The Anguished Dawn

by James P. Hogan

  "Yes, I'm aware of the concerns, Mylor," he said. "In fact, I was intending to call a meeting of the Triad and inner policy heads, including yourself, to go over it. The problem right now, to be quite frank, is knowing where anyone's true sympathies might lie. I have a feeling it's a lot more complicated than we might have thought."

  "I appreciate that," Vorse said. "But in the meantime, there's the question of the Aztec. If there has been some kind of a takeover on Earth, Aztec will be bringing them just the things they need to consolidate and build a solid foothold there. I'd like your approval to call it back for now, pending developments."

  "Are we still in normal communication with Aztec?" Urzin checked.

  "Yes. A routine update came in from Commander Reese a couple of hours ago. There's no reason I can see to suspect anything amiss there."

  Urzin thought for a moment. It suggested that whatever might be happening with the other ships, at least they could trust Reese. "Isn't recall a bit drastic?" he said. "Why not let them continue until they reach the vicinity of Earth, but with orders to stand off until further instructions before initiating any contact?"

  Vorse pursed his lips. "Just that if there is a hostile situation there, they'd be a long way from home and isolated from any help before they found out."

  "But then look at it the other way around," Urzin suggested. "If there is something going on out there, they could represent the only help capable of making a difference right now. Why think of them as just a passive resource to be acquired? Why not a potential active asset?"

  "They're a supply ship," Vorse replied. "What could they do if weapons like the ones that disappeared from Rhea have found their way there? And I don't have to tell you what would be involved if Trojan shows up."

  "I'm not sure what they could do, exactly," Urzin said. "But I have infinite trust in human resourcefulness. One thing I do know is that they can't do anything if they're nowhere near. And precisely because they are such a valuable asset, I don't think the danger to them would be all that great. I'd prefer we do it the way I said."

  Vorse drew a deep breath, obviously still far from happy, but nodded shortly. "Very well, Xen. I'll beam Reese accordingly."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Away from the base and the presence of human works, and now removed even from the confines of the cab and its tiny preserved world of familiar things, the land took on a surreal quality, a feeling of being partly the stuff of dreams. As with the newly formed landscape that he had viewed via the probe over New York, it was the absence of trees that struck Keene the most—or indeed any kind of mature growth or shaping of the land that could be recognized as the work of time. The hills were bare humps of sediment left by the receding oceanic floods, beginning to show scatterings of grass and other vegetation over the upper slopes, but with denser growths still hugging the valleys and hollows. He tried to picture the immense walls of advancing water, miles high in some places, that had been capable of bringing this about in weeks or even days. To the east, beyond the marshes and the broken foothills on their far side, the dark lines of the mountains were new and sharp. Overhead, the gray veils of the sky stood twisted in huge, inverted canyons, revealing briefly in places even a hint of watery blues. It was a young, primeval world once again, arising and taking form out of fresh origins. Keene was reminded of the words he had heard quoted by Reynolds, a Special Forces trooper in the group that had escaped from Mexico, and also a devout Baptist, while they watched the devastation of Earth from orbit: "Go forth and multiply and repopulate the Earth." Their significance hadn't fully struck Keene, even then.

  They climbed slowly from the edge of the marshland toward a saddle marking a low point between the end of the ridge that they had followed from Serengeti and the lower hills continuing southward. The river that they were seeking lay in that direction, to the west, below the saddle on the far side. The grass was coated with coarse hairs that rasped at their trouser legs, dragging at every step and disgorging clouds of flies. Leathery leaves swished at their faces and stuck to their clothing. The heavy, humid air was dulling and draining of strength. A noisy flock of birds returned to circle and caw at them. Odd forms of life hopped away or slithered among the rocks in the creek beds. Once they spotted a couple of deer-like creatures watching them from a knoll, but the animals kept their distance and it was impossible to make out any details. Keene was beginning to realize that the years not only marked a long absence from laboring under Terran gravity but had taken their inevitable toll in other ways as well. Every effort of dragging a leg upward past the other became a small triumph of will in itself. His breath was coming in quick, painful gasps. Charlie had been right. They would never have made it on foot the whole way.

  The light was fading by the time the slope eased and they came over the top of the saddle. It was one of those rare moments when the evening sky actually showed some orange toward the west. But better was the sight that rewarded them when they trudged on over the pebble slopes and runoff gullies at the saddle's high point until the view down the other side opened out before them. They found themselves looking down over the gentler, open folds sloping away to the west. And curving toward them through the gathering darkness and haze lower down was a broad sweep of the river. But there could be no question of completing the journey down to it that night. They would have to bivouac up on the saddle until first light.

  They found a dry spot in one of the gullies, sheltered by rocks from the winds, which were strong and gusting from the west. Their first craving was for something hot and fortifying to drink. While Charlie unpacked coffee and mugs and fiddled around assembling the spirit stove—made specially to order for the Earth mission, since nobody at Kronia camped out or had any use for such a thing—Keene scouted around and collected enough twigs, roots, and bush branches to get a fire of sorts going. They concocted a stew of chicken meat, greens, and reconstituted potato with gravy, accompanied by bread wafers and cheese, followed it with boiled jam pudding, and by the time they sat warming their hands with a second mug of coffee, were finally feeling some relief after the day's shock and tension.

  "I was thinking of Reynolds on the way up," Keene said. "Remember him?"

  "One of Mitch's guys? The one who was on the shuttle up from Montemorelos? Sounded like Bible Belt." Harvey Mitchell had been the major in command of the Special Forces squad that Cavan had brought from Washington to California.

  "Yes."

  "What made you think of him?"

  "Nothing in particular. Your mind wanders over all kinds of things in a place like this. I think it was something he said about the world starting all over again. It just struck me as ironic. All the fighting that used to go on about old-Earth, young-Earth. Maybe there never was any real conflict. They just weren't talking about the same thing. The same as with so many things."

  "What happened to Mitch? Did you keep track of him?" Charlie asked.

  "He joined the Security Arm. What else was a guy like Harvey supposed to find to do on Kronia? Cavan said he was earmarked for the Trojan mission at one point, but then it was rescinded for some reason. I'm not sure where he went afterward."

  Charlie sipped his drink and fell silent for a short while. Then he said, "It makes it sound even more as if Trojan is another part of the pattern, doesn't it?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, suppose you were planning a move like that, and it involved taking over the Trojan. Would you want a guy like Mitch around when it happened? Sounds to me as if someone had him pulled because he would have been too dangerous."

  It made sense, Keene had to agree. Although inclined to be flamboyant at times, Mitch was a capable leader who would have been a natural rallying point for resistance to organize around. If the Pragmatists had seized the Trojan too, they would have wanted more pliable individuals there to deal with—such as SA rookies and freshy graduated SOE trainees supposedly going to Jupiter to gain interplanetary experience. And that was exactly the way it had happened. At l
east, if it were true, it would mean Robin was okay after all. However, if he and Charlie did manage to make some sort of contact with Aztec, he decided he would keep such thoughts to himself. He wouldn't have wanted to raise Vicki's hopes like that, and then be proved wrong.

  "Then there was Colby Greene," Charlie said. Colby had been a presidential political aide who had ended up with Keene's party and escaped with them via Mexico. "Kind of a weird sense of humor, but he was okay. I never heard more of him after that last reunion six months before we left Titan."

  "I met him a couple of times in Foundation. He was working there with Cavan in whatever Cavan gets mixed up in. Neither of them could stay away from politics very long. I think Leo missed the old Washington underworld."

  They talked for a little longer about the others who had been with them then, but Keene could feel himself fading as exhaustion finally overcame him. They had the air beds but not the energy to inflate them. Stretching back among the rocks, he pulled the covers close and fell into total oblivion.

  * * *

  The probe had grounded in a hollow among the rocks on the ridge above Joburg, apparently scraping over some boulders before coming to rest canted sideways and nose-down with some dents in the forward section of its underbelly and one of its stub wings crumpled at the tip. The damage didn't look serious, but Jorff didn't feel it would be wise to risk compounding it further by having Rakki's people drag it down to the open ground below for easier recovery. The technical people from Serengeti could come out and look at it, and decide for themselves how they wanted to deal with the situation. In any case, his thoughts right now were in regions far removed from matters to do with recovering damaged probes.

  He sat contentedly in the dusk, his back propped against the probe's motor cowling, legs stretched out along the ground, enjoying the flashes of bare thigh and underwear in the shadows as Leisha stepped into her pants and hitched them back up. In the days back on Earth, he'd always lit up a cigarette at moments like this. Since the habit had never taken on in Kronia's permanently enclosed environments, he made do instead with a swig of coffee from the flask they had brought up with them. No complaints, he told himself again. She certainly lived up to the promise of the body and the eyes.

  "You want some?" He gestured with the flask.

  "I just did." Leisha laughed, buttoning her top.

  "I meant coffee." Jorff poured some into the cup and set it on a rock. "Don't start getting smart with me."

  "Well, you should have known better. Words are what I do." She came over out of the darkness and squatted down. "Thanks. . . . Mmm. Tastes good."

  "You know, it doesn't pay to be conscientious," Jorff said.

  "How do you mean?"

  "I'm doing too good a job here. See, Rakki's soldiers are catching on fast, which means they'll be shipping out sooner. So we won't be taking any more walks. And I was just deciding, you know, I could get used to this."

  Leisha took it as an invitation and wriggled closer, seeking warmth against the evening chill. "It's better to end these things on a high," she said. "Before they turn sour."

  "Why do they have to turn sour?"

  She shrugged. "They always do. I suppose it's the way people are."

  "You sound like a cynic."

  "Just more a realist, I'd say." Leisha stared out at the rocks outlined blackly against the last vestige of fading sky. "That's why I ended up on this side that we're on. They deal in what is, with people as they are. To me it makes more sense. It's on solid ground. The others are preoccupied with things that should be. But you have to live in reality." She turned her head toward Jorff. "How about you?"

  "Me, what?"

  "What's your reason?"

  "Oh, nothing so philosophic. I leave that stuff to philosophers. Me? Life was getting too boring, everything predictable. I used to have exciting times here on Earth, you know that? You never knew what was going to happen tomorrow or next week. And I like people who know how to take control. You have to let people know who's in charge. And out here, that's what it's going to take." He nodded his head decisively, as if it had all become clear only at that moment. "I guess that's it. Nothing's too predictable. You don't know what's going to happen. It makes me feel I'm coming back to life again."

  Jorff stopped speaking just in time to unmask what sounded like a giggle from somewhere in the darkness, stifled suddenly by an urgent whisper. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, banging the flask down and standing up. He advanced in the direction the sounds had come from, and threw a rock. There were scuffling noises, and two small shapes appeared briefly and ran off into the dark. "Kids!" Jorff exclaimed indignantly. "Would you believe it? Do they change anywhere?"

  Leisha straightened up beside him. "You see," she said. "Something always goes wrong with these things. Always complications." She pulled her jacket more tightly around her shoulders. "We should be heading back, anyway. It's starting to get cold. And I need to check with Serengeti to see if the maps were okay."

  * * *

  Zeigler and Kelm, accompanied by a retinue of officers and guards, paced slowly along the perimeter of the compound where the vehicles would be grouped at night, inspecting the arrangements. Things at Joburg were progressing well. A probe would be sent out tomorrow to pinpoint the location of the caves. Zeigler's staff had named the location Carlsbad.

  The training program at Joburg was probably one of the fastest courses ever put together for handguns and automatic weapons—but it wasn't as if Rakki's recruits would be making their combat debut against crack troops. The more important thing was to begin recruiting at the earliest opportunity the larger force Zeigler was hoping to raise from Carlsbad. The first phase of the operation—installing Rakki in place of his enemy, Jemmo—had been designated "Usurper."

  "The occasion needs to be made big and impressive," Zeigler told Kelm. "We want Rakki to be seen as a superhuman chief appointed by the gods, who will lead them to great victories. We should be there too, to show our support and authority."

  "We go to Carlsbad too," Kelm checked.

  "Jorff will need an additional flyer at Joburg to transport his team when they're ready. We can depart directly from here, rendezvous with them somewhere, and then proceed to Carlsbad as a unit, all arriving together. That would make more of a spectacle."

  "What about Naarmegen and those others in the Scout?" Kelm asked.

  "Yes, I've been thinking about them too. We wait until Rakki is secure at Carlsbad, and then have some of his new soldiers from there take care of the Scout for us. We could make it a loyalty test before giving them firearms. Then we let Laelye and her friends send a recovery team out from Serengeti afterwards, so they can see for themselves it was the work of hostile natives. That should put any thoughts of trying something similar out of everyone's mind. It ties all the loose ends up neatly."

  Kelm hesitated for a second. "Keene is with them too," he reminded Zeigler. "He's a valuable resource. Can we afford to lose him along with the others?"

  "We will manage," Zeigler replied. "He was given his chance to cooperate."

  * * *

  In the power control room, Shayle pushed herself back from the console and stretched gratefully in her chair. Gus had come in to take the next shift and was checking over the log on an adjacent screen. The first thing Shayle was looking forward to when she got back to the dorms was a hot shower to wash away the stickiness from Earth's humid air. Then supper, maybe an hour of reading—Charlie Hu had awakened her interest in Terran geology during the voyage, and she had set herself a study program on the subject—and then an early night. But very likely she'd end up talking with Sariena instead.

  "Everything routine and normal," Gus commented. He entered the codes to take over the shift and passed Shayle the log to sign off.

  "Nothing wild and exciting," she agreed.

  "No more instabilities with the plasma field?" Gus held her eye for just a moment, sharing the private joke and keeping his face straight for the benefit o
f the guard by the door. The guard detail in the power house had been reduced from two to one.

  "Just another one of those things we'll never know, I guess," Shayle replied. She stood up and collected her bag of personal items from a shelf on the wall. "Well, have a good night of it, Gus."

  "I'll survive. I've got a couple of good movies lined up. Old Terran mystery thrillers. Great."

  "Enjoy."

  "Thanks. Goodnight."

  "'Night."

  Shayle paused outside to take in the fresh air. All around, the base lay subdued as a strange composition of shapes, shadows, and silhouettes in the arc lights. She was about to move away, when she realized that the guard had followed her to the door. Not some kind of hassle now, she groaned inwardly. "Yes?" she said curtly. He moved outside and then a step closer, but hesitantly, in a way that was anything but overbearing.

  "The man who worked here with you, the one who went with the group who left. Keene?" The guard kept his voice low, barely more than a whisper. He was tall and broadly built, typically Kronian, but young, hardly past his teens, Shayle guessed.

  "What about him?" she asked.

  "He was the one Zeigler wanted to be the spokesman."

  "Nothing came of it."

  "But you're his deputy. You'd be a fairly senior person here, right?"

  "I'm not sure how you mean. What's this all about?"

  The guard licked his lips. The shaft of light from inside caught his face for a moment. His expression was troubled, almost pleading. "Look, I want you to know that all this . . . what's going on, and the other things that happened. I didn't know it would be like this. I don't want to be a part of it. What should I do?"

  Shayle was about to tell him to just walk out; maybe some of the others felt the same way and would follow . . . but then she checked herself. "Are you saying you want to come over? Help put an end to it?" she asked him.