The Anguished Dawn

by James P. Hogan

  Rakki couldn't imagine enough animals to fill that amount of land, and took it as just another of the things White Head said that he would never understand. He turned his head again toward Shell Eyes and lifted his chin in an unspoken question. "This, I cannot remake, my lord," she told him. "I am sorry. I can maybe tie with sinew. It will last a small time longer. I am sorry."

  Rakki nodded curtly, suppressing the surge of annoyance that made him want to slap her. It didn't seem worthy of a warrior to beat a female who had committed no fault. He discerned the same disapproval in White Head also when he witnessed it happening with others. It seemed to be part of the Oldworlders' way. Rakki could tell from the way Jemmo looked at her that he resented the way Rakki had claimed her as his female immediately, without deferring to Jemmo's right to choose first. Rakki would be in danger now until the thing between them was settled, one way or another.

  Gap Teeth—whose name was Enka, Rakki now knew, but he still stuck to the original that he had coined—and Shingral were nearby as always. Since the day of the ambush, when Rakki had spoken for them to be spared, they had attached themselves to him in the way dogs would to the master who commands them, and appointed themselves the task of watching over his safety. They saw the rising tension between him and Jemmo, and had made it plain by their actions that if things came to a fight between rival factions to resolve matters, he could count on two henchmen who would be loyal. Although Rakki valued the protection, he considered them mildly foolish. Life could not be lived for the benefit of others. The weak tried to harness the strong to save them, instead of learning to be strong themselves. And if the strong let themselves be harnessed, they themselves would become weak—like the hairhides that allowed men to tie lines around their necks and worked for them.

  Maybe it had been the Oldworlders' way. But the Oldworlders no longer possessed the caves.

  With the Swamp People's domain now extending up to the caves, it had become important to learn more of the territories that lay beyond. The expedition that Rakki would be leading tomorrow was to be a long-range exploration lasting many days to reconnoiter the more distant terrain and search for signs of other habitation and resources that might be of use. Two others would accompany him in addition to Gap Teeth and Shingral. A small, lightly equipped party would move faster and cover more ground than a large group; and in the event of there being any hostile presence out there, they would be less conspicuous and thus not so likely to draw followers back.

  Rakki straightened up and reached for the "gun" that he had propped against the rock wall. It was time he went to check on how the other preparations were going. Jemmo carried a gun as a symbol of rank, and he had thought better of trying to oppose the demand when Rakki claimed the right to one too. Even to be confronted by a refusal would have been unacceptably insulting to Rakki's pride and made an immediate resolution unavoidable, which Jemmo evidently didn't want to precipitate yet.

  The number of guns they had obtained from the Cavers was five plus another two—White Head had taught Rakki the words for numbers as far as the fingers on one hand. He said there were more that he would tell later. The remaining five guns were kept under guard until it was decided who would have them. But in truth, their value at present went little farther than being just emblems to instill awe. Sims, one of the other Oldworlders who had been spared in addition to White Head and Yellow Hair, had explained the function of bullets, but there were so few of them that Jemmo had been loathe to expend any on learning. But the dilemma then, as Rakki pointed out, had been that the weapons would never be of use if no one could use them. In the end, they had compromised by going out to some open ground beyond the rampart with Sims, taking five and one bullets. Sims had used two of them to demonstrate the technique for directing the bullet to hit a reed basket placed on a rock half a bowshot away. With the remaining four, Rakki and Jemmo tried two each. On Rakki's first attempt the gun kicked unexpectedly causing him to drop it, and he didn't know where the bullet went. He managed to hold onto the gun for the second, but again missed. Jemmo did no better. So the problem remained unsolved of how to learn to use the guns and be left with enough bullets to ever fight with them. One of the hopes for the reconnaissance tour was that it might locate more bullets. Rakki didn't think it very likely, since apart from the things in the caves and a few oddments like his edged metal club—which he had found and reclaimed—he had seen hardly any traces of Oldworld things. But at least, now he had some idea what an ammunition box looked like.

  As he lifted the weapon, he couldn't resist running a finger again over its gray metal lines. The precision and form of the pieces and how they fitted together, and the way it opened for the bullets to be inserted, still astounded him. Apart from crude bending or sharpening on a stone, he had never heard of ways of cutting or shaping objects of metal. He remembered White Head's words about gods who once flew above the sky and built shining tower-caves like ant mounds that stood higher than the cliffs. He looked across at where White Head was squatting.

  "The birds that the gods flew in. They were made from metal too, like this?"

  "Yes. Shells of metal. Like giant eggs with metal wings."

  "And all gods carried guns, like this?"

  "The god-warriors carried them. Armies bigger in number than the herd of cows that I tended."

  Rakki couldn't comprehend how anything could stand before that many guns. He often suspected that White Head exaggerated wildly. He didn't like the thought that White Head might be making a fool of him. "So many not possible." He shook his head pointedly, meaning it as a warning. "You tell me things as they were, Oldworld man. Only truth with Rakki."

  White Head cackled and wheezed. "Those, they were nothing!" he said, waving at Rakki's gun. "There were giant-bird weapons that the gods flew in. They sent down giant bullets that burned all the land—like fire mountains. Broke the ground up like the holes that open when the world shakes."

  Rakki felt a rush of anger at White Head's ridiculing his newly acquired source of so much pride, but a cautionary instinct made him bite it down. "Attend to your work, old man," he growled. "I have things to do."

  He moved to the cave entrance and went out. Rubble and rocks lay strewn over the area inside the rampart. There had been ground tremors in the last few days, and beyond the rampart part of the cliff line had fallen, blocking the trail leading east. Workers were clearing a new path over it. Continual rolls of thunder and deep groaning sounds from the ground were coming from the direction of the fire mountains. With all their powers, the Oldworld gods hadn't been able to prevent the destruction of their world beneath bolts that fell in torrents from the skies and walls of moving water that Rakki had been told devoured mountains. Nobody had been able to tell him what had been the cause of it all. Some said that spirit beings, controlling such things as the earth-fires and the skies, became displeased when men failed to live as the spirits wanted, and so destroyed them. White Head had once talked about "devils," who were enemies of the gods and had similar powers. Rakki wasn't sure if he believed it. To him it sometimes sounded more as if those who talked of spirits invented them as a way of inducing men to live as they wanted, which usually meant feeding and protecting them—another way to harness the strong. But in any case, he was usually too preoccupied with surviving from one day to the next to think too much about it.

  Jemmo was outside at the far end of the enclosed area, observing the butchering of several animals that had been killed by rocks falling into the pens. Wakabe, another of the Oldworlders, was explaining the procedure. At least Rakki and his companions would eat well before they departed and carry ample provision for the journey. Jemmo had taken to wearing a light Oldworld body garment—originally with sleeves extending down the arms, but Jemmo had found them constricting and had them cut off—with an Oldworld belt above his loin cladding and a cape made from hide, fastened at the neck with a clasped thong. He was also wearing the hide foot-sheaths taken from Bo, but he had removed the thick undersurface
s because they were clumsy and slipped on the rocks. Uncovered soles of feet gave a better grip. Yes, that's good. Concern yourself with your looks and keep your mind on things inside the caves and the rampart, Rakki thought to himself. Worry about being safe and become soft like the Oldworlders. Then, when I return, toughened from travels over great distances, we will face each other.

  He was about to move on, when he saw a figure approaching him. It was Zomu, one of the Swamp warriors who had taken part in the ambush in the ravine. He made a sign motioning Rakki back behind a rock flanking the cave opening, at the same time casting a look around them that said he wished to talk privately. Rakki said nothing and waited.

  "I say this because I know the day must come when you and Jemmo fight," Zomu began, keeping his voice low, his eyes still roaming. "I believe Rakki will rule the swamp lands and the caves. When your word is the law, I want you to remember who helped you."

  "What is it you have to say?" Rakki asked.

  "Jemmo is filled with bad blood. A madness burns within him for Shell Eyes. He would see her dead rather than with you. I ask you to be careful. She could be in danger when you leave tomorrow. That is my warning."

  "How do you know this?"

  "Careless talk by Iyala that I overhear." Iyala was one of Jemmo's henchmen.

  Rakki touched Zomu lightly on the shoulder. "It will not be forgotten," he said.

  When Rakki emerged back into the open, he stopped and stared toward Jemmo, still talking with Wakabe. Jemmo looked for a moment in his direction, and Rakki knew that he could see him. Then Jemmo turned away.

  * * *

  Rakki thought hard for the rest of the day as to what he should do. Calling off the expedition under some pretext was out of the question—it would seem an admission of weakness. Finally, he took Shingral and Gap Teeth, his two guardians, aside and told them, "The plan for tomorrow is changed. I have information that Shell Eyes may be in danger." He looked at Gap Teeth. "I want you to stay and watch over her. Guard her closely at all times."

  "My own life shall be lost first," Gap Teeth confirmed.

  "We will make up our number with another who is loyal," he told Shingral. Then, to Gap Teeth again, "If you have doubts or need wise words while we are gone, talk to White Head. White Head, you can trust."

  "I will remember," Gap Teeth said.

  Later, Rakki spoke again with Zomu. "One of my trusted warriors will watch over Shell Eyes. But we now need another for the journey tomorrow. I pick you as my choice."

  "I will come with you," Zomu said.

  * * *

  They left at the first brightening of the next day: Rakki, Shingral, Zomu, and two others whose names were Alin and Dorik. The route took them away from the direction of the swamp lands, skirting the Dry Country of the previous excursion to enter even higher regions where colder winds brought squalls of rain and at times snow that collected as ice in the crevices and gulleys. The party had brought heavier skins, which they put on over their regular garb, and wrappings to protect their feet. Rakki realized the usefulness of the Oldworlders' foot-sheaths now, and wished he had saved some. The surroundings grew harsher and bleaker.

  It was late in the afternoon and they were following a trail along the side of a precipice, when Rakki, in the lead, heard a sudden cry behind him. He spun around to find Shingral on his knees, slowly buckling over, with Alin standing behind him, gripping him by a shoulder. Alin drew back his arm to reveal the bloodstained length of sharpened metal as he pulled it from Shingral's back, then released him to let him fall forward. For a moment Rakki could only stare, confused. Then he took in Dorik and Zomu moving around on either side of Alin, leveling their spears toward him as they hemmed him around, his back to the edge of the drop.

  Then he understood. Jemmo had never wanted Shell Eyes dead; he wanted her for himself. And he had guessed Rakki's reaction perfectly. Zomu had been serving Jemmo all along. The ruse had been to separate Rakki's two bodyguards. The odds would have been too risky with both of them along. Now it was all obvious. But too late.

  Rakki moved to unsling the gun from his shoulder. He had five of the precious bullets in it—but he would never have time to bring it to bear. Three spears advanced upon him as Alin completed the semicircle.

  "What was the price of this teachery?" he hissed at Zumo as they closed, driving him back.

  "An Oldworld weapon to carry. And Jemmo would rule anyway."

  "You don't get this one!" Rakki threw the gun away behind him, into the chasm, but before he could draw his edged club, they rushed.

  He seized Zomu's spear, arching his body to pull it by him, drawing Zomu on. As Zomu pitched forward off-balance, Rakki dropped onto his back, at the same time planting a foot in Zomu's stomach and using his leg as a pivot to carry Zomu onward and over, sending him screaming into the abyss. But the other two were upon him. He twisted away to take the worst out of a thrust from Alin that pierced his side, leaving him lying along the rim of the drop; and then Dorik, declining to present his own spear and risk the same fate as had befallen Zomu, used it instead as a prop to slide his body forward feetfirst, propelling Rakki over the edge.

  Rakki remembered nothing of the fall or of landing. The next thing he was conscious of was lying on a rock shelf, his body racked with pain and impossible to move, one leg twisted under him in a way that he knew meant it was broken. Night was falling, and he was already stiff with cold.

  PART TWO

  The Sky Warriors

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Vicki had proposed the names in recognition of Emil Farzhin's theories while the ship was still a collection of structural plans and design specifications in the computers of SOE's Engineering and Development Division. The main body of the vessel, which would remain in orbit above Earth, was called Varuna, after one of the ancient Sanskrit deities associated with Venus. The inertial-fusion drive section formed a detachable, independently-operable unit capable of descent to the surface, where it could function in low-power mode as an MHD generating plant in the way the Tesla Center team had originally envisaged. This part was named Agni, one of the manifestations of proto-Venus that had brought fire down upon the Earth. The entire vessel was a no-frills, utility undertaking put together in minimal time, with space and comfort sacrificed to hold the greatest number of occupants consistent with carrying the essentials of materials and equipment for establishing a bridgehead presence on Earth. Follow-up missions to expand and build upon the pilot program were being fitted out back at Saturn.

  A year and a half had gone by since Keene joined SOE at Foundation to head the Agni part of the design program, working directly under Mylor Vorse. A year and a half of grueling analysis and drafting sessions often lasting round-the-clock; of working with the groups involved with structural configuration, propulsion-power integration, communications and computation systems, instrumentation and control systems, life support systems; of supervising benchmarks, test rigs, scaling trials, attending team meetings, management meetings . . . By the ways he had known back on Earth, it would never have been possible. Static firings and full-system testing in orbit around Titan had followed; then, finally, a shakedown trip out to Phoebe, the outermost sizable moon of Saturn and back. . . .

  And now, three months after the shakedown trials to Phoebe, Keene was once again in orbit above Earth. He floated weightless in one of the outer-hull observation bubbles—the Varuna's construction had been too hasty an affair for elaborations involving gravity simulation—looking down at what until now he had seen only as images that robot reconnaissance orbiters had sent back to Saturn: the graveyard of everything he had once known.

  The fires that had raged across huge areas had long ago been extinguished by massive precipitations from an atmosphere saturated with evaporated ocean water, but the pole-to-pole murk of cloud and airborne dust still concealed almost all of the surface detail. Descending air currents over northern Alaska and below Africa produced clearer patches that revealed occasional glimpses of the shi
fted, newly forming polar regions, but they meant little, even with the aid of radar-mapped coastal outlines superposed on the screen image showing on a console to one side. Images had also come back from probes sent down through the cloud cover and landed at a number of places. They showed mountains of storm-driven ocean crashing against the Appalachian chain, now a peninsula between the shrunken Atlantic and the new arm of sea inundating the American Midwest; the new upthrust mountain barrier named the Barbary range, following roughly the line of what had been western North Africa and walling in the lakes that remained of the Mediterranean basins; the confusion of continental fragments, islands, and waterways, where New Guinea, the eastern parts of Australia, adjacent former archipelagos, and uplifted crustal blocks seemed to be compressing together into a new land mass that had taken over the name Oceania; still smoldering carpets of ash that had been Siberian forests. . . . But contemplating it in solitude through his own eyes directly, without the intermediary of electronic representation, reawakened a sense of communion with the destroyed world that he had not known since the time, almost five years ago, when he looked down from a similar vantage point in orbit while awaiting rescue by the Osiris.

  Charlie Hu, who had also been present then, had come back with the Varuna. As a former Terran planetary scientist, he was impatient to get down to the surface and begin finding out more about the stupendous processes unfolding below. Gallian was back again too, his prior experience in leading the Kronian delegation to Earth having gained him the appointment as overall director of the Varuna's mission. However, because of the difficulties and discomfort that the Kronian-born had experienced even in the comparatively tranquil environments that had existed before Athena, the personnel mix of the mission had been made disproportionately Terran.