“Isn’t that a son of a bitch?” A chuckle forced its way out, and then he dissolved in gales of laughter. “I died on the goddam commercial leg.” I started to laugh too. The Mindinmist was warm in my stomach, and I refilled our glasses.
“Ridiculous,” he said.
“Safest form of travel per passenger-kilometer,” I observed.
“Well, I’m damned if I’ll make that mistake again.” But the laughter died into a long silence. “Still, I’d have liked to see it.”
I expected him to say more. When he didn’t, I prompted him. “See what? What were you looking for?”
He waved the question away. “To be honest with you, I don’t feel very comfortable doing this. I mean, it seems only decent that people shouldn’t hang around after they’ve—” he shook one hand idly, looking for the expression he wanted, “—gone to a happier world.” He sounded uncertain. Lost. “But I had to guard against this possibility.” His eyes fastened on mine and grew very round. “Do you remember Hugh Scott?”
I considered it. “No,” I said at last.
“No reason why you should, I suppose. How about Terra Nuela? Do you remember that?”
Sure. Terra Nuela was the first habitation built outside the solar system. It was constructed on a hot, rocky world circling Beta Centauri, and it was, of course, little more now than a hole in the desert. It was the first excavation Gabe had taken me to. “Yes,” I said. “Hottest place I’ve ever seen.”
“Scott was along on that trip. I thought you might have remembered him. He used to take you for walks after sundown.”
“Okay,” I said, calling up a vague recollection of a big, bearded, dark-skinned man. Of course, I was at an age when everyone was big.
“If you had known Scott a few years ago, known him as I did, you wouldn’t recognize him now.”
“Health?” I asked. “Marital problems?”
“No. Nothing like that. He came back from a mission with Survey about three years ago. He came back somber, preoccupied, disoriented. Not at all like his old self. In fact, I suspect a psychiatrist would conclude that he’s undergone a fundamental personality change. You would not have found him a desirable companion.”
“And?”
“He was on board the Tenandrome, one of the big new survey ships. They saw something very strange in the Veiled Lady.”
“What?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, Alex. Wouldn’t admit to anything.”
“Then you’re guessing—?”
“I know what they saw. Or at least I think I do. I was on my way out there when—” He stopped, unable to continue, and waved one hand at the ceiling.
“What do you think they saw?”
“I’m not sure how much I can tell you,” he said. “There’s always a security problem about these transmissions. And you won’t want this to get around.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Take my word for it.” He was back in his chair again, kneading his forehead in the way that he did when he was trying to count something out. “You’ll have to come home. I’m sorry about that, but it can’t be helped. Jacob has everything you’ll need. It’s in the ‘Leisha Tanner’ file. The lawyers will provide the access code.” He looked suddenly very tired. But he stayed on his feet. “Missing this one is a son of a bitch, Alex. I envy you.”
“Gabe, I have a business here. I can’t just pick up and leave.”
“I understand. It would have been easier for me, I suppose, to go elsewhere for help. I have several colleagues who would trade their souls for this. But I wanted to compensate us for lost years. My gift and your reward, Alex. Do as I ask: you’ll never regret it. At least, I don’t think you will.”
“You can’t tell me anything now?”
“No more than I have. It’s all waiting for you at home.”
“Who’s Leisha Tanner?”
He disregarded the question. “You’ll want to keep this to yourself. At least until you know what it’s about. Alex, I should also tell you that time is of the essence. The offer will go elsewhere unless you present yourself at the offices of Brimbury and Conn within thirty standard days. I’m sorry about that, but I can’t risk having this get away from us.”
“Gabe, you are still a son of a bitch.” I said it lightly and he smiled.
“I’ll tell you this much.” He looked smug. “I’ve got the truth about Talino.”
“Who the hell is Talino?”
He pursed his lips. “Ludik Talino.”
“Oh,” I said. “The traitor.”
He nodded. “Yes.” He spoke the word dreamily. “Christopher Sim’s navigator. Perhaps one of the most unfortunate men who ever lived. ”
“Infamous would be a better word.”
“Yes. Good. He still arouses passions after two centuries.” He was moving swiftly around the room now, a fountain of energy. “Did you know that he always claimed to be innocent?”
I shrugged. “All that’s dead a long time, Gabe. I can understand your interest, but I can’t imagine why there’d be a security risk with anything concerning Ludik Talino. Would you want to explain a bit further?”
“I’d rather not pursue the issue, Alex. You have no idea how much is at stake. Come as quickly as you can.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.” I was finding it increasingly hard to speak. I really didn’t give a damn about the collection of clay pots or whatever it was he thought he had hold of this time. In a sense, these were our last moments together, and that was all I could think about. “I’ll inform the lawyers I’m on my way. But I have a few things to clear up here. Will they hold me to the thirty days? I mean, whatever you’ve got has kept for two centuries. Surely a few more months won’t make any difference.”
“No.” He leaned toward me, bracing his chin on one fist. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps not. I don’t suppose a little delay would matter much now. But you’ll have to ask Brimbury and Conn. I left them some discretion to act. I suppose it will come down to whether they feel you’re reliable.” He winked. “After you’ve read the file, you may conclude that I have proceeded improperly. I have no sure way of judging your reaction. I must admit that I’m of several minds about my own conduct in this matter. But I leave everything to you, with confidence. I’m sorry I won’t be with you at the end.”
“You’ll be there,” I said.
He laughed. “Sentimental nonsense, Alex. I’m gone already, past caring about any of this, really. But if you want to do something for me: when everything’s over, send an appropriate souvenir to the Center for Accadian Studies.” He beamed with pleasure at the prospect. “Those bastards have always called me an amateur. ”
He held his hands out, palms wide. “I guess that’s all, Alex. I love you. And I’m glad you were along for the ride.”
We embraced. “Thanks, Gabe.”
“It’s okay. I want this one in the family. One way or another.” I was standing, but he still looked down into my eyes. “Handle this right, and they’ll be naming universities for us.”
“I never knew you cared about stuff like that.”
His lips curled in amusement. “I’m dead now, Alex. I have to take the long view.”
II.
talinian (tal iń ē ən), adj. 1. pertaining to withdrawal under pressure. 2. contemptibly timid. 3. characteristic of, or suggesting, a coward. (See cowardly.)
—SYN. craven, fainthearted, pusillanimous, fearful, unreliable, weak-kneed.
Ludik Talino: what a wealth of contempt and pity that name generated over two centuries. It had always lacked the power of a Judas or an Arnold, who had wantonly betrayed their trusts, who had actively engaged to ruin the men to whom they owed their loyalty. Talino was never a traitor in that sense. The universal view was that his courage rather than his moral sense had faltered. No one ever believed he would have sold his captain over to his enemies. But the act of which he stood accused, and for which his name became a synonym, was in its way even more despicable: at the critical mom
ent he had fled.
I entered Talino into the library, and spent the evening reading accounts of the old story.
Contemporary records were fragmentary. None of the original Dellacondan ships were known to have survived the Resistance, whole data networks were wiped out, and few witnesses from the early years were still alive at the end.
Little is known about the man himself. He might have been a Dellacondan, but there’s evidence he was born in the City on the Crag, and at least one major historian claims he grew up on Rimway. What is known is that he was already a certified technician on one of Dellaconda’s dozen frigates at the outbreak of the war. He served almost two years as a weapons specialist and navigator on the Proctor before assuming the latter post on board Sim’s celebrated Corsarius.
Apparently, he fought with distinction. There’s a tradition that he was commended by Sim personally after Grand Salinas, though the records have been lost and confirmation has never been possible. In any case, he remained on that fabled vessel through the great days of the Resistance, when the Corsarius spearheaded the allied band of sixty-odd frigates and destroyers holding off the massive fleets of the Ashiyyur. Eventually, of course, Rimway and Toxicon and the other inner systems recognized the common danger, buried their old quarrels, and joined the war. But by then, Christopher Sim and the Corsarius were gone.
After Grand Salinas, when the Dellacondans and their allies were reduced to a desperate few and had given up hope, Sim withdrew the remnants of his fleet to Abonai for refitting and rearming. But the Ashiyyur, seizing the opportunity to destroy their old enemy, pressed him hard; and the Dellacondans prepared for an engagement that they were certain would be their last.
And then, on the eve of battle, something happened which provoked historical debate for two centuries.
Most accounts maintained that Talino and the other six crewmen of the Corsarius, discouraged, and seeing no escape, tried to persuade their captain to give up the suicidal struggle and to make terms with their relentless enemy; that, when he refused to do so, they abandoned him. They are said to have left a message damning him and the war, and fled to the surface of Abonai.
Others have it that Sim, himself convinced of the futility of further resistance, called his crew together and released them from their obligations. I’ve always felt less comfortable with this version than the others. I suppose it’s easy to sit in a warm room and condemn actions taken under extreme duress; but somehow the notion that Talino and his comrades would have taken advantage of his generosity, and left their captain at such a moment, seemed even more contemptible than the honest cowardice of slinking off into the dark.
However it may have occurred, this was the event that triggered a legend: Sim’s descent to Abonai; the trek through the bars and dives of that dismal place; the appeal for help to deserters, derelicts, and convicts who had escaped, or been driven, to that frontier world; and ultimately, of course, his immortal sally with them against an overwhelming enemy.
It was a time fashioned for greatness. Every child in the Confederacy knew the story of the seven nameless men and women from that grim world who agreed to join him, and who thereby rode into history. And of how they died with Sim a few hours later, during the final encounter with the Ashiyyur, wedding themselves irrevocably to his legend. Most researchers agreed that they must have had naval backgrounds, but some maintained that a few technicians would have done as well. However that might have been, they were a popular subject for doctoral theses, novels, the fine arts, and serious drama.
There was little of a factual nature concerning Talino. Birth and death. Engineering degree, Schenk University, Toxicon. Abandoned his captain. No charges filed, because the navy in which he served ceased to exist shortly after the offense.
I called up Barcroft’s impressionistic tragedy, Talinos. (He adds the final s to lend the name an aristocratic aura, and for dramatic effect.) I’d intended to scroll through, but I got hooked in the first act. That surprised me, because I’m not usually strong on classical theater.
Talino was played as a driven, melancholy figure by a rangy, bearded simulat of considerable physical presence. He is consumed with rage against the Ashiyyur, and against the powerful worlds that blindly stand by while the small force of allies are gradually reduced to impotence. His loyalty to Christopher Sim; and his passion for Inaissa, the young bride whose marriage has never known peace, fuel the action. The drama is set on the eve of the climactic engagement off Rigel.
Sim has given up hope of personal survival, but intends to save his crew. He will take Corsarius out alone, deliver what blows he can, and accept a death that may rally the human worlds. “If not,” he tells Talino, “if still they do not come, then it will be up to you to salvage what you can. Disengage. Retreat to the Veiled Lady. In time, Earth and Rimway will be forced to fight. Then, perhaps, you can return and teach the damned fools how to beat the mutes . . .”
The gray, shadowy sets breathe gloom and despair. There is much of the medieval fortress about the orbiting station at Abonai: its ponderous weapons, the long curving walkways, the occasional guard, the hushed tones in which passersby converse, the heavy air. Over all, one senses transience and tragedy. The course of events has passed beyond the control of any human agency.
But Talino refuses his captain’s orders. “Send someone else to rally the survivors,” he argues. “My place is with you.”
Sim, in a moment of weakness, is grateful. He hesitates. Talino presses the point: “Do not humiliate me in this way.” And Sim reluctantly accedes. They will make the final assault together.
But Talino must break the news to Inaissa. She has been hoping for a general retreat, and she is outspoken about Sim’s determination to kill himself, “and take you along.” She does not ask her husband to break faith, knowing that, to do so, and succeed, would destroy any future for them.
Consequently, she goes to Sim, arguing that his death would so demoralize the Dellacondans that the cause would be lost. When that effort fails, she asks to man one of the weapon’s consoles, to be with her husband at the end.
Sim is so moved by her appeal that he orders Talino off the ship. When the navigator objects, he is confined to the orbiting station, from which he is able to watch the technicians completing repairs on Corsarius, preparing her for battle. And he observes also the arrival of the crew, summoned at this unusual hour by their commander. He tries to link into the shipboard systems to follow the conversations there, but someone has cut the external feed. And a few minutes after boarding, they leave, heads lowered, faces hard.
Moments later, they come to release him. Sim has freed the crew from their obligations. Talino tries to persuade them to return to their ship, but they know what the next day will bring. “If by staying,” says one, “we could save him, then we would stay. But there is no sense to it: he is determined to die.”
Free now, Talino goes to Inaissa, intending to take his farewell and return to his captain’s side. When she refuses to leave without him, he orders her put forcibly groundside. But his own resolve fails shortly thereafter, and he sends word to Sim that, “I accept my captain’s generous offer; I can do no other, God help me. . . .”
But Inaissa, determined to accompany her husband, conceals herself in a cloak and succeeds in procuring a place among the Seven. Thus, Talino loses both his honor and his wife.
The notion that Inaissa was one of the volunteers was a part of the myth I’d not heard before. There are two beam sculptures by period artists showing her onboard the Corsarius. One places her at a console with Sim visible at her left; and the other depicts the moment of recognition between her and the captain.
There were a hundred variations of the story, and countless shadings of Talino’s character and motivation. Sometimes he is perceived as a man loaded down with gambling debts, who accepted money from mute agents; sometimes he is disgruntled at not having received his own command; sometimes he is Sim’s rival for an illicit love, deliberately arranging
his commander’s death.
Where in all the enormous body of myth and literature was the truth? What had Gabe meant?
Other aspects of the event also received considerable attention. Arven Kimonides’ novel Marvill recounts the experience of a young man who is present at the gathering of the Seven, but who stands aside and lives guilt-ridden thereafter. Tradition holds that Mikal Killian, the great constitutional arbiter, who would have been about 18 at the time of the Rigel Action, tried to volunteer, and was refused. Wightbury placed his famous cynic Ed Barbar on the scene. (Ed not only did not volunteer, but held aside a willing young woman who was, he felt, destined for better things.) At least a dozen other novels and dramas which enjoyed some reputation in their times have featured characters who either witnessed Sim’s appeal, or who found themselves among the Seven.
There are also numerous lightcuts, photo constructs, and at least one major symphony. Three of the unknown heroes stand at the great captain’s side in Sanrigal’s masterpiece, Sim at the Hellgate. Talino’s wife is portrayed among the drug addicts and derelicts in Tchigorin’s Inaissa. And in Mommsen’s Finale, a ragged man helps Sim battle the controls of the stricken Corsarius, while a wounded crewman lies prostrate on the deck, and a woman who must have earned her living in the streets of Abonai squeezes the triggers in the weapons cradle.
I suspected that Sim would have cleaned up his new crew, and that the end, when it came, would have been sudden and total. But what the hell: it was good art, if unlikely history.
The deserters dropped out of sight, to become objects of scorn. Talino lived almost a half century after his captain’s death. It was said of him that his conscience gave him no rest, and that he was driven from world to world by an outraged public. He died on Rimway, apparently very close to madness.
I could find no record of Inaissa in the histories. Barcroft insists that she existed, but cites no source. (He claims to have spoken with Talino, but that assertion also stands unsupported.) Talino himself is not known to have mentioned her.
A Talent for War Page 3