The Overlords of War

Chapter 12

The pegasones were not hobbled, but they remained so absolutely still that from a short distance they could have been mistaken for the stumps of enormous multicolored trees. Their six great paws, each ending in six fingers, looked like roots. The eyes which encircled their bodies halfway up, a little above Corson’s head, shone only with a wan and fleeting light. Now and then one of them uttered a little plaintive cry, followed by a grunt like a pig’s. One might have thought that they were chewing the cud. They had nothing in common with the wild beast which Corson had been trying to study before the destruction of the Archimedes. On their flanks, a complicated harness had left deep scars, as though a hot iron had been seared into tree bark.

How could they be mounted? At first sight no part of their bodies seemed adapted for a saddle. And how many men could each of them carry? Veran’s demands suggested a rough guide: a million men, two hundred thousand pegasones… So one of these beasts could cany at least four men and their equipment. And what part would they play in combat? Up to now it hadn’t occurred to Corson to think of any other function except that of assault vehicles. Their mobility and their primitive ferocity would make them ideal for a ground battle. Their ability to foresee the immediate future and to move a second away in time would make them targets almost impossible to hit. But these pegasones which Corson was looking at scarcely seemed to be fierce. He would have sworn, too, that they were completely without intelligence, the reverse of the wild specimen wandering the forests of this planet in search of an ideal spot to reproduce.

The use of a living steed in warfare was not an idea unknown to Corson. During the Earth-Uria war, on worlds that were being fought over, he had run across barbarian allies of the Terrestrials who rode reptiles, hippogriffs, or even giant spiders. But he was himself more accustomed to a mechanized army. What surprised him here was the coexistence of an advanced technology and animal steeds. What sort of terrain had they fought over at Aergistal?

He couldn’t imagine. If only planets had names which described them! Perhaps this mysterious world was rocky, a place of peaks and precipices bathed in a steely light. But it could just as well be a planet of green and smiling valleys. For a brief moment he had wondered whether the name might simply designate another part of Uria itself, but both Antonella and Floria had insisted that no war had even involved Uria for a thousand-odd years, let alone been fought on its surface.

No, the battle where Veran had lost the majority of his forces must have taken place on some other world. For better or worse he must have embarked the remnant of his command on a cruiser and gone in search of a world where he could rebuild his army. He had picked on Uria, landed his men and their beasts, and sent his cruiser back to space for fear it might be trapped on the ground.

But—No, wait a moment!

Veran must be fresh from his battle. His men had still been in full combat rig when they intercepted Corson. They were dirty and exhausted. No matter how close Aergistal might be, no matter how fast Veran’s cruiser, it would have taken hours or days to cover an interstellar distance. He tried to recall the map of the Urian system. There were only two other planets in it, and both were gas giants which would not provide a battlefield… at least not for humans. How about their moons? No: Antonella had spoken of taking a transmatter to one of the local moons; therefore they must be at peace. And this sector of space was thinly populated with stars. Aergistal must be located at least six light-years from Uria. Probably a lot more. The idea of a starship which could cross light-years in a few minutes seemed ridiculous. On the other hand…

Corson was the sole survivor of a universe six thousand years in the past. In sixty centuries a lot of new discoveries must have been made. Even what he had seen at Dyoto exceeded his powers of comprehension. A starship capable of almost Ultimate Velocity was scarcely harder to believe in than a society without a government or a city built entirely on antigrav.

While Corson was contemplating the warlike activity of the camp, a faint nostalgia overcame him. Although he had never been particularly bellicose himself, he felt at home again in this environment of taut efficiency. He followed with his eyes the man who was marching sentry go in front of the pegasones, his gun slung at an easy angle. He glanced at his bodyguard. The man did not seem to be concerned about the vast problems disturbing the universe. He must have lost friends in the battle of Aergistal, but one could not have deduced it from his attitude. Two days earlier, Corson had been like him. Strange, what two days could do to a man. Two days—and six thousand years. No, Corson corrected himself bitterly. Two days, six thousand years… and two women.

He turned to face the guard.

“Was it tough at Aergistal?”

The soldier did not stir. He was looking straight in front of him at a horizon which a timeless regulation fixed at a distance of six paces. Corson hardened his tone.

“Answer me, will you? I’m Captain Corson, remember!”

Finally the soldier did speak, in a clear voice, but barely parting his teeth.

“Colonel Veran will tell you about it himself. Those are his orders.”

Corson did not press him. The soldier wouldn’t anyway have been able to answer the next question he wanted to put. Even if he had been willing to. Where was Aergistal? As for the third—well, it made even less sense.

When was Aergistal?

For by now Corson was coming to the conclusion that the battle must have occurred far in the past. Veran’s ship must have crossed not only space but—like Corson—time as well. He must hail from an era when interstellar wars still took place, where the Security Office did not yet lay down the law.

He wondered how the Office would react when it learned about the presence of Veran on Uria.

He circled the pegasone park. Night fell, though the vanished sun still decorated the treetops with mauve plumes. A cool wind was rising. He shivered. For the first time he was really aware of how ridiculous his flimsy ornate garments were. No wonder the guard had trouble treating him as an officer! He regretted having destroyed his uniform. Even though it was unlike what Veran and his men wore, it would have given him a more military air. He smiled inwardly. He hadn’t been demobilized very long! Barely more than forty-eight hours. Perhaps Veran’s arrival had been providential. In his company, especially since the man seemed to have need of him, he might again take up the only profession he knew, that of arms. Never mind the risks. Danger was everywhere, in the forest where the Monster was at large, in space where he, Corson, was an outlaw, a war criminal… He might as well end his days among his compeers.

He scowled, thinking of Antonella. It was sensible to teach soldiers to keep away from real women, never to grant them more than a few minutes of female company. They complicated everything. As if the situation weren’t tangled enough already…

But he couldn’t simply dump her. He wasn’t going to. Even so…

His fists clenched in futile frustration. On the dark fringe of the forest the barrier wire shed a purple glow. It was absurd to wish he could escape.

“I’m going back,” he said, not addressing anyone in particular. The soldier fell into step at his heels.