The Rebel Worlds

by Poul Anderson

  “True,” He thought he heard the rustle of her hair, which she had let grow longer, as she nodded. “I didn’t think ’bout that ’fore, too shocked, but you’re right.” Her fingers tensed on his. “Dominic! You’re not plannin’ to use the prisoner?”

  “Why not? Lightning seems to like the idea. Been done on occasion, heesh said.”

  “In emergencies. But … the conflict, the — the cruelty—”

  “Listen, I’ve given these matters thought,” he told her. “Check my facts and logic. We’ll force the ruka into linkage with the noga and krippo that were Cave Discoverer’s — the strongest, most sophisticated entity we had. He’ll obey at gun point. Besides, he has to drink blood or he’ll starve, right? A single armed man alongside will prevent possible contretemps. However, two units against one ought to prevail by themselves. We’ll make the union permanent, or nearly so, for the duration of our trip. That way, the Thunderstone patterns should go fast and deep into the ruka. I daresay the new personality will be confused and hostile at first; but heesh ought to cooperate with us, however grudgingly.”

  “Well—”

  “We need heesh, Kathryn! I don’t propose slavery. The ruka won’t be absorbed. He’ll give — and get — will learn something to take home to his communion — maybe an actual message of friendship, an offer to establish regular relations — and gifts, when we release him here on our way back to Thunderstone.”

  She was silent, until: “Audacious but decent, yes, that’s you. You’re more a knight than anybody who puts ‘Sir’ in front of his name, Dominic.”

  “Oh, Kathryn!”

  And he found he had embraced her and was kissing her, and she was kissing him, and the night was fireworks and trumpets and carousels and sacredness.

  “I love you, Kathryn, my God, I love you.” She broke free of him and moved back. “No … ” When he groped toward her, she fended him off. “No, please, please, don’t. Please stop. I don’t know what possessed me … ”

  “But I love you,” he cried.

  “Dominic, no, we’ve been too long on this crazy trek. I care for you more’n I knew. But I’m Hugh’s woman.”

  He dropped his arms and stood where he was, letting the spirit bleed out of him. “Kathryn,” he said, “for you I’d join your side.”

  “For my sake?” She came close again, close enough to lay hands on his shoulders. Half sobbing, half laughing: “You can’t dream how glad I am.”

  He stood in the fragrance of her, fists knotted, and replied, “Not for your sake. For you.”

  “What?” she whispered, and let him go. “You called me a knight. Wrong. I won’t play wistful friend-of-the-family rejected suitor. Not my style. I want to be your man myself, in every way that a man is able.” The wind lulled, the river boomed. “All right,” Flandry said to the shadow of her. “Till we reach Port Frederiksen. No longer. He needn’t know. I’ll serve his cause and live on the memory.”

  She sat down and wept. When he tried to comfort her, she thrust him away, not hard but not as a coy gesture either. He moved off a few meters and chainsmoked three cigarets.

  Finally she said, “I understand what you’re thinkin’, Dominic. If Snelund, why not you? But don’t you see the difference? Startin’ with the fact I do like you so much?”

  He said through the tension in his throat, “I see you’re loyal to an arbitrary ideal that originated under conditions that don’t hold good any more.”

  She started to cry afresh, but it sounded dry, as if she had spent her tears.

  “Forgive me,” Flandry said. “I never meant to hurt you. Would’ve cut my larynx out first. We won’t speak about this, unless you want to. If you change your mind, tomorrow or a hundred years from tomorrow, while I’m alive I’ll be waiting.”

  Which is perfectly true, gibed a shard of him, though I am not unaware of its being a well-composed line, and nourish a faint hope that my noble attitude will yet draw her away from that bucketheaded mass murderer Hugh McCormac.

  He drew his blaster and pushed it into her cold unsteady clasp. “If you must stay here,” he said, “keep this. Give it back to me when you come down to camp. Goodnight.”

  He turned and left. There went through him: Very well, if I have no reason to forswear His Majesty Josip III, let me carry on with the plan I’m developing for the discomfiture of his unruly subjects.

  XIII

  The group spent most of the next day and night sleeping. Then Flandry declared it was needful to push harder forward than hitherto. The remaining Didonian(s?) formed several successive entities, as was the custom when important decisions were to be reached, and agreed. For them, these uplands were bleak and poor in forage. Worse lay ahead, especially in view of the hurts and losses they had suffered. Best get fast over the mountains and down to the coastal plain.

  That was a Herculean undertaking. The humans spent most of their time gathering food along the way for the nogas. When exhaustion forced a stop, it likewise forced sleep. Kathryn was athletic, but she remained a woman of thirty, trying to match the pace and toil of men in their teens and twenties. She had small chance to talk, with Flandry or anyone, on trail or off.

  He alone managed that. His company looked mutinous when he announced that he must be exempted from most of the labor in order to establish communication with the new entity. Havelock jollied them out of their mood.

  “Look, you’ve seen the Old Man in action. You may not like him, but he’s no shirker and no fool. Somebody has to get that xeno cooperating. If nothing else, think how we need a guide through this damned arse-over-tip country … Why not Kathryn? Well, she is the wife of the man who got us dumped where we are. It wouldn’t improve our records, that we trusted her with something this critical … Sure, you’d better think about your records, those of you who plan on returning home.”

  Flandry had given him a confidential briefing.

  At the outset, talk between man and Didonian was impossible. The personality fought itself, captive ruka pouring hate and fear of the whole troop into a noga and krippo which detested his communion. And the languages, habits, attitudes, thought patterns, the whole Weltanschauungen were at odds, scarcely comprehensible mutually. Linked under duress, the entity slogged along, sometimes sullen, sometimes dazed, always apt to lash out on a half insane impulse. Twice Flandry had to scramble; the noga’s horn missed him by centimeters.

  He persevered. So did the two animals which had been in Cave Discoverer. And the noga had had experience with alien partners, the two which had annually joined him to make Raft Farer. Flandry tried to imagine what the present situation felt like, and couldn’t. Schizophrenia? A racking conflict of opposed desires, akin to his own as regarded Kathryn McCormac versus the Terran Empire? He doubted it. The being he confronted was too foreign.

  He sought to guide its coalescence, initially by his behavior, later by his words. Once the ruka nervous system was freed from expecting imminent torture or death, meshing was natural. Language followed. Part of the Thunderstone vocabulary had died with Cave Discoverer’s ruka. But some was retained, and more was acquired when, for a time, the krippo was replaced by the other ruka. The savage unit objected violently — it turned out that his culture regarded a two-species three-way as perverted — but got no choice in the matter. The hookup of neurones as well as blood vessels was automatic when tendrils joined. Flandry exerted his linguistic skills to lead the combinations through speech exercises. Given scientific direction, the inborn Didonian adaptability showed quick results.

  By the time the party had struggled across the passes and were on the western slope of the mountains, Flandry could talk to the mind he had called into being.

  The entity did not seem especially fond of heeshself. The designation heesh adopted, more by repeated usage than by deliberate selection, was a grunt which Kathryn said might translate as “Woe.” She had little to do with heesh, as much because the obvious emotional tro
uble distressed her as because of weariness. That suited Flandry. Conversing with Woe, alone except for a sentry who did not understand what they uttered, he could build on the partial amnesia and the stifled anger, to make what he would of the Didonian.

  “You must serve me,” he said and repeated. “We may have fighting to do, and you are needed in place of heesh who is no more. Trust and obey none save me. I alone can release you in the end — with rich reward for both your communions. And I have enemies among my very followers.”

  He would have told as elaborate, even as truthful a story as required. But he soon found it was neither necessary nor desirable. Woe was considerably less intelligent as well as less knowledgeable than Cave Discoverer. To heesh, the humans were supernatural figures. Flandry, who was clearly their chieftain and who furthermore had been midwife and teacher to heesh’s consciousness, was a vortex of mana. Distorted recollections of what he and Kathryn had related to Cave Discoverer reinforced what he now said about conflict among the Powers. The ruka brain, most highly developed of the three, contributed its mental set to the personality of Woe, whose resulting suspicion of heesh’s fellow units in the group was carefully not allayed by Flandry.

  When they had reached the foothills, Woe was his tool. Under the influence of noga and krippo, the Didonian had actually begun looking forward to adventuring in his service.

  How he would use that tool, if at all, he could not predict. It would depend on the situation at journey’s terminus.

  Kathryn took him aside one evening. Steamy heat and jungle abatis enclosed them. But the topography was easier and the ribs of the Didonians were disappearing behind regained flesh. He and she stood in a canebrake, screened from the world, and regarded each other.

  “Why haven’t we talked alone, Dominic?” she asked him. Her gaze was grave, and she had taken both his hands in hers.

  He shrugged. “Too busy.”

  “More’n that. We didn’t dare. Whenever I see you, I think of — You’re the last person after Hugh that I’d want to hurt.”

  “After Hugh.”

  “You’re givin’ him back to me. No god could do anything more splendid.”

  “I take it, then,” he said jaggedly, “that you haven’t reconsidered about us.”

  “No. You make me wish I could wish to. But — Oh, I’m so grieved. I hope so hard you’ll soon find your right woman.”

  “I’ve done that,” he said. She winced. He realized he was crushing her hands, and eased the pressure. “Kathryn, my darling, we’re in the homestretch, but my offer stays the same. Us — from here to Port Frederiksen — and I’ll join the revolution.”

  “That’s not worthy of you,” she said, whitening.

  “I know it isn’t,” he snarled. “Absolute treason. For you, I’d sell my soul. You have it anyway.”

  “How can you say treason?” she exclaimed as if he had struck her.

  “Easy. Treason, treason, treason. You hear? The revolt’s worse than evil, it’s stupid. You—”

  She tore loose and fled. He stood alone till night entirely surrounded him. Nu, Flandry, he thought once, what ever made you suppose the cosmos was designed for your personal convenience?

  Thereafter Kathryn did not precisely avoid him. That would have been impossible under present circumstances. Nor was it her desire. On the contrary, she often smiled at him, with a shyness that seared, and her tone was warm when they had occasion to speak. He answered somewhat in kind. Yet they no longer left the sight of their companions.

  The men were wholly content with that. They swarmed about her at every chance, and this flat lowland gave them plenty of chances. No doubt she sincerely regretted injuring Flandry; but she could not help it that joy rose in her with every westward kilometer and poured from her as laughter and graciousness and eager response. Havelock had no problem in getting her to tell him, in complete innocence, everything she knew about the Aenean base.

  “Damn, I hate to use her like that!” he said, reporting to his commander in privacy.

  “You’re doing it for her long-range good,” Flandry replied.

  “An excuse for a lot of cruelty and treachery in the past.”

  “And in the future. Yeh. However … Tom, we’re merely collecting information. Whether we do anything more turns entirely on how things look when we arrive. I’ve told you before, I won’t attempt valorous impossibilities. We may very well go meekly into internment.”

  “If we don’t, though—”

  “Then we’ll be helping strike down a piece of foredoomed foolishness a little quicker, thereby saving quite a few lives. We can see to it that those lives include Kathryn’s.” Flandry clapped the ensign’s back. “Slack off, son. Figure of speech, that; I’d have had to be more precocious than I was to mean it literally. Nevertheless, slack off, son. Remember the girl who’s waiting for you.”

  Havelock grinned and walked away with his shoulders squared. Flandry stayed behind a while. No particular girl for me, ever, he reflected, unless Hugh McCormac has the kindness to get himself killed. Maybe then—

  Could 1 arrange that somehow — if she’d never know 1 had — could I? A daydream, of course. But supposing the opportunity came my way … could I?

  I honestly can’t say.

  Like the American Pacific coast (on Terra, Mother Terra), the western end of Barca wrinkled in hills which fell abruptly down to the sea. When she glimpsed the sheen of great waters, Kathryn scrambled up the tallest tree she could find. Her shout descended leaf by leaf, as sunshine does: “Byrsa Head! Can’t be anything else! We’re less’n 50 kilometers south of Port Frederiksen!”

  She came down in glory. And Dominic Flandry was unable to say more than: “I’ll proceed from here by myself.”

  “What?”

  “A flit, in one of the spacesuits. First, we’ll make camp in some pleasant identifiable spot. Then I’ll inquire if they can spare us an aircraft. Quicker than walking.”

  “Let me go long,” she requested, ashiver with impatience.

  You can go ’long till the last stars burn out, if you choose. Only you don’t choose. “Sorry, no. Don’t try to radio, either. Listen, but don’t transmit. How can we tell what the situation is? Maybe bad; for instance, barbarians might have taken advantage of our family squabble and be in occupation. I’ll check. If I’m not back in … oh … two of these small inexpensive days” — You always have to clown, don’t you? — “Lieutenant Valencia will assume command and use his own judgment.” I’d prefer Havelock. Valencia’s too sympathetic to the revolt. Still, I have to maintain the senior officer convention if I’m to lie to you, my dearest, if I’m to have any chance of harming your cause, my love until I die.

  His reminder dampened hilarity. The troop settled in by a creek, under screening trees, without fire. Flandry suited up. He didn’t give any special alert to Woe or to his several solid allies among the men. They had arranged a system of signals many marches before.

  “Be careful, Dominic,” Kathryn said. Her concern was a knife in him. “Don’t risk yourself. For all our sakes.”

  “I won’t,” he promised. “I enjoy living.” Oh, yes, I expect to keep on enjoying it, whether or not you will give it any real point. “Cheers.” He activated the impeller. In a second or two, he could no longer see her waving goodbye.

  He flew slowly, helmet open, savoring the wind and salt smells as he followed the coastline north. The ocean of moonless Dido had no real surf, it stretched gray under the gray sky, but in any large body of water there is always motion and mystery; he saw intricate patterns of waves and foam, immense patches of weed and shoals of swimming animals, a rainstorm walking on the horizon. To his right the land lifted from wide beaches, itself a quilt of woods and meadows, crossed by great herds of grazers and flocks of flyers. By and large, he thought, planets do well if man lets them be.

  Despite everything, his pulse accelerated when Port Frederiksen appeared.
Here was his destiny.

  The base occupied a small, readily defensible peninsula. It was sufficiently old to have become a genuine community. The prefab sheds, shelters, and laboratories were weathered, vine-begrown, almost a part of the landscape; and among them stood houses built from native wood and stone, in a breeze-inviting style evolved for this place, and gardens and a park. Kathryn had said the population was normally a thousand but doubtless far less during the present emergency. Flandry saw few people about.

  His attention focused on the spacefield. If it held a mere interplanetary vessel, his optimum bet was to surrender. But no. Hugh McCormac had left this prized outpost a hyperdrive warship. She wasn’t big — a Conqueror-class subdestroyer, her principal armament a blaster cannon, her principal armor speed and maneuverability, her normal complement twenty-five — but she stood rakish on guard, and Flandry’s heart jumped.

  That’s my baby! He passed close. She didn’t appear to have more than the regulation minimum of two on duty, to judge from the surrounding desertion. And why should she? Given her controls, instruments, and computers, a single man could take her anywhere. Port Frederiksen would know of approaching danger in time for her personnel to go aboard. Otherwise they doubtless helped the civilians.

  Emblazoned above her serial number was the name Erwin Rommel. Who the deuce had that been? Some Germanian? No, more likely a Terran, resurrected from the historical files by a data finder programmed to christen several score thousand of Conquerors.

  People emerged from buildings. Flandry had been noticed. He landed in the park. “Hello,” he said. “I’ve had a bit of a shipwreck.”

  During the next hour, he inquired about Port Frederiksen. In return, he was reasonably truthful. He told of a chance encounter with an enemy vessel, a crash landing, a cross-country hike. The main detail he omitted was that he had not been on McCormac’s side.