter of the Blue Wolf, and we are all warriors, men and women alike. So shall we be, as long as a horde is not free to ride where we wish. These men have won their freedom. It is well that we learn how. Menlick's expression did not change, but his liars grouped over his eyes as a murmur of what might be agreement came from the group. More than one of them must have understood enough English to translate for the others. Travis wondered about that. Had these men and women who had outwardly reverted to the life of their nomad ancestors once been well educated and well-educated, educated enough to learn the basic language of the nation their rulers had set up as their principal enemy? So you ride the land south of the mountains, the shaman continued. That is true. Then why did you come hither? Travis showed. Why does anyone ride or travel into new lands? There is a desire to see what may lie beyond. Or to scout before the march of warriors, Menlick snapped. There is no peace between your rulers and mine. Do you ride now to take the herds and pastures of the horde? Or to try to do so? Travis turned his head deliberately from side to side, allowing them all to witness his slow and open contemptuous appraisal of their camp. This is your horde, shaman, 15 warriors. Must exchange since the days of Timogen has it not? What do you know of Timogen? You, who are a man of no ancestors out of the west. What do I know of Timogen? That he was a leader of warriors that became Genghis Khan, the great lord of the east. But the Apatis had their warlords also, writer of barren lands. And I am of those who raided over two nations when Victoria and Cochise scattered their enemies as a man scatters a handful of dust in the wind. You talk bold Apache, there was a hint of threat in that. I speak as any warrior, shaman, or are you so used to talking with spirits instead of men that you do not realize that. He might have been alienating the shaman by such a sharp reply, but Travis thought he judged the temper of these people. To face them boldly was the only way to impress them. They would not treat with an inferior, and he was already at a disadvantage coming on foot without any backing and force. Into a territory held by horsemen who were suspicious and jealous of their recently acquired freedom. His only chance was to establish himself as an equal and then try to convince them that Apache and Tartar Mongol had a common cause against the Reds who controlled the settlement on the northern plains. Menlic's right hand went to his Sash turtle and plucked out a carved stick which he waved between them, muttering phrases Travis could not understand. Had the shaman retreated so far along the road to his past that he now believed in his own supernatural powers? Or was this to impress his watching followers? You call upon your spirits for aid, Menlic? But the Apache has a companionship of the Gaen. Ask of Kadesa, who hunts with the fox in the wilds. Travis's sharp challenge stopped that wand in midair. Menlic's head swung to the girl. He hunts with wolves who think like men. She supplied the information the shaman would not openly ask for. I have seen them act as his scouts. This is no spirit thing, but real and of this world. Any man may train a dog to his bidding, Menlic's pet. Does a dog obey orders which are not said aloud? These brown wolves come and sit before him, look into his eyes, and then he knows what lies within their heads, and they know what he would have them do. This is not the way of a master of hounds with his past. Again, the murmur ran around the camp as one or two translated. Menlic frowned. Then he rammed his sorcerer's wand back into his sass. If you are a man of power, such powers, he said slowly, then you may walk along for those who walk with spirits go into the mountains. He then spoke over his shoulder in his native tongue, and one of the women reached behind her into a hut, brought out a skinned bag and a horned cup. Kadesa took the cup from her and held it while the other woman poured a white liquid from the bag to fill it. Kadesa passed the cup to Menlic. He pivoted with it in his hand, dribbling expertly over his brim a few drops at each point of the compass, chanting as he moved. Then he sucked in a mouthful of the contents before presenting the vessel to Travis. The Apache smelled the same sour scent that had clung to the empty bag in the foothills, and another part of memory supplied him with the nature of the drink. This was kumus, a fermented marriage milk which was a wine and water of the steeps. He forced himself to swallow a draught, though it was alien to his taste, and passed the cup back to Menlic. The shaman emptied the horn and, with that, set aside ceremony. With an upright hand, he beckoned Travis to the fire again, indicating a pot set on the colch. Rest, eat, he bade abruptly. Night was gathering in. Travis tried to calculate how far Tassay must have backtracked to the ranchera. He thought that he could have already made the pass and be within a day and a half from the Apache camp if he pushed on, as he would. As to where the coyotes were, Travis had no idea, but it was plain that he himself must remain in this encampment for the night or risk rousing the Mongol's suspicion once more. He ate of the stew, spearing chunks out of the pot with the point of his night, and it was not until he set back his hunger appeased that the shaman dropped down beside him. The Cajun Kadesa says that when she was slaved to the collar, you did not feel a change, he began. Those who rule you are not my overlords. The bonds I set upon your minds do not touch me. Travis hoped that that was the truth, and his escape that morning had not been just a fluke. This could be, for you and I are not of one blood, Menlich agreed. Tell me, how did you escape their bonds? The machine which held us so was broken. Travis replied with a portion of the truth, and Menlich sucked in his breath. The machines, always the machines, he cried hoarsely. A thing which can set any man's head and make him do what it will against his will. It is demon sin. There are other machines to be broken, Apache. Words will not break them, Travis pointed out. Only a fool rides to his death without hope of striking a single blow before he chokes on the blood in his throat, Menlich retorted. We cannot use bow or two war against weapons which flame and kill quicker than any storm lightning. And always the mine machines can make a man drop his knife and stand helplessly, waiting for the slave collar to be set on his neck. Travis asked a question of his own. I know that they can bring a collar partway into this mountain. For this very day I saw its effect upon the maiden. But there are many places in the hills well set for ambushes, and these unaffected by the machine could be waiting there. Would there be many machines so that they could send out again and again? Menlich's bony hand played with his wand, and a slow smile curved his lips into the guise of a hunting cat's noiseless snarl. There is meat in that pot, Apache, rich meat, good for the feeling of a lean belly. So men whose minds of machine could not trouble. Such men to be waiting in ambush for the taking of the men who used such a machine, yes. But here would have to be bait, very good bait for such a trap. Lord of Wiles, never do those others come far into the mountains. Their flyer does not fit well here, and they do not trust traveling on horseback. They were greatly angered to come so far in to reach Kedessa, though they could not have been too close, or you would not have escaped at all. Yes, strong bait. Such bait is perhaps the knowledge that there were strangers across the mountains. Menlich turned his wand about in his hands. He was no longer smiling, and his glance at Travis was sharp and swift. Do you, said his con in your tribe, Lord? I said as one they will listen to. Travis hoped that was so. Whether Buck and the moderates would hold clan leadership upon his return was a fact he could not count upon as certain. This is a thing which we must hold counsel over. Menlich continued, but it is an idea of power. Yes, one to think about, Lord, and I shall think. He got up and moved away. Travis blinked at the fire. He was very tired, and he disliked sleeping in this camp. But he must not go without the rest his body needed to supply him with a clear head in the morning. And not showing uneasiness might be one way of winning Menlich's confidence. This concludes the reading of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of The Defiant Agent. This is the LibriVox Recorded. All LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. The Defiant Agent by Andre Norton. Chapter 9. Travis settled his back against a spiral rock and raised his right hand into the path of the sun, cradling in his palm a disk of glistening metal. Life, life. He made the signal pattern just as his ancestors a hundred years earlier and far across space had used trade mirrors to relay war alerts among Chiricawa and White Mountain Rangers. If Tossay had returned safely and if Buck had kept the agreed look out on that peak a mile or so ahead, then the clan would know that he was coming and with what escort. He waited now, rubbing the small metal mirror absolutely on the loose sleeve of his shirt, waiting for a reply. Mirrors were best, not smoke fires, which would broadcast too far the presence of men in the hills. Tossay must have returned. What is it that you do? Menlic, his shaw's robe, pulled up so that his breeches and boots were dark against the golden rock, climbed up beside the Apache. Menlic, Huligarh, and Kadesa were riding with Travis, offering him one of their small ponies to hurry the trip. He was still regarded wearily by the Tarkars, but he did not blame the Tarkars. He had given them further cautious attitude. Ah, a flicker of light from the point ahead. One, two, three places, a pause, then two more together. He had been read, Buck had dispatched scouts to meet them and knowing his people's skill at the business, Travis was certain the Tartars would never suspect their flanking unless the passage purposely reveals themselves. Also, they thought Tars were not to go to the Ranchera, but would be met at a midpoint by a delegation of Apaches. This was no time for the Tartars to learn just how few the clan members. Menlic watched, Travis fly fit acknowledgment to the sentry ahead. In this way you speak to your men, this way I speak. A thing good and to be remembered. We have the drum, but that is for the ears of all with hearing. This is for the eyes only of those on watch for you. Yes, a good thing, and your people, they will meet with us. They wait ahead, Travis confirmed. It was close to midday and the heat gathered on the rocky ways was like a heaviness in the air itself. The Tartars had chucked their heavy jackets and rolled the furb rims of their hats far up their heads, away from their sweat-beated faces. And at every halt, they passed from hand to hand the skin bag of Kubas. Now even the ponies shuffled on with grouping heads, picking away in a cut which deepened into a canyon. Travis kept a watch for the scouts, and not for the first time he thought of the disappearance of the coyotes. Somehow, back in the Tartars camp, he had counted competently on the animals rejoining him once he had started his return over the mountains. But he had seen nothing of either beast, nor had he felt that unexplainable mental contact with them which had been present since his first awakening on Topaz. Why they had left him so unceremoniously after defending him from the Mongol attack, and why they were keeping themselves aloof now, he did not know. But he was conscious of a threat of alarm for their continued answers, and he hoped he would find they had gone back to the ranch era. The ponies thudded dispiritedly along a sandy warch which bottomed the canyon. Here the heat became a glint of weight, and the men were panting like forth with his beast, running before hunters. Finally, Travis sighted what he had been seeking, a flicker of movement on the wall well above. He flung up his hand, pulling his mount to a stand. A patty stood in full view, bows ready, arrows on course, but they made no sound. Kadesa cried out, booted her mount to draw equal with Travis. A trap, her face flushed with heat, was also stark with anger. Travis smiled slowly. Is there a rope about you, wolf-daughter? He inquired softly. Are you now dragged across this sand? Her mouth opened, and then closed again. The court she had hath raised to slash at him, flopped across her pony's neck. The patty glanced back at the two men. Huligar's hand was on his sword hill, his eyes darting from one of those silent watchers to the next. But the utter hopelessness of the tartar position was too plain. Even Menlich made no move toward any weapon, even his spirit wanted. Instead, he sat quietly in the saddle, displaying no emotion toward the Apache, save his usual self-confident detachment. We go on, Travis pointed ahead. Just as suddenly as they had appeared from the heart of the golden cliffs, so did the scouts vanish. Most of them were already on their way to the point book and selected for the meeting place. There had been only six men up there, but the tartars had no way of knowing just how large a portion of the whole clan that number was. Travis's pony lifted his head, knickered, and achieved a struggling trot. Somewhere ahead was water, one of those oasis of growth and life which pocked the whole mountain range, to the preservation of all animals and all men. Menlich and Huligar pushed on until their mouths were hard on the heels of the two ridden by the girl and Travis. Travis wondered if they still waited for some error to strike home, though he saw that both men rode with outward disregard for their patrolling scouts. A grass leaf loosed back in them on, and again the pony's quickened pace coming out into a tributary canyon, which housed a small pool and a good stand of grass and brush. To one side of the water buck stood his arms folded across his chest, armed only with his beltknife. Root behind him were Decay, Tashay, Nolan, Manulito. Travis tabulated hurriedly. Manulito and Decay were to be classed together, or had been when he was last in the ranch area. Unbucked their way from the past, both had halted more than halfway down. Nolan was a quiet man who seldom spoke, and who his opinion Travis could not foretell. Tashay would back buck. Probably such a divided party was the best Travis could have hoped together. A delegation composed entirely of those who were ready to lead the past of the redacks, a collection of bucks and jalees was outside the bounds of possibility. But Travis was not too happy to have Decay in on this. Travis dismounted, letting the pony push forward by himself to dip nose into the pool. This is, Travis pointed politely with his chin, men length, one who talks with spirits, who to guard, who is son to a chief, and Cadesa, who is daughter to a chief. They are of the horse people of the north. He made the introduction carefully in English. Then he turned to the Tatars, buck Decay, Nolan, Manulita, Tashay. He named them all. These stand to listen and to speak for the Apaches. But sometime later when the two parties sat facing each other, he wondered whether a common decision could come from the Klansmen on his side of that irregular circle. Decay's expression was closed. He had even edged a short way back, as if he had no desire to approach the strangers. And Travis read into every line of Decay's body his distrust and antagonism. He himself began to speak, retelling his adventures since they had followed Cadesa's trail, sketching in the situation at the Tatar-Mongol settlements as he had learned it from her and from Menlet. He was careful to speak in English so that the Tatars could follow all he was recording to his own kind. And the Apaches listened blank-faced, though Tashay must already have reported much of this. When Travis was done, it was Decay who asked a question. What have we to do with these people? There is this, Travis chose his words carefully, thinking of what might move a warrior still conditioned to riding with the raiders of a hundred years later. The Pendiliculae, whom we call Reds, are never willing to live side by side with any who are not of their mind. And they have weapons that just make our bow cords vets of rotten string, our knives, slivers of rust. They do not kill, they inflate. And when they discover that we live, then they will come against us. Decay's lips moved in a wolf's grin. This is a large lamp, and we know how to use it. They Pendiliculae will not find us. With their eyes maybe not, Travis replied. With their machines, that is another matter. Machines, Decay spat, always these machines. Is that all you can talk about? It was seen that you are bewitched by these machines, which we have not seen, none of us. It was a machine which brought you here, Buck observed. Go you back and look upon the spaceship and remember, Decay, the knowledge of the Pendiliculae is greater than ours when it deals with metal and wire and things which can be made with both. Machines brought us along the road of the stars, and there is no tracker in the clam who could hope to do the same. But now I have this to ask. Does our brother have a plan? Those who are reds? Travis answered slowly. They do not number many, but more may later come from our own world. Have you heard of such arriving? He asked Menlich. Not so, but we are not told much. We live apart, and no one of us goes to the ship unless he is summoned. For they have weapons to guard them, for long since they would have been dead. It is not proper for a man to eat from the pot right in the wind, sleep easy under the same sky with him who is slain his brother. They have been killed among your people? They have killed, Menlich returned briefly. Kadesa stirred and monitored a word or two to her brother. Ulegar's head came up, and he exploded into violent speech. What does he say? Decley demanded. The girl replied. He speaks of our father who aided in the escape of three, and so afterward was slain by the leader as a lesson to us, since he was our white beard, the con. We have taken the oath and blood under the wolf head standard that they will also die, Menlich added. But first we must shake them out of their ship's shell. That is a problem, Travis elaborated for the benefit of his flansmen. We must get these reds away from their protected camp out into the open. When they now go, they are covered by this collar, which keeps the Tatars under their control, but has no effect on us. So again I say, what is all this to us? Decley got to his feet. This machine does not hunt us, and we can make our camps in this land where no Pindelikioi can find him. We are not dobe guccia de hee hee in burnable, nor do we know the full range of machines they can use. It does no one well to say doxida, this is not so, when he does not know all that lies in an enemy's wiki up. Through Travis' relief he saw agreement mirrored on Buck's face. Tasei's knowledge. From the beginning he had had little hope of swaying declaim. He could only trust that the verdict of the majority would be the accepted one. It went back to the old, old Apache institution of prestige. A Nantan chief had to go and die the high power as a gift from birth. Common men could possess horse power or cattle power. They might have the gift of acquiring wealth so they could make generous gifts. The eye came to desire the wealthy ones who spoke for their family groups within the loose network of the tribe. But there was no heredity chiefship or even an undivided rule within a ranch era. The Ngunka, Donaten, or war chief, often led only on the warpath and had no voice in clan matters to save those dealing with a raid. And to have a split now would fatally weaken their small clan. Declay and those of it like mine might elect to withdraw and not one of the rest could deny him that right. We shall think on this, Buck said. Here is food, water, pasture for horses, a camp for our visitors. They will wait here. He looked at Travis. You will wait with them, Fox, since you know their ways. Travis's immediate reaction was objection, but then he realized Buck's wisdom. To offer the proposition of alliance to the Apaches needed an impartial spokesman. And if he himself did it, Declay might automatically oppose the idea. Let Buck talk and it would be a statement of fact. It is well, Travis agreed. Buck looked about as if judging time from the lie of sun and shadow on the ground. We shall return in the morning when the shadow lies here. With the toe of his high moccasin, he made an impression in the soft earth. Then, without any formal farewell, he strode off, the others fast on his heels. He is your chief, that one, Cadessa asked, courting after Buck. He is one having a large voice in council, Travis replied. He said about building up the cooking fire, bringing out the body of his press horned calf, which had been left them. Menlich sat on his heels by the pool, dipping up drinking water with his hands. Now he squinted his eyes across the probe of the sun. It will require much talking to win over the short one, he observed. That one does not like us or your plan. Just as there will be those among the horde who will not like it either. He flipped water drops from his fingers. But this I do know man who calls himself Fox. If we do not make a common cause, then we have no hope of going against the rest. It will be for them as a man crushing pleas. He brought his hand down on his knee in empathic slaps, so and so and so. This do I think also, Travis admitted. And since we can take a hand in that decision, this remains a time for rest. The shaman might be content to sleep the afternoon away, but after he had eaten, Ulegar wandered up and down the valley, making a lengthy business of rubbing down their horses with twists of last season's grass. Now and then he paused beside Cadessa and spoke. His uneasiness plain to Travis, although he could not understand the words. Travis had settled down in the shade, half dosing, yet alerted to every movement of the three tartars. He tried not to think of what might be happening in the ranchera by switching his mind to that misty valley of the towers. Did any of those three alien structures contain such a grab bag of the past as he, Ace, and Murdoch had found on that other world, where the winged people had gathered together for them the artifacts of an older civilization? At that time, he had degraded for their host a new weapon of defense, turning metal tubes into blow guns. It had been there, too, where he had chanced upon the library of tapes, one of which had eventually landed Travis and his people here on Topes. Even if he did find racks of his tapes in one of those towers, there would be no way of using them, with the ship wrecked on the mountain side. Only Travis's fingers twist where they lay quiet on his knees. There might be other things waiting, if we were only free to explore. He reached out to touch Menlich's shoulder. The shaman half turn opened his eyes with the lackwood effort of a sleepy cat. But the spark of intelligence woken them quickly. What is it? For a moment Travis hesitated, already regretting his impulse. He did not know how much Menlich remembered of the present. Remember of the present. One part of the Apache's mind was widely amused at that snarled estimate of their situation. Men who had been dropped into the racial and ancestral past until the present time was less real than the dreams conditioning them, had a difficult job evaluating any situation. But since Menlich had clung to his knowledge of English, he must be less far down that stairway. When we met you, Kadesa and I, Kadesa and I, I was inside that valley. Travis was still of two minds about this questioning, but the touch our camp had been close to the towers, and there was a good chance the moguls had his foredip. And inside were buildings, very old. Menlich was fully alert now. He took his wand, played with it as he spoke. That is, or was, a place of much power, Fox. Oh, I know that you question my kinship with the spirits and the powers they give. But one learns not to dispute what one feels here and here. As long as somewhat grimy fingers went to his forehead and then to the bare brown chest where his shirt fell open, I have walked a stone path in that valley, and there have been the whispers. Whispers? Menlich twirled the wand. Whispers which are too low for many years to distinguish. You can hear them as one hears the buzzing of an insect, but never the words. No, never the words. But that is a place of great power. A place to explore. But Menlich watched only his wand. That, I wonder, Fox. Truly do I wonder. This is not our world. And here there may be that which does not welcome us. Trixen's raid of a shaman? Or was it through recognition of something beyond human description? Travis could not be sure, but he knew that he must return to the valley and see for himself. Listen, Menlich said, leaning closer. I have heard your tale, that you were on that first ship, the one which brought you unwilling along the old star path. Have you ever seen such a thing as this? He smoothed a space of soft fur, and with the narrow tip of his wand began to draw. Whatever role Menlich had played in the present before he had been reconditioned into a shaman of the Horde, he had had the ability of an artist. For with a minimum of blind, he created a figure in that sketch. It was a man, or at least a figure with general human outlines. But the round, slightly oversized skull was bare. The clothing skin tight to reveal unnaturally thin limbs. The enlarged eyes, small nose and mouth, rather crowded into the lower third of the head, giving an impression of an over-expanded brain case above. And it was familiar. Not the flying men of the other world, certainly not the nocturnal eighth-thanks. Yet, for all its alien palsy, Travis was sure he had seen us like before. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize it apart from lines in the soil. Such a head, white, almost like the bone of a skull-laid bear. Such a head lying face down on a bone-thin arm clad in a blue-purple skin-tight sleeve. Where had he seen it? The Apache gave a sharp explanation as he remembered fully. The derelict spaceship as he had first found it. The dead alien officer had still been seated at his controls. The alien hood set the tape, which took them out into the Forgotten Empire. He was the subject of Menlich's drawing. Where? When did you see such a one? The Apache bent down over the taunter. Menlich looked troubled. He came into my mind when I walked the valley. I thought I could almost see such a face in one of the tower windows. But of that I am not sure. Who is it? Someone from the old days. Those who once ruled the stars, Travis answered. But were they still here then, remnant of a civilization which had flourished ten thousand years ago? Were the Baltis, who centuries ago, had hunted down so ruthlessly the Russians who had dared to loot their wrecked ships still on Topes? He remembered the story of Ross Murdoch's escape from those aliens in the far past of Europe. And he shivered. Murdoch was tough. Steel tough. Yet his own description of that epic chase and the final meeting had carried with it his terror. What could a handful of primitively armed and almost primitively minded Terrans do now if they had to dispute Topes with the Baltis? This concludes the reading of Chapter 9, Chapter 10 of The Defiant Agents. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings during the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. The Defiant Agents by Andre Norton, Chapter 10. Beyond this, Midlick worked his way to the very lift of a drop, raising a finger cautiously. Beyond this, we do not go. But you say that the camp of your people lies well out in the plains? Julie was up on one knee. Using the field glasses they had brought from the stores of the wrecked ship. He passed them along to Travis. There was nothing to be cited but the rippling amber waves of the tall grasses, safe for an occasional break of a coax of trees near the foothills. They had reached this point in the early morning, riding through the past, making their way across the section known to the outlaws. From here they could survey the debatable land where their temporary allies and sit at the regs were in full control. The result of the conference in the south had been this uneasy alliance. From the start, Travis realized that he could not hope to commit the clan to any set plan. That even to get this scouting party to come against the stubborn resistance of decay and his reactionaries was a major achievement. Beyond this, Midlick repeated, they keep watch and can control us with the collar. What do you think, Travis passed the glasses to know them? If they were ever to develop a war chief, this lean man, tall for an Apache and slow to speak, might fill that rope. He adjusted the lenses and began a detailed study, sweep of the open territory. Then he stiffened. His mouth below the basking of the glasses was tight. What is it, Julie asked? Riders, two, four, five, also something else in the air. Midlick jerked back and grabbed at Nolan's arm, dragging him down by the weight of his body. The flyer, come back, back. He was still pulling at Nolan, prodding at Travis with one foot and the Apache stared at him with amazement. The shaman sputtered in his own language and then, visibly regretting command of himself, spoke English once more. Those are hunters and they carry a collar. Either some others have escaped or they are determined to find our mountain camp. Julie looked at Travis. You did not feel anything when the woman was under that spell? Travis shook his head. Julie nodded and then said to the shaman, We shall stay here and watch, but since it is bad for you, do you go, and we shall meet you near this place of the towers. Agreed? For a moment, Midlick's face held a shadowy expression Travis tried to read. Was it resentment? Resentment that he was forced to retreat when the others could stand their ground? Did the Tatar believe that he lost space this way? But the shaman gave a grunt of what they took as a scent and flipped over the edge of the lookout point. A moment later, they heard him speaking the Mongol tongue, warning Huligar and lost Hugh, his companion on the scout, then came the chatter of pony hooves as they rode their mounts away. The Apaches settled back in the cup, which gave them a wide view over the plains. Soon it was not necessary to use the glasses in order to sight the advancing party of hunters. Five riders, four wearing tartar dress. The fifth had such an odd outline that Travis was reminded of Midlick's sketch of the alien. Under the sharper vision of the glasses, he saw that the rider was equipped with a pack strapped between his shoulders and a wolfless helmet covering most of his head. Highly spatialized equipment for communication, Travis guessed. That is a chopper up above, Nolan said, different shape from ours. They had been familiar with helicopters back on Terra. Retchers used them for range inspection and all the Apache volunteers had flown in them. But Nolan was correct. This one possessed several unfamiliar features. The tartars say they don't bring those very far into the mountains, Jill E. Muse. That could explain their man on horseback. He gets in where they don't fly. Nolan fingers his bow. If these reds depend upon their machine to control what they seek, then they may be taken by surprise. But not yet, Travis spoke sharply. Nolan frowned at him. Jill E. Chuckle. The way is not so dark for us, younger brother, that we need your torch held for our feet. Travis swallowed back any retort, except in the fairness of that rebuke. He had no right to believe that he alone knew the best way of handling the enemy. Fighting on the sourness of that realization, he lay quietly with the others, watching the riders enter the foothills, perhaps a quarter of a mile to the west. The helicopter was circling now over the men riding into a cut between two risers. When they were lost to view, the pilot made wider cast and Travis thought the flyer's crew were probably in communication with the helmeted one of the quintet on the ground. He stirred. They are heading for the Tatar camp, just as if they know exactly where it is. That also may be true, Nolan replied. What do we know of these Tartars? They have freely said that the reds can hold them in mine ropes when they loose. Already they may be so bound. I say, let us go back through our own country. He added to the decisiveness of that by handing Jill Lee the glasses and sliding down from a perch. Travis looked at the other, in a way he could understand the wisdom of Nolan's suggestion, but he was sure that withdrawal now would only postpone trouble. Sooner or later, the Apaches would have to stand against the reds, and if they could do it now, while the enemy was occupied with trouble from the Tartars, so much so better. Jill Lee was following Nolan, but something in Travis rebelled. He watched the circling helicopter. If it was overhanging the action area of the horsemen, they had either reigned in or were searching a relatively small section of the foothills. Reluctantly, Travis descended to the hollow where Jill Lee did with Nolan. Tossé and Loopy and Rope were a little to one side, as if the final orders would come from their seniors. It would be well, Jill Lee said slowly, if we saw what weapons they have. I want a closer look at the equipment of that one in the helmet. Also, he smiled straight at Nolan. I do not think that they can detect the presence of warriors of the people unless we will it so. Nolan ran a finger along the curve of his bow, shot a measuring glance right and left at the general contours of the country. There is wisdom in what you say, Elder Brother. Only this is a trail we shall take alone, not allowing the men with fur hats to know where we walk. He looked pointedly and Travis's direction. That is wisdom, by Isa. Travis promptly replied, giving Nolan the old title accorded the leader of a war party. Travis was grateful for that much of a concession. They swung into action, heading southeast at an angle which should bring them across the track of the enemy hunting party. The path was theirs at last, only moments after the passing of their quarry. None of the five riders was taken any precautions to cover his trail. Each moved with the competence of one not having to fear any attack. From cover, the Apaches looked a lot. They could hear the faint hum of the helicopter. It was still circling, Tossay reported, from a higher checkpoint, but those circles remained close over the plains area. The riders had already passed beyond the limits of that aerial sentry. Three to his side, the Apaches advanced with the trail between them. They were carefully hidden when they caught up with the hunters. The four Tatars were grouped together. The fifth man, heavily burdened by his pack, had climbed from the saddle and was sitting on the ground. His hands busy with a flat plate which covered him from upper chest to belt. Now that he had a chance to see them closely, Travis noted the lack of expression on the broad tartar faces. The four men were blank of eye, as tried their mouths with no apparent awareness of their presence around them. Then as one, their heads swung around to the helmeted leader before they dismounted and stood motionless for a long moment in a way which reminded Travis of the coyotes attitude when they endeavored to pass some message to him. But these men even lacked the signs of thinking intelligence the animals had. The helmeted man's hand moved across his chest plate and instantly his followers came into a measure of life. One put his hand to his forehead with an odd half-dazed gesture. Another half-crouched, his lips wrinkling back in a snarl and the leader watching him laughed. Then he snapped an order, his hand poised over his control plate. One of the four took the horse reins, made the mounts fast to nearby bushes. Then as one, they began to walk forward, the red bringing up the rear several paces behind the nearest tartar. They were going upslope to the crest of a small ridge. The tartar who first reached the crest put his hands to cup his mouth, sent a ringing cry southward, and the fate who, who, who echoed on and on through the hills. Either Menlich had reached the camp in time, or his people were not to be so easily enticed. For though the hunters waited for a long time, there was no answer to that hail. At last the helmeted man called his captives, bringing them suddenly down to mount and ride again, a move which suited the Apaches. They could not tell how close was the communication between the rider and the helicopter, and they were still too near the planes to attack unless it was necessary for their own protection. Travis dropped back to join Nolan. He controls them by that plate on his chest, he said. If we would take them, we must get at that. These tartars used lariettes in fighting. Did they not rope you as a calf is rope for branding? Then why do they not so take this red, binding his arms to his side? The suspicion in Nolan's voice was plain. Perhaps in them is some condition control making it so that they cannot attack their rulers. I do not like this matter of machines which can play this way and that with minds and bodies, flared Nolan. A man should only use a weapon, not be one. Travis could agree to that. Had they by the wreck of their own ship, and the death of Ruthman escaped just as in existence as these tartars now endured? If so, why? He and all the Apaches were volunteers, eager and willing to form new world colonies. What had happened back on Terra that they had been so ruthlessly sent out without warning and under redox? Another small piece of that puzzle, or maybe the heart of the whole picture, snapped into place. Had the project learned in some way of the tartar settlement on Topaz and so been forced to speed up that translation from late 20th century Americans to primitives? That would explain a lot. Travis returned abruptly to the matter now in hand as he saw a peek ahead. The party they were trailing was heading directly for the outlaw hideout. Travis hoped Menlich had warned them in time. There, that wall or cliff to his left must sheltered the valley of the towers, though it was still miles ahead. Travis did not believe the hunters would be able to reach their goal unless they traveled at night. They might not know of the eighth things which could menace the dark. But the enemy, whether he knew his dangers or not, did not intend to press on. As the sun pulled away, leaving premises and crannies shadowed dark, the hunters stopped to make camp. The Apaches, after their custom on the war trail, gathered on the heights above. This red seems to think that he shall find those he seeks setting waiting for him, as if their feet were nipped tight in a trap, to say remark. It is a happy of the Pendeliko guy, loopy-gatted, to stupid fool walking into the arms of a she-bear with a belief they are greater than all others. Yet this one is a cub, he chuckled. A man with a rifle does not fear a man armed only with a stick. Travis cut in quickly. This one is armed with a weapon which he has good reason to believe makes him invernable to attack. If he rests tonight, he probably leaves his machine on guard. At least we are sure of one thing Nolan said in half agreement. This one does not suspect that there are any in these hills save those he can master. And his machine does not work against us. Thus at dawn he made his swept gesture and they smiled in concert. At dawn, the old time of attack. And a patch he does not attack at night. Travis was not sure that any of them could break that old taboo and creep down upon the camp before the coming of new light. But tomorrow morning they would take over this confident red, strip him of his enslaving machine. Travis's head jerked. It had come as sudden as it blowed between his eyes to have stunned him. What, what was it? Not any physical impact. No, something which was daising, but still in material. He raised his whole body, awaiting his return, trying frantically to understand what had happened in that instant of vertigo and seeming disembodiment. Never had he experienced anything like it or had he. Two years or more ago, when he had gone through the time transfer to enter the Arizona of the Folsom Man some 10,000 years earlier, that moment of transfer had been something like this, a sensation of being a ray in space and time with no stable footing to be found. Yet he was lying here on very tangible rock and soil. And nothing about him in the shadow hung landscape of Topes had changed in the size. But that blow had left behind it equivering residue of panic buried far inside him, a tender spot like an open wound. Travis drew a deep breath which was almost a sob, leveraged himself up on one elbow to stare intently down into the enemy camp. Was this some attack from the others unknown weapon? Suddenly he is not at all sure what might happen when the Apaches paid to Don Rush. Jill Lee was in a station on his right. Travis must compare notes with him to be sure that this was not indeed a trap. Better to retreat now than to be taken like beasts in a net. He crept out of his place, gave the jittery signal call of the fluffball, and heard Jill Lee's answer in a cleverly mimicked thrill of a night in fact. Did you feel something just now in your head? Travis found it difficult to put that sensation into words. Not so, but you did? He had a course he had. He remains if it were still in him. That point of panic. Yes. The machine? I don't know. Travis's confusion grew. It might be that he alone of the party had been struck. If so, he could be a danger to his own kind. This is not good. I think we had better hold counsel away from here. Jill Lee's whisper was a mere ghost of sound. He chirped again to be answered from Tossae of Slope, who passed on the signal. The first moon was high in the sky as the Apaches gathered together. Again Travis asked his question. Had any of the others felt that odd blow? He was met by negatives. But Nolan had the final word. This is not good, he echoed Jill Lee's comment. If it was a red machine at work, then we may all be swept into his net along with those he seeks. Perhaps the longer one remains close to that thing, the more influence it gains over him. We shall stay here until dawn, if the enemy would reach the place they seek, then they must pass below us. For that is the easiest road. Burdened with his machine, the red has ever taken the easiest way. So we shall see if he also has a defense against thieves when they come without warning. He touched the arrows in his quiver. To kill from ambush meant that they might never learn the secret of the machine. But after his experience, Travis was willing to admit that Nolan's caution was a wise way. Travis wondered no part of a second attack like that which had shaken him so. And Nolan had not ordered a general retreat. It must be in the war chief's thoughts, as it was in Travis's, that if the machine could have an influence over Apaches, it must cease to function. They set their ambush with the age old skill the redacks had grafted into their memories. Then there was nothing to do but wait. It was an hour after dawn when Tassay signaled that the enemy was coming, and shortly after they heard the thud upon his hooves. The first totter plotted into view, and by the stance of his body in the saddle, Travis knew the red had him under full control. Two, then three tenders passed between the teeth of the Apache trap. The fourth one had allowed a wider gap to open between himself and his fellows. Then the red leader came. His face below the bulge of the helmet was not happy. Travis believed the man was not a horseman by inclination. The Apache set arrow to vocord, and at the chirp from Nolan fired in concert with his clansmen. Only one of those arrows found a target. The red's pony gave a shrill scream of pain and terror, rared, pawing at the air, toppled back, pinning his shouting rider under it. The red had had a defense right enough, one which had somehow deflected the arrows. But he neither had protection against his own awkward seat in the saddle, nor the arrow which had seriously wounded the now threshing pony. A head the totter twisted and ripped, mouths torched for Christ. Then dropped out of their saddle to lie limply on the ground, as if the arrows aimed at the master had instead struck each to the heart. This concludes the reading of chapter 10.