Glory

by Alfred Coppel

  The legend was the symbolic mother figure of Voerster.

  Elmi Voerster Ehrengraf was the mythic wife who took her dead husband’s place as one of the first Voertrekker-Praesidents, and who lived as a man for what was reputed to have been a hundred-odd years. Opinions about Elmi’s tenure varied. But the time was right, the advocate was right, and the symbol was exactly right for a troubled world.

  The Kraalheer of Windhoek, savoring his Claudian emergence as a political force, regarded the potential new members of the Friends of Elmi, and welcomed each with relish. He had not realized until now how much he hated Ian Voerster--had hated him ever since, as The Voerster, he first stepped up to the Machtstuhl.

  The caucus room was crowded, the air heavy with the smell of portly men in heavy clothing. Ulf finished his welcoming remarks, to the newcomers from Durban, Milagro, Capetown, Port Elizabeth, and Pretoria.

  The full attendance testified to the fact that Ian Voerster had made a critical error. It was all very well to play tyrant and oppress the lumpen and kaffirs, but when one threatened the privileges of one’s own aristocracy, one sowed dragon’s teeth. The Voertrekker-Praesident, a man of impeccable bloodlines, had become a danger to every landholder in the Grassersee. Rather than scattering to their kraals as they always had when confronted with unpleasantness, the Kraalheeren who had been at Voertrekkerhoem, or who had heard of Ian Voerster’s activities, congregated at Voersterstaad.

  The populace, both mynheeren and lumpen, was becoming aware that Eliana Ehrengraf Voerster was (by what magic or connivance no one was certain) now aboard the orbiting Goldenwing that could be seen several times each night by every living soul on Planet Voerster. They knew also that Ian Voerster had rashly taken a Wired Starman hostage. Why he had done so dangerous a thing was only conjecture, but the consensus seemed to be that he was trying to force the Starmen aboard the Gloria Coelis to return both the Ehrengraf and the Voertrekkersdatter so that he could give one or both to the despised savages of the Planetia. This was a matter of concern to everyone on Planet Voerster.

  At the meeting in the Kongresshalle, Ulf Walvis and his coconspirators were delighted to see some fair-weather friends. Among the newcomers in the first rank of furred and brocaded legislators stood Rector Abelard of Pretoria University--the alma mater of all present--and Kraalheer Guderian of Milagro, the sacred land on which the Goldenwing Milagro deposited the First Landers, a holy place to every Voertrekker. Both Abelard and Guderian had an unfailing instinct for avoiding schemes with a potential for failure. Their presence in the caucus room was an omen of success.

  Outside the Kongresshalle, the kaffirs, aware as always, watched and waited. The legend of Elmi appealed to them because it was the foundation of the Cult of Elmi, which taught equality for kaffirs. To the lowland lumpen Ian Voerster’s promised infusion of Planetian freaks into an already bigoted society meant a great deal, and none of it good. The townships were restless, having heard that Black Clavius, too, was aboard the orbiting Goldenwing and might soon be gone. The kaffirs had grown accustomed to the Starman’s presence on Voerster. His privileges among the Voertrekkers had earned the kaffirs much cheek. His departure was being regarded as a loss for the kaffirs of Planet Voerster.

  Ulf felt weighed down by his heavy legislative robes, but he had made himself into an imposing figure because he knew how his peers valued appearances. A month ago not one would have come to hear him speak. Now they stood to listen.

  Ion Voerster, he thought, it is remarkable what a blow on the mouth can do for a politician.

  The Kraalheer of Windhoek drew a deep breath and began to speak treason.

  35. A NEW LIFE AND AN OLD AFFLICTION

  Broni Ehrengraf Voerster, revelling in an unexpected freedom, swam in the cool sunlight entering Glory’s dorsal. She could feel Luyten’s radiation on her naked skin. It felt best along the thin line of scar tissue between her adolescent breasts. She twisted to look down at Dietr Krieg, the Starman Healer, who seemed to recline on shadows in what he told her was “the spaceman’s slouch,” a position that the syndics could maintain for hours without effort. She waved to him and he waved back.

  Through the transparency overhead she could see Duncan and her mother playing like children outside in the rigging. They wore skinsuits and light bubbles of glass on their heads. Duncan was instructing Eliana on the use of the small reaction device in his hands. Each time Eliana tried it, she was sent spinning through the rig, scattering the monkeys who were at work patching a skylar sail. In the earpiece she wore, Broni could hear her mother’s laughter.

  There was something else, something that aroused loving pity in the younger woman. Each new experience, each unfamiliar sight, evoked wonder. She heard Eliana say: “Oh, Duncan--isn’t that Port Elizabeth Sound?”

  The narrow limb of the silver Luyten Sea rolled over the horizon, sparkling with wind-patterns and dappled with clouds. As each moment brought a new vista into view,

  Eliana responded to it with warm and unrestrained delight. The thin film of air and water, of life, which clothed the planet above sparkled in the light of its parent star. From moment to moment, Eliana would pause in what she was doing and exclaim her joy.

  “The Sea of Lions sparkles like diamonds. “

  “You sparkle, Eli.”

  He calls her Eli, Broni thought with a tolerance beyond her years. Duncan makes up nicknames for her and she’s like a girl, loving it. The Voertrekkersdatter let herself rise to the transparency and signalled to the pair in the rig. Her mother mimed a kiss. Below her Damon Ng and Buele appeared, g-string naked--probably as a concession to Broni’s sensibilities. Silly, perhaps. But how quickly one became accustomed to Starmen’s ways. And how absolutely aghast her father would be, she thought with a giggle. So far Black Clavius and Cousin Osbertus had not succumbed to the pervasive nudity, but Clavius had spent ten years among the kaffirs, who did not approve of nakedness before whites. And she could not imagine Osbertus Kloster shedding either his clothes or his academic dignity. Though it amused her to think of the old cousin delivering a learned paper to the dons of Pretoria University wearing only his Master of Sciences bonnet.

  She pushed off from the transparency, spinning and twisting in a weightless dance. The scar on her chest pulled slightly, but Dietr had warned that it would, and that it would probably itch until it was completely healed.

  It filled Broni with wonder that the Healer had actually opened her chest like a Landers’ Day package and done unimaginable things to her heart and lungs. A prosthesis powered by a microdot of nuclear fuel now beat in her breast, aiding the heart whose progressive failure had so nearly killed her.

  Dietr signalled for her to come down to him. She took a last look at her mother and Duncan dodging through the wires and halyards like truants, before she jackknifed like a platform diver and pushed off again, moving easily down through the compartment. She passed Damon and Buele on the way. The astronomer’s apprentice shouted a greeting, and for him she had a smile. But seeing Damon so nearly naked did affect her and she looked away, and then back again, behind her fingers. She could feel what Damon was thinking. His interest in Broni grew stronger each day aboard Glory. She would have to speak with her mother and ask about that. Or if not the mynheera (it was increasingly hard to think of Eliana Ehrengraf Voerster as wise and venerable), then Anya Amaya. She would do that, yes, when next she and Anya met for the cosmology instructions she had been taking from the New Earther.

  When she reached the Healer he handed her a medical gown. He let a smile touch his thin lips. “To keep you warm, Broni Voerster, not to cover you. I am a Healer and a syndic,” he said.

  And a man, Broni thought. It was very interesting, the way she now affected the males aboard Glory. If Eliana had not been so preoccupied with Duncan, would she be displeased? It was an interesting question. A Voertrekker girl was raised to be silent, to remain in the background, to deny her sex. Until that moment when she was given, body and chattels, to a man whom she pr
obably had never seen before, and who had the right in law to loose the cords of her gown and demand both virginity and sexual fulfillment. All things considered, Broni thought, we do well enough, we Voertrekker women. But the task was a difficult one.

  Dietr Krieg took her by the arm and led her out into the plenum.

  “Are you going to be stern, Healer?” Broni spoke ingenuously, aware, and not minding at all, how poorly the hospital garment covered her.

  “Don’t use your nubile tricks on me, mynheera. I am too old a dog to hunt children,” Dietr said sternly.

  Broni smiled, far from offended.

  The Healer led the way past a branching in the passageway and guided her along a fabric tube she had entered before. In time the way widened into a dark, open-roofed chamber similar to the one above. But this time the transparency in the overhead displayed not the brilliant face of Voerster, but the cold and distant stars. Somehow, during their passage, they had changed orientation, a thing that happened often aboard Glory. Motion aboard Glory was like venturing onto a Moebius strip. The lack of gravity was both a delight and a perplexity. Did the Starmen themselves ever really become accustomed to it? Broni wondered.

  As they entered the large chamber, Broni became aware that Anya Amaya floated in the darkness. She was “shooting stars” with an ancient bubble octant. It was an optical device used long ago by navigators of the homeworld. Amaya said she liked to practice with it, never knowing when the skill might be needed.

  Dietr said, “Come down, Sailing Master.”

  Anya, dressed in half a skinsuit (she had startled Broni by explaining that she dressed that way when her menses were flowing because tampons were in short supply aboard the Glory), dropped easily to the fabric deck. She spoke to Dietr. “Now, you think?”

  “Yes. It had better be now. We won’t get Jean Marq back.”

  “I should say that’s a loss, but I can’t,” Amaya said.

  Dietr turned to Broni. “Look up. What do you see?”

  “The stars, Healer.” The simple statement left unsaid the wonder of it. The deep, deep black of infinite space, the gem-points of light that lay forever beyond the reach of mankind, and the thousands of worlds which did not--worlds reachable by ships like this one, and by people like these. The girl felt a pang of the most poignant longing. Mira appeared from nowhere, accompanied by one of her kittens. She landed .softly on Broni’s shoulder and trilled a feline greeting in her ear.

  Broni instinctively caught the kitten and allowed it to nestle between her budding breasts.

  Dietr said soberly, “There is a thing I must tell you, mynheera, I considered speaking with your mother first, but decided against it. It will affect you most directly and you have a right to control your own destiny.”

  The idea of a woman--most particularly a young woman--controlling her own destiny was remarkable to Broni Ehrengraf Voerster.

  “You are very solemn. Healer.”

  At this moment Broni heard the sound of Black Clavius’ balichord playing somewhere not too far off. The black Starman had not made music since coming aboard the Goldenwing, seemingly content to feast himself on the sights and sounds he had imagined he would never see again.

  “I mean to be solemn,” Dietr said.

  “You are frightening her, Dietr,” Anya said protectively.

  “She’s a natural empath. She already all but knows.”

  “What do I know, Healer?” Broni asked.

  ‘That you came to me too late, Broni. That the procedure was not completely successful.”

  Broni felt a cold chill. She held the kitten’s warmth against her skin.

  “Am I going to die, Healer?” she whispered.

  Anya ran fingers through Broni’s golden hair. “Dietr, for heaven’s sake...”

  “You will die in due time, Broni, as we all will,” Dietr Krieg said. “But if you return to the planet, your time will be almost at once. You cannot live in a gravity well.”

  “I don’t understand, Healer.”

  “It is simple. If you return to Voerster, the prosthesis I implanted will not keep you alive. The mass of your body--as little as it is--will kill you. If you remain in microgravity, you will live a normal human life span. I am sorry. I was overconfident, perhaps. But I did give you my best skill. Now you--and your mother--must decide.”

  Broni said slowly, “Are you saying I can remain aboard Glory?”

  “The final decision will have to be Duncan’s, of course. He is Master and Commander. But even if you were not so valuable an addition to the syndicate, he would never send you back unless you chose to go.”

  “I could be like you?” She looked from Dietr to Anya and back again. Her hand went to her head.

  “Yes,” Dietr said. “That, of course.”

  “Mother does not know?”

  “No. We chose to tell you first. Actually, Anya did. It was a feminist decision. Though God knows the mynheera is feminine enough, even for Anya.”

  “She has the right to decide for herself,” Amaya said fiercely.

  “Of course she has. I don’t deny it,” Dietr murmured,

  Broni looked up at the stars. To see them close by. To move between them on golden pinions like some glorious bird. How marvelous. How sad for those I must leave ...

  Dietr looked at Anya Amaya and produced a wry smile. The girl’s empathic qualities were remarkable. He could almost read her thoughts. What bloodlines there must be on Planet Voerster, he thought. If the Age of Sail were not ending, syndicates would make Voerster a regular port of call, and human nature being what it was, they would loot the planet of its best and brightest. But none of that would happen. The time of the Goldenwings was almost past, and Glory would be the last Goldenwing for Voerster.

  “What do you feel, Broni?” Anya asked. “Would you join us aboard Glory?”

  Us, thought the girl. “Oh, Anya. “

  Dietr said, “Understand that you won’t live forever, Broni. We don’t, you know. We live a normal span of human years. But we sail on the tachyon winds at almost the speed of light. So the years pass at a different rate for us and for downworlders. There will be no return to Voerster, Broni.”

  “What will happen to your colleague, Healer?”

  “We will never get him back unless your father releases him without conditions. Long ago it was decided that hostages must be expendable among syndics. Anything else would create an impossible situation. You will learn all of these things, Broni.”

  “And more. Much more,” said Amaya.

  “Can you choose, Broni?” Dietr Krieg asked.

  “I want life,” Broni said, with the selfishness of youth, but with her eyes filling. “I want the beautiful stars no matter what, or who, I must leave.”

  Dietr produced another of his rare smiles. ”I’m not surprised.”

  Broni looked hard at the neurocybersurgeon. “There is something else, isn’t there?”

  Dietr glanced at Anya. “Yes. But I needed to speak with you first. I didn’t want you influenced.” He looked up at the distant starlight. “This port call will go into GIory’s log as miraculous. I must ask Duncan, but there’s no doubt what he will say. We are at war with Voerster. It was your father’s choice, not ours. So we will ask the mynheera and Buele to join the syndicate as well. Let’s see now what your mother and the astronomer’s boy have to say when we offer them a new life.”

  Since the Great Rebellion it had become fashionable on Planet Voerster to say that a taste for civil war was an old affliction to which both Voertrekkers and kaffirs were susceptible. In the great halls of the kraal manor houses, in the lecture rooms of Pretoria University, and in the caucus chambers of the Kongresshalle, an awareness of history was always a presence. Despite the bloodiness of the past, Voertrekkers had learned to live with their “old affliction.” The specter of civil war haunted their dreams.

  The chronicles ignored all home-fought battles save the one great confrontation with the kaffirs. But the Oral Histories which w
ere both a Voertrekker and a kaffir tradition urged remembrance of the people’s past, both on Voerster and on Earth.

  The emergence, during the Voertrekker-Praesident’s absence from Voersterstaad, of the Friends of Elmi was only a repetition of similar events, large and small, that had taken place a dozen times since the Goldenwing Milagro deposited the First Landers in the Sea of Grass. The Voertrekkers had fought the planet, the kaffirs, and each other for more than thirteen hundred planetary years. Colonists and their descendants who did not succumb to the harshness of the climate and the exigencies of a life of subsistence farming, were savagely culled, generation after generation, by the old affliction. Like his ancestors for a thousand years, Ian Voerster had held these forces at bay since ascending the Machtstuhl.

  Now a familiar sense of impending strife had turned the air around Voersterstaad electric. The radio waves crackled with coded messages flying among the Kraalheeren. The Friends of Elmi movement swiftly outgrew the Cult status. The numbers swelled until they encompassed the fifty most aristocratic families on Planet Voerster. In one day, the word spread from the Kongresshalle that Ian Voerster was vulnerable. In two, the landholders of the western Grassersee were rising in arms. In three, commandos were aboard airships dispatched to the capital.

  And on the fifth day the plotters began to quarrel among themselves.

  A history of failed coups had taught the great families of Voerster that rebellion could succeed only if it were swift and certain. But this time there were different elements in play: a Goldenwing in the sky and a mood of change among the people.

  What came to be called the Elmi Rebellion was swift enough. The country commandos flooded Voersterstaad and confined the Wache garrison. Some advanced thinkers among the lesser mynheeren class actually offered the cholos of the Wache the franchise in return for their neutrality. Few accepted, but the fact that the offer was made in so race-conscious a society was a measure of how swiftly events were now moving.