She seemed nonplussed for a moment, but made a deci-
sion. "We have brought him to you," she said. She ges-
tured, and the other four approached the wagon.
Neq grabbed the leader with his left arm, his pincers
threatened near her face, and held her before him as a
shield against Yod's gun. She did not resist. Her sleek
buttocks touched him.
The cover came up. The man inside was exposed.
It was Yod. But the man had no gun. He was dead, his
hands servered, the hilt and blade of a dagger protruding
from his mouth, and soaking in his own blood.
"Our men were bonded to him, and afraid," the captive
woman said. "But we were not. We have brought your
vengeance to you. Only spare the rest, for our children
will perish if we are left without men."
"This is not vengeance," Neq said, troubled. "You have
denied me my vengeance."
"Then kill us too, for we five killed Yod. Only leave this
place."
Neq considered killing them, as she suggested, for they
were trying to buy the reprieve of the guilty. But he found
himself sick of it all. Now both Neqa and vengeance had
been taken from him. What else was left?
He turned loose the woman. She merely stood, awaiting
his response, and the others stood too, like waking dead.
They were all young and fair, but there were pockets under
their eyes and tension lines about their mouths, and they
were less buxom than they might have been. Their vigil
and their act of murder had scarred them already.
Neq lifted his sword and touched it to the leader's
bosom. She blanched but managed not to flinch. He slid
the blade along her front so that it cut open her dress of
availability and the handmade halter beneath it, exposing
her breasts and letting them droop. Yet they were full
and handsome.
He had only intended to check her for weapons. If she
had a knife on her person he would know for whom it
had been intended, and that would justify what he might
do. But there was no knife. Those t
forcefully of Neqa's breasts ... a
wanted to forget.
Vengeance was too complicated.
He pushed her away .and fled.
CHAPTER TEN
When Neq next took stock of himself, three years had
passed. He was a scarred veteran of 28, still deadly in
combat at an age when injury or death had retired many
warriors. He had killed more men than any nomad he
knew of—most of them outside the circle, for the circle
code was virtually dead.
Abruptly' he realized three things—or perhaps it was
these things that had brought him to this sudden aware-
ness. First, he was now the age Neqa had been when he
knew her. Second, he was no closer to true vengeance
than ever. Third, the true culprit had not been Yod and
Yod's tribe, but the situation that had brought about the
dissolution of the circle code. In the old days no woman
had been molested, and no man had been required to fight
unless he chose.
It came to him that his only true vengeance had to be
constructive. Killing gained him nothing. What he had to
abolish was not the men who had injured him, but the
system.
That meant that Helicon had to be rebuilt.
Perhaps he had been working it out subconsciously the
whole time. A concept of this complexity could not have
struck him full-blown. But suddenly he had a mission,
and the hurt that was the memory et Neqa abated, and
the blood on his sword-arm assumed a certain vindication.
He had no further desire to kill, for he had plumbed the
depths of that and found it futile. He had no need to
impress women, for there had been only one for him. He
required no tribe, no empire, for he had long since experi-
enced the heights of power and tired of them. He had his
mission, and that was enough.
There would be supplies for the crazies, who would re-
stock the hostels and subtly enforce their usual require-
ments, and the nomads would find themselves conforming,
and the world he had known would come back. Slowly,
perhaps; it might take decades. But it would surely come.
And when the circle code lived again, outlaws like Yod
would have no chance. Women would pass freely from
hostel to hostel and from bracelet to bracelet, never forced,
never hurt. The circle code was civilization, and Helicon
was the ultimate enforcement of that code.
First he marched to the ruins of the mountain. He
entered by Dick the Surgeon's passage and cleaned out the
bones and the ashes. He reconstructed the damaged exits
as well as he could and resealed the premises against intru-
sion and made the entire labyrinth bare but theoretically
habitable. He worked slowly and carefully, pausing to feed
himself when the need came and to search out supplies.
A surprising amount had not burned. Perhaps the fire had
suffocated soon after the people. Under layers of ashes the
majority of Helicon's furnishings remained salvageable.
Neq sought no help, though his metal extremities were
inefficient for this type of work and greatly extended the
time that would normally have been required. It was
tedious shoving a mass of cloth across interminable floors
with his sword, mopping up the grisly grime, and his
pincers were poor for setting hinges in new doors. But this
was the place he had shared with Neqa, however briefly
and horribly, and Helicon was somehow suffused by her
presence, and blessed by it.
When he was done, a year had passed.
Then he went to see the crazies.
The minor crazy outposts had all long since been
devastated, but the fortress-like administration building of
Dr. Jones remained intact. And the old crazy,chief was
there, much the same as ever. He seemed never to have
been young, and he did not age.
But there was now no girl at the front desk.
"How have you survived, with no defense?" Neq de-
manded. "It has been four years since I was here, and
they have not been kind years. By the sword men live.
But no man challenged me as I entered here. Anyone
could ravage this place."
Jones smiled. "Would a guard have prevented you from
entering?" When Neq merely glanced at his weapon, he
continued: "I am tempted to inform you that our philoso-
phy of pacifism prevailed . .. but that would not be entirely
accurate. We hoped that the diminished services we offered
would dissuade the tribesmen from violence, but there
always seemed to be another more savage tribe on the
horizon whose members were immune to reason. Our
organization has been devastated many times."
"But you live unchanged!"
"Only superficially, Neq. My position remains tenuous."
Dr. Jones began unbuttoning his funny vest.
The old crazy must have
hidden when the outlaws
invaded, Neq thought, and emerged to rebuild after the
region was clear again. Tribes would not stay here long,
for there would be little food, and the building itself was
alien to the nomad way. Still, Dr. Jones must have courage
and capability that did not show on the surface.
The crazy had finally finished with his buttons. He
opened his vest and began on the clean white shirt beneath.
"How did you know me?" Neq inquired, hoping the
man wasn't senile.
"We have met before, you remember. You took Miss
Smith and released Dr. Abraham—"
"Who?"
"The Helicon Surgeon. He has been of immense assis-
tance to us. Do you recognize his handiwork?" He opened
his shirt to reveal his bony old chest.
Scars were there. It looked as though a dagger had cut
him open, chopped up the ancient ribs, and made a careless
foray into the meager gut. But somehow everything had
been put together again, and what should have been a fatal
wound had healed.
"Dick the Surgeon," Neq said. "Yes, he worked on me
too." But did not raise his sword to demonstrate the
surgery, afraid the gesture would be mistaken.
"I think it safe to assume I would have perished after
that particular episode," Dr. Jones said, beginning the
slow task of buttoning his shirt and vest. "But Dr. Abraham
restored me. Since he would not have been present except
for your timely assistance, I belief it is not farfetched to
infer that I owe my preservation to you."
'Tor every life I may have saved," Neq said, "I have
taken fifty."
Dr. Jones seemed not to have heard. "And of course his
report enabled us to dispense with any further effort in the
region of Helicon."
"Neqa died."
"Miss Smith ... your bracelet.. ." Dr. Jones murmured,
sifting through his information. "Yes, so Dr. Abraham
informed us. He said the two of you were very close, and
I am gratified to know that. She was a remarkable person,
but alone." He did not say more, and Neq was sure the old
crazy knew everything.
"I come to avenge her."
"Your reputation precedes you. But do you feel that
more killing will satisfy your loss?"
"No!" And, with difficulty, Neq explained his conclu-
sion about the real cause of Neqa's death, and his deter-
mination to rebuild Helicon.
Dr. Jones did not respond this time. He sat as if suffer-
ing from his venerable wound, eyes almost closed,
breathing shallow.
Neq waited for several minutes, then raised his pincer-
ann to touch the man and determine whether he was all
right. Death by old age was something he had never
encountered and was almost too horrible to contemplate.
What were its symptoms?
Dr. Jones was alive, however. His eyes reopened,
"Do you require proof that I was there, in the moun-
tain?" Neq asked. "I brought papers for you. I do not know
what they say." He had saved out these singed writings
because of Neqa's literacy; any writing reminded him of
her.
Now the crazy reacted beautifully. "Papers' from Heli-
con? I would be extremely interested! But I do not question
your veracity. My thoughts were momentarily elsewhere."
Momentarily? Crazies were crazy, naturally!
Then Dr. Jones got up and left the room.
Neq remained, baffled.
A few minutes later Dr. Jones returned with another
man, a rotund crazy in spectacles. "Please tell Dr. Abra-
ham and you told me," Jones said. "About your plans."
It was Dick the Surgeon—the man Neqa had rescued
from the cage! Now he only remotely resembled the thin
fugitive of four years ago.
Neq repeated his philosophy and his plan.
"Why do you come to us?" Dick asked, as though he
had never had experience with the wilderness.
"Because I am a sworder, not a builder. I can't read, I
can't operate the machinery of Helicon. You crazies can."
"He knows his limitations," Dr. Jones observed.
"But he is a killer."
"Yes," Neq agreed. "But I have had enough of killing."
He lifted his arm. "I would make this sword into—"
"A plowshare?" Dr. Jones asked.
Neq did not answer, not being familiar with the term.
"Your former leader, Robert of Helicon," Dr. Jones
said to Dick. "Was he not a ruthless man?"
"Robert? Oh, you mean Bob. Yes, ruthless but efficient.
Maybe you're right." Dick looked at Neq. "It is ugly,
but—"
Neq did not follow much of this. "I have cleaned and
restored the mountain, but I cannot do more without your
help. I can't fill it with people who can make it function.
That is why I'm here."
"It would take a year for a man in your condition to
tidy up that carnage!" Dick exclaimed.
"Yes."
There was a silence. The crazies hardly seemed enthu-
siastic!
Finally Dr. Jones brought out a sheet of paper. "Bring
me these people," he said, handing it to Neq. "Those who
have survived."
"I can not read. Is this the service you require of me in
exchange for your help?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. I must ask you to tell
no one of your project. And I must advise you that your
weapon will be valueless in this endeavor—perhaps even a
liability."
That seemed to be the extent of his answer. Neq glanced
at his sword, wondering whether he should remind the old
crazy that it was impossible for him to set aside his weapon,
useful or not. "Tell me the names."
"You can remember them accurately?"
"Yes."
Dr. Jones picked the paper out of Neq's pincer-grasp
and read. "Sos the Rope. Tyi of Two Weapons. Jim the
Gun."
Neq halted him, astonished. "Sos the Rope went to the
mountain ... oh, I see. He may be alive after all. Tyi is
master of the largest remaining tribe. Jim the Gun—"
"You may know Sos better by his later designation: the
Weaponless."
"The Weaponless! Master of Empire?" And yet of
course it fit. Sos had gone to the mountain; the Weapon-
less had come out of it. To take the wife he had always
wanted—Sola. Neq should have made the connection
long ago.
"Have you changed your mind?"
Angry, Neq kept silence while he considered. The crazies
were trying to set him an impossible task! Was it to be
certain he would fail? Was this really their way of refusing
assistance? Or was Dr. Jones serious, having decided that
it was necessary, before Helicon could be rebuilt, to elimi-
nate its destroyers? The Weaponless, Tyi, Jim the Gun—
these had been the architects of 'Helicon's demise. The
Weaponless had provided the motive; Tyi the manpower;
Jim the weapons. . . .
Perhaps it made sense. But how to locate the Weapon-
less now! If the man lived, so did the empire, and Neq
himself still owed him fealty!
"I think the Weaponless is dead," Neq said at last.
"Then bring his wife."
"Or his child," Dick said.
"And if I bring these people to you, then you will give
me the help I need for Helicon?"
"There are more names." Dr. Jones read them: all un-
familiar. '-
"I'll bring every one that lives!" Neq cried recklessly.
"Will you help me then?"
Dr. Jones sighed. "I should be obliged to."
"I do not know where to find them all."
"I will travel with you," Dick the Surgeon said. "I know
many of the Helicon refugees by sight, and have some
notion where they might hide. But it would be your job
to persuade them to come—without killing them."
Neq mused on this.. The company of the surgeon did
not appeal to him, but it did promise to facilitate an
onerous task. "I can't tell them and I can't kill them. Yet I
must make them come. The leading warriors of the old
empire, including the very man who—" He shook his
head. "All because I want to rebuild Helicon, and restore
your source of supply, so that you can bring back the
circle code."
Dr. Jones didn't seem to comprehend Neq's irony. "You
have the essence, warrior."
Angry and disappointed, Neq walked out. But Dick the
Surgeon followed.