Star Rangers (The Last Planet)

17. The End Is Not Yet

The hard surface of the partition ground into Kartr's back as the pressure of the crowd jammed him against that barrier. All the refugees were there in the narrow space behind the control table, tense, expectant, with no attention for anything but the sky map on the wall. Beside the sergeant a tall girl in the battle-stained tunic of a civilian supply assistant muttered half aloud to herself.

"There's only one of them — by the Grace of the Three — there is only one for him to face!"

Her "one" was that ominous red dot of the pirate ship still on course to Terra — headed without doubt for the very point on that planet where they now stood. But, even as they watched that advance helplessly, a second dot appeared on the screen — the Patrol ship moving out to meet the enemy.

"Time to try evasive!" Kartr caught the urgency in that man's voice rising from the mass of watchers. "Evade, Corris!"

And, as if that half-order half-plea had actually reached across space, the course of the Patrol ship changed. It seemed now as if it were attempting to make a futile run for safety, trying to elude the pirate. Out there a single brave man swung before a control panel, enmeshed in a pilot's web, prepared to fight a last battle to save his fellows. One lone Patrolman!

He continued to evade skillfully, altering his course just enough each time to draw the enemy after him, to persuade the other ship into pursuit and away from Terra. He had his screen up as the haze testified. That should act as a flaunting challenge to the pirate. The impulse of the pursuer would be to follow, to beat down the weak barrier, to put on a traction beam and warp in the Patrol ship. Only, what Captain Corris flew was no longer a ship, it was a single deadly weapon! And the enemy who strove to overtake and capture it would only trigger his own death in the same instant that he drew it in!

Kartr heard sobs, subdued, and little angry mutters from those about him.

"He has the war head ready." That was the girl. She was talking as if to reassure herself, not to inform anyone else of what lay behind that silent battle out in the dark between worlds. "We were going to blow it if we were taken. He'll trigger it when they beam him in — " Her voice was hoarse, almost fierce.

The red dots moved as fighters sparring for an opening, making patterns on the screen. Kartr, though he was ignorant of space maneuvers, guessed that he was now watching the last fight of an inspired pilot. And yet to the pirate it must appear that a weak ship was trying desperately to escape.

"If only they don't suspect!" The girl's tone was that of a prayer. "Spirit of Space, keep them from suspecting — "

The end came as the Patrol pilot had planned it. A glow of battle screens hazed both ships — and then the one surrounding the Patrol ship disappeared. The dots moved toward each other — the pirate had clamped a pincher beam on its prey, was dragging the helpless ship to where they could lock air-locks for boarding. At last the dots touched.

A flower of fire burst on the screen. It glowed for only a second and then died, to leave nothing behind it — nothing at all. The map was as blank as it had been when first they found it. Only the specks which were stars sparkled with aloof chill in the void.

No one in the crowd moved. It was as if they did not believe in the truth of what they had just witnessed, that they did not wish to believe. Then there was a single sigh and the tight mass broke apart. People drifted, with eyes which seemed to see nothing, out into the hall. Except for the shuffle of feet over the stone it was very quiet.

Overhead the gray light of another dawn gave a pale radiance. Kartr stepped up on the dais. He rested one hand on the back of the chair which was Terra's and looked closely for the first time at these new companions in misfortune.

They were a mixed lot, both as to race and species, as might be expected from a Patrol Ranger base. There were two more Zacathans, a pale-faced woman and two children with the goggles of the Faltharians hanging from their belts, and he was sure he had seen a feather crest which could only have graced the head of a Trystian.

"You are in command here?"

Kartr's attention flickered from the refugees to a girl — the same girl who had stood beside him to watch the battle — and two men standing together at the foot of the dais. Automatically Kartr's hand arose to touch a helmet he no longer wore.

"Ranger Sergeant Kartr of the Starfire. We crashed here some time ago. Our party consists of three other rangers, a com-techneer and an arms-techneer — "

"Medico-techneer Veelson," the shorter of the two men responded in a low and surprisingly musical voice. "This is Third Officer Moxan of our Base Ship, and Acting Sergeant Adrana of the Headquarters section. We are entirely at your service, Sergeant."

"Your party — "

"Our party," Veelson answered quickly, "numbers thirty-eight. Twenty women and six children are ranger dependents. Five crewmen under Moxan, and six supply corpswomen with Sergeant Adrana — and myself. As far as we know we are the only survivors of Base CC4."

"Zinga — Fylh — Rolth — " Kartr gave the order which came naturally to him. "Firewood detail and get some fires going — " He turned back to the medico-techneer. "I take it, sir, that you haven't much in the way of supplies?"

Veelson shrugged. "We have only what we could carry. It certainly isn't too much."

"A hunting party out, too, Zinga. Smitt, take over the communication board again. We don't want to be caught napping if there is another ship on its way. Any of your men know com, sir?" he asked Moxan.

Instead of answering directly the third officer turned on his heel and called down the length of the hall. "Havre!"

One of the men in crew uniform came running.

"Com work," his officer grunted. "Under this techneer."

"I take it that we can live off the country, since you mentioned hunting," Veelson asked.

"This is an Arth type planet. We've found it hospitable. In fact — this is Terra, you know."

Kartr watched the medico-techneer closely to see if that registered. It took a second or two, but it did.

"Terra." Veelson repeated the word blankly and then his eyes widened. "The home of the Lords of Space! But that is a legend — a fable!"

Kartr stamped on the dais. "Fairly substantial fable, don't you think? You are in the Hall of Leave-Taking now — look at the seats of the first star rangers, if you wish." He pointed to the chairs. "Read what is carved on the back of this one. Yes, this is Terra of Sol!"

"Terra!" Veelson was still shaking his head wonderingly when Kartr spoke to the girl.

"You have your corpswomen. Can you take charge of the women and children?" he asked abruptly. This sort of duty was beyond his experience. He had established field camps, led expeditions, fought his way back and forth across many weird worlds in the past, but never before had he been responsible for such a group as this.

She started to nod, flushed, and raised her hand in salute. A moment later she was back circulating among the tired women and the fretful children — aided by the Zacathan family.

"Any chance of there being another pirate after you? What did happen at the base?" Already forgetting the women, Kartr began to question the medico-techneer.

"The base was wiped out. But things had begun to go wrong before that. There has been a breakdown somewhere along the supply and communication route. Our yearly supply ship was three months overdue even before the attack. We'd received no messages from Central Control for two weeks. We sent out a cruiser and it never returned.

"Then the pirate fleet came in. If was a fleet and the whole raid had been carefully planned. We had five ships on the field. Two raised and accounted for three of the pirates before they were blasted out. We manned the perimeter guns as long as we could and cleared the air for the survivors to take off.

"What caught us napping was that they came in under false colors and we accepted them as friendly until too late. They were Central Control ships! Either some section of the Fleet has mutinied or — or something terrible has happened to the whole empire. They acted as if the Patrol had been outlawed — their attack was vicious. And because they had come in with all the proper signals we weren't expecting it. It was as if they were the law — "

"Perhaps they are now," Kartr suggested grimly. "Maybe there has been a rebellion in this sector. The winner may be systematically mopping up all Patrol bases. That would leave him free to rule the space lanes as he pleases. A very practical and necessary move if there has been a change of government."

"That idea did occur to us. I can't say that we welcomed it." Veelson's voice was bleak. "Well, we did manage to crowd aboard a supply ship and one of the Patrol scouts. After that it was a running fight across space. They were between us and the regular routes so we had to head out this way. We lost the scout — "

Kartr nodded. "We saw that on the screen before we were able to contact you."

"It rammed a flagship — a flagship of the Fleet, mind you!"

"But effectively," the sergeant reminded him. "There were only the two ships following you — are you sure?"

"Only two registered on our screens. And — now if neither returns— Do you think that they will send another to track us down?"

"I don't know. They would accept the idea that the Patrol would be desperate enough to go out fighting. And so they may be willing to write off their ships as a case of blasting each other. But Smitt and your man can keep at their posts. They'll be able to give us warning in time if another heads this way."

"And if one does come?"

"Large portions of this world are wilderness. It will be easy to take cover in plenty of time and they could never find us."

By the end of the day the new camp was well established. The hunting party had been successful enough so that everyone was fed. Under the leadership of the corpswomen a party had spread out on the hill, hacked off branches, and fashioned beds. And there had been no warning — the screen in the hall remained blank.

It was night now. Kartr stood at the top of the stairs gazing down abstractedly at the landing field. A gleaning party had worked under his direction most of the afternoon, shifting the debris of the natives' encampment. And they had salvaged two spears and a handful of metal arrow points, treasures to be guarded against that day when the last blaster charge would be expended — when weapons which were the products of civilized skill would be useless.

Tomorrow they must hunt again and —

"A pleasant night, is it not, lady? There is, of course, only one moon instead of three. But it is a very bright one."

Kartr started and turned his head. Zicti was walking toward him accompanied by the girl, Adrana.

"Three moons? Is that the number which shine down on Zacan? Now I would consider two to be a more normal number." And she laughed.

Two moons. Kartr tried to remember all the two-mooned worlds he had known and wondered which had been her native one. But there were at least ten — and probably more which he had never heard of. No man, even if he had at least four lifetimes, could learn all that lay within the galaxy. Two moons was too faint a clue.

"Ha, the sergeant! So the night draws you also, my boy? One might believe that you were a Faltharian, this interest you show in a dark, sleeping world."

"Only doing some planning for the future," Kartr replied. "And I'm no Faltharian, only a barbarian," he added recklessly. "You know what they said of us of Ylene — that we eat raw meat and worship strange gods!"

"And you, lady," Zicti asked the girl, "upon which world did your two moons beam?"

She lifted her head with close to a defiant gesture, and stared out over the launching field as she answered.

"I was space born — a half-breed. My mother was of Krift. My father came from one of the outer system worlds, I don't know which. My two moon world I knew only for a short time when I was a small child. But I have seen many worlds for I am Service bred."

"We have all seen many worlds," Kartr observed, "and now I think we are going to learn one thoroughly."

Zicti inhaled the night air with gusto. "But such a pleasant world, my children. I must say that I have great hopes for our future here."

"It is good to know that someone has," Kartr said somberly.

But it was Adrana who rose to the Zacathan's challenge. "You are right!" She laid her fingers on the hist-techneer's scaled arm. "This is a good world! When I was up on the hill today, the air was like wine in my throat. It is free — alive! And we are very lucky. For the first time in my life" — she paused as if she were surprised at her own words — "I feel at home!"

"Because this is Terra — racial memory — " suggested Kartr.

"I don't know. After so long a time — that couldn't be possible, could it?"

"Perhaps." He added a confession of his own. "The first day we landed here — when I saw the green of this vegetation — it seemed then that I, too, remembered."

"Well, children, I do not remember Terra, nor can any of my race. But still I say that we have landed on a good world — a pleasant one to make our own. We have only to do that — "

"What of the city and the clans?" inquired the sergeant. "Are they going to sit passive and allow us such usurpation?"

"This is a wide world. And that problem we shall face when it arises. Now, moon gazers, not being a Faltharian, I shall seek my bedroll. You must pardon my withdrawal." Chuckling he padded away.

"What did you mean — the city and the clans? Are there natives here?" questioned the girl.

"Yes." Briefly Kartr gave her the facts. "So you see," he ended, "this world is not altogether ours for the taking. And since we cannot remain at this point on it indefinitely we shall have decisions to make soon."

She nodded. "Tell the others tomorrow. Tell them all you have told me."

"You mean — leave the decision up to them? All right." He shrugged.

What if they chose the comfort of the city? Such a decision would only be natural. But, he was very sure, he would not go back there nor would the others who had followed him out of that monument to a too-ancient past.

Because he agreed that each must decide for him- or herself, he stood again the next morning in the pool of hot sunlight which crossed the dais. His throat was dry. He had been talking steadily. And now he was tired, as tired as if he had spent half the day cutting through heavy brush. Those faces all turned to him, so impassive, so controlled.

Had any of them really heard what he had been saying, or having heard, did they understand? Was this indifference the result of their immediate past, were they sure that the worst had already happened and that nothing could shake them again?

"And that is the situation we now face — "

But there was no response from the seated refugees. Then he heard the scrape of bootsoles across the pavement, sounding louder because of the silence in the hall. Veelson jumped up on the dais to join him.

"We have the report of the ranger sergeant. He gives us two courses which may be followed. First — we may try to contact this civilian party now occupying a city not too far distant, a city with part of its functions restored. But they have the problem of limited food supply and in addition" — the medico-techneer paused, and then he added without any change of tone or expression — "that party is an entirely human one."

Again there was no response from the listeners. Had they met with anti-Bemmy feeling before? They must have! It had been growing so powerful. But if they had it made no difference. In the wide seat marked Deneb was the Faltharian woman and she cradled in her arms a tiny Trystian girl whose mother had not survived the base raid. And Zor sat between two inner system boys of his own age. There was no drawing apart in this company — Bemmy to Bemmy, human to human. These were the rangers!

"So we may go to the city," Veelson repeated, "or we may choose the second solution which could mean a much greater measure of hardship. Though we of the rangers, by training and tradition, are better able to face what it may demand of us. And that is to live on the land after the fashion of the natives.

"Sergeant Kartr has spoken of a cold season reported to be approaching now. He has also pointed out that we cannot remain here — due to lack of supplies. We can travel south — as the majority of the natives did when they left here a few days ago. Contact with the natives, while impossible now — judging by the sergeant's unfortunate experience — may be allowed later as we have some medical supplies and knowledge. But it might be years before we dare attempt such fraternization.

"These are the two choices we are now assembled to vote upon — "

"Medico Veelson!" One of the crewmen was on his feet. "Do you rule out the possibility of rescue then? Couldn't we remain near here and try to use that communicator to summon help? Any Patrol ship — "

"Any Patrol ship!" Again the lack of expression in the medico-techneer's voice underlined his words. "A communication attempt might just as well bring down roving pirates upon us. There is no way of identifying until too late any ship we might be able to beam in. And remember, Terra is off every known chart — so forgotten that its name is now only a legend."

A murmur ran from seat to seat.

"So we must accept exile?" That was a woman.

"I believe that we must." Veelson's answer came clear and firm.

Another silence followed. They were facing truth now. And — Kartr thought proudly — they were accepting it quietly.

"I believe that we wish to remain together — " Veelson continued slowly.

"Yes!" That answer was so loud it woke a faint echo from the roof. The Patrol would stand together, that creed which had been theirs for generations still held them.

"We will abide by the will of the majority. Those who wish to seek shelter in the city may take their places against that wall. Those who would remain apart — on the land — stand here — "

Veelson had not even finished speaking before he himself moved with two distance-eating strides to the left of the dais. And Kartr joined him. Only for a moment were they alone. Adrana and her six co-workers arose from their seats in the group and marched to stand beside the medico-techneer. But then there was a pause — the other women did not move.

It was the Faltharian woman who broke the spell. Still carrying the Trystian infant and pushing her own two children ahead, she walked quickly to the left. But she did not reach the others before Zicti and his family.

Now there was a steady shuffling of feet and when it was quiet again there was no need to count heads. Not one stood on the city side. They had made their decision, weighing the evidence and the chances of the future. And, Kartr knew, seeing their serene faces, they would stand by it. Suddenly he was vaguely sorry for those in the city. They would struggle there to keep up a measure of mechanical civilization. Perhaps they would live in greater ease for this generation. But in a way they had turned their backs upon the future and they might not be allowed a second choice.

But the Patrol were eager to be gone, once their minds were made up. And the dawn of the second day saw them in marching order, their scanty belongings in packs, their faces set toward the unknown lands of the south.

Kartr watched Fylh and Zinga lead that line of women and children, crewmen and officers, all one now under an alien sun, going into the future.

He glanced back into the deserted hall. The sun caught and held on the symbols in the captains' seats along one side. Old Terra— And down there — heading into the wilderness was the NEW!

"Shall we rise again to be the lords of space and the rangers of the star lanes?" he wondered. "Do we begin this day a second cycle leading to another empire?"

He was a little startled when Zicti's thought answered his. "It is just history, my boy, history. We fashion that whether or no. But there is a very old saying known to my people — `When a man comes to the end of any road let him remember that the end is not yet and a new way shall open for him.' "

Kartr turned his back upon the Hall of Leave-Taking and ran lightly down the eroded steps. The wind was chill but the sun was warm. Dust puffed up from beneath the marching feet.

"Yes, the end is not yet! Let us go!"