Cat sat in the canteen of the flagship, staring up at the small visor screen. There was a cup of pseudo-coffee on the table before her, untouched. On the screen, the battle was rapidly spreading out beyond its original boundaries. Reinforcements were pouring in from all around Earth, to Monteyiller’s army as well as to the enemy’s. Soon there would be reinforcements from the Confederation as well. The message was on its way, telling of the first opposition the Confederation had met since it had been formed. With those forces, Supreme Commander Monteyiller could fight forever if he had to.
She stared up at the screen where the fighting went,on and on and on.
He would.
Monteyiller had a cot set up in the command room. He seldom left the room now. He was totally occupied with his game of chess, moving pawns, bishops and knights over the rapidly growing chessboard, seeking openings, making plans, anticipating the opposing player’s moves. It was a war of mind against mind, far above the heads of the chess-pieces. The game of war made him jubilant, excited, joyous.
For the first time in his life, Monteyiller was completely happy.
23
The reinforcements from the Confederation arrived. There were twenty-two cruisers, screaming down from space, soldiers, cannons, beetles, equipment. They came from the blue sky in wave after wave, spewing out death, licking the clouds with tongues of fire, roaring over the sleeping plains, the rolling seas, the high mountains. The destruction was satisfactory; so was the resistance. Castles changed themselves into launching sites; ancient towers climbed up toward the sky, changing into sleek metal-glittering rockets on their way; the ground opened and strange creatures appeared, riding the sky on moonbeams and fire. There was death, destruction and glory; more than enough for anyone. The cruisers fought the attackers, annihilated them, turning the ground into a burning, flowing hell. Then they moved on to the battlefield and the eternal stalemate.
Behind them, the land was healing. The castles reappeared, villages grew up, cities spread over the countryside. There was no mark, no scar left of the terrible destruction. It was all set up for a new, beautiful victory.
In a small, sunlit glade, Martha lay in the grass close to someone who could have been Jocelyn but was not. There was eternal peace, far away from the war games of others’ minds. Martha was quiet and romantic. There was a small house set in among the trees. A cottage. A summer-house. A palace. She hadn’t decided yet. For the first time in her life, Martha was completely happy.
Monteyiller watched the war game on the visor screen in the command room. It was still a limited war, concentrated around the unattainable towers. He gained a little bit here, lost a little bit there. The enemy fought hard and well. A worthy opponent.
I’m winning, he thought. Slowly but surely, I’m winning.
24
As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, he sometimes wondered if he’d made any headway at all, if he ever would win the game of chess, or if he actually might lose it. But then he always made a brilliant move, a small victory, a spearhead into the enemy’s territory. He was happy again.
On a low hill overlooking the base, Alice stood, the multicolored ball at her feet, looking out over the rolling hills. The fierce battle was hardly a dent in the immense expanse stretching out before her. Somewhere, a sleek metal body blasted away from a hidden missile site and climbed up toward the sky, trailing bright fire. It was destroyed in a counter-move by Monteyiller before it even started to fall down to its target.
Alice stood motionless, looking up at the fireball. She started to dissolve, changing into someone else: to Juliet of Verona, with her hair streaming in the wind and a small sharp-edged dagger in her hands; to Demeter Chamyne, clad in an appealing earth-colored dress; to Rhea, to Numbakulla, to Astarte. She towered terrifyingly dark over the land until she changed again, to a radiant pale being, a small slender woman with large dark eyes called Beatrice Portinari, seen through an entranced poet’s eyes. Then she was Alice again. She pouted childishly, and the long yellow hair fell down over her shoulders. Far away, the battle went on and on. She didn’t see it. She clasped her hands behind her back, stretched her arms till the joints cracked. She raised herself on the tips of her toes. The starry sky arched above her, clear and scintillating. She looked up at the darkening sky from which Man was returning to his deserted dreams.
Alice's World Page 11