"All right. You can come out now. We're not going to hurt you," said Goth, standing at the wall where she'd seen images of the stones.
Nothing happened.
Then there was a slight creak behind them. A click.
The Illtraming was smaller than she was. Most of it was covered in sleek black fur. The face was hairless and there was a small orange crest on the broad head, which had ears like buckets. It had six limbs—two webbed feet and two sets of arms—the first with big stubby modified paddle-fingers and the second set with three slim, delicate digits.
The soft round green eyes were wary.
"Greetings, Witch-People," it said in Imperial Universum. "We were wondering how to initiate contact."
"The way you do everything, I suppose. Nervously," said Goth.
The little Illtraming seemed to twitch all over. Goth couldn't really interpret the gesture. "We have reason to be nervous."
"It's over now."
"We are not certain that it is. There were telepathic transmissions into the Imperial region. We are not capable of telepathy but we have machinery that monitors its use."
Pausert nodded. "There are still some parts of the mother-plant that survive, yes. Back in the Empire. We'd like to take some of the plant-leaves back."
"It is not the plant-leaf. It is a virus in it, a minor pest to the plants on our world. Deadly to the mother-plant. When it has no food—no plant to feed on, it sporifies and goes dormant. The plants here have a resistance. The plants on other worlds do not."
"So are we plague carriers then? Is that why we're being kept here?"
"No. The spores have a fairly short life-span. Given a few weeks, they die. And they are quite fragile. They do not survive any desiccation."
"Oh. So why can't we go? You and that vatchlet conspired, didn't you?"
The little Illtraming looked puzzled. At least, that was how Goth analyzed its expression. "We have been monitoring your subradio and some of us were designated to learn your language. That is not a word I know."
"So why can't we go?"
"We have deduced that you are some of these 'Witches of Karres,' about which there is occasional chatter."
"So do you think that means that we're infested with the mother-plant?"
"Oh, no. You have hair. Major infestation causes most of that to fall out within a short period."
"They want us to do some dirty work for them," said the Leewit. "That's how you operate, isn't it?"
The Illtraming looked at them with those soft eyes. "Yes. After the initial devastation, it was decided to leave the Megair Cannibals in place, especially as our robot ships could not defend us. It was decided that the inconvenience of having them on the surface was compensated for by the fact that they are a terrifying force. Only you have defeated them. Twice. We watch, and they are unaware of being watched. We saw your work back at that base they took from us. We have some idea of your abilities. And we have the robot ships back. There has been considerable agitation to have the creatures removed. Our robot ships have established where the rift in space-time is that they came from. We want to send them back."
"They might be as welcome there as they are here."
It's normal back there. We're watching the dream back there too.
The little Illtraming was plainly completely unaware of the vatch. That was nice to know. "Nonetheless, it has been decided that we need them off our world."
"And you want us to do it?" asked the captain.
"Yes. We will provide you with a set of coordinates for the dimensional rift," said the Illtraming.
"And just how are we supposed to do this?" asked the captain. "I mean get them to go there?"
The Illtraming looked at them with an air of faint surprise. "They are under the leadership of the greatest eater. Challenge him to single combat and win, and they will be under your direction."
The witches looked at each other and started laughing, almost simultaneously.
Pausert wasn't laughing, though. "That's the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of," he said. "To you we may look tough, but there is no way that I'm going to let that happen. I'd have a go but I have no chance of winning."
"I think they mean us to cheat," said Goth.
She turned to the Illtraming. "We need to confer."
The little creature backed off and sat down in the water, splashing itself.
Goth clicked the Daal's spyshield on. Then she said: "We're all pretty angry with you, Little-bit."
Why, big dream thing? They're getting very worried behind the wall, by the way. They can't hear you.
"Because you've been using us to play your game. And it's not a game."
But you've used me. And anyway, I thought you said it would be good to get rid of the eater-dream things.
There was some justice in what she said, Goth had to admit. They had used vatches. Vatches had used them too, particularly the captain, before he had turned the tables on them. Now . . .
"I will fight," said Ta'zara.
"No need . . ."
"I have a need," said Ta'zara. "I would like to get rid of the Cannibals. They killed my people. It would be good if I could free the galaxy of them." The big man flexed his muscles. "It would be worth dying for."
"It hasn't come to that," said the Leewit firmly.
There was a faraway look in the man's eyes. "No price would be too high."
"We need to extract a price from the Illtraming, though," said Goth.
"Like what?" asked the Leewit.
Pausert frowned. "Like pulling back their ships and keeping them here in the Megair cluster. They're not really conqueror material, I don't think. But we need to bargain a bit."
"They'll be longing to get back to the rain and misery most of the time," agreed Goth. "And we'll need a culture of that virus. I don't think we want it loose, but we want to have it. There are people on Karres who are really good with that sort of thing. It's like the Karres green thumb. I can't think of anything else we want."
"I have the Karres black thumb," said the Leewit cheerfully.
"Let's talk details with them, before they get too suspicious and before my feet freeze right off," said Goth, snapping the spyshield off.
The little Illtraming stood looking curiously at them. "My associates wish to know how you did that?"
"It is just one of the things Karres does," said Pausert loftily. "How can we get there?"
"We have transportation and direct access to their amphitheater. And they are in leadership challenges at the moment."
"Well, we need you to provide us with a safe, sealed culture of the virus."
"We would be glad to do that."
"And we want you to pull all your ships back from the Chaladoor, and stop making more."
There was a silence. Eventually the little Illtraming spoke. "At the moment we have pulled all our ships back here. We patrol the Chaladoor because out of the rifts in spacetime came Manaret and the things you call the Megair Cannibals."
"Doesn't seem to me that you did too well on either of those," said Pausert.
"True. But we have dealt with lesser problems. It is not a safe zone of space. So we drove all other ships out of it."
"Yeah, well, most people considered that you were part of the reason it was unsafe. Now do you agree or not?" said the Leewit. And added a word in a foreign tongue that made the little Illtraming open and close his mouth like a fish.
"We agree," said the Illtraming.
"We have ways of holding you to your word," said Pausert.
"We will honor our bargain," said the little creature. "Follow me." A door slid open in the featureless wall behind him. There was a wet passage there, lit by greenish lights. A sleek craft waited for them. Sleek, and somehow reminiscent of the Phantom ships.
"We will take you to the Cannibal arena. I assume that you will then employ the device you use to make yourselves look like the gray ones.
Goth hadn't thought that far ahead.
Ta'zara had. "I fight as myself."
"You let me do the talking," said the Leewit crossly.
"Of course. I cannot speak their language," said Ta'zara. Goth had a feeling he was deliberately misunderstanding her, but she wasn't about to point this out to the Leewit.
"But will they allow Ta'zara to fight?" asked Goth.
"We'll just have to see that they do," said Pausert. "Have you worked out what the alternative is for them? Starvation and eating each other. This place doesn't have something they need. I don't like them either, but this really will be the best solution for them."
The arena was bloody. Gwarrr the great eater stood as the body was hauled away for butchering. Yes. Many things had gone wrong. Inevitably he and his had been challenged. But no matter how many strange things had happened, he was still the greatest. The eater of foes. He was Gwarrr.
The noise in the arena was suddenly still.
All eyes looked at something, something behind him. He whipped around to face it.
It was one of the tattooed men. They were something of a legend among the eaters. They'd been the greatest of the other races to face them since the evil time when the eaters had come to this place.
"I am Ta'zara. I have come to challenge."
The tattooed man spoke the language of the eaters as if he was born to it. And at a suitable volume to make himself heard in the furthest seats, to the no-bone men in the back row.
"You are one of the lesser people. You cannot challenge," Gwarrr said dismissively. He made a gesture. "Kill him."
Several of the arena guards took the wonderful opportunity and flung themselves onto the kill. Ta'zara just stood there. The Cannibals bounced off a solidness, without quite touching him. It was as if an invisible wall kept them off.
One of the guards produced a jangler. It did not have any effect. In fact, it did not seem to have made actual contact. Another drew a blaster looted from some unfortunate spacer. It, too, had no effect at all.
"I am Ta'zara. Are you too afraid of my challenge, Gwarrr?"
Gwarrr was not sure where it started . . . but the other Cannibals began to call for it.
"Gwarrr, fight!" the chant began. Louder and louder. Tumultuous.
And the leader of the eaters knew he had little choice.
"I will fight."
He was Gwarrr. He had killed several hundred. He would eat this one's finger too.
The captain took away the cocoon shield as the huge Megair Cannibal stormed in. Pausert was a lot less confident than the Leewit was about her champion. He was ready to use the shield again at any moment. And Goth, he would bet, was ready to intervene too. He wondered just what she would teleport into the fight that would do much good, though. Even as quickly as her klatha powers had grown lately, she was still sharply limited when it came to mass. And while a small rock could do wonders inserted into delicate machinery, he was pretty sure a Megair Cannibal would barely notice it.
But the Leewit was right this time. Ta'zara used his opponent's strength against him, catching and accelerating his lashing long-nailed foot and sending it skywards. Gwarrr landed hard. Ta'zara let him get up. This time the Cannibal was more cautious. He attempted to close with the tattooed man . . . who grabbed his arms, and fell backwards . . . somehow planting both feet in Gwarrr's stomach, and tossing him into the air, to bounce across the arena. And that was just Ta'zara getting warmed up. He proceeded to use Gwarrr as a bouncing ball and throw-toy. The captain didn't want to watch after a while. The Cannibal audience did. Gwarrr was their great eater. But he had finally bitten off more than he could chew, and Ta'zara was making sure that the audience knew it.
It was a fight that could only have one end.
Pausert was glad that Ta'zara had colluded with Goth to do a light-shift of him biting off that finger.
Ta'zara walked over to the champion's chair as they dragged Gwarrr away.
"Eat," he said, as the Illtraming had explained was the tradition. "Tomorrow we return to our own place. We leave this accursed place forever. Every ship and every eater." The Leewit was proud of that speech.
There was silence.
"But . . . the enemy ships," said someone querulously.
"Do you challenge my leadership?" said the Leewit, through the finger-bone shaped speaker. The Illtraming, she had to admit, were good artificers. "I have come to lead you home."
There was another silence. Then they started cheering.
A little later they sat, spyshielded, still in no-shape, in the great-eater's chamber with Ta'zara.
"I am afraid I have to do it, mistress," he said apologetically to the Leewit. "Raider-ships are led by lesser eaters. But the whole fleet? It can only be me, unless you can somehow put an illusion of me in the command chair."
"I could if I was also on the ship," said Goth.
The big Na'kalauf bodyguard shook his head. "No. That would not be safe. I have my responsibility and this is it. They must fly into the rift. I will go. You will just have to teach me some words of their language."
Goth narrowed her eyes. "We have the coordinates for this rift. Let me get onto the subradio."
"I'm not going to let you go, Ta'zara," said the Leewit.
"Leewit. Come with me," said Goth imperiously. "Captain. Put Ta'zara in a shield cocoon. We're not having anything happen to him."
Ta'zara might have wanted to protest, but he never got the chance.
"So what do we do?" said Pausert. How easy it had become to share decisions with Goth, these days, he suddenly realized. How had he managed before this?
Goth grinned. "Exactly what he wants to do. But Karres can be close enough to help out. Cloaked, of course, but right there. We have the coordinates. We can transmit from close enough for the Leewit to do the voice and for you to shield him if need be. And then for my father to 'port him out of there. Touch-talk to the Leewit, he'll get the exact image of Ta'zara."
"But . . ." said the Leewit.
"But nothing," said Goth firmly. "He's decided he wants to be a hero. Let him. You can explain how come he isn't living with the Cannibals forever, later. It's that or send both Ta'zara and you swimming along the Egger Route. And them as well. This way he gets to feel good about it and we save a lot of energy."
Fun, said the little vatch.
And thus it was.
The eaters still in a galaxy dimensions away refer to the commands of the tattooed one who led them out of hell and back to the place of their fathers. So of course they ate their fathers and tattooed themselves.
But that too was a kind of rightness and happiness.
And the little vatch was quite correct in predicting that the explanation was fun.