Running from the Deity

by Alan Dean Foster

“He has saved us all.” Counselor Goidramm was equally effusive. “By intervening on our behalf he has shown himself to be a true friend and ally of great Wullsakaa!”

  Treappyn did not join the celebration. He was still watching the immense alien ship.

  Maybe, he found himself thinking. Maybe.

  When he spoke again, it was to none of his companions in particular, not even the Highborn. But all paid attention. “Keep in mind that none of us, myself included, knows anything of the alien’s true motivations or intentions. As easily as he did away with the Dathrorrj, I imagine he could do so with the fortress at Metrel. Or Metrel City.”

  “Or Wullsakaa,” someone pointed out somberly, picking up the counselor’s line of thought.

  “Why should it do something like that?” Srinballa was eyeing his colleague uncertainly. “Why would it want to do something like that?”

  “I have no idea.” Treappyn had not taken his eyes off the alien ship. “I am only thinking aloud; only saying that he could do it. All I am saying is that before we declare a general celebration of victory and break out the commemorative stimulants, it might be best to consider more thoroughly that which we wish to account an ally. One whose actions may very well be driven by motives other than our own, and are yet to be fully revealed.”

  Pyrrpallinda gestured approvingly. “When I raised you up to full counselor, Treappyn, I knew you brought intelligence and cunning with you. I had not also expected to find wisdom.” Embarrassed, Treappyn did not look in the direction of his liege. Turning to his other advisors, the Highborn continued.

  “The counselor is right. Let us withhold our zeal a while longer yet.” Lifting his own gaze, he, too, stared at the hovering alien vessel. “At least until this monstrous mechanism has disappeared back into the sky from which it came.”

  “That should keep both armies separate for now.” Using hands and voice to control the images floating in front of him, Flinx studied the smashed bridges and the havoc the Teacher’s brief intervention had wrought. “I kind of hoped the demonstration, making the center spans of all three bridges disappear, would be enough to convince both sides to pull back.”

  “Clearly this is not the case.” The ship voice paused. “I could increase power somewhat and make the river disappear.”

  Flinx’s expression twisted. Advanced though it was, it was not beyond the Teacher’s ship-mind to miss certain subtleties. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Bridges are easier to replace than rivers.” There was the slightest sensation of motion; as always, more perceptible when the Teacher was within atmosphere than out in open space.

  “What was that for? Weather?” On the three-dimensional imagery in front of him, he saw nothing that looked particularly threatening. Only light rain clouds.

  “No.” The ship managed to inject a thoughtfully calibrated note of surprise into its synthesized voice. “We are under attack.”

  Even as it issued this amazing announcement, one groundward-positioned image shifted and zoomed in to focus on a specific portion of the Pakktrinian ranks. As Flinx looked on, an explosive-laden disc soared upward, growing larger in the field of view until, at the top of its arc, a hastily rigged internal fuse caused it to explode a good thirty meters below the underside of the hovering Teacher. The Pakktrinian engineers had elevated their twin steam catapults to the maximum.

  “They’re shooting at us,” he murmured in astonishment. Give credit where due, he thought to himself. The Pakktrinians were as fearless as they were foolish. He wondered if the operators of the catapults had decided on their own to take the valiant action, or if they had been compelled against their better judgment by orders from higher up. As he looked on, a disc rose from the second catapult. Climbing higher than its predecessor, it detonated a little closer to the ship.

  “Response?” There was no concern in the Teacher’s voice. “I can continue to ascend and remain out of their range.”

  “No. Much as I’d prefer to take the easy way out, we can’t have them thinking they’ve forced us to move.” A small knot formed in his stomach, as it usually did whenever he thought he might have to hurt someone, even in self-defense. “Remove the source of contention.” He peered toward the console-mounted pickup in front of him. “But be as careful as you can, and do your best to minimize injuries.”

  Fully aware of its owner’s outlook on such matters, the ship replied evenly, “I will of course endeavor to do so. Bear in mind that, accurate as it is, my single external weapon is designed to react to and defend us against modern armament mounted on orbiting stations, other starships, and advanced ground-based weapons systems. It was not engineered to carry out excisions of surgical precision.”

  The shaft of light that parsed matter was no greater in diameter than a human hair. It struck one of the two steam catapults, briefly illuminating a sphere twenty meters in diameter. When those in its vicinity regained their vision and their hearing, they were able to see that where the pride of Pakktrinian military science had previously stood there was now only a smoking hole in the earth. The steam catapult, with its attendant disc-shaped shells, fuel, and raft of elaborate accessories, had vanished. So, unfortunately, had several of its operators.

  Observing this, the engineers and soldiers manning the second catapult decided en masse that disobeying orders was preferable to remaining at their posts. They scattered in time to avoid the effects of a second beam that thrust downward from the underside of the immense machine hanging in the sky above them. The second catapult loudly and spectacularly went the way of the first, though this time without any loss of life. As word spread of the destruction, and the effortless accuracy with which it had been carried out, consternation and despair raced through the ranks of Pakktrinian and Jebiliskai fighters.

  Not unexpectedly, the response to this judicious yet devastating intervention on the part of the alien was somewhat different on the other side of the Pedetp. Beginning with those troops nearest to the river, a wave of cheering rose and swept back through the ranks of the defenders, accompanied by much fluttering of gripping flanges and skin flaps. Eventually, it reached the hill where the Highborn and his commanders and counselors were encamped.

  Just as with the lower ranks, initial shock and astonishment quickly gave way to jubilation. Sensitives were entwined and touched so that the elated emotion of the moment might be fully shared. While senior officers congratulated themselves on this unexpected shift in the strategic balance, the Highborn’s counselors were more circumspect. Experience had taught them that no matter how favorable circumstances might appear in any given situation, there were always two sides to happenstance. Forever wary of good fortune as well as bad, they allowed themselves only a moment of elation before beginning to consider its possible downside.

  Still, given the display that they had just witnessed, it was difficult not to be optimistic.

  Eptpulvv, another of the senior military advisors present, broke away from celebrating with his fellow officers to amble over to the thoughtful Treappyn. As the soldier proffered his Sensitives, the counselor knew it would be ill-mannered to refuse. They shared emotions for a moment, then the officer drew back. His expression reflected his bemusement.

  “You are not satisfied? This is a great moment for Wullsakaa!” A pair of flanges gestured across the river, to where the vile weapons that had been tormenting the defenders had been replaced by a pair of smoking craters. “The god Flinx has shown categorically that it stands with the Highborn and his defenders!”

  Treappyn was glad that his Sensitives were no longer entwined with those of the oft-honored Eptpulvv, lest the senior officer sense his irritation. “While I am as ready as anyone to applaud such apparent triumphs, I think the cheering premature. The motives and actions of the alien are not so predictable as many seem to believe. And don’t call him a god. He’s only a person, a creature of flesh and blood and life, little different from any Dwarra.” The counselor’s gaze shifted away from the staring officer and back to the
massif hanging in the gray sky. “The only difference is that he has access to more science, and more history.”

  Momentarily at a loss for words, the officer recovered quickly. When he spoke again, there was a touch of anger in his voice. “You deep thinkers! Always ready to smother joy and happiness under a pall of gloom.” Treappyn felt a pair of gripping flanges pressing strongly on his shoulder. “Can you not be content for once? Can you not trust the evidence of your own eyes?”

  The counselor continued to watch the alien’s ship. It had not moved. “That is exactly what I am doing. I accept what I have seen—as I will continue to accept, and consider, whatever else may be forthcoming.”

  Eptpulvv drew back. “Forthcoming?”

  Now Treappyn did look away from the alien vessel, and back to the senior officer. “Time has not stopped, brave soldier. Not for our enemies, not for us, and not for the alien. Events progress.”

  As indeed they did.

  The shock to the Wullsakaan observers when the alien craft had destroyed the Pakktrinian weapons had been considerable. It was substantially greater when the next narrow, bright beam of energy struck not the routed enemy, but the Wullsakaan side of the river. A sudden, sharp blast, a flash of light that momentarily blinded all who happened to be looking in the wrong direction, and a new crater appeared where an instant before had stood one of Wullsakaa’s largest and most formidable catapults. That it was not advanced enough to be powered by steam did not seem to matter to the alien.

  This sobering nanosecond of destruction was followed by a second, which obliterated another catapult together with all of its support wagons and equipment. Since the weapons were not staffed at the time, no deaths resulted. There were only injuries; those largely from soldiers who were unlucky enough to find themselves standing or squatting nearby at the moment of impact, and found themselves picked up and thrown through the air by the force of the concussion.

  Among the leaders of Wullsakaa, Treappyn was the only one who was neither traumatized nor stunned into momentary immobility by this shocking development. There was no hint of satisfaction in his voice as he pivoted slightly to face Eptpulvv: merely acceptance.

  “You see,” he told the senior military officer, “the alien has his own agenda. It may or may not have anything to do with the hopes and desires of the people of Wullsakaa—or any other political entity on Arrawd.” Turning away, he returned his attention to the alien vessel. Thankfully, the tiny device protruding from its underside did not flare again. “Pakktrine loses two catapults; Wullsakaa loses two catapults. The alien is showing his impartiality.”

  Used to commanding ranks of obedient soldiers, Eptpulvv found himself at a loss for words. “But—the Pakktrinian offal attacked it, attempted to strike at its ship. We did no such thing.” The old soldier’s gaze followed Treappyn’s. “Why would it hit back at us?”

  “I told you.” The counselor was patient, knowing that among everyone present, only he had personal knowledge of the alien, his thought processes, and his mind-set. “He is demonstrating his impartiality. You see, commander, where he comes from, political groupings like Wullsakaa and Jebilisk are regarded as no better than primitive tribes. He is not angry with us, I think. Just impatient.”

  “Impatient?” Unable to grasp the larger import behind the counselor’s words, the officer could only gaze back in bemusement. “Impatient at what?”

  “I don’t know,” declared His August Highborn Pyrrpallinda, who while feigning disinterest had been listening intently to the conversation, “but it may be that we are about to find out.” Raising a right forearm, he pointed with one flange while every one of his skin flaps opened halfway, signifying uncertainty. “The alien’s vessel is moving.”

  Those who had turned away to argue about the meaning of the alien assault on their own positions now rejoined their companions in tilting back their heads to stare upward at the immense machine. It had been impressive hovering above the Pedetp. It was even more so as it passed directly above them. Below, oblivious to the furious entreaties of their officers, a number of terrified soldiers dove frantically for anyplace that offered concealment from the vast mass passing so close over their heads. Even a few of the senior officers and counselors could not keep from flinching as the alien craft blocked out much of the sky.

  Treappyn was not among them. The alien ship, he knew, was not about to fall out of the sky like a rock blasted from the depths of the earth. It was moving slowly, deliberately, and under the complete control of its inscrutable master. That, however, was not what interested him the most.

  It was the undeniable realization that the enormous vessel was heading due west, directly toward Metrel City, the capital of Wullsakaa.

  It had not taken long for the August Highborn and his retinue to come to the same realization. Knowing they could not possibly hope to keep pace with the alien’s flying machine, they nonetheless raced back to Metrel as fast as their tethets could carry them, leaving First Officers Bavvthak, Eptpulvv, and the rest of the Wullsakaan military command to look to the continued defense of the realm’s borders.

  Reaching the outskirts of the city, the Highborn’s party was thronged by frightened, bewildered citizens pleading to know if the end of the world was at hand. They could hardly be blamed for their alarm given the looming, awe-inspiring presence of the Teacher. Flinx’s ship had stopped directly above the city and now hovered there, an unfathomable alien mass whose intentions could only be imagined. The unnerved citizens of Metrel had vivid imaginations.

  Not all the scenarios they invented postulated imminent catastrophe. Those among them who had been the beneficiaries of Flinx’s curative efforts insisted that the alien’s intentions could only be of a benign nature. Why heal the sick and injured, they argued, only to later come and rain death and destruction? They were supported in their stance, with much mutual entwining of Sensitives, by those who continued to believe the alien was not a natural being but rather a new god, come to Arrawd to rescue the Dwarra from their own sins and follies. Argument was frequent and occasionally strident, with those of differing opinions sometimes coming to blows.

  All of this conflict and controversy the Highborn and his entourage left behind as they sought a semblance of peace within Metrel’s inner fortress. The great central octagonal bastion, built on the highest point of land in Metrel, rose multiple stories above the rest of the capital and provided sweeping views over the city and the prosperous lands beyond.

  It also allowed those with access to its uppermost levels a slightly closer view of the alien vessel. Rested and refreshed as much as was possible under the circumstances, the August Highborn and his counselors stood in the Great Audience Chamber beneath the roof. The single room extended the entire width and length of the bastion. On the side opposite where they were presently gathered was a reception area, complete with raised dais for the Highborn and his family and a lower one for visiting dignitaries to stand on while paying their official respects.

  Of the bastion’s eight sides, four were fitted with high, arching portals that opened onto large balconies. From these, the rulers of Wullsakaa could survey any reach of the realm. The one they had currently chosen offered no better view than any of the others. The alien’s enormous craft was visible from all four balconies.

  Occasionally contracting his oculars against a nomadic raindrop, Pyrrpallinda stared up at the looming machine. Neither he nor any of his best scientific advisors could fathom a reason for the craft’s design. What was the purpose of that enormous disc at one end, and why was the bulk of the craft kept separate from it by such a long, narrow, connecting structure? Why did one alien need so large a vehicle? Was the distance between the stars really that great?

  And most important of all, what did the alien want, now that it had left the field of battle and come, in all its might and otherworldly magnificence, to Metrel?

  His advisors could not tell him. When queried, Treappyn, who knew more than anyone else about the alien, remaine
d maddeningly equivocal. A discerning ruler, Pyrrpallinda knew that the counselor could not be expected to provide answers to questions that had never before been asked—but the resulting ambiguity was vexing nonetheless.

  Clarification loomed when one of the other counselors suddenly flailed upward in panic and shouted, “The alien—he’s shooting at us again!” before turning and running like a frightened souzhadd for the presumed safety of the bastion’s lower levels. Common-sensible if not inherently wise, Pyrrpallinda ignored everyone else’s reaction in favor of watching counselor Treappyn. That worthy did not run, but instead stood on the balcony focusing on the glint of light that had sent his more impressionable colleague fleeing.

  “I don’t think it’s a weapon, Highborn. True, it is coming toward us. But at such a moderate velocity that I suspect it to be something else entirely.” A moment later he added, reassuringly, “In fact, I recognize it. It is the vehicle the alien utilizes for local, as opposed to far-distant, transport.”

  Despite the counselor’s assurances, several of his associates and other members of the Highborn’s staff found themselves backing away as the alien device drew close to the balcony. Below, word of the strange being’s approach spread swiftly. Guards struggled to hold back the growing throng of supplicants who, crying and pleading, shouting and praying, tried to storm the main gate leading into the fortress.

  As the vehicle drew near, Pyrrpallinda could see the alien, together with its strange flying pet, folded up inside the craft’s transparent cover. Treappyn had described how the alien rested by bending its body in half at the middle, but it was one thing to hear a description of such a physical impossibility and quite another to see it in person.

  As the alien straightened itself, a portion of the transparent covering slid out of the way. Settling on the Highborn, who had bravely stood his ground, Flinx addressed the ruler of Wullsakaa in heavily accented but otherwise quite understandable speech.