The Ancient Enemy

by Christopher Rowley

  General Raltt, Uisbank's second-in-command, raised the question of priests. There was an audible groan from several throats.

  "They are demanding at least fifty red-tops be landed, with all their regalia."

  Tilgo Lupabusil, the only ground officer with a brain, in Filek's opinion, spoke up. "I say we don't land any. The men will fight better without 'em."

  "Tell them we only land yellow tops. They can show their appetite for danger."

  "Danger?" bristled Uisbank. "The monkeys are no danger; how many times do I have to tell you?"

  Seeing the questions in their eyes, he went on. "Look, just because a swarm of them got in and overran the settlement at First Landing doesn't mean they can fight. We will land our force in front of the objective and storm its walls."

  "And what if the plague recurs?" said Geppugo.

  "Then we withdraw at once. We do not leave men, outnumbered and hopelessly sick, to face a swarm of vicious monkeys."

  Heuze turned to Filek.

  "Surgeon General Biswas, what do you think we should do in regard to a recurrence of the plague?"

  "I doubt that the same one will recur, at least not immediately. But there might be other new diseases. We are far from home, and everything here will be different in some degree or other. But in the event that another fast-acting fever breaks out, I would suggest that rather than reembark the men to the fleet, they be ferried by longboat away to a safer location and kept there for as long as possible."

  "Is that to be our rule?" Uisbank turned back to Heuze, who pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  "And if the men get sick, they will have to remain onshore, on foreign land, under the threat of attack?"

  "We will guard them. Put them on an island. There are several out there with no inhabitants."

  "Oh that will be wonderful. Sick of some plague and left on a deserted island."

  "Better that than infecting the rest of the fleet. We cannot afford to lose another third of our numbers, and we have but a few months left before winter. We must use that time to cleanse the land of these monkeys. We must also find and confiscate their food caches. Our strategy all along was to mobilize them with the initial terror and send them fleeing inland. Then we would hold back while they set up food caches inland that we could locate and rob later. Then in the winter we would attack again and again, using their hunger as another weapon to destroy them with. This is what we must do, even now."

  Uisbank sniffed and arranged a pointer carefully in front of him. The other generals looked askance, but even they could see the sense of it. They had to defeat the monkeys and capture their food caches before the weather turned bad.

  At last the meeting came to an end. Heuze and Filek were closeted alone in the admiral's private cabin. On the wall hung the gorgeous woven mat of monkey manufacture. More of these kinds of works had appeared elsewhere in the fleet despite the fulminations of the priests. There was a kind of craze for them, as well as for other types of monkey crafts. The work shimmered with color and a magical sense of design. Filek gazed at it again with something akin to awe.

  "So?" said the admiral, breaking into his reverie.

  "I think it goes as you expected. Uisbank is eager to get ashore and into his command. He'll agree with anything to speed things up."

  "I feel a great responsibility, Biswas, you cannot imagine the weight of it. Sometimes I cannot sleep. It is as if the entire future of the colony rested on my decisions, and to tell the truth, it does."

  Filek nodded without great enthusiasm; since Simona had vanished overboard, his own contribution to the future had become moot.

  "Indeed, sir, indeed."

  The admiral droned on about his anxiety and how it contributed to his difficulty in sleeping. While listening with half an ear Filek pondered his own situation. He would have to marry again. It would be expected of him in his new exalted position. It would be very difficult to find someone like Chiknulba among the women on the ships, a woman who was well-read, who treasured the arts and culture. That was what he liked to discuss, that was the world he knew. Together they had shared the passions of a small, surreptitious elite who supported the arts and circulated banned reading materials.

  Would he find a woman like that among the widows aboard the ships? He doubted it. The learned, well-read elite did not choose to emigrate. It was the less fortunate who left Shasht. So he would find someone young, and he would simply impregnate her a couple of times. He would never re-create the wonderful family life he had had with Chiknulba and Simona. Oh, Simona! How his heart ached for his wonderful, wayward daughter, more intelligent than anyone else he'd ever known. He had to turn his thoughts away to avoid being overwhelmed by emotion.

  "How goes your own campaign, Biswas?" the admiral, head filled with the fumes of the victory he sensed in the near future, had not noticed Filek's blinking eyes.

  Heuze referred to the drive to put cleanliness to work in every surgery in the fleet, and to ensure that all surgery was done on anaesthetized patients.

  "It goes well, perhaps slightly ahead of schedule. The most resistant dolts have been turned out into other lines of work."

  "Heh, heh, nothing like a change of job to wake up their ideas, eh?"

  "Some of them will end up scrubbing floors. There is an obduracy about some men that comes close to idiocy. Anyway, the next step is to ensure that the medical teams for the army are ready to do their job. When last I checked there was a shocking laxness about them. There were even claims that such habits were normal for the army. I hastened to assure them that they were wrong and that I would remove anyone who fails to do his duty to the maximum. I have summoned three for sentence this afternoon."

  "Indeed, indeed, well the slave ranks were thinned by the plague just as the rest of us were. That's all you hear from the slaves now, how overworked they are because they are so few."

  Heuze scratched his belly. "Discipline always improves a little throughout the fleet, when the tongs are wielded publicly like that."

  After Filek left the admiral's cabin he hurried two decks down and well forward, to reach his own domain, the grand surgery of the Anvil and next to it his office, his storeroom, and a separate office for fleet matters. The surgery itself consisted of three rooms, a sawing and cutting room, and two recovery rooms.

  It was in one of the recovery rooms that he had set the review of sentence for the three former ship's surgeons.

  They were waiting, seated on a bench under guard. They bore the marks of a light questioning by the red tops, their broken hands wrapped in bandages. The report was laid out on the desk, but Filek had already read it.

  He sat down and stared at them grimly.

  Zuik was among them. Not because Filek had sought to place him in this position. He hadn't gone after his former tormentor. No, Zuik was there because he simply refused to stop drinking the alcohol meant for sterilizing tools and needles.

  Next to Zuik were a couple of other alcoholics, Petragga and Kudak. They wore the air of complete defeat that was common for men in their position. Even a light questioning by the red tops involved terrible, brutal acts. Few men were the same afterward. And ahead of them lay public castration and life as slaves. They were imploded, their faces leaden.

  Zuik was more complex. His face rippled with emotions barely suppressed, rage foremost.

  Filek called the session to order; the scribe began to copy.

  "I have reviewed your cases. You are all incredibly stupid. All you had to do was to stop drinking quite so much alcohol. Perhaps reduce your consumption by half, or two-thirds, and learn to live on that. And while you were at it, you could clean up your surgery and adjust to the new rules. But no, not for you three prizes. You kept on guzzling the spirits, and your surgeries were filthy when inspected. You were insolent and refused direct orders to clean them up. And so, here you are, about to lose your future as men."

  He stared each of them in the eyes.

  "You, Petragga, I find guilty as charg
ed. You will be castrated in public and sold into slavery. Kudak, why did you attack the inspector with a scalpel? What got into you, to do something as stupid as that?"

  Kudak's head hung a little lower.

  "You, too, will be castrated before the fleet and pressed down into slavery."

  He turned to Zuik.

  "You, Zuik, have been less offensive than these two. You have simply continued to abuse the alcohol store. You and I have a history, Zuik, but I want you to know that that has nothing to do with my decision here. You, Zuik, I sentence to serve in the army. You keep your manhood. However, you are on probation, and if your surgery is found filthy and if you continue to abuse the alcohol ration, then you will most definitely lose your masculine status."

  Filek did not want to enjoy this moment, but he couldn't help letting go a little. He did not smile, however, or give any other sign of emotion.

  Zuik's eyes, so dull a moment before, now glistened. He was spared! He was still a man! And—dammit—he owed it all to Filek Biswas!

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  It was raining softly in Dronned, a summer rain that promised good things for the ripening crop of waterbush. Master Utnapishtim paused by the window to look out at the city, a pleasing cascade of greys and green, with the darker stone of the street at the base. Wagons continued to rumble toward the gate. How often had he come to this ancient town with joy in his heart? And now he was here to fight a war, a war that had to be won if the folk of the land were to survive.

  From the first terrible news Utnapishtim had known it would come to this. He and Graedon had immediately hurried south to Dronned and thrown themselves into the work. Graedon took over the small ironworks inside the city and began expanding it immediately. He had a team of sixty mots working around the clock building new structures. The coal reserves were examined, and more coal and coke ordered. A readjustment of trade routes was required since the coastal trade was paralyzed because of the presence of the enemy fleet. Fortunately there was the south riverway into Pelej from Ajutan. More barges were collected to handle the increased traffic. The smelters worked day and night fed by an army of soot-covered mots.

  Meanwhile Utnapishtim was working on a number of fronts. With Melidofulo he worked on supply problems, particularly food. Caring for the polder had fallen to the soldiers and teams of loyal chooks, who were bravely working the fields once again. Utnapishtim assembled wagon trains, and spent a day sorting out the rotation of the available force of donkeys in the town.

  The King was a source of strength. Belit the Frugal had risen to the challenge well. He was pleased to see Utnapishtim and Graedon, sensing at once that they were more deeply committed to the war than was Melidofulo.

  The ironworks was soon putting out a vastly increased flow of arrowheads, spearheads, bars for swords, discs for shield bosses. Working with Master Graedon were young designers from the Metals Guild of Dronned, who had come up with simple, economical designs for swords and spears.

  Their designs had all been passed by Toshak, who was at the center of the whirlwinds that rattled through Dronned in those frantic days. Utnapishtim gave a last glance toward the gate. Out there, in the royal park, Toshak would have his small army drilling. The King would be there, with all his court, drilling with the rest. The impact on morale of seeing the King and his retinue with swords, spears, and shields had been wonderful.

  He turned back into the room. A long, narrow chamber in a drafty tenement in central Dronned. Graedon was writing at a bench. Melidofulo, with his long, grey face and mournful eyes, came in, agitated as he often was these days.

  "This is the one crisis I never dreamed would occur. Not once since the day we buried the last of the High Men. I thought they were all gone, every one of them. I thought the world could live in peace at last."

  "You were not alone in that, my old friend. This is the one nightmare that none of us predicted."

  "Yes," said Melidofulo, though he knew well that Utnapishtim had. In fact, he advocated a greater degree of awareness of danger. "We should have kept our weapons sharp, our watch on the sea alert."

  Utnapishtim said nothing. Graedon was busy with his papers, and did not look up.

  Melidofulo shrugged. "Well, at least I think we can say that the folk of the Land have begun to respond effectively to the threat. Even the chooks have come back from the hills and are working in the polder. The harvest will be good."

  "But only if we are still here to harvest it. The enemy will attack before then. We will have to hold them away from the polder."

  "It will be difficult to protect the polder with only a few thousand mots."

  "Fresh polder will have to be created in the higher valleys," said Graedon, looking up from the papers. "Hard work, building high-country polder, and difficult to do over the winter. Hunger is certain, starvation is not. Fortunately, we know so much more about our enemy now, we can predict some of his actions."

  "The Spirit be praised for sending us that young woman. She confirmed that the fleet is hungry and has been for a while. Even with the loss of a third of their number, they will run short of food before winter's snows are upon us. So we can be sure they will land and go after our own stores of food."

  "So we cannot avoid meeting them in battle. There is no other conclusion possible."

  "Yes," said Melidofulo. "We must go through with this madness of turning our society into an armed camp."

  Utnapishtim allowed himself a tiny tremor of a smile. Melidofulo, like the rest of the Assenzi, was struggling to overcome the mental habits of a lifetime spanning tens of thousands of years.

  "Undoubtedly true, my friend."

  Graedon saw his opening.

  "I can report completion of the second order for arrowheads. We've put ten thousand steel points into the hands of the fletchers. That's with five thousand spearheads and more than three thousand sword bars."

  "There, you see Meli? We have already been transformed into an armed camp, and neither of us was aware of it."

  This mild sally produced a tiny grunt from Melidofulo before he turned back to his greatest source of anxiety.

  "The more we learn about the civilization that the woman represents, the more I fear for our future."

  Utnapishtim tried to reassure Melidofulo.

  "Shasht lies on the far side of the world. It took this fleet more than a year and a half to reach our shores, and it would take a similar length of time to return. They will not be resupplied very often. That gives us our chance for survival. But we must still defeat them before winter if we are to save the harvest from the coastal polder and seaponds."

  "It is time for Thru Gillo to report," Graedon commented.

  "Good," said Utnapishtim. "He can usually be relied on to bring some fresh food for thought." Graedon was usually right almost to the second when it came to these things. Sure enough, Thru Gillo knocked on the door a few moments later.

  "Ah," Utnapishtim waved him in. "Welcome, Thru Gillo, it is always good to see you."

  "Masters." Thru bowed to each of them.

  "What news have you for us?"

  "Well, vocabulary has increased by thirty words today, but it is still difficult, because we ask more detailed questions now."

  "That will continue for a while. There's a lot we need to know quickly."

  "She understands the position we are in and remains cooperative. She has told me many times that she was horrified by what happened. She will help us if she can."

  "And how do you find her spirits?" asked Melidofulo.

  "They vary with the days. She is in the grip of strong emotions. As you know she tried to kill herself by throwing herself off a ship. Now she feels completely cut off from her own kind."

  "The Spirit meant for her to do this work," said Melidofulo.

  "That's what I tell her, myself," Thru agreed. "It is surely the Spirit that sent her to us, nobody else would have been half so well informed. She tells us everything that she knows about their cities, their arts, t
heir festivals..." Thru was waving his hands, caught up with enthusiasm. He saw the look on their faces and stopped.

  "Their world is terrifying, Masters. They are governed by little more than their greed. They have exhausted their land with their numbers. She describes areas that are now desert, where once there grew forests and farms.

  "Shasht is dying." Just saying that name was enough to send a shiver through Thru's bones. "They have no large animals like our elk and moose. There are no bears, not even many wolves, and the cultivated area covers all the land. They cannot spare anything for the creatures of the wild."

  "Did you ask her about the origins of the official religion?"

  "Yes, Master Utnapishtim. The Great God was set in place by the first emperor, Kadawak."

  "Ah, as we thought, Graedon. The religion came with the state." Certain suspicions were forming in Utnapishtim's mind.

  "What did she say of the older religious beliefs?" asked Melidofulo.

  "She says that the priests of Orbazt Subuus preach that the Great God came and devoured the other gods. He was hungry, and he cut them down and made food of them."

  "It is a strangely bloodthirsty society, from what we have learned, is it not?" murmured Utnapishtim.

  "Horrible," said Melidofulo. "Their priests sacrifice thousands of people on the altars of this dreadful god."

  "Yes, exactly. Not unheard of in the ancient histories of man, but in this case there seems to be an edge to it." Utnapishtim's suspicions had hardened completely now.

  "Graedon?" he said suddenly. "What do you recall of the last days of Karnemin?"

  "Karnemin?" Graedon and Melidofulo's heads came up with a jerk.

  "That is a fell name to bring up at this moment," said Melidofulo. "Karnemin has been dead nigh on ninety thousand years. He was seen to fall into the crevasse, was lost in the ice."

  "So it was believed by most of us at the time. But not by all. Some of us have long harbored a suspicion that what we saw then was an illusion, perhaps a slave of Karnemin's tricked out to appear like him. Long have I wondered if he had somehow survived and escaped beyond our reach."