CHAPTER IX
The ugly, black building stood out like a shapeless smudge of soot against the milk-white sky, but it was by sheer accident that Terry and Mike discovered it, built as it was at the water's edge where the high blue grass had been neither trampled nor trimmed, and at a distance further from the training areas than they had ever ventured.
"We'd better go back, Terry. We'll get in trouble." Mike's young body glistened with perspiration as he stood on the knoll with his brother, eyes still fastened to the low black structure as he spoke. His equipment belt was heavy and he tugged again at it to change the distribution of its weight. The broadsword swung loosely at his left side, not quite counterbalancing the mace which hung by its thong to his right.
"They said there were a couple of hours before the next class, didn't they? The guy in the sharp uniform said we could amuse ourselves any way we wanted."
"Sure, but this isn't the way the others are doing it. They all went out and started practicing with the swords again. We oughtta."
"You rather do that than go exploring?"
Mike touched the half-healed flesh-wound on his right shoulder. He remembered how the short, dark-haired kid had laughed when it had started to bleed, and then how mad he got when he found he couldn't use the sword well enough to cut him back.
"I'd like to get that guy."
"Don't be a dope. It's only a dream—you didn't really get hurt. Come on, let's see what that place is. Nobody's around...."
"Maybe it is only a dream, but he made me mad. Boy I'll cut his ears off if I—"
"Aw, come on."
They had barely started down the opposite side of the knoll when Jon Tayne's voice hailed them.
"Hey, you two! Where d'you think you're going, anyway?" They waited for him. There was a cross look on his face which Mike immediately resented.
"Over there." He pointed toward the black building. "What's it to you?"
"Nothing to me, but it'll be double duty to you if you don't get back to the recreation area right away."
"There's a lot of time yet. He said we could amuse ourselves, didn't he?"
"That doesn't mean walking around wherever you please. It means just what it says—giving your weapons a work-out. I was called away from a good match just to come and find you two. Come on."
They turned, fell in at either side of him.
"We didn't mean anything wrong," Terry said.
"They'll let it go this time because you're new, and because you are who you are. But you guys had better be more careful. That's restricted back there."
"What's that? Restricted?"
"You should know that!"
"What is it?"
"Your father never told you anything, did he?"
"Sure—course he did. Lots of things. But there's no way he'd know what that place is."
Jon stopped in mid-stride. "No way he'd know? You crazy?"
"Who's crazy?" Terry clenched his fists, stuck his chin out.
"Look here—you want a fight or something?" Jon's hand went to the hilt of his sword. Terry unhooked his mace. Mike had his sword half free of its wide scabbard.
Jon let his arms drop to his sides.
"Come on, wise guy, who's crazy?" Terry glared at him.
"You know what'll happen to you if you do anything to a section leader?"
"We didn't ask to be here," Mike said. "And we didn't ask to be pushed around, either, or told where we could go and couldn't go. Or be called crazy, either. The whole thing is dumb."
"After the games, if you're still alive, I'll report you for that," Jon said.
"Still alive? Who you kidding? You talk like there was going to be a war. Grown-ups do that, kids don't."
"What do you think you're being trained to use your weapons for?"
"That's easy," Terry said. "So we'll know how to use 'em when we're grown ups. It's called UMT or something."
"You guys are cr—ah, don't be funny. The games start in three days, then you'll know if you're in a war or not. And frankly, I hope you both end up back there." He turned, started walking.
Terry and Mike let their hands fall from their weapons, followed after him.
"Nobody's being funny," Mike said. "Suppose we do end up back in that place? So what?"
"Listen the hero," Jon said. "You planning on taking on the whole First Quadrant single-handed or something? They sure don't bring you back to life back there, if that's what you think. They just make you a little deader."
"Deader?"
"Well I'd rather be buried if I get killed than burned into a little pile of ashes and sent home in a jar. And that's what they do. There's not enough land on Venus to bury everybody every year, and they sure aren't going to go to the trouble of hauling a bunch of corpses out into the ocean just to dump 'em. Not when they can burn 'em up, anyway, right here."
"Burn 'em up?" Mike said, feeling funny in his stomach. "Alive?"
"Not often, I guess. Only when there's a mistake and they don't notice it in time. Or if there haven't been enough guys killed to make the year's quota. Then they take unconscious ones. That's what my father told me once, anyway."
"Suppose—suppose you're just hurt bad? Do they—"
"Not if they've made the quota. If you end up hurt they take you to the other land mass—there's a big hospital there. I've never seen it, but my father says it's the biggest single building ever made."
"How long are you kept there?"
"Until you're recovered, of course. The longest case on their records was my cousin's. He got a broken neck when he was hit in the face by a mace, and lost both eyes. They repaired the cut nerves, gave him two new eyes, and fixed his neck in about a month. They can do anything, so you don't have to worry. I got a broken back myself last year—I was out walking in two weeks."
The recreation area was almost in view. Already they were able to hear the clash of metal on metal, as though a great tangled mass of scythes was being shaken by some huge, clumsy hand which could not break them apart.
"Jon...."
The section leader was quickening his pace. "Yes?"
"How in heck do they know about the quota? How do they know if they should pick you up if you're hurt, or just leave you there?"
"The tab ships take care of it. There's a whole fleet of 'em, and they cover each area where there's fighting. They tabulate everything that happens with things called telescanners, and they keep in constant communication with the Quadrate's ship. Any time during the fighting, they know if they're ahead of the quota rate or behind it in their own area. And all the time, the Quadrates are comparing the figures they get from the tab ships with each other so they can keep a running record of the quota rate for all four quadrants. As long as the rate's right, or high, the medical ships keep landing and picking up the wounded, and flying 'em back. When the tabulations show the rate's lagging, the medical ships take it easy until they get the word to get to work again."
"They wouldn't have so much work to do if we could use guns instead of these things," Terry said. "I think guns would be more fun, don't you?"
"That's what your father thinks, isn't it?"
"Gosh, no, he doesn't—"
"My father says that killing at a distance isn't much good, because you never get into close contact. And if you can't see what happens when you actually kill somebody, you can't get conditioned very well. You'd get bored just sitting around with a gun. And even in the short time of a week—"
"Is that how long it lasts?"
"Usually about that. But even then with guns, you'd get used to it. With swords it's different. You don't get used to that in a week. You still feel pretty shaky when it's all over, believe me...."
"Were you scared, Jon?"
"You shouldn't be scared," he said. "All you have to remember is what they keep telling you—the others will kill you if you don't kill them. Always remember that. Then it gets to be sort of a—well, like a game, to see who's strongest, who can use a sword the best...."
"Yeah," Mike said. "Wait'll I get that guy!" His fingers brushed lightly against the half-healed wound again.
Jon laughed. "Sore at somebody already?"
"I'll cut his ears off!"
"You're getting the idea all right! Just be sure you don't go breaking any more rules—you can't kill anybody until the games begin, you know."
"I'll show him!" Mike said. "How long do we have yet to practice? Now, I mean?"
"Half an hour, maybe. I'll see you later. I'll forget about reporting you this time—but don't go for any more walks!" He left them, and they walked into the recreation area with the others.
Mike found the boy who had laughed. And he found that it was as Jon had said. There wasn't any reason to feel afraid. The sword wasn't as heavy in his hands as it had been at first, and it was more thrilling to use than just fists....
The other boy was grinning, and it was easy to get mad enough to want to cut his head off. Both hands on the long haft of his weapon, Mike swung harder, more surely than the first times he handled the sword. He could parry, now—and cut. Like that!
The boy staggered back. The side of his head was bleeding profusely, and the blood spurted through his fingers as he pressed them to the gaping place where his ear had been.
"Rules! Rules!"
Mike lowered his sword. That was right, the rules. He couldn't kill now....
So he tried to laugh. At first he had to force the sound from his throat, but suddenly he found it coming easily, clear, and loud.
The boy left the field toward the medical tents.
And Mike found another with whom to practice. It was what Jon had said, a great game—a great, crashing adventure!
He swung the sword and wondered if the dream would ever have to end.