The Anguished Dawn

by James P. Hogan

  Charlie relaxed his grip. "You know, Lan, it's as well we brought that extra drum of fuel. The way we've been zigzagging about and backing up already, I'm beginning to think we might need it."

  "Well, see, that's what you get from being an engineer, not a scientist, Charlie. Scientists straddle their best guesses with error bars. Engineers assume worst-case."

  "But you were both, right? Didn't you do theoretical work on plasma physics at Harvard?"

  Keene straightened up and heaved a leg over the edge of the truck, feeling with his foot for a step to climb down. "Can you pass down the wrench and the nuts for the outside?"

  "Here."

  "That's right. But science had become an intolerant religion more concerned with putting down heresies that challenged its theories than finding out how things really were."

  "I know. I've seen the list. It's been a long road from JPL to Kronia."

  "There—in that box. I'll need the locking washers too. . . . At one time I used to say that science was the only area of human activity in which it actually mattered whether or not what you believed was true. In just about everything else, what was important was that you believed, not what you believed. Then I decided that scientists were no different. So I changed it to 'engineering.' You can fool yourself if you want, but you can't fool nature. If you get the wings wrong, your plane won't fly."

  Keene ducked down to locate the first of the bolt ends protruding through the truck bed. An ugly, lizard-like creature was staring with huge, unblinking eyes from a muddy niche between the rocks. Keene didn't like the look of it. He waved the wrench at it threateningly, and it vanished between some clumps of moss. He threaded on the nut, semi-tightened it, and rose back up to collect the next.

  "What's your take on this Kronian belief in a higher power?" Charlie asked.

  "The only answer I can see is that you can't rule it out."

  Charlie nodded, but, it seemed, reluctantly, as if he didn't want to agree but could find no alternative.

  Keene went back down below the truck bed, raising his voice to continue. The air down off the ridge was heavy and muggy, making him perspire. Serengeti was well placed up on the plateau. "It's tough readjusting when the only thing you've been told all your life is that the nuts and bolts are all there is to it, for no reason."

  "It doesn't seem to have bothered you too much," Charlie commented.

  "Oh, I've always gotten fun out of tilting against the orthodoxy. . . . And anyway, a lot of it rubs off from Vicki. You'll need to talk to her some more after the Aztec gets here."

  "I already know. She was terrific when Sariena and I visited her on Dione, with Emil Farzhin."

  There was a silence until Keene came out from under again. "Do you really think there's still much chance of getting through in time?" Charlie asked.

  "Whatever it is, it isn't something I can change," Keene replied.

  Charlie eyed him curiously. "Have you ever given up on anything in your life, Lan?" he asked.

  Keene paused to think about it. "I don't think so, not really. . . . I guess I've always been too scared to."

  "Scared?" Charlie looked surprised. "How come?"

  "It seems like one of those things where once you start, it could too easily become a habit," Keene said.

  * * *

  Charlie filled the tank for the diesel, while Keene secured the electrical connections to the runabout's drive system and set the transformer taps and rectifier control. The diesel started after a few seconds of coughing and spluttering. Keene checked the generator output, and after a couple of adjustments the motors were responding with all power indicators reading correctly. The last thing they did was camouflage the vehicle by smearing on a layer of mud, paying special attention to the bright yellow stripes, and adding some leafy sprigs and clods of grass for good measure. Keene was quite pleased with the result. "That's it. We're ready to go," he announced.

  But they were far from where they had planned to be by this time of day. And having to detour back up into the basin would set them back more. They agreed they would try to force a way through without going all the way back up the scree ramp to the ridge—which was probably impractical anyway. Instead, they would try to leave the basin over the shallower rise on its south side, beyond which what looked like a descending spur seemed to extend in roughly the direction they needed to take.

  * * *

  Jorff reported to Zeigler from Joburg that the fifteen native males of fighting age that Rakki had supplied were proving to be quick and efficient learners. Leisha was working with Rakki and Yobu to produce a map, based on their recollections of the journey they had made, showing the region where the larger cave and swamp clans lived. When they had made the best job of it they could, Zeigler would order a probe reconnaissance of the area to pinpoint the locations. From Yobu's accounts, and allowing for growth in numbers since the exodus of Rakki and his followers, Zeigler though it might be possible to increase his force by at least a couple of hundred. And then there was the new band of survivors on the far coast to be investigated.

  He had just cleared down from Jorff's call, when the message indicator flashed again. This time it was Kelm, from the new hangar that had begun operating ground-launched probes. "We've found them," he informed Zeigler.

  "The Scout?"

  "Right. It's about sixty-five miles west, following the river, making for the coastal plains."

  "That was fast work. Did we get a break in the weather for once?"

  "Even easier. Something on board has got a locator transponder that they didn't turn off. I sent a probe there to confirm visually—from long range."

  "Good." There was no point in tipping them off. "Just keep them under observation for now."

  "And there's another thing," Kelm said.

  "What?"

  "Apparently, no one's been able to raise Keene this morning. The people who deal closest with him are vague. I have a hunch that maybe he changed his mind and went too."

  "How vulnerable are we if they have any more trouble with the power system?" Zeigler asked after a pause. "Is that second of his still here, Shayle?"

  "Yes, she's here. I checked."

  Zeigler pondered for a while. Maybe they would have to institute more stringent measures to make sure that key personnel stayed around. That was something he'd hoped to avoid until the new recruits began arriving. He couldn't afford to have his credibility put to the test and found lacking. Hence, at this stage, letting the people in the Scout go had been preferable to trying to stop them. The risk now, on the other hand, was that it would send a message to all the rest.

  "We can't be seen not to react," he said finally. "Have all vehicles either locked in the depot overnight, or parked on the near side of the pad area, under lights and guarded." Kelm nodded, but his expression said that he wasn't satisfied with it either. With all the activity going on around the base, it would be impossible to guarantee policing against one slipping away even in daylight. What was needed was an effective deterrent.

  "When we decided to let them go, we said that if they got into trouble, it would act as a warning to the rest," Zeigler went on. "It would be very convenient if something like that were to happen."

  "An accident? . . . I don't really see a ready way of arranging one," Kelm answered. "And an overt attack on it could hardly be disguised."

  Zeigler leaned back, rubbing his chin. "An attack by us," he agreed.

  "I'm not sure I follow."

  "Have you forgotten those natives out there? Violent, savagely disposed. Wouldn't a handful of people camped out in that wilderness with all those pickings be an obvious target? Think of the effect it would have here, when we go out to intervene but are too late, and bring back the bodies. What better way could there be to convince everyone else at Serengeti to stay put? You get my point now, Kelm?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Jorff stood on the edge of the clear area a few hundred yards up from the huts and watched as Lanserm adjusted the
grip of the trainee dropped on one knee in a firing position. The Kronian shifted the rifle stock a fraction to fit more snugly against the native's shoulder, and stepped back, at the same time nodding to Enka with the missing teeth.

  "Five shots, slow and aimed," Enka ordered. Rakki had appointed Enka to oversee the proceedings, and was standing watching, a few yards back, his arms folded. Jorff's orders were to keep Rakki sweet. Behind Enka, the other recruits in the squad waited for their next turn. Yesterday they had been through a starter on handguns and knew the basics. Today was the single-shot primer on rifles. Automatic fire would come later.

  The one who was firing sent off five careful rounds at measured intervals. Two of the five ration tins placed on a flat rock fifty feet away flew back, while one jumped a few inches from a grazing hit. Rakki glanced at Jorff for a verdict. Jorff gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Good," Rakki pronounced.

  "Next, Bakka," Enka said. The one who had fired stood up, set the safety on his weapon as he had been shown, and returned to the line. Custom did not permit a change of expression, but there was pride in his eyes. Enka signaled, and a young girl ran in from the side to reposition the targets.

  "Carry on, Lanserm," Jorff directed.

  "Sir."

  Gralth, the other trooper with the party from Serengeti, who had been standing a short distance back, moved forward to assist. Jorff turned and began walking back down the slope to the settlement. The children and several others who had been watching from behind a line ceremoniously drawn across the ground to mark off the shooting range drew back, giving him plenty of room to pass. A lot of the "god" image was still there. Jorff strode by them commandingly. It felt good to breathe wind-driven air again, and feel his boots crunching into the soil of a living world. They might not rebuild it in his lifetime. But he would see the beginnings.

  He was of Swiss and Malay parentage in Java, one of the major Indonesian islands, and had come to Kronia at age eighteen. One of his brothers and a cousin had been chemists, and the family business had revolved around complicated dealings in variously priced substances and preparations, not all of which were approved by the lawmakers of the state. Besides illegal trafficking of the kind that thrives on prohibition universally, there was also a vigorous local trade in cheap and effective but banned medicinal drugs. Having fallen out of favor with both the underworld and the law enforcement agencies, Jorff's father decided that a change of scene would be beneficial for the health and probable longevity of self and immediate family, and organized a hasty move to the Central Americas. However, his work habits and penchant for falling foul of local politics soon got him into trouble again, and a sudden revelation to find new horizons and spiritual rebirth via a shuttle from Guatemala to a Kronia-bound orbiting transporter quickly followed.

  But, truth was, young Jorff had missed the excitement, perceived glamor, and the adrenaline kick that came with the riskiness of the life he'd known in those years. Compared to the images that memory furnished him with—and who was he to say what kind of selection and editing might be at work, even if he'd thought about it?—Kronian life seemed dull and stultifying. He saw a lot of hyping of abilities he didn't have, recognition of people he didn't particularly want to be like, and heard endless talk about how all the trouble with Earth had stemmed from the upside-down way of apportioning the rewards among makers, traders, and takers. Somehow the assumption seemed to be that the providers had a moral superiority that entitled them to make the rules for everyone else, and anyone who thought differently just needed some friendly tutoring to see the error of their ways.

  The problem was, Jorff had seen the tedium, thanklessness, and plain hard work that came with the socially responsible life style, and he didn't find anything particularly redeeming about it at all. To him, it all came across very much like the sheep solemnly agreeing to observe vegeterianism and deploring the aberrance of any other taste. But in his experience, it had been the takers who drove the big cars, wore the stylish clothes, and pulled the sexiest chicks. It was too bad that the Kronian boss had to go and get himself shot, but as Jorff's uncle Siggi, who ran the "heavy" side of the family business used to say, "You have to let people know who's in charge." There was nothing he could see to find any error in or feel remorse about. He liked being a wolf.

  The flyer they had arrived in was parked a short distance above the huts, guarded by two natives with spears that Rakki had posted, more to keep inquisitive children away than from any serious risk of interference. Rakki's people took notice of his orders. Between some boulders to one side, Sims was directing a group, mainly women, who were building an armory from rocks and mud for the weapons and ammunition to be stored in. Sims had some firearms background too. Jorff was toying with the idea of training him to be the Tribe's resident instructor and quartermaster, but hadn't decided yet about some of his personal qualities. He reminded Jorff of too many types he'd known in Jakarta who would squeal to either side for another hundred dollars.

  He found Leisha with Yobu in the porch extension to Rakki's hut, working to make cleaned-up copies of the maps. Nobody went through to the two inner rooms, which were Rakki's personal space. Rakki's woman, Calina, with the strange, light-colored eyes, was sitting on a rug of skins at the rear, tending to her baby. Jorff cast an approving eye over Leisha as he stepped up under the reed roof. Nicely built, with the kind of cute face and come-on eyes that would have made her a natural as a hostess or dancer in the bars. With all the tension back at Serengeti, it wouldn't have been very smart to try anything that might have provoked Zeigler's displeasure just at the present time. But there could be some good chances out here, away from all that, where he was in charge, he told himself.

  The sounds came of another series of shots commencing outside. "Working hard out there," Leisha commented. "You've been at it all morning."

  "That's the only way it's going to get done."

  "How are they shaping up?"

  "They're doing okay. Enka's cutting a good figure as sergeant." Jorff came over to the folding table where they were working, which was from the items brought with the flyer. "You're right. We're working too hard. If we're going to be here for days, there needs to be some relaxation to break it up. You want to schedule some free time later?"

  Leisha gave him the kind of look that was calculated to keep men guessing. "Let's see how it goes," she replied.

  Jorff looked over the papers strewn on the table. An imaged version of the main map was showing on the extended screen of the compad on one side. "So how is it going?" he asked.

  She pointed her pen at a contour representation of an area in Raphta's east-central region, reconstructed from orbital radar scans. "It's looking like somewhere around here, three to three-fifty miles southeast, on the other side of the Spine. It's amazing that they were able to make from there on foot. They had to cross a whole new uplift zone."

  "Do we have enough information to schedule a recce with probes?" Jorff asked.

  "Well . . . this is about as good as it's going to get."

  "Then package it up so I can get it off to Zeigler. He's waiting to get started."

  Leisha pointed at the compad. "Working on that right now."

  Jorff moved closer, making a pretense of looking over her shoulder. "Talking about recce probes, there's that one still out there somewhere that needs to be located for recovery," he murmured, twining a finger in a curl of hair at the back of her neck.

  "One still out where?" Leisha kept on working, but she didn't pull away.

  "The day that Scout first got here. I was part of the crew. There was an incident that involved a probe coming down low, and Enka put a stone-headed arrow up its intake in a freak shot." Leisha snickered. Jorff went on, "It probably didn't harm anything, but the thing was making unhealthy noises, so we put it down until it can be checked out. It's still up there somewhere, over the ridge."

  "Oh. I see." Leisha's tone said that she saw several things.

  Jorff toyed lightly with the curl
of hair. "So . . . what say you and I take a walk up that way and see if we can find it? Nice and peaceful, away from all these people . . ."

  "As I said, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

  Behind them, Calina said something to Yobu from where she was sitting by the wall of the inner hut. He spoke, and Leisha turned her head. Jorff looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  "She asks why people from the sky who can do anything need our young men to fight for them," Leisha said.

  Jorff wasn't going to get into any of that. He wasn't sure he could have explained it if he'd wanted to. "We'll make Rakki a great chief," he replied, thinking that should suffice.

  Leisha conveyed it back. "Rakki brought Jemmo to the caves and made him a great chief too," was the gist of Calina's answer.

  "What does that mean?" Jorff asked Leisha.

  "I'm not sure."

  "No great chief will ever stay second to another," Yobu supplied. "Even the gods fight already in their city to the north. She wants to know, when their chief has made Rakki like themselves, how long will it be before they and he turn on each other? And when the power of the gods turns into anger, what will become of her people then?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  "Fridays, when it was clam chowder," Keene said to Charlie. "And a good seafood salad bar. I was never that much into lobster, though. Too much like groceries. You know—one bag of them always made three bags of trash. But maybe some scrod or flounder, or a nice piece of whitefish . . . What?—"

  For a moment it was like the loss of steering when a car slides on ice. They were crossing above slopes of rock outcrops and mud slides overlooking tracts of reedy marshland, and trading visions of their best-remembered restaurants in Los Angeles and Boston, when Keene felt a lightness in touch on the wheel. And then the whole cab seemed to rise from the ground, and he was seized by a sudden vertigo, as if he had been transported back into space and become weightless. Charlie was clinging to the bar on the door pillar and flailing with his other hand to find purchase, but some relentless force seemed to be lifting him from the seat and sending him sideways against Keene. Keene became conscious of a juddering, roaring noise, seemingly all around, and an octave below it, a groaning from deep in the ground that he felt in his stomach more than heard. Then came the punctuation of a series of immense, violent shocks that stung in his ears like the reports of nearby artillery. The runabout seemed to bounce and leap upward again, the scene outside turning. He registered in a detached kind of way that the tilt of the piece of ground they were on was changing. The runabout was thrown up and bounced several times more, becoming part of a jumble of loose boulders all tumbling and bounding downward in a melee as if they had taken on life. The force reversed and carried Charlie away, pinning him against the far side of the cab, and Keene found himself in turn hugging the steering column and trying to brace with his leg to avoid being flung on top of him. And then the whole section of hillside beneath them detached and slid away, sweeping them down toward the fringe of the marshes. The windshield shattered into a shower of pieces, and Keene found himself first bracing across the gap to prevent himself from jackknifing out over his seat harness, then slammed back against the rear wall as the runabout rolled and turned over. His head struck something hard, and his vision kaleidoscoped; but he remained conscious of them thudding to a halt in an upended position, straps cutting into his body.