Now, oh now, the game looked far, far more appealing. I thank you, dear brother, he thought savagely. I thank you, wherever you are.
When Kynan opened his eyes, he saw Janessa, her head haloed by the glowing light in the overhead. Behind her, the Navigator could see the concerned face of Baltus the warlock. Somewhere in the compartment, Brother Evart crouched in the shadows; Kynan could hear him reciting the Prayer for Absolution.
Kynan spoke with difficulty. “I’m not dead yet, Evart,” he said.
The junior priest was upon him in an instant, all shining eyes and flapping black clericals. “Gloria! Gloria stella! Emeric has interceded! Praise God! We were helpless, Nav!” Evart exclaimed tremulously. “We had no idea what sickness had struck you down--”
Kynan closed his eyes to ease the throbbing ache in his head. He felt Janessa touch his brow with a cool hand. “Where are we now, Evart?” he asked.
“We have just sung the position, Nav Kynan. We are four hours from planetfall.”
Kynan nodded wearily. “Go back to your post. I will be on the bridge before it is time to orbit.”
“Yes, Nav Kynan, I’ll do as you command.” Evart gathered himself and moved to the doorway. Standing at the scuttle, he turned and said, “The novices will offer ten Aves and a Pater for your recovery, Nav.”
“My thanks,” Kynan said patiently. “Now stay at your post, brother.”
The junior priest made an expansive sign of the Star and murmured, “Mea culpa, First Pilot.”
Weak as he was, Kynan winced at the breach of dogma. A Navigator was never called “First Pilot” before unconsecrated persons. But in Evart’s nervous state, such fumbles should probably be forgiven.
The warlock came forward and studied the Navigator’s pale face. “I’ve never seen anyone taken as you were, Nav Kynan. Has anything like this ever happened before?” Kynan shook his head on the pillow.
“It must be the effects of the Vulk’s mind-touch. Perhaps it is hazardous without a complete Triad.”
Kynan essayed a smile. The warlock was like all of his kind--a questioner. “It was written by Talvas the Inquisitor, Baltus--’Seek not why, or how.’ “
The warlock smiled back at the priest in silent conspiracy. “That was long ago, Nav Kynan. You don’t believe it any more than I do.”
Kynan tried to frown. “Take your heresies out of here. I’m well enough now.”
The warlock said, “I’ll go comfort that old witch of a mare. She almost clawed us when we took you from the stable.” He inclined his head in polite withdrawal. “But we’ll still have to find out what caused your attack, won’t we? It could happen again--under more trying circumstances. I’ll leave you with that thought.”
That thought, in fact, had been troubling Kynan more than he would have cared to say. Suppose he was stricken while piloting the starship? Or before the seniors of the sanctuary? What then? Almost without volition, his hand tightened on Janessa’s.
“I was frightened, Kynan,” she said softly.
“And so was I,” he said candidly. “I still am.”
“Was it because of the mind-touch?”
“I don’t know. It seemed more than that. As though there were something here inside my head.” He pressed his fingers into his dark, cropped hair. He drew a shuddering breath. “Dreams, Janessa. Such dreams--” He despaired of ever being able to express to anyone the wild visions he had experienced. “I was a king--no, the king. And I saw--the universe--everything--all of space and time. Galaxies were like toys--” He broke off because the frightened expression on the girl’s face told him that his words were poor things to tell of what he had dreamed. He could only say, “I think one day we shall find that things are not as we believe them to be. I had a glimpse of that.” How could he express to her the insane urge to turn the ship and strike out across the empty parsecs for the galaxy’s middle marches and Earth? What possible reason could he give for such a wild notion when there was none? Could be none?
“Kynan,” the girl said with surprising understanding, “you are deeply troubled now.”
“I am, Janessa.” The Navigator frowned. “I don’t know how to express it well--but it is as though I am not my own master any longer.” He broke off because that didn’t say exactly what he wanted to convey to Janessa. “I have been a Navigator and before that a junior and a novice. In one way, I’ve never been my own master. I have always served the Order and the Empire. But I have always been a free man, a Navigator, and a citizen of the Empire--in that order. Now, somehow, I no longer feel free--” He shook his head in exasperation. “How can I make you understand something I don’t understand myself.”
“Perhaps I do understand,” Janessa said, “a little. We are all like chips caught in a current. Something is moving us along, and we don’t really know what it is. I feel that, too.”
He smiled at the girl. He had misjudged her intelligence and sensitivity, that was plain. “I have this insane notion that we should be going to Earth and not to Aurora at all. Can you understand that?”
“No. But if it is what you think we must do, then we shall do it.”
Kynan shook his head. “That’s part of what I mean. I know--the part of me that is me--knows that we must stop LaRoss and Crespus before they attack your people. This other thing here”--he pressed his forehead again-- “is what plagues me with dreams of going to Earth and being a king--” He stopped, aghast at what he had put into words. “There, you see? By the holy Star, I think I may be going mad!” What he did not say was that the impulse was strongest when Janessa was near him. Insanity.
Janessa said slowly, carefully, “And be a king, Kynan?”
“I tell you I must be losing my mind. That’s evidence enough, isn’t it?”
“It is the Vulk that’s put such ideas into your head,” Janessa said with feeling.
Kynan shook his head.
“They’re wicked creatures, Kynan. All people know that.”
“All Aurorans know it,” he said. “And they are wrong.” His tone permitted no argument, and the girl remained silent, chastised for her racial prejudice. “We are all children of God, Janessa,” he said to her sternly, very much the clergyman now.
“Yes, Nav Kynan,” she said humbly.
“I don’t expect you to believe that all at once. But you will.” He tightened his grip upon her blunt, strong hand. “Will you not?”
Janessa looked at him with shining eyes. “For you, Kynan,” she said boldly.
Kynan drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. His head still pained him, and there was a throbbing insistence behind his eyes.
“Shall we go to Earth, then?” the girl asked. “It is for you to say.”
Kynan’s longing was like hunger, like thirst. Earth. Nyor. The Mistress of the Skies. He shook his head and said, “We stay on course for Aurora.”
A silent voice seemed to shriek in his skull: To Nyor, King, to Nyor--!
Janessa’s eyes widened with new fear as she saw the sweat beading the Navigator’s forehead. “Aurora,” he said again.
Kynan managed a grim smile of victory, for it was a victory, of some kind, over something, though he knew not what. He forced himself to think very clearly and slowly: Whoever you are, whatever you are--you’ve lost. I am still a free man.
14
There is no such thing as absolute defeat or victory. There are only degrees of success or failure.
Glamiss of Vyka,
early Second Stellar Empire period
Against the powers of a sometime hostile Empire and always dangerous universe, the Order of Navigators historically applied the techniques of manipulation in depth. No plan instigated by the thinkers of Algol lacked alternate avenues to success.
Nav (Bishop) Julianus Mullerium, Anticlericalism in the Age of the Star Kings,
middle Second Stellar Empire period
The Technician appeared in the chapel of the starship as the remainder of the Five were completing their devotions. He was imp
atient and scarcely had the grace to wait until the position was sung. But when, at last, the cowled Navigators stood and made the sign of the Star in benediction, he stepped forward and said angrily, “I cannot make him respond. The Vulk’s meddling has broken his conditioning”
The Preacher shrugged and bowed his head. “Then it is the will of God.”
“Nothing of the sort,” the Tactician said harshly. “What went wrong?”
“Even with the resonance of the locator in the girl, I still couldn’t make him respond. But it isn’t the equipment’s fault. No one warned me a Vulk would be altering the parameters.”
“This doesn’t hold out much hope for afterward,” the Logician murmured.
“What happens afterward is only of importance if we can make the change, brother,” the Psychologist said. “We must bring them together.”
“My thanks for stating the obvious,” the Tactician said sarcastically.
“Peace,” the Preacher said. “Peace, brothers. This will accomplish nothing.”
The Psychologist drew back his cowl, baring a gray, tonsured head and cold, brightly intelligent eyes. “I simply meant that if the boy refuses to go to Nyor, then Nyor must come to him.”
“Can it be done?” the Logician asked.
The Psychologist looked at the Tactician. “It is relatively a military matter. Can it be done?”
“Yes, I think so. We can draw priests from sanctuaries in Jersey and Connecticut. There is a starship available.”
“But the Imperial troops?”
The Tactician gave a harsh laugh. “It is always some saint’s day. Anthony, Roosevelt, Crispian--someone. And what Vyks will interfere with a religious procession?”
“Very risky,” the Technician said.
“Since your machines have failed us, I don’t see, brother, that we have a choice,” the Tactician said.
“And what about Aurora?” the Preacher asked. “I mean what about it now, or tomorrow? The Gonlani-Rhad are space-borne. Are we to let them attack Star Field and the Auroran sanctuary while we wait for Torquas?”
The Tactician addressed the Technician. “Can you get a message through to the sanctuary--and to Nyor?”
“The omens are good,” the Technician replied unctuously.
“Spare me the religious mumbo jumbo, brother. Does your infernal machinery work that well? Can we count on it?”
The Preacher murmured a silent prayer for God to forgive the Tactician’s worldliness.
“It has been working--as you put it--that well,” the Technician said, offended.
The Psychologist, listening to the acrimony in his colleagues’ voices, thought: This is what comes of elitism. This is what one becomes when one has hyperspatial radio and nuclear power while the masses live in “safe” ignorance. The mighty become petty and spend their time in quarrels that accomplish nothing. We, the Princes of the Order,--what are we now? A quintet of dyspeptic old men, snapping at one another. Do we deserve for the plan to succeed? Should the Order have the power its success will give us?
“We have been receiving reports from Nyor for the last three hours. Veg Tran embarked the Vegan division last night. He is coming on with the Vyks now. The first elements of the Vegans will reach Aurora in ten hours or less,” the Technician said.
“Star Field or the sanctuary?” the Tactician asked.
“Our informant couldn’t discover the first objective,” the Technician said.
“It will be the sanctuary,” the Logician said. “There’s no other course for Tran to follow. He knows about the nuclear project there.”
“Then the sanctuary must use the meson-screen,” the Tactician said positively.
“It has never been tested,” the Logician cautioned.
“It worked for the ancients. It will work for the Order.”
The Logician raised his eyes to the vaulted overhead of the chapel. “Such faith is rewarding.”
“Is there another option?” the soldierly Tactician demanded.
The others remained silent.
“It might mean the destruction of a starship,” the Preacher said in a low voice.
“It almost certainly will,” the Technician said.
“Sacrilege,” said the Preacher. “May the Star forgive us!”
“The Order comes first,” the Tactician said loudly. “Before all things.”
“Before God?”
“Tran’s soldiers can’t be allowed to take the Auroran sanctuary.”
“No.” The Preacher surrendered sadly.
“Well, then?”
“But the loss of life? The troops on board? Our own Navigators?”
“Damn it!” the Tactician burst out. “What would you have us do, then?”
None of the Five had an answer.
Presently the Psychologist said. “If Kynan reaches the sanctuary first--? The screen takes hours to generate. What if it is his starship it destroys?”
The Tactician’s face was rock-hard, like the face of an idol. “There is risk in every plan.”
The Preacher made the sign of the Star on his breast. There were tears forming in his old eyes. “We are condemning our souls to everlasting fire,” he murmured. “But if that is what our Order demands, then so be it.”
The Tactician looked around him. “Are we agreed?”
The Technician and the Psychologist looked at one another. “Let it be so,” the Psychologist said.
The Five turned, all taken by the same ingrained instinct, to look at the Star altar at the end of the chapel transept. The stellar image looked dull and metallic, inert, simply a piece of metal formed by men. There was no holy spirit here, the Preacher thought sadly.
The Tactician, the soldier, was very much in command now. “Are we all in agreement, then?” he asked again.
The Princes of the Order nodded slowly and murmured, “Amen.”
“Very well,” the Tactician said, turning to the Technician. “Send the messages. At once.”
15
--hyperspatial radio transmissions from starships in intersystem transit may be dispatched only when the speed of the transmitting vessel is in the 1012 kps to 1032 kps range. Interrupter coils of the Mark XVII series now in use on board most Imperial naval vessels will draw only minimal power impulses from the propulsion cores, and thus the velocity of the transmission will be unaffected by the course or speed of the sending ship. Impulse velocity may be approximated by the formula P22(Sv), where P--parsecs and SV=velocity of the sending vessel in kilometers per second. To all intents and purposes, then, hyperspatial radio transmissions may be considered instantaneous within a range of 1030 parsecs.
Golden Age fragment found at Station One, Astraris.
Believed to be part of a First Empire Imperial naval field manual
The words of the gods streak the sky, burn the night.
They shriek below the stars, and above the wind
The god Galacton falls.
We hear his death wail
Not with our ears but with the fear in our hearts.
Dark gods of night, save us from sin.
Chant from the Book of Warls,
Interregnal period
High in the stratosphere of a dozen worlds on the helical path between the starship of the Five and the third planet of the star Sol, hyperspatial transmission ionized the widely separated molecules of air.
In the time of the First Empire, these sparkling, instantaneous displays were commonplace. But in this age, they were all but unknown.
On a planet of vast grain fields circling the star Bellatrix, a farmer raised his eyes to the fading light of day in the sky and saw, for an instant only, a streak of diamond light from horizon to horizon. He paused in his work of gathering sheaves and made the sign of the Star on his breast.
On the satellite of a methane giant orbiting Procyon, a fur trapper watching the sky from beside a low-burning fire saw the glittering beam, like a rent in the fabric of heaven. He remembered his father’s father reading to
the family from the Book of Warls and shivered as though the ghost of a warlock had set foot on his grave-to-be.
A warman on sentry duty on the battlements of a fortress in Tau Bootis saw the gem streak, and a fisherman alone on the Southern Sea of Achemar Three; a war party on the second planet of Deneb Kaitos, and a pair of lovers on the fourth planet of Alpha Draconis.
All across the galaxy, at one particular instant in time, the ionized upper air of a dozen worlds recorded the Five’s message to Earth.
Alone but for his personal guard, Torquas XIII lay in drugged sleep in the Empire Tower in the city of Nyor.
His dreams were murky, confused. He slept uneasily, discontented with himself and his life.
Microseconds after the impulses left the hull of the inconceivably distant starship, they touched the rotating dish of an antenna in the Jersey sanctuary of the Order of Navigators. The hour on Earth, at that longitude, was minutes after the second hour of the morning.
As the watch cried the “All’s well” for the third hour, a black barge bearing the spaceship and star blazon of the Theocracy touched the riverfront piers of Tel-Manhat. Fifteen cowled priests of the Order disembarked and moved, in slow, chanting procession, through the sleeping city. The few Nyori awakened by the processional peered fearfully through drawn shutters at the funereal parade.
At half past the hour, the Navigators had reached the citadel and were filing, three abreast, into the outer corridors and lower levels of the Empire Tower. The warmen on duty, Vyks and a few Rhad, being the most devout soldiers in the Empire--men who had been disturbed by the AbasNav ascendancy and the banishing of priests from the court--welcomed the solemn intruders and knelt, extending their weapons for the Navigators’ blessings.
The Navigator of Rhada Page 12