Taribo plainly was not pleased with the remark, but he could offer no rebuttal or excuse.
“These particular Gaians outside your door aren’t exactly purists,” Alistair commented.
“Indeed they are not,” scoffed Shukri, the disdain evident in his voice. “The meteor that wiped this moon clean of life is an anathema to the real Gaians, who would have us leave the universe alone. I cannot imagine a true Gaian, even if forced to live here, choosing to reside in the very epicenter of what he considers blasphemy.” Shukri delivered the pronouncement with a steady crescendo of passionate derision, his thick eyebrows bunched over his eyes and his knuckles rapping the tabletop. He now relaxed and spoke more calmly. “They live in a Birth Crater; they enjoy a city powered by electricity generated… who knows how. They ride on hovercrafts. I’d wager my last Credit they eat red meat.”
“They sold their little Gaian souls when they agreed to be shepherds here,” Akihiro agreed.
“So…” said Faisa, “… what are your plans for our Gaian masters?”
“They are going to be exterminated,” said Mordecai.
It was impossible not to notice the grim satisfaction this pronouncement gave their hosts.
“Can you help us?” asked Odin.
“Yes we can,” said Faisa who, of the five Singulatarians, seemed the most pleased. “We can take you farther into the tunnels and show you a way into the Birth Crater. You can avoid detection if you don’t come down from the rim. We can give you a partial map, even a little intelligence on what to expect.”
“Tomorrow the sun will not rise,” said Shukri. “Srillium will eclipse it sometime tonight, on the other side of the moon, and there will be no dawn. If I were inclined towards superstition, I would say this is a fitting time for Floralel’s downfall.”
“Are there other Gaian cities?” asked Alistair.
“Yes,” said Faisa. “We believe they are in communication with each other.”
The implied threat hung in the air for a moment.
“Do you still wish to declare war?” she prompted.
“It has to be done,” said Alistair while the others uncomfortably shifted in their seats.
“Success,” said Raja, his first word since they arrived.
“Success,” agreed the other four, more or less in unison.
The large table was carried out of the gazebo to give the party a place to sleep. When their belongings were arranged to their liking, Shukri took Alistair back to the lip of the crater to show him the lights of the city and explain its layout. Mordecai, within earshot when Shukri offered to take him, insisted on coming along. Night had claimed the sky by the time they left, making their rocky path up the steep outer rim of the crater an uncertain one. When finally, after much stumbling and scraping their shins and knees, they reached the top and stared out over the vast depression in the earth, the city of the Gaians stood out. The shimmering defensive dome gleamed, and underneath it they glimpsed other lights of various colors, some of them in motion, some of them flickering and flashing. The dark mass of foliage below, indistinct, roiled and hissed like an agitated sea as a night wind rushed over it.
“We guess there are two thousand living there,” said Shukri, standing right on the edge, his white robes flapping like a flag on a mast. Tucking his chin into his chest and folding his arms, he stared at the hated place, his sharp features and thick eyebrows, faintly illuminated by the distant city lights, accentuating the threatening glare he gave it.
Alistair and Mordecai stood a few inches farther back in respect for the vertical drop.
“We should get as much information as we can from Bert,” suggested Mordecai. “After that he is no longer any use to us.”
“We’re not going to kill him in cold blood,” Alistair said. “His usefulness might extend well beyond the battle tomorrow.”
Shukri turned his head to Alistair. “Leave him with us if you don’t want to get your hands dirty.”
“I’d rather not. Thanks all the same.”
Shukri made an expression that often accompanies a shrug and stared back out over the Birth Crater. “You will be a king, Alistair?” The words, cast out to the void before Shukri, were tossed about by the wind and brought back less distinct.
“That’s not precisely my plan. What will you do with the Gaians gone?”
“I don’t expect too much will change right away.”
“I expect it will. That electric light you have… a nice piece of work, but about as far as you can go by yourselves. Imagine what can happen when people are free to own property and improve it. Imagine the division of labor being extended. Instead of manufacturing the electric light yourselves, a score of different companies each manufacture one part of it. They specialize in one aspect and become good at it. Imagine how far a free people could advance in no time at all.”
Shukri looked back at Alistair. “You are some sort of Capitalist Fundamentalist?”
“That has a derogatory ring to it. I believe in the Free Market. Entirely and without reservation. I am what was once called a liberal, then a conservative, then a libertarian, then a Freimann, then a liberal again… it has gone under many more names. ”
“But you’ll need a king to keep your Free Market safe.”
“A king is the greatest danger to a Free Market. There will be no States on Srillium, just free individuals cooperating on their own terms.” He paused a moment before continuing. “I’d like to hire you to work for me. You were scientists on Earth, were you not?”
“We were.”
“Come work for me and you can be scientists again. Instead of living in a cave, you can live in a mansion. Instead of making electric lights like Thomas Edison, you can make… whatever you want.”
Shukri almost imperceptibly nodded his head while he mulled over Alistair’s offer. “More than anything right now, I would like to know why we are alive on this moon.”
“How do you mean?”
“We are in orbit around a gas giant. Srillium must have a magnetosphere… unimaginably strong, with deadly radiation belts. The only organisms native to this moon were a few hardy forms of bacteria tucked away deep under the sea and buried underground. So why are we alive and healthy on its surface? That is what I would like to find out.”
“Come work for me and you can study anything you want.”
Shukri stared over the Birth Crater for a few more seconds before turning from it.
“We will work for you, Alistair, under the right terms. But let’s not think too far in the future. You have a battle to win tomorrow. Attend to that first.”
“That’s my specialty. God forgive me for it.”
“You believe in God?” asked Shukri as he descended the slope once more.
Alistair and Mordecai fell into step behind him, carefully balancing themselves on the rocky incline with all of its loose pebbles.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered, though he said it so softly he was not sure whether Shukri heard.
Chapter 73
The next morning the light was switched on without warning and Alistair, whose eyes were open, squinted against the glare. Rubbing his tired orbs, he sat up while the bodies around him stirred and made groans of protest. Bert sat nearby, outside the gazebo but tied to it, and his bleary, red eyes told of a night with no sleep at all. Breakfast consisted of some biscuits, butter and cured ham with chilled tea to wash it down. When they finished their meal, the Singulatarians wished them luck, and Shukri, carrying a torch, led them deeper into the cavern. Alistair at first tried to convince Giselle to stay behind, but even invoking his authority as her boss did not secure her compliance, so she came with the rest, weapons and ammunition bouncing and clicking as she walked.
When they emerged into the bottom of the Birth Crater, they found themselves in what seemed to be the dead of night. The dew that would not be chased away by a sun covered the ground and glistened from the light of Shukri’s torch. Stars twinkled in the sky as a soft breeze
gave cool kisses to their skin. Above, there was a soft but constant moan, indicating the wind was stronger above. At the floor of the crater it could barely be felt, but the tops of the trees swayed under its influence. Near the horizon there was a patch of starless sky and a faint trace of a circle of light they knew to be Srillium.
“Can you navigate your way to the city?” asked Shukri, speaking to Alistair once again in Mandarin.
Pointing to a part of the sky where he could see a ghostly glow, Alistair said, “That has to be from the city lights.”
“Then you know where you are going. We await your return.”
Shukri bowed his head to them and retreated back into the tunnel, leaving them on the forbidden bottom of the Birth Crater, now wrapped in nearly complete darkness.
“I never did get used to these Srillium nights,” said Duke, glancing about. “At home the cicadas would be singing an opera right now.”
It was as much of a send off speech as anyone cared to compose. They crept into the dark woods while the branches rustled overhead, fanning out but staying close enough to provide support to each other. Alistair, Mordecai, Taribo and Wei Bai carried the rifles, while Caleb held the grenade launcher. There was enough military experience in the group that they fell into an easy rhythm of movement and communication. Odin, Giselle and Wellesley merely attempted to be as unobtrusive as possible, while Bert was just tugged along by Mordecai, who had been more than satisfied to take charge of him.
“There are no lookouts?” Mordecai asked of him at one point. “No radars? Scanners? Sensors? Nothing?”
“I told you once,” replied the Gaian with excellent Mandarin. “We have our defensive field. There is no fear of the prisoners within the safety of Floralel.”
“But the craft sent to destroy the island… it is long overdue. That will not cause them worry?”
Bert shrugged as best he could with Mordecai tugging at the leash around his bound hands. “I cannot say for sure. This has never happened before.”
It is uncertainty that most accentuates fear; the unseen monster is the most dreadful. In that forest, every tree was a hiding place, every step a potential trigger for an alarm. They went in ignorance, not knowing if their bodies were registering right then as red silhouettes on some heat sensing system whose operators were chuckling in pompous derision at their approach. Though Mordecai promised to cut the tether keeping Bert’s head attached to his body if he were caught in a lie, there naturally were still grave doubts about the veracity of the information he gave them.
By degrees as they proceeded, the whitish haze in the sky grew brighter. Once, they halted to allow Mordecai to climb a tree and when he returned they made a small correction in their direction. Before long, rays of artificial light were filtering through the foliage, given an amorphous quality by the thin mist through which they passed. Alistair spied the defensive field about a hundred yards away and gave a signal to halt that, with reasonable efficiency, was passed along their formation. While the others held their position, Alistair moved down the line until he reached Mordecai and Bert.
“We’ve reached the city,” he said. “It’s probably almost noon.”
“The procession will start soon,” Bert promised.
“If it doesn’t…” threatened Mordecai.
“I’ve told you everything I can and as truly as I can. We make a procession to the clearing during every eclipse and a ceremony continues through the entire event until we see the sun again. If the procession is not held this time, it will be for no reason I can think of.”
“And the shield is lowered for the procession?”
“How else could they exit the city?”
Alistair and Mordecai exchanged glances.
“Take us to the clearing,” ordered Alistair.
It was a short trip, and they stopped well short of it for some acolytes were already there, setting up torches around the edge and an altar in the middle. The hooded acolytes worked in silence, using only nods to acknowledge each other on those occasions when their paths crossed. This Alistair witnessed through his rifle’s scope, and after a few moments of observation he nodded, satisfied.
“Let’s get Caleb into position.”
The position turned out to be a large tree with a stout branch on which to perch. It was several yards closer to the city than the clearing, and Caleb, grenade launcher loaded, clambered up the giant oak and readied himself.
From the tall grass of his own hiding spot, Alistair studied Floralel. It was a city whose inhabitants lived largely in the trees, and long plank bridges went from enormous trunk to enormous trunk, while dwellings of all shapes and sizes nestled among the leaves. On the leafy paths along the ground, each one lined with soft white lights, were the communal buildings of Floralel. On the outskirts of the city, right next to the protective shield, was the hangar, Alistair’s target, not a hundred yards from where he crouched. Constructed of something like white adobe and with a garden growing on its roof, the building was shaped in the Gaian style, with no edges or corners. The doors were made of some artificial, plastic like substance that blended in well with the walls.
Beyond the hangar, barely glimpsed between the thick tree trunks, was another building of the same white adobe which, based on Bert’s descriptions, Alistair took to be the Town Hall. It was several stories with terraces and roofs all over its irregular exterior, and light of various colors poured out of its open windows, sometimes flickering, sometimes constant. Behind and to the left of it was a structure fashioned from numerous living trees bent and wrapped around each other into the vague shape of a European cathedral, though smoother and more irregular. There was no mortar and no nails of any sort, merely trees bent under the will of the builders.
It was a peaceful city, and beautiful in an alien way. Fountains dotted the landscape, and hedges and other plants, carefully tended, wrapped around the bases of trees and spread out. A brook ran softly through, and bridges spanned it at various points, each one looking as if the earth itself, rather than man, had decided to form them. It was hard to imagine it as the provenance of the attack on the island, and Alistair experienced a moment of sharp regret at what they were about to do.
His thoughts were interrupted by Giselle who, crouched in the tall, damp grass with him, leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Be careful of Mordecai tonight… or today,” she breathed.
Alistair flashed her a look.
“Why?”
She shook her head and peered off to the north, to the general vicinity where Mordecai was hiding. “Beware friendly fire.” At Alistair’s furrowed eyebrows she continued, “He would shed no tears if you were to die. This is an opportunity to get rid of you he may not want to pass up.”
A chill ran up and down Alistair’s spine as he considered her words.
“You may want to get him first. Before he goes after you.”
He was ashamed to realize that there, on the verge of battle and with a rifle in his hands, he was tempted. He shook his head, though his resolve was less firm than he represented it to be.
“I’ve got no right.”
“Alistair—”
“I couldn’t even get my finger to pull the trigger.” It was a lie, and he blushed when he told it. I’ve pulled a thousand triggers, he thought with disgust. I’ve committed greater crimes than killing Mordecai.
“There isn’t a warrior on this planet with a right to complain if he were shot,” said Giselle, and there was a fierce bitterness in her voice, but she said nothing further.
With his attention returned to Floralel, though with his thoughts now much perturbed, Alistair realized his clothes were growing damp from the dew of the high grass. Every minor gust of wind raised the hairs on his arms and legs and once even caused him to shiver. By Arcarian standards it was still quite balmy, but having accustomed itself to the intense, wet heat of his current latitude on Srillium, his body reacted as if to a fall breeze.
Leaning back into Giselle, he w
hispered, “How cold does it get during the eclipse?”
“On the last day there will probably be a snow storm.”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t—”
“I packed you some winter clothes.”
His relieved grin was cut short by Taribo.
“I see the procession,” he hissed.
Yanked back to attention, Alistair searched for and quickly found the long line of the processional, just coming into view from behind the Town Hall as it wound through the city’s obstacles. The foremost three Gaians each carried a pole with a green flag outlined in white and with a red circle at the center. Behind them walked a man whose green robes stood out from the others for the intricate design of gold leaves and vines nearly covering the entire surface of the otherwise simple clothing. Walking in front of him, but facing him and stepping backwards as they went, were two short acolytes, probably children, each struggling to hold aloft one half of a great tome from which the man with the ornate robes read aloud. Behind these six came the great throng, moving in something less than a practiced, tight formation, though it retained a basic serpentine shape.
Coming part way out of his crouch, Alistair caught Caleb’s attention with a signal which the tall man returned from his perch in the tree.
“Don’t waste ammo,” cautioned Alistair when he was once again tucked away in the grassy undergrowth. “No unnecessary kills. Send them running if you can. Kill only if you have to.”
The only movement came from the tops of the grasses and weeds swaying in the slight breeze or when they exhaled. Their anxiety was made almost unbearably acute when the procession neared the defensive shield, plodding along at an unhurried pace. Finally, the long line of Gaians came to the edge and stopped, the flag bearers nearly touching the shield with the tips of the poles. The ambushers felt like a rubber band pulled taut.
When the shield opened, it was only a small section that slid apart like a pair of automatic doors. There was, of course, no actual door opening up, but it seemed that way as first a narrow slit appeared and then widened. No more than eight feet high and perhaps ten feet wide, the aperture gave Caleb, who was well above it on his branch, no angle from which to destroy the generator farther back.
Withûr We Page 72