by Colin Kapp
He awoke to find himself in a metal-confined blackness that had a slight suggestion of a rhythmic rise and fall. The pod had plunged into some deep water which had considerably cushioned its fall and quenched its meteoric heat. Even so, the drastic shock to the overheated metal had caused it to fracture in places, and although the pod was floating upright, the occasional wavetips splashing through a split across the top warned him that he had little time.
The faint milky-whiteness of the faceplate suggested the possible imminence of dawn on whatever planet it was on which he had arrived, and this forced Dam to consider his alternatives. The pod would remain afloat longer if he did not attempt to open the hatch, but if opening the distorted metal was to prove as difficult as he feared, there was a real chance of shipping enough water to sink the assembly before he could escape. On the other hand he could apply himself to the hatch immediately, and attempt to swim his way clear of the gallant little pod, but at the risk of finding himself in darkness in the middle of an unnamed ocean, with only his swimming endurance to buoy him.
An unusually heavy rush of water through the fracture cautioned Dam that his options were purely relative, and that the sea was his main enemy whichever course he chose, Dam was certain the external unit would short out if immersed in water. He therefore reverted to normal molecular identity and began to struggle with the hatch . Fortunately the space-alloy had had its temper drawn by the fierce heat of its journey, and additionally, the parts had suffered considerable oxidation. Aided by a growing desperation, Dam finally managed to break away the hatch rather than open it, and, fighting the flooding waters, he was able to swim clear after being carried only a short way beneath the surface.
Gasping for breath, he attempted to look about him. The light he had assumed was dawn was not the coming of the sun but the illumination from great star-clusters ranked across the perfect velvet of the sky. Such was the level of the star-glow that his imagination could paint distant coastlines or unbroken sea wherever he looked and depending on the hopefulness of his mood. Realistically he could determine no reason to swim in one direction rather than another, and could as easily proceed away from potential safety as towards it. Then Dam noticed a hint of lighta single point on the horizon whose distance he could not determine. The portent of this solitary beacon was beyond all calculation, but whether it represented ship or shore was irrelevant. Kicking his shoes off, Dam began to swim towards the light.
Dam was a powerful swimmer; he'd spent a large part of his childhood exploring the canals and water-courses around his native water-forest. Nevertheless the journey taxed him to the utmost. For a long time he seemed to be making no progress at all, and feared he might be in the grip of a powerful current. However, with the gradual coming of morning he found himself at the entrance to a broad, natural bay; the light which had beckoned him was a beacon astride a white tower marking the entrance to what appeared to be a small navigable river. He found, too, that there was a bank nearer than the light itself. With rapidly fading strength he altered his course and made towards the nearest shore, finally wading through the line of clement breakers to collapse exhausted on a strand of fine white sand.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Dam awoke to a clear sky and a brilliant sun, yet possessed by an urgent sense of danger he was unable to define. Something, a noise perhaps, had penetrated his sleep and triggered an internal alarm. Yet as he stood up on the warming sands and began to search about, he could see nothing threatening. Suddenly there were specks on the horizon and instantly Dam was flat on his face hugging the ground as a dozen pilotless Terran cruise-drones, travelling at about Mach three and barely a hundred meters up, bulleted in from the direction of the sea and passed virtually overhead. The blast of their jets provoked a brief sandstorm along the beach, and the concussive shockwave of their passing smote him a great blow on the back which made his chest cavity ring. As swiftly as they had come, the missiles were gone out of his sight beyond the bank. As their engine noise drained from the skies the great silence which followed seemed absolute.
Dam stayed on the ground until he was sure the drones were not going to explode in his immediate vicinity, then struggled up with a heavy heart. He was reasonably sure now that what had first awakened him had been a previous flight of drones passing a little further along the coast. All would have been injected from space by a Terran weapon-ship, and each would contain a warhead of ultra-powerful explosive sufficient not only to shatter a town but to literally pulverize it. Such weapons would be brought down on strategic sites near major population centres, and, cannily guarded by unbeatable triggers, would await the space-signal to destruct. Thus whole populations or selected areas could be destroyed at a whim, and the 'sins' of the 'dissidents' could be avenged wherever and whenever expedience dictated. The Terrans were running true to form.
Having learned from Sub-Sector Neilson that this world was not Ampola, Dam was already searching for clues as to which Hub planet he was on. Training visits in the Space Army had given him some familiarity with perhaps a dozen of the Hub worlds, but the sea-scape which surrounded him might have belonged to almost any of them. The fact that the cruise-drones had passed the area was a probable indication of the direction of at least one township, and he followed the general line which the drones had taken as he made his way along the sandy strip. His route took him along the edge of the bay and close to where the white tower carried the light which had guided him ashore.
He found the tower was an automatic, unattended beacon, built on a base of fine white stone that gave no overt clues as to which planetary population had been responsible for its design. In its base was a heavy, locked door, beside which was an alcove harboring what claimed to be a distress alarm for use in emergencies. Dam pressed the button and waited, but neither sea-craft nor flier responded to his call. Finally he shrugged. If he had the feel of the situation right, the planetary emergency services were already too stretched by the Terran campaign to be able to respond swiftly. An anonymous signal from an isolated coastal point would fall low on a list of desperate priorities.
He turned his attention then to the rocky bank and the countryside beyond. In swimming ashore he had lost his shoes, and his feet were not hardened for barefoot walking over the broken, rocky terrain presented by the bank; nevertheless he struggled painfully up to find himself at the foot of a range of steep hills which cupped the bay in a neatly semi-circular bowl. Still following the approximate direction taken by the cruise-drones, Dam found to his relief that the texture of the hills made for less-painful walking than had the bank, and within an hour he had approached the brow of a hill and was in a position to get his first view of the countryside beyond.
He stopped in amazement as he looked down across water glades and fountain clusters so typical of his own native Castalia. With a little cry of triumph he began to run down the farther slope, drenched in the joy of an unexpected homecoming. Then suddenly he was hugging the ground again and praying, as a further flight of cruise-drones, hugging the contours of the hill, clawed their way a few scant meters above his head, and bulleted across the water glades like terrifying messengers from Hell. Dam knew he was back somewhere on his own world, but felt suddenly empty and sick and angry, because he knew the Terrans' potential for committing gross atrocities against both the population and the environment. His brain was overcome with a peculiar numb terror at the thoughts of what his precious Castalia might become.
Such were the levels of local crisis and his distance from the capital, that it took Dam three days of pleading and argument to obtain the transport necessary to take him to his destination. It would have taken even longer had he not managed to reach a Space Army outpost and convince the commander of his identity and the seriousness of his mission.
In the course of this liaison he learned of the almost complete acquiescence of the Castalian government to Terran demands, the rapidity with which the indigenous defence forces were being disbanded and their arms destroyed.
Once convinced of Dam's story, the commander saw the potential in Dam's para-ion approach, and, although he had no personal knowledge of how Liam Liam might be contacted, he swiftly arranged for Dam to be provided with a dead man's identity papers, inconspicuous civilian clothes, and transport to the vicinity of the township of Darrieus, where Senator Anrouse was located.
On his arrival in Darrieus, Dam was immediately aware of the Terran presence: formidably-armed shipmen of the occupation fleet patrolled the streets and stood guard on all the important buildings; and it was certain that at least as many plain-clothed men of the security detail were sifting through the township searching for any signs of a possible resistance movement. Martial law had been imposed, with civilian movements severely restricted; and the Ter-ran insistence on obedience was absolute. The crash of electron fire told of the frequent summary executions by which the invaders exercised their spite and enforced their commands. Indeed, the whole township seemed to cringe beneath a blanket of grey apprehension.
Having been set down on the outskirts, Dam made his way on foot through forlorn streets. Beneath the shapeless jacket with which he had been provided, he carried a heavy-duty electron pistol and the pulse unit which controlled his para-ion identity. He was careful to avoid any check-points at which a personal search might be involved; he had no intention of allowing himself to be searched, and the Terran unit which attempted such a feat was due for swift destruction. But he was mindful of the terrible retribution such an incident could bring to the local population.
To contact Anrouse, he went not to the government buildings, which he knew would be heavily guarded, but instead worked his way towards the chambers used by the senator when attending to his official duties in Darrieus. There appeared to be no Terrans in the vicinity, and a letter given to him by the commander of the Space Army outpost took him neatly through Anrouse's own guards and into the presence of one of the Senator's aides. When the man realized who Dam was, he paled visibly.
"You should have known better than to come here, Stormdragon. Your presence could kill us all should the Terrans learn you are here."
"Thanks for the welcome-home," Dam replied drily, "but I take your point. I came to see Senator Anrouse because he's the only route I know to Liam Liam."
"I think you mistake the Senator's connection with the Hub revolutionary." The aide was being deliberately guarded.
"Perhaps. But it was Absolute Anrouse who sent me." -
"Absolute?" The aide's brow clouded with confusion. Then he came to a sudden decision. "Wait here. I'll see if the Senator will see you."
Dam was shortly shown into an upstairs room where Anrouse was sitting at a desk leafing through piles of papers. He stopped when Dam entered and rose to shake hands. He had aged incredibly since last they had met; his voice was that of a tired and fragile man. The aide remained with them in the room, watching his principal with concern.
"We thought you were dead, Dam," said Anrouse gravely. "And Absolute, too. By now you'll have worked out for yourself why you were sent. Where's Absolute?"
"I last saw her on a ship on the outskirts of the Solar system. Liam Liam, I think made a rescue attempt which failed. So I've come in her place, with information Liam needs."
"What sort of information?"
"Have you heard about the para-ion suit beneath the skin? I have that capability."
"Liam sent word to me about it after the Syman affair. But you come too late, Dam. Liam's base is a long haul from Castalia, and the Terrans have left us no means of getting either ship or message through to it. For that matter Liam himself may be dead. The last news we received was that he had been trapped during an engagement near Sol, perhaps that was the same incident as the one you mentioned."
"I was there," said Dam. "But I didn't see the end of the action. They could well have escaped."
Anrouse shook his head sadly, and retired behind his desk. "I suspect that's an exercise in wishful thinking. Certainly Liam's ship was forced to return with him, and from the lack of opposition to the Terran's approach to Castalia, we can only fear the worst. Which brings us back to the realities of your own situation."
"Senator?"
"For all our sakes, get lost, Dam! Put down your arms, fade into the backgroundand stay there. Do nothing to cause the Terrans to become aware of your existenceelse they'll carve up half the planet just to ensure you don't survive. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Senator." Dam tried without success to restrain the tide of bitterness which rose in his voice. "But I came back to Castalia to fight, not to hide."
"Then you know nothing at all about the real nature of bravery, Stormdragon." Anrouse was suddenly the larger-than-life character he had always seemed, and his voice burst across the room like the explosion of a bomb.
"I don't see what you mean."
"If you reveal your privileged hand against the Terrans, in return they'll slaughter millions and poison these lands for all eternity. That is where your 'bravery' would lead us. Far better that you find a quiet corner and turn your weapons against yourself. You're a danger to Castalia, Dam. Your presence represents a catalyst which could unleash the most unholy reaction of them all."
CHAPTER XXIX
Dam, however, had ceased to listen. The growing noise of vehicles in the street outside cautioned him that something new was happening, and the sharp rasp of instructions told that a Terran raid was in progress. Anrouse and his aide were clearly aware of the noises, too, and Dam felt that both men were caught up in a web of tension. Down in the hallway below there was a sudden crash as the main door was thrown open, followed by the sound of men entering, and of several sharp demands. Anrouse was looking at his aide, and there was bitter accusation on his face. Dam, also, followed the chain of cause and event through to its logical conclusion.
"You bastard! You sold me to the Terrans!"
"Only to buy a little time," said the aide sincerely. "Believe me, time is the thing Castalia needs most."
He had produced a pistol and levelled it at Dam. Gambling that it was the fellow's intention to hold him immobile rather than to kill, Dam's hand continued to move towards his pocket. He hit the para-ion actuator button through the cloth of his jacket, and it responded instantly. Even as he blended into para-ion identity he was drawing his ion pistol, but it was a burst of fire from Anrouse himself which actually killed the aide. Almost immediately, the door burst open and a trained arrest squad called on Dam to emerge without offering resistance. He emerged, but not as they had hoped. His para-ion form leaped from the room to the centre of the hallway, and, oblivious to their frenetic weapon-fire, he turned with his electron pistol and cut down every member of the arrest squad, then took the stairs in a single bound and wrought gross havoc among a group of the Terran military waiting below. Still firing wildly at everyone in sight, he broke out into the startled street, but not before he had seen Anrouse's head appear over the balusters, looking white with apprehension. Even in the white heat of the moment, Dam managed to throw him a brief salute.
In the roadway he chose the nearest vehicle, gunned down the crew, and flung their bodies out of his way. His heavy-duty electron pistol exploded the engines of the three remaining vehicles, two of which immediately took fire. Dam brought his own vehicle to life and urged it to a ferocious speed to shatter a hastily improvised road-block being moved into his path. The crew erecting the road-block went down like skittles under his murderous approach, and the barriers they had placed across the highway were scattered forcibly against the buildings on either side. Before reinforcements cou
ld arrive he was through, weaving a tortuous course not along the thoroughfares as might have been expected, but down towards Darrieus's edge, where the tangle of wharves and bridges denoted the presence of thecanals and water-courses which formed the main commercial links with the other inland towns.
By the time the Terran searchers had located the vehicle, it had been abandoned; and there was no way of telling down which of several adjacent roads their quarry might have fled, or whether, indeed, he had escaped by water down one of the branches of the canal. Perhaps because the whole incident reflected badly on the competence of the Terran occupation force, a full report never reached the Sector Commander in orbit, and reprisals were relatively slight. Meanwhile, a traveller had returned to his old home at the edge of the Water Forest, and was engaged in a serious consideration of what his next move ought to be.
His house had been virtually abandoned since the time that Dam had left for Terra with Colonel Dimede, although one of the watermen had been engaged to see to its repair and keep the water-gardens neatened and well stocked. On a stolen sled, throttled down to pass with the merest turbine whisper, Dam had returned to the house and carefully contrived to enter in such a way that his presence could not be known even to an observer who knew the ways of the water-folk. He was greatly disturbed, therefore, when he was awakened in the strange twilight between second and first-light by the arrival of another sled, which tied-up on the landing steps. The single occupant of the sled searched the quiet water wastes carefully before knocking quietly on Dam's door.
"Ho Stormdragon! It is I, Marke Sten."
Dam's finger relaxed on the trigger, but he kept the weapon raised as he carefully unlocked the door. Marke Sten was a senior water-guide and an old friend, but Dam had already learned the hard way that the old values could not be relied upon. In the near-darkness Marke acknowledged the presence of the weapon with open hands.