calmly: "It looks to me as though you are molesting a crazy
outpost. Have you any reason?"
The man drew his blade. "This is my reason. Got it clear
now, shorty?"
Neq saw that the others had been alerted, and were
coming at a run. They were all sworders. But he held his
ground. "Are you challenging me in the circle?"
"Hey, this guy's a troublemaker!" the man cried, amused.
"Cut off his balls—if he has any!" one of the others said,
approaching with weapon drawn.
Neq was assured by this time that these were noncircle
outlaws: clumsy fighters who banded together informally
to prey on whoever was helpless. Such wretches had never
been tolerated within the crazy demesnes before, and the
empire had systematically run them down'~and executed
them. That is, they were forced to meet a capable warrior
in the circle, contesting for life. There was no sense in
having the crazies halt maintenance because of the actions
of outlaws.
But the empire was gone now, and the weeds were
encroaching. He would have no compunction about cutting
down such cowards. Still, he made sure: "Give me your
names."
They ringed him now. "We'll give you a bleeding gut!"
the first man said, and the rest chuckled.
"Then I give you mine. I am Neq the Sword." He drew
his weapon. "The first to move against me defines the
circle."
"Hey—I've heard of him!" one man cried "He's danger-
ous! Got a tribe—"
But already the others, no students of the empire heir-
archy, were closing in, thinking to overwhelm him by
their dishonorable mass attack.
Neq swung into action the moment they moved. He
thrust ferociously at the one directly in front, driving his
point into the man's unguarded chest and yanking it out
again immediately. Then he whirled the bloody blade to
the left, catching the next man at the neck before he could
raise his sword in defense. Such tactics would never have
worked against competent warriors—but these were com-
bat oafs. He swung right, and this man had his guard up,
so that sword clanged on sword.
Neq leaped away, passing between the two bleeding men.
Two remained, for the fifth had fled after recognizing him.
Neq spun to face them as they looked at their fallen
comrades, appalled. Novices frightened of blood!
"Take your wounded and get out of here," he snapped at
them. "If I see you again, I kill you both."
They hesitated, but they were inept cowards and he
knew it. He turned his back on them contemptuously and
went to the outpost building. He knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
'The siege is lifted," he called. "I am Neq the Sword—
Warrior of the circle. You have me in your records."
Still silence. Neq knew that the crazies kept track of all
the nomad leaders, and had duplicate dossiers.
"Stand before the window," a voice called at last.
Neq walked to the shattered window. He saw that the
rough sworders were stumbling away with their comrades.
"There is a Neq-sword listed," another voice said. "Ask
him who his father is."
"Nem the Sword," Neq answered without waiting for
the question. These crazies! "And my sister is Boma; she
took Born the Dagger's band and bore two boys by him."
"We have no record of that here," the second voice said
after a pause. "But it sounds authentic. Did he serve in
the nomad empire of Sol of All Weapons?"
"Born? No. But if you saw my action of a moment ago,
you know / served."
"We have to trust him," the first voice said.
Neq returned to the door. There was the sound of
laboriously shifting furniture. Keys. It opened.
Two old men stood within. They were typical crazies:
cleanshaven, hair shorn, parted and combed, spectacles,
white shirts with sleeves, long trousers with creases, stiff
combat. Both were shaking visibly, obviously unused to
personal duress and afraid of Neq himself.
"How did you hold them off?" Neq asked, genuinely
curious. A nomad in such decrepit condition would begin
excavating his caim.
One crazy picked up a vaguely swordlike instrument.
"This is a power drill, operating off house current. I turned
it on and put it against any part of the body that entered the
building. It was sickening but effective."
"And we do have weapons," the other said. "But we
aren't adept at their use."
Obviously. "How long has this been going on?"
"For two days. We've had similar attacks recently, but
our supply trucks were able to disperse them. This time
the truck did not come."
"Probably ambushed, boarded and wrecked," Neq said.
"I found three gutted hostels too. But those jackals never
had the nerve to attack you before. What's the reason?"
"We don't know. Supplies have been short, and we have
not been able to stock our hostels sufficiently. The nomads
seem to have been making war against us."
"Not the nomads! Those were outlaws!"
They peered at him dubiously. "We don't~x[uestion your
values, but—"
"My values aren't hurting," Neq said. "You have evi-
dence that regular warriors are rampaging against you?"
"It seems so."
"But that's suicidal! We are not completely dependent
on the hostels, but. they do make possible a special way of
life. Their sanctity has always been honored."
"So we thought. But as you have seen—"
Neq sighed. "I have seen. Well, I want you to know that
I do not condone this destruction, and I'm sure most
nomads' agree with me. How may I help you?"
The two exchanged timid glances. "Would you be will-
ing to bear a message to our main depot?"
"Gladly. But the way things are going, you need pro-
tection here. If I go, you won't survive long."
"We can not desert our post," one man said sadly.
"Better that than death," Neq pointed out.
"It is a matter of principle."
He shrugged. "That's why you are called the crazies.
You are crazy."
"If you will carry the message—"
"I'll take the message. But first I think I'd better see to
your defenses. I can round up a few men—"
"No. We have never worked that way."
"Crazies, look," Neq exclaimed, exasperated. "If you
don't work that way now, your post will surely and
shortly be a smoking hole, and you buried under it. You
have to take some note of reality."
"A compelling case," the man admitted. "You have ob-
viously had tactical experience. But if we do not function
according to our philosophy, we have no point in func-
tio'ning at all."
Neq shook his head. "Crazy," he repeated, admiring
their perverse courage. "Give me your message."
The main post was a school. The message was for one
Doctor Jones, an
d he meant to deliver it personally to the
man.
A blonde crazy girl sat at a desk as though guarding
her master from intrusions. "And who is calling?" she
asked, her professional eye analyzing him comprehen-
sively. She was quite clean, and that was mildly annoying
too.
"Neq the Sword."
"N E K or-N E G?"
He merely stared at her.
"Oh, illiterate," she said after a moment. "Dr. Jones
will see you now."
He entered the interior office and handed over the
written message. The aged, balding crazy within broke
the seal immediately and studied the scribbled sheet of
install telephonic cables. So our trucks have not been
getting through?" he obviously knew the answer.
'Those two men are probably dead by now," Neq said.
"Crazies just won't listen to reason. I offered to protect
them, but—"
"Our ways differ from yours. Otherwise we would be
nomads ourselves—as many of us have been, in youth."
"You were a warrior?" Neq asked incredulously. "What
weapon?"
"Sword, like you. But that was forty years ago."
"Why did you give it up?"
"I discovered a superior philosophy."
Oh. "Well, those crazies at the outposts are dying by
their philosophies. You'd better call them in."
"I shall."
At least the crazy master had some sense! "Why is this
happening? Attacks on your posts, hostels—it was never
this way before."
"Never in your memory, perhaps. I could give you an
answer, but not a completely satisfactory one." Dr. Jones
sat behind his desk and made figures with his hands. He
had long spindly wrinkled fingers. "We have been unable
to supply the hostels properly in recent months. Normal
attrition thus reduces some of these to virtual uselessness
for travelers. When that happens, some men react ad-
versely—and lacking the stability of civilization, they
strike out senselessly. They are hungry, they want cloth-
ing and weapons—and none are available. They feel they
have been unfairly denied."
"But why can't you supply them anymore?"
"Because our own supplies have been cut off. We are
chiefly distributors; we do not manufacture the imple-
ments. We do have a number of mechanized farms—but
food is only part of our service."
"You get the weapons and things from somebody else?"
Neq had not realized this.
"Until recently, yes. But we have had no shipments for
several months, and our own resources are practically
exhausted. So we are frankly unable to provide for the
nomads, with the unfortunate results you have noted."
"Didn't they tell you what happened? Your suppliers, I
mean?"
"We have had ho contact Television broadcasts ceased
abruptly, so there seems to have been a severe power
loss. Our suppy trucks have not returned. I fear that now
the very restlessness our lapse promotes is rebounding
against us: a feedback effect. The situation is serious."
"Your whole hostel system will break down?"
"And, I am very much afraid, our schools and hospitals
and farms. Yes. We cannot withstand the concerted at-
tacks of so many armed men. Unless we are able to re-
solve this matter expeditiously, I have grave reservations
about the stability of our society in its present form."
"You're saying we're all in trouble?"
Dr. Jones nodded. "You are succinct."
"What you need is someone to go find out what's wrong
at the other end. Someone who can fight. If your truck
drivers are like the men I met at the outpost—"
Jones nodded again.
"I'll go, if you like."
"You are most generous. But you would not be con-
versant with the details. We would require a written
report—"
"I can't write. But I could guard a literate."
Jones sighed. "I will not claim your offer is unenticing.
But it would be unethical for us to use you in this fash-
ion. And you might have difficulty protecting a 'crazy'."
"You're right. I can't help a man who won't listen."
"So I thank you for your service in bearing this mes-
sage." Jones stood up. "You are welcome to remain with
us for as long as you desire. But I doubt that you are in-
clined toward the quiet life."
"I doubt it's quiet anymore," Neq said. "But it does
differ from my—my philosophy." He put his hand on the
hilt of his sword. "By this I live."
"Doctor."
Both men glanced over to see the blonde girl in the
doorway. "Yes, Miss Smith?" Dr. Jones said in his
question-statement tone.
"I listened over the intercom," she said, looking re-
belliously guilty. "I overheard Mr. Neg's offer—"
"Neq," Neq said, pronouncing it carefully. "Neq the
Sword."
"With a Q, I'm sure," Jones said, smiling. "One of the
most skilled of the nomad swordsmen today."
Neq was startled, for Dr. Jones had given no hint of his
information before. But of course an ex-sworder would
keep track of such things, and Neq was in the crazy
records.
"I could go with him," Miss Smith said, and a flush
came to her rather pretty features. "I haven't entirely
forgotten the wild life—and I could make the report."
Jones looked pained. He had an excellent face for it.
"My dear, this is not the type of enterprise—"
"Doctor, you know our whole structure will collapse if
we don't do somethingi" she cried. "We can't go on much
longer."
Neq stayed out of this debate, watching the girl. She
was young but quite attractive in her animation. Her two
breasts were conical under her light crazy sweater and
her skirted legs were well proportioned. She was worth a
man's contemplation despite her outlandish attire. He
had heard that "Miss" applied to a crazy woman signified
her eligibility for marriage; they used words instead of
bracelets.
Jones faced Neq. "This is somewhat awkward—but she
is technically correct. Our need is imperative, and she
would seem to be equipped to do the job. Of course it is
not incumbent on you to—"
"I can guard a woman as easily as a crazy man," Neq
said. "If she'll do what I say. I can't have her standing on
'principle' when a warrior's charging us."
"I'll do what you say," she said quickly.
"My mind is not easy," Jones said. "But we do require
the information. Even a negative report-^which I very
much fear is to be anticipated—would enable us to make
positive plans to salvage a very limited sphere. If both of
you are amenable—"
Neq considered more carefully. How far would he travel
in a day, fettered to this doll-pretty crazy woman? She
would faint at the sight of blood, surely, and collapse be-
fore they had walked sixty miles. And the ridicule he
would evoke, marching with a crazy companion, any
crazy, but particularly a female crazy—
"It wouldn't work," he said. And felt a certain familiar
frustration, knowing that his shyness with women had as
much to do with it as logic.
"It has to work," she said. "Dr. Jones can do amazing
things, but only if he has exact information. If you're
worried about my keeping up—we'll take a truck. And I
don't have to look this way. I'm aware of your contempt.
I can dress like a nomad. I'll even put on some dirt—"
Jones almost smiled, but Neq shrugged as though it
wasn't that important to him. If they didn't get there, they
didn't get there. The notion of traveling with a handsome
woman, even a crazy, had its subtle but developing appeal.
This was business, after all; his private problem could
not be permitted to interfere. "All right."
"All right?" She looked surprised.
"Put on some dirt and get your truck and we'll go."
She looked dazedly at Jones. "All right?"
Dr. Jones sighed. "This is against my better judgment.
But if both of you are willing—"
CHAPTER THREE
The change in blonde Miss Smith was amazing. She had