The Anguished Dawn

by James P. Hogan

  "Our first task, now that we are able to operate as a coordinated unit, will be to overhaul, apprehend, and board the Aztec. Recognize that this is not an act of war but a legal repossession. Our aim will be to achieve occupation peacefully. Briefings and unit assignments to that end will follow. I'm counting on everyone in the Terran Defense Force that I'm now privileged to command, and Captain Walsh and his crew, to make this a clean and professional first operation in the service of Earth. Thank you."

  The senior figures then proceeded to the Captain's Lounge for socializing and refreshments, while the Trojan's honor guard detail returned to quarters. The transfer of personnel and materials from Eskimo continued for several hours. Then, left with only a skeleton crew, the smaller craft detached and moved away to stand five miles off while Trojan fired its main drives to accelerate toward the inner Solar System. Eskimo, its added boosters now spent, was tied to its present velocity and would follow in its own time.

  * * *

  It was a day later when a sergeant showed Robin into General Nyrom's stateroom and office in the Command Module, and then left, closing the door. Robin stood formally, conscious of the gap in ranks between them—more so now that Nyrom had been elevated to General and C-in-C of the entire Terran military command. His immediate superior was Major Ulak. But life in a closed community like the Trojan's encouraged more direct and relaxed contact, and their dealings when Nyrom was a colonel had established something of a precedent.

  "At ease, Lieutenant." Nyrom waved toward the metal-frame visitor's chair on the opposite side of the desk. Technically, it was "lieutenant-commander," but Nyrom wasn't going to go through mouthing that every time.

  "Thank you, sir."

  Nyrom waited until Robin had settled, resting his cap on his knee. "Has it occurred to you that the name of this vessel will very likely go down in history? Trojan is the first officially commissioned warship of the New Order that will arise on Earth. While the founding colony is still young and yet to acquire strength, its defense will rest primarily in our hands. I hope you realize the importance and the privilege of the task that places on all of us."

  "I'll bear it in mind, sir."

  Nyrom sat back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, and interlaced his fingers. "So what's bothering you?"

  "Oh, nothing. This isn't a complaint. More in the line of a suggestion . . . and a request."

  "Go on."

  "It's to do with the announcement yesterday about commandeering the Aztec."

  "I think that 'repossess' would be a more politic word to use, Lieutenant."

  "I'm sorry, yes. . . ."

  "So, what about it?"

  "The President stressed that he wants it to be a peaceful occupation of the ship. And I can see why, if things took a difficult turn—say, because the people on it won't cooperate—and it resulted in force having to be used, that would be a bad thing. The record in history that you just mentioned, for example, might not read so well."

  "I'm listening." The look on Nyrom's face said that he still had no idea where this was leading.

  Even though Robin had tried rehearsing this several times, the words still came awkwardly. "Well, sir, my mother is aboard the Aztec."

  "Yes, I know. A bio-scientist sent by the Academy on Dione."

  "She wasn't a Pragmatist supporter. And as things stand, the new Terran government is something she'll be opposed to. Right now, that would probably apply to most of the others there on the Aztec too. . . ." Robin made an open-handed gesture. "But I was also with her long enough after we came from Earth to know why she's that way. You see, sir, she deals with Kronian scientists. She's only ever heard one side of it. She doesn't really understand what the New Order means. Because no one's ever really explained it. What they say on the news gets distorted."

  "You think it would make a difference?" Nyrom asked. He sounded skeptical.

  "Yes, I do, sir. . . . At least, I think it would stand a good chance. Because I know how she really is. And maybe it would make a difference to the others there too if they knew."

  "So what are you suggesting?"

  "Simply a request to be included in the initial party that is sent aboard the Aztec. If you like, I want to contribute to the success of the mission. I believe that if I talk to her she might see things differently, and if that happens we might be able to influence others. If enough of them come around, it could defuse any resistance before it gets started. So it could help things go smoothly, without trouble, the way everyone wants." Nyrom's expression had softened. He seemed receptive to the idea. Robin showed both hands briefly. "It wouldn't be risking anything to try, sir. But if the whole ship came over as a ready asset to Earth, instead of having to be fought against, it could make a big difference. That's what I'd like to help make happen, if I can."

  Nyrom stared at him for several seconds while he considered. "Very well, Lieutenant. I'll propose it to the appropriate people," he replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  They came to a bar of gravelly gray sand lying between the main course of the river and a back channel scooped into a bend of low bluffs. It was an island, clean and dry, devoid of reed thickets, cane growth, flies, and snakes, rising out of the water like the back of a long, humpbacked whale. They beached, hauled themselves and the raft up clear from the waterline, and for the first time since the evening of the day before last, tasted a hot meal. And then they slept.

  * * *

  The next morning did not exactly bring the exhilaration of feeling born again into new bodies. But it was an improvement. They actually got to walk from one end of the sandbar to the other, to stretch, bend, draw in deep chestfuls of air, and try a few basic calisthenics, which invigorated Keene but caused twinges of pain in Charlie's injured calf. On checking, they found the wound red and inflamed. Keene cleaned and treated it with what he could find in the medical kit, then bound it up again, after which the last scraps of the food they had brought from the runabout provided a passable breakfast. And then they secured the packs, spare paddles, and poles, pushed off and were on their way once again. Their confidence and technique had improved some by this time, and they were getting more proficient at spotting shallows and rapids ahead that had to be circumvented on foot, dragging or carrying the raft. At other times, where the flow was clear, they risked venturing farther out into the stream and letting the current carry them. Their progress was much faster than the day before, and Keene estimated they should reach Joburg with some margin to spare before dark.

  "You know, I never thought to ask before," Keene said as they drifted into a bend, using the paddles to hold direction. "What happened to Cynthia? Are you two still together?" Cynthia had been one of a couple who joined Keene and Cavan's group in California. She and Charlie had gravitated to each other after her original partner went off with some others to find help after a plane crash, and never returned.

  "She was with a survey group that got hit by an impact storm on Tethys," Charlie answered. "No survivors."

  "Oh . . . Sorry to hear that." The silence dragged. Keene felt a need to add something. "You don't seem to have a lot of luck in that department, Charlie." When they first met at JPL, Charlie's wife had just walked out.

  "Well, we'll just have to see what the future brings." There was a silence while they steered around a patch of rocks and eddies. Then Charlie's voice came again from behind. "How about you? It used to look like you and Vicki were going to make it permanent. But it sounds as if you spend most of your time away."

  "You know how it's been, Charlie. Never enough time. Always more to do . . ."

  Truth was, Keene didn't know how he felt. On the occasions when he had gone back to Dione seriously thinking it was time to make a commitment, always the same restlessness had seized him again, and he had found some reason to put it off.

  * * *

  Early in the afternoon they came to a point where the river flowed over a fault line in a waterfall of maybe a hundred feet. The map had given them e
arly warning, and they pulled in to the shore in good time. Getting past, however, involved a detour of perhaps half a mile down rock falls and slippery mud slopes. They were still more or less on schedule, but Charlie was beginning to limp and trying not to show it. Once or twice on the awkward stretches, he caught his breath sharply in an audible wince. Keene felt growing concern, but said nothing.

  * * *

  "Tell me again what's in this probe when we get to it," Charlie said from behind, as they carried on, back on the river.

  If we find it, Charlie, Keene said to himself. He replied, "They're fitted as mobile emergency posts. Cans of fruit, soup, spongy puddings. Fish and stew. Candy."

  "And chocolate? I've got a craving for chocolate."

  "Plenty of it. And slabs of that mint stuff that mountain climbers and hikers carry. And of course, coffee and juice to drink. And there's probably more. I only had a quick look while they were showing it to me up in the Varuna."

  "Why did you have to mention that? What wouldn't I give to be back up in the Varuna right now?"

  "To the right, to the right . . . Watch those rocks."

  "Clean, dry sheets. Hot water. Showers."

  "This paddle's about had it. I need to switch it for one of the spares."

  "A squeezer of wine from Mimas. Relax and watch a movie. Maybe one of the old L.A. police detective ones . . ."

  "I'll still settle for a good Massachusetts fish restaurant. . . . I wonder what kind of fishing you could get going here. Have the stocks had time to build up again yet? I'd have thought so."

  "That's something we haven't really checked out. Maybe the plateau wasn't the best place for a base."

  "How's that leg, Charlie?"

  "It's got kind of a burning ache . . . but the water helps. Not too bad when the weight's off it."

  They came to a brake of tall, broad reeds and pulled in to add another layer of bundles on top of the raft, by now waterlogged and sitting practically level with the surface. The upper part of Charlie's calf had swollen and was stiffening the knee, the wound itself red and angry-looking. The thorn seemed to have infected it with some kind of poison. How virulent it was remained to be seen. When Keene had dressed it, Charlie dragged himself around and tried to help with strengthening the raft. But the movement aggravated the pain, and his stiff leg made it too awkward. He ended up sitting and tying the bundles, letting Keene do the cutting. They still hoped to reach Joburg before dark. Whether they would be able to do much more before the morrow, however, was another matter.

  * * *

  The Joburg settlement lay below rocky slopes that in their upper parts steepened into a ridge of broken crags. It was somewhere up there that the probe had gone down. Below the settlement, easier slopes flanked a ravine containing the creek that ran down to join a long, narrow lake oriented roughly north-to-south, lying to the west. Charlie had guessed that this lake formed part of the course of the river they were on, the river entering at its northern end. After coming ashore, therefore, they would have to work around the settlement to get from the lake below to the ridge above, trusting to care and good fortune that they wouldn't be discovered in the process.

  They drifted into the lake without further mishap a little more than an hour before dusk. And it was here that the first difficulty confronted them. For the lake was approximately two miles long, with many inlets and indentations along its eastern bank, and the scale of the map was too small to locate Joburg accurately. They probed their way along the shore, searching the slopes and skyline above for some recognizable landmark—it had become apparent too late that the peaks Keene remembered seeing when he was at Joburg were not visible from the level of the lake. He was beginning to think they would just have to take a chance on landing somewhere and trust to luck, when strange sounds reached their ears: a staccato of five or six reports, muffled and distorted by echos. There was a pause. Then they came again. They seemed to be coming from the far side of a rise sloping down to some bluffs near the water's edge not far ahead. Then another series sounded. Charlie and Keene stared at each other in bewilderment. Neither of them needed to be told what they were hearing. It was gunfire.

  They guided the raft into an inlet below the rise and beached among the rocks, hauling the raft out of the water after them. As soon as they began moving up onto higher ground among the bluffs, it became clear that Charlie wouldn't be going far anytime soon—at least, not under his own power. His knee had stiffened completely, racking him with a burning pain at every attempted step. And he was feverish.

  "You go on, Lan," he gasped, lowering himself back into a space between the boulders. "There isn't any choice. We can't both stay here, and I can't go on."

  Keene couldn't argue. On top of that, the light was running out and they needed to know what the shooting was all about. He unpacked one of the foam-filled quilts to help make Charlie as comfortable as he could, and leaving both packs with him, set off following the rise inland, keeping to the side that was sheltered from the direction the sounds were coming from.

  When he had gained some height, he risked moving up to the crest to survey the far side and found himself overlooking a small valley with a creek at the bottom, narrowing to a ravine farther on. It had to be the creek that ran past Joburg and down to the lake. Following the creek farther would take him right past the edge of the settlement area, which would be inviting discovery. He had no choice but to make a detour leftward to get past it.

  By the time he rejoined the creek above the settlement, dark was closing in and the gunfire had ceased. He crossed over toward the more open slopes beneath the ridge, which was where it had seemed to be coming from. His only guess was that some kind of fighting had broken out as a result of the events that had taken place at Serengeti. But as he moved up the bank to see, he heard voices and laughing, making him duck hastily back down. Peering from a gap between the rocks, he saw a group of Rakki's Tribesmen moving down in the direction of the huts, some of them swaggering jauntily. All of them were carrying guns. Among them, he recognized Rakki's lieutenant, Enka, with the missing teeth. Then he caught snatches of a voice that sounded familiar.

  " . . . because I'm the boss, that's why. You just stick to your job. And anyway, even if . . ."

  Two of the figures were taller, wearing what looked in the fading light to be Kronian combat garb. The speaker was Jorff.

  Keene lay in the darkening shadows, not knowing what to make of it, until a long time after they had gone. For a while he was tempted to work his way closer to the settlement to try and find out something of what was going on, but the recollection that there were dogs there deterred him. As for finding the probe, blundering about up on the ridge in the dark would be more likely to win him a broken leg than anything else, which would be all they needed. There was nothing else for it tonight but to retrace his route back down to where he'd left Charlie. The only thing he was able to offer Charlie when he got back was a refilled water bottle.

  * * *

  As night wore on, Charlie alternated between fits of sweating and shivering, and was not very coherent. Keene gave him the second quilt and made himself as comfortable as he could wedged among rocks with the packs and spare clothing. Thunder boomed distantly to the east. Just to make everything complete, it started to rain. Keene pulled the tatters of his parka close around him and tried to plan for tomorrow.

  What were Jorff and Zeigler's guards doing at Joburg? The mood of the party he had seen on their way back down to the huts hadn't spoken of any hostilities. So they had to be training Rakki's warriors in the use of firearms—there had been shooting, and they were carrying guns. Training them for what? The only thing that came to mind was to supplement Zeigler's force at Serengeti. The thought, as Keene pictured it, of Kronians being humiliated by what at present could only be described as little more than savages was distasteful enough; but the further implication was more appalling still. When Valcroix and his supporters arrived, the first small army of oppression would already be waiti
ng to enforce their will. It might be only tiny beginnings, but the pattern of the regime that would grow from it, and the way it would be perpetuated, was already being set. And so the old empires of conquest and exploitation would arise and battle each other again. Unless Kronia could intervene in time to prevent it. But Kronia was ill-prepared for such a task. Since Athena, its energies had been totally absorbed in fighting for its own survival.

  More to the immediate point, what was he to do tomorrow? Cold, hungry, wet, and exhausted, he was unable to formulate any clear plan of action. They needed to find the probe, but what to do about Charlie? . . . But surely Rakki's warriors were too few to be worth all the effort. . . . So what was Jorff doing here? . . . Keene fell into a fitful doze with the fragments of thoughts still floating disconnected in his mind.

  * * *

  Another morning came, cold, gray, and damp. Charlie looked bad: pale, clammy, and sunken-eyed, coming out of his stupor only to ramble disjointedly. There could be no question of leaving him as he was for any length of time. And that decided Keene's dilemma for him. He stood up resignedly and turned to commence his route of the previous evening, following the rise up from the lakeshore. This time, however, instead of detouring around, he crossed the creek lower down and headed directly toward the settlement.

  But as he came within sight of the huts, the whine of flyer engines reached his ears, coming from behind and to his left, getting louder. It sounded like a craft approaching from the north. He turned to scan the sky and picked it out, following the line of the lake and descending. Then it turned toward the settlement on an approach that would bring it right over him, causing him to take cover hurriedly among some rocks. It was a medium personnel bus—seating up to twenty. Keene watched it pass over the huts to land on the open ground above. Then he emerged and carried on in the same direction as before, but curious now, moving more cautiously, in no haste to reveal his presence. Everyone's attention was on what was happening on the far side of the settlement, and he was able to get quite close.