"Why, that is so, but I have never thought about it," said Sunto in surprise. "Truly, the waves are like women, for men watch them long and understand them but little."
". . . that they travel more slowly as the water beneath them grows more shallow," said Brazil with a faraway look. He gave a sudden laugh at the sight of Sunto's startled face. "Waves, I mean, not women. Sunto, tell me this. If the Tower were destroyed by some means other than the waves, what then?"
Sunto gave the Blond equivalent of a shrug. "Why, the Tower would simply have to be rebuilt, and the king would gain merit in the Sea God's eyes by rebuilding." He thought for a moment.
"Maybe the Red king would rebuild it on some inland hill, where no wave could ever reach it, and so make his rule safe."
Brazil nodded as if satisfied.
Twenty minutes later he sat with Foley in scoutship Alpha, gratefully peeling off chunks of armor. They faced on a segmented screen the debriefing assembly of their peers and bosses, electronically gathered to analyze the visit to Galamand. The astounded natives who had watched the two planeteers enter the submarine craft were by now no doubt attending their own conferences on the subject.
"First, tell me this," Brazil invited, eyes alight with an idea.
"Does it seem likely that a massive assault of ocean waves on this Tower might make these people willing to try getting along together, at least for a while?"
"I would say yes, based on what Ariton told me," said Foley.
"It might well give us a start in the right direction," said Sociology cautiously.
"An assault of ocean waves, you say," Captain Dietrich frowned.
"Not of forcefields, explosives, chemicals or sonic vibrations."
"Captain, I think there's a chance it can be done with this scoutship, and not by directing any of those modern weapons against the Tower."
"I am afraid I would have to forbid the use of such weapons against the natives, on principle." said Chandragupta grimly.
"The idea is not to wreck the Tower," said Brazil, "but to make the natives think that the Sea God has decided to wreck it."
"That Galamand's no fool," said Gates. "He's probably thinking up antisubmarine devices already. And how are you going to stir up suitable waves with a scoutship?"
"I'm not going to stir them up, exactly. And I don't think Galamand will notice a submarine acting a good many kilometers out at sea."
"Brazil, are you drunk?"
"No, on duty. Another reason for getting this situation settled. Now we'll need some information from Oceanography. And a weather forecast of such massive solidity that we can all lean on it—one that includes a steady ocean breeze here."
Trofand, Red priest of the Sea God, and chief caretaker of the Tower, was awakened by the sound of the waves, to which he always listened with half an ear even when asleep. The sound was now too loud for his liking.
He arose from his pallet and was dressing in the stone-damp darkness of his chamber in the Tower's base when he received a shock. A streaming puddle of cold sea water flowed against his bare foot on the floor. He hastened to light a candle from the smoldering brazier that fought uselessly against the permanent dampness of his bedchamber.
By candlelight he saw with distress that water was entering in multiple thin streams through chinks in the massive masonry of the inner Tower wall. It was something that happened only in the heaviest storms. The booming roar of the waves pounding the heavy seawall outside seemed to be increasing, and now brought him to the beginning of real fright. In ten years in the Tower he had never heard it so loud. A mighty storm must be raging, though the season for them was past, and the weather signs had given no indication of any approaching tempest.
Trofand was nearly dressed when an underling came with a torch, pounding on his door and opening it with a minimum of courtesy. "My lord, the waves, the waves! They are very bad."
"I have ears, fool. Someone should have called me sooner. What are the signs of the storm's length?"
"My lord, there is no storm."
Trofand started an angry retort to the foolish statement, but something in the pale frightened face before him made him pause. Fastening his belt, he led the way out of the chamber to the stair that climbed to the Tower's top.
It was true, he realized, emerging into the predawn darkness atop the Tower. The sky was clear. The wind was steady in direction from the sea, but it was not strong. The surf at the Tower's foot should be fairly gentle.
He thought he felt the stones of the Tower quiver underfoot with each leisurely watery smash. An assistant was at his elbow, speaking with a worried voice.
"My lord, what shall we do? The signs are that the wind will rise throughout the day, and remain steady in direction. If the waves become yet higher—"
"If they do, we will deal with them. The Sea God is not our enemy. Go rouse out the Tower slaves. Conscript more if need be. Have them stand by the fresh slabs of rock, ready at dawn to strengthen the seawall. Then go you to offer the day's sacrifice to the Sea God. But do not take too long about it."
"I obey." The man was gone in an instant, down the stair. Other junior priests of the Tower huddled about Trofand in the chill night, in the light of a dim torch, looking to him for guidance. Well, I was right about that, Trofand said to himself. He was thinking of the extra stones, weighing many tons apiece, that he had long ago ordered to be kept on rollers in the courtyard. They were constantly ready to be moved to reinforce the seawall in case a storm of unprecedented violence should threaten the Tower. Now, another question: should he order the king awakened? After all, the Tower seemed in no immediate danger, and Galamand might grumble if he were waked up for something unimportant. But he might have the man boiled alive who failed to wake him for a real emergency. It was not a hard decision to make.
"You—go rouse the king. Tell him I say that waves threaten the Tower. Tell no one else."
"I obey."
King Galamand was beside Trofand within a few minutes, looking over the parapet and frowning at the strange intensity of waves that were driven by such a modest wind. He observed the preparations that had been made to reinforce the seawall at dawn, and then turned and struck his fist against the parapet. "You did well to call me. But these stones have stood throughout my lifetime, and I say that they will stand yet a good while longer." Trofand saw him outlined against the first gray light in the east.
The Blond slaves, whipped on by overseers, now began to roll the mighty rock slabs into position to reinforce the seawall. It would be dangerous work. But slaves could be replaced, while the Tower—
There was an outcry somewhere inside the Tower. In a minute an exhausted runner appeared, helped up the stairs by others. In near panic he leaned against the stones beside the king. "My lord, the seawall—the wall away from the Tower, up and down the peninsula—"
"Is it breached by waves? Where?"
"No, my lord." A gasp of breath. "I came along the wall, after carrying your message conscripting slaves—"
"Well?"
"Elsewhere, my lord, the waves are small. Only here at the Tower do they rise abnormally, as if in raging anger. As if the Sea God has grown angry and—uh!"
Galamand's vicious backhand blow knocked the man sprawling.
"Enough! Do not preach the anger of the gods at me, or I will show you what anger is! I am the king!"
The king turned away to peer, with Trofand and the others, at the waves beating against the seawall at a distance from the Tower. The fast-brightening dawn revealed that the messenger had spoken the truth.
The news was out, Brazil saw, as he strode along the seawall road toward the Tower and the fortified complex of Galamand's castle. A puzzled Ariton walked between him and Foley. Reds and Blonds stood in little groups along the wall, commenting on the waves that were assaulting the base of the Tower. Faces turned toward them as they passed, but ever turned back again to the greater wonder of the waves.
Each long swell marched in from the clear ho
rizon of the ocean, foaming up and curling over as the depth of the water below approached the height of the wave, to smash itself finally against the rocks piled in shallow water at the base of the seawall. But in the sea before the Tower, each incoming rise of water seemed to squeeze itself together along its long axis, rising to at least three times the height of the waves elsewhere, before it piled up in a foaming fury of discriminating violence against that part of the seawall.
Ariton paused at her first sight of this, whispering something that might have been a prayer. "You knew of this?" she asked Brazil. "This is why you brought me here?"
"I'm taking you to talk to Galamand," Brazil evaded. "I think if you and he can't come to some agreement soon, there won't be any Tower left for either of you to use. You have lived near the sea all your life. You know the strength that is in large waves."
"What do you mean?" She stared at him, half afraid. "Do you speak for the Sea God?"
"We are only men," he answered innocently. "But do I not understand your gods correctly? Is it not so that the Sea God may destroy his own Tower when there is great strife in the land and evil rulers, as a final warning before he destroys the entire island?" After a long moment she took her eyes from Brazil's face and turned toward the Tower. "Come, whoever you are. It is my place to be there now."
"Is this really going to work?" Foley radioed while they walked.
"I mean that Tower isn't built out of pebbles, exactly. And it's stood through a lot of storms."
"On Earth," answered Brazil in professorial accents, "wave forces have been measured at over thirty tons per square meter. Engineers will not build a shoreline structure on Earth without carefully considering local conditions regarding the effect we are now employing. Besides, the idea is to scare Galamand and the lady here into cooperating, not to actually wreck the Tower. That would probably kill someone, and I hate to think what might happen in the panic."
At the castle gate, the guards were almost looking over their shoulders at the Tower as they halted the three visitors and sent word to Galamand of their arrival. Within a few minutes a guide appeared to escort the visitors to the bare top of the Tower. Brazil could see by the flags above the castle that the wind had increased slightly and was holding a steady direction, as Meteorology had promised. If only we were gods enough to control the weather in an area of a few square kilometers, thought Brazil. We can come a hundred light-years to stick our noses into our neighbors' business, but if the weather doesn't quite suit our schemes we can only wait until it does.
Galamand scoured them with his single eye when they had climbed the stairs to the Tower's top. The king paused in his pacing amid a group of high-ranking Reds. "Come you to preach the Sea God to me also?" he inquired in an ominously quiet voice.
Ariton looked about her. "Where is Trofand?"
"He has gone to offer sacrifice in the chapel below," said the king, a tinge of amusement in his voice. He leaned against the parapet with thick arms folded and his back to the sea as if in contempt. "He has rather suddenly remembered to take his religious obligations seriously."
"Human sacrifice?" asked Brazil. He hadn't thought of this possibility.
"He considers that course," said Galamand. "But I think the Sea God has lives enough for one day." He moved his head to indicate that they should look over the parapet.
In the cold boiling hell of surf at the Tower's foot a hundred Blond slaves or more struggled on the slippery rocks, straining on levers and vine ropes to move an enormous block of stone into the surf at a place where the waves had weakened the wall. With each torrential ebb and surge of water, Brazil saw, a pale object in the surf was drawn out and hurled in near the rocks, buried in foam and tossed up again—a fish-pale thing that had blond hair and no longer any face. And there was another—and another . . .
No Blond slave or Red overseer took any apparent notice of the drowned men, much less attempted to pull them from the sea. Every living man down there was concerned too intently with his own footing on the treacherous rock.
"Take it easy, old man." said a voice inside Brazil's helmet. Oh, this Brazil is a wonder, a red-hot planeteer, said a louder voice inside his mind. Just trust him to come up with a great scheme to set everyone on the road to happiness without bloodshed. That's important, no bloodshed. Well, you can't see any blood down there, can you?
Now that's enough. Shut up and get to work, there's a job to finish. "Why does the surf attack only the place of the Tower, oh king?" he asked, turning, stony-faced.
The blue eye studied him. "Had I a ship so cunningly built as to travel under water, I might discover why." Galamand turned to his aides. "Send boats and divers out beyond the white water. See if anything strange lies under the surface."
"The old boy's uncomfortably shrewd," said Foley on radio.
"Doesn't seem likely they'll search the bottom eight kilometers out and eighty meters deep, though."
Boats and divers soon appeared in the sea a few hundred meters out from the Tower, and made a show of investigating underwater conditions. It was not a really dangerous job for such skillful sailors and swimmers, out there where there were no rocks to be dashed against. But the Red seamen seemed to approach the job with a vast reluctance. Their faces turned often toward the Tower, as if in hope that the king would recall them.
Time passed. By noon the wind was obviously gaining strength again.
"I go to join Trofand in the chapel," said Ariton to the king, as if daring him to stop her. He pulled at his beard and appeared not to hear.
When she had gone he ordered food brought to him. His aides grew continually more gloomy. They looked often at the king, but sought to avoid his eye.
Galamand was amused to see the planeteers drink their lunch from tubes inside their helmets. He asked if their suits had sanitary facilities too, and roared with laughter when he was told they had. But the laughter had a forced sound in the wind.
The wind grew yet stronger, though it was still far from a gale. Down below, a wave got under a forty-ton slab of rock just right and skipped it like a flat chip against the base of the Tower itself. Stones split and flew; one fragment spun almost to the Tower's top. The next wave poured through the gap in the seawall, like the paw of a giant beast forced into a hole to grope for prey. The next tore free another huge stone from the edge of the hole. The bones of the Tower quivered.
Slaves and masters at the Tower's foot scrambled desperately to move another massive rock into a defensive position. Brazil saw it was a futile thing for creatures weak as men to attempt. One roaring curl of water caught a Red, who dropped his whip and grabbed at the slippery rock to save himself. Brazil saw the upturned face, the eyes seemingly looking straight into his own, the mouth open as if to yell. The next wave tore the man away and dragged him out of sight.
Galamand was roaring orders for more slaves to be brought.
"You have strange powers and weapons," he demanded suddenly of Foley. "Can you help me now?"
Brazil pulled himself out of a hideous fascination with what was happening down below.
"And if we can?" asked Foley.
"It might be that the agreement you sought with me could be quickly reached." The wind tore at Galamand's words, and shot spray past his head, here thirty meters above the normal sea. A small wave-tossed rock clattered against the parapet, as if shot from a giant's sling.
"Then order those men from the sea down there," Brazil demanded. "And give your word to make of Red and Blond one tribe."
"Then you can cure this," barked the king. "And it may be you have caused it!" The other Reds glared at the Earthmen; some weapons were drawn. Then cries came from the stairway, distracting attention.
Ariton and Trofand were suddenly at the top of the stair, in ceremonial robes half sodden with sea water.
"My king, the Sea God pours his wrath into the very chapel. I—" Trofand jumped back, as if he thought the king's sudden lunge was directed at him. But Galamand seized Ariton, had her arm twis
ted behind her back and his dagger at her throat in a moment.
"Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" howled Trofand. The other Reds looked on, wavering, wide-eyed, undecided.
The king swung Ariton to face the planeteers. "Now, aliens," he roared. "Cause the waves to cease, and quickly, or I will butcher this so-called queen with whom you ally yourselves. You seek to put her on a throne, but I alone am king. And so I will remain!"
"My lord." Ariton's low voice stopped the king in surprise. Doubtless it was the first time she had used any title of respect to him. "My death will not save our island. But I will marry you and bear your sons, if that be the only way to save it. And we will live here as one tribe."
For the first time in his experience, Brazil saw Galamand taken aback. But it was only for a moment.
"No, I'll not have it! I am the king here, I alone. Not you, or the aliens, or the Sea God himself, can order me, do this, do that!" Trofand moaned and covered his face; every other Red was visibly shaken by the king'sdefiance of the god. Brazil felt a sudden turn of sympathy for Galamand, losing to forces he could not comprehend, cutting himself off now from his own followers. Be ready for the moment . . .
The sea-flung stone, the size of a grapefruit, actually missed Galamand's helmeted head by only a few centimeters, and flew on to bounce off the opposite wall and down the stairway. The jolt from Brazil's quick-drawn stun pistol took the king in the head about one second later, when all eyes were on Galamand. No native doubted that the rock had grazed the king's helmet and caused his sudden collapse. Brazil's pistol was reholstered as quickly as it had been drawn.
The Red priests and soldiers stared at the fallen ruler in awe. Plainly he had been struck down for blasphemy. None of them moved to aid him. Foley went to him, pulling out his first aid kit and beginning a quick radio conference with the medics of the Yuan Chwang. The stun-jolt should wear off in a matter of minutes; a carefully chosen tranquilizer administered now should ease the situation then considerably.
Of Berserkers, Swords and Vampires Page 12
