Jonnie looked around. They were close to, in fact right up against, the mountains, fairly high mountains . . . fourteen thousand feet? They had snow on them. The ancient Russian base must be nearby. He had thought they would go right to it and he could get his observation and estimation done right away. But no, everybody seemed to have other ideas. There were some skin-and-felt tents, and fires put their smoke in the air, and suddenly Jonnie realized this crowd was in their best clothes. This was a holiday! And the way they pressed in upon him, he certainly was the reason. He wondered fleetingly whether Thor had been up here, for if he had, then a lot of these people would think he knew them. Well, his one word of Russian would have to get him by.
The colonel’s horsemen were opening the way. Every time Jonnie raised his hand and nodded there was a new ear-bashing burst of cheering. Colors, faces! He knew the sound of Russian well enough to know it was Russian, but he was also hearing scattered words like “Bravo!” and “Bueno!” and “Viva!” Sounded like the llaneros. Yes! There was a flat-crowned, black-leather hat. Several of them. And some huge straw hats.
The smell of roasting meat and the tang of dung fires was in the air. A band made up of balalaikas and Spanish guitars and Andean flutes and Mongol drums was splitting the air.
The colonel got him to a skin tent that had been set up for him and with a final wave of the hand and his one word of Russian—now no longer adequate—he got inside.
A coordinator had also come in and through him Jonnie wanted to know, couldn’t they go to the base now?
The colonel was aghast. Nyet, nyet, there was time for all that. One had to think of the people! Many of them, in fact most of them, had never met Jonnie before, had never even seen him.
Jonnie said he was thinking of the people! To get them safe from possible harm.
Well, harm was always around, according to the colonel, but not every day was an opportunity to meet Jonnie. Vyehrnah? (Right?)
At that, Jonnie was glad to get out of his heavy flight suit for it was much less cold here than he had thought. The colonel had brought his kit in but he ignored it. He had a near-white buckskin suit he had had made—not quite like the one on the credit bank note—those loops there on each side of the breast were cartridge loops—but the village girls had done very well. Those moccasins should fit, but here were some military boots and red baggy pants if he preferred. This gold helmet? Well, it wasn’t really gold. It was a lightweight Russian helmet, armor-proof aluminum no less, and somebody flying through here had taken it down to the old minesite at Grozny and plated it with beryllium. See? It didn’t have any star or ornament on it, but this chin strap with the heavy ear pads, and the colored beads all over it, had been done by one of the Siberian tribes, and wasn’t it nice? And besides, Dr. MacKendrick had told Jonnie to be careful of his head after the fractures. So wear it! Jonnie said he couldn’t hear with it buckled. Wear it!
Jonnie washed his face and got dressed and told the colonel he was a bully and the colonel confessed he was far worse than that.
It was this way: his original plan to have Americans man this base had been passed by the old council—before it went funny. They’d recruited some South Americans and sent them over. But there was a tribe up in the Arctic descended from political prisoners in Siberia and they spent most of their time starving to death, so they had come down en masse, dogs and all, and they were here—the Siberians were the ones out there in white bearskins. And then there was a little tribe they’d found in the Caucasus that had survived, and they were here. So it really was getting pretty manned up with Russians. But they had an American here. Yes! You want to see? He’s right outside.
The American was ushered in and he was pulling a young girl behind him. He stood there grinning. It was a boy from Jonnie’s own village! Tom Smiley Townsen. They were very glad to see each other. Tom Smiley was a big lad, almost as big as Jonnie, and a year younger. He said he had graduated from machine school and heard they didn’t have enough operators over here for this job and had caught a ride, and he’d been working here for over a month running minesweepers and teaching others and fixing things that broke down.
This was his girl, Margarita. “Margarita, permiteme presentarte al Gran Señor Jonnie.”
The girl was very pretty, very shy and overawed. Jonnie bowed. He had seen Sir Robert do that. And she bowed.
Tom Smiley said they were going to get married in a few weeks. And Jonnie said he hoped they had lots of children. And Margarita blushed when Tom Smiley translated it, but nodded her head with enthusiasm.
For the first time, Jonnie learned the village had moved. Tom Smiley had been trained so he could keep the passes open in winter using a blade scraper, and they wouldn’t have the usual winter starvation, but now that they were moved, there was less snow. It was to the town Jonnie had recommended, but Brown Limper had sent troops to force them to go to it. They had even had to leave their belongings behind, but he thought by now the other boys—two more were machine operators now and two were pilots—would have collected those up for them.
The colonel pushed them out and gave Jonnie a sip of the “finest vodka ever brewed,” and it almost took the top off Jonnie’s head. What a cure for flight fatigue! Must have been out of bears’ teeth!
The colonel said that was absolutely correct, how did he guess the formula, and took him outside again.
Most of the people were going about their business getting ready for a big party and dance, but they smiled and smiled as they passed Jonnie.
Two German pilots from the African base were sitting in front of a fire drinking something. The third pilot was upstairs flying patrol, the rumble of the motors faint due to his extreme altitude. Jonnie told them in Psychlo they should relax and enjoy themselves, and they just looked at him respectfully. Jonnie knew they had completely different orders: two on alert for scramble, sleeping in their planes with the radio on, one ship always in the air. Jonnie realized all this good cheer and festivity in the air was dulling his awareness of the facts of today—they were at war with powerful forces.
The colonel led him to a small knoll, and with an expansive hand showed him how great this country was. There was wild cotton, enough to clothe thousands, there was wild wheat and wild oats, and herds of sheep and cattle enough to feed hundreds of thousands. Those ruins way over there had been a city full of factories, and although the machines didn’t work with existing motors, Tom Smiley thought he could get some looms running—which made Jonnie wonder whether they didn’t have another Angus on their hands in Tom Smiley.
Did Jonnie know there was a tomb over to the southeast, way over, where the emperor of the world was buried? A Mongol named Timur i Leng. Nearly two thousand years ago he had ruled the whole world. It was a fact. He would have to take Jonnie over there and show him the tomb. It said so right on it.
Jonnie had heard quite enough about Hitlers and Napoleons and such. He had often wondered whether—if such vermin had not been so intent on personally ruling the world—man might have had the cultural advancement to repel the Psychlo invasion. He had heard some theory that it required war to invent technology and he thought that must be a Psychlo maxim. But he didn’t tell Colonel Ivan that. He admired the truly beautiful view.
The base? The colonel responded to Jonnie’s question. It was up there, not very far away from here. He’d give him a whole tour tomorrow.
As they started down, a big, jolly-looking Scot and two aides met them. It was Sir Andrew MacNulty, the head of the Federation and chief of all the coordinators. He had gotten the word Jonnie was here and had just flown in. He had a pleasing manner and cheery laugh, very admired by his extensive and busy corps of coordinators. Jonnie was very glad to see him, for the business he was here for involved the movement of tribes. He complimented Sir Andrew on the magnificent work the coordinators were doing and Sir Andrew thanked him for saving the lives of that pair in Africa. Jonnie knew he could get along with this man. Good.
About sunset t
he party was ready, and the big square box constellation in the sky was well down before it finished. Dances and music, and more dances. Spanish dances. The Dance of the Bear Hunt from Siberia. Wild leaping dances from the Caucasus. Firelight and laughter. Good food and drink. Since it seemed everyone had to clink a cup with Jonnie and since he had never done much drinking, he had quite a head the next morning when the colonel, all bustling efficiency, broke him out.
After a bit of breakfast they trooped off in a mob to see the ancient defense base. The colonel said that they had all worked on it and they were all going along to make sure he liked it and to straighten anything up he didn’t like. They were no longer in their party clothes. They were here now to go back to work as needed.
The ancient base was entered though a tunnel that was masked by overhangs. Built to resist nuclear bombing and to serve as a command post, it was deep. Due to occasional earthquakes in this area, it had been built very strong. It lacked the polish and finish of the American base, but it was even bigger.
They had lighted it with Psychlo mine lamps. They had buried the vast numbers of dead with honors. They had swept everything up with Psychlo minesweepers flown in from Grozny. Tom Smiley had gotten the water lines working. The colonel said he really hadn’t intended for him and his men to help so much, for this should be an American base, but they had the experience and so they had pitched in.
The amounts of stores were vast. Uniforms were not as well packaged and sealed as the American ones had been, but much of the stores were useful. Possibly the quality was even better. Look at these portable “flamethrowers.” They still worked!
A hundred thousand assault rifles called AK 47 had been found totally preserved, and they had retailored the ammunition with and without radiation. They presented Jonnie with one that they had chrome-molecular plated down at Grozny and five thousand rounds of guaranteed no-misfire ammunition in clips.
The Russian premier had apparently never gotten here, but his command post had been ready. Jonnie thought that must be a picture of him, that big one on the wall, but he was told no, that was a picture of a former tsar named Lenin. Possibly in the time of Timur i Leng, they were not sure, but it was evidently a very respected picture so they had left it.
Level after level, passage after passage, they trooped through the vast base, stopping now and then to show Jonnie things, smiling at his praise, very happy that he was pleased with it.
But the main thing Jonnie was happy with was the underground hangars. Here was room for thousands of planes. The very thing. Storage. Exactly what he had hoped to find. They had used blade scrapers to push out the crumbled ruins that they said were “MIGS” and other craft. Jonnie could not read the alphabet but many of them could, and they showed him some of the labels they had salvaged before pushing the mounds of warplanes out. “MIGS” meant “airplane” in Russian, they said.
The hangars had their own ports and entrances. Just what Jonnie wanted!
They showed him the tactical nuclear and other nuclear manuals. They were all in Russian, but one old fellow from the Hindu Kush assured Jonnie he could read them.
There was a lot of nuclear-weapons storage to the north and they were not going near it until they got the manuals read. There were a lot of “silos” too that had powder rockets still in them, but the powder was dangerous to handle. It had gone bad, but little pieces blew up if you hit them hard with a hammer. Not very useful.
They also showed him a coal mine nearby where the black rocks burned. So heating and fuel were handy.
Now they were going to get a lot of these black rocks. They were going to harvest a lot of that wild wheat. They had plans. Jonnie said the plans were great and they had done so very well that they were great, too. He was very, very pleased. He shook the hands of hundreds of people.
It was not until dawn the following day that he could leave for Tibet. What had been intended as a two-hour check of a base had developed into a two-day tour. He was amazed what people could do if you let them just get at it, without a lot of government restricting them.
He was wearing the new helmet when he left. The colonel saw to that. Buckled down, too! The colonel didn’t care if he couldn’t hear. Motors were bad for the ears, and at high altitudes, his ears would get cold. Jonnie laughed at him but he wore it.
3
As an experienced, if not always a lucky, gambler, Half-Captain Rogodeter Snowl of the Tolnep Elite Space Navy considered that he knew a sure thing when he saw it, no matter how bad his eyes were lately.
A week ago he had discovered a radio band down there on the planet that the others of the combined force did not seem to be aware of—and he was not going to tell them. It was apparently termed “The Federation Channel” and it gave news and orders and carried reports of some creatures called “coordinators.” It dealt with tribes. As an officer of a navy that depended mainly on slavery for its prize money, he felt anything to do with people down there was of vast interest. This was a trade Tolneps were good at, well equipped to handle, and happy to engage in.
He had told the other ships that there really should be a guard on the opposite side of the planet and had separated from them, taking a position in orbit out of their direct view.
Two days ago he had been amazed at the security those potential slaves down there omitted. They chattered away in a language called “English”—which he had vocoder circuits for from ages back—and they were making advance arrangements for the visit of a notable.
It had been too late to do anything about a visit this notable made to a flat plain in the north, but not too late to observe it. He had been amazed to see that it was the man on the one-credit note. And even easier to identify by a gold helmet.
The Federation network was chattering away about his next intended visit. It was an ancient city in the mountains they called “Lhasa.” The coordinators were to gather up some tribes at that point for a reception and do this and do that. From there on it was easy. Careful search of those huge mountains down there showed movement of people converging on just one city. The site was protected all around by mountains and was itself at a high altitude. Lhasa!
Half-Captain Snowl made his plans quickly but well. Without informing the others, take that notable captive, interrogate him as only Tolneps—or maybe Psychlos—could interrogate, get the priceless information, use what was left of the notable to negotiate a planetary surrender, and to blazes with sharing anything with the rest. Pick up the population, pay his gambling debts, and retire! He had the time, the place and the opportunity. Act!
On his diamond-shaped bridge, Snowl went over to the Vulcor vessel’s watch officer list and found an officer to whom he had lost 2,021 credits—which Snowl still owed. It was Double-Ensign Slitheter Pliss. If this failed, that was one gambling debt the half-captain would not have to pay. But it could not possibly fail. Too standard an action.
He called Double-Ensign Pliss to the bridge, told him exactly what was wanted, ordered two marines broken out of deep sleep, authorized the use of a small strike launch, and got the kidnap underway.
It was a clear, beautiful day, and Jonnie turned the controls over to the German copilot. Jonnie was entranced with those mountains far below. He had never seen the Himalayas before. Impressive! Some of them were five miles high and a few nearly six. Snow and glaciers and wind plumes, deep valleys and frozen rivers, they were very emphatic mountains! And such a vast extent of them!
They were flying on a general southeasterly course and very high. They were only a bit above sonic since they were beforehand in their planned arrival time. It was relaxing not to listen to the heavy roar of their motors. The helmet ear pads were quite soundproof, much more so than the usual domed helmets. Strange to be flying without sound. Maybe the colonel was right—maybe it did hurt the ears.
The copilot had spotted a key, towering peak to their right. They were right on course. Jonnie relaxed—it had been quite a visit. After a while he got interested in the assault rifle
they had given him: they had put it on the floor plates under his feet. A chrome-plated rifle! He wondered whether they had also chromed the inside of the bore—if they had, it would be dangerous to fire. He worked out how to field-strip the weapon and looked down the bore. No, they hadn’t chromed it, so it was fine. He put the weapon back together and practiced a bit with the cocking bolt. Then he put a magazine in it, and working the cocking bolt, ran a whole clip through it without firing. It all worked just fine. He reloaded the clip and checked the other clips. They worked too. He tested the balance of it by sighting on a peak. The sights took a little getting used to, and he practiced with them.
He didn’t hear the copilot trying to tell him they would shortly land, and was taken by surprise when he looked down and saw Lhasa. They were coming right on in.
What an impressive city it must have been once. A huge palace ruin went up the side of a red mountain. The palace was so big it was more than the mountain. There was a wide-open expanse just below the palace and a lot of other ruins stood around what must have been a park. The whole city was in a sort of bowl surrounded by high mountains.
Yes, and there was a little mob of people waiting at the far side of the park, most of them in furs, some in yellow robes. There was lots of space to land and Jonnie let the copilot bring the ship in over the top of a tumble of rubble that had once been a building and set her down. The huge ancient palace reared up on their right, the crowd was a hundred yards in front of the plane, and an ancient ruin was two hundred yards behind it.
Jonnie undid his security belts and swung the door partly open.
The crowd was simply standing over there. Perhaps two hundred people or more. They didn’t rush forward. They didn’t cheer. Oh, well, Jonnie thought, one can’t be popular everyplace.
The sling of the AK 47 caught on the console before him and he lifted it up, swung the door wider, and dropped to the ground. Usually the copilot would shift over to the pilot’s seat and Jonnie glanced up. The German was just sitting there, staring straight ahead.
Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000 Page 78
