by Brin, David
Maybe we should just head for the engine room. Try to break some machinery. Cause some inconvenience before they finally shoot us down.
Ling picked up the pace, a growing eagerness in her steps. Perhaps she sensed something in the thickness of the armored doors, or the subtly curved wall joins, indicating they were close.
The next hatch slid aside-and without warning they suddenly faced their first Jophur.
Ling gasped and Lark's knees almost failed him. He felt an overpowering impulse to spin around and run away, though it was doubtless already too late. The thing was bigger than Ewasx, with component rings that shimmered a glossy, extravagant health he had never seen on a Jijoan traeki.
The way Rann compares to me, Lark thought numbly.
During that brief instant, his companion lifted the purple ring, aiming it like a gun at the big Jophur.
A stream of scent vapor jetted toward the stack.
It hesitated . . . then raised up on a dozen insectoid legs and sidled past the two humans, proceeding down the hall.
Lark stared after it, numbly.
What was that? A recognition signal? A forged safeconduct pass?
He could imagine that Asx-wherever the traeki sage had concealed a sliver of self-must have observed all the chemical codes a Jophur used to get around the ship. What Lark could not begin to picture was what kind of consciousness that implied. How could one deliberately hide a personality within a personality, when the new master ring was in charge, pulling all the strings?
The Jophur rounded a corner, moving on about its business.
Lark turned to look at Ling. She met his eyes and together they both let out a hard sigh.
The airiock was filled with machinery, though no boats or hover plates. They closed the inner door and hurried to the other side, applying the trusty passkey ring, eager to see blue sky and smell Jijo's fresh wind. If they were lucky, and this portal faced the lake, it might even be possible to leap down to the water. Surviving that, their escape could be cut off at any point, once they passed into the Jophur defense perimeter. But none of that seemed to matter right now. The two of them felt eager, indomitable.
Lark still cradled the injured red ring, wondering what the sages were supposed to do with it.
Perhaps Asx expects us to recruit commandos and return with exploser bombs, using these rings to gain entry. . . .
His thoughts arrested as the big hatch rolled aside. Their first glimpse was not of daylight, but stars.
An instant's shivering worry passed through his mind before he realized-this was not outer space, but nighttime in the Rimmers. A flood of bracing, cool air made Lark instantly ebullient. I could never leave Jijo, he knew. It's my home.
A pale glow washed out the constellations where a serrated border crossed the sky--the outline of eastern mountains. It would be dawn soon. A time of hopeful beginnings?
Ling held out her free hand for Lark to take as they strode to the edge and looked down.
"So far, so good," she said, and he shared her gladness at the sight of glinting moonlight, sparkling on water. "It's still dim outside. The lake will mask our heat sign. And this time there will be no computer cognizance to give us away."
Nor convenient breathing tubes, to let us stay safe underwater, he almost added, but Lark didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm.
"Let's see if there's anything we can use to get down to the lake, without having to jump," Ling added. Together they inspected the equipment shelves lining one wall of the airiock, until she cried out excitedly. "I found a standard cable reel! Now if only I can figure out the altered controls ..."
While Ling examined the metal spool, Lark felt a change in the low vibration that had been growling in the background ever since they escaped their prison cell. The resonance began to rise in pitch and force, until it soon filled the air with a harsh keening. "Something's happening," he said. "I think-" Just then the battleship took a sudden jerk, almost knocking them both to the floor. Ling dropped the cable, barely missing her foot.
A second noise burst in through the open door of the airiock. An awful grinding din, as if Jijo herself were complaining. Lark recognized the scraping of metal against rock.
"Ifni!" Ling cried. "They're taking off!"
Helping each other, fighting for balance, they reached the outer hatch and looked down again, staring aghast at a spectacle of pent-up nature, suddenly unleashed.
Well, so much for jumping in the lake, he thought. The Jophur ship was rising glacially, but the first few dozen meters were crucial, removing the dam that had drowned the valley under a transient reservoir. At once, the Festival Glade was transformed into a roiling tempest. Submerged trees tore loose from their sodden roots. Stones fell crashing into the maelstrom as mud banks were undermined. While the battlecruiser climbed complacently, a vast flood of murky water and debris rushed downstream, pummeling everything in its path, pouring toward distant, unsuspecting plains.
Too late, Lark realized. We were too late making our escape. Now we're trapped inside.
As if to seal the fact, a light flashed near the open hatch, which began to close. An automatic safety measure, he figured, for a starship taking off. Lark barely suppressed an overpowering temptation to dive through the narrowing gap, despite the deadly chaos waiting below.
Ling squeezed his hand fiercely as they caught a passing glimpse of something shiny and round-shouldered-a slick, elongated dome, uncovered by retreating waters. Even under pale predawn light, they recognized the Rothen-Danik ship, still shut within a prison of quantum time.
Then the armored portal sealed with a boom and hiss, cutting off the all-too-fleeting breeze. Trapped inside, they stared at the cruel hatch.
"We're heading north," Lark said. It was the one last thing he had noticed, watching the ravaged valley pass below.
"Come on," Ling answered pragmatically. "There must be someplace to hide aboard this bloated ship."
Ncl CLO
STILL A FEW LEAGUES SHORT OF THEIR GOAL, THE zealots realized they were surrounded. They spent the night huddled in the marsh, counting the campfires of regiments loyal to the High Sages. Squeezed between militia units from Biblos and Nelo's pursuing detachment, the rebels surrendered at first light.
There was little ceremony, and few weapons for the rabble to give up. Most of their fanatical ardor had been used up by the hard slog across a quagmire where mighty Buyur towers once reared toward the sky. Already bedraggled, Jop and his followers marched in a ragged column toward the Bibur, enduring taunts from former neighbors.
"Go ahead an' look!" Nelo pushed the tree farmer toward a bluff where everyone could look across the wide river at shimmering cliffs, still immersed in dawn's long shadows. Oncoming daylight revealed a vast cave underneath, chiseled centuries ago by the Earthship Tabernacle. Two dozen huge pillars supported the Fist of Stone, hovering like a suspended sentence, just above a cluster of quaint wooden buildings, each fashioned to resemble some famed structure of Terran heritage-such as the Taj Mahal, the Great Pyramid of Cheops, and the Main Library of San Diego, California.
"The Archive stands," Nelo told his enemy. "You wanted to bring the Fist crashing down, but it ain't gonna happen. And in a couple o' years I'll be makin' paper again. It was all for nothin', Jop. The lives you wasted, and the property. You achieved nothing."
Nelo saw Jop's bitterness redouble when they reached a new semaphore station, set up directly across the water from Biblos, where they learned about the rocket attack, the destruction of one Jophur ship, and the rumored damage of another. Young militia soldiers shouted jubilation to learn that last night's distant "thunderstorm" had instead been the unleashed fury of the Six Races, taking vengeance for the poor g'Kek.
A few older faces were grim. The militia captain warned that this was but a single battle in a war the Commons of Jijo could hardly hope to win.
Nelo refused to think about that. Instead, he kept his promise to Ariana Foo, by handing over her message for transmissio
n. Light-borne signals flew better at night, but the operator refired his lamp when he saw Ariana's name on the single sheet of paper. While that bulletin went out, the captain looked into getting transportation across the Bibur, where showers and clean clothes waited.
And sleep, Nelo thought. Yet, despite fatigue, he somehow felt younger than he had in ages, as if the tiring chase through swamplands had stripped years away, leaving him a virile warrior of long ago.
Leaning against a tree, Nelo let his eyes close for a little
while, his mind turning back to plans for a rebuilt paper mill.
Our first job will be helping the blues put their dam back together. Do it right, this time. Less worrying about camouflage and more about getting good power output. As long
as I'm at Biblos, I might as well look.into copying some designs. . . .
Nelo's head jerked up when a carpentry apprentice from Dob shouted his name. The lad had been reading last night's semaphore messages, affixed on the wall of the relay post.
"I just saw your daughter's name," the young man told him. "She's on Mount Guenn!"
Nelo took three jerky steps forward ... as Jop did exactly the same thing. The farmer's expression showed the same surprise. His shock and dismay contrasted with Nelo's joy at hearing that one of his children lived.
Sara! The papermaker's mind whirled. In the name of the founders, how did she find herself on Mount Guenn?
He hurried over to the shed, eager to learn more. Perhaps there would be word of Dwer and Lark, as well!
At that moment, a shout erupted from one of the operators inside the semaphore hut. While the sender kept on clicking his key, transmitting Ariana Foo's message, the receiver burst out through the door, a middle-aged woman waving a paper covered with hurried scrawls.
"Mess . . . mess . . ." She ran for the militia captain, gasping urgently.
"Message from lookouts," she cried. "The Jophur . . , i the Jophur ship is coming this way!" i
It did not swoop or plummet. The star vessel was far too vast for that.
A haze of suspended dust accompanied its passage above forest or open ground, but when the immense sky mountain moved ponderously over the Bibur, the waters went Ominously still. The glassy-smooth footprint spread even wider than its shadow.
Keep going, Nelo prayed. Just pass us by. Keep going. . . .
But the great cruiser evidently had plans right here, arresting its forward momentum directly over the river, in plain sight of the Great Archive.
Now it was Nelo's turn to glower as he glimpsed grim satisfaction pass overJop's face. Someone must've snitched, he thought. Rumors told of Jophur emissaries, establishing outposts in tiny hamlets, imperiously demanding information. Sooner or later some zealot or scroll thumper would have blabbed about this place.
No slashing rays fell from the mighty battleship. No rain of bombs, taking vengeance for its little brother, lost the night before.
Instead, a few small portals opened in its side. About two dozen robots descended, fluttering lazily until they reached hoon height above the water, where they turned in formation and streaked toward Biblos.
A second wave emerged from the great ship, floating down more slowly on wide plates of burnished black. Tapered cones rode those flat conveyances, like stacks of glossy pancakes, each pile on its own flying skillet.
Even before the Jophur party reached the walls of the hidden city, the space dreadnought began moving again, turning its massive bulk to head back the way it came, roughly south by southeast, gaining altitude at an accelerating pace. By the time Nelo lost it in the glare of the rising sun, the cruiser had climbed above the highest clouds.
Crowds gathered at the riverbank, peering at the opposite shore. Biblos still lay immersed in nightlike shadows. By contrast, the robots glittered till they passed under the Fist of Stone, followed by their Jophur masters.
After that, Nelo and the others had to rely on the militia captain, peering through binoculars, to relate what was' happening.
"Each Jophur is entering a different building, guarded by several robots. Some use the front door . . . but one just sent its servants to smash open a wall and go in that way.
"They're all inside now . . . and people are running out! Humans, hoons, qheuens . . . there's a g'Kek . . . his left wheel is smoking. I think he's been shot."
The crowd murmured frustration, but there was nothing to do. Nothing anybody could do.
"I see militia squads! Mostly humans with some urs and hoons. They've got rifles . . . the new kind with muletipped bullets. They're running toward the Science Building!
"They're splitting up, skirmish style, using opposite doors to sneak in from both sides at once."
Nelo clenched his hands as he stared across the Bibur. At the same time, he wondered why the great battleship would come all this way, yet not tarry to destroy the center ofJijoan intellectual life.
I guess the cruiser bad other matters to attend to. Anyway, it'll be back to pick up their foray party.
There was one hope. Maybe there are some rockets left after last night. Perhaps they'll catch the cruiser, before it can return.
There was always that hope-though it seemed unlikely the Jophur would be fooled a second time.
Across the river he could see a flood of refugees-scholars, librarians, and students-pouring out of sally ports and over the battlements. There weren't many g'Kek among the fugitives. Nor traeki. Both races appeared doomed to stay within, destined for different fates, both of them unpleasant.
He wondered, What do the aliens want with our Library? To check out some books and take 'em back home to
read?
In fact, that bizarre notion made sense.
I'll bet the rocket attack made 'em realize we have trick up our sleeve. Suddenly they're interested in what we know, and how we know it. They'll scan our books to find out what other nasty surprises we might come up with.
Something was happening in the shadowed cave. Distant popping sounds carried across the river, doubtless from within the Hall of Science.
"They're coming out!" the captain announced. His grip on the binoculars stiffened. "The rifle squads . . . they're in retreat . . . dragging their wounded, trying to cover each other. They're ..."
He lowered the glasses. The officer's eyes were bleak and he stood silently, completely overcome.
A corporal gently took the binoculars and resumed reporting.
"Dead," was the first word she said.
"I see dead soldiers. They're all down."
A hush settled over the crowd. Across the Bibur nothing I seemed to be moving anymore, except an occasional ' sharp-edged machine shape, flitting underneath the Fist of
Stone.
The explosers . . . Nelo wondered. Why didn't they set off their charges?
The greatest secret of the Six Races. The most secure fortress of humankind on Jijo. Biblos had been captured in a matter of duras. Its treasured archive lay in the tight grip of Jophur invaders.
wasx
IS IT SETTLED THEN, MY RINGS? HAVE WE ROOTED out the last corners of your clandestine resistance? Can we assume there will be no more episodes of surreptitious rebellion?
The Priest-Stack threatened to dismantle us/me after the last embarrassment, when you silly rings foolishly,cleverly managed to perform a vienning without your master torus knowing. The priest aimed to scrape every drip trail of waxy memory lining our core, seeking clues to the whereabouts of the pair of wolfling vermin you (briefly, mutinously) released into our glorious Polkjhy ship.
But then the stack in change of psychological tactics reported telemetry showing that Lark and Ling almost surely departed the ship when instruments showed an airiock hatch anomalously opening.
Humans are good with water. No doubt they imagined themselves safe after entering the lake, never suspecting that they were about to be swept downstream into a vortex of ruin when our majestic Polkjhy took off!
The droll appropriateness of this fate-the dramat
ic irony-so pleased the Captain-Leader that a ruling was made, overturning the Priest-Stack's desire. For the time being, then, our/my union is safe.
DO NOT COUNT ON CONTINUED TEMPERANCE, FORGIVENESS, MY RINGS! Forgiveness for what, you ask?
Now you worry Me. Is the shared wax so badly melted? Did the Asx personality so damage us, with its second attempt at suicide-by-amnesia? Must I provide memory of recent events through the demi-electronic processes of the master torus?
Very well, My rings, I shall do so. Then we will begin again, restoring the expertise that made us useful to the Jophur cause.
Together we watched while a party from our ship took possession of the so-called Library used by the savage Six Races. Though it contains a pathetically small amount of bit-equivalent data, this is the source,font of their wolfling trickery.