Zone Yellow

Chapter 11

“―or at least that’s what I thought,” I was explaining to Andy, who was bending over me again.

“It seems like I’m always coming to with you giving me a worried look,” I said.

He grinned and nodded. “There was quite a . . . well, a wrenching, sir,” he told me, as if that meant something. He looked around the cramped compartment as if he expected it―whatever “it” was―to happen again. “I felt . . . twisted, sir,” he explained earnestly. “It lasted for maybe a second, but it seemed like a long time.” He put a hand against his upper abdomen. “It felt awful, sir, but it passed, and everything was just like before, except that you were unconscious, sir. I just started to try to bring you around, and you started talking. Said it blew up, but it didn’t, Colonel!” For once he didn’t apologize for contradicting me. “How’s the view outside?” I wondered, and got up easily enough and took the two steps necessary to look out the view-panel. I saw at once that the mudscape was gone. In its place was a bleak New Englandish day with leafless trees and wet leaves on the ground. A brisk wind seemed to be blowing, judging from the movement of the bare branches and the flying bits of vegetable matter. A spatter of rain was blowing with them. There was a cottage in sight, a hundred yards along a well-worn trail. It was half sod hut, half dugout. Light glowed from a window made of leaded bottle-bottoms. Smoke was rising from a crooked chimney that emerged from the sodden ground beside the biggest tree in sight. It gave an impression of an extensive underground installation, but it looked a lot cozier than the rest of the scene. While we watched, a tall Ylokk dressed in a red body-stocking came running on all fours from behind the house, if house it was, and along the trail, right up to the shuttle. The alien halted a few feet away, put nose to the ground, and went sniffing around our vehicle.

“Colonel,” Helm spoke up. “He knows there’s something here! Maybe―”

“Let’s talk to him,” I said and reached to switch on the outside talker, but I felt unsure of my command of the Ylokk speech. Swft had given me some pointers on the grammar―it wasn’t too difficult―and between him and some cooperative prisoners we’d come up with a crash course in the basics, enough for a quickie hypno-tape. My time in the coder had been very short, though, with no time for the usual posthypnotics. I asked Helm if he knew the language. He didn’t.

Then Smovia came groping out of his cubicle, rubbing his head.

“I had the damnedest dream,” he muttered. “I was caught in a typhoon and turned inside out. It was as real as this is―realer! Believe me, I was relieved to wake up and find my duodenum back where it belonged. What’s going on―and what’s that?” He was staring at the infant Helm was still holding. Helm showed him the baby-rat face, now in the repose of sleep.

“We . . . we found it,” he explained. “It was―he was left in a fancy coach, sitting there in the mud. Poor little tyke.”

“What coach?” Smovia demanded. “What mud?” He glanced outside and saw no answers out there.

“What’s a baby doing here?” he wanted to know. “How did it get here? And where’s ‘here’?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “The pup was in a disguised shuttle, like this one―but not one of ours―and I don’t know, except that we’re well into Zone Yellow. We’ve moved from there: it’s a little more normal’ here.” I indicated the view of the road and the cottage.

“ ‘Zone Yellow’?” the doctor queried, at the same time taking the swaddled infant from Helm. “I seem to recall that. Didn’t you say it’s an interdicted area―not to be entered under any circumstances?” He sounded more exasperated than scared.

“Normally, yes. But the trails the Ylokk left lead directly into the Zone; so it was decided that we had to make an exception.”

“Why was it interdicted in the first place?” Doc asked me.

“We lost a shuttle, then others. After the third―the second two crews having been specially equipped and briefed―the decision was made to bypass the Zone in our exploration, and get back to it later, when presumably, we’d have improved our technology and could deal with whatever was swallowing our machines and crews.”

“If they couldn’t get back,” Smovia demanded, “what makes you think we can?”

“I don’t,” I told him. “Not necessarily, at least. But I’m hoping―expecting―to learn something that will do the trick.”

“Here―in this deserted village or whatever it is?” Smovia yelped, then diverted his attention to soothing the pup, which had awakened with a wail.

“My theory,” I told him, “is that the Zone is another Blight, brought about, like our own, by Net experimentation gone wrong, but perhaps less severe. There’s at least one island of relative normalcy here―the one our invaders came from. There may be others. I think we’re close. I haven’t done a complete analysis of the data our instruments have been storing, to find out if I’m right.”

“Then let’s do so―by all means,” Smovia urged. “At once, Colonel, if you don’t mind. Frankly, not knowing whether or not I’m to be added to the list of those lost in nowhere unsettles my digestion―not that I’ve had anything to digest lately. Shh, baby.” He switched his attention back to the tot in his arms. “It’s all right…” He paused and looked at me hopefully. “It is all right, isn’t it, Colonel Bayard?”

“Look!” Helm broke in. He was pointing at the view panel, where a small group of tall, lean, forward-leaning creatures had appeared. Their tracks in the mud led back to a meandering line that disappeared in the distance.

“It’s the rats!” Smovia gasped. “Probably looking for the baby! We’d better―”

Before he could finish that, one of the rats in the van of the group glanced our way, saw something that interested him, and alerted the others. They crowded together and started our way in a menacing fashion. Then one groped in his overcoat pocket and brought out a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver―the issue weapon of the NSS. Clearly he was a veteran of the invasion, and this was his loot. He aimed it at the Ylokk in red, who was standing with his back to them, until the weapon bucked in the vet’s long, narrow hand and the red one spun and fell on his back. The others at once scattered, ducking away in all directions and to the edge of our field of view.

“Colonel!” Helm blurted. “They murdered that fellow in cold blood!”

“I don’t know the temperature of his vascular fluids,” I countered, “but they shot him, all right.”

Smovia had crowded in to look over my shoulder. “We must help that―uh―fellow,” he decided. “The bullet struck him in the upper arm, I think. Probably he’s not fatally wounded.”

“Too bad, Doc,” Helm supplied. “We can’t. He’s out there and we’re in here.”

The group of Ylokk were back; ignored the wounded one; they were snooping around the shuttle, as if they sensed its invisible presence.

“Those fellows know we’re here,” Helm volunteered. “The rats!”

“But,” Smovia put in, “are they the kidnappers or did they come as rescuers?”

“They’re the kidnappers,” Helm stated. “You saw how they killed that fellow. They’re obviously criminals.”

“What if the one they shot was one of the kidnappers?” Smovia protested.

“Either way,” Helm replied, “we can’t just sit here and let him bleed to death.” He turned to me. “Colonel,” he said heavily, “couldn’t we get closer and use a hook to pull him in? That way―”

“You might be snatched into identity with the line,” I pointed out. “It depends on the entropic gradient, which is reading off the scale, you recall.”

The gang of Ylokk outside had moved entirely out of the wide-angle viewer’s field of vision.

“The boy is right,” Smovia said. “We must try. Have we a hook of some sort?”

“Standard equipment,” I told him. “A telescoping one, stored in the locker there.” The doctor got it out and was trying to maneuver it into a position in which it could be extended when Helm uttered a yell. I looked his way; the wounded Ylokk was crawling toward us. He got close and collapsed, one claw-like hand extended. I had to make a decision; that hand outstretched as if in appeal did it. I set up a closed-entropic field around the hatch and cycled it open. The wounded Ylokk groped as if puzzled, then a pointed snout appeared in the opening and I was looking at Swft, the general I’d last seen in the hospital. He recognized me a moment before I realized who he was.

“Colonel!” he gasped; he crawled inside another six inches and collapsed. Smovia had retreated with the baby, instinctively protective.

“We must…” Swft managed to gasp, and fell silent. Smovia came back, went to him, rolled him on his side, cut away his body-stocking, and began probing. He used an ugly-looking instrument and a moment later dropped a misshapen lump on a metal plate with a clatter that seemed too loud.

“Why the red longjohns?” I asked Swft.

“Caught unaware,” he gasped. “No time to don my uniform.”

“Clean wound,” Smovia commented. “No bones or major vessels involved. Nerves are all right, too, I should imagine. I don’t really know the anatomy very well, of course.”

Swft uttered a high-pitched moan and rolled on his side. Smovia muttered and rolled him back, asked Helm to hold him there, and began applying medication. “Have to hold off infection, and kill the pain as well,” he explained. He taped bandages in place and stood.

“Good as new in a few days,” he predicted.

“But what are we going to do with a wounded rat for a few days?” Helm almost wailed. “Helping him, fine; but it’s already crowded in here!”

“Easy,” I said. “Throw him back out in the rain.”

Helm and Smovia both stared at me; Smovia was grinning slightly.

“Sir! You wouldn’t!” Helm blurted.

“That’s right, I wouldn’t,” I told him. “You were about to suggest…?”

“Well, Colonel,” he offered, “as to that, I―” He let it hang, then, “Well, sir, I guess . . . I guess I was out of line―again.”

“It’s all right, Andy,” I said. “That’s how we all learn. Let’s get him into a bunk.”

“What bunk, sir?” Helm wanted to know.

“Yours,” Smovia said. “You’re junior officer here. They made me a lieutenant colonel.”

“Later,” I suggested, “we can clean out the auxiliary stores bin and fix him up in there.”

“Sure, sir,” Helm offered. “I’d be glad to―”

“The colonel said ‘later,’ son,” Smovia reminded him.

Swft was stirring; his eyes opened and sought me. When we’d made eye contact, he gasped out, “Colonel! We’ve got to get away from here at once! We’re in the Desolation! You have no idea―!”

“I think maybe I do,” I corrected him. “We have our own Blight, remember, surrounding the Zero-zero line.”

He went on to describe the utter, well, desolation of the Desolation. Here, the gone-wrong experimentation had actually created a flaw, or discontinuity in the fundamental creation/destruction cycle, with the result we could see outside. Life hadn’t prospered here.

“Who were the fellows who shot you?” I asked him out of context. He looked surprised, if I can read alien emotions.

“Why do you say I was shot?” he demanded.

“The doctor has just removed the slug,” I told him.

“ ‘Slug’?” he queried. “Oh, one of your projective weapons. As you know, we have no such guns. So it was some of your chaps who, ah, shot me, eh?”

“It was a group of Ylokk,” I corrected. “They seemed very interested in the coach.”

This time, I know he was surprised. “Please explain,” he begged. “Insofar as my briefing has informed me, a coach’ is an animal-drawn conveyance no longer in common use.”

“Except,” Lieutenant Helm contributed, “for special circumstances, such as royal state ceremonies.”

“Describe it,” Swft came back tensely.

Helm did so.

“The armorial bearings,” Swft persisted. “What―?”

“Sable, a griffon or,” Helm told him. “On a bend argent, three mullets of the first.”

Swft nodded, then with a sudden snap! of his needle-sharp teeth, twitched and rolled to all fours.

“I see it, now,” he hissed. “A vile plot within a plot, hatched within the palace itself―” He broke off and twisted his head to stare up at me. “But what have you―?”

“Nothing,” I informed him. “We came along and stumbled on the coach, just sitting there―”

“The draft animals, the kwines,” he demanded. “The attendants―?”

“No coachman,” I told him. “No footmen. No nursemaid―”

He broke in with a yell. “What of the prince?”

“There was no prince,” Smovia spoke up. I looked at him, feeling surprised. Why was he lying?

He glanced my way. “More of a princess,” he told me in Swedish, which it seemed hadn’t been included in Swft’s briefing. The general had retreated as far as he could into the corner, and was still baring those big incisors of his.

“Easy, General,” I started, but Swft burst out, “Then how…?” He lowered his voice. “Why did you say there should be a nursemaid? Eh? Speak up! I warn you, I’m not to be trifled with in this matter! Speak!”

“Mind your tone!” Helm interjected. “You will address the colonel with respect, sir!”

“Of course,” Swft muttered. He was visibly pulling himself together. “I beg of you, Colonel Bayard, if you know of anything of―” He changed his tack. “The swine who shot me. Where did they go?”

“They ran off,” I told him. “We couldn’t see where.”

“I saw them,” Swft said coldly. “But I hardly imagined such personages would stoop to attempted murder. There was the Lord Privy Seal, Sctl, and General Rstl, and some young fellows of the Guard, and―treachery!” he wailed. “Treachery on a grand scale! It is not to be borne!”

“Relax, for now, Swft,” I suggested; then, to Smovia, “show him the baby.” He nodded and ducked into his cubicle and a moment later handed the sleeping infant to the wounded general, now on his hind feet and making small, ecstatic noises.

“Your Royal Highness,” he crooned, looking down at the small face. He looked up at me. “He’s all right? They didn’t?” Just then the baby uttered a squall and Swft almost dropped her.

“Why is it, General,” I asked him, “that you refer to this little female as ‘him’?”

“ ‘Female’?” He almost dropped her again. Smovia stepped in and reclaimed the tot.

“Can it be?” Swft inquired of himself. “Is it possible that we all―that the entire Movement is based on a lie? But of course! That explains a great deal!”

“I guess I’m slow,” I said. “I still don’t get it.”

“Gentlemen,” he addressed us formally, “the Noblest of All is in your debt. The Governance itself must acknowledge that debt. I thank you.”

“You think these fellows would have harmed the baby?” I wanted to know.

“They would have killed him―or especially her,” he answered me. “You see, great issues devolve on the matter of succession. This child, who certain traitors claim is an impostor, is the key to the fate of Great Ylokk. We must conduct ourselves with great circumspection, lest we precipitate yet another disaster to add to those which have already befallen Great Ylokk.”

“Like your damn-fool invasion,” I suggested. To my surprise, he nodded. “I did what I could,” he said.

“Wait a moment,” I cut in. “You told me all about how it was your idea.”

He looked at his feet. “Either way my honor is compromised,’ he muttered. “I lied to you, Colonel; I was under sentence of death for my opposition to a scheme already endorsed by the Noblest. It was Grgsdn who―Never mind. I was unable, Colonel, to admit that I had been dominated by another, coerced. I had to pretend, even to myself, to be in control of matters. You should have let me die.”

“It’s not quite that bad to be shown up as a fool,” I comforted him. “It’s happened to me plenty of times. You’ll survive. Who’s this ‘Grgsdn’ character?”

Swft showed his incisors in a snarl. “He is an elusive scoundrel and rabble-rousing treacher whose vile counsels have been insinuated into the deliberations of the governance. He hopes to overthrow the ancient dynasty and place his own unspeakable clan in the Jade Palace!” The general broke off, apparently overcome by the enormity of whatever he was talking about.

“What does the baby have to do with all this?” I pressed him. “And why abandon her here in Zone Yellow?”

Swft shuddered. “They would have challenged the Noblest,” he snarled. “Defied her to show the presumed heir. When she was unable to do so, the entire structure would have come crashing down. The little of peace and order that has survived the Killing would have dissolved in chaos. I had hoped, perhaps”―he paused and gave me a sideways look with those disconcerting red eyes―”somehow, this adventure―the invasion―might disrupt their plan, and allow me the opportunity to rally the forces of Right. Otherwise…”

“Oh, ‘the forces of Right,’ eh?” I queried. “That means ‘our side,’ I believe. Which side that is depends on who’s talking.”

“My cause is Right!” Swft insisted. “Consider: the Royal House has governed wisely for ten millennia, since the Conqueror imposed peace among the barons. Until the Killing came, that is. The plague has thrown our world into chaos. There are always dissenters, of course. Was not Evon cast out of Paradise? They seized upon the disorder to gain a following, blaming the Killing on the Great House. A false puppet claimant to the throne rose up, and hordes of the ignorant hailed her, hoping for favor after the installation of this upstart in the Jade Palace. Grgsdn himself is seldom seen, which merely adds to his allure. His disciples spread his foolish message. Fools! This would have exchanged the ancient order for a new regime of venality and expediency, hoping for personal advantage!”