‘That is what’s interesting. They want me on Earth, without telling me why.’ He looked suspiciously at Fitzpatrick. ‘What was this about a relative?’
Again, Fitzpatrick made the awkward shrugging motion. ‘It was just something they said on the radio. It may have been a joke.’
‘Joe, I don’t want to go. I enjoy the work and I enjoy the life. I’ve no ties on Earth. Give me a single good reason why I should go.’
Fitzpatrick stared round the tiny cubicle, and noted the hundreds of volumes jammed into every available space.
‘Have you thought about the British Museum reading-room?’ he said.
‘There is that,’ said Mann. ‘Maybe I’ll go.’
* * * *
The atmosphere of crisis which had pervaded the city of Earth for the last few miles had not eased at all as Future Mann set off on one of his regular reconnaissance missions. He was not sorry to leave the city at this moment, for he, like everyone else was deeply involved in the trouble. The whole existence of the city was threatened, and so were the lives of everyone who lived there. At least Future had been given the opportunity to escape from the apprehensions for a while, and for this he was grateful.
Even so, he was faced with the regular dangers of his work, and he was not unaware of these.
He left the city, and headed north. There was only one direction in which his work took him, and it was always north. He rode his horse carefully, sensible of the fact that she was one of the seven beasts left. She had not foaled this year, and unless another wild herd was encountered soon this too would bring another small crisis to the city.
He rode slowly alongside the rails, nodding to each of the Militiamen who stood on guard. The rails were one of the two most vulnerable aspects of the city, and they had to be guarded night and day. It was these and the cables that the enemy attacked. Today, in the wake of a relatively long period of peace—three miles had elapsed since the last attack—Future noted that the Militiamen were uneasy, that if anything the feeling of impending attack was greater here than in the city.
He rode for another half-mile until he came to the present cable-stay emplacement, and checked-out with the controller, Cable Statchik.
‘How far are you going?’ said Statchik.
‘Seven, maybe eight miles. I hope to be back tomorrow. Routine north-survey.’
Statchik nodded. From where they were standing they could see back to the city. Already, at this short distance from Earth, the concave nature of the gradient could be seen. They looked back along the straight path of the rails, saw the three six-inch wound cables taut under the strain, disappearing under the front lip of the city to where the nuclear winches slowly wound them up. Looking at the cables always made Future nervous. He knew of the time when one of them had broken and whipped back into the heart of the city, killing eight men and injuring dozens of others.
Looking beyond the city to the south, Future could see the rail-teams dismantling the track, loading the sections on to sleds and preparing them to be hauled slowly to the north of the city where they would be re-laid once more. As Earth city moved itself forward, once again those rails would be behind the city, and once again be taken up and brought round to the north side. And at the same time the cables would be extended further and further to the north, planted in another emplacement like this one, anchored to the ground by deep, steel piles.
Allowing his gaze to move even further to the south. Future Mann saw the ground the city had already passed over, spreading up and out behind the city, moving up in an apparent gentle slope ... up and up until it was lost in the atmospheric haze. Standing here, away from Earth city, it was possible to witness the immense size of the world, even if the mind could not encompass the concept. Further north, in the region he was about to travel, the phenomenon was even more marked. As he walked the future ground, the country he had left would rear up behind him like a wall. It took a special kind of man to survey the future, for the distortions of apparent dimensions were immense.
So it was with a mutual respect that the two men regarded each other. Mann, for he could not bear close proximity to the cables for long, and Statchik, for this far into the future was enough for him.
Future Mann remounted his horse, nodded to Cable and set off on his survey-mission.
* * * *
On his way to the hospital, General Dula stopped by at the temporary field-headquarters.
‘Where’s Gerdun Mann?’ he said as he walked in to the office. A young major sitting behind a desk jumped to his feet, saluted, then relaxed as Dula nodded to him.
‘He’s on his way, sir. We had difficulty locating him.’
‘Where was he?’
‘On the Moon, sir, working with-’
‘On the Moon? How long before he’s here?’
‘He’s coming immediately. Three days for the flight, and another to reach here.’
Dula frowned, and walked over to inspect a map pinned to a wall. He stared at it thoughtfully for a few minutes while the major waited.
‘Is there a problem, sir?’
‘Of course there’s a problem. Time’s the problem. We haven’t got enough of it. By the time Mann’s here and we’ve briefed him it’ll probably be too late. Even then, he may not want to do it. He’s a civilian.’
‘We could send in another detachment.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking. How’s the supply situation?’
The major glanced at some papers on his desk. ‘I’ve contacted Geneva, sir. They can get a dozen more suits to us by this evening.’
‘OK. Tomorrow we have another go. I don’t like it, but there’s no alternative.’
He turned and walked out of the headquarters. His car was waiting outside.
General Dula spent an hour at the hospital, talking to the troops who had been wounded in the previous confrontations. As general in an army unused to fighting, he wasn’t accustomed to having men injured, far less to having them killed. So far, the operation had cost the army eleven men killed, and another fifty or so wounded.
Later, he returned to the HQ to plan the following day’s operation.
The suits arrived that evening, as promised, and Dula tried on one himself. Trying to walk wearing it was difficult, and the idea of a man defending himself inside it was almost inconceivable. The very weight of the equipment was prodigious, and the fact that most of that weight had to be carried on the back made movement and manoeuvrability difficult.
In the privacy of his own office, the General walked up and down for a few minutes, coming to realise that as the next day’s operation was probably the last attempt they would have, he was going to have to go in personally. That much at least established, he took off the suit under the anxious eye of the civilian technician and called a meeting of his staff officers. Later that night he attended a committee, comprising several members of the Department of Transliteral Geophysics—including Mosta Langham, the Director—his GOC, two representatives from the firm in Geneva producing the transliteration equipment and a handful of civilian advisers. Dula disliked committees in any event, and reserved a special dislike for committees which pressured him. He was being pressured now, and, he suspected, being eased out.
When General Dula went to bed that night he was tired, irritable and very worried.
* * * *
At this point eight miles north of the city, sunrise came early. Future Mann had spent the night near the bank of the river, and was awake a few minutes after daybreak. He came out of his tent, saw that his horse was standing patiently nearby and began to make preparations to move back to the city. At the present latitude the days were hot, and he wanted to be back in the city by midday. When he had eaten some food, and stowed his equipment in the saddlebag, he glanced at the sun, shielding his eyes with his hand.
Though still low on the eastern horizon, and diffused by the atmosphere, the sun was a brilliant-white cross that threatened to blind anyone who stared at if for more than a second. The
upright arms of the cross were as thin and spindly as they had ever been known, but the lateral arms were broad. Future had seen ancient drawings of the sun when it had been a thin, cool rood, but gradually the lateral arm had thickened so that mile by mile the climate had become warmer.
There was no question in the minds of the people of the city but that as Earth continued to move north the temperatures would continue to mount. This was no concern of Future’s; he left such problems to the city Navigators.
His own problem was before him, beginning a few yards from where he stood and spreading as far north as his eye could see: the river.
The city had crossed rivers before, and although they introduced a new element of danger to the people of Earth, the history-books were full of the accounts of heroic crossings. There was even a Guild in the city whose sole function was to organise the traverses of such obstacles: the Bridge-Builders. Some of the greatest men in the whole history of Earth had been members of this Guild.
But never before had there been such a river as this.
Future Mann’s survey had been ordered to verify the first account of the river from another Surveyor, Future Blayne. Blayne’s account had been so unexpected, so incredible and anyway so unwelcome at this time of crisis that the Navigators had discounted it.
There had never been a river too wide to cross. There had always been an opposite bank, always a promise of a return to solid ground.
‘In Future Mann’s own Guild—the Future Surveyors—an account by one Surveyor was taken as indisputable. But Blayne had been a Surveyor for only a few miles, and was relatively junior in the Guild. For sake of protocol, Future Mann’s expedition had been said to attempt to find an alternative route from the one Blayne had surveyed, as this was an acceptable motive for a re-survey.
Privately, however. Future Mann had been ordered by his Guild Leader—Future Constant—to check the nature and, perhaps, the existence of the river.
So now Mann stood on the very bank of that river, witnessing with his own eyes the appalling breadth of the water. Using his Surveyor’s eyeglasses, Mann tried again to find the opposite bank. He searched to the very limit of his vision, but could see no sign. Forty, perhaps fifty miles or more at least until haze and cloud obscured everything, and no certainty of firm ground even at that distance.
It was more than his mind could grasp. The widest river in all history had been only one and a half miles across, and that had stretched the ingenuity of the Bridge-Builders to its limit.
In the city, the Guild Leader was waiting for his report, and a special meeting of the Navigators was waiting to be convened in the event of his reporting positively.
Future Mann was in no position to waste time. After one last look at the river, he mounted his horse and set off southwards.
There was no alternative but that the city had to cross the river. It was the very nature of the continued existence of the city that it had to move north. Its path would bring it, in eight miles time, to this water, and without hesitating it would have to continue its journey. In that period, a bridge would have to be planned and built, ready for the day when the tracks ended and the water began.
Future’s horse was well rested after the night, and he kept her at a steady canter across the low countryside in the immediate hinterland of the river. Further south, there was a range of hills, and he walked her up the incline. At the top, he paused, and stared south.
The land spread up before and in front of him. He glanced up, trying as a hundred Surveyors had tried before him to see the Equator ... but although the heat-haze of the day was still thin over the land he could see no more than one or two hundred miles. He shook his head. Surveyor or not, his mind was only a human one, and it was not wide enough to accept the concept that it was theoretically possible, and literally so, to see forever.
He stared down at the ground immediately before him, as all city-dwellers did, and rode on in the direction of Earth.
His first intimation that an attack was under way was when he approached the cable-stay emplacement. There were no Cablemen in sight, and the usual signs of activity around the city were absent. Future could see that the Militiamen had been reinforced, and now they stood in a firm defensive line alongside the track.
Only the tautness of the cables indicated that the winches still turned. Still the city inched itself forward along the track ... never able to stop, never able to alter its direction from a heading of due north.
Someone in the cable-stay emplacement must have seen him, for a few seconds after he reined in his horse. Cable Statchik came running from the emplacement. He was crouching low, and wearing the heavy leather jacket that was the standard protective garment for those forced to be away from the city during a raid.
‘Get back to Earth!’ he shouted. ‘There’s an attack due any moment now.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘The biggest yet. Thirty or forty of the monsters ... over there!’
Statchik waved his hand in a westerly direction, and Future Mann looked that way. Sure enough, a few hundred yards to the west of the city he could just make out a group of small black figures, walking with the ungainly tread of the raiders towards the track ahead of the city. One walked slightly before the others, carrying what appeared to be a large white sheet.
‘That damned sheet,’ Mann said. ‘What does it mean ?’
‘It’s a banner,’ said Statchik. ‘It’s a signal to the others to attack.’
‘Do they always wave it?’
‘Every time there’s been an attack. Come into the shelter. Quickly! You’ve got only a few seconds.’
Future had not dismounted, and he looked anxiously at the city. It was nearer to the emplacement than it had been the last time he was here, and he was trying to estimate how long it would take the horse, at a full gallop, to cover the distance.
‘I think I’ll try to get back,’ he said.
‘You won’t make it.’ Statchik reached up for the bridle of the horse, as if intending to lead it towards the shelter.
‘No,’ said Future. ‘It’s too important. I’ve got to try.’
He dug his heels hard into the horse’s flanks, and she galloped forward. Statchik leapt out of the way, fell, then half-stumbled, half-ran towards the safety of his shelter.
Future paid no attention to him, knowing that if the attack could be rebuffed again the man would be safe enough in his shelter. His main preoccupation was to return to the city and report to Future Constant. What he had to say was too urgent to be delayed.
As the horse galloped towards the city, Future glanced in the direction of the raiders. They were spreading out, adopting the pattern from which they always attacked.
He looked ahead, saw that the Militiamen were ready. The front line had their crossbows armed, and aimed.
Suddenly, Future Mann realised that by an error of judgment, caused by his haste, his intended path was going to take him between the Militiamen and the raiders and that he would be caught in the cross-fire.
He was already past the first of the Militiamen, and one of the officers shouted at him to get out of the way. Directly behind the line of men was the nearest cable. With no time to make fine decisions, Future swung his horse to the left, rode between two Militiamen and headed directly for the cable. It was about five feet from the ground. At full gallop, the horse jumped.
One of her rear hooves touched the cable, and as she returned to the ground she stumbled. Future tugged savagely on the reins and managed to keep her on her feet. For two seconds he applied no direction to her, allowing the horse to find her own balance ... then again he kicked his’ heels into her sides and she continued her gallop towards the city.
An order was shouted and all down the line the front Militiamen loosed off their bolts. Well-disciplined, they stepped back and the second rank moved forward while the others reloaded. Future spared a few seconds to look over at the raiders, and saw that only one of them had fallen.
Even a
s he looked, there was a burst of explosions, and several of the Militiamen fell. Now directly under fire, Future concentrated on his dash.
The horse was running between one of the metal tracks and the cable. Crouching low in his saddle, Future urged the horse to greater speed, seeing that the city was looming up ahead of him.
When he was ten yards from the front edge of the city, the second line of Militiamen loosed their bolts. Future had no time to see the results, for then he was under the city, riding in the dark and quiet, only the eternal creaking and groaning of the winch-drums disturbing the peace. He slowed his horse, then walked her to the bay which led up to the stables. She smelt the other horses, for now she was calm, even though breathing heavily from the gallop.
After entrusting the mare to a stable-boy. Future Mann made his way up to the main platform of the city, first to present his report to Constant and then, if necessary, repeat his message to a full convention of the city Navigators.
New Writings in SF 22 - [Anthology] Page 15
