The Dark Symphony

lolling. The boys had made him a mindless hulk, and they had placed a bitch hound in the circle with him, had encouraged him to rollick with her…

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Populars lay everywhere, battered and dismembered by the sonic knives. They gave mute testimony to the fact that for every one that was dead here, another three had been nulled by the sound rifles.
    As they went down to the battle, Guil wondered how the toolmaster-tool relationship could continue from the dawn of society to the sunset of Earth. Didn't others realize that the system devoured and never produced? Did people not see what was so crammed beneath their noses? No, certainly he wasn't the first to see the scheme of it. Rosie had helped him along with his understanding, and therefore Rosie had seen it first Most likely, everyone saw it. But the system would go on because of two things. First, many of those who saw the scheme and recognized it for the deadly, sapping, spiritless thing it was would not think to change it, but to become a part of it, to try for the toolmaster position in life where some peace could be attained. Thus, the constant struggle between individuals for various kinds of power would never cease. And that explained the wars of the past, why one civilization had fallen to another that became just like it. It wasn't that the tools had been disgusted with things and had essayed to change them. Simply, another toolmaster had been trying to gain power and more tools—and to do that meant war with other toolmasters. Secondly, there were those who did not want to become a part of the system, did not want to use or be used. But the system was always bigger, and their realization always came too late. When they understood, they were trapped. Often, they became the easiest tools of all for the masters to use, for they discovered that absolute submission to the masters (the presidents and longs and ministers and generals, the senators, councilmen, lobbyists and priests) brought them peace from harassment and punishment, brought them at least a few moments to live as they pleased.
    Of course, there had been those who had taken a way out similar to that which he and Tisha had chosen.
    Strong set the sled down in the center of a great plaza, moved among the Populars, commanding and receiving attention. The counter-attack was proceeding this way, h-_- told them, and things looked bleak. He was quick to clarify that this did not mean they should quit—only that they should fight all the harder. He delivered a brief prayer which some of them listened to, but which many ignored. When that was done, he sent a detail to draw together their scattered forces, ordering them to return to the plaza as two separate units. He ordered the man-huts out of the battle completely and explained what had to be done against the shields.
    The front row of their defense was strung shoulder-to-shoulder across the courtyard. A second row of mutants stood directly behind them, a third row after that The third string had the few sound rifles that had been captured. Guil saw that the first two rows were nothing more than a fleshy barrier to stop sound beams, to hold the Musicians up a minute or two until the sound rifles in the third row could engage and disrupt the enemy shields.
    Nothing more than sacrifices.
    Not even that.
    Cannon fodder.
    Surely they knew it! Still, they stood calmly as the gunners in the third line laid barrels between their heads, stretched across their shoulders. Guil and Tisha had sound rifles, but surrendered them to Populars more anxious to use them. It was a useless gesture, Guil thought. If they were not condemned to damnation now, they never would be.
    The Musicians appeared and began fighting their way across the plaza against the camouflaging front of disordered Populars that had concealed the three rows. Now these disorganized troops, having suffered heavy losses, fell behind the prepared defense. The Musicians, realizing that the battle had slackened to give clear way to the three lines, raised their rifles and began picking off Populars in the first row, puffing them to nothing, swinging the barrels, puffing, swinging, puffing…
    But they had not even begun on the second row when the Populars opened fire on the dazzling yellow shields and split the night with their banshee screams.
    Amber flickered and blazed.
    Darkness receded beneath the hands of a false day.
    The air crackled, snapped, hissed.
    Guil stood behind a cyclops who