15 THEY SPEAK OF KRAKAR

The great royal hall of the Hagg-Inder was gay with bunting, colorful with noble decorations, slippery underfoot with the perspiration of the humanoid races who found that, even with the air conditioning turned full on, what proved to be a cold chill for the Hagg-Inder was a scorching furnace for them. But no one cared! Today was an important day, so important that it would go down in galactic history forever. Today the Galaxy Rangers officially came into being. The future Rangers thronged the floor, looking up at the dais where the king himself would pin on the first star of the first Ranger, number one, the lucky creature who would be commandant of the most powerful force for democracy that the lenticular galaxy had ever seen.

There had been a small difference of opinion on who the commandant would be. Since the Pleasantville Eagle and the cheddite projector, the backbone of the force for the Rangers, belonged to the four Earthlings, it had been decided that one of them would fill the top post. Sally was a simple girl, and Chuck was out of the running as well, his brain still no more active than a squashed watermelon despite the efforts of the finest Hagg-Inder brain men, so the choice naturally fell upon the remaining two. Jerry felt that since he had invented the cheddite projector, he should be number one, but it was pointed out to him that the guy who invented the Monitor had not been admiral of the Union Navy, so he grumbled into silence. As far as the other races could tell, the Earthlings were identical in abilities, and either would suit. In the end, a deadlock set in, with equal feelings – or lack of feelings – for both Jerry and John. Since the king was throwing out the first ball, the decision was left to him, and he chose John without an instant's thought.

"Discrimination," Jerry muttered to Sally where they sat sweating in the audience. "Just because he's black and they're black, they pick him without an instant's thought."

"But, Jerry, darling," she reasoned, "isn't it always like that? After all, on our tree-shaded, Midwest, bible belt, WASP campus wasn't John the only black and he was the janitor?"

He darted a suspicious look sideways out of narrowed brooding eyes. "What are you, a Commie or something?"

"Shhh – the king is about to speak."

A rustle of eager interest ran through the great hall on silent cat's feet and was replaced by a hushed siilence as the king clattered slowly forward.

"Hagg-Inder, Earthlings, Garnishee, strange-looking creatures of many races. My mate and I wish to announce, upon this auspicious occasion, the founding of the soonto-be-historical, instantly galaxy famous organization by the name of. . . ." He blinked his faceted eyes at a metallic sheet on the stand before him. "An organization by the name of the Galaxy Rangers."

Instant pandemonium filled the great hall as cheer after cheer split the red-hot air. It took a long time for the enthusiasm to die down, and the king could only be heard after portions of the floor under the noisiest spectators had been electrified.

"With this bold band of brothers formed, the next need is for a gallant leader to lead these gallant warriors and, after careful democratic selection" – a single angry snort was ignored – "the Earthling John was nominated unanimously for this signal honor, and it is my privilege to present him with badge number one of the Galaxy Rangers."

There were more cheers as John stepped forward and the king pinned the golden star upon his chest. John screamed hoarsely as the king ran three inches of pointed steel wire in John's pectoral muscle since, in the heat of the moment, he had forgotten that aliens pinned the pin to their clothing instead of drilling a hole in the chitin for attaching these kind of things. With shaking fingers John finished pinning on the golden star with the large number 1 upon it, the words "Galaxy Rangers" picked out neatly in diamonds, and turned to the microphone, blood seeping a ruddy patch into his clean white shirt.

"Fellow Rangers, I greet you. I am going personally to pin Ranger star number two upon my old friend, Jerry Courteney, and after that it is your turn. Don't fight as you rush forward; there are stars enough for all. What an opportunity this is! Travel, education, career, the job of your choice, free medical and dental attention, and that can mean a lot – like, for instance, that alien there with more teeth than a piano keyboard, he'll really make out. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. We are here creatures of many different races; I count among the escaped prisoners from the DnDrf mines at least forty different species and who knows how many offspring from mixed marriages, all eager to join up. As further inducement to enlist, I mention the fact that we have no transport to take you back to your home worlds, and as soon as we Galaxy Rangers take off, the Hagg-Inder turn off the air conditioning and, zowie, it's two hundred and fifty degrees again. But don't let me attempt to pressure you in my enthusiasm. Let your conscience be your guide. And form a single line to the right, and anyone who doesn't want to come can just stay here and sweat it out. For, ha-ha, a long time."

To a man, or really to an alien, they volunteered, and the Galaxy Rangers were already making a mark in history. But all was not happiness. Later, after the exhausting ceremonies, the Earthlings were sitting in the first-class lounge of the Pleasantville Eagle, having cocktails and chopped Ormoloo liver and facing one inescapable fact.

"He's got about as much intelligence as a damp kitchen mop," Jerry said, nodding to his old buddy Chuck, who sat on the floor chewing happily on a shoelace and mumbling to himself.

"Could the Hagg-Inder physicians do nothing?" Sally implored.

John shook his head in an unhappy no. "They did their best, their top people, super mind readers and all that. Too far gone, they say, for their meager talents."

"And their meager talents are the best in the galaxy," Jerry brooded. "So I guess we ought to start thinking about euthanasia next, as soon as we are sure about his will."

"You cannot!" gasped Sally.

"Why not! If he's going to sit around and drool like that for maybe fifty years more, he is not much good to anyone, including himself."

"You are so cruel!"

"I am not. I'll bet you that Chuck would want it that way. I certainly would if it came to the choice."

"I say, not interrupting anything am I?" Lord Prrsi asked, poking one great faceted eye into the room.

"Nothing important," Sally snapped "Just murder and such."

"Well, yes, indeed. Then I'll just slip in and curl in the corner and turn my heater on high. Yes, thank you, I would appreciate one, very tasty." He smacked loudly as he drained a gallon of dry martini at a gulp. "I've come here rather unofficially, so to speak, and would appreciate it if what I tell you stayed inside these four walls. Or would it be six if you counted ceiling and floor?"

"Prrsi, old sting-tail," Jerry said, "we are not in the mood to discuss state secrets at the present time, I hope you'll understand. We are discussing the fate of our incapacitated comrade Chuck."

"Well, so am I, old fruit. But what I propose is highly illegal and dangerous."

"What is it?" the three friends asked, leaning forward as one.

"Well now. Hear me out, I beg, before interrupting. The tale I have to tell may sound strange, but I heartily assure you, it is true, though a well-kept secret. Far to the south of here just beyond Averno Desert are a range of sharp hills that the local peasants call the Mountains of Madness. Many people who venture into them are never heard of again. Many years ago the then king sent an expedition into the hills, armed, tough-minded Hagg-Inder, utterly fearless, sneering at alien or beast. They were gone for months, all track lost. Finally, a single survivor, chitin scratched and filthy, crawled into a village just beyond the mountains. He would not speak of what had occurred, and the peasants were not that interested in hearing the details in any case. But he was brought here and spoke with the king and the nobles, and since that time we in the royal house know about it but don't say a word."

"About what?" Jerry asked, completely confused.

"Didn't I ask you not to interrupt?" Lord Prrsi said peevishly, lashing his poison barb back and forth and rattling his claws on the walls. They were silent. "Well, to go on, if you don't mind. The secret has been kept ever since. In those mountains, in a certain valley, lives one of our race, an ancient of uncountable years. He lives in a cave by himself, a hermit mystic who does not wish to be disturbed as he thinks his centuries-old thoughts. If anyone comes close, he blasts their mind with a mind blast of such intensity that it cannot be averted. Now, as you know, our race has great mental powers, second only to the foul Lortonoi, and even against them we can hold our own. This will give you some idea of the mental strength of the hermit. Word of the mind blasting is common in the area, so of course, few venture that way. But before he died, the sole survivor told us that the hermit does not blast minds just like that. He asks the potential mind blastee three questions or riddles, and if they are answered, why, then the prisoner goes free."

"What has that got to do with us?" asked Sally. "I don't want my mind blasted."

"Goodness, no one would want to blast your sweet little mind, Earthling female. If I might continue. Now it seems that one of the party had been struck on the head by a fallen boulder and his chitin crushed in and his brains pretty well mashed to boot. He was being taken back for medical treatment, although all there agreed that his case was hopeless. But it wasn't! The hermit, with the incredible strength of his thoughts, restored the hapless victim to normality before asking the questions. His brain was so good he even got two of them right, though he muffed the third and had his restored brain instantly blasted."

"I see," Jerry mused. "But it's a long chance."

"It's the only chance," John said. The silence stretched as the two men looked each other in the eye; then it stretched some more.

"Well, I'll go if you won't," Sally said, springing to her feet. "Can you get me a map, Prrsi?"

"Ahh, you are indeed a stout brick, little Earthling chum. But, hope you won't mind my saying it, it will take a far sturdier mind than yours to stand up to that of the hermit. It will need a mind of at least seven hundred and forty-three IQ, a genius, a person of great moral fiber and strength, a natural-born leader, one healthily oversexed."

"That's me," John and Jerry said, with one voice, standing at attention, volunteering, not realizing how well they had been conned by the cool brain of the red-hot alien. Before they really realized what they had become involved in, they were in heatproof suits, stuffing the protesting Chuck into one as well, waving good-bye to Sally and rushing out of the city in a great tractor-treaded vehicle with Lord Prrsi at the wheel.

"We didn't bring much in the way of supplies," Jerry grumbled.

"Either way, this trip won't take long," Lord Prrsi said breezily.

"Gee, thanks," John muttered, and they settled down to a day and a night of uncomfortable boredom. The powerful machine tore across the desert, the untiring Prrsi at the controls, sending up an immense cloud of dust from its treads. When night fell, glaring headlights of piercing actinic light speared through the darkness and their pace never slowed. At noon, on the second day, they raced toward a range of mountains that had been growing steadily before them, and Lord Prrsi braked to a squealing stop at the mouth of a narrow canyon.

"I don't imagine you chaps can feel them, with your rudimentary powers, but I have been fighting mental waves of great intensity for the last couple of hours, attempting to turn me away. Instead, I have followed them to their source, this canyon. I am afraid I must let you out here, for I dare not go on. Take your hopelessly incapacitated friend and proceed. I wish you the best of luck."

"An atomic pistol would be a lot more help," Jerry said ingratiatingly.

"Weapons are forbidden in the valley. To possess them means instant death, I will wait for you here. Farewell,"

Step by hesitant step, the brave Earthmen climbed up through the crumbling scree, leading the Chuck-thing at the end of a leash, It was hard going, and they had to stop to rest many times and suck at the nipples of the water tanks inside their helmets. They neither saw nor heard anything out of the ordinary, though both were possessed by a feeling of immense dread. A wave of depression against which they had to push physically. But they pushed because they were that kind of men, now having to carry the screeching, brainless Chuck forcefully. Finally, before a sharp turn in the narrow valley, there came a mental blast that almost seared out their synapses, a mental command that said but one thing.

"STOP!"

They stopped, frozen, unable to move, even Chuck paralyzed by the intensity of the command. Then a voice spoke to them, or rather a mental voice spoke within their own minds, and they heard it louder than they had ever heard any sound with their ears.

"LEAVE HERE WHILE YOU ARE STILL ALIVE!"

"We have come this far, we will not turn back," Jerry said staunchly. "And would you mind turning the volume down?" When the voice spoke to them again, it was still loud, but bearable.

"You know that there is no return from this valley of death unless the Test is passed? And few pass it,"

"We know that, but we have come for our friend's sake. If we pass the test, we sort of hoped-"

"No bargains! I will decide what is to be done. Come forward."

Their feet almost did not obey them as they shuffled forward against the mounting wave of mental dread that filled the valley. Around the turn they staggered and stopped, without willing it, below a shelf that lay just in front of the black opening of a cave. They knew it was in that cave, even if the skulls and skeletons scattered on the ground before it were not a dead giveaway.

"I am called Baksheesh, and all who have come here have feared me!"

"Well, here are three more, Mr. Baksheesh," Jerry gasped, knees trembling despite everything he did, chilled and shivering despite the 240-degree temperature outside their suits.

"Are you prepared for the question?"

"We are." John shivered in response.

"Then you are first. You have ten seconds to answer the following. . . ."

"Hey, you didn't mention any time limit before this."

A cold chuckle was his only answer. "Prepare now. We play this game by my rules since it is my game. Ready. What is black and deadly and sits in a tree?"

John tightened his forehead in concentration as the seconds ticked away, gleefully counted off by the murderous Baksheesh. Jerry leaned over and tried to whisper, but a blast of mental energy blew up a boulder next to him.

"None of that or the mind blast blasts right now."

"Sorry, I didn't know coaching was against the rules."

"It is now. Seven . . . eight . . . nine. . . ."

"I have it! A crow with a machine gun."

A wave of miffed mental radiation swept over them and was instantly gone. "Think you're so smart!" the mental voice muttered. "So let's see how well your buddy does on the next one. Five seconds on this one. And miss one question and you all die."

Jerry steeled himself, tightening his muscles and thinking healthy thoughts to clean his brain. "Ready when you are, Baksheesh," he said. And back came the mental blast with the question.

"What looks like a box, smells like a lox – and flies? Five. . . four. . . ." It was counting faster now. "Three . . . two. . ."

"A flying lox box!" Jerry shouted defiantly, and the muttering wave of mental anger in reply told him that he was right.

"That's two out of three, but it's anyone's ball game yet. I'm going to ask your drooling friend there the next question. . . ."

"But you can't! He's not human. His mind has been chopped up by the vile Lortonoi."

"Hmmm, yes, so it has. And a sloppy job too, just like them. Here, I'll lift this mental block, erase that pattern, pour another in here, tap this subconscious memory and drain it into the right lobe. There, he's as good as new, maybe better. Now my question. . . ."

"Hold on," John called out. "We don't know if you have really fixed his brain; you may just be saying that. We'll have to talk to him first." His words were cut off by a bone-chilling cackle of shrill laughter.

"My rules, remember? Now, Chuck-thing, you have one second to answer the following question. Ready now, think. What is the square of the product of 456.78 times 923.45 divided by 65.23 plus 92565.286? The answer?"

"99031.75 is the product to two decimal places, and the square of that number is, dropping the decimal places for the moment, 980713896. Do you want it with the decimal places too?"

A mentally muttered morbid curse was his only answer, and Chuck smiled warmly as his two friends came forward to beat him on the back and welcome him back to sanity.

"I was going to ask you what we were doing here. The last I remember is some torture or other and things getting dim; then, bango, I'm in this valley and somebody asked me that question, and by reflex of course, I put the old brain box to work and dug up the answer. I was startled so it was a good thing it was a simple question."

"That's about enough of the old self-laudatory praise," the voice spoke coldly in their minds. Not only in their minds, but they realized suddenly that they were hearing it with their ears. They looked up at the ledge whence the voice had spoken and recoiled together. For there was Baksheesh.

He was an ancient, gnarled, scratched and generally beat-up native of the planet Haggis, that was obvious. But he was old. Generations of spiders had built webs between his claws until he was almost wrapped in a cocoon. Yet for all his age, the light of a great intelligence burned in his crystalline eyes. Nor was that all. His color. . . .

"White. I know what you are thinking," the thought crackled down at them. "Hideous white like the vile Hagg-Loos, not beautiful and black like the Hagg-Inder. Well, I have news for you. I AM a Hagg-Loos. Ha! You might very well cringe back at that news. But I am above petty politics now. Once I was as human as any other, and as mad as any, but the fortunes of war brought me here, and I crawled into that cave and came to rest over a powerful radioactive source. My madness was cured, and my intelligence soared as I was made immortal by most standards. Including my own, I must add. But to remain immortal I must toast over the radioactives. If I leave the cave, I die, so now I must return. You know my secret, but you will not betray me, for my wisdom is of the ages. I have come before you to tell you one thing that you must never forget." It rattled its antenna wildly, and the last thought blasted like a hurricane through their minds.

"BEWARE THE KRAKAR!"

They staggered under the mental blast, and when they looked up, the pallid creature had gone, and they were alone among the bones and chitin of the dead.