American Science Fiction

by Gary K. Wolfe

  Huruga: “In one ship? Not even your own ship?”

  Sir Roger: “I do not believe in bringing more than is necessary.”

  Huruga: “For the sake of argument, what are your demands?”

  Sir Roger: “Your empire must make submission to my most puissant lord of England, Ireland, Wales, and France.”

  Huruga: “Let us be serious, now.”

  Sir Roger: “I am serious to the point of solemnity. But in order to spare further bloodshed, I’ll meet any champion you name, with any weapons, to settle the issue by single combat. And may God defend the right!”

  Huruga: “Are you all escaped from some mental hospital?”

  Sir Roger: “Consider our position. We’ve suddenly discovered you, a heathen power, with arts and arms akin to ours though inferior. You could do a certain amount of harm to us, harassing our shipping or raiding our less firmly held planets. This would necessitate your extermination, and we’re too merciful to enjoy that. The only sensible thing is to accept your homage.”

  Huruga: “And you honestly expect to— A hatful of beings, mounted on animals and swinging swords—bub-bub-bub-bub—”

  He went into colloquy with his officers. “This confounded translation problem!” he complained. “I’m never sure if I’ve understood them aright. They could be a punitive expedition, I suppose. For reasons of military secrecy, they could have used one of our own ships and kept their most potent weapons in reserve. It doesn’t make sense. But neither does it make sense that barbarians would blandly tell the most powerful realm in the known universe to surrender its autonomy. Unless it’s mere bluster. But we may be completely misunderstanding their demands . . . and thereby misjudging them, perhaps to our own serious loss. Hasn’t anyone got any ideas?”

  Meanwhile I said to Sir Roger, “You aren’t serious about this, my lord?”

  Lady Catherine could not resist saying: “He would be.”

  “Nay.” The baron shook his head. “Of course not. What would King Edward do with a lot of unruly bluefaces? The Irish are bad enough. Nay, I hope only to let myself be bargained down. If we can wring from them some guarantee to let Terra alone—and perhaps a few coffers of gold for ourselves—”

  “And guidance home,” I said gloomily.

  “That’s a riddle we must think on later,” he snapped. “No time now. Certainly we dare not admit to the enemy that we’re waifs.”

  Huruga turned back to us. “You must realize your demand is preposterous,” he said. “However, if you can demonstrate that your realm is worth the trouble, our emperor will be glad to receive an ambassador from it.”

  Sir Roger yawned and said languidly, through me: “Spare your insults. My monarch will receive your emissary, perhaps, if that person adopts the true Faith.”

  “What is this Faith?” asked Huruga, for again I must use an English word.

  “The true belief, of course,” I said. “The facts about Him who is the source of all wisdom and righteousness, and to whom we humbly pray for guidance.”

  “What’s he babbling about now, Grath?” muttered an officer.

  “I don’t know,” Huruga whispered back. “Perhaps these, uh, English maintain some kind of giant computing engine to which they submit the important questions for decision. . . . I don’t know. Confounded translation problem! Best we delay awhile. Watch them, their behavior; mull over what we’ve heard.”

  “And dispatch a message to Wersgorixan?”

  “No, you fool! Not yet, not till we know more. Do you want the main office to think we can’t handle our own problems? If these really are mere barbarian pirates, can you imagine what would happen to all our careers if we called in the whole navy?”

  Huruga turned to me and said aloud: “We have ample time for discussion. Let us adjourn until tomorrow, and think well in the meantime on every implication.”

  Sir Roger was glad of that. “Let’s make certain of the truce terms, though,” he added.

  I was getting more facility in the Wersgor language with every hour, so I was soon able to elucidate that their concept of a truce was not ours. Their insatiable hunger for land made them the enemy of all other races, so they could not imagine a binding oath exchanged with anyone not blue and tailed.

  The armistice was no formal agreement at all, but a statement of temporary mutual convenience. They declared that they did not at present find it expedient to fire on us, even when we grazed our kine beyond the force screen. This condition would prevail as long as we refrained from attacking any of them who moved about in the open. For fear of espionage and missile dropping, neither side wished the other to fly within view of the camps, and would shoot at any vessel which lifted. That was all. They would surely violate this if they decided it was to their interest; they would work us harm if they saw any method of doing so; and they expected us to feel likewise.

  “They have the better of it, sire,” I mourned. “All our flying craft are here. Now we can’t even jump into our spaceships and flee; they’d pounce ere we could elude pursuit. Whereas they have many other ships, elsewhere on the planet, which may hover freely beyond the horizon and be ready to assail us when the time comes.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Sir Roger, “I perceive certain advantages. This business of neither giving nor expecting pledges—aye—”

  “It suits you,” murmured Lady Catherine.

  He whitened, leaped to his feet, bowed at Huruga, and led us out.

  Chapter XI

  * * *

  THE LONG afternoon allowed our people to make considerable progress. With Branithar to instruct them, or to interpret for those prisoners who understood the art in question, the English soon mastered the controls of many devices. They practiced with spaceships and small flying vessels, being careful to raise these only a few inches off the ground, lest the foe observe it and shoot. They also drove about in horseless wagons; they learned to use far-speakers, magnifying optical devices, and other esoterica; they handled weapons that threw fire, or metal, or invisible stunning beams. Of course we English had, as yet, learned to use far-speakers, magnifying optical devices, and no inkling of the occult knowledge which had gone into making such things. But we found them childishly simple to use. At home, we harnessed animals, wound intricate crossbows and catapults, rigged sailing ships, erected machines by which human muscles might raise heavy stones. This business of twisting a wheel or pulling a lever was naught in comparison. The only real difficulty was for unlettered yeomen to remember what the symbols on the gauges stood for—and this, indeed, was no more complicated a science than heraldry, which any hero-worshiping lad could rattle off in detail.

  Being the only person with pretensions to reading the Wersgor alphabet, I busied myself with papers seized in the fortress offices. Meanwhile Sir Roger conferred with his captains and directed the most oafish serfs, who could not learn the new weapons, in certain construction work. The slow sunset was burning, turning half the sky gold, when he summoned me to his council board.

  I seated myself and looked at those gaunt hard faces. They were animated with fresh hope. My tongue clove to my mouth. Well I knew these captains. Most of all did I know how Sir Roger’s eyes danced—when hell was being hatched!

  “Have you learned what and where the principal castles of this planet are, Brother Parvus?” he asked me.

  “Yes, sire,” I told him. “There are but three, of which Ganturath was one.”

  “I can’t believe that!” exclaimed Sir Owain Montbelle. “Why, pirates alone would—”

  “You forget there are no separate kingdoms here, or even separate fiefs,” I answered. “All persons are directly subservient to the imperial government. The fortresses are only lodging for the sheriffs, who keep order among the populace and collect the taxes. True, these fortresses are also supposed to be defensive bases. They include docks for the great star ships, and warriors are stationed th
ere. But the Wersgorix have fought no true war for a long time. They’ve merely bullied helpless savages. None of the other star-traveling races dare declare open war on them; only now and then does a skirmish occur on some remote planet. In short, three fortresses are ample for this whole world.”

  “How strong are they?” snapped Sir Roger.

  “There is one hight Stularax, on the other side of the globe, which is about like Ganturath. Then there is the main fortress, Darova, where this proconsul Huruga dwells. That one is by far the largest and strongest. I daresay it supplied most of the ships and warriors we see facing us.”

  “Where is the next world inhabited by bluefaces?”

  “According to a book I studied, about twenty light-years hence. Wersgorixan itself, the capital planet, is much further off than that—farther away than Terra, even.”

  “But the far-speaker would inform their emperor at once of what’s happened, would it not?” asked Captain Bullard.

  “No,” I said. “The far-speaker acts only as fast as light. Messages between the stars must go by spaceship, which means that it would take a brace of weeks to inform Wersgorixan. Not that Huruga has done so. I overheard him speak to one of his court, to say they would keep this affair secret awhile.”

  “Aye,” said Sir Brian Fitz-William. “The duke will seek to redeem himself for what we have done, by crushing us unaided ere he reports anything whatsoever. ’Tis a common enough way of thinking.”

  “If we hurt him badly enough, though, he’ll scream for help,” prophesied Sir Owain.

  “Just so,” agreed Sir Roger. “And I’ve thought of a way to hurt him!”

  I realized gloomily that when my tongue had cloven to my mouth it knew what it was doing.

  “How can we fight?” asked Bullard. “We’ve no amount of devil-weapons to compare with what sits out on yon field. If need be, they could ram us, boat for boat, and count it no great loss.”

  “For which reason,” Sir Roger told him, “I propose a raid on the smaller fort, Stularax, to gain more weapons. ’Twill also jar Huruga out of his confidence.”

  “Or jar him into attacking us.”

  “’Tis a chance we must take. Come worst to worst, I’m not altogether terrified of another fight. See you not, our only chance is to act with boldness.”

  There was no great demurral. Sir Roger had had hours in which to jolly his folk. They were ready enough to accept his leadership again. But Sir Brian objected sensibly: “How can we effect any such raid? Yon castle lies thousands of miles hence. We cannot flit thither from our camp without being fired upon.”

  Sir Owain raised mocking brows. “Mayhap you’ve a magic horse?” He smiled at Sir Roger.

  “No. Another sort of beast. Hearken to me. . . .”

  That was a long night’s work for the yeomen. They put skids under one of the smaller spaceboats, hitched oxen to it, and dragged it forth as quietly as might be. Its passage across open fields was disguised by driving cattle around it, as if grazing them. Under cover of darkness, and by God’s grace, the ruse was sufficient. Once beneath the tall thick-crowned trees, with a screen of scouts who moved like shadows to warn of any blue soldiers—“They had the practice for it, poaching at home,” said Red John—the work was safer but also more hard. Not until nearly dawn was the boat several miles from camp, so far off that it could lift without being seen from Huruga’s field headquarters.

  Though the largest vessel which could possibly be moved thus, it was still too small to carry the most formidable weapons. However, Sir Roger had during the day examined the explosive shells fired by certain types of gun. He had had it explained to him by a terrified Wersgor engineer, how to arm the fuse thereon, so that it would go off on impact. The boat carried several of these—also a disassembled trebuchet which his artisans had constructed.

  Meanwhile, everyone not toiling with this was set to work strengthening our camp defenses. Even women and children were given shovels. Axes rang in the near-by forest. Long as the night was, it seemed even longer when we labored thus exhaustingly, stopping only to snatch a piece of bread or a wink of sleep. The Wersgorix observed that we were busy—it could not be avoided—but we tried to conceal from them what we actually did, lest they see we were merely ringing the lesser half of Ganturath with stakes, pits, caltrops, and chevaux-de-frise. When morning came, with full daylight, our installations were hidden from view by the long grass.

  I myself welcomed such backbreaking labor as a surcease from my fears. Yet my mind must worry them, like a dog with a bone. Was Sir Roger mad? There seemed to be so many things he had done awry. Yet, to each successive question, I found only the same answer as himself.

  Why had we not fled the moment we possessed Ganturath, instead of waiting till Huruga arrived and pinned us down? Because we had lost the way home and had no chance whatsoever of finding it without the help of skilled space sailors. (If it could be found at all.) Death was better than a blind blundering among the stars—where our ignorance would soon kill us anyway.

  Having gained a truce, why did Sir Roger run the gravest risk of its immediate breach by this attack on Stularax? Because it was plain the truce could not last very long. Given time to ponder what he had observed, Huruga must see through our pretensions and destroy us. Thrown off balance by our boldness, he might well continue to believe us more powerful than was the truth. Or if he elected to fight, we should have our hands strengthened by whatever arms were seized in the forthcoming raid.

  But did Sir Roger seriously expect so mad a plan to succeed? Only God and himself could answer that. I knew he was improvising as he went along. He was like a runner who stumbles and must all at once run even faster so as not to fall.

  But how splendidly he ran!

  That reflection soothed me. I committed my fate to Heaven and shoveled with a more peaceful heart.

  Just before dawn, as mist streamed among buildings and tents and long-snouted fire-bombards, under the first thin light creeping up the sky, Sir Roger saw his raiders off. They were twenty: Red John with the best of our yeomen, and Sir Owain Montbelle as chief. It was curious how that knight’s often faint heart always revived at the prospect of action. He was almost gay as a boy when he stood there wrapped in a long scarlet cloak, listening to his orders.

  “Go through the woods, keeping well under cover, to where the boat lies,” my lord told him. “Wait till noon, then fly off. You know how to use those unrolling maps for guide, eh? Well, then, when you come to this Stularax place—’twill take an hour or so if you fly at what seems a reasonable speed hereabouts—land where you have cover. Give it a few shells from the trebuchet to reduce the outer defenses. Dash in afoot, while they’re still confused; seize what you can from the arsenals, and return. If all is still peaceful hereabouts, lie quietly. If fighting has broken out, well, do what seems best.”

  “Indeed, sire.” Sir Owain clasped his hand. That gesture was not fated to occur between them again.

  As they stood there under darkling skies, a voice called: “Wait.” All the men turned their faces toward the inner buildings, where mist smoked thickly. Out of it came the Lady Catherine.

  “I have only now heard you were going,” she said to Sir Owain. “Must you—twenty men against a fortress?”

  “Twenty men—” He bowed, with a smile that lit his face like the sun—“and myself, and the memory of you, my lady!”

  The color crept up her pale countenance. She walked past a stone-stiff Sir Roger, to the younger knight, till she stood gazing up at him. All saw that her hands bled. She held a cord in them.

  “After I could no more lift a spade this night,” she whispered, “I helped twine bowstrings. I can give you no other token.”

  Sir Owain accepted it in a great silence. Having laid it within his shirt of chain mail, he kissed her scarred small fingers. Straightening, his cloak aswirl about him, he led his yeomen into the fore
st.

  Sir Roger had not moved. Lady Catherine nodded a little. “And you are going to sit at table today with the Wersgorix?” she asked him.

  She slipped away in the fog, back toward the pavilion which he no longer shared. He waited until she was quite out of sight before following.

  Chapter XII

  * * *

  OUR PEOPLE made good use of the long morning to rest themselves. By now I could read Wersgor clocks, though not precisely sure how their units of time compared to Terrestrial hours. At high noon I mounted my palfrey and met Sir Roger to go to the conference. He was alone. “Methought we were to be a score,” I faltered.

  His countenance was wooden. “No more reason for that,” he said. “It may go ill for us in yon rendezvous, when Huruga learns of the raid. I’m sorry I must hazard you.”

  I was sorry, too, but wished not to spend time in self-pity which could be more usefully devoted to telling my beads.

  The same Wersgor officers awaited us within the pearly curtains. Huruga looked his surprise as we trod in. “Where are your other negotiators?” he asked sharply.

  “At their prayers,” I replied, which was belike true enough.

  “There goes that word again,” grumbled one of the blue­skins. “What does it mean?”

  “Thus.” I illustrated by saying an Ave and marking it off on my rosary.

  “Some kind of calculating machine, I think,” said another Wersgor. “It may not be as primitive as it looks on the outside, either.”

  “But what does it calculate?” whispered a third one, his ears raised straight up with uneasiness.

  Huruga glared. “This has gone far enough,” he snapped. “All night you were at work over there. If you plan some trick—”

  “Don’t you wish you had a plan?” I interrupted in my most Christianly sweet voice.