The Rebel Worlds

XIII

The group spent most of the next day and night sleeping. Then Flandry declared it was needful to push harder forward than hitherto. The remaining Didonian(s?) formed several successive entities, as was the custom when important decisions were to be reached, and agreed. For them, these uplands were bleak and poor in forage. Worse lay ahead, especially in view of the hurts and losses they had suffered. Best get fast over the mountains and down to the coastal plain.

That was a Herculean undertaking. The humans spent most of their time gathering food along the way for the nogas. When exhaustion forced a stop, it likewise forced sleep. Kathryn was athletic, but she remained a woman of thirty, trying to match the pace and toil of men in their teens and twenties. She had small chance to talk, with Flandry or anyone, on trail or off.

He alone managed that. His company looked mutinous when he announced that he must be exempted from most of the labor in order to establish communication with the new entity. Havelock jollied them out of their mood.

“Look, you’ve seen the Old Man in action. You may not like him, but he’s no shirker and no fool. Somebody has to get that xeno cooperating. If nothing else, think how we need a guide through this damned arse-over-tip country … Why not Kathryn? Well, she is the wife of the man who got us dumped where we are. It wouldn’t improve our records, that we trusted her with something this critical … Sure, you’d better think about your records, those of you who plan on returning home.”

Flandry had given him a confidential briefing.

At the outset, talk between man and Didonian was impossible. The personality fought itself, captive ruka pouring hate and fear of the whole troop into a noga and krippo which detested his communion. And the languages, habits, attitudes, thought patterns, the whole Weltanschauungen were at odds, scarcely comprehensible mutually. Linked under duress, the entity slogged along, sometimes sullen, sometimes dazed, always apt to lash out on a half insane impulse. Twice Flandry had to scramble; the noga’s horn missed him by centimeters.

He persevered. So did the two animals which had been in Cave Discoverer. And the noga had had experience with alien partners, the two which had annually joined him to make Raft Farer. Flandry tried to imagine what the present situation felt like, and couldn’t. Schizophrenia? A racking conflict of opposed desires, akin to his own as regarded Kathryn McCormac versus the Terran Empire? He doubted it. The being he confronted was too foreign.

He sought to guide its coalescence, initially by his behavior, later by his words. Once the ruka nervous system was freed from expecting imminent torture or death, meshing was natural. Language followed. Part of the Thunderstone vocabulary had died with Cave Discoverer’s ruka. But some was retained, and more was acquired when, for a time, the krippo was replaced by the other ruka. The savage unit objected violently — it turned out that his culture regarded a two-species three-way as perverted — but got no choice in the matter. The hookup of neurones as well as blood vessels was automatic when tendrils joined. Flandry exerted his linguistic skills to lead the combinations through speech exercises. Given scientific direction, the inborn Didonian adaptability showed quick results.

By the time the party had struggled across the passes and were on the western slope of the mountains, Flandry could talk to the mind he had called into being.

The entity did not seem especially fond of heeshself. The designation heesh adopted, more by repeated usage than by deliberate selection, was a grunt which Kathryn said might translate as “Woe.” She had little to do with heesh, as much because the obvious emotional trouble distressed her as because of weariness. That suited Flandry. Conversing with Woe, alone except for a sentry who did not understand what they uttered, he could build on the partial amnesia and the stifled anger, to make what he would of the Didonian.

“You must serve me,” he said and repeated. “We may have fighting to do, and you are needed in place of heesh who is no more. Trust and obey none save me. I alone can release you in the end — with rich reward for both your communions. And I have enemies among my very followers.”

He would have told as elaborate, even as truthful a story as required. But he soon found it was neither necessary nor desirable. Woe was considerably less intelligent as well as less knowledgeable than Cave Discoverer. To heesh, the humans were supernatural figures. Flandry, who was clearly their chieftain and who furthermore had been midwife and teacher to heesh’s consciousness, was a vortex of mana. Distorted recollections of what he and Kathryn had related to Cave Discoverer reinforced what he now said about conflict among the Powers. The ruka brain, most highly developed of the three, contributed its mental set to the personality of Woe, whose resulting suspicion of heesh’s fellow units in the group was carefully not allayed by Flandry.

When they had reached the foothills, Woe was his tool. Under the influence of noga and krippo, the Didonian had actually begun looking forward to adventuring in his service.

How he would use that tool, if at all, he could not predict. It would depend on the situation at journey’s terminus.

Kathryn took him aside one evening. Steamy heat and jungle abatis enclosed them. But the topography was easier and the ribs of the Didonians were disappearing behind regained flesh. He and she stood in a canebrake, screened from the world, and regarded each other.

“Why haven’t we talked alone, Dominic?” she asked him. Her gaze was grave, and she had taken both his hands in hers.

He shrugged. “Too busy.”

“More’n that. We didn’t dare. Whenever I see you, I think of — You’re the last person after Hugh that I’d want to hurt.”

“After Hugh.”

“You’re givin’ him back to me. No god could do anything more splendid.”

“I take it, then,” he said jaggedly, “that you haven’t reconsidered about us.”

“No. You make me wish I could wish to. But — Oh, I’m so grieved. I hope so hard you’ll soon find your right woman.”

“I’ve done that,” he said. She winced. He realized he was crushing her hands, and eased the pressure. “Kathryn, my darling, we’re in the homestretch, but my offer stays the same. Us — from here to Port Frederiksen — and I’ll join the revolution.”

“That’s not worthy of you,” she said, whitening.

“I know it isn’t,” he snarled. “Absolute treason. For you, I’d sell my soul. You have it anyway.”

“How can you say treason?” she exclaimed as if he had struck her.

“Easy. Treason, treason, treason. You hear? The revolt’s worse than evil, it’s stupid. You—”

She tore loose and fled. He stood alone till night entirely surrounded him. Nu, Flandry, he thought once, what ever made you suppose the cosmos was designed for your personal convenience?

Thereafter Kathryn did not precisely avoid him. That would have been impossible under present circumstances. Nor was it her desire. On the contrary, she often smiled at him, with a shyness that seared, and her tone was warm when they had occasion to speak. He answered somewhat in kind. Yet they no longer left the sight of their companions.

The men were wholly content with that. They swarmed about her at every chance, and this flat lowland gave them plenty of chances. No doubt she sincerely regretted injuring Flandry; but she could not help it that joy rose in her with every westward kilometer and poured from her as laughter and graciousness and eager response. Havelock had no problem in getting her to tell him, in complete innocence, everything she knew about the Aenean base.

“Damn, I hate to use her like that!” he said, reporting to his commander in privacy.

“You’re doing it for her long-range good,” Flandry replied.

“An excuse for a lot of cruelty and treachery in the past.”

“And in the future. Yeh. However … Tom, we’re merely collecting information. Whether we do anything more turns entirely on how things look when we arrive. I’ve told you before, I won’t attempt valorous impossibilities. We may very well go meekly into internment.”

“If we don’t, though—”

“Then we’ll be helping strike down a piece of foredoomed foolishness a little quicker, thereby saving quite a few lives. We can see to it that those lives include Kathryn’s.” Flandry clapped the ensign’s back. “Slack off, son. Figure of speech, that; I’d have had to be more precocious than I was to mean it literally. Nevertheless, slack off, son. Remember the girl who’s waiting for you.”

Havelock grinned and walked away with his shoulders squared. Flandry stayed behind a while. No particular girl for me, ever, he reflected, unless Hugh McCormac has the kindness to get himself killed. Maybe then—

Could 1 arrange that somehow — if she’d never know 1 had — could I? A daydream, of course. But supposing the opportunity came my way … could I?

I honestly can’t say.

Like the American Pacific coast (on Terra, Mother Terra), the western end of Barca wrinkled in hills which fell abruptly down to the sea. When she glimpsed the sheen of great waters, Kathryn scrambled up the tallest tree she could find. Her shout descended leaf by leaf, as sunshine does: “Byrsa Head! Can’t be anything else! We’re less’n 50 kilometers south of Port Frederiksen!”

She came down in glory. And Dominic Flandry was unable to say more than: “I’ll proceed from here by myself.”

“What?”

“A flit, in one of the spacesuits. First, we’ll make camp in some pleasant identifiable spot. Then I’ll inquire if they can spare us an aircraft. Quicker than walking.”

“Let me go long,” she requested, ashiver with impatience.

You can go ’long till the last stars burn out, if you choose. Only you don’t choose. “Sorry, no. Don’t try to radio, either. Listen, but don’t transmit. How can we tell what the situation is? Maybe bad; for instance, barbarians might have taken advantage of our family squabble and be in occupation. I’ll check. If I’m not back in … oh … two of these small inexpensive days” — You always have to clown, don’t you? — “Lieutenant Valencia will assume command and use his own judgment.” I’d prefer Havelock. Valencia’s too sympathetic to the revolt. Still, I have to maintain the senior officer convention if I’m to lie to you, my dearest, if I’m to have any chance of harming your cause, my love until I die.

His reminder dampened hilarity. The troop settled in by a creek, under screening trees, without fire. Flandry suited up. He didn’t give any special alert to Woe or to his several solid allies among the men. They had arranged a system of signals many marches before.

“Be careful, Dominic,” Kathryn said. Her concern was a knife in him. “Don’t risk yourself. For all our sakes.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I enjoy living.” Oh, yes, I expect to keep on enjoying it, whether or not you will give it any real point. “Cheers.” He activated the impeller. In a second or two, he could no longer see her waving goodbye.

He flew slowly, helmet open, savoring the wind and salt smells as he followed the coastline north. The ocean of moonless Dido had no real surf, it stretched gray under the gray sky, but in any large body of water there is always motion and mystery; he saw intricate patterns of waves and foam, immense patches of weed and shoals of swimming animals, a rainstorm walking on the horizon. To his right the land lifted from wide beaches, itself a quilt of woods and meadows, crossed by great herds of grazers and flocks of flyers. By and large, he thought, planets do well if man lets them be.

Despite everything, his pulse accelerated when Port Frederiksen appeared. Here was his destiny.

The base occupied a small, readily defensible peninsula. It was sufficiently old to have become a genuine community. The prefab sheds, shelters, and laboratories were weathered, vine-begrown, almost a part of the landscape; and among them stood houses built from native wood and stone, in a breeze-inviting style evolved for this place, and gardens and a park. Kathryn had said the population was normally a thousand but doubtless far less during the present emergency. Flandry saw few people about.

His attention focused on the spacefield. If it held a mere interplanetary vessel, his optimum bet was to surrender. But no. Hugh McCormac had left this prized outpost a hyperdrive warship. She wasn’t big — a Conqueror-class subdestroyer, her principal armament a blaster cannon, her principal armor speed and maneuverability, her normal complement twenty-five — but she stood rakish on guard, and Flandry’s heart jumped.

That’s my baby! He passed close. She didn’t appear to have more than the regulation minimum of two on duty, to judge from the surrounding desertion. And why should she? Given her controls, instruments, and computers, a single man could take her anywhere. Port Frederiksen would know of approaching danger in time for her personnel to go aboard. Otherwise they doubtless helped the civilians.

Emblazoned above her serial number was the name Erwin Rommel. Who the deuce had that been? Some Germanian? No, more likely a Terran, resurrected from the historical files by a data finder programmed to christen several score thousand of Conquerors.

People emerged from buildings. Flandry had been noticed. He landed in the park. “Hello,” he said. “I’ve had a bit of a shipwreck.”

During the next hour, he inquired about Port Frederiksen. In return, he was reasonably truthful. He told of a chance encounter with an enemy vessel, a crash landing, a cross-country hike. The main detail he omitted was that he had not been on McCormac’s side.

If his scheme didn’t work, the Aeneans would be irritated when they learned the whole truth; but they didn’t strike him as the kind who would punish a ruse of war.

Essentially they were caretakers: besides the Rommel’s crew, a few scientists and service personnel. Their job was to maintain the fruitful relationship with neighboring Didonians and the fabric of the base. Being what they were, they attempted in addition to continue making studies.

Physically, they were isolated. Interplanetary radio silence persisted, for Josipist ships had raided the Virgilian System more than once. Every month or so, a boat from Aeneas brought supplies, mail, and news. The last arrival had been only a few days before. Thus Flandry got an up-to-date account of events.

From the Aenean viewpoint, they were dismal. Manufacture, logistics, and communications were falling apart beneath Hugh McCormac. He had given up trying to govern any substantial volume of space. Instead, he had assigned forces to defend individually the worlds which had declared for him. They were minimal, those forces. They hampered but could not prevent badgering attacks by Snelund’s squadrons. Any proper flotilla could annihilate them in detail.

Against that development, McCormac kept the bulk of his fleet around Satan. If the Josipists gathered in full strength, he would learn of it from his scouts, go meet the armada, and rely on his tactical abilities to scatter it.

“But they know that,” Director Jowett said. He stroked his white beard with a hand that trembled. “They won’t give our Emperor the decisive battle he needs. I wonder if Snelund ’ull even call for reinforcements when Terra can spare them. He may simply wear us down. I’m sure he’d enjoy our havin’ a long agony.”

“Do you think we should yield?” Flandry asked.

The old head lifted. “Not while our Emperor lives!”

Folk being starved for visitors, Flandry had no trouble in learning more than he needed to know. They fell in readily with a suggestion he made. Rather than dispatch arrears to fetch his companions, why not use the Rommel? No instrumental readings or flashed communication from Aeneas indicated any immediate reason to hold her in condition red. Jowett and her captain agreed. Of course, there wouldn’t be room for the whole gang unless most of the crew stayed behind. The few who did ride along could use the practice.

Flandry had sketched alternative plans. However, this simplified his task.

He guided the ship aloft and southward. En route, he called the camp. Somebody was sure to be listening on a helmet radio. “All’s fine,” he said. “We’ll land on the beach exactly west of your location and wait for you. Let me speak with Ensign Havelock … Tom? It’s Q. Better have Yuan and Christopher lead off.”

That meant that they were to don their armor.

The ship set down. Those who manned her stepped trustfully out on the sand. When they saw the travelers emerge from the woods, they shouted their welcomes across the wind.

Two gleaming metal shapes hurtled into view above the treetops. A second afterward, they were at hover above the ship, with blasters aimed.

“Hands up, if you please,” Flandry said.

“What?” the captain yelled. A man snatched at his sidearm. A beam sizzled from overhead, barely missing him. Sparks showered and steam puffed where it struck.

“Hands up, I repeat,” Flandry snapped. “You’d be dead before any shot of yours could penetrate.”

Sick-featured, they obeyed. “You’re being hijacked,” he told them. “You might as well start home at once. It’ll take you some hours on shank’s mare.”

“You Judas.” The captain spat.

Flandry wiped his face and answered, “Matter of definition, that. Get moving.” Yuan accompanied the group for some distance.

Beforehand, suddenly drawn guns had made prisoners of men whose loyalty was in question. More puzzled than angry, Lightning Struck The House guided the uncoupled units aboard. Woe marched Kathryn up the ramp.

When he saw her, Flandry found business to do on the other side of the ship.

With his crew embarked and stations assigned, he hauled gravs. Hovering above the settlement, he disabled the interplanetary transmitter with a shot to its mast. Next he broadcast a warning and allowed the people time to evacuate. Finally he demolished other selected installations.

The Aeneans would have food, shelter, ground defenses. But they wouldn’t be going anywhere or talking to anybody until a boat arrived from Aeneas, and none was due for a month.

“Take her east, Citizen Havelock,” Flandry directed. “We’ll fetch our chums at Thunderstone and let off the surplus livestock. And, yes, we’ll lay in some food for the new Didonian. I think I may have use for heesh.”

“Where at, sir?”

“Llynathawr. We’ll leave this system cautiously, not to be spotted. When well into space, we’ll run at maximum hyperspeed to Llynathawr.”

“Sir?” Havelock’s mien changed from adoration to puzzlement. “I beg the captain’s pardon, but I don’t understand. I mean, you’ve turned a catastrophe into a triumph, we’ve got the enemy’s current code and he doesn’t know we do, but shouldn’t we make for Ifri? Especially when Kathryn—”

“I have my reasons,” Flandry said. “Never fear, she will not go back to Snelund.” His own expression was so forbidding that no one dared inquire further.