American Science Fiction

by Gary K. Wolfe

  Sir Roger invited the Jair admiral aboard our flagship. We used the Wersgor language, of course, with myself as interpreter. But I shall only render the gist of the conversation, not the tedious byplay which actually took place.

  A reception had been prepared, with an eye to impressing the visitors. The corridor from the portal to the refectory was lined with warriors. The longbowmen had patched their green doublets and hose, made their caps gay with feathers, and rested their dreadful weapons before them. The common men-at-arms had polished what mail and flat helmets they owned, and formed an arch of pikes. Beyond, where the passage grew high and broad enough to allow, twenty cavalrymen gleamed in full armor of plate, banner and scutcheon, plume and lance, astride our biggest chargers. At the final door, Sir Roger’s huntmaster stood with hawk on wrist and a pack of mastiffs at his feet. Trumpets blared, drums rolled, horses reared, dogs gave tongue, and as one we made the ship roar with the deep-throated cry: “God and St. George for merry England! Haro!”

  The Jairs looked rather daunted but continued to the refectory. It was hung with the most gorgeous of our looted fabrics. At the end of the long table, Sir Roger, in broidered garments, surrounded by halberdiers and crossbowmen, sat on a throne hastily knocked together by our carpenters. As the Jairs entered, he raised a golden Wersgor beaker and drank their health in English ale. He had wanted to use wine, but Father Simon had decided to reserve it for Holy Communion, pointing out that foreign devils wouldn’t know the difference.

  “Wâes hâeil!” declaimed Sir Roger, an English phrase he loved even when speaking his more usual French.

  The Jairs hesitated until page boys showed them to their places with as much ceremony as the royal court. Thereafter I said a rosary and asked a blessing upon the conference. This was not, I confess, done for purely religious reasons. We had already gathered that the Jairs employed certain verbal formulas to invoke hidden powers of body and brain. If they were benighted enough to take my sonorous Latin for a still more impressive version of the same thing, the sin was not ours, was it?

  “Welcome, my lord,” said Sir Roger. He, too, looked much rested. There was even a sparkle of deviltry about him. Only those who knew him well could have guessed what emptiness housed within. “I pray pardon for my unceremonious entrance into your domain, but the news I bear will scarcely wait.”

  The Jair admiral leaned tensely forward. He was a little taller than a man, though more slender and graceful, with soft gray fur over his body and a white ruff around his head. The face was cat-whiskered and had enormous purple eyes, but otherwise looked human. That is to say, it looked as human as the faces in a triptych painted by a not very skillful artist. He wore close-fitting garments of brown stuff, with insignia of rank. But drab indeed they looked, he and his eight associates, next to the splendor we had scraped up. His name, we found later, was Beljad sor Van. Our expectation that the one in charge of interplanetary defenses would stand high in the government proved well founded.

  “We had no idea the Wersgorix would trust any other folk enough to arm them as allies,” he said.

  Sir Roger laughed. “Hardly, gentle sir! I am come from Tharixan, which I’ve just taken over. We’re using captured Wersgor ships to eke out our own.”

  Beljad sat bolt upright. His fur bristled with excitement. “Are you another star-traveling race, then?” he cried.

  “We hight Englishmen,” Sir Roger evaded. He did not wish to lie to potential allies more than he must, for their indignation on discovering it might prove troublesome. “Our lords have extensive foreign possessions, such as Ulster, Leinster, Normandy—but I’ll not weary you with a catalogue of planets.” I alone noticed he had not actually said those counties and duchies were planets. “To put it briefly, ours is a very old civilization. Our records go back for more than five thousand years.” He used the Wersgor equivalent, as nearly as possible. And who shall deny that Holy Writ runs with absolute accuracy from the time of Adam?

  Beljad was less impressed than we had expected. “The Wersgorix boast a mere two thousand years of clearly established history, since their civilization rebuilt itself after its final internecine war,” he said. “But we Jairs possess a reliable chronology for the past eight millennia.”

  “How long have you practiced space flight?” Sir Roger asked.

  “For about two centuries.”

  “Ah. Our earliest experiments of that sort were—how long ago, would you say, Brother Parvus?”

  “About thirty-five hundred years, at a place called Babel,” I told them.

  Beljad gulped. Sir Roger continued smoothly, “This universe is so large that the expanding English kingdom did not run into the expanding Wersgor domain until very recently. They didn’t realize our true powers but attacked us unprovoked. You know their viciousness. We’re a very peaceful race ourselves.” We had learned from contemptuous prisoners that the Jair Republic deplored warfare and had never colonized a planet which already had inhabitants. Sir Roger folded his hands and rolled his eyes upward. “Indeed,” he said, “one of our most basic commandments is, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ Yet it seemed a greater sin, to let so cruel and dangerous a power as Wersgorixan continue to ravage helpless folk.”

  “Hm.” Beljad rubbed his furry brow. “Where does this England of yours lie?”

  “Now, now,” purred Sir Roger. “You can’t expect us to tell even the most honored strangers that, until a better understanding has been reached. The Wersgorix themselves don’t know, for we captured their scoutship. This expedition of mine has come hither to punish them and gather information. As I told you, we captured Tharixan with small loss to ourselves. But ’tis not our monarch’s way to intervene in affairs that concern other intelligent species, without consulting their wishes. I swear King Edward III has never dreamed of doing so. I’d much prefer to have you Jairs, and others who’ve suffered at Wersgor hands, join me in a crusade to humble them. And thus you’ll earn the right to divide up their empire fairly and squarely with us.”

  “Are you—the head of a single military force—empowered to undertake such negotiations?” Beljad asked doubtfully.

  “Sir, I am no petty noble,” the baron answered with great stiffness. “My descent is as lofty as any in your realm. An ancestor of mine, by the name of Noah, was once admiral of the combined fleets of my planet.”

  “This is so sudden,” Beljad faltered. “Unheard of. We cannot—I cannot—it has to be discussed, and—”

  “Certes.” My lord raised his voice till the chamber rang. “But don’t dawdle overly long, gentles. I offer you a chance to help destroy the Wersgor barbarism, whose existence England can no longer suffer. If you’ll share the burden of war, you’ll share the fruits of conquest. Otherwise we English will be forced to occupy the entire Wersgor domain: for someone must keep order in it. So I say, join the crusade under my leadership, and haro for victory!”

  Chapter XVI

  * * *

  THE JAIRS, like the other free nations, were no simpletons. They invited us to land and be guests on their planet. Strange was that stay, as if we spent it in timeless Elf Hill. I remember slim towers, bridges looped airily between, cities where buildings mingled with park to make one gigantic pleasance, boats on bright lakes, scholars in robe and veil who would discourse with me of English learning, enormous alchemical laboratories, music that still haunts my dreams. But this is no geographical book. And even the soberest account of ancient non-human civilizations would sound wilder to a common English ear than the fantasies of that notorious Venetian, Marco Polo.

  While Jair war leaders, wise men, and politicians sought to probe us for information, however courteously, an expedition hastened to Tharixan to see for itself what had happened. Lady Catherine received them with much pomp and allowed them to interview any Wersgorix they chose. She hid away only Branithar, who would have given too much truth. The rest, even Huruga, had nothing but a confused impression
of irresistible onslaught.

  Being unfamiliar with the variations in human appearance, they did not realize that the Darova garrison was composed of our weakest. But they counted it and could hardly believe that so small a force as ours had accomplished all this. Surely we must have unknown powers in reserve! When they saw our neatherds, riders on horseback, women cooking over wood fires, they swallowed easily enough an explanation that we English preferred as much open-air simplicity of life as possible; it was an ideal of their own.

  Fortunate we were that the language barrier limited them to what they could observe of us with their eyes. Those lads learning Wersgor had, as yet, mastered too few words for intelligible conversation. Many a commoner—or even warrior, it may be—would have blurted his own terror and ignorance, begged them to take him home again, had he been able. As it was, all detailed speech with the English must be filtered through myself. And I relayed Sir Roger’s cheerful arrogance.

  He did not hide from them that an avenging Wersgor fleet would soon fall on Darova. Rather, he boasted of it. His trap was set, he claimed. If Boda and the other starfaring planets would not help him spring it, he must call England for reinforcements.

  The idea of an armada from a totally unknown realm, entering their region of space, disquieted the Jair leaders. I make no doubt that some of them took us for mere adventurers, outlaws perhaps, who could actually count on no help from our birthplace. But then others must have argued:

  “Dare we stand by and take no hand in what is to happen? Even if they are pirates, these newcomers have conquered a planet, and show no fear of the whole Wersgor Empire. In every case, we must arm ourselves against the possibility that England is—despite their denials—as aggressive as the blueface nation. So would it not be best to strengthen ourselves by helping this Roger, occupying many planets and taking much booty? The only alternative seems to be to make alliance with Wersgor against him, and that is unthinkable!”

  Furthermore, the imagination of the Jair people was captured. They saw Sir Roger and his brilliant companions gallop down their sedate avenues. They heard of the defeat he had inflicted on their old enemies. Their folklore, which had long based itself on the fact that they knew only the smallest portion of the universe, predisposed them to believe that older and stronger races existed beyond their maps. Thus, when they heard that he urged war, they took fire and clamored for it. Boda was a true republic, not a sham one such as the Wersgor had. This popular voice rang loud in the parliament.

  The Wersgor ambassador protested. He threatened destruction. But he was far from home, the dispatches he sent would take time to arrive, and meanwhile crowds stoned his residence.

  Sir Roger himself conferred with two other emissaries. These were the representatives of the other starfaring nations, Ashenkoghli and Pr?*tans. The odd letters in the latter name are my own, standing respectively for a whistle and a grunt. I will let one such conversation stand for the many that took place.

  As usual, it was in the Wersgor language. I had more trouble interpreting than I was wont, since the Pr?*tan was in a box which maintained the heat and poisonous air he needed, and talked through a loud-speaker with an accent worse than my own. I never even tried to know his personal name or rank, for these involved concepts more subtle to the human mind than the books of Maimonides. I thought of him as Tertiary Eggmaster of the Northwest Hive, and privately I named him Ethelbert.

  We visitors were seated in a cool blue room, far above the city. While Ethelbert’s tentacled shape, dimly seen through glass, labored with formal courtesies, Sir Roger glanced out at the view. “Open windows, broad as a sally port,” he muttered. “What an opportunity! How I’d love to attack this place!”

  When our talk was begun, Ethelbert said: “I cannot commit the Hives to any policy. I can only send a recommendation. However, since our people have minds less individualistic than average, I may add that my recommendation will carry great weight. At the same time, I am correspondingly hard to convince.”

  We had already been given to understand this. As for the Ashenkoghli, they were divided into clans; their ambassador here was chief of one and could raise its fleet on his own authority. This so simplified our negotiations that we saw God’s purpose revealed. I daresay the confidence we gained thereby was itself a powerful asset to us.

  “Surely you, good sir, are aware of the arguments we’ve given the Jairs,” Sir Roger said. “They’re no less applicable to Pur—Pur—whatever your by-our-lady planet is called.”

  I felt an exasperation, that he should throw on me the whole burden of pronunciation and polite rephrasing, and set myself a rosary in penance. Wersgor was so barbarous that I could still not think properly in it. Accordingly, when interpreting Sir Roger’s French, I first put the gist into my own boyhood English, then into stately Latin periods, on which firm foundation I could erect a Wersgor structure that Ethelbert mentally translated into Pr?*tan. Marvelous are the works of God.

  “The Hives have suffered,” admitted the ambassador. “The Wersgorix limit our space fleet and extraplanetary possessions; they exact a heavy tribute of rare metals. However, our home world is useless to them, so we have no fear of ultimate conquest like Boda and Ashenk. Why should we provoke their wrath?”

  “I suppose these creatures have no idea of honor,” the baron grumbled to me, “so tell him he’ll be free of those restrictions and tribute, once Wersgorixan is overthrown.”

  “Obviously,” was the cold reply. “Yet the gain is too small, in comparison with the risk that our planet and its colonies may be bombarded.”

  “That risk will be much lessened, if all Wersgorixan’s foes act together. The enemy’ll be kept too busy to take offensive action.”

  “But no such alliance exists.”

  “I’ve reason to believe the Ashenkoghli lord here on Boda plans to join us. Then many other clans of theirs are sure to do likewise, if only to keep him from gaining too much power.”

  “Sire,” I protested in English, “you know that he of Ashenk is less than ready to stake his fleet on this gamble.”

  “Tell the monster here what I said, anyhow.”

  “My lord, it isn’t true!”

  “Ah, but we’ll make it come true; so ’tis no lie after all.”

  I choked on the casuistry but rendered it as required of me. Ethelbert shot back: “What makes you think so? He of Ashenk is known to be a cautious one.”

  “Certes.” It was a shame that the blandness of Sir Roger’s tone was wasted on those nonhuman ears. “Therefore he’s not about to announce his intention openly. But his staff . . . some of ’em blab, or can’t resist dropping a hint—”

  “This must be investigated!” said Ethelbert. I could all but read his thoughts. He would set his own spies, hireling Jairs, to work.

  We hied ourselves elsewhere and resumed some talks Sir Roger had been having with a young Ashenkogh. This fiery centaur was himself eager for a war in which he might win fame and wealth. He explained the details of organization, record-keeping, communication, which Sir Roger needed to know. Then the baron instructed him what documents to forge and leave for Ethelbert’s agents to find, what words to let fall in drunkenness, what clumsy attempts to make at bribing Jair officials. . . . Erelong everyone but the Ashenkoghli ambassador himself knew that he was planning to join us.

  So Ethelbert sent a recommendation of war to Pr?*t. It went secretly, of course, but Sir Roger bribed the Jair inspector who passed diplomatic messages out in special boxes to the mailships. The inspector was promised an entire archipelago on Tharixan. That was a shrewd investment of my lord’s, for it won him the right to show the Ashenkoghli chief that dispatch ere it continued on its way. Since Ethelbert had so much confidence in our cause, the chief sent for his own fleet and wrote letters inviting the lords of allied clans to do likewise.

  By now, the military intelligence of Boda knew what was going on. They c
ould certainly not allow Pr?*t and Ashenk to reap so rich a harvest while their planet remained insignificant. Accordingly, they recommended that the Jairs also join the alliance. Thus urged, the parliament declared war on Wersgorixan.

  Sir Roger grinned all over his face. “’Twas easy to do,” he said when his captains praised him. “I needed but to inquire the way in which things are done hereabouts, which was never secret. Then the star-folk tumbled into snares which would not have fooled a half-witted prince of Germans.”

  “But how could that be, sire?” asked Sir Owain. “They’re older and stronger and wiser than we.”

  “The first two, granted,” nodded the baron. His humor was so good that he addressed even this knight with frank fellowship. “But the third, no. Where it comes to intrigue, I’m no master of it myself, no Italian. But the star-folk are like children.

  “And why? Well, on Earth there’ve been many nations and lords for many centuries, all at odds with each other, under a feudal system nigh too complicated to remember. Why’ve we fought so many wars in France? Because the Duke of Anjou was on the one hand the sovereign king of England and on the other hand a Frenchman! Think you what that led to; and yet ’tis really a minor example. On our Earth, we’ve perforce learned all the knavery there is to know.

  “But up here, for centuries, the Wersgorix have been the only real power. They conquered by only one method, crude obliteration of races which had not weapons to fight back. By sheer force—the accident that they had the largest domain—they imposed their will on the three other nations which possessed such military arts. These, being impotent, never even tried to plot against Wersgorixan. None of this has called for more statecraft or generalship than a snowball fight. It took no skill for me to play on simplicity, greed, dawning fear, and mutual rivalry.”