The Chaos Weapon by Colin Kapp Read Free Book Online Page A

an hour later the gate was opened. An old, white-haired man beckoned him to enter. Behind him, dark-clad watchmen armed with short white sticks scowled uneasily at his entry. Wildheit was not deceived; the way the white sticks were handled suggested they were weapons of a surely lethal kind.
    “I am Pilon,” said the old man testily. “I was brought from my bed at your insistence. I hope you’ve something important to say.”
    “An importance that brought me five kilo-parsecs to say it. Do you have authority here?”
    “I’m one of the Elders. For you that will have to suffice.”
    Wildheit looked at the circle of scowling watchmen. Suspicion and mistrust were written on every face. The Federation was not popular on Mayo, it seemed.
    “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?”
    “Perhaps! But first let me have your hand. I need to read your intent. There are many we dare not allow in the city.”
    Wonderingly, Wildheit extended his left hand, and the old man laid his upon it and closed his eyes as if to concentrate. Meanwhile each watchman kept his weapon raised and pointed as if prepared for an immediate execution should the old man’s doubts be less than satisfied. Finally Pilon spoke.
    “He comes in peace, and has great need. Release him to me. I’ll take the responsibility.”
    The watchmen appeared doubtful. “You take too much on yourself, Pilon. There are others who will have to be informed. They may fetch him. Either way, you will give an account to the Conclave of Elders.”
    “So it is written,” said the old man, and he took hold of Wildheit’s arm. “Come, I’ve chambers close enough. There we can talk.”
    Wildheit allowed himself to be led off the bridge and into the narrow, untidy streets beyond. The roads were sandy, bearing the occasional imprint of an iron-wheeled cart butno evidence of mechanical transport. The buildings were largely massive masonry and rough-hewn timber, and the architecture appeared to depend on individual whim rather than on customary style. Thus the structures were simplistic and given to unexpected changes in form and outline. Under the small, wan lamps, the effect was somewhat feudal, yet giving the impression of great permanence.
    “What did you read from the laying on of your hand?” asked the marshal conversationally as they walked.
    “I learned you are expected, but not welcome,” said Pilon enigmatically. “It’s dangerous for you to be here.”
    “You take great pains to guard your city gates. I find that difficult to understand, since none but the Sensitives occupy Mayo.”
    “There are degrees of sensitivity. The rarer strains need protection from contamination, and the lesser need protection from the rarer. It’s a difficult matter.”
    They entered a large, timbered house, and Pilon reached his hand to take Wildheit’s outer garments. The marshal shook his head.
    “There’s no need. My suit automatically adjusts for temperature and contains many things I might possibly need.”
    “As you wish!” The old man was scanning Wildheit’s face with a searching look. Coul quivered nervously on the marshal’s shoulder. The god was plainly apprehensive about their situation despite its overall calm. Even Wildheit began to experience a strong sense of foreboding.
    The old man began again: “You’re a strange man, Marshal. You carry more death in your pockets than Mayo has seen in all her human history. My eyes won’t tell me, but I sense another being on your shoulder. You represent those with the bloodiest of pasts and an even bloodier future. Yet you are a man with a wisdom and humanity that makes birds singand stars shine. It must be very terrifying and painful to be you.”
    “Let’s get down to business,” said Wildheit.
    They had entered a small, book-lined room furnished only with a few plain chairs and a table. When they were seated, Pilon looked at Wildheit with questioning eyes, but his attention seemed to be divided to rest