The Final Encyclopedia

by Gordon R. Dickson

  He turned to the old man.

  "Tam?" he said. "What do you think?"

  "They'll come," said Tam. The rattly, ancient voice made the two words seem to fall, flat and heavy in their midst, like stones too weighty to hold. "This is where the Dorsai came from, and the Exotics, and the Friendlies—and everyone else. When defenders are needed from the people, they'll be there."

  For a moment no one said anything.

  "And that," said Hal, with a deep breath, "is another reason for it to be Earth, rather than Mara. In time, even your Marans would produce people to stand on guard. But they'd have to go back into what lies below their present character to do it."

  "But they could and would," said Nonne. "In this time, when everything that's been built up is falling apart, even Maran adults would do that. Even I'd fight—if I thought I could."

  A little smile, a not-unkindly smile, twitched the corners of Rourke di Facino's lips.

  "Dear lady," he said to her. "That's always been the only difference."

  The remark drew her attention to him.

  "You!" she said. "You stand there, saying nothing. Did your people bargain to defend Earth where the people have never understood or appreciated what the Younger Worlds mean—least of all, your kind? Are you simply willing to be their cannon fodder, without at least protesting what Hal Mayne wants? You're the military expert. You speak to him!"

  The little smile went from Rourke's lips, to be replaced by an expression that had a strange touch of sadness to it. He came slowly around from behind the chairs of the rest where he had been standing and walked up to Hal. Hal looked at the erect, smaller man.

  "I've talked to Simon about you," Rourke said. "And to Amanda. Who you are is your own business and no one discusses it—"

  "I don't understand," interrupted Nonne, looking from one of them to the other. "What do you mean—who he is, is his own business?"

  For a second it seemed that Rourke would turn and answer her. Then he went on speaking to Hal.

  "But it's the opinion of the Grey Captains that we've got to trust your judgment," he said.

  "Thank you," said Hal.

  "So," said Rourke, "you think it should be Earth, then?"

  "I think it always had to be," said Hal. "The only question has been, when to begin to move; and as things stand now, Bleys gets stronger every standard day we wait."

  "I repeat," said Nonne. "You don't have a solid Earth at your back—you don't begin to have a solid Earth at your back. Rukh may have been gaining ground fast—as you say, Ajela—but now she's out of the picture and the job she set out to do isn't done. If you move now, you're gambling, Hal, gambling with the odds against you."

  She looked back at Hal.

  "You're right," said Hal. He stood for a second in silence. "But in every situation a time comes when decisions have to be made whether all the data's on hand, or not. I'm afraid I see more harm in waiting than acting. We'll begin to garrison Earth and lock it up."

  Rourke nodded, almost as if to himself.

  "In that case," he said, "I'll get busy."

  He looked over at Jeamus.

  "I can use that new communications system of yours now, Chief Engineer," he said, turning and heading for the door. Jeamus looked at Hal, who nodded, and the balding man hurried after the small, erect back of the Dorsai.

  Before either one reached it, however, the sound of a phone chime sounded. They stopped, as Ajela reached out to touch the control panel on the arm of her chair and all of the rest of them turned to look at her. A voice spoke from the panel, too low-pitched for the others to hear.

  She lifted her head and looked at Hal.

  "They've located Rukh," she said. "She's at a little place outside Sidi Barraní on the Mediterranean coast, west of Alexandria."

  "I'll have to catch up with the rest of you later, then," Hal said. "Everything down below depends to some extent on how much she's going to be able to go on doing. Ajela, can you set up surface transportation for me while I'm on my way down to the shuttle port nearest Sidi Barrani?"

  Ajela nodded. Hal started toward the door, looking over at the young Friendly.

  "Jason," he said, "do you want to come?"

  "Yes," said Jason.

  "All right, then," Hal said, as Rourke and Jeamus stood aside to let him out the door first. "We'll be back in some hours, with luck. Meanwhile, simply begin what you'd planned to do, once the decision to move was taken."

  He went out the door with Jason close behind him.

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Sidi Barrani lay inland from the shore of the Mediterranean, across one of those areas which had been among the first to be reclaimed from the North African desert, over two hundred years before. Tall still-towers had been built and water from the Mediterranean had been pumped into them, to be discharged within their tops and allowed to fall some hundreds of meters to great fans in their bases, which then blew the moistened air back up and out the tops of the towers to humidify the local atmosphere.

  That humidity had made lush cropland out of the dry earth surrounding; and, as the years went by, a resulting climatological change had altered the fertile areas, pushing inland from the shoreline the edge of the desert Rommel and Montgomery had fought over in the mid-twentieth century. The desert's edge had been forced to retreat some hundreds of kilometers, until it had been finally overwhelmed and vanquished entirely against the green borderland surrounding the newly formed Lake of Qattara; a large body of water formed when the Nile, backed up by the massive Aswan Dam, had at last found a new channel westward into the Qattara Depression.

  It was to the shore of that lake and to a hotel called the Bahrain, therefore—an inconspicuous, low, white-walled structure in a brilliantly flowered and tropically aired landscape—that Hal and Jason came finally in their journey to find Rukh.

  But for all the peace and softness of the physical surroundings, stepping through the front door of the hotel was like stepping out into a bare field when lightning is in the air. Hal shot a quick glance at Jason, who, after his years in the Harmony resistance, could be sensitive enough to feel the field of emotional tension they had just entered, but might not yet be experienced enough to react wisely to it.

  However, Jason's face was calm. Possibly a little more pale than usual—but calm.

  The sunken lobby under the high-arched white ceiling before them showed no one occupying the overstuffed floats hovering around a small ornamental pool. The only visible living figure to be seen was what, here on Earth, must be a desk clerk hired for purely ornamental purposes. His gaze was directed downward behind the counter of the reception desk, as he appeared busy, or pretended to be busy, at something. Otherwise there was no sign of anyone human within sight or hearing—but the feeling of tense, if invisible watchers, all around them, was overwhelming.

  The desk clerk did not look up until they had actually reached the counter and stopped on their side of it. He was a slight young man with a brown, smooth skin and a round face.

  "Welcome to the Bahrain," he said. "Can I be of assistance?"

  "Thanks, yes," said Hal. "Would you tell the lady that Howard Immanuelson is here to see her?"

  "Which lady would that be, sir?"

  "You've only got one lady here that message could be for," said Hal. "Please send it right away."

  The clerk put both hands on the counter and leaned his weight slightly on them.

  "I'm afraid, gentlemen," he said, "I don't understand. I can't deliver a message until I know who it's for."

  Hal looked at him for a second.

  "I can understand your position," he said, gently. "But you're making a mistake. We'll go and sit down by the pool, there; and you see that message I gave you gets delivered. If it doesn't… perhaps you'd better ask someone who'd know, who Howard Immanuelson is."

  "I'm sorry, sirs," said the clerk, "but without knowing who you want to contact, I've no way of knowing if that person is even a guest here, and—"

 
But they had already turned away, with Hal in the lead, and his voice died behind them. Hal chose a float with his back to the desk; and Jason moved to sit opposite him so that between them they would have the whole lobby in view. Hal frowned slightly; and, after a split second of hesitation, Jason took a float beside him, facing the same way.

  They sat without talking. There was no sound from the desk. Hal's eyes and ears and nose were alert, exploring their surroundings. After a moment his nose singled out a faint, but pervasive and pleasant, scent on the air of the lobby; and an alarm-signal sounded in his mind. Out on one of the Younger Worlds such a thing would have been highly unlikely; but here on Earth, where riches made for easy access to exotic weapons, and disregard for even the most solemn local laws and international agreements were not to be ruled out, it was not impossible that an attempt was being made to drug them by way of the lobby atmosphere.

  It would not call for a drug capable of making them unconscious. All that would be needed would be to slightly dull one or more of their senses, or blunt the fine edge of their judgment, to give the unseen watchers a dangerous advantage.

  On the other hand, the scent could be no more than it seemed. One of the services, or grace notes, a place like this might provide to make its lobby pleasant to guests.

  There was only one way to find out which it was. The single ability most vulnerable to any kind of drugging was the meditatively creative one. The gossamer bubbles of memory or fantasy, blown by the mind, and all the powerful release of emotion these could entail, were invariably warped or inhibited by anything alien to the physiological machinery supporting them.

  He let the meditative machinery of his mind sink momentarily below the surface level of that watchful awareness which still continued to be maintained automatically by the outward engine of his consciousness; and allowed himself to slip back into recall of his childhood years, to a time when all emotions had been simple, pure and explosive.

  It had been, he remembered, a time when excitement had had the power to almost tear him apart. Sorrow had been unbearable, happiness had lit up the world around him like a sheet of lightning, and anger had swallowed up all things—like one sheet of flame devouring the universe.

  There had been a time, once, when he had been about five years old, that Malachi Nasuno had refused him something. He could not now remember what it had been without digging for the information and for present purposes so much was not necessary. He had wanted to handle some tool or weapon, that the old Dorsai had considered beyond his years and ability; and Malachi had refused to let him have it. A fury at all things—at Malachi, at rules and principles, at a universe made for adults in which he was manacled by the unfairness of being young and small, had erupted in him. He had exploded at Malachi, shouting out his frustration and resentment, and run off into the woods.

  He had run and run until breath and legs gave out together; and he had dropped down at last at the narrow edge of a stream which had cut its way through the mountain rock, bursting into unexpected tears. He had cried in sheer fury; determined never to go back, never to see Malachi or Walter or Obadiah again. Wild visions of living off the land in the mountains by himself billowed up like smoke from the bitter fires of frustration inside him.

  And gradually a new despair came over him; so that he lay by the stream, silent in the misery of the thought that it seemed he could never be either what he wanted to be or what Malachi and the others might want him to be. Inwardly, he accused them of not understanding him, or not caring for him—when they were all he had, and when he had tried with every ounce of strength he owned to be what they wanted.

  … And in that moment, as he huddled lost on the ground, two massive, trunklike arms closed around him and brought him gently against the wide chest of Malachi. It was infinitely comforting to be found after all, held so; and he sobbed again—but now in relief, wearing himself out into peace and silence against the rough fabric of Malachi's jacket. The old man said nothing, only held him. He could hear, through jacket and chest wall, the slow, powerful beating of the adult heart. It seemed to him that his own heart slowed and moved to match that rhythm; and, just before he slipped into a slumber from which he would not wake until hours later, in his own bed, he felt—as clearly as if it had been in himself—the pain and sorrow that was in his tutor, together with an urge to love no less powerful than his own…

  He came back to full awareness of the Bahrain lobby, still wrung by the remembered emotions, and the achievement of that first rung on the ladder of human understanding, which had made life different for him from that moment on; but reassured by the successful summoning up of that ancient emotion that whatever perfumed the air around him was nothing with any power to inhibit either his body or his mind.

  There was the sound of shoe soles on the hard, polished surface of the floor, approaching behind them. They turned to see the desk clerk.

  "If you'll go up to room four-thirty-nine, gentlemen?" said the clerk. "It's the fifth door, to your right as you step out of the lift tube."

  "Thanks," said Hal, rising. Jason was also getting to his feet; and they went toward the bank of lift tubes that the clerk was indicating with one hand.

  The soft, white walls of the corridor of the fourth floor stretched right and left from the lift tube exits there, but bent out of sight within a short distance in either direction. Clearly it was designed to wander among the rooms and suites available. They went to their right; and, as they passed each door, it chimed and lit up its surface. As they went by, the number faded.

  "Vanities!" said Jason under his breath; and Hal glanced at him, smiling a little.

  Perhaps thirty meters from the lift tubes, a door glowed alight with the number 439 as they came level with it. They stopped, facing toward it.

  "This is Howard Immanuelson," said Hal, clearly, "with someone who's an old friend of all of us. May we come on?"

  For a moment there was no response. Then the door swung silently inward; and they entered.

  The room they stepped into was large and square. The whole of the side opposite the door by which they had come in was apparently open to the weather, with a balcony beyond; but the coolness and stillness of the atmosphere about them told of an invisible barrier between room and balcony. Green-brown drapes of heavy material had been pulled back from the open wall to their limit on each side. Framed by these, the blue waters of Lake Qattara, with three white triangles that were the sails of one-person pleasure rafts, looked inward to the room.

  There was no one visible, only a closed door in the wall to their left. The entrance, which had opened behind them, closed again. Hal turned toward the closed door in the side wall.

  "No," said a voice.

  A thin, intense figure with the long-barrelled void pistol, favored for its silence and deadliness on an Earth where there was little call for long-range accuracy, and where the destruction of property could have a higher price tag than that of human lives, stepped from behind the bunched folds of the drape three steps down the wall from the side door. Bony of feature, frail and deadly, incongruous in khaki-colored, Earth-style beach shorts and brightly patterned shirt with leg-o-mutton sleeves, was Amyth Barbage; and the pistol in his hand covered both Hal and Jason with utter steadiness.

  Hal took a step toward him.

  "Stop there," said Barbage. "I know of what thou art capable, Hal Mayne, if I let thee come close enough."

  "Hal!" said Jason, quickly. "It's all right. He's Rukh's now!"

  "I am none but the Lord's, weak man—nor ever have been," replied Barbage, dryly, "as perhaps thou hast. But it's true I know now that Rukh Tamani is of the Lord and speaks with His voice; and I will guard her, therefore, while I live. She is not to be disturbed—by anyone."

  Hal stared with a touch of wonder.

  "Are you sure about this?" he said to Jason, without taking his eyes off the thin, still figure and the absolutely motionless muzzle of the gun. "When did he change sides?"

  "I changed
no sides," said Barbage, "as I just said. How could I, who am of the Elect and must move always in obedience to His will? But in a courtyard of which you know, it happened once to be His will that a certain blindness should be lifted from my eyes; and I saw at last how He had vouchsafed that Rukh should see His Way more clearly than I or any other, and was beloved of Him above all. In my weakness I had strayed, but was found again through great mercy; and now I tell you that for the protection of her life, neither you nor anyone else shall disturb her rest. Her doctor has ordered it; and I will see it done."

  "Amyth Barbage," said Hal, "I have to see her, now; and talk to her. If I don't, all the work she's done can be lost."

  "I do not believe you," said Barbage.

  "But I do," said Jason, "since I know more about it than you, Old Prophet. And my duty to the Lord is as great as yours. Count on that, Hal—"

  "Wait!"

  Hal spoke just in time. He had read the sudden tensing in the man at his side, and understood that Jason was about to throw himself into the fire of Barbage's pistol so Hal might have time to reach the other man and deal with him. Jason slowly, imperceptibly, relaxed. Hal stared at the man with the gun.

  "I think," he said slowly, "a little of that blindness you talked about is still with you, Amyth Barbage. Did you hear what I said—that if I didn't see and talk to Rukh now, all her work here could be lost?"

  His eyes matched and held those of Barbage. The seconds stretched out in silence. Then, still holding the void pistol's muzzle steadily upon them, still watching them unvaryingly, Barbage moved sideways to the door in the side wall they had been facing, softly touched and softly opened it, then stepped backward through it. Standing one step inside the further room, he spoke in so low a voice they barely heard him.

  "Come. Come quietly."

  They followed him into a curious room. It was narrow before them as they stepped into it and completely without furniture. Its far end was closed by drawn draperies of the same material and color as those in the room they had just left; and the wall to their right seemed to shimmer slightly as they looked at it.