The Many-Coloured Land

by Julian May

  The girl was calm. "Why, then I'll have to hold King Yeochee to his promise, that's all."

  Richard said, "How about getting down here and giving us a hand, kid? You can moon around with your ancient astronaut all you want when we get a work camp set up. Come on, we're going to move back to the last bird in line. See if you can carry this whole Spear rig by yourself, will you? She's an awkward bitch for a two-man tote."

  Felice dropped lightly down from the belly hatch, hoisted the eighty-kilo powerpack in one arm, and stood while Claude and Richard balanced the long weapon on her opposite shoulder.

  "I can manage," she said. "But God knows how that old boy ever used this gadget in a running fight. He must have been quite a lad! Just wait till I find his torc."

  Claude and Madame looked at each other wordlessly for a moment, then helped Martha gather up their things. They began the half-kilometer trudge back along the crater lip to the Number Four Aircraft.

  Madame said, "We have been fortunate, finding the Spear so readily. But there is another factor that may preclude an attack on Finiah this year."

  "And that is?" Claude inquired.

  "The matter of who shall fly the ancient craft during the actual firefight." She looked back over her shoulder at Richard, who was supporting Martha. "You will recall that he agreed merely to fly the machine back to the Vosges. If we must train another pilot for the battle . . ."

  Martha had heard every word, of course. She turned to the ex-spacer with a stricken expression.

  Richard gave a terse little bark of laughter. "Madame, you prove it again and again. You're no mind reader. D'you really think I'd miss our little war?"

  Martha clutched him tighter and whispered something to him. Madame said nothing, but as she turned away from them to resume the march along the rim trail, she smiled.

  After a while, Richard said, "There's something else we ought to think about, though. Wouldn't it be best if we concentrate first on fixing up the flyer and hold off on the Spear until we get back home? Today is September twenty-second and the little King said that the Truce begins on October first. We're cutting things damn short if the spooks are gonna need a week to mobilize. And what about getting your people ready, Madame? And working out the tactics for the iron weapons, if they got 'em? Seems to me, the faster we get outa here, the more time'll be left for organizing. And back at your village, Martha can get proper medical care from Amerie. Maybe somebody like Khalid Khan could help out with the Spear repairs, too."

  It was Martha who demurred. "Don't forget we've got to test the Spear. We must get it working, then install it in the aircraft somehow and try it out from the air. If this zapper is as powerful as I think it is, every Tanu with a microgram of farsense would be able to detect its atmospherics if we shot it off within a hundred kloms of the Vosges."

  "God, yes," Richard said, crestfallen. "I forgot about that."

  Madame said, "We must do the best we can to put both flyer and Spear in working order before we leave this place. As for those back home, we will trust Peo to have everything in readiness. He knows every nuance of the plan against Finiah. If we have even one day remaining before the start of the Truce, we will still mount the attack."

  "Well, let's get hopping then!" Felice said. She broke into a brisk trot, leaving the rest of them straggling far behind. They saw her wave at them briefly from the vicinity of the neighboring flyer, then vanish down the outside of the crater into the scrub. When they reached the great metal bird, they found the Spear placed carefully in the shadow of its wings. Beside it, scratched in the dust, was a message:

  Gone hunting.

  "For what?" Richard wondered cynically. Then he and Martha climbed up the ladder of the undisturbed aircraft, opened the simple hatch lock, and disappeared inside.

  Chapter Eight

  It took three days to get the flyer airborne.

  Richard had known that these exotic craft were gravo-magnetic the moment he had looked inside the first specimen. The flight deck and passenger compartment of the thirty-meter bird had simple easy-seats, not acceleration couches. Ergo, "inertialess" drive, the universal propulsion system for aircraft and subluminal spaceships of the Galactic Milieu, which enabled almost instantaneous acceleration or deceleration in apparent defiance of gravity-inertia. The odds seemed good that the exotics had tapped the key forces of the universe in much the same "cablecar" fashion as the engineers of the Milieu. Richard and Martha had warily opened one of the sixteen power-modules of what they hoped was the flux-tap generator, using the flyer's own tools. They found to their relief that the liquid within was water. No matter that the thingummies generating the rho-field reticula were concentric spheres within spheres instead of the stacked crystalline blades of the analogous Milieu device; the principle, and the basic operation, had to be the same. When the generator was fueled with good old aqua pura, this exotic bird would very likely go.

  Claude rigged up a still and tended the ever-bubbling decamole pot while Richard and Martha traced the control circuitry and made sense of the quaint in-ship environmental system, which was capable of recharging itself once they got a little water into the powerplant. After one day of fiddling with the alien controls, Richard felt confident enough to carry on with the analysis alone, letting Martha transfer her efforts to the Spear. For safety's sake, on the off chance that the flyer might blow during one of the groundside tests, they transferred the work camp to a shelf-like clearing in the maquis several kloms downslope from the aircraft, where a spring gushed through the crater wall.

  On the evening of the third day, as they gathered around the campfire, Richard announced that the ancient machine was ready for its first flight test.

  "I've scraped most of the lichen off and dug all the bird and bug nests out of the vents. She seems damn near good as new, for all her thousand years of squatting."

  "How about the controls?" Claude asked. "Are you sure you've figured them out?"

  "I turned off all the audibles, of course, since they weren't speaking my language. But the flight instrumentation is mostly graphic, so I can get by. Can't read the altimeter, but there's a terrain-clearance and position monitor that shows a nice picture, and eyeballs were made before digitals anyhow. Numeralwise, the engine cluster is hopeless. But each reader is equipped with three idiot lights, cyan, amber, and violet for go, watch-it, and bye-bye. So I should do all right there too. My big problem is going to be the wings. Putting wings on a gravo-mag aircraft is weird! They must be a cultural relic. Maybe these folks just enjoyed gliding!"

  "Richard," Martha said breathlessly. "Take me with you tomorrow."

  "Oh, Marty-babe . . ." he began.

  Madame intervened. "You may not, Martha. There is a risk, even though Richard is confident."

  "She's right," he said, taking Martha's hand. It was cold in spite of the warm evening. The firelight threw cruel shadows on the engineer's sunken cheeks and eyes. "Once I've checked her out, then we'll go for a spin. Promise. We can't let anything happen to you, kid . . . Who'd put that damn zapper back together?"

  Martha moved closer to Richard and stared into the fire. "I think the Spear will work. The powerpack shows half-charge, which is really remarkable, and none of the tiny little internal components of the lance unit seems to have been damaged. The main difficulties have been cleaning out the barrel and replacing the chewed-up cable. It was lucky that the flyer had some stuff that seemed compatible. I'll need one more day to finish and reassemble, and then we can test it and begin practice."

  "How powerful do you think it will be?" Claude asked.

  "There are several options, I believe," the engineer said. "The lowest setting is the only one lacking a caplock, so they might have used that for their ritual fighting. I'd guess its power to be within light-pistol range. The four higher settings under the lock must have been for special purposes. At the top of the line, we could have us a portable photon cannon."

  Richard whistled.

  "I don't think we dare te
st it on max unless, we want to risk draining the powerpack," Martha said.

  "No chance of recharging?" asked Richard.

  "I can't get the pack open," she admitted. "It takes a special tool and I was afraid to lark around with it. We'll just have to save our big zap for the war."

  The gnarled branches of the maquis burned with a pungent resinous odor, snapping and throwing sparks that had to be smacked out. Only a few insects buzzed in the drought-stricken jungle. When it was full dark, the remaining birds and small mammals in the area would come to the spring to drink, and Felice and her bow would glean food for tomorrow.

  The blonde athlete said, "I have Lugonn's place nearly clean now. There's no sign of the torc."

  Only Martha was able to voice a regret.

  Richard said, "Should be plenty of the things lying around if we make good at Finiah. You won't have to beg the little King for one. Just reach down on the battlefield and grab."

  "Yes," sighed Felice.

  "How have you planned to mount the Spear, Richard?" Claude asked. "I can't see how we could rig up a pilot-operated trigger given the short time we have left."

  "There's really only one way to handle it. I hover the aircraft and somebody else shoots the zapper out the open belly hatch. I suppose we could trust one of Chief Burke's bully boys to . . ."

  The old man said softly, "Every exopaleontologist knows how to handle big zappers. How do you think we cut the rocks to get the specimens out? I've carved up a few cliffs in my day, even moved a mountain now and then to get at some really choice fossils."

  Richard chortled. "I'll be damned. Okay, you're hired. We'll be a two-man crew."

  "Three," said Madame. "You will need me to provide a metapsychic screen for the flyer."

  "Angélique!" Claude protested.

  "There is no helping it," she said. "Velteyn and his Flying Hunt would see you hovering there."

  "You're not going!" the old man stormed. "Not a chance! We'll come over Finiah at high altitude, then drop down vertically and take 'em by surprise."

  "You won't." Madame was implacable. "They will detect you hovering. We can only hope to surprise them if I conceal the vessel metapsychically during its initial maneuvers. I must go. There is nothing more to be said."

  Claude got to his feet and stood hulking over her. "The hell there isn't. Do you think I'd let you fly into the middle of a fire-fight? Richard and I have one chance in a hundred of getting out with whole skins. We're going to need every gram of concentration to do the job and then get out. We can't afford to be worrying about you."

  "Tchah! Worry about yourself. Radoteur! Who is the leader of this group? C'est moi! Whose plan is it, de toute façon, for the entire attack? Mine! I go!"

  "I won't let you, you stubborn old she-goat!"

  "Try to stop me, senile Yankee-Polack viellard!"

  "Shrew!"

  "Salaud!"

  "Ball-breaking old bat!"

  "Espèce de con!"

  "Shut the hell up!" thundered Felice. "The pair of you are as bad as Richard and Martha!"

  The pirate grinned and Martha turned away, nibbling her lip to suppress laughter. Claude's face blackened with embarrassed rage, and Madame was stunned out of her hauteur.

  Richard said, "You two listen to me. The rho-field of the flux-tapper will prevent any of the Tanu Hunt from touching the aircraft. It'll probably deflect lances and arrows and whatnot, too. So all we really have to worry about is mental attack. For countering that, our only hope is Madame's metapsychic screen."

  "If I had a torc . . ." Felice muttered.

  Richard asked Madame, "How long can you hold out against a bunch of 'em?"

  "I don't know," she admitted. "We will be disguised as vapor until we direct the first blasts at the city wall. Then they will know an enemy is there, and many minds will be brought to bear upon my little screen. It is certain to be pierced. We can hope that this will happen after we strike at the mine. Once this is done, we can flee at top speed."

  "How fast can Velteyn's outfit fly, anyhow?" Richard asked.

  "Not much faster than a chaliko at full gallop. The mind of this Tanu champion is able to levitate his own steed and those of twenty-one warriors through PK, psychokinesis. There is only one other who is capable of such a feat and that is Nodonn, the Tanu Battlemaster and Lord of Goriah in Brittany. He can support fifty. There are others who can levitate themselves individually and a few who can carry one or two other persons. But none is strong enough to support many riders save these two."

  "If I had a torc!" Felice wailed. "Oh, wait! Just wait!"

  "We'll leave 'em in the dust," Richard scoffed. "A couple of zaps to take out the wall on either end of the city, maybe one for the Tanu quarter to demoralize the opposition, then the big zorch for the mine. If that Spear really is a portable cannon, we can melt the place to a slag heap."

  "And come home safely ourselves," Claude said, staring into the fire. "While our friends fight it out on the ground."

  "Velteyn will try to defend his realm," Madame warned them. "He is exceptionally strong in creativity, and there are strong coercers in his company. We will be in great danger. Nevertheless, we will go. And we will succeed." There was a loud snap and an ember flew through the air like a meteor, landing in front of the old woman. She got up and stamped upon it with great thoroughness. "I believe it is time for us to retire. We will want to get up early for Richard's test flight."

  Martha rose from her place and said to Richard, "Come for a little walk with me before we settle down."

  "Conserve your strength, chérie," Madame warned.

  "We'll just go a little way," Richard said.

  He slipped one arm around the engineer's waist to steady her. They went out of the pool of firelight, leaving the others still talking, and walked to the far side of the camp clearing. Only stars illumined the tangle of maquis, for the new moon had gone down. Above them was the overgrown slope with its narrow trail leading to the crater rim. They could not see the refurbished flyer, but they knew it was up there waiting.

  "We've been happy, Richard. Can you figure it? A pair like us."

  "Two of a kind, Marty. I love you, babe. I never thought it could happen."

  "All you needed was a good old-fashioned sexy girl."

  "Fool." he said, and kissed her eyes and cold lips.

  "When it's all over, do you think we could come back?"

  "Back?" he repeated stupidly.

  "After the Finiah attack. You know we're going to have to teach others how to fly the machine and maintain it so that they can carry out the other two phases of Madame's plan. But you and I needn't worry about those. Well have paid our dues. We can have them fly us back here, and then . . ."

  She turned to him and he held her. Too frail and racked by cramps and hemorrhage to endure any further intercourse, she had still insisted upon consoling him. They spent every night in each other's arms, sharing one of the decamole huts.

  "Don't worry, Marty. Amerie will know how to fix you up for good. We'll come back here somehow and get a flyer just for ourselves and find us a good place to live. No more Tanu, no more Firvulag or Howlers, no more people at all. Just you and me. We'll find a place. I promise."

  "I love you, Richard," she said. "Whatever happens, we've had this."

  In the morning. Richard waved goodbye to the others and went up to where the bird stood. It still looked pretty scruffy in spite of the scraping, but he'd soon fix that.

  He settled into the pilot's seat and patted the console in the manner of an equestrian soothing a skittish mount "Oh, you beautiful, droop-snoot, swivel-winged thing. You wouldn't badass the old Cap'n would you? Course not. We're gonna fly today!"

  He lit her up and went through the checklist. A familiar sweet hum of rho-field generators came to him there on the flight deck and he grinned at the thought of microscopic thermonuclear reactions hitting nicely on all sixteen, ready to weave a net of subtle forces that would free the metal bird from gravity's d
omain. All of the engine idiot lights gleamed cyan-for-go. Keeping her firmly latched to Earth, he fed juice to the external web. The bird's scabby skin glowed faintly purplish in the bright sunshine as the rho-field reticula clothed it lightly. All the crud that he'd been unable to remove sizzled away, leaving the surface a smooth cerametal black, just what you'd expect for an aircraft with orbiter capability.

  He cut in the environmental system. Oh, yeah, little bluey-green lights telling him that no matter where the ship carried him, his life would be duty supported. Ease off on the field-web runup. Crank back the wings to minimum area until he got used to them. No use risking overcontrol on his maiden flight, wallowing all over the sky like a shot duck. Gotta do this with class, Cap'n Voorhees.

  Okay . . . okay . . . and upsy daisy!

  Straight up and dead level and hold at squiggle-hundred meters according to the readout on the indecipherable altimeter display. Call it 400. Down below, the Ries crater was a great blue cup with little spread-winged birds strung around its western lip, politely waiting for permission to drink. There were forty-two of them, with one missing where a section of the rim had collapsed in a landslide, and one empty slot for his own aircraft.

  Damn those wings when the wind caught him at hover! He'd better move. Slowly . . . slowly . . . bank and zoom. Figure eight and vertical five and stop and start and swoop and glide and pendulum arc and, hot damn, he was doing it!

  Down on the ground, four small figures were jumping up and down. He did a creditable imitation of a wing-waggle to let them know that he had seen them, then laughed out loud.

  "And now, my friends, fare thee well, for I must leave you! We'll save the touch-and-goes for later. Now the old Cap'n is gonna give himself a few lessons in how to drive this here flying machine!"

  He slammed the rho-field into full inertialess web, stuck a burr under her tail, and took off vertically for the ionosphere.

  Chapter Nine

  Would volunteers come?

  As the days of September dwindled and the preparations at Hidden Springs were completed, this question was paramount among the followers of Madame Guderian. Her influence, and indeed, the benefits of her Firvulag-Human Entente, did not extend much farther than the tiny settlements of the Vosges and the upper Saône wilderness, a region that would be able to muster not more than 100 fighters. Communication with other Lowlife enclaves was minimal because of the danger from Hunts, gray-torc patrols, Howlers, and even nominal subjects of King Yeochee who were reluctant to give up their human-harassing ways.