Test of Fire

Chapter 24

Alec stormed blindly out into the frozen night.

He passed Angela’s house, saw the lights and glimpsed a bustle of women inside. He guessed that they were preparing breakfast, talking together, laughing and gossiping.

He went on past. By the time he had put together his own few belongings and saddled a horse, dawn was streaking the eastern sky. But it was a dull, overcast day that arose, with a sky as grimly sullen as Alec’s own thoughts. He rode beyond the checkpoints and the guarded fence gates, away from Douglas’s base.

Riding most of the day, he camped up in the hills under a stand of firs. Their branches made a poor fire that burned too quickly, then smoldered without heat. By morning he was shaking with bone-deep cold. And hungry.

The only weapon he had brought with him was the automatic rifle he had come in with originally.

It was heavy and cumbersome to use on small game, even when choked down to single-shot action.

And Alec quickly discovered that his shooting was not good enough to hit a rabbit or smaller rodent as it scurried across the frozen ground. His dilemma was painful: squirt a clip of rounds at a rabbit and you might hit the animal, you might even have enough of it intact to gnaw on, but you’d be out of ammunition in a day or two.

On his third day of wandering it snowed, a heavy fierce blizzard that howled through the woods and blotted out everything except the very nearest trees. Alec was lucky enough to find a cave and enough hardwood to make a fire that lasted through the night. The horse needed it as much as he did. There was no forage to speak of, and the animal was weakening rapidly. Briefly he thought of killing the animal for food, but then he would be on foot in the middle of this snowy wilderness.

He spent two days in the cave, locked in by the blizzard. No firewood, no food, nothing but the stench of the horse and the moaning wind. When it ended and the sky shone blue again, the world was completely covered with white. Snow plastered the trees and made their laden branches sparkle crystalline in the newly risen Sun. Drifts heaped up against the mouth of Alec’s cave waist high.

The land beyond was a rolling featureless unmarked expanse of white.

He admired its beauty for several minutes. Then his hunger and his fear of dying drove him out into the snow’s cold embrace.

The horse died that morning. It collapsed under him in a shuddering groan and floundered in the snow. Alec could feel the warmth of life seeping out of its body. Now he was totally alone. Nothing alive was in sight. There were no landmarks, no direction to aim for, no hope. He stood in the thigh-deep snow, wet and cold and trembling between despair and bleak fear.

He looked at the horse’s emaciated carcass, flirted with the thought of carving off some flesh and eating it raw. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Sleep, he told himself. That’s what I need.

Rest and sleep.

And the wind sighed, making the trees croon to him, Sleep… yes, sleep.

But then, from somewhere deep within his memory came a fragment of poetry that he hadn’t realized he knew. It spoke itself in his mind, and he jerked erect. He muttered it to himself, then flung his head back and, arms outstretched, shouted it to the trees and wind:

To sleep! Perchance to dream:—aye, there’s the rub;

“For in that sleep of death what dreams may come…”

That sleep of death. Alec repeated it to himself.

And he hunched forward and fought his way through the snow. It was a bitter exhausting battle, as much against himself as against the elements.

Cold, hungry, weary, he clamped an iron determination over his aching, protesting muscles and empty gut as he pressed forward.

There are villages all around here, he told himself.

Look for smoke, or maybe a road.

He found a road first. He barely recognized it; there was nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the snow-covered landscape except a faint pair of ruts where sled runners had pressed down. It was easier to walk in the ruts, though, and thankfully Alec staggered along, heading slightly downhill, away from the base and toward the valley floor where the farmlands and villages stood.

It was nearly dark when he tottered up to the village. It was either the same one they had taken months earlier or another just like it. Then Alec saw the old man who sat by the gate. Underneath his muffling coat and heavy, pulled-down hat he was the same man. With the same shotgun across his lap.

They said nothing to each other. Alec stood by the gate on unsteady feet, clutching his automatic rifle feebly, numb with cold, puffing with exhaustion.

The old man faced him, shotgun in his gloved hands, looking uncertain and red-faced in the last dying rays of the Sun.

Finally the old man shrugged and beckoned to Alec, then turned and headed into the village. Alec followed him, staggering, down cold deserted lanes where the snow had been pounded flat and solid by the passage of many feet.

The old man led him to a hut. “In there,” he said, in a ragged, age-roughened voice.

Alec pushed the door open and stumbled into the room. A flood of warmth from the fireplace was the first thing he sensed. It made his face hurt. Then he saw the two men at the table, startled, half out of their chairs, a steaming bowl of food on the table between them.

They were two of Alec’s men. That was all he noticed. He fell face down and was unconscious before he reached the hut’s bare earthen floor.

They spent a couple of days pumping warm food into him and letting him rest on their pallet.

Miraculously, Alec realized, he had not come down with a fever. A touch of frostbite and a lot of raw, chaffed skin. But otherwise no damage that rest and food could not cure.

The men—Zimmerman and Peters—had decided to remain at the village when Alec’s force had broken up. Most of the group had joined Will Russo’s band, once they learned that Alec was Douglas’s prisoner. Jameson had taken the rest south. No one knew what had become of Ferret; he had disappeared. Gradually, Alec realized that Zimmerman and Peters were living together as lovers. He was startled at first, although homosexuality was not rare in the lunar community.

After a few days, Alec was more embarrassed than anything else. He wished he had another hut to live in.

“You say Jameson headed south?” he asked Peters over breakfast on the third day. Zimmerman had already left to help the other village men who were shovelling newly-fallen snow out of the village lanes.

Peters shook his head solemnly. He had grown a luxuriant dark beard since Alec had last seen him.

Now it was speckled with crumbs of bread and beads of honey.

“He said he would try to link up with Kobol,”

Peters explained, between bites.

“How did he know Kobol had landed?”

“Russo told us. Jameson let us make up our own minds about what we wanted to do. That’s when Zim and I… well, we decided we’d done enough soldiering. We helped the people here take in their harvest and they invited us to stay. They’ve been very kind and understanding.”

Alec thought, And they probably think everybody on the Moon is homosexual. Aloud, he asked, “How many of the men went with Jameson?”

“Four, I think. No, it was five.”

Alec sank back in his chair. There’s no one left to join you, he told himself. You’re completely on your own.

After a week the elders of the village came to Alec. They were polite, even deferential. But they were also firm. They had no desire to be caught in whatever high politics was taking place between The Douglas and his son. And they had only so much food, which had to last the winter. So would Alec please leave as soon as he was strong enough?

They would give him food and ammunition and even a good horse. But he must leave the village, and tomorrow would be an excellent day for his departure.

Alec smiled and agreed with them. The next morning they solemnly led a big, gentle-looking chestnut mare from their communal barn and loaded it with a bedroll, packs of food, and boxes of ammunition. Peters gave Alec an ancient singleshot rifle, good for hunting small game. Zimmerman gave him his own pistol, holster, and cartridge belt.

The elders watched without a word as Alec said goodbye to his two former comrades and swung up into the saddle. With a nod to the older men he kicked the horse into motion and trotted through the gate and out of the village.

To where? he wondered. South to join Kobol?

Instinctively he shook his head, vetoing the idea.

He puzzled over his situation for the whole day, and when the Sun dipped low on the brow of the western hills he found a cave in a little snowcovered ridge and decided to spend the night there.

Kobol will come here in the spring, he thought as he unsaddled the horse. Let him come to me.

But another part of his mind answered ironically, You have to get through the winter, first.

He pulled enough deadwood from the bare trees outside the cave to make a small fire. He tethered the horse near the cave’s entrance. The smoke from the fire wasn’t bad, once he got used to the stinging of his eyes. It was better than the horse’s smell. Briefly he debated trying Peters’ rifle on some small game, but it was already getting too dark. He ate from the stores the villagers had given him: a bit of salted meat and some dried grains.

The horse was standing as still as a rock. The fire had burned down to a few barely glowing ashes. Alec was stretched out in the bedroll, trying to sleep, trying not to think of Angela. But there was nothing else to fill his thoughts. The night outside the cave was dark and silent, with only an occasional sigh of wind breaking the frigid hush.

Would she have come with me? he asked himself.

Good thing she didn’t; I damned near killed myself. Wouldn’t want her to…

A crunching sound. Alec’s eyes snapped open but there was nothing to see in the darkness. The cave was black, its entrance only slightly lighter.

The sound had been faint, but—he heard it again.

Footsteps squeaking on the packed snow.

Alec slid his hand down to the pistol inside his bedroll. The automatic rifle was within arm’s reach. He silently rolled over onto his stomach and turned enough to face the entrance to the cave, thinking, It must be the villagers coming to take their gifts back. If The Douglas’ son just happens to die in some cave, it’s not their fault.

And why should they lose a valuable horse?

Listening carefully, Alec thought he heard two horses slowly advancing toward the cave.

“Mr. Morgan?” a young voice called out.

He did not answer.

“Mr. Morgan.” A silhouette appeared at the cave’s mouth. Then another. “We’d like to join with you, if you’ll have us.”

They were young, barely into their teens. Bored with life in the village. They saw in Alec a chance to find adventure, an opportunity to see the great wondrous world. Alec tried to dissuade them, told them all he had to offer was danger and an early grave. They grinned and insisted that they weren’t afraid and they would follow wherever he led.

So he led them.

First into the nearly abandoned cities, where there were still supplies to be had. Alec avoided the feral gangs that huddled in the burned-out city buildings, and fought only when he was forced to.

The two youngsters got sick over the first killings, but soon hardened themselves. Alec traded some ammunition and Peters’ rifle for fresh food and an extra horse in a village on the eastern edge of Douglas’s territory. They left the village with another recruit, an older man who had lost his wife and child to sickness and wanted no more memories of them.

As they rode from that village, Alec’s plan took shape. Let Kobol work his way up here by spring.

By then I’ll have defenses completely mapped out.

I’ll be waiting for Kobol, and I’ll take command of the force that he brings here.

But he needed a radio. And he knew where to get one.

Alec waited. With new found patience he bided his time, waited out the blizzards in caves and forest shelters, recruited more men—youngsters, mostly—from the village elders would be wise to treat him fairly because the days of The Douglas’ reign were numbered.

He learned the territory, mapped its folds and hills, its forests and streams, the roads, the abandoned cities, the villages. And Douglas’s defenses.

A new perimeter of wire fencing was going up, he saw; teams of men digging through the snow and frozen ground on the outermost edges of his territory.

They also erected wooden watchtowers every kilometer or so, despite the bitter weather.

Douglas was not waiting for spring.

Alec located the firebases on hilltops inside the new perimeter fence. He saw scouting parties and larger armed patrols riding across the snowy countryside, but he kept a few jumps away from them. He wanted no serious fighting. Not yet.

Once he thought he recognized Will Russo at the head of a column of men on snowshoes. Alec stayed especially far from them.

The days were becoming noticeably longer when he attacked the firebase. He had to lead his men around the long way through a gap in the still-uncompleted fence and watchtower ring. It was still bitterly cold, and the sky seemed to be a constant blank of gray as Alec marched his two dozen men toward the firebase. But toward evening the Sun broke through the western clouds and Alec noticed a tiny blue flower poking its head out of the snow along a hillside brook.

He smiled to himself. Not at the flower’s beauty or the promise of the sunset, but at the correctness of his timing for the attack.

They waited until well after midnight and climbed the hill to the firebase stealthily. It was laid out almost exactly like the base Alec had been in. The men clambered over the snow-packed earthen ramparts and used knives and crossbows on the defenders. Alec got to the radio before the base commander could switch it on. He shot the man twice through the chest as he clawed wildly at the console controls. Only when the commander lay twitching and bleeding to death on the floor of the radio room did Alec notice that the man was still gripping his unbelted trousers with one hand and his feet were bare.

They took no prisoners. They carefully disassembled the radio and its generator and packed them onto the firebase’s own truck. They used the explosives they found there to blow up the underground dugouts and artillery pieces, leaving no evidence that they had stolen the radio.

He’d suspect, Alec knew. But they’d stay far enough from his other radio equipment so that he wouldn’t be able to monitor their calls.

The truck slipped and groaned through the night, bearing the radio equipment and all of Alec’s men. They got back safely outside Douglas’ perimeter and then pushed on for another whole day before Alec tried to call the satellite station.

When he finally made contact, the voice that crackled in his earphones was totally incredulous.

“We thought you were dead or…”

“Or gone over to Douglas’s side?”

“Well…”

“Never mind,” Alec said. “Get word to Kobol that I want to see him or his representative as soon as he can get someone up here. There’s much planning to do. I’ll stay in touch with you at least every other day and relay instructions on where to find me.”

“Yessir. I suppose you want to be patched through to the settlement, and speak to your mother?”

Without an eyeblink’s hesitation, Alec answered, “No. I can’t afford to keep broadcasting that long. My transmission might get picked up. Relay this message to her: Tell her that I’m fine and we’ll soon have accomplished our mission.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s everything.”

Chapter 25

Kobol sent Jameson. He arrived within two weeks of Alec’s first radio call.

“How did you get here so quickly?” Alec wondered.

Jameson smiled in his eagle-fierce way. “There are lots of boats down in Florida. And plenty of fuel for them, too. They make the fuel from seawater—electrolyze the hydrogen and then freeze it down to a liquid.”

“I didn’t know that level of technology still existed on Earth,” Alec said.

“The old civilian spaceport is still there,”

Jameson explained. “Nobody bothered to bomb it.”

“So there are scientists there.”

“A few. Some engineers. They needed our help, though, otherwise they would’ve been overrun by barbarians.”

“And you came by boat all this way?”

Jameson nodded tightly. “Up the old inland waterway to Delaware Bay, then up the Delaware River. Scooted past Philadelphia as fast as we could—it’s still pretty radioactive. When we ran out of river we trekked overland, and here we are.”

Alec and Jameson were standing on the brow of a small hill, sheltered from the wind by a stand of white-barked birches. Their limbs were still gaunt and snow still covered most of the ground. But the Sun was shining out of a perfectly blue sky and warmth was returning to the land. Alec could hear trickles of melting water running beneath the snow. Soon the streams would be rushing noisily again.

“What’s Kobol doing down there?” Alec asked.

“He’s putting together an army. A real army.”

Jameson spread his hands outward for emphasis.

“Thousands of men. He’s recruiting them from the locals. They’ve got four shuttles landing supplies and weapons almost every day now: lasers, trucks, heavy stuff.”

“Thousands of men? Four shuttles?”

With a grim nod, Jameson answered, “The Council’s decided that the only way to get the fissionables is to smash Douglas once and for all. So they’re giving Kobol everything he wants. There must be more able-bodied lunar men in Florida now than there are left in the settlement.”

“Everything he wants?” Alec echoed. “Kobol’s not in command; I am!”

“You might find that point a little difficult to get across. The official verdict was that you were killed or captured. The rumor was that you’d joined Douglas.”

“They’re both wrong,” Alec insisted. “I was named commander of this mission and I’ve never been relieved of command, no matter what Kobol says or thinks.”

“He’s not going to be pleasant about that,”

Jameson warned.

Alec looked at him, thought a moment, then said, “All right, there’s no sense arguing about it here and now. We’ll have to settle it between us when he gets here.”

Jameson looked unconvinced, even slightly amused.

“I assume Kobol has some plan worked out for getting his thousands of troops here?”

“Indeed he does,” Jameson said. “He’s been studying terrestrial meteorology and he’s come up with the irrefutable observation that it’s warmer in the southern areas—where he is—than it is up here in the north.”

“So?”

“So his plan is to follow the advance of springtime right up the countryside. He’s already started to move northward, out of Florida and into some lovely swamplands the natives call Georgia. As the warm weather advances northward, Kobol plans to advance his men along with it, adding new recruits along the way.”

“More men?”

“That’s right,” Jameson said. “He says that nothing succeeds like excess.”

“He stole that. It’s a quotation from history.”

Jameson’s stern face showed surprise. “Really? He’s been strutting around like he thought of it himself. But no matter who said it first, I think he’s right. The more men we have, the more raiders and barbarians will want to join us. And the bigger the army we have to face Douglas, the easier it’ll be to beat him.”

Alec scuffed a toe on the snowbank where they stood. “It won’t be easy to keep an army like that together. Those people aren’t going to march more than a thousand klicks and maintain discipline. Why should they?”

“Some of them will. Maybe a lot of them will. Kobol’s promised them all the loot and women they can carry, once they’ve beaten Douglas.”

Alec finally understood. And thought of Angela.

“So we can expect Kobol’s army to reach here just about the time the spring mud’s dried and it’s easy to move across country,” Alec summarized.

“That’s his plan.”

“The timing’s going to be important. He’s got to arrive here just as the travelling turns good again. We’ve been able to survive so far because it’s been more trouble for Douglas to hunt us down than we’re worth to him. But when the travelling gets easy again, I don’t think we can last very long. If Kobol waits a week or so too long, we could be dead when he gets here.”

“I know.”

Alec asked, “But does he?”

For a moment Jameson did not answer. His bird-of-prey expression was as emotionless as he could make it. Finally he said, slowly, “He understands your situation, and he’ll get here in time. He wants to marry your mother and gain full control of the Council through her. He won’t let you get killed. Not that way, at least.”

Strangely, his words neither surprised Alec nor upset him. He hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already suspect.

“All right,” Alec said quietly. “It’s vital that Kobol and I meet face to face before his troops get here. I’ve got a nearly complete picture of Douglas’s defenses. In another two weeks I’ll fill in the few gaps in the information. Even with a big army, he’ll need that intelligence.”

“I know,” Jameson said, a bit stiffly. “He sent me to get that information from you.”

Alec shook his head. “No. I’ll talk to Kobol and no one else.”

Jameson said nothing, gave no hint of what he felt.

“It’s more than relaying information on the defenses,” Alec tried to explain. “There’s the entire question of strategy… how we’re going to attack Douglas. If you carry back the data I’ve amassed, Kobol will set up his battle plan before he gets here. That could be disastrous.”

“Should I tell him that?”

Alec grinned. “Tell him whatever you like. But I must see him before his army reaches this far north. I’ll leave it to you to arrange a time and place.”

Jameson looked away from Alec, out across the snowy landscape, the bare patches of ground, the brilliant blue sky. “He won’t try to kill you,” he said softly, almost to himself. “But he might try to keep you under his eye… a prisoner.”

“You mean that a meeting with him might be a trap?”

Jameson said, “It could be.”

“Can I depend on you to prevent that from happening?”

Swinging around to fix his hawk-like gaze on Alec, Jameson replied, “I’m only one man. He’ll have plenty of others with him.”

“I know,” Alec said. “But if it comes to trouble, will you stand with me?”

For almost a minute, Jameson did not reply. At last he said, “You’re still the officially-appointed commander of this expedition, and he’s your deputy—by order of the Council.” Then he relaxed enough to smile tightly. “I’ve served under him and I’ve served under you. If it comes to trouble — I’ll stand with you.”

Alec breathed out a sigh of relief and put his hand out to the bigger man. Jameson took it in his grip and let his smile broaden. It was like a glacier melting.

“We’re both insane, you know,” he said.

“I know,” Alec answered. “I know.”

The meeting was arranged, after several tedious discussions by radio. They agreed to meet on a boat in the upper Delaware River at a spot identified on the map as the Delaware Water Gap.

The term puzzled Alec until he saw the place.

The snow was melting fast under the early spring Sun and the ground was muddy and slow for travelling. Alec and four picked men made their way on horseback southward, following the maps. It took a week of hard travel.

On the fifth day, as they picked up the uppermost stream of the Delaware, they were joined by a fifth rider: Ferret. He trotted up alongside Alec’s horse, an enormous gap-toothed grin on his pinched, wizened face. He was mud-spattered and filthy, but across the rump of his stringy mount were laid out a brace of game birds.

“Ferret!” Alec called to him, genuinely pleased to see him again. “Where have you been all winter?”

The scrawny young man shrugged. “Around. Huntin’. Mountains, mostly.” He waved vaguely south-southwesterly.

“And how did you find us?”

Ferret scratched his jaw, grinned some more, mumbled something unintelligible. Alec didn’t care. The strange character had ways of his own, and Alec felt better with him by his side. Ferret carried no gun; as far as Alec could tell he would be useless in a fight. But he could somehow snare game. They would eat better with him along.

The tiny group of horsemen made their way down the valley of the river, where the going was much easier. And once they reached the Water Gap, Alec saw at a glance what the name meant.

The Delaware cut between two high-shouldered mountains, slicing through layers of striated rock that had been laid bare by millions of years of the river’s erosion.

There was a passable road along the base of the mountains, by the river’s bank, the remains of an old paved highway. The cement was broken and covered with rubble, but the horses stepped over the litter easily enough and clopped along, making good time. It was an enormous relief after the rough going of the muddy countryside. Alec and his men kept wary eyes on the slopes rising above them and across the river. Good spots for ambush.

The trees and brush had not leafed out yet, however, so the ground was bare and difficult to hide in.

Ferret would disappear for most of the day, and then come back grinning happily with enough game to keep their stomachs full.

At the Gap’s narrowest point they found a surprise: the graceful arch of a bridge that still stood, spanning the river with steel and concrete that did not even look particularly begrimed or weathered until they got quite close to it. Anchored at the base of one of the bridge’s supporting pillars was a small power boat.

There can’t be more than four or five men aboard a boat that size, Alec thought to himself as they nosed their horses down a trail that led to the water’s edge. We won’t be badly outnumbered — unless Kobol has other boats hidden further down the river.

The boat was close enough to the shore for Alec and two of his men to wade to its boarding ladder.

The rest of Alec’s men, and two of Kobol’s crew, stayed on the shore with the horses.

“Good to see you,” Kobol said tonelessly as Alec climbed aboard. He looked thinner than the last time Alec had seen him: harder and leaner, with more lines in his face. He shifted a wooden cane to his left hand and put out his right. The hand felt leathery when Alec shook it. Kobol’s eyes were still hooded, masked.

“The outdoor life seems to agree with you,” he said, smiling toothily. “You’ve lost your baby fat.”

Alec grunted a noncommittal reply as he glanced around the boat. The forward deck and the top of the cabin were covered with solar cells.

No guns were in sight, but something squat and bulky was covered by a tarpaulin at the boat’s stern. A laser? he wondered.

With two of his own men preceding him, Kobol led Alec down into the cabin. Alec’s two men took up the rear. He saw that Kobol leaned on the cane when he walked. They stepped down into a tight little compartment with foldup bunks locked against the bulkheads and an oversized table jammed between narrow padded benches. Atop the table was pinned a photomap of Douglas’ base.

“We pieced this together from satellite photos,”

Kobol said, sitting down with an audible sigh between his two aides. He put the walking stick carefully by his side. “I think you’ll find this map extremely accurate.”

Alec slid into the bench on the opposite side of the table, flanked by his two men. He studied the map. The photos were very detailed; he could even make out Angela’s house. What were we doing when this picture was taken? he wondered idly.

Another of Kobol’ s men appeared at the hatchway, bearing a tray of sandwiches and brown bottles of beer.

“It’s quite good,” he told Alec, proferring a bottle. “Only slightly alcoholic. One of the first things the natives got running again in the Miami area was their brewery. They use half the wood in the region to keep the place supplied with power.”

Alec sipped at it. It tasted sour and awful. The homebrew at Douglas’s base was far better. He frowned, and Kobol said, with an air of superiority, “You have to develop a taste for it.”

“I’d rather not.”

“We have fresh milk,” said a low voice.

Alec looked up and saw Jameson standing in the compartment’s narrow hatchway. Suppressing a smile, Alec answered, “Fine. I’ll take milk.”

They spent several hours poring over the map.

Alec fitted in all the details he knew about Douglas’s defenses until the map fairly bristled with inked-in lines representing fences, circles and squares that pinpointed watchtowers and firebases.

Kobol looked impressed. “We’ll have to concentrate everything on one massive onslaught — straight up this major road.” He swept his bony hand along the map.

“That’s just what Douglas would expect,” Alec countered. “He’ll stop you here…” he pointed to a spot where the road snaked between firebase-topped hills, “…or here, where the streams and lakes will force you into a narrow line of march.”

Kobol tugged at his mustache. “He doesn’t have the strength to stop us. We’ll have nearly five thousand men by the time we get there.”

“The defense always has at least a two-to-one edge,” Alec quoted at him. “With someone as clever as Douglas you’ll need every man you can get. Remember, he’s been preparing these defenses for years. Why throw the men right into his guns?”

“And what would your military genius suggest?” When Kobol became angry or upset his voice ascended from its normal irritable nasal tone into a positively adenoidal whine.

Alec glanced up at him. “We have an advantage in numbers. Let’s use it! We’ll attack over a broad front, spread Douglas’s troops thin trying to defend such a large area. Bypass the firebases and strongpoints…”

“And have them chop us to shreds?” Kobol flared.

“They can’t. I’ve seen what they’ve got there. No more than ten rounds apiece for most of the heavy guns. They’ll shell us until they’re out of ammunition, then they’ll either have to come out and engage us in small groups or sit on their hilltops and wait until we come after them.”

Kobol said nothing, but his head was rocking back and forth in an unspoken negative.

“The firebases can discourage small attacks,”

Alec went on, “or attacks that are so concentrated that a few high-explosive shells can tear the attackers apart. But a broad, thin screen of attackers, moving quickly and staying as far away from the firebases as they can, will make the firebases almost useless.”

“Makes sense,” muttered one of Kobol’s men, sitting on the bench beside him.

“If he’s right about the ammunition they have for their guns.”

“I’m right,” Alec snapped. “If it’ll make you feel any better, we can grab a couple of the closest firebases the night before the attack. But the others, deeper inside Douglas’s territory, we should bypass.”

Kobol shook his head more negatively. “I don’t like leaving pockets of enemy troops in our rear. They’ll be fully armed and able to…”

Alec slammed a fist on the table. “Dammit, what’s our objective? Capturing hilltops or Douglas’s headquarters? Here’s what we’re after!”

He jabbed a finger at the base. “If we inch along one hill at a time, he can bleed us white and spend all summer delaying us while he gathers strength from the farther countryside. By next autumn we’ll be surrounded and starving. We’ve got to strike hard and fast. Here.” He touched the base area again.

“And those men in the strongpoints will just sit where they are and let us walk in?”

“That’s right,” Alec insisted. “There’s only ten or so men in each post. No more than twenty apiece. But they’re heavily armed. If we try to attack them, they can hold us up until Douglas brings his reserves onto the scene. But if we bypass them, what can a dozen or two men do to a whole column of troops? If they come down from their hilltops to attack us, they’ll be cut to pieces.”

“They still have that artillery.”

“After the first half hour of fighting, the artillery will be out of ammo.”

“They could still knock off a lot of trucks and men.”

“Not if we move fast and stay spread out.”

“I don’t know…” Kobol hesitated.

More quietly, Alec said, “I do know. We’re going to do it this way. We can win quickly and with low casualties.” The back of his mind was whispering, And I can get to Angela before anyone else does.

Kobol was staring at him, eyes glittering, “It’s not your decision to make.”

“Yes it is.”

His hands spread flat on the map, as if to ensure ownership, Kobol said, “You can’t possibly assume that you’re still…”

“I’m in command,” Alec said evenly. “No one has relieved me of command. You’ll take orders from me, Martin.”

Kobol tried to laugh, but it froze in his throat.

His mouth twitched. He glanced at the men sitting on either side of him, facing Alec.

Alec said nothing. For a long wordless minute they sat glaring at each other; Alec with his two youngsters and Kobol with his men flanking him.

“I think Alec’s plan will work,” Jameson said.

He was still leaning against the hatchway. The gun at his hip loomed enormous. He was slightly turned, facing Kobol, gunhand free and resting easily at his side.

“The men I’ve assembled don’t know you,”

Kobol said to Alec. “They won’t take orders from you.”

“They know me,” Jameson said flatly. “They’ll follow where I lead them.”

Kobol glowered at Jameson and let his breath out in a hiss of frustrated rage. “So that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“That’s the way it is,” Jameson answered, calm as a hawk circling its prey.

Alec said, “To prevent any misunderstandings, Martin, I think you’d better stay with me until the army gets here. Ron, you take this boat back and assume command of the troops.”

A smile flickered across Jameson’s face.

“You’re giving them a lot more dignity than they deserve. They’re not troops, they’re just a big gang. Hardly any discipline. They’re coming up here for the spoils. They’ll fight your way, Alec. But they’d never stand up in a toe-to-toe battle.”

“Whatever you want to call them, then,” Alec said. “Get back to them and move them up here. As soon as the ground’s dry enough to maneuver, we attack.”

“And when you get back to the settlement,”

Kobol spat, “I’ll have you executed. I’ll make your mother sign your death warrant!”

Alec smiled at him. “That’s assuming that you make it back to the settlement, Martin.”

Chapter 26

The rain was steady, heavy, and driven by a numbingly cold wind. The ground beneath the horse’s hooves was unending mud that made obscene sucking noises with each laborious step. The horse was big, powerful, uncomplaining, but it could not go much farther without rest, Alec knew.

Still he pressed on, urging the horse forward with his boots. He was heavily muffled inside a leather coat and hood but the wetness had seeped into him until he felt that icewater was trickling through his veins.

Squinting through the rain and mist, Alec saw that the little stream he had reached had turned into a churning, brown foaming channel that carried tree branches and other debris madly onward.

Won’t be able to ford that, he knew.

“Ho-ho!” a familiar voice called. “There you are.”

Turning slightly in the rain-slicked saddle, Alec saw Will Russo’s bulky form pacing slowly out of the mist, leading a droopy-headed horse step by sloshing step through the mud.

“How did you cross the stream?” Alec blurted.

“Oh, further up. It’s not so bad up there.”

Alec slid off his horse and walked, with an effort, toward the advancing man. “Is your wound all healed up?” he asked.

Will nodded and a thatch of red hair, glistening with dampness, flopped down from under his hood. “Oh sure, been fine for months now. I got back to Utica and, by golly, the rest of the whisky was still there. You?”

“I’m okay.”

Will grinned at him. “For a fish. Look, there’s a little cave a bit further upstream. Let’s get out of this weather.”

They led the horses through the mud and rain for a few minutes and found the cave. It was more of a purposely dug shelter in the hillside than a natural cleft. The inner walls were smooth and even, Alec noticed, as he made a mental note of its location and size.

“I was glad to get the message your scout gave our scout,” Will said once they had pulled the horses inside the narrow shelter. “I was worried about you, you know.”

Alec was unbuttoning his coat. “Nothing in here for a fire…”

“That’s okay.” Will rummaged through the pockets of his voluminous coat. “Brought a little… aha! Here it is.” He produced a small dark green bottle. “Saved you some of the whisky.”

They both took long pulls from the bottle. Alec could feel the liquor burning out the dampness inside him.

“Well,” Will said, as pleasantly as if they were lounging together on the Moon, “what did you want to talk about? Not the weather, I suppose?”

Alec laughed. “No, not that.” Then, more seriously, “You know what’s going to happen when the ground hardens, don’t you?”

Will tried to erase the smile on his face, but he was only partially successful. “Yep. Kobol’s bringing a whole raft of raiders and swamp-runners up here to attack us. It’s been tried before.”

“You don’t have to look so damned cheerful about it!” Alec snapped.

“Should I run away and hide? Look, we’ve been through this kind of thing before. Why, the first winter Douglas and I…”

“You’ve never seen an army this big,” Alec interrupted. “And they’ll be better armed than any gang that’s been put together since the sky burned.”

“H’mm. Well. Is that what you came to tell me?”

“I want you to get out before the fighting starts. Take Angela with you. I don’t want either of you hurt.”

“Leave Douglas? She’d never do that. Neither would I.”

“You’ve got to!” Alec insisted. “There’s no way for you to help him now. He’s the reason for the fighting, he’s the one they’re going to be after. If we can get him without risking your lives…”

But Will was shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Alec. I can’t leave Douglas. I’d sooner chop off my arm. My drinking arm! We’re friends, closer than brothers, really.”

Alec said nothing.

“It’s really Angela you’re worried about, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“She’s worried about you, too. She was damned sore when you left without even telling her you were going. I think she would have gone with you, I really do.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell her,” Alec said.

“Well, all that’s in the past. She surely won’t go anywhere now. She’d never leave Douglas, not with all this trouble brewing up…” A thought seemed to strike him. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

Will grinned as he answered, “Well, maybe if you were there at the base, helping us to fight off these riff-raff of Kobol’s, then if things got really bad you could get her out and get to someplace safe.”

Alec stared at him. He’s not putting me on He really believes what he just said.

“Will,” Alec said softly, “don’t you realize that I can’t fight on Douglas’s side?”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are a lot of things you don’t realize, even yet. He tried damned hard for a lot of years to get them to listen to reason back at the settlement. He didn’t just decide to go off and make a kingdom for himself here on Earth. He was pushed. By Kobol and the others.”

“The others?”

“Other members of the Council. Douglas was pushed out of power by those he trusted most. Those he loved most, too.”

“Meaning my mother.”

Completely serious now, Will nodded. “Alec, you probably won’t believe me, and you may end up hating me for even saying it, but… well, by golly, your mother helped to push Douglas into doing what he did. She knew he had no choice. She gave him nothing to return to, and they both knew it when he left for Earth. She didn’t want him back.”

The coldness congealed over Alec again. “You’re right,” he said, deadly soft. “I don’t believe you.”

The big redhead made a helpless gesture with his hands. “It’s the truth.”

“I’m sure it’s what he told you. But it’s not the truth. I’ll never believe it. Never.”

“That’s a… shame.”

“There’s something you ought to know, Will,”

Alec said. “I’m not just joining with Kobol’s forces. I’m leading them. I’m in command.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to have to try to kill each other. And we’re friends.”

“That’s why I want you to get away. And take her with you.”

“No, I can’t do that. He’s my friend too. And your father.”

“I’m coming after him. Don’t stand in my way. Don’t try to protect him.”

Sadly, in a voice so low that Alec barely heard it, Will said, “Don’t make me choose between you and him, Alec. You’ll lose.”

“We’ve already made our choices,” Alec said.

“They were made twenty years ago.”

Chapter 27

Even though they assembled as quickly as possible it still took weeks for Kobol’s army to straggle all its various units together in a valley on the edge of Douglas’s territory.

Alec had never seen so many human beings before. He stood on the crest of the highest hill in the area, under a maple tree that was just breaking out in young fresh leaves and watched the awesome sprawl of trucks, jeeps, horses, wagons, and men.

Ron Jameson stood beside him. “That ought to be enough men to conquer the whole world,” he said.

“I don’t like having them all bunched together like this,” Alec said. “If Douglas’s people spot them, and if he’s got nuclear weapons or airplanes…”

“’We’ve intercepted all his patrols,” Jameson said calmly. “And I doubt if there are any nukes or airplanes left in the world.”

“It would only take one.”

With a slight shrug, Jameson answered, “We can be ready to move in two days. I think we can keep Douglas’s patrols from finding us for that long.”

“Two days?”

Nodding, “Check. The men have moved a lot harder and faster than they wanted to, just to get here. They need time to catch their breaths, get their weapons ready, and absorb your battle orders.”

That leaves me two days to deal with Kobol, Alec thought.

“On the other hand, if we all sit still here for more than two days,” Jameson added drily, “the different packs in this glorious conglomeration will start fighting each other. There’s not an overabundance of friendship down in that valley.”

Alec nodded. “Let’s get to work.”

It was fully night, after the evening meal, before Alec was able to get to Kobol. The older man was being held under virtual arrest in one of the caves that honey-combed the valley’s hillsides.

His quarters were a small cavern whose sloping wails and roof were laced with stalactites of a thousand different hues. The only entrance was a narrow passage, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through sideways. Alec had posted an armed guard at the outer end of the passage.

Kobol was sitting on an ancient, creaking bunk, his good leg folded under him and his head bent down as he intently wrote in rapid script on a paper he held in his lap. Alec saw that the bunk was covered with sheets of paper, all filled with his writing.

“Good evening,” Alec said.

Kobol hardly looked up. A slightly raised eyebrow was his only greeting. Then he returned to his writing. It was damp in the cave, Alec realized.

It probably makes his bad leg feel like hell, he thought.

Aloud he said, “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

“Oh?” Still not looking up.

“I know where the fissionables are stored.”

The pen stopped in mid-stroke.

“I want you to head a special force to seize them before Douglas has a chance to destroy them.”

That straightened Kobol’s back. He pushed the paper off his lap and unfolded his long legs. Somehow it reminded Alec of a snake uncoiling. “You think he might sabotage them?” Kobol asked.

“It’s a possibility. He might even have them booby-trapped, or set to go off in a nuclear explosion that will take everything with it.”

Kobol frowned thoughtfully and ran a finger through his mustache.

Pulling the only chair in the enclosure next to the bunk, Alec straddled it and went on, “You know more about the fissionables than any of us. It’s a risky job, but a necessary one. Will you do it?”

Almost smiling, Kobol said, “If I do, I’ll only be in charge of a small suicide squad, while you’re leading the grand army. If I succeed, it’s under your command. If I fail, you get rid of an enemy.”

“If you fail,” Alec said, “we get rid of each other. And everyone else.”

“And the settlement dies for lack of fissionables.”

“Yes.”

“When I get back to the settlement I’ll still accuse you of treason.”

Alec let himself smile. “Won’t that be a bit difficult to prove, if you have the fissionables?”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Go ahead and try it, then.”

Kobol swayed back a little, and then seemed to tense, as if poised to strike. “If I accept this job and get the fissionables, do you promise me safe conduct back to the settlement?”

“You mean, will I have you shot after we win the battle?”

“That’s one way to phrase it.”

“You’ll be safe. We can settle our differences back at the settlement.”

“My safety for the fissionables,” Kobol mused.

“It’s a deal.”

Alec nodded. Neither man offered his hand. Alec rose from the chair and started toward the passageway entrance. Halfway there he paused and turned back to Kobol.

“I haven’t asked you for a similar guarantee — that you won’t try to kill me before we get back to the settlement.”

Kobol started to reply, but Alec went on, “I don’t need your promise. I wouldn’t trust it, anyway. Just keep this in mind. If you try to kill me, I’ll kill you. Even if you’re successful, there are a dozen men who’ll chop you into bite-sized pieces afterward. Just pray that I’m not killed in battle, Martin.”

He left Kobol sitting on the bunk, looking angry.

On the morning of the third day the attack began.

It had been a hectic two days, getting the men and equipment ready, keeping Douglas’s increasingly heavier patrols from penetrating to the valley, briefing Kobol and putting together his special unit of trucks and protective garments and equipment, keeping in touch with the satellite for constant updates on the weather.

It rained the night before the attack. The troops moved out of the valley and spread to their positions, arcing across nearly half of Douglas’s defensive perimeter. They moved swiftly despite the rain, most of them on horseback, but the shock wave all on trucks and jeeps. Each unit was completely mobile, no foot soldiers. The armored trucks mounted lasers, the jeeps bore machine guns and rocket launchers. The cavalry carried everything from automatic rifles to crossbows.

The rain’s keeping Douglas’ patrols down and screening our deployment, Alec told himself, then added, I hope.

He stood on the laser mount platform of an armored truck. The rain had slackened off to a fine drizzle, and the Sun was starting to edge above the eastern hills, breaking through the clouds, turning them pink and mauve. The ground was wet but not soaked, not impassibly muddy.

Alec wore a battle helmet, and could hear the crosstalk of a hundred different unit commanders by switching frequencies on the dial set into one of the earphones. They had chosen the frequencies carefully to be out of the range of Douglas’s antiquated radio equipment. Each sector commander checked in as the drizzle died away. Finally Alec asked Jameson, “Ron, how’s it look on your end?”

Jameson’s voice was crisp and calm in his earphones.

“Everything set here. All unit and sector commanders are ready and eager to go.”

Alec glanced at his wristwatch. Five-fifty. The attack was planned to start at six, when Douglas’s men would be starting their breakfasts, looking to their cook-fires rather than watching for an attack.

As he waited for the minute hand to crawl along, Alec’s mind filled with the images of all the things he had been through: the storms, the cold, the mud. And the nights with Angela, the warmth of the fire, the heat of their passion. And the towering gray old man who had driven him away.

With a shake of his head, he focused his thoughts on the reality before him. The morning was clearing rapidly, the clouds breaking up and scuttling away on a fresh, clean breeze. The Sun was bright and already starting to feel warm on his shoulders and neck.

“Minus ten seconds,” he muttered to himself.

Turning the dial on his earphone to the general frequency, Alec heard the chime tone that confirmed that the frequency was tuned in and open.

“All sector and unit commanders… commence attack. Now.”

The truck he was standing on lurched forward, then gained speed smoothly as it climbed toward the top of the hill it had been hiding behind. Trailing it, three other trucks and a pair of jeeps trundled along. The jeeps passed Alec’s truck, speeding toward the crest of the hill.

They reached the top and started downslope.

Putting the binoculars to his eyes, Alec could see the thin strand of fence wire winding across the rolling countryside, half a kilometer ahead. Two watchtowers were in view and a hill crowned with a firebase stood off on the horizon.

They’ve seen us now, he knew, watching the figures atop one of the watchtowers moving rapidly and gesticulating. Are they surprised? Or have they been waiting for us? Are they as scared as I am? And Alec realized that his heart was racing; he could feel it pounding in his throat, hear it in his ears, amplified by the ’phones clamped to the sides of his head.

They sped toward the fence and off to his right Alec could see a band of cavalry troops riding hard to keep pace with them. The jeeps were up ahead.

Flickers of fire danced at the tops of the watchtowers but Alec could hear nothing except the rush of the wind as his truck tore forward.

The lead jeep fired a missile at the nearest watchtower and Alec followed its smoky exhaust as it passed within a few meters of the tower’s top, then arced into the empty ground inside the fence and exploded.

“We’re in range of the fence!” shouted the gunner, sitting strapped into the plastic jumpseat that jutted out to one side of the massive laser mount.

Alec turned to him. “Burn it down.”

The laser’s special power generator hummed into life and then its vibration was drowned out by the high-pitched whine of the laser itself. The beam was invisible, but where it touched the fence the wire mesh flashed into incandescence and charred and curled like the wick of a candle.

The jeeps swerved toward the opening and the laser gunner swung his attention to the watchtowers.

The nearest one was still firing when the energy beam touched it. The tower top burst into flame.

And then they were inside the fence, racing across the bumpy countryside. The wind tore at Alec’s face. The jeeps were both intact and pulling even further ahead of them, swinging left to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the firebase’s artillery. Glancing toward the rear, Alec saw the cavalry squad pouring through the gap in the fence. The watchtower was burned and silent.

He saw a flash from the hilltop and an instant later the ground erupted far off to his right. The dull heavy roar of the explosion reached him as the black cloud hurled tumbling chunks of earth high into the air.

Get past the firebases and engage Douglas’s mobile reserve. That was his mission. Leave the firebases isolated and concentrate your forces on his reserves. Smash them before they can organize a counterattack.

Two more artillery shells hit in front of them.

The shock and noise hit simultaneously and the driver veered the truck hard to the left as debris pelted down on them. Alec saw a pair of smoking craters where the shells had hit; they looked raw and painful in the gentle earth.

More shellbursts, but falling further behind now. Then one struck close enough to knock one of the jeeps over. It rolled crazily, scattering broken pieces of men and machinery across the grass, and finally came to rest on its side. As the truck swept past it, the jeep burst into flames. No time to stop for the wounded. Not now.

A gently sloping ridge rose ahead of them. Alec knew this countryside by heart. If there was going to be trouble anywhere, it would be this ridge line.

Douglas had been turning it into a natural defense line, adding man-made earthworks where the ridge itself flattened out, so that the line completely covered the flank of his base, twenty klicks from the innermost fences. Between the ridge line and those fences was nothing but flat open country.

They charged up the ridge, Alec hanging grimly to the rail of the laser mount, expecting land mines, more artillery fire, small arms fire from troops dug into trenches at the crest.

Nothing. The ridge was bare of defenders. The flat meadowlands stretched out ahead and Alec could see other units of trucks, jeeps and cavalry dashing across the grassland, too.

This is too easy, he told himself. Douglas couldn’t possibly be taken so easily.

But they plunged on, bouncing at breakneck speed down the ridge’s reverse slope and slewing out onto the flatland. Occasional shellbursts reminded them that the firebases were still active, but the artillery fire was desultory and did nothing to slow them. If anything, the drivers urged extra speed from their electric motors whenever a shell landed near them.

Tense with a mixture of exhilaration and fear, Alec clicked his radio dial for Jameson’s frequency.

“Ron, where are you now?” he spoke into the helmet’s mike.

A heartbeat’s delay, then, “We’ve just crested an artificial ramp of earth, about twenty klicks from the edge of the main base area. Not much opposition yet. Lost a truck that fell into a shell crater and a squad of cavalry that took a direct hit. Everybody else is moving forward at top speed. No sign of any real resistance.”

“All right. Keep moving and stay alert.” He dialed the general frequency. “All unit commanders, report any delays or ground resistance other than artillery fire.”

No response at all. The radio buzzed to itself.

Alec said, “All unit commanders, sound off in order.”

“Sector one. No delays, no resistance.”

Jameson’s voice.

“Sector two. No problems.”

“Sector three. Goin’ like hell, nobody in our way.”

“Sector four…”

Alec’s attention was pulled away by a tug on his sleeve. The gunner was leaning forward in his seat, gesturing to the rear of the speeding truck. A trio of squat, heavy-looking gray shapes was topping the ridge behind them. With the sector commanders still reporting, Alec turned and raised his binoculars.

They were ugly-looking tracked vehicles, painted dark green and brown. Long cylinders of gun barrels poked from slope-walled turrets.

Tanks! Alec recalled seeing them on history tapes.

“Hey, this is sector three,” his earphones crackled. “We just picked up some kinda trucks or somethin’ following us.”

“All units,” Alec shouted, “report on the numbers and positions of enemy tanks. They’re rolling forts, heavily armored and carrying cannon and machine guns.”

As if in answer one of the three tanks in Alec’s rear belched flame and a shell whistled over his truck, exploding close enough to jar him.

That’s Douglas’ plan, Alec realized. He’s had the tanks all along, probably spotted them at the firebases last week. Now he’s got us caught between the tanks and his reserves.

Strangely, Alec felt almost relieved. Now his father’s hand was out in the open, where he could deal with it. Tanks without infantry support, he remembered from his teaching tapes, are vulnerable.

Dangerous, but vulnerable. Inadvertently he glanced at the far horizon, in the direction toward which the truck was speeding. Douglas was up there, someplace. You think you can panic us with tanks, Alec said silently to his father. Maybe it will work for you, but we’ll see who the military expert is.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently into his lip mike. “Engage the tanks at the longest possible ranges with the lasers. Use the jeeps and cavalry to get behind them and destroy them at close range. The lasers should try to immobilize them. Go for their treads, their sensors. Stop them first, then destroy them close-up.”

The radio sizzled with confused reports of fighting and losses. Alec tried to sort them out as another shellburst lifted his truck entirely off its wheels and slammed him against the railing.

Debris pelted him and stung. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Crouching down near the driver’s cab, he shouted, “Zig-zag, dammit! Keep them guessing.”

He straightened and yelled to the gunner, “The treads, aim for their treads! Their armor’s too thick to get through.”

Then he realized that the gunner was hanging limply in his seat harness, head lolling, mouth agape and eyes staring sightlessly. Alec reached over and unfastened his harness. The gunner slid out of his seat, rolled over the edge of the mount platform and bounced onto the ground. Another shell rocked the speeding truck as Alec climbed into the seat, suddenly feeling as exposed as a patient stretched naked on a surgical table.

He swung the laser’s sighting mirrors around and tried to hold them on the nearest tank. Flicking the fire control to the shortest possible pulse, he rattled off a train of microsecond bursts. The ground near the tank smoked and sputtered but the tank itself rumbled forward unharmed. The truck lurched violently as he fired again.

Where the hell is everybody else?

Alec fired three more times as shellfire racked the truck. He heard shrapnel clanging against the truck’s sides, then caught a glance of another truck as they zipped past it. It was gutted, wheels splayed, front end smashed in.

One of the tanks was turning in a tight circle.

Got its left tread! Alec rejoiced. A half-dozen mounted men were pulling up alongside it, unlimbering the rocket launchers and grenades they carried. He turned his attention to the second tank and saw, beyond it, that the third one was crawling with men clambering over it, like ants swarming over an invading scorpion. Crumpled bodies lay broken and smashed in the tank’s wake.

If we can knock off the tanks before Douglas’ reserves get here… Alec dialed the frequency for the second truck in his unit. “Get on the left side of that tank that’s still fighting. I’ll swing to the right. Spray him!”

They swung to the tank’s flanks. The gun turret swung toward Alec’s side and he fanned the laser beam to maximum width and sprayed the entire turret area. Blind the bastards, he raged to himself, hoping that the infrared energy would at least damage the periscopes poking from the turret. Then the tank bloomed into a roaring fireball.

The other truck’s laser had found the engine ducts. The tank shuddered, then burst open like an overripe melon, its fuel and ammunition exploding inside it. The turret blew high into the air. With smoke and steam hissing from every joint and port in the heavy armor, the tank died like a dragon consumed by its own internal juices, hissing and rumbling as it disappeared in smoke.

It seemed like hours, but it actually took less than forty minutes to clean up the tank counterattack.

Alec’s units helped each other as much as they could, but most of them had to fight their own battles, individual jousts of two or three tanks pitted against a handful of trucks and jeeps.

The cavalry made the real difference. The horsemen scattered at the sight of the tanks, then while the armored behemoths were engaging the laser trucks and darting jeeps, the cavalry reformed in the rear and attacked with rocket missiles and grenades. Men leaped from horseback onto the tanks and stuffed grenades into the engine ducts or cracked the periscopes and rangefinders that sprouted vulnerably out from the armor. Blinded or immobile, the tanks became more deathtraps than weapons.

Douglas’ reserves arrived to join the battle before the last of the tanks were destroyed, but they were either on horseback or riding lightly armored trucks. And they were spread thin. The breadth of Alec’s attack had foiled Douglas’ defense plan before the battle began, though neither side realized this while the fighting raged.

As the battle eddied away from his sector, Alec ordered his truck back up to the top of the ridge that had masked the tanks’ advance. From this higher ground he could see much of the swirling, dust-clouded fight, and he had time to check his commanders by radio and direct their actions. The tanks were a good idea, he thought. If we had come in a massive single thrust they would have converged on us and clobbered us. But Alec’s broad, fluid advance offered no heavy concentrations of troops to center on, no massed targets for the tanks’ cannon.

As he watched the field peppered with burning pyres and saw his laser trucks slicing through Douglas’ lightly-armored reserves, Alec calmly spoke orders into his helmet microphone.

Douglas’ men were beginning to retreat; in some places they seemed to be panicking blindly and racing away, especially where the laser trucks were burning everything they could reach.

It was not pretty. Alec knew his own casualties were mounting. The stench of death reached him, even up on the ridge; burned flesh and the bitter fumes of explosives and burning oil. The noise was incessant, even through his heavy earphones: explosions punctuating the constant chatter of automatic weapons; roars and groans that might have been the voices of men, but so distorted and tortured that they were unrecognizable.

He climbed down from the gunner’s seat and stood on the laser mount platform. His knees were shaking, his vision blurred.

This is what you came for, he told himself as he watched thousands of men trying to kill each other. This is what your entire life has been aimed at. He clutched the binoculars that still hung at his chest and started to put them to his eyes. But he hesitated. What if I see Will’s body out there?

Jameson’s flat unemotional voice in his earphones snapped him back to reality. “They’re breaking up on this end. All the fight’s out of them.”

“All right,” Alec heard himself say. “Don’t bother with the stragglers. Let them go. Make a dash for the base and try to take it before they can set up a last-ditch defense. I’ll join you from this end of the line.”

“Check. What about Kobol and his special unit?”

“He’ll follow my squad.”

“Right. I presume you’ll give the necessary orders in your usual crisp, military fashion.”

Alec almost smiled. Jameson had detected his depression, obviously. “Yes, yes. Move out in five minutes, no more.”

“We’re moving.”

Alec quickly checked with the other sector commanders.

The battle was disintegrating into a series of separate little skirmishes. Douglas’ troops were struggling for their lives now, trying to escape or simply survive. Alec ordered all commanders to ignore the retreating enemy troops and offer surrender to the pockets of men still fighting. Half of each unit he ordered to race for Douglas’s headquarters.

As his own truck started bumpily down the ridge to take the lead of one column that was forming up, Alec relayed his orders to Kobol, who had been waiting back at their takeoff point.

“Now?” Kobol sounded shocked. “You’re heading for the base already?”

“That’s right,” Alec said as his truck lurched past a clattering collection of other trucks and jeeps. “We’ve broken up Douglas’ main force. It’s nothing more than a mop-up operation now.” He silently added, Unless Douglas has more surprises up his sleeve.

Kobol mumbled something vaguely sounding like congratulations and promised he would be on his way immediately.

“Steer clear of the firebases,” Alec warned.

“They’re still in enemy hands. Those people might be in the mood to spend the rest of their ammunition on you.”

Before Kobol could respond, Alec clicked the radio off, grinning to himself.

It can’t be this easy, he thought as his truck rushed on toward Douglas’s base. But what else could he have? He’s used more men than I ever saw at the base. He can’t have much more.

As they sped over the battlefield, past burned-out tanks and trucks, past twisted bodies and moaning, maimed men, past gaping shell holes and grass made slippery with blood, Alec began to realize that it had not been so easy, after all.

Quick, but not easy.

He directed his truck to a road, and the column fell in behind him. It was one of the earth-packed trails that he and Will Russo had ridden. It turned around the shoulders of the last few hillocks, darted under a copse of newly leafed maples and birches, and then the first buildings came into view.

The column of trucks and jeeps fanned out across the hummocky grass as they approached.

The lasers burned down the fence quickly. The watchtowers here seemed to be empty, abandoned. Alec scanned the base area with his binoculars as they raced past the still-smoking remains of the innermost fence. A few people were dashing about in the streets, running for the shelter of the buildings.

Jameson reported, “We’re less than a kilometer from the western end of the base. No resistance. Hardly any sign of life.”

“Slow down,” Alec commanded. “Proceed with caution, but keep advancing. I don’t want any civilians hurt, especially the women.” He pulled a hand-drawn map of the base from his jacket and told Jameson which buildings his troops should seize. “Get the defenders out of the buildings and into the open. Herd them onto the runways of the old airfield.”

“Check,” Jameson said.

Alec gave similar orders to all his unit commanders, worrying about how long he could expect the raider packs to maintain any semblance of discipline. He headed his own truck straight for the row of houses where Angela and Will and Douglas had lived. As the truck rolled alone through the streets between three- and four- story barracks buildings, Alec realized what a target he made for snipers standing alone on the back of the truck alongside the gleaming metal bulk of the laser.

So shoot, he silently told his enemies. You’ll never get a better chance than now.

But there was no firing anywhere. Not even a sign of life in this part of the base. The houses looked cold and empty as the truck pulled up into the dead-end street. They’ve gone, Alec told himself, and realized he was a fool for thinking they might still be here.

He made the driver stop in front of Angela’s house. Swinging down off the truck, pistol flapping at his hip, heavy helmet on his head, Alec remembered the night he had left. He had never pictured his return as being quite like this: the conqueror striding into the deserted enemy camp.

The house was empty. The fireplace cold. It looked dusty, abandoned, as though no one had lived there for weeks. Perhaps months.

Grimly, Alec marched down the street toward Douglas’ house. He knew it was foolish, but still…

He glanced over his shoulder at the truck. The driver sat alone in the armored cab. He had lowered the front armor panel so that he could have more than just a slit to allow fresh air inside.

But he still wore his helmet and his hands were gripping the steering wheel. Ready to leave at an instant’s notice, Alec saw. Constructive cowardice.

The man who wants to save his skin is the man who’s got a chance to live through the day.

Fifteen paces from Douglas’s front door, Alec froze. A mechanical whirring sound, faint but real, stopped him. Like the sound of a gun mount tracking.

He edged off the walkway and stepped close to the shrubbery that was just beginning to turn green, close to the house. One hand on his pistol butt, Alec carefully scanned the empty-looking street.

Nothing.

Then the sound came again, from behind him.

He whirled and crouched as he drew the gun from its holster. Still nothing in sight. But there was something. Something about the house was different, something that had not been there before.

A glint in the corner of his eyes. A metal pole, strapped hastily against the side of the house with an antenna jury-rigged at the top of it. New, still bright in the late-afternoon sunlight that lanced through the smokey gray sky. A cable led down from the antenna to a second-floor window.

The antenna turned, making a mechanical whirring sound as its little electrical motor moved it.

Alec relaxed his grip on the pistol and commanded himself to stop trembling. Looking back at the truck, he saw that the driver had buttoned up his front panel. Alec called to him on his helmet radio. Whispering, he ordered, “Get Jameson and tell him to bring a squad of men here. On the double.”

“Yessir.”

Slowly, as quietly as he could, Alec moved along the side of the house and around to the back door.

It was unlocked. He pushed it inward gently, almost smiling at Douglas’ insistence on good maintenance: the hinges did not squeak.

Once inside he could hear a muffled voice from upstairs. It sounded like Douglas. Alone? Why would he be here and not out in the field with his men?

Alec took the steps two at a time, but very slowly, crouching low and keeping the gun ready for any surprises. With all the stealth he could manage he got to the top of the stairs and moved to the door of the bedroom from which Douglas’ voice was coming.

He checked the other rooms with his eyes. The doors were all open; they appeared empty. Then, after pulling in a deep breath and letting it go, he opened the bedroom door and leaped into the room.

The door banged against the wall as Alec landed on the balls of his feet, crouched, balanced, gun rock-steady in his outstretched hand.

Half the room was filled with radio gear, gray and black boxes jumbled together, dials glowing.

A wild tangle of wires linked the seeming chaos to a thick cable that wormed its way out through the window that was jammed shut over it.

Douglas sat in the bed, an old-fashioned microphone in one huge fist. His left leg was poking out straight from the hip, encased in a white plastic cast. His trousers had been cut away at the hip.

His face looked thinner than before, his hair and beard grayer. His clothes and the bedsheets were rumpled and sweaty-looking. A carbine lay on the bed beside him, with several boxes of ammunition stacked on the table next to the bed.

For an instant Alec crouched there, unmoving.

Then Douglas said, “Well, it’s about time you got here. What kept you?”

Chapter 28

Alec blinked at his father. “What happened to your leg?”

Glowering, Douglas grumbled, “Thrown from a goddamned horse, would you believe it? Four days ago. Have to sit out the whole goddamned battle here and try to run things by radio.” He tossed the microphone down on the bed. It bounced and clattered to the floor.

“You could save a lot of lives by telling…”

“I’ve already ordered my people to stop fighting,”

Douglas said. He looked weary, even though his voice was as strong in defeat as ever. “That’s what I was doing while you were trying to sneak up the stairs. And you can put that popgun away, I’m not going to try to shoot you.” Glancing at the carbine beside him, “This thing isn’t even loaded.”

Alec went to the bed and took the gun. He leaned it against the doorjamb, then holstered his pistol.

“You fought a smart fight,” Douglas said grudgingly. “I didn’t expect you to spread out that way.”

Pulling up the room’s only chair, Alec responded, “I didn’t expect you to have tanks.”

“Think I showed you everything?” Douglas laughed.

“Where is she?”

“Angela? I packed her off to one of the villages a week ago, with the rest of the women. They’re all scattered around the valley. She’ll be back, now that the fighting’s over.”

“And Will?”

Douglas shook his head. “Last I heard, his horse had been shot out from under him. Don’t worry about Will, he leads a charmed life.”

Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about.

Everything to be said, but nothing to talk about.

Douglas broke the silence. “So you’ve won.”

“Yes, I’ve won.”

“What are your plans?”

Alec glanced out the window, then returned his gaze to his father’s haggard face. “I came for the fissionables. I’ll take them back to the settlement.”

“You know where they’re stored?”

“You showed me, remember?”

“Oh… oh yes, that’s right. I…”

“Kobol’s got a trained crew to take care of them.”

“Kobol. H’mm.”

Alec blurted, “They’ll want to execute you. You’re a traitor.”

“It figures,” Douglas said easily. “If it weren’t for this damned leg, though, I wouldn’t have been so easy to catch.”

“He’s going to marry mother.” As the words came out of him, Alec realized it was true. He had known it all along, but had never allowed the knowledge to reach conscious realization.

“Kobol? Good! Serves him right. She’ll have him sliced and neatly served on a platter inside of a year. They deserve each other.”

Alec felt his insides tightening.

“Now don’t go stupid on me, son,” Douglas said.

“Kobol’s been after her since / was there. And she’s been letting him chase her. It’s one of the reasons why I left. It became obvious, even to me.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

Grinning wickedly, Douglas answered, “I don’t give a damn what you believe. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. My work’s just about finished now. Yours is just starting.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Before Douglas could reply, a trio of trucks pulled up noisily in front of the house and the voices of two dozen men filled the air. Doors slammed. Boots clumped on stairs.

Jameson stepped into the bedroom, poking the muzzle of an automatic rifle ahead of him. “You okay?” he asked Alec.

Nodding, Alec got up from the chair. “This is Douglas Morgan,” he said. “Keep this house guarded. No one goes in or out unless I personally grant permission. I’ll set up my headquarters in the first house on this street, where my truck is parked.”

“Right,” Jameson said.

Douglas spoke up. “I presume the condemned man will get a meal sometime this evening?”

Alec could not look him in the face anymore. To Jameson he said, “See to it.”

Then he left his father sitting on the bed, surrounded by the armed strangers.

Alec ate his dinner alone in Angela’s house, the first hot meal he’d had in many days. He was almost finished when Kobol burst into the tiny kitchen.

“We’ve got it!” he crowed, pushing past the protesting guard stationed outside the kitchen door.

Alec looked up tiredly. Kobol was jubilant, practically dancing, bad hip and all.

“We’ve got the fissionables!” Kobol repeated.

“Enough to last fifty years, at least!”

“And then what?”

Kobol stopped in mid-prance. He stood uncertainly before the rough wooden table at which Alec sat. His smile of triumph began to crumble.

“What do you mean?”

Alec began to understand part of what Douglas had been telling him. “What then? What happens to the settlement after fifty years?”

Kobol shook his head, a short snap to either side, like a horse shaking off a gadfly. “They’ll find more, of course. Fifty years is a long time; we won’t be around to worry about it.”

“No,” Alec said. “I suppose not.”

“I’m ordering a pair of shuttles down to start loading the fissionables at first light tomorrow. They can land at the airfield right here.”

“All right.”

“And I want Douglas packed aboard too. They’ll be waiting for him back at the settlement.”

Alec pushed his unfinished plate away from him and got to his feet. “No.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“I mean no. You’re not taking Douglas back to the settlement. We’ll handle him right here. I’ll take care of it.”

“No you won’t.” Kobol’s tone hardened.

“You’ve been riding pretty high, but it’s time you realized that I’m a Council member and I have the final say in…”

Alec pulled his gun from its holster. “Martin, you can take the fissionables and yourself back to the settlement tomorrow. I’ll follow you there shortly. But Douglas stays here. He chose to live on Earth, he might as well be buried on Earth. If you want to be buried here too, just say one more word.” Alec’s voice was as soft as the purr of a leopard. “One more word, that’s all.”

Kobol’s mouth opened, but no sound came from it. He snapped it shut with an audible click of his horsy teeth. His face went white with anger and fear.

“Good,” Alec said. He pointed to the door with the gun. “Now get out of here and go about your work. Leave Douglas to me. And keep your hands off my mother until I return to the settlement. You can be killed there as easily as here. Remember that.”

Seething, Kobol turned and limped out of the house.

Alec holstered his gun and sat down to finish his meal. But he was no longer hungry. Suddenly he felt old, grayer than his father, weary and miserable and completely alone.

The guard peered around the door jamb. “Sir?”

“What is it?”

“We have a prisoner here… someone you said you wanted to see.”

“Will Russo?”

“That’s who he says he is, sir.”

“Send him in!” Alec rose again and came around the table.

Will strode in. He was caked with grime and his clothing was torn in several places, but when he stepped into the kitchen and saw Alec his big puppydog grin spread across his face.

“You weren’t fooling about a big army, were you?” he said.

Alec put his hand out and Will grabbed it.

“Are you all right?” Alec asked. “Have you eaten? Are you hurt?”

“I’m starving, but otherwise okay. Your boys had us pinned down for six hours. Never saw so many guns and lasers in my life.”

Alec sat him down at the table and ordered the guard to bring more food. He watched as Will wolfed down everything in sight and washed it down with a liter of fresh cow’s milk.

“Which village did Angela go to?” Alec asked as Will ate.

“Dunno,” Will said, his mouth bulging. “But she’ll be here. She’ll want to see Douglas, tend to him.”

Tend to him, Alec thought jealously.

“You took a lot of casualties?” he changed the subject.

Will nodded. “It was pretty heavy out there. You had us outgunned and outsmarted.”

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“So’m I!” Will said, with a laugh. But almost immediately, the laughter died away. “A lot of good men died out there today. A lot of good men.”

Alec agreed with a nod. “But at least it’s over now.”

“Over? Oh no! By golly, it’s really just beginning.”

“Begin… what do you mean?”

“Ask Douglas about it,” Will replied. “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about it already.”

“Told me what?”

But all Will would say was, “Ask Douglas.”

“Dammit!” Alec snapped. “You know he’s under arrest for treason. Kobol wants to bring him back to the settlement and make a public exhibit out of him.”

“You won’t let them?”

“No, I won’t. But I can’t let him live, either.”

Will shrugged.

“Technically, you’re as guilty as he is,” Alec added. “You refused to return to the settlement, too. But it’s Douglas they want to punish. You won’t have to…”

“No,” Will said. There was iron in it.

Alec stared at him.

“I’m Douglas’s man. What happens to him happens to me. I’m as guilty as he is. We planned this thing together. Kill him and you’ve got to kill me, too. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

“Hell’s fire, Will! You’re talking like a medieval barbarian.”

“Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe that’s what we all are. I love you like my own son, Alec. I owe my life to you. But if you kill that man I won’t be able to rest until I’ve avenged him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Exactly,” said Will Russo.

It was late when Alec walked down the lonely street to Douglas’s house. Late and dark. The spring night had turned cold; the stars glittered with winter hardness. The street was deserted except for the two guards lounging near the truck parked at the cul-de-sac end of the street. All of Douglas’s troops had been disarmed and penned into a few of the big barracks buildings. No women at all had been found in the base.

Tomorrow, Alec knew, the women would start returning from the outlying villages.

The guards straightened up when they recognized Alec. He saw that they had a small electric grill plugged into the truck’s generator, and they were warming themselves with it.

“Chilly night,” Alec said to them.

“Sure is.”

Inside Douglas’ house two more men were drowsing in the living room. They snapped to their feet when Alec let the front door bang shut.

“Everything quiet in here?” he asked.

“Yessir.” They were both embarrassed, even a touch fearful.

Without another word, Alec tiptoed up the steps and pushed at the door to Douglas’ room. The old man was sitting on the bed in almost exactly the same position that Alec had left him earlier. He was wearing glasses now, and reading a battered, well-thumbed book. Alec squinted at the cover but it was too worn to make out the title.

“Come on in,” Douglas said softly, barely looking up from the book. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Alec stepped into the room and took the chair, feeling oddly nervous, edgy. As he sat down, he realized that Douglas’ voice was no longer the booming, demanding, self-assured roar it had once been. He was quieter, his voice subdued. From defeat? Alec found that hard to believe.

Douglas waggled the book. “Found this in a city library, years ago. Hemingway. The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine, Forty-nine short stories, that is. Magnificent. You ought to read them.”

Alec shrugged.

“So.” Douglas put the book down on the table beside his bed. The radio equipment had been cleared away; nothing was left except the torn end of the cable still hanging from the room’s one window. “You’ve come to see if I’m comfortable and enjoyed my meal?”

“No.”

“Come to read me my death sentence?” He actually looked amused.

“Not that either,” Alec said. “I’ve come to find out what you meant when you said that your work’s nearly finished, but mine is just beginning. Will said something very much like it a couple of hours ago…”

“You’ve seen Will?” Douglas asked, suddenly eager. “He’s all right?”

“He’s fine. Hungry as a bear…”

“And thirsty, I’ll bet.”

Alec felt a grin bend his lips. “Yes, that too.”

“But you’ve finally started to tumble to the fact that there’s more to life than beating your old man, eh?”

Alec hunched forward in the chair. “I want to know what all these mysterious hints are about.”

“It’s not too complicated,” Douglas said.

“Everything’s worked out pretty much as I had planned it. I admit that I expected to beat you today, rather than the other way around. But the plan can work either way.”

“What plan?” Alec demanded, suddenly irritated.

Douglas smiled at him. A genuinely benign, paternal smile in that grizzled, lined face. “The plan to reunite the human race. The plan to rebuild civilization.”

“That!”

“Yes, that. It happens to be the reason behind everything I’ve done over the past twenty years and more. But now it’s going to be up to you to put the plan into action.”

Alec shook his head.

“Listen to me!” Douglas snapped, with some of the old fire. Jabbing a thick finger at him, he said, “It’s finally been accomplished. Don’t you understand that? Look around you, what do you see? And I don’t mean just this room. What’s happened out there today?”

“We beat you.”

“Who beat me?”

“We did—the army that Kobol put together and I led.”

“And who’s in that army?”

Puzzled, Alec answered, “Who’s in it? Men from all over: as far south as Florida, as close as some of the villages just over the hills from here.”

“And who else?” Douglas’ eyes were gleaming.

Alec thought a moment. “Us,” he finally realized.

“Men from the settlement.”

Douglas leaned back on the pillows, satisfied.

“Excellent. You got the right answer with only a few prods. You might make a real leader yet. An army made up of bands of men who’ve been fighting each other for the past twenty-some years —raiders and farmers, city barbarians and fishermen from the warm country—plus you lunar people with your high technology. For the first time since the sky burned and organization of Earth and Moon people has worked together.”

Alec blinked at him. “What’s so marvelous about that?”

“I’ll tell you.” Douglas was obviously enjoying this; his voice had regained some of its former strength. “When the sky burned civilization on Earth ended. But on the Moon we were all right — for the time being. Then the leaders in the settlement got the notion that there was nothing they could do to help what was left of Earth’s people.”

“They were right,” Alec said. “They were barely able to survive themselves, those first years.”

“They were right, at that time,” Douglas corrected. “But that doesn’t mean the decision was right for all time. From that first decision, it was a short step to decide that the settlement could survive on its own, and all they needed from Earth was an occasional re-supply of the things that couldn’t be produced on the Moon.”

“The fissionables.”

“And medicinal plants, a few other things. So while the lunar people were looking down their noses at the so-called barbarians of Earth, it was they who were really behaving like barbarians — raiding Earth for what they wanted but could not or would not produce for themselves. That’s barbarism!”

“Now wait…”

But Douglas plowed on. “The truth is, the settlement cannot survive on its own and never could. Genetically it’s a dead end. Already the cancer rate and birth defects are skyrocketing.”

Alec said, “We’ve been through all this before.”

“Indeed we have. But now we have the opportunity to set things straight. You’re in command of a joint Earth-Moon army. You’re sitting on the fissionables that the settlement wants. You can force them to start working with the people here on Earth, to start rebuilding civilization in earnest. What I’ve done is to set the stage. Now you can make it actually happen.”

Alec felt the strength leach out of him. His jaw fell open. When he realized he was gaping, he straightened up in the chair and asked, “Me? You want me…” He ran out of words.

“Yes, you,” Douglas said gently. “I’ve been waiting for you for twenty years, son.”

“But you tried to kill me!”

“No, I didn’t. I tried to see what you were made of. I set up conditions that would test you, so we could both find out what you were made of. You came through in fine shape. You survived. What’s more, you learned. You understand now exactly what I’m saying, and you know that I’m right. I can see it.”

“No…”

“Yes!” Douglas was beaming now. “You’re the leader of this entire ramshackle alliance. You’re the one man with the power to force those hothouse lovelies up there to rejoin their brothers and sisters here on Earth. Alone, separated from the knowledge and technology of the Moon, Earth’s civilization will need another five centuries to be rekindled. Nobody knows that better than I do! I’ve spent twenty years bringing a miniscule number of people back from absolute barbarism as far as a feudal society.”

Douglas’s fists clenched. “But the lunar settlement— alone, separated from Earth, cut off from the lifeblood of the human race, the genetic pool — the settlement will die. There’s no other word for it. They’ll be dead within another two generations. Three, at most.”

Alec heard Kobol’s voice in his mind, his response to the question about what would happen when the fissionables ran out. “Fifty years is a long time, we won’t be around to worry about it.”

“You’re worrying about my children,” Alec said to his father.

“Your grandchildren.”

“But why did you set up this battle? Why couldn’t we have done this peacefully?”

Douglas’s smile turned into a sardonic grimace.

“Would you have believed me? I tried to tell you. And do you think those barbarians out there would have kindly consented to work together in sweet brotherhood for the furtherance of an ideal they can’t even imagine? They have no conception of what civilization means, you know. Not even the best of them. Oh, they’ll follow a leader they can trust or someone who brings them victories and loot. But all they really understand is survival, and survival means fighting.” He paused, but only for an instant. “What brought all those fine fighting men here? A yearning for culture or the chance for loot?”

“Loot, of course,” Alec answered.

“Damned right. And you’d better keep them happy, too, until you can halfway civilize them. Get them up at least to the standard of loyalty the old Mongol hordes had. You can build a civilization with warriors like that, even though they themselves are barbarians.”

But a new thought was burning through Alec’s awareness. “You…” he said. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Douglas snorted. “Kill me, of course! I’m superfluous now. I’m a problem for you. My men will stay loyal to me as long as I’m alive, and the people in the settlement won’t trust you if you let me live.”

“But your men won’t follow me if I have you executed.” It’s insane! You don’t sit in a bedroom and talk with your father about killing him!

“They’ll follow Will, and Will is fully aware of the plan. If he’s loyal to you, the rest of my people will be, too. That’s why it was important for both of you to survive the battle.”

“It’s crazy,” Alec muttered.

“No,” Douglas corrected. “It’s politics. A little rougher than the polite debating orgies you’ve seen in the settlement, but basically the same thing. To make yourself leader of the whole coalition, you’ve got to get rid of me.”

“I came to Earth to kill you.”

“I know,” Douglas said, softly, kindly. “Now you can get the job done.”

Alec jumped up from the chair, knocking it over backwards behind him. “No, I can’t do it! I can’t!”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Douglas snapped. “You’ve got to.”

But Alec bolted from the room and ran down the stairs and out into the night.

Chapter 29

Ferret had spent the day hiding in the woods, terrified by the horrendous sounds of explosions and gunfire that rocked the world and made the very air taste of burning, acrid fumes. He knew that Alec was there in the midst of the fighting, and all the others. But he clung to the safe, living earth, deep in the brush that grew among the younger trees along the edge of the forest. Instinct told him to run away, to go deeper into the mottled shadows of the woods, to hide so far away that the guns and explosions would never reach him.

Yet he stayed at the edge of the trees, despite his terror, held in an agonizing balance between his fear and the dim, wordless loyalty he felt for Alec.

The Sun was halfway down the western sky when the fighting stopped. Curled up behind a sturdy oak, half buried in the brush at its base, Ferret waited for the better part of an hour after he realized that the gunfire and explosions had ended. He listened intently, heard nothing but the renewed chirp of birds, the buzz of insects. A squirrel popped out of the bushes a few feet in front of him, stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air, nose twitching. It looked around hesitantly, then scampered up the tree that Ferret hid behind.

The world had gone back to normal. It was safe to come out. Ferret took a few hesitant steps out into the slanting light of light afternoon. The sky over toward the valley was gray with smoke. That was where Alec would be. He started walking toward the smoke, toward Alec. Maybe he would find a rabbit or squirrel along the way and bring it to Alec. It would be good to eat.

A truckload of jubilant troops rattled by on the road leading into the valley, slowed down, and he clambered aboard. They were strangers to him, but they were all laughing and whooping with relieved excitement. Ferret laughed with them, feeling relieved too.

By the time they reached the base it was full night. The truck squealed to a halt in front of one of the big warehouses, near the airfield. Troops were milling everywhere, still full of energy, still adrenalin-high.

“Where’s th’ fuckin’ women?” one man yelled.

“There was supposed t’be gold in the streets here,” someone else bellowed. “I don’t see no gold.”

“Hey, never mind that!” said an excited, high pitched voice. “They found booze over in that warehouse! Real stuff! Wine and liquor and all! C’mon!”

With a ragged roar, the soldiers of the victorious army surged toward the warehouse, carrying Ferret along with them the way a tidal wave carries a bit of flotsam.

Jameson was waiting outside Douglas’s house when Alec came running blindly from his meeting with his father. He pointed wordlessly to the sullen red glow lighting up the night sky.

“They’re torching the warehouses,” Jameson said. “Kobol’s barbarians.”

Alec stared at the glowering light. Sparks shot up. He said nothing, desperately trying to focus his concentration on what was happening. But his mind was still filled with the image of his father calmly discussing his own execution.

“We’ve locked up all the weapons, ammo, and vehicles,” Jameson was telling Alec. “And the prisoners are under guard by our own men. But those warehouses…” Jameson shook his head.

“We just don’t have enough reliable troops to keep the barbarians away from everything.”

With an effort, Alec made himself ask, “What’s in those warehouses?”

“Machinery, spare parts… one of them has several hundred crates of wine and grain alcohol, from what Will tells me.”

“They won’t burn that,” Alec said.

Jameson turned his bird-of-prey visage toward the glowing flames. “Might be a good idea to let them have their fun tonight.”

“And let them destroy everything they can get their hands on?” Alec shook his head. “Get fifty men and four laser trucks. Find Will and ask him to join us, with as many reliable men as he can muster.”

An instant of skepticism flashed across Jameson’s face.

Alec said, “If we let them dissolve into rabble they’ll be killing each other before sunrise.”

“There is that,” Jameson admitted.

Within half an hour they met at the motor pool, an ancient garage where voices boomed hollowly off the metal walls and silent trucks. Alec laid out a battle plan for the men who assembled there.

“They’re rampaging through the warehouses, burning whatever they can’t drink or carry. We’ll converge on the warehouse area from three different directions,” he traced lines with his finger on the street map spread across the oil-smeared table before him, “and get them under control.”

Jameson looked doubtful. “If they decide to fight us…”

“They won’t if we work things properly,” Alec said.

Will Russo agreed with a nod. “Especially if we pack them in pretty tight here, where the streets converge. They won’t be in a fighting mood.”

His hand sliding to the pistol strapped to his hip, Alec added, “And if we grab the ringleaders and make examples out of them, the rest will calm down fast enough.”

Three columns of heavily armed troops converged on the burning warehouses and the drunken, rampaging men. In the guttering light of the fires that crackled through the warehouse windows and roofs, the looters slowly realized that they were being hemmed in, herded toward the open area where the streets came together.

And waiting for them there, in front of the only warehouse that had not yet been torched, were a quartet of laser trucks, their firing mirrors pointed at street level.

Alec stood on the back of one of the trucks with an electrically-powered megaphone in his hand.

“Listen to me,” he commanded, his voice magnified to the dimensions of godhood. “Listen to me, because the men who don’t will be dead before the Sun rises.”

They stood in a befuddled, drunken, sullen mass draped with blankets and sacks of flour and wine bottles and new boots and less identifiable plunder. The fires groaned at their backs. A wall collapsed, showering sparks into the night sky.

“Who started this?” Alec demanded. “I want the ringleaders, and I want them now.”

The men muttered and shifted on their suddenly-tired feet. They stared at the ground or glanced at each other. Alec saw that many of them had left their rifles and automatic weapons behind, once they started looting. But there were still plenty of pistols and carbines among them.

“If you think that your discipline has ended just because you won a battle today, then think again,”

Alec boomed at them. “Now, who started this looting? Bring them up front, where I can deal with them the way they deserve.” He pulled the pistol from its holster.

No one moved, except for the nervous shuffling of little boys caught being naughty.

“All right,” Alec said, his voice as cold as sharpened steel, “then we’ll do it the way the Roman legions did it. Jameson—pick out ten men at random. Now.”

With a dozen fully armed troops beside him, Jameson began grabbing men by their arms and shoving them toward the truck where Alec stood.

He did not go deeply into the sullen crowd; he picked the men from the front few rows.

Suddenly there was a movement from deep in the crowd. A single figure was worming its way toward the front.

“Alec, Alec… me. Me. Me!”

The looters backed away from him, and Alec recognized Ferret making his way up to the front, to join the men that were going to be executed.

“Me, Alec!” Ferret said, his pinched face smiling innocently in the glow of the smoldering fires.

“Pick me!”

The pistol suddenly felt unbearably heavy in Alec’s hand. The weight of the world had somehow been absorbed by the square-snouted shining black gun.

He looked down at the faces of the men standing at his feet. The looters whom Jamesom had shoved to the front looked up at him, sullen, afraid, drunk. Ferret was smiling, a child’s hopeful, expectant smile. The crowd had melted back, away from the men who were doomed.

Alec let his arm drop to his side. The gun was too heavy to hold up. Jameson stood frozen at the edge of the crowd, his strong hand locked onto the shoulder of one of the looters.

“I was bad, Alec,” Ferret said. “I’m sorry.”

It was the longest sentence Alec had ever heard out of him.

He raised the bullhorn to his lips once more and said slowly, “You’ve been saved. All of you—you’ve been saved by this one man.”

An audible sigh went through the crowd.

Holstering the gun, Alec said, “You’ve had all the fun you’re going to. From here on, there will be no more looting. You are part of an army — a victorious army. You have a right to be proud of your victory. But you are going to follow orders and maintain discipline. Anyone who can’t follow orders, from this moment on, will be shot. You’ve been reprieved tonight, but from now on there will be no second chances for any of you.”

They muttered sullenly, but did no more than that.

Alec realized that they needed more than the threat of discipline. The stick by itself was useless, unless there was a carrot attached to it.

“You are going to become the richest men on Earth,” he said, and waited for a moment for their response. They stirred, they murmured. “Not from looting. That’s over and done with. You’re going to become rich from your fair share of the riches that this land can provide.

“You’ve spent your lives as raiders, as rat packs, and your lives have been short and painful. But now you are going to live safer, more comfortable lives. You will never have to worry about a meal or a bed again. You will live longer and better than you ever dreamed would be possible. And we—all of us, together—will rule this entire land.”

There were more than a thousand men standing there. The crowd surged, edged closer toward Alec.

“Your days of looting and stealing are finished,” he told them, “because you will no longer have to loot and steal. You’ll get everything you’ve ever wanted, and more of it than you ever saw in your lives.”

“What about women?” a voice from the rear shouted.

“When you’re a raider, a looter, the women run away and hide,” Alec answered into the bullhorn.

“When you’re a member of the army that rules the Earth, the women will chase after you!”

They laughed. Alec could feel the tension, the sullenness, easing out of them.

“All right, then,” Alec said firmly. “From this moment on you are members of the army that will rule the world. You will follow orders. And when tomorrow dawns, this world will see something it hasn’t seen since the sky burned: a new force that will conquer everything that stands in its way!”

They cheered. They actually cheered. Alec watched them, wondering, Will I always be able to control them? It was like riding atop a wild animal. Grimly, he realized, It will always be a battle to stay in control.

He spent the rest of the night touring the base, riding atop the battle-dented truck and checking every street and building in the area. Quiet prevailed.

The men were exhausted from the battle, drunk with the wine they had found and the exhilaration of being alive when so many others had died. Now the wine and the exhaustion and the emotional fatigue had caught up with them. A taste of discipline was the only excuse most of them needed to fold up into the oblivion of sleep.

With the sunrise came Angela.

She arrived in a horse-drawn wagon, protected by six village youths armed with ancient rifles and shotguns. The posted guards stopped her at the edge of the base. She asked to see Douglas. The guards radioed for Jameson, who in turn informed Alec.

He had her driven to his quarters, the house they had shared to many months earlier. Alec was waiting for her in the still-unfurnished living room when her wagon creaked to a stop. She jumped down and walked straight to the front door.

Without hesitating, she entered. She looked tense, worried, thinner, tauter, just as beautiful as ever.

“Where’s Douglas? Why can’t I see him?”

Alec had to struggle to control his voice. “He’s perfectly all right. You’ll see…”

“No, he’s not all right. You don’t understand.”

She seemed genuinely frightened, her eyes wide with fear.

“It’s all right,” Alec insisted, crossing the tiny room to reach her. “No one’s going to hurt him. Don’t be afraid.”

He took her in his arms, in front of the dead ashes of the dark fireplace. Angela was trembling.

“Alec, please, you’ve got to let me see him. I don’t know how much he’s told you…” Abruptly she pushed away from him. “Alec, I don’t even know if I can believe what you’re telling me! You want him dead, don’t you?”

“No,” he said. “That’s over now.”

“But it would help if he conveniently died, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s what he said last night.”

“You still don’t understand what he’s doing, all the plans he’s made.”

“Yes I do…” But suddenly Alec realized that there was still more for him to learn.

“Alec, pleased take me to him,” Angela urged.

“Please, right now, before it’s too late.”

He hesitated only a moment. “All right. Come on. He’s still in his own bedroom. We didn’t move him because of his leg.”

“What about his leg?”

“He broke it in an accident a few days ago… fell off his horse.”

“No!” she screamed. “He’s been in that room for the past month! He’s been sick, deathly sick!”

She dashed for the door.

Alec raced after her. They tore down the street, past a startled guard at his front door, heading for Douglas’s house. With the perfect clarity of adrenalin-sharpened vision, Alec saw the two guards loafing sleepily in front of Douglas’s front door.

Heard the shots. Saw the guards jerk to attention and burst into the house.

“No!” Angela was screaming. “No… don’t… he can’t…”

More shots. Then no sounds except Alec’s own gasping breath and the pulse hammering in his ears. He outdistanced Angela and ran into the house, pushed through the open door and skidded to a halt.

His father lay sprawled at the foot of the steps, his legs resting on the bottom-most stairs. A machine pistol was in his hand, its wire stock grotesquely bent under his heavy forearm. Douglas’ chest and gut were covered with bright red blood.

The room smelled of gunsmoke. The two outside guards were standing frozen, guns still hot in their hands. Upstairs, the third guard was kneeling against the railing, babbling:

“He came at me, he came at me. Shooting. He was shooting.”

None of the guards were scratched. The cast was gone from Douglas’s leg. His eyes were open; his chest heaving in rapid painful gasps.

Angela clattered into the house and broke into a racking sob. Pushing past Alec, she sank to her knees next to Douglas.

“Nooo,” she moaned, “Noooo…”

“It’s all right,” Douglas said, his voice a throaty groan. “Better this way .

“He was shooting,” said one of the guards next to Alec. “You can see the bullet holes all over the walls. He was trying to bust out.”

The bullet holes were all up near the ceiling, over the windows, well above head level. Ignoring the guard, Alec bent down on one knee beside Angela, next to his father.

“Why?” he asked. “I would have saved you. I wouldn’t let them take you.”

Douglas managed to grin at his son. “How do you…” a gasp of pain, “…how do you think I found out about the cancer rate in the settlement?”

Alec’s head drooped.

“Only had… a few months left,” Douglas panted. “Sorry to scare your boys… tried not to hurt them…”

He closed his eyes.

Angela collapsed over the dead body. Tears won’t help him, Alec said silently. Then he realized that the tears are always for the living, not the dead. All right then. Cry for both of us. Alec couldn’t cry. Not now. Perhaps not ever. But surely not now. There was too much to be done.

Too much unfinished work hung in the balance.

He straightened up and turned to the guards.

None of them had moved a millimeter. They were staring at Alec, their own lives showing in their eyes.

“It’s all right,” he told them softly. “You saved us all a lot of trouble.”

They did not relax, but that did not matter.

“You,” he pointed to the one nearest the door.

“Get Jameson and Will Russo here. There’s work to do.”

Then he glanced down at Angela’s sobbing form.

To the other two guards he said, “Get outside and don’t let anyone in here until I tell you to.”

They hurried out of the house. The guard who had been upstairs had to step, shakily, over Douglas’ body. Then he ran to the door and left.

Alec knelt down beside Angela again and took her tear-streaked face in his hands. “It’s time,” he said, as gently as he knew how.

She gazed at him searchingly. “Time for what?”

“To begin.”