Onta nodded and smiled. His voice was sinister. «You have a powder cyclinder. Defend yourself. Keep your mask on. I will impose my will on the Morphi, but you must handle the Gnomen and Jantor and Blade. Ready? Close to the polyphone, then.»
Onta took over her mind and voice. She spoke and it was his voice, not hers that went over the polyphone and into the power surge and into every Morphi brain. Brains conditioned to obey. Onta's voice, through Sybelline, was transcoded into thought and all Morphi in the endless city received it simultaneously.
Cease fighting. Keep to your homes. The police and militia will disband. You have nothing to fear from the Gnomen. Act on these orders at once. There will be instant and terrible punishment for all who disobey.
Sybelline ran to the window. Blade had taken the powder cannon and was fumbling with the mechanism. Heaps of mutilated Morphi lay about the gun. Blade was training the cannon on a battalion of Morphi police about to charge in an effort to retake the gun. They had no masks and would be slaughtered.
She screamed from the high window. «No, Blade, no! It is over. Come to me, quickly. Do you hear me, man Blade, do you hear?»
Blade heard. In the sudden silence he could not help but hear. He glanced up at her and then, puzzled, at the Morphi who were vanishing from the square. They were quitting.
He waved to Sybelline. She waved back and called, «To me quickly. Before Jantor-«
Nearby a clot of Gnomen were tearing the power studs out of wounded Morphi. Blade bellowed at them. «Leave off that. No more killing. There is a truce.»
One of Jantor's subchiefs raised his mask and growled at Blade. «I heard nothing of any truce.»
Blade grinned at the man. «Nor I. But follow my orders nonetheless. No more killing. So be it.»
Blade ran for the great foyer of the Government Building.
Sybelline was seated at the head of the long council table when Jantor burst into the chamber. There was no mistaking his hairy bulk, even in the mask, though she did not recognize any of the other Gnomen crowding in behind him. Sybelline wore her mask and kept the powder cylinder at the ready. Not that it was very helpful to her. The laughing death powder was ineffective against masks and the Gnomen all carried spear bars. All but one, a slight figure she could not identify.
Jantor stopped and raised his bar. His escort waited behind him. Sybelline raised her hand in greeting, then pushed the powder cylinder away from her to show good will.
Before she spoke, Sybelline glanced at the screen. It was dark, empty, as gray and dreary as a cataract. She was on her own. Where in the name of all fylfots was Blade? She was, for one of the few times in her life, filled with terror.
Jantor was in no hurry. He held up a hand for silence and leaned on his bar. Sybelline repressed a shudder of revulsion. He was the toad king. He thought he had won.
As Jantor opened his mouth, she cut him off. «The fight is over, Jantor. You have won-we have won. The Morphi are not fighting. I arranged this. I have been in touch with the Selenes and they have ordered the Morphi to cease fighting. They also agree that we should rule together in the city as we did in the sewers. We are to be the equals of the Morphi from this time on.»
Jantor smiled and rubbed a bloody hand over his bald head. «As I recall, Sybelline, that was not such a good arrangement. Why should I share anything with you, or with the Morphi, now that I have won?»
She gazed at the screen in desperation. Why did not Onta reappear to help her? But she knew the answer without seeking far. Onta had his own plans, his own games to play.
Sybelline continued to bluff, forced herself to appear calm. «You could have done nothing without the man Blade. He is coming now. You had best not do anything without his knowledge and consent.»
Jantor took a step toward her and raised his bar. «I know how much I owe to Blade and I disclaim it. Now that the Morphi have stopped fighting, I can kill Blade as easily as I am going to kill you. I am not going to share anything with you, Sybelline, even life.»
Jantor raised the spear bar, the pointed end toward her, and flexed his great muscles to hurl it. Blade, flinging Gnomen aside like dolls, wrenched the bar from Jantor's grasp. «You are a fool and so am I, but I am not so easy to kill. I say-enough. We are going to talk, not kill, and there will be agreement among us and also with the Morphi-even with the Selenes. I give you my word-«
They were all watching Blade, listening. None saw the slender figure steal behind Sybelline and thrust with the short-bladed knife. Sybelline screamed. Blood gushed from her mouth.
Norn hacked at the woman three more times, viciously, carving out gouts of flesh near the desiccated power stud that had never functioned, before Blade got to her and pulled her away, struggling and screaming invective.
She clawed at Blade. «I love you, man Blade, but you are a fool. She must die-die!»
Jantor smiled and, relaxing on his retrieved spear bar, said, «For a female, she has good sense.»
Sybelline toppled from the chair. Blade flung Norn from him and knelt beside her. She was dying. She spoke through blood and he thought she laughed. «All for nothing, Blade. I would have had a child by you. You sired so many-and none for me.»
A voice came into the chamber like low thunder. «She is dead, as you will all be in one hundred counts if you do not listen and obey. You, called Blade, look into the screen.»
Blade gently released the body and stared at the TV-like machine on the table. An image formed. A thick-necked man with a graying beard and a huge head. His voice was like restrained thunder.
The Gnomen — even Jantor-were on their knees, groveling. Blade sneered at them and at the image on the screen. «Who are you and what do you want of me?»
The image smiled. «I want you, Blade. But that later. Press the last button on the right.»
Blade saw the row of buttons on the table and did so. The dome of the chamber rolled back and they all stared at the huge malignant hanging Moon. Something was falling toward the city.
With his unaided eye Blade could make it out distinctly. It was a bomb, the largest bomb he had ever seen. Falling, spinning counter-clockwise, controlled by vanes, growing larger and larger with the passing of each count.
«I am Onta,» said the image on the screen. «I speak only to you, Blade. A thirty count has passed. I can stop the bomb any time before a hundred. Speak. I can hear you.»
Blade felt himself losing his cool. He was frightened. «What do you want of me?»
«Only you,» said Onta. «We Selenes want to talk to you, examine you. You will not be harmed. We ask only that you submit to various tests.»
«If I agree you will stop the bomb?»
«I will. There is a fifty count now. This is not a honey bomb. That was a mistake. This is an acid fire bomb. It will destroy everything and everyone, now and forever into infinity and eternity.»
«Stop it!» yelled Blade. «I will do just as you wish.»
Jantor was groveling at Blade's feet, his hairy arms about Blade's knees, slobbering something in such terror that Blade could not make out the words. He kicked the Gnomen king away from him and yelled at the image. «I said I agree. I promise. Stop the bomb!»
«A forty count,» said Onta relentlessly. He was deliberately prolonging the anguish. «I hope it is a good bargain, Blade. I hope you are worth it. We Selenes are weary of the Morphi and the Gnomen and I, for one, would just as well let the bomb fall. But I have superiors who think otherwise. A twenty-five count now, I think.»