Orion Shall Rise

by Poul Anderson

  The sky hung almost black, as if just above her head. With no leaves astir against them, the patterns of stone and timber in the garden walls had become a stiff calligraphy in an unknown language. Attendants had cleared the paths – gravel mumbled underfoot – but otherwise there was little here save naked trees, rocks, steles, sculptures, fishponds emptied and frozen over. An occasional evergreen bonsai should have been an affirmation of endurance, but today, for her, it could not.

  She came to a slab bench facing a circle of stones and a coral mass. Seashells thrust their tips above snow; the next fall would quite bury them. For a moment she stood irresolute, then smiled the least bit at herself and sat down on the side Iern had once used.

  She had brought a clipboard and writing equipment. When they were ready, she first contemplated the coral, let her thoughts sink far down into tides and depths, before she put brush to paper. Though she wrote in Unglish, she took pains to make each letter beautiful.

  Vanna Uangovna Kim of the Ardan Polk, in Dulua of the Krasnayan Gospodinate, to Talence Iern Ferlay of the Domain of Skyholm, wherever he be, upon the last day of that year when we met:

  Greeting and well-wishing.

  It is not sure that this letter will reach you. I will send it while traders still ply between Mong lands and the Northwest Union, accepting incidental mail for a small fee. You may recall my asking where I could write to you, if occasion arose, and your lady Ronica Birken giving me an address, a trading post somewhere in the Yukon. She said that certain persons who stop there will know where to carry such a message.

  Doubtless it will be inspected along the way. Well, I have nothing secret to tell you.

  Indeed, my reason for writing is equally unsure. I cannot think that you will be granted any opportunity to reply, even if you desire to. Where are you, what are you doing, how do you fare? I have often wished to know since we said goodbye, but told myself that it would be foolish to attempt communication. So now, when an answer seems impossible – why?

  To this I can only say that it is not impossible. You would have to be a Gaean, an adept at that, feeling the wholeness of the universe, to understand fully what I mean. However, think of how you recall, reach out to, those you care about who are absent or dead. Coming as you do from an old society, think of the communion you have with your forebears. While you cannot respond, I can speak, and that is more than you perhaps realize.

  After you and your companions left, we returned to the everyday here in Dulua. Oh, yes, the strangeness of the episode kept us bemused, but less and less as the weeks passed. I was exceptional, trying to regain serenity and never wholeheartedly succeeding. I could not forget the ominousness of your coming and going, nor how your decency shone against it. Pity me not, for I had my work and my world. May you too have been inwardly calm and glad.

  But today – Censors, please note that I tell nothing which will not long have been general knowledge by the time this can arrive. Note as well, please, the words of a famous Norrman writer, ‘A fight is public, a love or a hate is private.’ Though Iern and I be opposed, if we are, we keep the right to remain friends.

  Iern: Yesterday the word came. ‘Intelligence agents have discovered actions in the Northwest Union which pose an unequivocal, immediate, and enormous danger. Governments of the Five Nations are in emergency conference at the highest levels. Diplomatic representations will be made, but it is expected that an ultimatum must be given. The nature of the threat cannot be divulged at present, for that might close the option of a peaceful settlement. Meanwhile, the Five Nations shall demonstrate their determination to avert the worst while praying for the best.’

  Words to that effect, although, inevitably, much longer-winded. I cannot recollect them exactly, nor do they matter. What does matter is that the Soldati are being mobilized for joint operations.

  I am not the sole person who can guess what this is about. Rumor of the uranium gleaners has flown widely around. I assume, myself, that it is the Maurai who have found something specific and terrifying, for traders do bring tales of how they are steeply increasing their presence in the Union. It would be logical for them to inform our leaders. They and we and all humankind have a common interest, a common peril.

  Yes, all humankind, including those elements in the Northwest who are guilty. They must imagine themselves liberators. I do not, cannot believe that you are among them, Iern. I cannot believe that the vast majority of Norrfolk are. They may once have been misguided about ‘peaceful’ atomic power, but can they stand up while madmen light the torch for a new Death Time?

  And this is the little I know today, this and my personal decision. I would wait to learn more, except that trade and mail could be cut off at any hour, so that I must write now.

  As for myself, if you are interested, I will be getting in touch with Orluk Zhanovich Boktan, the noyon who took you down to his country and released you to the Northwest. My Aldan Polk and the Blue Star are both small and no longer very militarily oriented. They will doubtless come under the same Yuanese command as his Bison. He and I are friends, after a fashion, and have worked together in the past, after a fashion. He will welcome my presence as what you would, misleadingly, call a chaplain. Unless the crisis abates, I shall probably leave in another week or two. After that, it will certainly be impossible to write to you, for however long the conflict lasts.

  What news comes in from your country is not good either, unrest, outbursts of violence, tensions abroad, and then I think how those who love you must wonder and grieve. In this language I could say, ‘May life continue well with them as with you,’ but of course that is meaningless in Gaean terms. Gaea is in upheaval again. To the extent that we are reasoning and dutiful beings, we must open ourselves to Her Who is us, and be, as organelles of Her. That is all. It is everything.

  [The brush slipped and made a blot.] But Iern, Iern, I do not wish to preach! I have only been trying to explain. Maybe someday we will meet and explain better, we two.

  Please convey my regards to Ronica Birken and your friends.

  The brush hovered. She started to write ‘Yours affectionately’ but changed it to ‘Yours in memory.’ Light was failing; she must hunch over the clipboard and squint. The first tiny snowflakes drifted down.

  5

  From behind his desk, Jovain returned his visitor’s salute. ‘Be seated,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, Your Dignity.’ Talence Elsabet Ormun took the edge of a chair. Her hands clenched together on her lap. She was nervous, Jovain saw – nervous but determined.

  He regarded her more closely. The technical staff of Skyholm had never intruded much upon his attention, what with everything else that did. They were simply there, like the machinery. When this electronician requested an appointment, declaring that she bore a message from a number of colleagues, the realization had jarred him that he should not have taken them for granted.

  Her appearance was reassuringly undramatic, neat, skinny, homely except for lustrous dark eyes. Often she gulped, and her voice was strained. He proffered her a smile. ‘At ease,’ he said. ‘If we can’t be comrades in the stratosphere, where can we be?’

  ‘The Captain is … most gracious,’ she replied.

  ‘What can I do for you, mamzell?’

  ‘Listen. Just listen, we beg you.’

  Warmth rose within him. She needs something very badly, she and the others she mentioned. They will allow me to be kind to them. ‘Say on. The Captain is the premier servant of the people.’

  ‘That’s not the original idea of him –’ She broke off, as if frightened by her impulse. ‘I pray pardon. Irrelevant.’

  The warmth chilled a little. ‘Well, what do you have to say?’

  She straightened, returned him stare for stare, and drew breath before it rushed from her:

  ‘My corps has been discussing things. Not in a body, but individually. A number of us are distressed at what has been happening lately. And what threatens to happen. We have kinfolk, ancestral homes t
hat we see on furlough, allegiances older than our work here. I intend no disrespect, but the, the manner of Your Dignity’s election was, was irregular. Some question it. Some ask what became of Iern Ferlay. They express doubt of, of his alleged suspiciousness. Sir, please understand that I, the persons for whom I speak, we are not denouncing or anything like that. For the good of Skyholm and the Domain, we wish to give you a warning.’

  Jovain stiffened until his back twinged. No, such a reaction is not wise, not truly Gaean. The interior voice was almost inaudible. ‘Proceed,’ he snapped.

  ‘There is unhappiness with Your Dignity’s policies, and anger, and – and disobedience. And now the trouble with Devon, that many people think is unjustified. More and more cadre officers announce they won’t answer a call to arms for that issue, but will stay home and lead the pysans and townsfolk in keeping their ancient rights. Sir, this is terrible!’

  ‘It is.’ Jovain mustered his own will. ‘It cannot be allowed. It shall not be.’

  ‘What does the Captain propose to do, if we come to the brink?’

  ‘Let us hope we do not. That common sense, if nothing else, will prevail. Skyholm does hold the final power.’

  Her hands quivered. ‘Sir, that is why I am here. To warn you this isn’t true. A substantial part of the staff, aloft and aground, have decided they – we cannot let Skyholm fire on its people. Or on a foreign country that has done us no real harm. We cannot, we will not.’

  It was like a hammerblow. Jovain sagged back. ‘Your oath,’ he whispered. ‘Your tradition of service.’

  Her diffidence vanished. ‘We read the oath as a pledge to keep Skyholm for the benefit of the Domain. That is the tradition of our corps. We are not about to change.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing but reconciliation, sir. If the Captain would consult more widely, and heed more opinions, everybody could agree on a settlement. We, my group, we aren’t politicians. We don’t presume to set terms. We simply implore you to make peace before too late.’

  Jovain braced himself afresh. ‘And if I try and fail, what then?’

  ‘Sir, you must not fail. I repeat, we will not operate Skyholm against any part of the Domain or any innocent foreigners.’

  ‘“We”! Who are the lot of you? Name them.’

  The dark, primly covered head shook. ‘No, sir. That might invite reprisals. Can’t you see that we are trying to prevent an open breach?’

  ‘You speak for –’ Rage flared. It tasted metallic. ‘You bitch, you’re the one who started this sedition!’ Jovain screamed. ‘You!’

  She rose. ‘Perhaps I should go,’ she said quietly. ‘Anytime the Captain desires to talk further, he can find me in my quarters or at my station.’

  Jovain sat alone and shuddered. After minutes, he became able to send for Mattas. When the ucheny entered the office, Jovain groaned, ‘Help me. Ease me.’

  An hour of yogic exercise, chant, meditation brought calm. It was not the deep inner peace of Gaea, it was like the flatness of a sea while the air gathers itself for a storm. ‘We’ll forestall them,’ Jovain said. ‘Whom shall I contact first? Counselors – Terran Guard – loyalists – not sufficient. Necessary, but not sufficient. The Espaynians, Dyas Garsaya for a liaison –’ He stared at the photograph of Charles Talence, which centuries had rendered nearly faceless. ‘And the Maurai?’ he murmured. ‘Yes, maybe in due course the Maurai. Whatever I decide, “due course” had better be soon.’

  Mattas dragged on his beard. ‘I don’t like that last,’ he said. ‘But if you must, I suppose you must. We can’t let slip what we’ve won. It means too much to Earth.’

  Abruptly Jovain recalled that, aside from a brief ceremonial visit to Tournev, he had not since he became Captain set foot on ground. The lands that he ruled had become a clouded map far below, less real to him than yonder picture. He could at least take the picture off the bulkhead, handle it, cast it on the deck and grind it underfoot if he chose. The world had shrunk to this globe in heaven, most often to this single cell within it. Would he ever be free to leave Skyholm?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘– The government of the Northwest Union declared itself powerless to act. Her Majesty’s representatives pointed out steps which it could take to help: forbidding any further work on the infamous Orion project, requiring the surrender of the facilities, proclaiming those persons outlaw who do not promptly obey, and calling upon all citizens to cooperate in the abolition of that worldwide menace. When the Chief and Grand Council refused this minimum, Her Majesty’s government perforce considered it a rejection of the ultimatum. The grace period has expired, and a state of war exists between the Maurai Federation and the Northwest Union.’

  The order of the day echoed in Terai’s head next morning, as the armada stood out to sea. He had known that matters must come to this, known it from the moment he stumbled into an office in Vittohrya and saw who awaited him – not only Kurawa of the Intelligence Corps, but the director of the Inspectorate and the supreme commander of occupation forces, there in the middle of the night.

  But then a month followed that was like a fever dream after the wilderness. Medical examinations, treatment of injuries, rest and diet, yes, except that the rest and the diet were snatched on the run. Interrogation, flight to the great base on Oahu, truly intensive questioning, interviews with officers of every rank and specialty, a number of them flown in from N’Zealann, sessions under drugs for total recall, conferences, and several drunken parties to make it bearable. Meanwhile the diplomats wrangled and the harbors filled with warships, as Oceania marshaled her strength. Sometimes a piece of news from elsewhere drifted past … the Mong nations were likewise preparing to fight, the Free Merican states agreed on a boycott of their Northern cousins and talked of alliance against them, the Captain of Skyholm issued a proclamation of deepest concern and support, Beneghal set grudges aside and offered assistance.… None of it quite registered on Terai.

  What did burn its way into him was what he witnessed in the streets whenever he left base. Awaii had been in the Federation for hundreds of years. More races had mingled their blood here than in N’Zealann itself. Yet the public announcement of Orion’s existence – a desperate attempt at generating pressure on a Union that was flatly not interested in meaningful negotiations – had in this ancient Merican possession touched off madness. Not in everybody, or even a majority, no. But in appallingly many, above all the young. They swaggered about in imitations of Northwestern costume. They scrawled To the starsi on walls and pavements. They danced in torchlit parades, they kindled bonfires on mountaintops, and chanted. They shouted down campus speakers who tried to explain what a monstrosity Orion was, or they just declined to come listen. In a few areas they rioted. And it was not as if they understood the arguments on either side. The news had exploded over them too swiftly, too recently, for education. It was that their tribe of old was daring this thing. Let the Norrmen go! Let the Wolf run free!

  For Terai, the flareups only reinforced his conviction that war was inevitable. That odd man Plik (how did he fare? How did Wairoa?) had been right, in his way. A hurricane of the soul was rising; reason, wisdom, consciousness itself were no more than spume blown on the wind.

  Nevertheless, when the loudspeakers carried Admiral Kepaloa’s iron voice across decks where sailors waited row upon row, when he uttered the unrecallable word, Terai would have wept if he had been alone.

  This day he stood at the taffrail of the flagship Rongelap and watched the mountains of Awaii drop under the horizon. They were blue-gray at their distance, between a turquoise heaven and a sea which ran sapphire, cobalt, indigo, laced with foam more white than the clouds towering aft or gulls skimming above the wake. Sails and sails bedecked those waves, banners flew brave from a hundred hulls, out over the edge of the world. Behind him the dreadnaught swept grandly bow-ward in teak and bronze and myriad crew, six masts upbore her own multitudinous wings, the breeze sang in lines and thrummed in spars
and eddied back down through odors of pitch and salt. The power and pride of Oceania bore north on crusade, and Terai knew he should have rejoiced.

  To him came young Lieutenant Roberiti Lokoloku, also of Intelligence, who had become a friend during the debriefing, and stopped by his side, and after a little said shyly: ‘You don’t look very glad, Captain Lohannaso.’

  ‘Are you?’ Terai retorted. ‘We’re off to kill people, you know.’

  The black Papuan countenance flinched. ‘Yes, true … and some of them are known to you personally, hu? But what we are doing is right.’

  Terai continued to stand arms folded, eyes aimed at the receding land, while he nodded. ‘Aye. If I didn’t think that, I wouldn’t be aboard.’

  ‘Er … I must admit I, I don’t entirely understand why you are. I mean, after everything you’ve done, they must have offered you a long leave, and afterward an assignment at home.’

  ‘They did. I volunteered for the expedition. No, I insisted.’

  ‘Why? If I’m not being nosy.’

  Terai unbent his arms and clasped the rail. The motion set muscles astir under tattoos and T-shirt; he had almost regained full weight. ‘I’m not certain myself. But I had to – to see this thing through? Or carry out one last duty before – before what?’ He snorted. ‘Enough. I don’t believe in fate.’

  ‘What do you believe in?’ Roberiti dared ask.

  ‘Grandchildren.’ Terai gusted a laugh. ‘I’ve enjoyed life. I want them to be able to.’

  ‘– no further disorders in Seattle, but the policy continues in force, that no Maurai, military or civilian, may go outdoors unaccompanied. In Portanjels, an explosion damaged a Navy freighter. There were no casualties. It is theorized that saboteurs planted a bomb on a piece of driftwood and launched it on the tide. The hinterlands remained quiet after last week’s savage firefight on Mount Rainier. However, aerial scouts, taking advantage of a rare break in the weather, report signs of preparation for major guerrilla attacks. Intelligence has confirmed that a massive exodus did take place, apparently northward, by ship, boat, motorcar, and aircraft. The scale of this movement seems larger than had been supposed. The cause is obscure. It may be panic, although the high command has repeatedly assured Northwesterners, including members of the notorious Wolf Lodge, that they will be safe in their persons and property as long as they keep the peace.