Thus far the militechnic commentator. But the literary scholar sees more in the ballad. Superficially it appears to be a crude, spontaneous production. Close study reveals it is nothing of the sort. The simple fact that there had been no previous Uru poetry worth noticing would indicate as much. But the structure is also suggestive. The archaic imagery and exaggerated, often banal descriptions appeal, not to the sophisticated mind, but to emotions so primitive they are common to every spacefaring race. The song could be enjoyed by any rough-and-ready spacehand, human, Vorlakka, Monwaingi, Xoan, Yannth, or whatever—including members of any other civilization-cluster where Uru was known. And, while inter-cluster traffic was not large nor steady, it did take place. A few ships a year did venture that far.
Moreover, while the form of this ballad derives from ancient European models, it is far more intricate than the present English translation can suggest. The words and concepts are simple; the meter, rhyme, assonance, and alliteration are not. They are, indeed, a jigsaw puzzle, no part of which can be distorted without affecting the whole.
Thus the song would pass rapidly from mouth to mouth, and be very little changed in the process. A spacehand who had never heard of Kandemir or Earth would still get their names correct when he sang what to him was just a lively drinking song. Only those precise vocables would sound right.
So, while the author is unknown, The Battle of Brandobar was obviously not composed by some folkish minstrel. It was commissioned, and the poet worked along lines carefully laid down for him. This was, in fact, the Benjamin Franklin's message to humans throughout the galaxy.
XIV
Then I saw there was a way to Hell, even from the gates of Heaven.
—Bunyan
No, Sigrid Holmen told herself. Stop shivering, you fool. What is there to be afraid of?
Is it that . . . after five years . . . this is the first time I have been alone with a man? Oh, God, how cold those years were!
He wouldn't do anything. Not him, with the weather-beaten face that crinkled when he smiled, and his hair just the least bit grizzled, and that funny slow voice. Or even if he did—The thought of being grasped against a warm and muscular body made her heart miss a beat. They weren't going to wait much longer, the crews of Europa and Franklin. The half religious reverence of the first few days was already waning, companionships had begun to take shape, marriages would not delay. To be sure, even after the casualties the Americans had suffered in the Kandemirian war, they outnumbered the women. The sex ratio would get still more lopsided if—no, when!—more ships came in from wherever they were now scattered. A girl could pick and choose.
Nevertheless, murmured Sigrid's awareness, I had better choose mine before another sets her cap for him. And he wanted to see me today, all by myself. . . .
The warmth faded in her. She couldn't be mistaken about the way Carl Donnan's eyes had followed each motion she made. But something else had been present as well, or why should his tone have gone so bleak? She had sat there in the ship with the ranking officers of both expeditions, exchanging data, and described how she boarded the Kandemirian missile, and had seen his face turn stiff. Afterward he drew her aside; low-voiced, almost furtive, he asked her to visit him confidentially next day.
But why should I be afraid? she demanded of herself again, angrily. We are together, the two halves of the human race. We know now that man will live; there will be children and hearthfires on another Earth—in the end, on a thousand or a million other Earths.
Kandemir is beaten. They have not yet admitted it, but their conquests have been stripped from them, their provinces are in revolt, they themselves requested the cease-fire which now prevails. Tarkamat spars at the conference table as bravely and skillfully as ever he did in battle, but the whole cluster knows his hope is forlorn. He will salvage what he can for his people, but Kandemir as an imperial power is finished.
Whereas we, the last few Homines sapientes, sit in the councils of the victors. Vorlak and Monwaing command ships by the thousands and troops by the millions, but they listen to Carl Donnan with deepest respect. Nor is his influence only moral. The newly freed planets, knowing that singly they can have little to say about galactic affairs, have been deftly guided into a coalition—loose indeed, but as close-knit as any such league can be among entire worlds. Collectively, they are already a great power, whose star is in the ascendant. And . . . their deliberative assembly is presided over by a human.
Why am I afraid?
She thrust the question away (but could not make herself unaware of dry mouth and fluttering pulse) as she guided her aircar onto the landing strip. Long, shingle-roofed log buildings formed a square nearby. Trees, their leaves restless in a strong wind, surrounded three sides. The fourth looked down the ridge where Donnan's headquarters stood, across the greennesses of a valley, a river that gleamed like metal and the blue upward surge of hills on the other horizon. This was not Earth, this world called Varg, and the area Donnan occupied—like other sections lent the humans by grateful furry natives off whom the nomad overlordship had been lifted—the area was too small to make a home. But until men agreed on what planet to colonize, Varg was near enough like Earth to ease an old pain. When Sigrid stepped out, the wind flung odors of springtime at her.
Donnan hurried from the portico. Sigrid started running to meet him, checked herself, and waited with head thrown back. He had remarked blonde hair was his favorite, and in this spilling sunlight—he extended a hand, shyly. She caught it between her own, felt her cheeks turn hot but didn't let go at once.
"Thanks for coming, Miss Holmen," he mumbled.
"Vas nothing. A pleasure." Since his French was even rustier than her English, they used the latter. Neither one considered a nonhuman language. She liked his drawl.
"I hope . . . the houses we turned over to you ladies . . . they're comfortable?"
"Oh, ja, ja." She laughed. "Every time ve see a man, he asks us the same."
"Uh . . . no trouble? I mean, you know, some of the boys are kind of impetuous. They don't mean any harm, but—"
"Ve have impetuous vuns too." They released each other. She turned in confusion from his gray gaze and looked across the valley. "How beautiful a view," she said. "Reminds me about Dalarna, v'en I vas a girl—do you live here?"
"I bunk here when I'm on Varg, if that's what you mean, Miss Holmen. The other buildings are for my immediate staff and any visiting firemen. Yeh, the view is nice. But . . . uh . . . didn't you like that planet—Zatlokopa, you call it?—the one you lived on, in the other cluster. Captain Poussin told me the climate was fine."
"Vell, I say nothing against it. But thank God, ve vere too busy to feel often how lonely it vas for us."
"I, uh, I understand you were doing quite well."
"Yes. Vuns ve had learned, v'at you say, the ropes, ve got rich fast. In a few more years, Terran Traders, Inc., vould have been the greatest economic power in that galactic region. Ve could have sent a thousand ships out looking for other survivors." She shrugged. "I am not bragging. Ve had advantages. Such as necessity."
"Uh-huh. What a notion!" He shook his head admiringly. "We both had the same problem, how to contact other humans and warn them about the situation. Judas priest, though, how much more elegant your solution was!"
"But slow," she said. "Ve vere not expecting to be able to do much about it for years. The day Yael Blum came back from Yotl's Nest and told v'at she had heard, a song being sung by a spaceman from another cluster—and ve knew other humans vere alive and ve could safely return here to them—no, there can only be two such days in my lifetime."
"What's the other one?"
She didn't look at him, but surprised herself by how quietly she said, "V'en my first-born is laid in my arms."
For a while only the wind blew, loud in the trees. "Yeah," Donnan said at last, indistinctly, "I told you I bunked here. But it's not a home. Couldn't be, before now."
As if trying to escape from too much revelation, sh
e blurted, "Our problems are not ended. Vat vill the men do that don't get . . . get married?"
"That's been thought about," he answered, unwilling. "We, uh, we should pass on as many chromosomes as possible. That is, uh, well, seems like—"
Her face burned and she held her eyes firmly on the blue hills. But she was able to say for him: "Best that in this first generation, each voman have children by several different men?"
"Uh—
"Ve discussed this too, Carl, v'ile the Europa vas bound here. Some among us, like . . . oh . . . my friend Alexandra, for vun . . . some are villing to live with any number of men. Polyandry, is that the vord? So that solves part of the problem. Others, like me—vell, ve shall do v'at seems our duty to the race, but ve only vant a single real husband. He . . . he vill have to understand more than husbands needed to understand on Earth."
Donnan caught her arm. The pressure became painful, but she wouldn't have asked him to let go had it been worse.
Until, suddenly, he did. He almost flung her aside. She turned in astonishment and saw he had faced away. His head was hunched between his shoulders and his fists were knotted so the knuckles stood white.
"Carl," she exclaimed. Carl, min käre, v'at is wrong?"
"We're assuming," he said as if strangled, "that the human race ought to be continued."
She stood mute. When he turned around again, his features were drawn into rigid lines and he regarded her as if she were an enemy. His tone stayed low, but shaken: "I asked you here for a talk . . . because of something you said yesterday. I see now I played a lousy trick on you. You better go back."
She took a step from him. Courage came. She stiffened her spine. "The first thing you must come to understand, you men," she said with a bite in it, "is that a voman is not a doll. Or a child. I can stand as much as you."
He stared at his boots. "I suppose so," he muttered. "Considering what you've already stood. But for three years, now, I've lived alone with something. Most times I could pretend it wasn't there. But sometimes, lying awake at night—Why should I wish it onto anyone else?"
Her eyes overflowed. She went to him and put her arms about his neck and drew his head down on her shoulder. "Carl, you big brave clever fool, stop trying to carry the universe. I vant to help. That's v'at I am for, you silly!"
After a while he released her and fumbled for his pipe. "Thanks," he said. "Thanks more than I can tell."
She attempted a smile. "Th-th-the best thanks you can give is to be honest vith me. I'm curious, you know."
"Well—" He filled the pipe, ignited the tobacco surrogate and fumed forth clouds. Hands jammed in pockets, he started toward the house. "After all, the item you mentioned gave me hope my nightmare might in fact be wrong. Maybe you won't end up sharing a burden with me. You might lift it off altogether." He paused. "If not, we'll decide between us what to do. Whether to tell the others, ever, or let the knowledge die with us."
She accompanied him inside. A long, airy room, paneled in light wood, carelessly jammed with odd souvenirs and male impedimenta, served him for a private office. She noticed the bunk in one corner and felt the blood mount in head and breast. Then the lustrous blue form of a Monwaingi arose and fluted politely at her. She didn't know whether to be grateful or to swear.
"Miss Holmen, meet Ramri of Tantha," Donnan said. "He's been my sidekick since we first left Earth, and my right hand and right eye since we got back. I figured he'd better sit in on our discussion. He probably knows more about this civilization-cluster than any other single being."
The delicate fingers felt cool within her own. "Welcome," said the avian in excellent English. "I cannot express what joy your ship's arrival has given me. For the sake of my friends, and your race, and the entire cosmos."
"Takkar så mycket," she whispered, too moved to use any but her father's language.
Donnan gave her a chair and sat down behind the desk. Ramri went back to his sitting-frame. The man puffed hard for a moment before he said roughly: "The question we have to answer somewhere along the line, or we'll never know where we stand or what to expect, is this. Who destroyed Earth?"
"V'y . . . Kandemir," Sigrid replied, startled. "Is there any doubt?"
"Kandemir has denied it repeatedly. We've ransacked captured archives and interrogated prisoners for a good two years now, ever since Brandobar, without finding any conclusive proof against them. Well, naturally, you say, that don't signify. Knowing how such an act would inflame public opinion against them, they'd take elaborate security precautions. Probably keep no written records whatsoever about the operation, and use hand-picked personnel who'd remain silent unto death. You know how strong clan loyalty is in their upper-echelon families. So Kandemir might or might not be guilty, as far as that goes."
"But the Solar System vas guarded by their missiles!" she protested.
"Yeah," Donnan said. "And isn't that a hell of a clumsy way to preserve the secret? Especially when those missiles were so programmed as to be less than maximum efficient. This is not mere guesswork, based on the chance that the Europa and the Franklin both managed to escape. Three months ago, I sent an expedition to the Solar System equipped with our new protective gizmos. Arn Goldspring was in charge, and what he can't make a piece of apparatus do isn't worth the trouble. His gang disarmed and captured several missiles, and dissected them down to the last setscrew. They were standard Kandemirian jobs. No doubt about that. But every one had been clumsily programmed. Doesn't that suggest somebody was framing Kandemir?"
"Framing?" Sigrid blinked. "Vat . . . oh, yes. I see. Somevun vanted to make Kandemir seem guilty." She frowned. "Yes, possible. Though v'at ve found v'en ve boarded that vun missile suggests—" She ran out of words.
"That's what I wanted to talk about," said Donnan. "What you found, by a lucky chance, was unique. No such clue turned up in any that Goldspring examined. Did you bring your notes along as I asked?"
She handed them to him. He stared at them while silence stretched. Ramri walked around and looked over his shoulder.
"What d'you make of this?" Donnan asked at length.
"One set of symbols are Kandemirian numerals, of course," Ramri said. "The other . . . I do not know. I may or may not have seen them before. They look almost as if once, long ago, I did. But even in a single cluster, there are so many languages, so many alphabets—" His musings trailed off. Very lightly, he stroked a hand across Donnan's forehead. "Do not let this fret you, Carl-my-friend," he murmured. "Over and over I have told you, what you learned on Katkinu is not the end of all faith. A mistake only. Anyone, any whole race, let alone a few bewildered members of a race, anyone can err. When will you listen to me, and forget what you saw?"
Donnan brushed him away and looked hard at Sigrid. "What did you think of this clue, you ladies?" he asked. "You had three years to mull it over."
"Ve did not think much," she admitted. "There vas so much else to consider, everything ve had lost and everything ve must do to regain our hopes. Ve recognized the numerals. Ve thought maybe the other symbols vere letters. You know, in some obscure Kandemirian alphabet, different from the usual Erzhuat. Just as Europe, Russia, Greece, Israel, China used different languages and alphabets but the same Arabic numerals. Ve guessed probably these vere notes scribbled for his own guidance by some vorkman helping adjust the missile, who vas not too familiar vith the mechanism."
"There are only six distinct unknown symbols," Donnan grunted. "Not much of an alphabet, if you ask me." He frowned again at the paper.
"They might then be numbers," Ramri offered. "The workman may not have been Kandemirian at all. He could have belonged to a subject race. If the Kandemirians used vassals for the job who were never told what their task was, never even knew what planetary system they were in, that would increase secrecy."
"But the missiles themselves, you dolt!" Donnan snarled. "They were the giveaway. What use these fancy precautions if anyone who saw a Mark IV Quester barreling toward him, and got away, could tell the
galaxy it was Kandemirian?"
Ramri left the desk, stared at the floor, and said with sorrow, "Well, you force me, Carl. This was explained to you on Katkinu."
Sigrid watched the paper on the desk as if she could almost read something in those scrawls that it was forbidden to read. "Ve didn't think much about this," she said helplessly. "For vun thing, none of us knew much about Kandemir anyvay, not even Captain Poussin. And vith so much else—Our notes lay forgotten in the ship. Until now."
Realization stabbed home. She gasped, summoned her strength and said harshly, "All right. You have fiddled around plenty long. Vat did they show you on Katkinu?"
Donnan met her gaze blindly. "One more question," he said without tone. "Seems I heard . . . yeah, you've got a Yugoslav and an Israeli aboard, haven't you? Either of them know anything about plans to emigrate from Earth? Were either the Balkan or the Arab countries—the Israelis would be bound to have some idea what the Arabs were up to—either alliance building more ships? Recruiting colonists of any sort?"
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