Doriza and I walked away, back to our vehicle. “Where now?” I asked.
For answer, she pointed to a white oblong on the inner wall of the vehicle. It was a little screen, on which figures appeared. “Gederr requests that we return to him. He feels that we may be too close to possible violent action, and he is not yet ready that Yandro risk himself.”
We rolled back toward the main passages of the community, and eventually to an office, where Gederr was in close, muttered conversation with Sporr and Elonie. They greeted my entrance in various ways—Sporr with a senile smirk that he hoped was ingratiating, Elonie with a most inviting smile, Gederr with blank embarrassment. Gederr bowed and gestured toward an inner door. “Will Yandro pleasure me with a private conference?”
I bowed in turn, and followed him in.
“I heard Yandro’s words to the troops, by speaker system,” he began silkily. “Eloquent and inspiring—but Yandro must realize some salient facts.”
“Such as?” I prompted.
“The talk of friendly agreement with the Newcomers—ill be their fate! They must be wiped clean off of Dondromogon.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, and he smiled.
“I am honored that Yandro agrees so quickly—”
“I said, perhaps. Because I do not know the Newcomers as yet. It may be that they deserve death to the last man. But they may also deserve honorable treatment, alliance even.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but interruption came from outside. Sounds of struggle, and the cry of Doriza:
“Help me—help!”
I bounded to the door and tore it open, injuring the automatic lock. An officer stood in the outer office, and two soldiers had Doriza by the wrists. I made a lunge, knocked one of them spinning against a wall. “What is this?” I roared. “She is my aide.”
“Her arrest has been commanded,” spoke up Elonie in a sullen voice.
“Who commanded it? I countermand it!” I faced the roomful of protesting faces. “You call me Yandro, your leader from divine source. Let me say that nothing will happen to Doriza except by my will.”
Gederr spoke from the inner doorway: “Great Yandro speaks in riddles. I had thought that he had no attachment for Doriza.”
“Oh, you tried to make me a gift of her last night,” I exploded, “but that has nothing to do with the present case. Doriza lives. She remains free. Understand?”
“Perhaps,” mused Sporr, as if to himself. “There have been accidents. …”
“Come,” I said to Doriza. “To my quarters.” I faced the others again. “Danger to her shall be answered by me. Is it understood?”
We rode silently in the vehicle, and came to the rooms set aside for me. Once inside, I made sure that speaking tubes and televiso were turned off. Then:
“Doriza! There are things I do not know. Tell them to me.”
She hung her head. “They would have seen me dead, like the others, to shut my mouth.”
“And I saved you. Now speak. All I seem to find familiar is the name of Barak.”
She looked up again. “You remember the name?”
“Faintly. Vaguely. But what is happening just beyond my knowledge?”
She caught me by the forearm, her small, strong hands gripped like vises.
“I’ll tell you! Tell you everything! Those devils of the Council have long exploited and drained Dondromogon—with lies about the First Comers, and the exclusive use of science! The Newcomers are to be trapped through you, the natives deluded through you! But you—you are to die when your usefulness is through!”
“They’d do that?” I demanded. “After they name me as Yandro, their legendary hero?”
“That’s part of the great lie!” And Doriza was sobbing. “You aren’t Yandro—you’re Barak of the Newcomers!”
V
I stared at her, astounded, shocked—and suddenly remembering things.
“Barak,” I repeated foolishly. “Barak. Yes, I am Barak. I—how did I get here? Things are still so shadowy—but I’m beginning to recollect—”
“Try,” she begged. “Try hard. It’s the only way you can save yourself. Let me remind you; this world called Dondromogon was settled long ago by adventurers. For centuries their descendants built up a luxurious way of living. Messages filtered back to the old home planet—Earth, in the Solar System—”
“I remember that much,” I told her. “Something about a group of chiefs growing fat on the labor of the community, and killing those who threatened to rival them?”
“Yes. Calling those deaths necessary for the good of the race, but preserving really the soft and easily ruled of the race. And an expedition was sent, to point out that Dondromogon really was a colony of Mother Earth. Gederr received the Newcomers with false welcome, and tried to have them assassinated. But reinforcements arrived, and the war goes on—”
Again I did not let her finish. “And Gederr has been deceiving his followers, by the line of talk I heard from him! That the Newcomers are not rescuers or dealers of justice, but invaders and destroyers! I remember that, too!”
“Do you remember yourself?” she demanded. “Barak, the wonder warrior, who met the enemy by twos and threes, and conquered them like flies, like puffs of wind? Barak, mighty in battle, who offered to fight the whole Council of Dondromogon single-handed? Who led one digging assault after another, and who fell only to a stupid trick?”
“I don’t remember that last,” I confessed. “It is in my mind that I was somewhat rash, and had skill and luck enough to live in spite of my rashness, through several combats.”
“No time for modesty!” she chided me, and smiled despite the desperation of our plight. “You were a natural engine of warfare, Barak. And once you pursued your retreating adversaries far—too far—until it was Gederr himself who squirted anaesthetic gas upon you and felled you, senseless. Then they gathered around you, like carrion feeders, that whole Council, to see how they could profit best. And Gederr and Elonie, with Sporr’s help, made the decision.”
Her eyes held mine earnestly. “As you
