A Barnstormer in Oz

by Philip José Farmer

  I beg you, sir, I beg as an American and a human being, that you close down this project. That all activity concerning it cease.

  The dangers are not only for the people of this world. If you persist, you may open America—the world—to things which would be even more dangerous, fatal, to the people of Earth.

  The implications of these dangers are in my reports. I have not exaggerated or lied. Please, I beg of you, consider them.

  Respectfully and sincerely, Henry Lincoln Stover

  While the ink dried, Hank paced back and forth. Were his efforts to be wasted?

  He sent a hawk with a message to Glinda. A few minutes later, the hawk returned and said that Glinda could see him at once. When he got to the conference chamber, he told her he had written a letter, and he translated it aloud for her.

  She said, "I hope that it will convince your leader to change his mind. I doubt it, though."

  "I suppose you're right," he said. "I wish it could be delivered now before they try something else."

  Glinda smiled and said, "I'll deliver it. Tonight."

  Hank was startled. "But...?"

  "Oh, it'll cost me, but I know that Erakna is in no position, at this moment, anyway, to attack me while I'm weakened. Besides, it'll be easier and so cost less to me to go through the opening your people made. The more the passageway is used, the less energy needed to go through it."

  Hank thought that he need not have been so surprised. She must have a barrel of tricks up that sleeve.

  "Do you know exactly where to place the message?" he said.

  "I have the letters and other items they sent you. These will enable me to track back to the senders."

  "How...?" Hank said. He stopped because her smile made it evident that she would not answer him. It seemed to him, however, that the letters and the items must leave some sort of vibrational spoor behind them during their passage in space. Psychic tracks?

  He sighed. He would probably never know unless he became a wizard.

  To do that, he would have to stay here and to become a citizen. Abandon his American citizenship and apply for naturalization papers to Oz.

  In that moment, he knew that that was what he intended. What his unconscious had intended for some time. That is, he had wished to be a citizen. He was not sure that he cared to be a wizard.

  The next day, Hank Stover was eager to ask Glinda if she had delivered his letter. He was told, however, that she had left word that she was not to be disturbed until three o'clock that afternoon.

  "The queen is sleeping," the messenger said.

  One hour after the sun had reached its zenith, the green haze appeared. The aircraft that shot from it was a D.H.4B, probably one that had been used to bring in supplies or a soldier. This time it carried a pilot and a photographer. It circled low over the meadow for two minutes, then it circled the castle.

  Hank half-expected that a message for him would be dropped from it, but he was disappointed. The plane flew back across the desert and into the haze, which had reappeared two minutes before the craft reached it.

  If the big brass thought that he was lying, they would have to believe otherwise when they saw the photographs. They would show some graves filled in, others half-dug, and burned bodies stretched out waiting for burial.

  What did the lack of a message mean? That they had not yet written a reply or that they were planning another attack?

  He spent an hour in the room where birds and humans brought verbal reports for Glinda. These were taken down by the scribes, and the pages piled in a basket on her desk to be taken to her suite. Nobody objected to his listening in. He did not think that that was an oversight. Glinda, who never missed a thing, must have given orders that he would not be denied admittance.

  The Emerald City was under siege, but, so far, the Gillikins had not tried to storm it. The Scarecrow, however, had had a narrow escape. Eagles bearing burning torches had tried to drop them on it when it was inspecting the guards on top of the walls. One had landed only a few inches from it and frightened it. Of the few things it feared, fire was the greatest.

  Most of Ozland was occupied by now, and the survivors of the defending army had fled into Quadlingland.

  Erakna was in Munchkinland but planned to return to her capital soon.

  The chief of the Pekotasha nation had agreed to furnish an army for Erakna. It was not as large as Erakna had asked for because Wasokat was forced to keep a large standing army on his borders if the Shanahooka nation should attack him.

  The Tin Woodman and his guerrillas had retreated even deeper into the Winkie hills. A Gillikin army was making an all-out effort to track him down. But they were suffering heavy casualties because the Winkie wild animals were actively allied with the Woodman.

  There was much disaffection and resentment among the Gillikins. They were unhappy about being ruled by a red witch, and they saw no reason for the war. Erakna had issued orders for savage reprisals against all suspected of anything but absolute loyalty.

  A tornado in northwest Gillikinland had wiped out a battalion of soldiers, and the Gillikins were asking each other, secretly, of course, if the tornado had been generated and directed by Glinda.

  The news was, like news everywhere in both worlds, both good and bad.

  At 4:15, Hank was summoned to the conference room. He found a Glinda who was pale and a little blue and puffy under the eyes but energetic.

  "Your letter was placed on a desk in the Signal Corps headquarters," she said. "It should have caused consternation, panic, and doubt. Not because of its contents but because they will know that I can penetrate their guard. They will wonder how I was able to do that. For all they will know, I could transport not only myself but an army into the strongest fortress."

  "Could you?" Hank said.

  "No. You know I can't. But there is one who can place an army within a castle, though she could not do it in your world. That is the red witch, Erakna the Uneatable. No, I'll modify that. She could place the Winged Monkeys in the area of my castle. She can't pinpoint their place of arrival, but, if she were lucky, she might get some within the castle near my suite. The others would be scattered within a quartermile area.

  "Whoever controls the Golden Cap controls the Monkeys. You'd like to have that control, so you'd like to get hold of the Cap. But Erakna knows that, and she will have taken measures to prevent anyone getting her hands on it."

  Glinda sat back and smiled. She looked so beautiful that a tiny lightning bolt pang shot through his chest.

  "You are indeed your mother's son!"

  "I take that as a high compliment. You wouldn't be bringing this up unless you had an idea for getting the Golden Cap. And you wouldn't waste your time telling me about it unless I figured in your plan."

  "Very good. You figure prominently. In fact, you are the axle man, the one who holds the wheels and without whom the wheels could not turn."

  "My people would say that I'm the big wheel."

  She gestured impatiently. "Almost all of the arrangements have been made. One thing is lacking. Will you volunteer? I cannot order you to endanger your life."

  Hank thought that she had done a pretty good job of ordering before now, but he did not say so.

  "I'll have to know what kind of hot water I'll be in before I can answer that. However... you wouldn't have gone to whatever lengths you have gone to if you were not certain that I would volunteer. I'm not so sure that I like being so predictable."

  "No one is one hundred percent predictable. If you should refuse me, I can replace you. To a certain extent, that is. I will still need you to transport the man I'd substitute for you."

  Hank sighed.

  "You're appealing to my pride. No, call it vanity. You're saying that no one else can fit into my boots." "Not to my satisfaction."

  Hank looked around the room. He, Glinda, and Balthii, a goshawk, were the only ones present. Not even a mouse could have hidden there, and if it could, it would have been smelled out by Ba
lthii. No spy would report on this meeting. He was silent while Glinda outlined her plan, then described it in detail. When she was finished, he said. "Why did you choose me? You need someone who's relatively inconspicuous, someone who can pass for a Gillikin. The same objection to me goes for Sharts the Shirtless, too. He's as tall as, I am. And how many Rare Beasts are there?"

  "You won't be walking around the city in daylight and among the crowds. The main reason I picked you and Sharts and the others is that you have the best chance of pulling this off. I know that you are the best. I can read character, and I can calculate probabilities to a degree you might find incredible."

  Hank sighed again, and he said, "Very well. But what if the Americans invade again?"

  "I'll handle that. I didn't need you the last time. Though I was, of course, grateful that you were available if I did need you."

  "I can't leave until the day after tomorrow. I have to flight-check Jenny, and I have many things to get ready,"

  Glinda smiled and said, "And you should have more time with Lamblo."

  Later, Hank wondered if Glinda could tell what Lamblo was going to do just by the subtle attitudes of her voice and body or if Lamblo had confided in Glinda. He certainly had had no warning that the little blonde was going to propose marriage to him.

  "In my country," he said, when he had rallied from the shock, "the men ask the women to marry them."

  "But you're not there," Lamblo said. They were clad only in robes and slippers and were eating a snack before returning to bed. She was sitting in the high chair which had been built for her. Even so, she had to look up at him across the table.

  "Anyway," she said, "that's beside the point. You're dodging my question. Don't do that just because you don't want to hurt me. You surely know whether or not you want me as your wife. You can't tell me that you haven't thought about it."

  Hank put down the half-eaten piece of buttered bread smeared with honey. He would choke if he took another bite.

  "Don't be afraid to admit that you're in love with Glinda. All the men are. But they can't have her. You can't have her. If you had any sense, you'd know that by now. You'd also know that if you could be her husband, you wouldn't be happy very long. She's three hundred years old, Hank, and she's a witch. You'd never be equals. You'd be her shadow. Or a mortal coupled with a goddess. You'd..."

  "I know all that!" he said. "I have more sense than you credit me with."

  He drank some milk, and he said, "Only..."

  Lamblo was not smiling now; her eyes were slitted.

  "Only... if you can't have her, you don't want anybody?"

  "No. That's not it."

  "I love you, Hank."

  Something that had been hard and cold within seemed to soften and melt. He broke up inside, and, though it hurt him, it also made him sob, just once, but violently. It was as if something had torn itself loose from deep within him and had flown up through his throat and out of his mouth. Almost, he could hear it wailing as it flew out into night.

  "I love you, Lamblo, but..."

  She waited. She was smiling now, her eyes were wide, but tears were filming them.

  "Well, but, now's no time to talk of marrying! I'll be leaving very soon on a dangerous mission... I might not return..."

  "I don't give a damn!" she said. "No, I don't mean I don't care that you're going to be in danger! I care very much; I don't have to say that. I mean that it doesn't make any difference! I'm willing to take a chance I'll be a widow, and if you love me you would, too. Hank, I want your child."

  He gripped the edge of the table.

  "But it should have a father."

  "Will you marry me? A yes or a no will do. As far as words go, anyway."

  "Yes. As soon as I get back," he said. "We don't have time to get married. And I'll be very busy tomorrow getting ready for the journey. We couldn't even have a honeymoon."

  "Oh, I think Glinda will manage to marry us, first thing in the morning. After breakfast. As for the honeymoon, you might say that we've had that."

  He got up from the chair and walked around the table and picked her up and kissed her.

  "I didn't force you to say yes, did I?" she murmured.

  "I'd not be much of a man if you could."

  "You're a big man, as big as they come and larger," she said. "We Quadlings have a saying: A big man is not necessarily a big man. It has a double meaning, but I'm talking about strength of character. About a strong man."

  "Listen, Lamblo. I've got guts enough to tell you I didn't want to marry you if I didn't. I'll tell you the truth. I've not met any other woman here—of course, I haven't met many—whom I'd rather marry. And I do love you."

  "But Glinda?"

  "She's more goddess than mortal. I realized that some time ago. I just don't want you bringing her up when you get mad at me. It wouldn't be fair. I don't care what else you reproach me with, but just don't taunt me about her."

  "That depends upon how angry you make me."

  But she giggled.

  The marriage did not take much time. Instead of a priest or priestess, Glinda conducted the ceremony. Glinda said a few words, a question to and an answer from each, and the bridegroom and bride exchanged golden rings, Glinda blessed them, and that was that. Later, when there was an opportunity, there would be a reaffirmation, a big formal wedding with priests and priestesses, Lamblo's parents and relatives present, a band, dancing, much drinking, and many bawdy jests.

  The honeymoon lasted an hour. Hank had not taken the anti-fertility drink, but since its effects had not yet worn off, he could not make Lamblo pregnant. He would not have to worry about his child being fatherless if he did not return from the mission.

  The final landing was on a farmer's meadow ten miles north of Wugma, the Gillikin capital.

  Hank had flown only at night, and he had followed a circle which took him far west of Wugma over a hilly, thinly populated area. Glinda had arranged for guerrillas and spies to light beacon fires at fifty-mile intervals to guide him. Even with these he would not have been able to fly in the dark if it had not been for Bargma the owl. She was familiar with the mountain ranges he had to pass through, and she guided him safely through them.

  The weather had cooperated, though the skies were usually cloudy. Bargma attributed the lack of rain and high winds to Glinda. Hank did not believe this because he could not see how any witch could summon up and control the vast amount of energy involved. But he did not argue with the owl.

  Jenny landed between a line of torches. She bounced a little—the meadow could have been more level—and as soon as she was firmly on terra firrna, the torches were doused. It took a little longer to put out the big beacon fire with water.

  Hank cut the ignition. Figures appeared out of darkness. At his order, they pushed the plane under the branches of a huge oak and turned it around. A man holding a bull's-eye lantern stood by the cockpit. He was as tall as Hank. Sharts the Shirtless. Behind him was the three-foot-two-inch-high figure of Blogo the Rare Beast. His crested head and the knobbed cylinder of his nose were outlined by the dying fire.

  Hank greeted them, then climbed out to supervise the refueling of Jenny. The hawks, who had ridden in the rear cockpit, and the owl got onto the windshields. Balthii gave her companion some additional instructions, and Martha flew off with the message that the final landing had been accomplished.

  "Everything's set up and going well?" Hank said to Sharts.

  The man's tone bristled. "Of course! I made all the arrangements! To the last detail!"

  "It was just a rhetorical question," Hank said.

  He was already irritated at having to be so careful with this prima donna. The mission was difficult and nerve-scraping enough, and he was in no mood to handle Sharts as if he were a vial of nitroglycerine. Which, in a way, he was.

  Some day, he would ask how the giant had earned his title. He certainly would not put the question to Sharts, however. At the moment, Sharts was wearing an elegant brocaded and
frilled shirt with a high neck-ruff. An unbuttoned sleeveless jacket hung from his broad shoulders. It looked like leather but probably was not. Leather was far more rare and costly than gold or diamonds and was illegal in all nations unless the owner could prove that he or she had the deceased's permission or the relatives' to skin the deceased. Sharts's pants were jodhpurs; his boots, conventional wooden shoes with felt leggings and rolled tops. These would be replaced later by all-linen shoes.

  Nearby were eight saddled deer and eight deer attached to a large wagon.

  "We'll ride in," Sharts said, interpreting Hank's gaze correctly.

  He introduced Hank, Jenny, and the birds to the other members of the raiding party. Five human males, seven hawks, and the deer.

  The Rare Beast said in his piping voice, "Sharts and I could do this by ourselves. But Glinda said no, and what Glinda wants, Glinda gets."

  "Besides," Balthii said, "if you didn't obey her, you wouldn't get pardoned for your crimes."

  "What crimes?" Sharts roared.

  The deer jumped, the hawks screeched, the owl hooted, and some of the men backed away.

  "How'd you like your neck wrung like a bell?" the Rare Beast squeaked.

  "Now, now," Hank said, raising his hand. "There's no need to get upset. I'm sure that Balthii meant no insult. Right, Balthii?"

  "Most certainly not."

  "Well, it was very personal," Sharts rumbled. "Watch your big mouth, hawk, or I'll twist your beaks so much they'll look like a corkscrew."

  "How would you like to kiss the south end of a duck going north?" Balthii said, and she winged off before Sharts could catch her.

  Hank moaned, and he muttered, "We'll all kill each other before we get off the meadow."

  He spoke to Sharts. "As Glinda's official representative, I apologize for any remarks Balthii made. You know how those hawks are."

  Sharts grunted.

  Unwaz, the leader of the Gillikin hawks, said, "And just how are we hawks?"

  "Proud!" Hank said quickly. "Proud! And also, I mean no offense, somewhat touchy, uh, I mean, very sensitive."

  Balthii had flown back to her roost on the edge of the windshield. She said, "We're all, myself included, acting foolishly. If Glinda were here, she'd chew us out. I suggest that, from now on, we stick strictly to business. I am sorry, Sharts, if I hurt your feelings. I won't do it again, I promise."