for the Ayutha and not for you, I could maintain this conflict until you were bled white. Every soldier you sent would bring me arms and ammunition. Rafts could be shot down from the sky. Unless you used radioactives, I would turn those hills into a citadel. I would lose, eventually, but only because of the limited number of my men. But I assure you, it would take years.'
Dumarest refilled his glass, conscious of thirst, the tension caused by fatigue and mounting strain.
He continued, 'The Ayutha are telepathic A rudimentary talent, perhaps, but enough to give them a close-knit network of communications equal to if not better than our own. And you forget how vulnerable you are. Destroy the lofios, and you have lost the war. With more powerful launchers and larger bombs, they could do just that. Fire is the best friend of the guerrilla. One man can destroy a city by its means. The Ayutha have thousands.' He ended, 'I suggest you do it my way, gentlemen. It might not be as spectacular, but believe me, in the long run it will be far cheaper.'
Colonel Paran said, 'Earl, do you trust the Ayutha?'
'I think they have a genuine desire to end this conflict, yes.'
'Why?'
'Because they are afraid,' said Dumarest bluntly. 'Because they are basically gentle. Because they are human.'
And because they were telepathic and knew the danger inherent in the carrying of weapons. The arrogance, aggressiveness, insensitivity, and contempt the power to kill gave a man unless consciously controlled. He had seen the results of military castes on a dozen worlds, and all had followed a path that led to the inevitable destruction of all that was kind and gentle. When respect became equated with force, only brutality could hope to survive.
Chapter Thirteen
Someone had lit a fire, a small thing of burning twigs, spluttering a little as it rested in a shallow dip at the edge of the line. It glowed, a patch of brightness in the night, a thing built more for comfort than anything else. Smoke rose from it, a thin plume breaking as it reached the height of the lofios, to ripple in a delicate fan.
From beside it a corporal rose, saluting. 'Sir!'
'Anything to report?'
'No, sir.'-the soldier leaned forward, squinting-'marshal. Not a thing. Everything as silent as a grave.'
The association disturbed him. He added, 'That is, sir, a-'
' 'Boy creeping up on a girl hoping to kiss her unawares,' ' said Dumarest. 'I understand, corporal.' He glanced at the fire; the ashes were too red, too bright. 'Better bank that.'
'Kill it, sir!'
'No.' There would be other fires, and orders could be enforced only so far. 'Just cover the embers so you won't lose your night vision. I want sharp eyes when you go on watch. Worried, soldier?'
'I'd be happier with a rifle, sir.'
'You're covered, so don't worry. Just remember that there's a promotion for the man who spots any of the Ayutha and keeps his head. I hope you win it, corporal. You'd make a fine officer.'
Bribery, but everything helped. As Dumarest passed on down the line, Captain Hamshard, at his side, said, 'Do you think anything will happen, sir?'
'Such as?'
'Well… another attack.'
' 'Incident' would be a better word, captain, but I know what you mean. The answer is no. I don't think the Ayutha will attack.'
'The truce seems to be working, sir.' Hamshard returned the salute of a man barely visible as he stood at the edge of the line. 'No trouble last night, none at all yesterday, everything quiet so far. Let's hope that it will last.'
Last night had come the promised rain; the day had been windless, but now the weather was changing. Dumarest remembered the thin column of smoke, breaking as it reached higher levels. He looked up at the sky, saw cloud and hoped for more rain.
He said, 'Continue down the line, captain. Make sure that every man remains alert. If you need me, I'll be in the command post.'
It was a tent set well back from the line, men busy at communicators as they received reports from the monitoring posts. Portable lamps threw a dull glow, softly crimson, light designed to retain the visual purple. As Dumarest entered, Lieutenant Paran rose from a field desk.
'Movement spotted in the foothills, sector nine, sir.' He rested a finger on a map. 'A small party, by the look of it, approaching the line.'
'Anything else?'
'No, sir, just the one party.'
'Maintain observation,' said Dumarest. 'What is the weather situation to the south?'
'Dry. Wind rising.'
'Send a general alert. All guards in the area to remain fully masked. Villagers to be confined to their homes, masked if possible, separated if not.'
The lieutenant frowned. 'You expect trouble, sir?'
'I am trying to anticipate all possibilities. If anything should happen, we need to be prepared. Contact the monitoring raft and find out how close that party is now.'
They were within a mile of the line, heading directly toward it. Dumarest said, 'Have the raft drop a flare. Use loud-hailers to establish contact. Tell them to use the communicator I gave them to speak to me direct.' Waiting, he paced the floor, studying maps, frowning as he read the report of rising winds. The party had chosen a bad time to make their approach.
'Sir!' The lieutenant turned from his desk. 'I think we have something.'
The face on the screen was that of an elder; Dumarest couldn't remember having seen him before. He was squinting as if trying to send thoughts as well as words over the instrument. A dull glow illuminated the oddly distorted face, giving it the appearance of a brooding idol.
He said, 'We have conferred and would talk with you. There are those among us who are uneasy at what is happening. Are we animals to be caged in the hills?'
'The line is for your own protection,' said Dumarest. 'It will be maintained until we are truly at peace.'
'We have never been other than that. It was your people who attacked our village. When they came again, we defended ourselves. All this was told to you-we thought you understood.'
'I did. I do.'
'Now you have forces facing us, armed men in the skies. One among us has said that you prepare to exterminate us. That you will attack and burn and kill and destroy while we respect the truce. Is this so?'
'No.'
'Then you will dissolve the line. You will take your men from the skies. You will trust us as we trust you. If not, we too will ready our forces. The one who lives among us has told us what we must do.'
Dumarest said harshly, 'Who is this man?'
'A teacher. A friend.'
'Who will destroy you if you listen to him.' Behind him Dumarest heard the lieutenant's soft whisper. 'More movement reported, sir. Two strong parties at sectors three and fifteen.'
Both places consisted of broken ground, easy to defend, hard to attack, even from the air. They could be equipped with launchers, large flame bombs. If used, fire would bathe unarmed men and lofios alike.
To the face on the screen Dumarest said, 'Retreat. Go back and find this man who has advised you. Bring him to the line. You will not be hurt; you have my word for that, but I must see him and talk to him.' He added, 'And warn your people. If anyone should strike against us, the truce will be over. From then on it will be a war of extermination.'
He turned as the screen died and met the lieutenant's eyes, saw the grim expression. 'A traitor,' said the young man. 'Someone who advises them, who has taught them to make arms, gas even. He won't want peace, sir. He wants to ruin us.'
