The sun was not quite up, but whiteness lifted above eastward roofs, few stars remained to see, and the moon and Skyholm stood pallid in a haze that had come to rest after the breeze dropped. As yet, the docks were virtually deserted. Dew glittered on their tarred planks and bollards. A couple of early seagulls slanted above a sleet-colored river. Plik’s breath smoked. He shambled fast. His fingers plucked invisible strings while he sang, low, what had come out of him thus far.
They have cast the Prince from his throne on high
And proclaimed a strange new day.
They have named it with freedom’s ancient name
In Caesar’s ancient way.
They enjoin our souls that we seek fresh goals,
Since loosed from tyranny,
And abjure the Prince and his wicked works,
For theirs is mastery.’
His voice loudened, and suddenly the tune was a set of trumpet calls.
‘But hear a dusty bugle rave,
The snarling of the drums,
A whisper from a sunken grave
Where the bones are astir: “He comes! He comes! He comes!”
And see his flag of moonlit clouds advance
Across a waste where cold winds roam.
The ghosts of old go riding through the dark to meet him.
So shall the Prince come home!’
3
Helpless, Terai stood on his ship and watched the Northwesterner leave her moorings, pass him by, and glide on downstream. The sun had barely cleared eastward roofs; its rays made vivid the green-and-white flag that mocked him with a wave of farewell. No sail was on the catamaran. Mikli Karst wasn’t waiting for the tide, but was expending fuel in his auxiliary to get away.
What to do, what to do? For the hundredth or thousandth time, Terai beat thoughts against an immovable rock of fact. His mind felt bruised and bleeding.
That slut and her gang – or those bold patriots, no matter which words when the truth they clothed was deadly – they had brought a load of fissionables aboard. Wairoa had reported no doubt of it. Nor was there any doubt that the stuff was bound for the Union… though where, in that vast wild realm, remained a question.
Terai had considered pursuit, but, irony, Mount Hood was swifter if less capacious than his monohull. He had considered a radio call to N’Zealann, asking the Navy to intercept, but that task would be next to impossible, as wide as the seas and as few as the suitable aircraft were. Besides, he expected the ship would return here in a day or two. Her captain had said she would, and several of her personnel had stayed behind. If she did not, it would excite comment, the last thing Karst must want. (But he had probably completed his political undertakings in the Domain for the present, whatever they had been. They seemed to involve a relationship with Talence Jovain Aurillac, whose regime would need a while to consolidate its power before it could be useful to anybody else. If in the meantime it proved unviable, then the Norrmen had better not be caught in close touch with it. Therefore Karst himself should be going home before long.)
Given this much, Terai’s conclusion was that the enemy would fly their ghastly treasure back, launching their plane when beyond sight. They’d need to refuel, but must have made provision beforehand. Where and what – a ship at sea, an island, someplace on their continent – was unforeseeable without knowledge of their destination; and they might well take the precaution of following a circuitous route.
The aircraft aboard Hivao was superior in aces and spades to anything they could have: a jet, not a propeller job, speedy, armed, with at least a fourth again the range, and as crippled in this situation as Terai himself. He’d considered using it for surveillance, but of course Karst wouldn’t launch his vulnerable machine then; he’d radio an excuse for keeping to sea and wait till the Maurai tanks ran dry. It wouldn’t take too long, even given refills from the mother vessel, since the kilometers added up in a hurry during such an operation. The Domain lords wouldn’t sell more fuel because they didn’t allow foreign overflights, and their claims included the Bay of Bisky. (Doubtless Karst counted on taking off unnoticed.)
Terai had seriously thought of sailing out, getting aloft, and trying to sink Mount Hood from above. Telescopes in Skyholm – his glance sought its disc, but sun-glare still hid it – might well pick that up, leading to criminal charges and diplomatic difficulties; could be worthwhile, though, if it worked. It would not, he decided. His jet being a fighter, not a bomber, he doubted he could send a full-sized ship to the bottom, especially if the Domain dispatched warplanes to interfere. And if he did, the casings of the plutonium wouldn’t last in salt water, and he’d have released whole kilos of poison into the sea, he, a man of Oceania. For what good, anyhow? The devils in Noramerica must already have such a hoard that the loss would make no critical difference, and the secret of their intentions would die with this crew of them.
The catamaran decreased in sight. Terai thumped the rail, hurting his flesh in hopes that that would soften his agony.
‘I think I’ll go get drunk,’ he rasped.
The first mate, who had been standing beside him, nodded.’ I plan the same when my watch ends, sir. If you want, I can give you the name and address of a fine little piece. She’s clean and not too expensive.’
‘No, thanks.’ Terai turned convulsively away and lumbered to the gangplank. Sex for hire – how corrupt are we getting in these damned idle months? He winced. Besides, I doubt I could do anything in that line at the moment. A billow of longing: Except with you, Elena.
As he debarked, he didn’t notice who had come onto the wharf. Fingers plucked at his elbow. He forced his head around and looked into the mask of Wairoa. ‘I’ve word, skipper,’ said the man who claimed nine mothers.
‘Aii?’ Terai blinked. A leap went through his breast.’ Hope, do you mean? Come on!’
He hustled his associate back aboard and into his cabin. It was more homelike, and more secure, than the suite he kept at an inn so that he might have space for entertaining business guests. Tatami mats gave back the light that poured in, together with pungent coolness, through opened ports. The bulkheads were covered in burlap and pictures from his house. Books lined a big desk, mostly reference works, a couple of biographies and the like; Terai was not much for fiction or poetry. Between the desk and his bunk he had rigged a workbench, where in free hours he often turned wire, stones, and shells into jewelry, when he didn’t borrow Hivao’s metalworking shop.
He virtually thrust Wairoa into a chair and stretched an arm – muscles moved like pythons – toward a liquor rack. ‘What’ll you have?’ he asked.’ Tanaroa! A chance for us after all?’
‘Plain soda water, if you please.’
‘Well, urn, well, yes, we’ve a way to go till noon, but –’ Terai cracked a bottle for his visitor and poured a stiff whiskey for himself. His mass could absorb it without his feeling more than summery. He plumped himself down at the desk and got busy stuffing his pipe. ‘Speak, man. Don’t keep me on the hook like this.’
‘I promise no deliverance, you realize,’ Wairoa said in his most pedantic style. ‘What I have is some new information, which has led me to an idea.’
Terai curbed his impatience and invoked his brain. It wasn’t the world’s best, he acknowledged, but it was well stocked and reliable. ‘Carry on.’
‘Since learning that Mount Hood was going out today, I’ve maintained close watch on her,’ Wairoa said. Terai wondered when, where, and how the fellow ever slept. ‘Late last night, two men came aboard. One stayed. The other left just before sunrise. Judging from portraits in periodicals and verbal descriptions, that one who remained was the Talence Iern Ferlay who is being sought by the new Captain.’
Terai sucked in a breath. It was a thick, windy night, and Wairoa must have been at a distance, but he has owl’s eyes.‘What in Nan’s name could that mean?’
‘Please let me finish giving you the data, then I’ll offer my interpretation. Ferlay’s companion was an alcoholic Angley
bal ladmonger you may recall from a low-life tavern near the cathedral – Peyt Rensoon, nicknamed Plik. The colloquy between him and the men awake aboard the ship made plain that he persuaded them to rouse Mikli Karst, whereupon he and Ferlay disappeared into Karst’s cabin for hours. The watch was too close by for me to slip on deck. When at last he emerged and made his way home, Rensoon was exuberant, bawling forth a song that I interpreted as a recent composition of his own and rebellious in sentiment. I didn’t track him far, thinking I’d better keep Mount Hood in view. Nothing significant occurred, however. Ferlay must be aboard her yet, outbound.’
‘Gr-r-rum-m.’ Having gotten his pipe going, Terai drew comfort from it while he pondered. ‘What do you make of this? You’ve had longer to think about it than I have.’
‘I’ve gathered that Ferlay was an habitue of Rensoon’s favorite tavern whenever he was in Kemper, therefore doubtless a friend of Rensoon’s. He must have made contact and requested help in finding a refuge. Now Rensoon, in turn, had grown friendly with Karst. You didn’t see that, of course, but I did. The idea would be natural, would it not, that the Norrman could very well convey the fugitive to his homeland. The Union would have nothing to lose and possibly something to gain. Such an escapade would appeal to Karst; and he’s presumably dispatching his fissionables anyway.’
Terai rolled smoke across his tongue and cradled the warm little bowl in his hands. ‘Well, all right, they give a refugee a ride. Likeliest on their plane. What of it?’
‘Rensoon was in that cabin a long while,’ Wairoa said. ‘He may well have picked up clues to their destination.’
‘Ho!’ Terai leaped out of his chair.
‘If we got an intimation of the flight plan – mainly, where they propose to refuel – we could follow and overtake them.’
‘Yes, yes!’ Terai bellowed. ‘Lesu Haristi!’
He paced the narrow confines, back and forth, back and forth, the pipe raging between his teeth. ‘Yes, if we could time it so we caught them over uninhabited land, we could force them down. That’s the real gain, Wairoa. You did a tremendous thing when you discovered that they are, definitely, Norrmen who’ve been collecting that vile stuff over the years. But we’ve no proof beyond your word. Our superiors will believe; who else? You know how cynical people have gotten in the Islands. They wouldn’t support another war on somebody’s naked word, and a full-dress war is what it’ll take to eliminate this monstrosity, especially if we don’t know what it really is or a damn thing more than that it is.’ He snatched his glass and poured fire down his throat. ‘If we capture them, though, we have the physical evidence. And we have them, to interrogate. By the Triad, I’ve never used torture in my life, but with these hands I’ll do whatever is necessary to get the truth out, and lose no sleep afterward. I have a wife and children; I hope for grandchildren.’
Unaccustomed to speaking at length, he jerked to a halt, settled back into his chair, and regarded the multiple man.
‘Torture should not be required, certainly not where Rensoon is concerned,’ Wairoa said. ‘He’ll have scant motive to stay silent, if we promise a reward and point out that we have no reason to harm his chum Ferlay. I anticipate the main problem as being the paucity of his information. Karst will scarcely have divulged anything on purpose. I’ll need to hunt for data accidentally let slip, of which Rensoon may well have no conscious recollection. A long-drawn business, I’m afraid, preceded by the lengthy process – bribe or threat or appeal – of getting his cooperation.’
Terai glowered at the coals in his pipe. ‘And at the end we may draw blank. I understand. But we must try, of course. Where is he?’
‘Asleep in his rooming house, I’m sure. I’ve just come back from reconnoitering it. We can’t kidnap him out of there. He wouldn’t take kindly to being shaken awake, no matter what we offered, and a card game downstairs bids fair to continue all day.’
‘M-m, yes, we hardly want the police on our necks. But meanwhile that cargo of misery and death will be winging off –’
‘My thought is this,’ Wairoa said. ‘Let us spend the next several hours getting our ship cleared for her own “exercise.” Short notice, but you can claim the Norrmen inspired you and today happens to be convenient for it. I’ll keep Rensoon’s house under observation. When he finally emerges, I’ll let you know. You can handle the matter in a way I can’t. Seek him out, be genial, stand him a drink, invite him aboard Hivao for an impromptu celebration. Once we have him here, we’ll lock him away and put out to sea. When it’s feasible, we’ll launch our jet – you and I and he, prisoner – and take off in a westerly direction. I’ll interrogate as we fly. If we get a lead on where the enemy plane is bound, we’ll adjust our course accordingly. If not, we’ll get Rensoon back to Kemper and pay him an amount of drinking money for the trouble we’ve caused him.
‘There is my proposal. Do you see flaws?’
‘No,’ Terai said after a while. ‘Nothing important that we’re likely to lose. And maybe a world to gain. Or at least to save.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The airplane was rather small, except for capacious fuel tanks, and its present load took up most of what space there was in the fuselage. Ronica Birken at the controls, Talence Iern Ferlay beside her, Mikli Karst behind, had scarcely more room for movement than their seats offered. That was tolerable, because they should be breaking their flight in about twelve hours. The craft was a twin-engined propeller-driven monoplane with the additional capacity for vertical takeoff and landing that operation from shipboard required.
Well designed within the limitations the Maurai impose, Iern thought. No wonder the Northwesterners chafe. I certainly would.
He glanced at the big young woman. The pilot’s well designed too. And she did a neat job of getting us off, in those heavy seas.
They ran beneath him now, gray and green, shaking their white manes, but the night wind that raised them had died down and fifteen hundred meters of altitude made a vast circle of them, intricately and shiftingly patterned. Only a few clouds, sunlit from aft, broke the blue above. Skyholm had dropped under the eastern horizon.
Iern’s pulse beat high. He should have been tired after his sleepless night; excitement had forbidden his getting a nap while Mount Hood bore him off. He wasn’t, nor did he feel dread or grief anymore. An underground part of him reproved the rest for being lighthearted, even joyful, when the Domain and everybody he held dear lay under a weight of trouble. He paid small attention. He was free, off to do battle but first to explore the world!
Faylis’ betrayal had stopped hurting. At least things have come out in the open. I don’t suppose I’ll want revenge on her when I return. Already she seems like a dream dreamed long ago.
And meanwhile – He was growing acutely aware of Ronica. He hadn’t had a woman for worse than two weeks, Faylis reluctant and he too busy to seek elsewhere (which would doubtless have been wrong anyway when the land mourned good old Captain Toma) and afterward on the run. This Norrie wench was, indeed, magnificently engineered and obviously full of life. If he wasn’t being wishful, he also felt a – perhaps not exactly sultriness – a banked fire in her, ready to blaze up at a touch.
‘I’d be interested to fly this craft myself,’ he ventured.
She gave him a straightforward look. Her eyes were ocean-colored in the strong features, her hair fell past her shoulders in thick amber waves, contained only by a beaded headband. Her bosom stretched a shirt unbuttoned halfway down it; trousers hugged full hips and long legs. A huge sheath knife added an arousing suggestion of wildness. ‘Why, sure.’ Her voice came husky through the engine-throb that filled the cabin and made it tremble. ‘I was sort of counting on you to spell me, in fact, since learning you’re a Storm-rider. Maybe you can teach me a few tricks.’ Her Angley was more accented and less fluent than Mikli’s, but it sufficed.
Iern grinned. ‘Gladly, mamzell. What sort of tricks have you in mind?’
Mikli’s ashtray breath reached him as a laugh
at his back. The Norrman laughed often, though the sound was more like a fox-yelp than a peal. ‘If you’re thinking of flying a mattress, which you probably are, dismiss the idea,’ he advised. ‘Insistence can be hazardous to life and limb. I know.’
Ronica flushed under her tan but did not appear offended. ‘I don’t muck around with married men,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, you can’t call me married –’ Iern began.
She did show a trace of anger. ‘Mikli is. His wife’s a sweet person who’s been kind to me, but: she has the misfortune to love him. You watch out yourself, Ferlay. He’ll proposition anything on two legs, and I’m not sure about some of the quadrupeds.’
And he her superior! Iern braced himself for unpleasantness.
Mikli only laughed again. ‘We make a fine team, Ronica and I,’ he said. ‘She does bait splendidly, doesn’t she? And gives as good as she gets. It passes the time. I miss her when we aren’t working together, and for her part, she’s been known to enjoy jokes of mine, proving that she has her human share of low-mindedness.’
‘Enough of this frogfart,’ snapped the woman. She turned her attention forward. ‘Yes, you can try your hand later, Ferlay, but she’s running nicely on automatic and I’d sooner leave it that way as long as can be.’
‘I understand,’ Iern said. ‘A light plane is vulnerable to weather; that’s when it wants a pilot. Do you think we’ll get some?’
‘Oh, weather we’ve always got,’ she pointed out with a renewed smile. ‘As for the bad kind, who knows?’ A cloud drifted across her mood. She sighed. ‘Once people did. We could ourselves. A station in orbit –’
Mikli cleared his throat. Ronica chopped her words off. Mikli took over: ‘Missy Birken isn’t my subordinate – not in my corps at all. Lucky for me. How would you like to try keeping her under military discipline? But occasionally she takes off from her regular work and does something entirely different, and a few times this has brought us into cooperation.’
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