The Days of Glory

by Brian Stableford

  Skywolf with the casual arrogance he liked to think was characteristic of the Beast lords, arrived less than an hour before the duel was due to begin. He made no serious endeavor to make a precise study of the area involved in the fight, but merely memorized the general shape of the country as seen from his descending ship. He walked around outside the ship, testing the uncomfortable gravity and breathing the sharp, clean air. He had seen Starbird’s ship as he came down, but it was out of sight from where he had landed. He walked to the highest point in the immediate vicinity of the ship, but could see nothing for intervening hills and ridges.

  Starbird had seen the Beast ship come down, and noted the direction in which it now lay. But as the ship had settled out of sight; it was impossible to judge exactly how far away it was. He guessed at within two miles, but he intended to make no assumptions on that basis. Both Sky-wolf s crew and Juan Castanza, aboard his own ship, were supposed to send up flares to signal readiness when the duel was about to begin, and the flare from Skywolf’s ship would give him a more accurate fix.

  He sat down in the shorter grass and let his eyes wander around the slopes covered with unenthusiastic browns and yellows interrupted occasionally by the scruffy patches of dark trees. He judged that if both opponents were cautious, locating one another might be fairly difficult. The duel could well go on for a long time, and the gravity problem would become extremely acute. The slight advantage Skywolf held as regards the gravity put it in Starbird’s interests to end the duel as quickly as possible, and therefore Starbird made up his mind that he would have to be a little less cautious than he would have liked. He had to go after Skywolf, not hide and wait for the Beast to come to him.

  The time of day was also not to Starbird’s liking. Skywolf had, of course, known nothing about local time when he selected the scene of the duel, and it happened that at the arranged time, longitude 0 on Stonebow, was in late afternoon. Just as on Merion, the sun was bound to set before the battle was over.

  Thus there was even more reason why Starbird should hurry. Once night fell, it would be almost impossible to do anything until morning. The local day was a long one, and therefore his strength would be very definitely flagging before dawn. Of course, Skywolf might not stand up to it any better than he, but conditions did seem to favor the Sulan.

  The planet had three moons, but none was very large or close; there was a great deal of cloud about, so that the meager light they provided would probably be inadequate for fighting by. Starbird was worried. The duel could easily become a war of nerves during the night, with himself the more nervous, and hence the more vulnerable.

  Skywolf was much happier. Unlike Starbird, he was not trying to weigh up his chances or plan his strategy. He was no Eagleheart to compute every move in advance with infinite care and then fight like a clockwork machine. He was fully alive to the personal element of fighting, and he knew that survival is not primarily a matter of skill, but a matter of self-control and the will to win. He believed that mistakes were made at the crucial moments when death and life were hesitantly balanced—not predestined in the tactics plotted by a computer which dealt only with probability. Skywolf absorbed his fights into himself, playing by intuition and reflex. He trusted in his own innate ability to do the right thing at the time when it was needed. Psychologically he was a great warrior, but his ability was not as great as he gave himself credit for.

  As the flares went up to signal the beginning of the duel, he smiled with genuine happiness. His red hair shone redder by the light of the low-hanging sun as it emerged from the clouds for a few minutes to answer the red flare lighting the sky. As the flare died and fell, trailing brown smoke behind it, he moved away from the ship, up the slope, and towards the higher ridges from which he would get a better picture of the scene.

  Starbird moved, too, with a similar idea in mind. Both combatants moved in long arcs which took them upwards and forwards: Skywolf cautiously and Starbird determined, each hoping that he would have the good fortune to see the other before being seen himself.

  PROGRESS OF THE DUEL

  It was a long hour before the sun was cradled in the arms of the mountain slopes, and the hillsides were dappled with the black shadows of distant peaks and tall trees. But while there was still light to see by, Starbird caught the first glimpse of Skywolf.

  Both had circled high, away from their ships, in and out of the trees and keeping low: each hoping to get above the other without exposing a silhouette against the sky or a shadow on the pale grass. But Starbird had come higher and faster, and he caught the glint of the Beast’s red hair in the long grass below him.

  Silently, and keeping himself well concealed, he began the laborious business of getting closer. Skywolf was still moving, still trying to hide. In order to keep in touch with the Beast lord, Starbird needed a great deal of skill and speed, and some luck. He would have to pay for his advantage with effort, but it ought to be worth the price.

  The clouds were moving rapidly in a south wind, but the air on the slopes was still and heavy. The sky grew slowly darker, and Starbird could see distant rain on the further mountains, moving slowly toward him. He knew that to delay involved a risk of losing his advantage in rain and failing fight. There was a throaty murmur of thunder to the south. He saw Skywolfs head raised for a moment as the Beast listened and looked.

  Starbird considered two alternatives. He could continue tracking Skywolf and try to get near enough without being seen to be sure of his accuracy with the gun. Or he could try to anticipate Skywolfs next change of direction and try to head him off, so that the Beast lord would walk into his trap. The second was more dangerous, and more ambitious, but the first had less chance of providing a result Starbird was still afraid of the long night.

  Reasoning that Skywolf would probably go downhill now that a storm was approaching, to leave the exposed slopes behind and look for shelter and safety, Starbird decided on ambition and set off downhill. He marked Skywolfs position carefully, judged where the red-haired man would end up on the lower slopes, and slipped away. He broke into a run as soon as he was certain that Skywolf could no longer get a glimpse of him, and headed for the valley below. A stream ran in the bottom of the valley, and trees dotted its slopes, though not profusely.

  A few drops of water fell from the sky, but the volume of the rain was never uncomfortable, and it quickly died away to nothing. Starbird hoped that the storm might hold off for half an hour or more yet, that the twilight would be good for at least that long, but he knew how quickly night falls in the tropics, and he had no great confidence in the latter.

  He reached the bottom of the slope in minutes and dropped into the trench which the stream had eroded away. He began to work his way along the gully, trying to keep his feet from getting wet in case he was forced to spend the cold night out in the open. He was well concealed, and he searched for the best spot to cover the slope at the point where he thought Skywolf would descend.

  There were too many trees above, obscuring parts of the hillside, and it was difficult to allow much of a safety margin on his guess.

  Carefully he moved along and decided that he might be better off in a grove of trees slightly higher up the slope rather than in the ditch where he could be too easily pinned down. He risked a run to the nearest group: a mere dozen or so high-crowned trees which would have offered little shelter in brighter light, but which was full of shadows as the edge of the sun still shone between two mountains.

  He looked carefully upslope and could see no sign of the Beast. He wondered whether he was quite far enough over to the left, and moved slowly to that side of the clump of trees. A wide gap stretched between himself and the next group of trees, and he hesitated before deciding to risk a dash. He launched himself on a low, ducking run.

  He saw something out of the corner of his eye, hesitated and turned, dropping flat. He had made a mistake. Skywolf had come down the slope far faster than he had anticipated. The red-haired man was already below him, per
ched on the lip of the ditch in which the stream ran.

  Starbird snaked forward and hauled himself to his feet again, accelerating as fast as he could for the trees. He zigzagged as he pulled the gun from his belt, but Skywolf had not fired yet—he was closing in, and had clear seconds before Starbird reached the cover of the trees.

  Starbird twisted as though to fire, and Skywolf fired quickly without taking proper aim. He missed, as did Star-bird’s hopeful retaliatory shot. The bullets whined through the thick air and thudded into the turf.

  Skywolf still had plenty of time to get in a second, better shot before Starbird reached the trees, but a dip in the ground could provide momentary if not very satisfactory cover. He moved backwards, not daring to expose his back to Skywolf, and let himself fall into the dip. Both men fired once more, Skywolf a fraction ahead. Both shots missed. As Starbird scrambled desperately backwards, trying to hide himself in the depression, his hand reached forward and his finger pressed the trigger again. Simultaneously, Skywolfs third shot ricocheted off the barrel of the gun into Starbird’s wrist.

  The bullet which Starbird had fired could not get out of the dented barrel. Instead, the gun exploded in a cloud of blood and a spray of tangled metal.

  Another shot bounced harmlessly over Starbird’s head as he shrank behind the fold of the hillside. The Human half ran, half slid into the trees. The remains of the trigger guard of his weapon still clung to his smashed fingers, and he shook it off. The forefinger came away with it, but it added nothing to the pain. His hand was bleeding profusely, and he could see imbedded pieces of metal and displaced splinters of bone. He was never going to use his right hand again, but he was unlikely to die of the wound. He ran and ran through the trees and heard one more shot fired behind him.

  The edge of the sun was gone. The darkness descended like a curtain. Starbird clasped his knife in his good left hand and began to wonder about the chances of a miracle.

  STARBIRD’S MIRACLE

  The tall silver being that moved like a man, but more gracefully, looked down at the spaceship. The sleek vessel stood on the four clubfeet that shielded the omega-drive mechanism from harm. The batteries of spacedrive motors were strung around the waist of the ship like an ammunition belt. There were no windows and no insignia.

  The door did not open instantly to the metal man’s touch when he approached the spaceship, but its pause was only momentary. The lock clicked and the door yielded to gentle finger pressure. The silver shape slipped inside. It climbed the tilted corridors without a sound and mounted the spiral staircase which led to the control room.

  It held something bright in its slender fingers—something that David Starbird had once seen, but would not have remembered. It was Heljanita’s crooked wheel.

  Mere minutes elapsed before the toy descended the staircase again and disappeared into the gathering dusk. As it flowed smoothly away, with its long legs moving over the slopes without the slightest difficulty, it sensed the high-omega call which sprang from the ship to the Human fleet waiting out beyond the fifth planet. The Beast fleet knew nothing about it: their high-omega receivers were tuned to their own wavelength.

  The message said: “This is Juan Castanza on Stonebow. This is Castanza, first officer of Starbird’s ship. Land at once. Land immediately. We need help urgently. Land immediately.”

  Alexander Blackstar received the message with astonishment and horror. He could think of nothing which could inspire Castanza to send such a message.

  He sent back the reply: “Specify. What is wrong? Specify.” There was no response. His hesitation was only momentary. Despite the fact that landing would break the agreement with the Beast fleet, he had no alternative but to trust Castanza’s judgment. Whatever was happening, it was obviously extremely important.

  Brief seconds on omega-drive took the Human fleet into the sky of Stonebow, and as soon as their spacedrive motors flared and they began to descend, they were visible in the dark sky as a haze of yellow light.

  Skywolf saw them first as they gleamed in a gap between the menacing cloud banks. He watched as they fell through the clouds, balanced on needles of flame, and settled gently into the valleys around Starbird’s ship, a mile to the east. He was no less astonished than Blackstar had been, but he reacted with anger and not with horror. He had stopped as he perceived the ships, but now he drove his body harder and faster than before. He had lost Star-bird in the trees, but the wounded man could not get far. At first he had left a trail of blood, but now he presumably had his hand bound, and there was nothing to indicate where the Human might be.

  Starbird was hiding. He did not see the ships because he was keeping his head low in the bushes between which he cowered. They offered little enough cover without his moving about. Darkness was almost total, by now, and he would not be sorry to feel the heavy rain he had dreaded earlier. All he had now was a knife, and the more difficult things became for Skywolf, the more chance he would have to use it.

  But as the fleet dropped to the ground, he heard the distant shrieking of the motors balancing the bulk of each ship against the pull of gravity. He did not know which fleet it was, and he could not guess why they had landed; but, for the moment, he did not particularly care.

  Skywolf could not see the ships as they touched down, but he heard the screaming gradually fade away into a muted roar and then to nothing. His imagination showed him a fleeting glimpse of the Humans pouring out of their ships as the Beasts had on Merion. He had not the faintest idea what was happening, or what to do. He was clear only about one point: that the agreement had been broken and that Starbird had been saved from almost certain defeat.

  He stopped running again and listened. There was a pattering in the leaves above him as rain began to fall. He decided that he had no chance of finding Starbird, and might just as well give up and go home. He did not want to be alone in the night if the Humans did come out in force. He decided that as far as he was concerned, the duel was over and Starbird had a lot to account for.

  The war was not going to end on Stonebow after all.

  SUNRISE ON STONEBOW

  The Beast ships fell like a flock of shooting stars on the mountain slopes. They dropped through the gale-tom clouds and settled on the rainswept hillsides around Skywolf’s silent ship.

  The ships did not open to disgorge their cargoes of fighting men. They waited for daylight. Daniel Skywolf returned and told the fleet what had happened. He knew no more than they did. The Human fleet had suddenly, without rhyme or reason, broken the covenant and landed their ships.

  As soon as the sun first peeped over the horizon, they marched for the Human encampment, not knowing whether the Humans would be already waiting for them or preparing for takeoff.

  In fact, there was still confusion in the Human camp. Juan Castanza was dead. There was no visible cause of death, and no visible excuse for his having sent the fatal message. None of the Humans had heard or seen anything out of the ordinary—not even the rest of Starbird’s crew, who had been awake all the time, although not in the control room. The crewmen declared unanimously that it was impossible for anything out of the ordinary to have happened without them knowing about it, but the falseness of their claim was obvious.

  Alexander Blackstar was livid with anger. He could not suspect the Beasts—there was no way they could have engineered what had happened. The entire blame could only be put on Castanza, and Castanza was dead without the least sign of violence or illness.

  Blackstar stood outside Starbird’s ship for most of the night, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. The Beasts landed and both armies waited for the morning. His eyes roamed the dark slopes all night, but he saw absolutely nothing. The rain soaked his hair and his clothes, but he ignored it and did nothing.

  An hour before dawn, Starflare joined him and pulled at his arm. It took several seconds to attract his attention.

  “We should get ready,” said Starflare. “The Beasts will march as soon as there is light. Either
we must march to meet them, or prepare a defensive position here.”

  “All right,” said Blackstar. “Get the men ready. We’ll go some way to meet them—away from the ships. But we’ll let them attack us, and not the other way round. There is already too much they can use against us.”

  The Human army was slow in forming; the ships could not provide as much light as was necessary, and most of the Humans had a profound dislike of the high gravity. None liked the rain, either.

  A long figure came downslope toward the ships. He was seen and hailed, but it was not until he was much closer that he was recognized. Christopher Rainstar ran to meet his brother while the news was still filtering back to Black-star.

  Started was more dazed and shocked than hurt. He had tried to bind his hand, but the cloth had come away, and the rain had washed off most of the blood to expose shattered bone and mangled muscle and ligament. He carried the broken hand against his chest, but made no attempt to hide it in his clothing. He had remained hidden in the bushes for several hours, until he was sine Skywolf must have gone, and then began walking back to the Human ships before daylight exposed him again.

  When Rainstar took hold of him, he realized for the first time how much he needed the support. He had lost a lot of blood.

  “The Beasts will be coming soon,” he murmured.

  The Beasts were indeed coming, as rapidly as they could. Dawn came to them earlier than to the Humans because of a convenient crack in the mountains. The Human camp was in shadow. By the time the Beasts were halfway, though, the Humans were making progress in their slow rallying under the urging of Starflare and Blackstar.

  The Beasts came slowly, in a concave array interrupted and distorted by upslope and downslope and the perpetual obstruction of the patches of woodland. They managed to maintain a reasonable integrity between the center faction and the two wings despite their difficulties.