‘Indeed?’
‘Consider. Bombing has become out of the question until we can build more carriers or else invade Laska in force and construct air bases there. Either would take the better pan of a year, at least, even if we accept the foreign help we’ve been offered. Similarly for a massive landing on the peninsula. Meanwhile those people are free to carry on their work. They’ve lost their prototype, but I should think they’ll need less time to produce a second one, especially since the first has proved out remarkably. It ought not to take very much longer than that to ready their entire space escadrille.
‘Meanwhile, too, the blockade is ended. Worse than the losses sustained is the collapse of morale. The report sent me says that it’s no use telling the crews that the nukes are all spent. An obsession about the atom is built into them, into our entire culture. Nothing now prevents the southern Territories from pouring reinforcements and supplies north, by sea as well as by land. We can’t control those parts, aside from enclaves – not when a whole people has the taste of victory in its mouth.
‘And what of reaction at home and abroad? This is not a popular war, you know. The report mentioned riots or demonstrations in a number of Maurai communities. Terror and, yes, a certain rebellious admiration for the sheer audacity of the foe. I suspect Ferlay and Birken have fired millions of imaginations; and our sworn objective is to dismantle those spacecraft. I wouldn’t be surprised if Beneghal backs out of the negotiations about an alliance with us. I’ll wager a year’s pay that the Free Mericans in the Southwest do.’
Rewi’s look pierced them, one after the next, ending at Jovain. ‘In short,’ he said, ‘the odds at present are even or worse that the Norrmen will succeed in their undertaking, and a handful of irresponsible adventurers will come to dominate this planet. They may then encounter the kind of difficulties that you have, Captain, but our civilizations as we have known them will go under.’
‘Unless,’ Mattas said.
‘Yes,’ Rewi replied. ‘We discussed this, you and I.’
Comprehension crashed through Jovain. ‘Wait!’ He heard his voice as a thin shriek. ‘Skyholm?’
‘Yes, Your Dignity,’ the Maurai told him. ‘The aerostat is dirigible. We can take it over the Pole and station it above the enemy within a week. We don’t need precise targeting information, when we have unlimited solar power. We can maintain laser fire for as long as need be – flame down his troops, burn out his support in the region, keep his mechanics and their works below ground, drill down into his caverns, until he surrenders.’
‘Almighty Deu,’ shivered from Lorens. He crossed himself again.
‘Nothing could touch us,’ cried Yago, ‘nothing!’
‘No wait, wait,’ Jovain stammered. ‘Here at home … the Domain would be prey to my own enemies –’
‘Is it not, as things are?’ Rewi retorted.
‘Iern could freely land in Franceterr. They’d swarm to him.’
‘What danger is a single unarmed spacecraft? You would return as a hero, sir, a conqueror, invincible. And … I think I can safely promise that the Maurai Federation will be beside the man who saved its world.’
‘Who saved Gaea,’ Mattas urged. ‘Saved Her from a second Judgment. Exacted justice for atrocities, not only committed against human beings but against Her own self.’
Skyholm, rang in Jovain. The most powerful single fortress and engine in existence. Its Captain the shaper of the next thousand years and more – if he shows the decisiveness that becomes a man –
Glory mounted in him. He sprang to his feet. ‘I will!’ Beneath the tumult he was aware of the sun-arrows he would be sending to kill and burn, kill and burn, he, a revengeful god.
5
Once more the Boot Heel roared.
Addressing a regathered assembly that day, Eygar Dreng had ended with a shout: ‘– We can win, and before God, we shall! If we’ve lost heavily, the enemy has lost more. He won’t be back soon. Tomorrow we get busy again, and we’re going to work like trolls. This night, though, we’ll hold a celebration and a wake, a celebration of our victory and a wake for those brave men and women whose lives bought it for us. Drink your thanks to the memories of Mikli Karst, Bryun Scarp, everybody who died so the Wolf may run free. In their spirit, Orion shall rise!’
He was in the mess hall himself that evening, seated on a table as if it were a throne. His brawny hand gripped a glass of whiskey, his short legs kicked, and his voice rumbled through the racket. The chamber could hold only a fraction of the folk, especially counting militiamen off duty. Most spilled out into the halls, to pass their own bottles around, bellow forth song, stamp forth dances, embrace, often drop a few tears, then hoot defiance or laughter. Air was hot, smoke-blue, rank, but it could have been a winter wind that whipped them to life.
Tides of them struggled in and out the doorway, across the floor, around the bar. A scarecrow figure appeared in their midst. He had been able to move fast along the corridors, but here the crowd trapped him. Snarls lifted, curses resounded, fists threatened, while quietness spread in waves from the center as people turned to stare.
‘– traitor, spy, tear ’m apart, string ’m up –’
‘Belay that!’ Eygar boomed. ‘Let him be.’ The growling and milling about were slow to die away. ‘Are you the Free Folk, or a rabble o’ Mong city-serfs? What’s happened can’t be Plik’s fault. Let him be, I say!’
The crowd moved from the Angleyman, pushing and shoving each other, until there was as much space as possible around him. Eygar beckoned. ‘Come on over, fellow,’ he called.
When the singer had done so, the director proffered the flask at his side. ‘Have a swig,’ he invited.
Plik tilted it at length. ‘Aaah!’ he sighed. ‘God bless you, sir. I needed that enough to risk my bones in this place. You’re most kind.’
‘I’ve enjoyed what I’ve heard of your stuff. And I don’t imagine you bear any responsibility for what your, uh, your friends did.’
Plik returned a steady look. ‘No, sir. However, they remain my friends.’
‘You’ve a right to your sympathies.’
‘Oh, but I have none, except for the innocents whom these vast causes have killed, mangled, bereaved, and for those whom they will.’
‘Well, do your job and watch your tongue,’ Eygar advised. ‘A lot of the boys are pretty touchy, after what we’ve suffered, and I can’t spare you a bodyguard. Okay, proceed to the bar if you want.’
Plik could not get away immediately through the human press. Thus he heard an officer who stood next to the chief say in anxious wise: ‘About the stolen spacecraft, sir. I do think we should discuss the hazard it poses.’
‘Okay, I’ll finish what I was telling you, and then we’ll get down to serious drinking,’ Eygar replied. ‘Tomorrow we can go over the details if you insist. Basically, I don’t agree it is a danger. Ferlay broadcast that his intentions are peaceful, if not favoring us any longer. I believe him. And in fact, I hear from a couple of radar tracking posts that he’s taken off for outer space.’
‘He’ll return, sir. And Orion Two will still have atomic bombs in her drive racks.’
‘He can’t drop them on us. Not unless the entire system is redesigned and rebuilt first, and who’s going to do that for him? The Maurai? No; dead against their whole ethic. Besides, Ferlay and Birken left because the use of nukes in war disgusted them beyond endurance.’ Eygar bit his lip. ‘I can’t say as how I blame them too much.’
‘Nevertheless –’
‘Oh, I’m not relying on psychology alone. Ferlay could land in Federation territory without cracking up, maybe. The Maurai could be so desperate they’d convert his bombs into warheads and fly a special mission over us. Remember, though, those aren’t high-yield units; they’d vaporize the ship if they were. If the total kilotonnage were put into a single weapon, and stuck fairly close, it could take out one of our launch tubes, no more. They’re reasonably well dispersed, remember, and damn well hardened. I
f the fissionable stuff were divided among a sufficient number, then each of them would have to strike precisely. The Maurai don’t have information that exact … nor bombsights that good. Nobody’s fought a real air war since the Doom. Today’s technology for it is primitive.
‘I credit them and Ferlay with the common sense to recognize all this.’
‘The ship herself is a potential weapon, sir,’ the officer argued.
‘You mean her blast,’ Eygar said. ‘Yeh, theoretically Ferlay could stand her on her blast and torch out our sites, one after the other. It’d be a feat of piloting beyond belief, no matter what a crackerjack he is, especially when he has no copilot and just a single engineer. But it is a far-fetched theory. Well, simply to put minds like yours at ease, Jayko, I’m having the militia bring some rockets to this area.’
‘Nuclear?’
Eygar gestured forcibly. ‘No! I’m informed that we’ve shot our wad of those filthy things, and don’t mind admitting I’m glad. These are small solid-fuel jobs with chemical warheads. They can get up to about ten klicks’ altitude. The spaceship would have to hover closer than that if she was to inflict any real damage, and a single missile forward of the plates would bring her down.’
His fist hit the table. Bottle and tumblers rattled. He took a hefty swallow of liquor. ‘Repeat, I don’t expect any such attempt,’ he said. ‘Ferlay must know better. Besides, I suspect he loves that ship as much as I do. Maybe more, since he’s had her out yonder, the lucky bastard. We are prepared against contingencies, Jayko. Therefore, God damn it, let me concentrate on this booze.’
Plik edged his way out of earshot in the hubbub. Though he continued to draw hostile stares, nobody abused him further.
An arm linked with his. Glancing down, he spied Lisba Yamamura of the library staff. ‘Hi,’ she said, almost timidly.
‘Why … hello.’ He was surprised. They had chance-met occasionally since their quarrel of several months ago, but a degree of coolness had prevailed between them. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m not quite sure lately, you?’
Plik shrugged a little, smiled a little.
‘If you’re thirsty, which I bet you are, be warned you’ll need half an hour at least to belly up to the bar,’ she told him. ‘Care for some of mine to tide you over?’
‘Thank you.’ He accepted her glass and took a modest sip. ‘But how do I deserve it?’
She gave him a long look. ‘You must be very lonely these days,’ she said.
‘Hm, well –’
‘Nobody wants to hear your songs, do they? Have you composed any new ones? These events ought to ’ve inspired you, whether or not you’d be wise to make it public.’
From the hall came a sound of deep young voices. The melody spread and strengthened, bringing in man after man.
‘Let a long-imprisoned thunder
Shake the mountains and the skies
While the stars behold a wonder
As we make Orion rise.
Death to tyranny!
Now the Wolf runs free!
Defy the gods on high, for they shall die.
And we’re faring,
And we’re faring,
And we’re faring forth to liberty! Liberty! Liberty!’
Plik shook his head. His lips had gone pale. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t try to compete with that.’
‘What?’ Lisba asked. ‘Stirring tune, yes, but I don’t think the words are anything special.’
‘They’re doggerel,’ Plik replied, while the rest of the song overrode all else. ‘However, don’t you see? I’m a poet of sorts, or claim to be. I invoke demons and afterward do my best to report what I saw. But this is the tongue of the demons themselves.’
He disengaged his arm from hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve doubtless offended you again.’
‘No … not really. I sought you out because I did remember what you are and – Oh, I won’t betray my Lodge or Orion, nothing like that, but it seems as if you might understand what’s happening and help me understand –’ Lisba took his hands and leaned close. ‘I’ve got a room in the bachelor women’s section.’ She spoke fast. ‘A cubbyhole, but private, and there’s a jug of wine. Come along. Please.’
6
The storm ramped over western Uropa until about sunset. Faylis kept indoors (what else could a delicate woman do?) and heard wind scream, thunder roll, rain gallop on the roof and rush in the streets, gusts of hail like drum tattoos. When lightning flared, the cataracts down windowpanes gave it an evil flicker, as if something burned outside. The Aurillac mansion in Tournev was cold; sabotage had disabled the city power station that received from Skyholm. She could huddle near a tile stove, by the glow of lamps, but beyond lay sarcophagean darknesses. What few aged servants slippered around did not come to her unless she rang, talk to her unless she talked first, or give her other than rudimentary replies. She had no appetite and noticed only vaguely that her cook had been careless.
The wine cellar and liquor cabinet offered wares more attractive. Toward evening, as the weather diminished, she felt sufficiently eased, warmed, to carry a book to bed, a collection of favorite verses.
They caused her to weep for all the sadness and terror walking the world, those poor people killed so awfully on the far side of it, poor Jovain, whose lifework was crumbling when he had scarcely begun it, her poor father, who must miss her terribly, poor Faylis, whose husband traipsed around the sky with a barbarian hussy and proclaimed his faithlessness to the whole human race.… Nevertheless, she had the largeness of spirit that might forgive him if he returned to her.… She slept ill, plagued by dreams.
She woke from one, panting and sweat-bedewed, before dawn. The windows were not dark, for light poured through brighter than any full moon, to cast whiteness and shadow across the rug. The air was cool, so quiet that she heard the old house creak as its joints settled. Her night candle guttered low.
She could not get back to sleep, nor lie alone for hours until the maid brought her chocolate. I will look outdoors, she decided. Yes, why not take a walk? Hesitation. Those terrorists. But they had done no worse to date than drub some soldiers and demolish some machinery. No man of the Domain would attack a woman out of political resentment. Nobody had done worse, really, than shun her and be distant, albeit correct, when conversation was unavoidable. Outdoors. A glimpse of nature. The peace that is in Gaea. She dressed quickly, in a plain gown and hooded cloak that would hide her identity from casual observers, lighted her way downstairs, unbolted the main entrance, and stepped through.
Stairs, pavement below, walls and roofs opposite, sheened beneath the enormous disc of Skyholm. Far-apart gas lamps were dimmed well-nigh to invisibility by that unreal brilliance, and she could find no stars above, merely a few snowy scraps of cloud. The street was deserted, save for a cat slinking by; it gave her a glance out of eyes turned opal. She went down to the sidewalk and started off. Her footfalls rattled in the silence. Her breath formed cloudlets of its own.
I think, yes, I will go as far as Riverside. She quickened her pace. The motion pumped the lingering nightmares out of her and raised a slight exhilaration. My life is not ended. Hardship, injustice, lack of discernment in everybody, those have wounded me, but I will recover, I will achieve Oneness, and the right man may come courting.
If not –
She emerged on an esplanade. Trees, balustrade, time-blurred statues reached hoar. Beyond them the Loi flowed ashimmer, and beyond it open ground, where farms and orchards nestled, rose toward the crest which the Consvatoire occupied. At this remove its spires were ivory miniatures, but beneath them dwelt the beauty, wisdom, and calm of centuries. The east was rosily brightening. A carillon began to ring from Scholars’ Tower, the same welcome to the sun that had sounded for half a millennium. She could not tell whether she heard the distant music in her head or in her soul. Yes, she thought, my true abiding place may well be there.
She lifted her gaze toward Skyholm. For a few minutes
yet it would reign alone, luminous and numinous. More lights than usual glittered across its face. And did not something move along the edges?
What? No, no, no!
The chimes stopped. Faylis stood screaming, and a hidden part of her wondered if she would ever stop screaming, as Skyholm slowly drifted north, then faster and faster until it had dwindled out of her sight and heaven was left inhuman.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Orion Two rounded the moon and Earth rose before her. The sun now at their backs, Iern and Ronica saw their planet as a white-marbled sapphire amulet, only a little worn away by night. Its radiance dazzled stars out of vision, though elsewhere the galaxy made a frosted highway through their brilliance.
The ashen craterscape fell away aft and beneath. Daylit harshness became shadow and mystery. Where eventide dusk was clear, men at home beheld the old moon in the new moon’s arms.
Ronica and Iern floated behind the pilot window. Tears glimmered in her eyes. ‘Each time that sight is lovelier,’ she breathed.
He nodded, himself struck dumb by it.
‘Here I see what before I only understood,’ she said into the hush that filled the ship. ‘The Gaeans are right about the wholeness of life, the aliveness of Earth. How alone it is, and how infinitely precious. We can’t let Earth be killed. There is nothing else.’
He found an awkward voice: ‘Well, someday, habitats in space, maybe even worlds beyond the Solar System.’
‘I hope for that, of course. But this will always be our mother.’
Catan, Rosenn, he thought in a stab of pain. How do you fare?
‘Not that the moon isn’t marvelous, in its gaunt fashion,’ Ronica went on. ‘I want to come back, and make a landing … in the Sea of Tranquillity, I think, to pay my respects to whatever is left from the Eagle.’
‘Would you really consider that worth another crossing?’
‘Why, this one’s been magnificent –’
‘For me, yes, when I could take a rare moment of leisure.’
‘And me. Chores, cramped quarters, smelly air, indifferent rations, sanitation woes, all the drawbacks of weightlessness – wonderful anyhow. Besides, we’ve gotten things fairly well licked into shape, haven’t we? And the hang of working in orbit. The return leg ought to be a lot easier.’
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