Running from the Deity

by Alan Dean Foster

  The few skin flaps exposed beneath his armor upraising, First Officer Bavvthak was forthright enough to confirm his liege’s prognosis aloud. “Our muscle-driven catapults and other heavy weapons cannot match the range of these new Pakktrinian devices. Being as aware of our situation as we are, the enemy will know of our desperation. They will take all measures necessary to protect these weapons. No small team of would-be saboteurs will be able to get near them. A mass thrust across the Pedetp, swarming all three bridges and simultaneously using boats, is the only possible option.”

  Pyrrpallinda had two flanges clasped in front of him and two behind his back. “And the chances of this option succeeding are?”

  Bavvthak exchanged a look with his colleagues before turning back to the Highborn and his civilian advisors. “Personally, I would estimate less than twenty percent chance of success, and that with casualties of at least fifty percent.”

  Pyrrpallinda gestured accordingly and eyed his counselors. “Such odds I do not like. Better to sacrifice one hundred to save one thousand. Better to abdicate one’s position on behalf of the immature offspring of hundreds. Better to open the lands to casual theft and pillaging than to methodical destruction. I will offer myself as first sacrifice to the Aceribb and the hated Kewwyd.” Eyes of normal dimension glanced back at his military leaders. “That is, unless one of you can come up with a better alternative.”

  Bavvthak and his fellow officers looked everywhere but at their liege. Their lack of response indicated they were as bereft of ideas as the Highborn’s counselors.

  Pyrrpallinda accepted their silence as coolly as he would the enemy’s anticipated pronouncement of sentence. “There will be another Highborn to follow me. Eventually, Pakktrine and Jebilisk will grow tired of administering unruly Wullsakaa and its troublesome people and will leave. Or there will be a successful uprising. Or other realms such as Great Pevvid will see an opportunity to attack mutual enemies weakened by their assault on us, thereby distracting the foe’s attention from here.”

  “It will not matter,” another of the senior officers glumly pointed out, “if Pakktrine can continue to devise weapons of such magical power as they have employed here.”

  “Science!” While rendered downcast by the seeming inevitability of events, everyone looked in surprise at counselor Treappyn. Though he was the youngest present, his anger and frustration gave him the will to stare them all down. “This has nothing to do with magic. It is a matter of science, and engineering. The weapons with which our enemies have defeated us are a product of thought and rational thinking, not sacrifices and prayers to indifferent divinities. That is where Wullsakaa has fallen short, and that is what has brought about our downfall.”

  Although the Dwarra did not smile, the expression on the Highborn’s angular face and the tone of his voice communicated something similar. “Worthwhile thoughts to ponder while you all strive to keep your own heads.” He turned to his senior counselor. “As the most experienced among us, good Srinballa, I ask you to lead the formal delegation that will present the terms of surrender. The details should not be too onerous. We know what they will want to do with me. I am more concerned about their plans for the people.”

  Soft-voiced, counselor Meyarrul spoke up. “They’ll want to search every crack and cranny in Wullsakaa for the alien they think still remains to help us.”

  “Let them search.” In his own mind, Pyrrpallinda was already dead. “Let them satisfy themselves as rapidly as they wish. The quicker they are convinced of the creature’s absence, the sooner their idle soldiers will cease killing and looting.”

  With dignity and considerable ceremony, he approached and entwined Sensitives with each of them in turn. More than anything he could have said, this direct and highly personal exchange of emotions convinced them of his determination to proceed with his expressed course of action. The necessary individual interactions concluded, he turned back to stare across the river. Another massive explosion shook the northern branch of the Wullsakaan line. A glance at the graying sky suggested rain. Normally he would have welcomed the precipitation, which fell lightly and regularly across Wullsakaa and made it such a distinguished producer of foodstuffs. At the moment, however, it only mirrored the grimness of his mood.

  CHAPTER

  14

  At first, Nejrekalb had been glad when he learned that his unit had been assigned a position atop one of the highest of the gentle, rolling hills that overlooked the river. That changed with the arrival of the Pakktrinians’ powerful new catapults. His prominent position, he felt, only made him and the rest of his squadron more obvious targets. Although, as his close friend Cershaad had pointed out, the enemy appeared to be concentrating its fire on those units immediately opposite the approaches to the Dathrorrj Triplets. He shuddered, his epidermal flaps fluttering weakly, imagining what it must be like to have to huddle helplessly beneath such horrific incoming fire, unable to strike back at your attacker, waiting impotently for orders or death.

  Nearby, Cershaad squatted with his back toward the hastily constructed barricade of earth and rock, sharpening his lance. It was well-made. A line of them, properly deployed by trained defenders, would stop even a charge of armored tethet riders. Against the new catapults of Pakktrine Unified, however, it might as well have been made of rotting meat. Which is what he and his friend would become if the Pakktrinians chose to put one of their heavy explosives on top of this ridge.

  Pivoting on his forelegs, Nejrekalb watched as yet another bomb landed among the bridges’ defenders, and winced as this time he saw bodies as well as soil go flying. The enemy’s troops could hang back and relax as their new weapons of war picked off the brave but helpless Wullsakaans squad by squad, line by line. He wondered what thought his superiors had given to dealing with the threat, what unique tactics they might even now be concocting.

  A droplet landed lightly on his forehead between his Sensitives, on the small patch of flesh exposed by the necessary hole in his leather helmet. Tilting back his head, he shielded his face with one set of flanges as he contemplated the sky. Rain would be welcome. If nothing else, it might blur the increasingly accurate vision of the Pakktrinian engineers.

  His eyes contracted slightly, squeezed by the muscles that surrounded them in their sockets. Puzzled, he called out to Cershaad. Pausing in his sharpening, the other soldier set his weapon aside but within easy reach and moved up to stand alongside his companion.

  Raising both left forearms, Nejrekalb pointed skyward. “That big cloud, Cershaad.”

  Dutifully, the slightly larger soldier scrutinized the indicated portion of graying sky. “A cloud. What about it?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be acting oddly to you?”

  Pivoting his upper body to regard his friend, Cershaad extended his Sensitives forward, but Nejrekalb declined the proffered emotional contact. “Have you been too long without sleep or food? A cloud is a cloud. Clouds do not act ‘oddly.’”

  His gaze still focused on one particular portion of sky, Nejrekalb was not dissuaded. “This one does.”

  Expanding his eyes, the other soldier tried to find a source for his companion’s absurd claim. “Really? In what way?”

  Nejrekalb found it difficult to swallow. “It’s coming toward us.”

  One might have expected a collective gasp, at least from the simpler, lower ranks, when the slowly descending cloud mass that had so attracted one soldier’s attention suddenly appeared to shimmer and become something very different indeed. Where the looming cumulonimbus had hovered there now hung what, to Dwarran eyes, appeared to be an enormous elongated mass of metal and materials utterly new to their experience. Lights of different hues and impossible intensity marked its flanks; some winked periodically on and off while others glowed steadily. Despite this, no flames were in evidence. The lights were as smokeless as Arrawd’s sun.

  At one end of the gigantic structure was a huge, curving disc that emitted a faint purplish radiance. Occasionally, the ethere
al glow would expand or contract imperceptibly. When it did so, the vast hovering mass would rise or descend accordingly. From the rear center of the disc a long, solid tube of considerable dimensions extended backward. Sporting a plethora of protrusions whose functions could not be imagined, it eventually terminated in a large oval whose purpose was equally enigmatic.

  Those Dwarra on both sides of the river who found themselves located beneath the seemingly solid apparition scattered in panic, fearful that it might abruptly plunge all the way to the ground and crush them beneath its perceptible weight. There was no need for Wullsakaan or Pakktrinian or Jebiliskai soldiers to wait for directions from their officers, because the officers fled alongside their troops. Confusion reigned among defenders and attackers alike.

  Normally placid tethets pulled at their reins and wrenched at their yokes. In their haste to flee something as ominous as it was outside their experience, some soldiers threw their weapons down in order to make better speed. Soon both banks of the Pedetp were littered with discarded lances, heavy pikes, barbolts, and other arms. More afraid of being accused of cowardice than of the monstrosity hovering overhead, senior officers and commanders on both sides struggled to maintain some semblance of order among their respective ranks. They succeeded to some extent, though not completely, as terror-driven soldiers broke through reserve lines and fled in panic for nearby Metrel City or distant borders.

  Among the thousands present who witnessed the sight, only one was unruffled by the shocking materialization. Mobilized like the majority of his able-bodied country folk for the defense of his land, a certain humble net-caster stood calmly in the midst of his reserve squad while those around him took flight, broke down, closed their eyes, fully retracted their Sensitives, or tried frantically to burrow into the ground beneath their foot-flanges.

  “Interesting,” Ebbanai murmured to no one in particular as he gazed up at the enormous alien object suspended in the gray sky of morning. “The last time, it was sand dunes.”

  Transfixed by the sight, His August Highborn Pyrrpallinda and his stunned advisors gaped from their high vantage point. Moving up to stand alongside his liege but unable to pull his own gaze away from the sight, Treappyn offered his own evaluation of the awe-inspiring spectacle.

  “The alien told me he was leaving,” the counselor observed softly. “It would appear he has decided not to take his leave of us just yet.”

  “Why now, why here?” Monarch of an extensive and powerful realm, used to commanding all around him, Pyrrpallinda had never felt so powerless. “What does the creature want with us? What does it intend?”

  Aware that for a second time that morning everyone’s attention was fixed on him, Treappyn did his best to formulate a constructive response—and failed. “If I knew that, Highborn, I would have a better idea myself whether to stand here, run away, or compose the last thoughts of my regrettably brief life.”

  One of the senior military, an individual known as much for his spiritual bent as for his tactical brilliance, contracted his upper torso down into his trunk and dropped his gaze.

  “Perhaps we should pray.”

  Pyrrpallinda as well as Treappyn turned to regard the officer. “An economical as well as innocuous proposal,” the Highborn conceded. His gaze returned to the alien colossus hanging in the sky above the river. His own emotions, isolated by unentwined Sensitives from those of his advisors or anyone else, were in turmoil. How should he react to the unprecedented? Ought he to be afraid, worshipful, respectful, awed, or simply benumbed? Or all of these?

  “I would appreciate any advice, however, on precisely who, or what, we should pray to.”

  “The military situation below us,” the Teacher commented studiously, “is as straightforward as it is primitive. With an eye toward crossing deeply into the native land of Wullsakaa, the invading forces are attempting to gain control of one or more of the bridges that span the fast-moving river directly beneath us. The defenders are attempting to prevent this. The strategic balance appears to be fairly equal, with the one exception I have already noted.”

  Sitting in the command lounge on the bridge, Flinx studied the several images floating in the air before him. “These steam-powered explosives throwers the attackers have brought into play.”

  “Yes.” The Teacher paused and, when its owner failed to reply, prompted, “How do you wish to proceed?”

  Flinx sighed unenthusiastically. From her favorite perch atop the forward console, Pip watched from within her brilliantine coils. She felt for her master’s internal distress much as she felt it within her own mind, but there was nothing she could do for him. So she went to sleep.

  “You guilted me into putting an end to this war. But in order to make any peace last, I need to do it in a way that causes as little harm as possible, and leaves the natives who are mounting this invasion convinced once and for all that I’m not aiding their adversaries in Wullsakaa. I’m not good at this sort of thing, ship.”

  The Teacher considered. “At such times you must do that which you always seem to do best.”

  Flinx’s expression twisted into one of mild surprise mixed with uncertainty as he glanced in the direction of the nearest pickup. “There’s something I do best? What might that be?”

  “Improvise,” the ship-mind instructed him.

  From their command post, the August Highborn Pyrrpallinda and his advisors looked on as a semblance of order was slowly restored among the remaining ranks of defenders. Officers firmed up lines, sometimes having to utilize threats of violence to force fleeing soldiers back to their positions. Bastions were restaffed. Weapons once more were emplaced to confront potential attackers. Across the river, a similar recovery was under way among the forces of the Aceribb of Jebilisk and the Kewwyd of Pakktrine Unified. Puffs of thick vapor were visible from the hill where the two Pakktrinian steam catapults had been emplaced. Soon, he reflected, it would resume.

  What of the alien? What did it intend? To leisurely observe and take notes on the continuing carnage? Only one among his entourage was in a position to even essay a remark on the possibilities. Surprisingly, counselor Treappyn had a comment.

  “Look to the alien’s vessel,” he told the Highborn and his colleagues. “If there is any response, it will surely come from there.”

  “What kind of response could we anticipate?” As thoroughly intimidated as the rest of his associates, Srinballa was ready to defer to anyone possessing a hint of an idea of what might be forthcoming, even the young upstart Treappyn.

  “I have no idea,” Treappyn told Pyrrpallinda honestly. Raising a pair of forearms, he pointed toward the ovoid at one end of the hovering machine. “Unless it has something to do with that small part of the craft that is presently in motion.”

  It did.

  Treappyn’s eyesight was excellent. Several of the others, including the Highborn, had to expand their oculars to maximum before they, too, could finally locate the source of the young counselor’s observation. What appeared to be some kind of tree—except that it couldn’t be a tree, Treappyn thought as he stared upward—was in motion, traveling on some kind of track or band that encircled the oval portion of the alien ship at its widest point. It shifted position deliberately and with speed, until the top of the tree-shape was pointing downward.

  There was an actinic flash of light. To Treappyn’s startled, reflexively contracting eyes, an extremely thin portion of sky momentarily seemed to flare with the brightness of the sun. The slender, perfectly straight line of light that for a split second had been etched across the sky as well as his retinas emerged from the tip of the tree-shape now located on the underside of the alien craft and terminated on the ground below. The tip of it made contact with the center arch of Tynary, the northernmost of the Dathrorrj Triplets. A single stunningly loud, concussive boom assaulted his ears and those of his associates. Tynary disappeared.

  Or rather, the middle portion of it did so. Where once the immovable stone span had arched gracefully over
the Pedetp, there was now a vast empty space in the air above the river. From what remained at either end, accompanied by matching, ascending pillars of dust, bits and pieces of pulverized stone crumbled into the torrent. Everyone around him was staring in disbelief at where the ancient, seemingly indestructible bridge had once stood intact. Not Treappyn.

  He was watching the alien ship. While he was as dazed and shocked as everyone else, it did not prevent him from trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed. There was no way he could do so. He simply did not have the minimal necessary scientific background. It was a deficiency of which he need not have been ashamed. In that ignorance, he was no worse off than the finest scientific minds on all of Dwarra. Of one thing he was reasonably certain, however.

  What they had just seen and experienced had nothing to do with steam power.

  The tree-shape that was now more obviously than ever something much more menacing than a tree shifted slightly on its track. A second eye-shocking line of light struck Bywary, the middle bridge. Its fate mirrored that of Tynary. No one was surprised when Syabry, the third and last bridge, vanished along with its predecessors. Like stone hail, bits and pieces of blasted rock and concrete rained down on the rushing River Pedetp.

  A ragged cheer arose from the senior military officers and his other counselors. It was echoed from below as the defenders of Wullsakaa realized what the astounding bit of alien intervention meant. With the bridges destroyed, the armies of Pakktrine Unified and Jebilisk now had no way of crossing the swollen Pedetp except on boats. The invasion had been brought to an abrupt and wholly unexpected halt.

  “I won’t worship him, but if I ever have the chance,” Bavvthak declared with feeling, “I will squat before him and lift my skin in gratitude!”