by Stephan Wul
‘So?’
Terr got up and paced up and down, occasionally kicking the walls. He suddenly tapped his forehead.
‘A telebarrier!’ he bellowed out.
Following a moment of surprise, Vail banged his fist on the table.
‘You’re right!’
‘Where are the pieces from the telebarrier we recovered from the old port?’
A young Om got up.
‘I’ll go and get them’, he said.
He was back in a few minutes and placed a few heavy registers on the table. The Aedile opened them nervously.
‘Let’s see… Sugar, tallow, tachometers… Sieves…’
He raised his head:
‘Sieves? Whose idea was it to load up the ship with such things?
‘Aedile’, an officer protested, ‘they’re not sieves, they’re ray filters!’
Terr looked further down.
‘Drills… telebarrier!There are one hundred and fifty pieces, fifty of which got lost with vessel 3. The other hundred are apportioned as follow: fifty in the city, room 7 reserve B, and fifty in the ship at the landing base, hold 2.’
He unfolded a map of the Wild Continent and said:
it shows how wealthy the Traags are; no half measures. One hundred and fifty pieces to surround a small port! There’s enough to protect a whole continent!’
‘We could manufacture a transmitter!’ said Char enthusiastically.
‘What about the current?’
‘The electrical plan’s maximum power is 50,000 units! By replacing during an attack all the lights and equipment by torches or basic fires and devote all the current to the transmitter…’
‘We’d have 50,000 units!’ Terr interrupted, it’s not enough… at first glance, that is.’
He pushed a map in front of an engineer.
‘We’re six hundred stadia from the nearest coastline, and three thousand from the furthest. What do you reckon?’
The engineer made some quick calculations.
‘We’d need 150,000 units to make a decent telebarrier.’
‘Can we get it by speeding up the electrification plan?’
‘No, Aedile, not for months. We just don’t have enough equipment.’
Vail put his hand on Terr’s shoulder, his eyes glittering.
‘By adding to it the batteries from the tanks and all the teleboxes… and the ones from the ship, I almost forgot!’
Terr clapped his hands and spoke into a telebox.
‘Statistics department? This is the Aedile speaking. Can you immediately calculate the electricity available to us… No, in total! By adding the batteries from the teleboxes, the tanks, the ship, the heaters, everything, you understand? When will you have an answer?’
***
The answer arrived fifteen minutes later: 120,000 units. ‘It’s a shame’, said Terr. ‘We’re only 30,000 units short.’
He knitted his brow. Where could the extra
power be found? He was dreaming of some kind of turbine, of current, of giant sparks. An image struck him.
‘The bossks!’ he said.
Nobody appeared to understand. He had to remind them of the incident in the jungle and spoke about muscular electricity. The idea was both inspired and baroque.
Sav did not sit at the Council. His shining light was needed. He was beckoned by telebox and Terr explained the problem they were facing and his hopes. But the naturalist wagged his head.
‘No’, he said. ‘You got carried away by your imagination. Just think of the number of bossks your plan would require. We’d have to find and kill them, as I doubt we’d be able to explain to them our problem for them to come willingly…’
He laughed wryly at his own joke and continued:
‘It’d be no mean feat and would take time. You’d only manage to drag over useless carcasses with rotting muscles.’
‘But why remain fixated on the bossks? This place is full of gigantic animals. I guess the phenomenon would be the same.’
‘And the problem too. I…’
‘Cervuses!’
‘Yes, killing and transporting them would be easier. But you’d spend much too long plugging their muscles in series, and by the time you’d need the power, putrefaction would have set in and you’d need to start all over again… It wasn’t a bad idea, but on two conditions:
Using a large number of animals, and using them alive, which would pose insoluble issues at such short notice. We’d need stables as well as finding a way of keeping the animals still and feeding them. Oh dear! It’d be faster to make turbines or to build solar panels.’
‘Not enough equipment!’ the Aedile said sombrely. ‘The plan only anticipated a 50,000 units debit.’
Sav scratched his forehead.
‘Unless…’
‘Yes?’
if we come under attack, how many Oms would we need?’
if we had weapons we’d need as many Oms, but we haven’t got anything. The Oms would be a burden and become targets. They’d be useless with their bare hands and only a few hundred would be needed to man the transmitter and watchtowers. It’d be a fully defensive war.
Sav took the Aedile’s bicep in his hand and rubbing it informally he said:
‘Do you know how much this arm can give off?’
i once knew, can you remind me?’
Sav smiled.
‘Roughly 5 thousandth of a unit.’
Terr freed his arm sullenly and shrugged his shoulders. But Sav looked proudly at the Council members and proclaimed:
‘Given four muscles per Om, one gets 20 thousandth for each Om. With two million Oms, in other words eight million muscles, I now have a free supply of 40.000 units, in other words 10,000 more than what we require!’
Everyone remained silent. Terr broke the ice.
âIt’s crazy!’
‘Not as crazy as your bossk idea! I’d say much less in fact.’
The evidence was there, backed up by figures. But the plan seemed so absurd that all were surprised at not being able to brush it aside with a single argument.
‘We’d need tons of…’
‘Of what?’ Sav interrupted. ‘I’ll tell you what’s needed: wires and needles. Check in the supplies if you have everything we need. Give me a few transformers and I’ll do the rest.
He then went into a rage:
‘Dammit! It’s so important we shouldn’t even hesitate dismantling half of what is already set up to find the necessary equipment.’
6
The sphere was flying through the night. It took ten long hours to cross the ocean, and a further three hours before arriving in Klud.
When the Traag pilot saw the lights coming from A South’s capital city, he kept a close eye on the dashboard and waited for the two mauve lines undulating on the screen to merge together before letting the craft descend vertically. The sphere landed gently in the spherodrome.
The pilot opened the sphere and jumped on the ground. Headlights were heading towards him. He crouched down like a trapped criminal and ran. His hurried flabby steps shook the tarmac.
To his left more headlights broke through the night, blinding the fugitive. He turned around and changed direction but tired and realising he could not succeed he stood still and waited for the police cars to reach him.
Voices called out:
‘Don’t move, our ray launchers are aimed at you!’
The cars stopped nearby and five Traags wearing metallic armbands reached the illegal pilot in seconds.
‘Follow us!’
The culprit kept a proud demeanour.
‘By law I demand to appear right away before the spherodrome chief of police.’
‘Well, well, fancy that! This citizen knows the law!’
‘Get into the car and wait for us to question you. Chain him up!’
‘You’ll regret manhandling me.’
‘Who said anything about manhandling? Shut up, get it?’
‘Sarev, it’s the sphere th
at was stolen in Torm.’ ‘Are you sure?’
âIt’s got the same number plate.’
‘Put the seals on it and tow it to the depot. Let’s go!’
A few minutes later the pilot was led into brightly lit premises. The Traag policemen looked on severely. Seated behind a table, a Traag with a red and gold armband began the questioning. ‘Your name?’
‘Are you the spherodrome’s head of police?’ ‘No, but I am ordering you to answer my questions.’
‘I refuse. I must make a statement to the chief of police.’
The policeman waved angrily and his red eyes lit up. He then suddenly calmed down.
i don’t care, after all’, he said. ‘You’re only harming yourself. If you want to rot in a cell for a few days before deciding to answer, that’s up to you.’
âI know the law’, the prisoner proclaimed. ‘You cannot refuse me to contact the chief of police.’
‘That is absolutely correct! But not before you accept to give your name, age, status and address. Not before tomorrow morning anyway. Do you really think we’d wake up the chief of police in the middle of the night for a petty thief?’
The culprit thought for a while and lost some of his haughtiness.
‘Ok’, he said at last. ‘My name is Xeb Liaer, twenty seven, naturalist working as a research assistant at Torm University, A North. I acted in agreement with my superior, Master Singh. I demand to speak to the chief of police so I may contact the continent’s First Councillor.’
‘And what were you up to in the sphere?’
‘I have nothing more to say to you, except this: it is very urgent you do as I tell you. It is for you to face up to your responsibilities.’
Later that morning, the A South First Councillor received a message from the chief of police. It was about a lunatic pretending to be commissioned by Master Singh and the theft of a sphere. The First Councillor did not understand. Nevertheless, the name Master Singh heated up his eardrums and, wanting to be clear in his own mind, he gave the order to obey the lunatic and bring him to the palace. He put aside a five minutes audience in the afternoon.
The lunatic’s pseudo-revelations, his demands and his arrogant manner sent the First Councillor into a fit of anger. He sent the delinquent back to the cells until he had more information but, just to be sure, he sent a message to the North A First Councillor.
The latter received the message the following morning. As soon as he had a spare moment he contacted Master Singh. When he understood what it was all about, the old scholar gave a sigh of relief.
âI thought something dreadful might already have happened’, he said.
The First Councillor choked: ‘What? You admit the Traag was following your orders! But that’s insane! Come and see me without delay, Master Singh. 1 am waiting for you at the Palace.’
‘I’m only too pleased, First councillor. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
***
The explanations were stormy. The First Councillor invoked the law. The Master answered that he only followed the law when it was not absurd.
‘Listen Master Singh, think about it. You know private flights are forbidden in the night, particularly intercontinental flights! You know that a trip to the Wild Continent requires vaccinations and special authorisations. The height of folly is you stealing a State sphere! This is more than a simple infringement, it is a felony! Are you aware you violated a whole series of edicts, regulations, and…’
‘I am not denying it, First Councillor. In fact I am
quite proud of it.’
‘What?’
‘Certainly. You talk to me of regulations when our whole civilisation is at stake. The young Traag brings back alarming information about the Oms’ progress and all you can think about is regulations! Out of the two of us, who is mad? I know the Council made fun of me. I thus carried out my own investigation, because I am sure I am right. Klud’s First Councillor had a good laugh when he found the three metal sheets cut in the shape of fish. He did not understand it was a stratagem. I still believe the Oms have built ships. In fact I have evidence. Yesterday we salvaged the remains of a submersible from a beach in A South. Part of a hull filled with water floated along the Siwo all the way to the equator and…’
The First Councillor raged:
‘Enough of your Om stories!’
‘Really? If you keep ignoring stories about the Oms, it will backfire on you soon enough, but you will have brought it on yourself. 1 demand that the Council takes a look while at the fiximages my assistant brought back.’
‘You’re dreaming!’
‘I would like to. Did you even bother to ask for further details from your A south colleague? Have the fiximages been developed?’
‘The sphere is under seals.’
The old man let out a sigh and folded back his membranes despondently.
‘When I think that my assistant spoke of ten thousand Oms and you’re here brooding over petty grievances without…’
‘The figure’s exaggeration shows its lack of significance! But prior to discussing the expedition’s doubtful results, its illegality must be addressed. You’re going about things the wrong way.’
The Master stood up, driven by a terrible rage.
i see nothing can convince you that we are threatened by a grave danger. I will thus go about it a different way. I am Master Singh, and you must accede to my modest request. Grant me an official authorisation to fly at night. I am leaving for Klud immediately. I don’t care if you are a First Councillor, and the law allows me to act with equal authority with the A South First Councillor. I will demand to see my assistant. I will insist on a scientific report in all the papers. A scientific report! Do you hear me? The newspapers cannot “legally” oppose it. But the content will be such that the people will flare up. A terrible fear will grip the Traags, frightful but beneficial! We will then see if public opinion will not force you to call a Council meeting within two days! You’re always going on about laws, now you’ll see how I know how to use them! Your position is at stake, First Councillor. I do apologise for going to such extremes.’
7
Oms were lined up along endless underground corridors as if they were dead, males and females alongside each other.
At the junctions, great golden fires were burning, warming up the air and filling the vaults with smoke. The crackling and sighs of the brushwood tortured by the flames, the dancing black figures stoking the inferno, the tormented archways: all evoked hell as they blended with the long rows of living corpses forming endless chains around the rooms, populating ledges and bridges hanging above the abyss.
The city looked like a huge necropolis where each was waiting for his turn to be incinerated. Naked, the Oms were lying on their back. Their arms and legs were pierced with needles which pumped the current from their muscles. They were linked to each other by metal wires and had been suffering in silence for hours.
At first the holes made by the needles had been bearable. But little by little the foreign metal burnt the flesh. Limbs were twisted with cramps, reducing the huge batteries’ output.
Doctors were running through the corridors giving advice, good words and the occasional painkiller to alleviate the suffering. Some leant over tight muscles, massaging them gently to ease their stiffness. Others pulled out the needles, freeing those whose wounds had become infected despites all precautions. Heroically, some refused to give up their place.
Occasional trembling sighs and groans could be heard… “Drink!” Carts pushed by diligent and overworked arms trundled along from Om to Om giving out a meagre sustenance. The whole electrical installation had to be dismantled and a few loudspeakers had been kept in place for the morale, letting out the occasional official word of encouragement.
Two million citizens thus sacrificed themselves to the common cause in a great holocaust. They were giving their galvanic fluid in the same way one donates blood. Dripping unit by unit, the energy gathered and ran along
wires into accumulators powered by batteries and hydraulic turbines, forming the electrical build-up necessary to defend the city.
Expeditions in the bush announced their return with teleboxes. They had been spending the whole night laying the components for the barrier at the continent’s strategic points. To reach areas otherwise inaccessible, the last ship had slowly sailed along the coast, dropping here and there commando units charged with placing more elements.
The Oms could already stave off a rocket attack. Two and a half million were now able to stand up to one billion Traags!
***
The transmitter was in place in a special room. All the intelligence was gathered in the Council Chamber transformed in a war room from where the Aedile gave orders.
Aedile! The Oms from the nurseries are exhausted. They’ve been pushing themselves for too long and are starting to make mistakes.’
‘Relieve them with the Oms from corridor 4. They’ll swap exhaustion: some will be happy to lie down, even with needles in their arms and others will be able to move after two days of lying still!’
Terr turned to Char.
‘There are too many babies. I should have slowed down the birth-rate. It’s a useless burden.’
‘Not for later on.’
‘Possibly, but there will be no “later on” if we give way now.’
A telebox buzzed. Char pressed on a switch:
‘Yes?’
‘Vail speaking. The output is going down!’
‘Why is that?’
‘The doctors are exempting more and more Oms. I wonder how long they can hold out. Also… there’s been an accident. Almost a thousand Oms died suffocating in room 13 because of the fires.’
Char glanced at Terr who was communicating with Sav. He deemed it unnecessary to overwhelm him with this tragic detail.
‘Hide it from the others’, he whispered in the telebox. ‘Do what’s required discreetly. Have any expeditions returned?’
‘Two hundred Oms are announced at the city gate.’
‘Put them on battery duty straightaway; that way they’ll get some rest.’
‘There’s something else: Fifteen Oms got electrocuted in corridor 7. One of them made an unfortunate gesture as he was sleeping. Fve already dealt with it…’