To Outlive Eternity

by Poul Anderson

  Donnan and Ramri advanced. The Kandemirians seemed endlessly tall. They've only got thirteen or fourteen inches on you, Donnan told himself under the noise in his head. That don't signify. The hell it doesn't. Longest fourteen inches I ever looked up. He cleared his throat. "I'd like to come too," he said. "In fact, I'd like to take our full complement along."

  "What nonsense is this?" Koshcha stiffened.

  Donnan came near enough to buttonhole the scientist, if a buttonhole had been there. "We're all technically trained," he argued. "We're used to working as a team. We've all fiddled around with the detector you let us build in here, talked about it, made suggestions. You'd find our whole bunch useful."

  "Crammed into a laboratory flitter with my own personnel?" Koshcha scoffed. "Don't be a clown, Donnan."

  "But damn it, we're going off our trolleys in here. The agreement was we'd switch sides and work for your planet. Well, we've done so. We've produced several detectors in your workshops and one in here. Their ground tests have been satisfactory. So when are you going to start treating us like allies instead of prisoners?"

  "Later. I tell you, no arrangements—"

  Donnan pulled the gun from beneath his coat and jammed it into Koshcha's belly. "Not a move!" he said in a near whisper. "Don't so much as twitch a tendril. Anybody."

  The unhuman eyes grew black with pupil dilation. One soldier tried to swing his rifle around from its inward aim. Ramri kicked; three talons struck with bone-breaking force. The weapon clattered down as the soldier doubled in anguish.

  Donnan could only hope that his men, crowding near, screened this tableau from the telecom eye with their backs—and that the Kandemirians in the warden's office were too confident by now to watch the spy screen continuously. "Drop your guns or Koshcha dies," he said.

  Like most nomadic units, this one was organized by clans; the technicians and their bodyguards were blood relatives. And the leader of the group was also a senior Zhanbulak. Furthermore, Donnan had plainly thumbed his rifle to continuous-fire explosive. Before he could be shot, he would have chewed up several Kandemirians. The three soldiers who still covered his men with their own guns might have threatened to shoot them. But the soldiers were too shaken. Donnan heard their rifles fall. "About face," he commanded. "To the hangar . . . march!"

  The Kandemirians stumbled out the door, looking stunned, and down a long, bare, coldly lit corridor. Donnan paced them at the rear, his gun in the crook of an arm. His crew surged after.

  Koshcha's mind must be churning below that red ruff. How had the Terrestrials gotten a weapon? By what treachery, through what rebellious Loho or (oh, unthinkable!) what bribed clansman? Maybe in another minute or two someone would guess the answer. But that would be too late. Four men behind Donnan had guns now, dropped by the guards.

  Four real guns.

  Hand-make a new type of device. Complicate your problem by building it on a larger scale than before. Your circuits will remain essentially the same, and understandable. Your captors will issue you precisely those conductors, resistors, amplifiers and other components that you can prove you need. But who pays attention to the chassis? It is only a framework, supporting and enclosing the instrument's vitals. You may have to adjust this or that electronic part to compensate for its properties, but not by much. The chassis is negligible.

  So if anyone asks why you are turning out a slim hollow cylinder on lathe and drill beam, explain casually that it is to strengthen the frame and hold a sheaf of wires. If your angle braces have odd shapes, this must be dictated by the geometry of the layout. If a hole in the cabinet, accidentally burnt through, is repaired by bolting a scrap of metal over it, who will notice the outline of that scrap? And so on and so on.

  Come the moment of untruth, you quickly remove those certain parts from the chassis, fit them together, and have quite a good imitation of a cyclic rifle.

  If the scheme had failed, Donnan wasn't sure what he would have done. Probably have yielded completely and let Kandemir have his soul. As matters had developed, though, he was committed. If his plan went up the spout now, his best bet was to try and get himself killed.

  Fair enough, he thought.

  They started down a ramp. Two noncoms going the other way saluted. They couldn't hide their surprise at the human crowd in the officers' wake. "Let 'em have it, boys," Donnan said. "Quiet, though."

  A gun burped. The noncoms fell like big loose-jointed puppets. Their blood was darker red than a man's. Donnan wondered momentarily if they had wives and kids at home.

  "No, you murderer!" Koshcha stopped, half turning around. Donnan jerked the fake gun at him.

  "March!"

  They hustled on. There was little occasion, especially today, for anyone to use the flitter hangar. But on arrival—

  Two sentries outside the gate slanted their rifles forward. "Halt! By what authority—" A blast from behind Donnan smashed them to fragments, smeared across the steel panels.

  A Kandemirian prisoner roared, wheeled, and sprang at him. He gave the fellow his gun butt in the mouth. The Kandemirian went to one knee, reached forward and caught Donnan's ankle. They rolled over, grappling for the throat. Rifles coughed above them. An alarm began to whistle.

  "The door's locked!" Ramri shouted. "Here, give me a weapon, I shall try to blast the lock."

  The Kandemirian's smashed mouth grinned hatred at Donnan. The giant had gotten on top of him, twelve fingers around the windpipe. Donnan felt his brain spin toward blackness. He set his own wrists between the enemy's and heaved outward with all the force in his shoulders. The black nails left bloody tracks as they were pulled free. Donnan slugged below the chest. Nothing happened. The Kandemirians didn't keep a solar plexus there. He climbed to a sitting position by means of the clansman's tunic. The unfairly long arms warded him off. Thumbs sought his eyeballs. He ducked his head and pummeled the enemy's back.

  Ramri left the sprung door in a single jump. One kick by a spurred foot opened the Kandemirian's rib cage. Donnan crawled from beneath. The alarm skirled over his heartbeats and his gulps for air.

  "Hurry!" Howard shouted. "I hear 'em coming!"

  The men poured through, into the cavernous hangar. Rank upon rank of small spacecraft gleamed almost as far as you could see. One was aimed roofward in its cradle. The airlock stood open. A fight ramped around there, as the humans attacked its crew.

  "I must have a few moments aboard to study the controls," Ramri said to Donnan, who lurched along on Goldspring's arm. "I know that one alone can manage a flitter in an emergency, but I am not certain how, in this case."

  "We'll oblige you," Lieutenant Howard said. He called out orders. A good man, Donnan thought remotely; a damn good second-rank officer. His trouble had been trying to be skipper. Well, I'm not showing up any too brilliantly in that post either, am I?

  A flying wedge of humans formed behind Howard, He had a gun. The rest had mass and desperation. They charged over the gang ramp and through the lock. The Kandemirians gave way—no choice—and tried to follow. The remaining Terrestrials fell on them afresh. Bullets raved.

  "Let's get you aboard also, captain," Goldspring said. "Get everybody aboard. We haven't much time."

  "Haven't any time," said Yule. "Here comes the garrison."

  A few giants loomed at the sagging door. Slugs hailed around them. One fell, the other two ran from sight. "They'll be back," Donnan mumbled. "And there are more entrances than this. We need a few men to hunker down—the boats and cradles'll provide cover—and stand 'em off till we can lift. Gimme a gun, somebody. Volunteers?"

  "Here," said Yule. A curious, peaceful look descended on his face. He snatched away the rifle which O'Banion had handed Donnan.

  "Gimme that," Donnan choked.

  "Get him aboard, Mr. Goldspring," Yule ordered. "He'll be needed later on."

  Donnan clung to the physicist, too dizzy and beaten to protest. Goldspring regarded Yule for a second or two. "Whoever stays behind will probably be killed," he sai
d slowly.

  Yule spat. "I know. So what? Not that I'm any goddam hero. But I'm a man."

  "I'll design a weapon in your name," Goldspring said. "I thought of several while we were here."

  "Good." Yule shoved him toward the lock. Three other men joined the rearguard. They posted themselves wherever they could find shelter. Presently they were alone, except for the dead.

  Then, from several directions, the Kandemirians poured in. Explosions echoed under the roof. Thermite blazed and ate. Goldspring risked his life to appear in the airlock and wave: We can go now.

  "You know damn well my squad 'ud never make it," Yule shouted at him. "Shut that door, you idiot, and let us get back to work!" He wasn't sure if Goldspring could hear through the racket or see through the smoke and reek. But after a few seconds the lock closed. The flitter sprang from its cradle. Automatic doors opened above. Rain poured in, blindingly, for the moment that the flitter needed to depart.

  —"We are safe," Ramri sighed.

  "From everything but missiles and half the Grand Fleet, trying to head us off before we make an interference fringe," Donnan said grimly.

  "What can they do but annihilate us?"

  "Uh . . . yes. I see what you mean. Safe."

  Ramri peered into the viewscreen. Lightning had given way to the stars. "My friend," he said, and hesitated.

  "Yes?" Donnan asked.

  "I think—" The troubled voice faded. "I think we had best change course again." The Monwaingi touched controls. They were depending on random vectors to elude pursuit. After all, space was big and the Kandemirian defenses had been designed to halt things that moved planetward, not starward.

  "That isn't what you were getting at," Donnan said.

  "No." Decision came. Ramri straightened until his profile jutted across the constellations. "Carl-my-friend, I offer apology. But many years have passed since I saw my own people. I am the only one here who can read enough Erzhuat to pilot this vessel. I shall take us to Katkinu."

  "Shucks, pal," Donnan said. "I expected that. Go right ahead." His tone roughened. "I'd like a few words with your leaders anyway."

  X

  A nation, to be successful, should change its tactics every ten years.

  —Napoleon

  For a moment, when his gaze happened to dwell on the horizon, Donnan thought he was home again. Snowpeaks afloat in serene blue, purple masses and distances that shaded into a thousand greens as the valley floor rolled nearer, the light of a yellow sun and the way cloud shadows raced across the world, wind blustering in sky and trees, woke him from a nightmare in which Earth had become a cinder. He thought confusedly that he was a boy, footloose in the Appalachians; he had slept in a hayloft and this dawn the farmer's daughter kissed him goodbye at the mailbox, which was overgrown with morning glory . . . A night that stung descended on his eyes.

  Ramri glanced at him, once, and then concentrated on steering the groundrunner. After his years on Earth and in space, the avian found it a little disconcerting to ride on the chairlike humps of a twenty-foot, eight-legged mammaloid and control it by touching spots that were nerve endings. Such vehicles had been obsolescent on Katkinu even when he left. The paragrav boats that flitted overhead were more to Tanthai liking. But today he and Donnan were bound from his home to the Resident, who was of the Laothaung Society. Paying a formal call on a high official from that culture, and arriving in dead machinery, would have been an insult.

  After a while, Donnan mastered himself. He fumbled with his pipe. The devil take tobacco rationing . . . just now . . . especially since Ramri assured him that the creation of an almost identical leaf would be simple for any genetic engineer on any Monwaingi planet. When he had it lit, he paid close attention to nearby details. Katkinu was not Earth, absolutely not, and he'd better fix that squarely in his head.

  Even to the naked eye, the similarities of grass and foliage and flowers were superficial. Biochemical analysis showed how violently those life forms differed from himself. He had needed anti-allergen shots before he could even leave the space flitter and step on Katkinuan soil. The odors blown down the wind were spicy, mostly pleasant, but like nothing he had ever known at home. Along this road (paved, if that was the word, with a thick mossy growth, intensely green) walked blue parrot-faced creatures carrying odd-shaped tools and bundles. Houses, widely scattered, each surrounded by trees and a brilliant garden, were themselves vegetable: giant growths shaped like barrel cacti, whose hollow interiors formed rooms of nacreous beauty. A grain-field was being cultivated by shambling octopids, mutated and bred for one purpose—like the thing on which he rode.

  Yeh, he thought, I get the idea. These people aren't human. Even Ramri, who sings Mozart themes and has Justice Holmes for a hero—Ramri, about the most simpático guy I ever met—he's not human. He came back to his wife and kids after eight years or whatever it was; and he might simply have stepped around the corner for a beer.

  Of course, Donnan's mind rambled on, that's partly cultural. The Tanthai civilization puts a premium on individualism. The family isn't quite that loose in the other Monwaingi Societies, I reckon. But no human anywhere could have been that casual about a long separation, when obviously they're an affectionate couple. Ramri did say to me once, his species doesn't have a built-in sex drive like ours. When the opposite sex is out of sight, it really and truly is out of mind. Nevertheless—!

  Or was I just missing the nuances? Did a few words and a hug accomplish as much for Ramri and his wife as Alison and I could've gotten across in a week?

  If I'd ever given Alison the chance.

  He said quickly: "You'd better put me straight on the situation here. I'm still vague on details. As I understand your system, each planet colonized by your people has a governor general from Monwaing, the mother world. Right?"

  Ramri scratched his crest. "Well, no," he answered. "Or yes. A semantic question. And not one that can ever be resolved fully. After all, since Resident Wandwai is a Laothaungi, he speaks another language from mine, lives under different laws and customs, enjoys art forms strange to me. So what he understands by the term Subo—'Resident,' you say—is not identical with what a Tanthai like myself understands. Such differences are sometimes subtle, sometimes gross, but always present. He doesn't even use the same phonetic symbols."

  "Huh? I never realized—I mean, I assumed you'd at least agree on an alphabet and number signs."

  "Oh, no. Some Societies do, to be sure. But Laothaung, for instance, which makes calligraphy a major art, finds our Tanthai characters hideous. All Monwaingi writing does go from left to right, like English or Erzhuat, and not from right to left like Japanese or Vorlakka. But otherwise there is considerable variation from Society to Society. Likewise with mathematical ideograms. . . . Naturally, any cultured person tries to become familiar with the language and traditions of the more important foreign Societies. Wandwai speaks fluent Tanthai. But I fear I am quite ignorant of Laothaungi. My interests were directed elsewhere than the arts. In that, I am typical of this planet Katkinu. We Tanthai have taken far more interest in physical science and technology than most other Monwaingi civilizations. Some, in fact, have found such innovations extremely repugnant. But physics proved welcome to the Tanthai world-view."

  "Hey," Donnan objected, "your people must have had some physics even before the galactics discovered Monwaing. Otherwise you could never have developed these systematic plant and animal mutations, let alone build spaceships yourselves."

  "Yes, yes. There was considerable theoretical physics on Monwaing when the Uru explorers arrived. And it found a certain amount of practical application. The emphasis lay elsewhere, though. Your recent development on Earth was almost a mirror image of Monwaing two centuries past. You knew far more biological theory than you had yet put into engineering practice, because your intellectual and economic investments were already heaviest in physical, inanimate matter. Our situation was the reverse."

  "This is getting too deep for me," Donnan said
. "I'll never comprehend your setup. Especially as it was before you got space travel. I can see your different civilizations these days, scattering out to new planets where they aren't bothered by unlike neighbors. But how did totally different cultures ever coexist in the same geographic area?"

  "They still do, on Monwaing," Ramri said. "For that matter, several other Societies have planted colonies of their own here on Katkinu. Tantha merely has a majority." He pointed out a cluster of buildings, tall garishly colored cylinders erected in steel and plastic, half a mile off the road. The avians walking between them wore embroidered jackets over their feathers. "That is a Kodau village, for example. I suppose you could best describe them as religious communists. They don't bother us and we don't bother them. I admit, such peace was slowly and painfully learned. If we never had major wars on Monwaing, we had far more local flareups than you humans. But eventually methods were developed for arbitrating disputes. That is what a nation was, with us—a set of public technical services, jointly maintained. And peacekeeping is only another technology, no more mysterious than agronomy or therapeutics. Once that idea caught on, a planetary government was soon organized."