He became aware, then, of stillness descending around him. Turning numbly and looking around, he saw that the people were staring upward again, some pointing. Another flying vehicle was approaching. He braced himself, thinking this must be his turn to be delivered retribution. . . . But no. This was no thunderbolt of destruction and death. Whatever it was, it came down steadily in a shallow descent . . . gracefully yet somehow commanding. Its form was white above and orange beneath, the colors of the purest sky and the brightest flames. Rakki had a sudden feeling of a presence approaching that represented a power so absolute and assured that demonstrations of violence would be unbecoming, a power without need to prove itself. He let the hand that was holding his rifle fall to his side and stood passively, accepting and unresisting to whatever fate should be decided.
This was surely an emissary from the true realm of the gods. Sleek like the swiftest of birds, yet of smooth and rounded curves, adorned by twin tails of pure black, it came to rest not two tens of paces away from him, while the people fell back to clear the space. Its power poured out in a deep, pulsing drone that seemed to make the earth itself quiver and seize Rakki by his very bones. Murmurs of fear and wonder arose among the people. A God who overthrew the mightiest of god-warriors and their chieftains like playthings was emerging.
Two doors opened like arms on the underside to deliver him to the ground. He moved slowly and unhurriedly, conceding neither to haste nor urgency, masterful in his dignity. His face, framed in a close-fitting mantle, was dark and terrible, eyes of mountain ice blazing above a close-trimmed beard streaked with white. About his body he wore a robe of purest silver gathered at the shoulders and enclosing his arms like a cloak. He advanced with a steady tread, his mouth set tight in a downturned line.
Rakki tried not to let his trembling show as he awaited the verdict. And then his eyes widened, and he peered more closely. He knew this God! It was the one they called Keene, the one Rakki had thought of as the head god, and then abandoned to serve instead the false god, Zeigler. Keene had stopped and was staring at him. He was waiting for Rakki to interpret the message. Rakki's fate would depend on the answer he gave.
Rakki looked away and saw Jemmo, along with the most loyal of Jemmo's followers, the young ones of Yellow Hair, still lined by the wall, as paralyzed and uncomprehending as everyone else. The God looked at them too. He wanted Rakki to contemplate them.
Keene and the long-haired Goddess had tried to teach Rakki other ways. They had told him that the power he sought to share could be his, but it could not be obtained through killing, hatred, and destruction. The huge machines that had brought them from beyond the sky, and the cities that they would rebuild across the world, the knowledge that revealed the mysteries of life and the meaning of why pain and hardship, pleasure and joy existed—these things were achieved by cooperation and trust, by uniting in an effort to overcome the challenges that the world posed, not dividing and striving to overcome each other. The false gods had proclaimed, as Rakki had believed through all the time he had lived, that power came from instilling terror and compelling the obedience of others. And in his wisdom, the God Keene had allowed Rakki to follow that path if he chose, and now he had shown him where it would lead.
The power that Zeigler would have offered had been pitted against that which true Godhood promised. Rakki was looking at the result. And now, in his moment of revelation, it all seemed so simple and self-evident to him. He had seen the intricate fashioning of the interiors of the craft in which the Gods flew over the land, and of the artifacts that filled them; the immense constructions they were erecting at their city to the north; the windows that brought living images from distant places, the light that appeared on command, and countless other arts for manipulating objects and forces, and directing thought of which he had no comprehension. How could the clumsy swinging of a club, the ending of a life, rage, and bloodshed accomplish any of those things? All they could result in had been shown to him in the calamity he had just witnessed. White Head had told him that the whole world had tried to follow the path that Zeigler and the false gods had thought would bring them greatness. And it too had met with its calamity. Had that too been visited by the Gods who were now asking Rakki which world he would rebuild? And he knew his answer, and he knew what he must do.
While the whole of the Cave Tribe looked on, he walked to the wall where Jemmo and the others were standing and drew up in front of him. He brought up the rifle and saw Jemmo's jaw tighten, his body tense. And then Rakki extended his arm back to hand the weapon to Enka, who had followed him. He beckoned to Yellow Hair, and she came across, hesitant and apprehensive. "Take your children and care well for them. They will help us begin a new world," he told her.
And then, to Jemmo, showing his empty hands, "Can we forget the hatreds that are behind us? Our peoples, working together, can learn to build cities and fly beyond the sky. And we can learn to live wisely, as Gods. True Gods."
* * *
Keene put out a general announcement via the Varuna that Zeigler and the entourage that had gone with him had been wiped out, and their attempt to raise a native force was over. The supporters left at Serengeti and up in the ships were on their own and leaderless. Adreya Laelye came through shortly afterward to say they had capitulated, and she had taken charge at Serengeti.
A medical unit was despatched to Joburg for Charlie Hu. They reported that he was weak but hanging in. The treatment the women there had applied had been effective, and he was expected to recover. A short while later, a flyer landed at Carlsbad to collect Keene.
He left for Serengeti stiff, aching, numb with cold and exhaustion; but inside, weak with relief, and still not really believing things could have worked out this way. A clamorous reception was awaiting when he arrived, but a bath, clean clothes, a meal were all he could really think of. After that, he was sure he would sleep for a week. . . .
Until Sariena informed him that a signal had come in from the Trojan, obviously intended for Zeigler. The ship was now the possession of the Terran Planetary Government, in whose name it had intercepted and taken command of the Aztec. Both vessels were proceeding to Earth. Valcroix congratulated Zeigler on his dedication and ability in carrying through a difficult and demanding task.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Robin reported to Major Ulak on Bridge Deck of the Aztec. "Sir, Commander Reese and Elmer Luthis are requesting your presence in the staff dining mess."
"Luthis?"
"The senior member of the ship's scientific contingent. It's with regard to the names they're required to submit for the party to be received aboard Trojan."
"Very well. Captain Quoyn will assume watch duty on the Bridge."
"Sir," Quoyn acknowledged.
Ulak detailed two troopers to accompany himself and Robin. They left by a passage passing between communications and control rooms aft of the Bridge, descended two levels of stairs to the quarterdeck, and from there proceeded aft past the officers' day room to a midships bulkhead lock, where one of the guards securing the ship had been posted. On the far side of the bulkhead, a gallery containing air regeneration plant connected to a lateral corridor that was on the way to the section that the scientific staff used. As the party came through the lock into the gallery, Robin grabbed suddenly at one of the handrails by the door; at the same time, a strange thing happened. Somebody turned off the Yarbat generators underneath that section of flooring. The reaction to the crisp military footfalls of the other three sent them soaring upward and floundering in the suddenly zeroed gravity. A moment later the generators came on again, slamming them to the floor with the impact of a well-executed judo throw. Ulak lay dazed, all the breath knocked out of him. He recovered his senses to become aware of Robin relieving him of his firearm and communications equipment. Two other figures that had appeared from behind the machinery were likewise disarming the troopers.
"What? . . . Delucey? . . . Treachery?" Ulak wheezed.
"I regret the necessity for
deception," Robin replied. "But sometimes loyalty goes back a long way." More people were coming quickly and silently from the direction of the far corridor.
"We'll take care of them," Merlin Friet said. And to the other arrivals, "Put these three in the utility locker."
The guard posted on the forward side of the lock heard the activity and came through to investigate just in time to be relieved of his weapon and added to the catch.
"Are they ready in the cargo hold?" Robin asked. The guards there should have been dealt with similarly at the same time, and locked in one of the switchgear compartments.
Friet checked, using a compad. "No hitches," he confirmed. "They're moving into place."
* * *
On the Bridge Deck, Quoyn took a call from Robin, sounding urgent. "Captain, emergency situation in the mid cargo hold! Major Ulak needs you here with nine men immediately!" Quoyn rattled off names and set out with his squad. They entered the hold at the double through the forward door to find figures milling in some kind of disturbance at the far end. The figures vanished through the after door, which moments later clanged shut. Only then did it register with Quoyn that neither Ulak, nor Delucey, nor any other TDF uniforms had been among them. He turned back in sudden alarm, his men coming to a confused halt around him. . . .
Just in time to see the steel shutter slide down across the forward doorway, too.
* * *
The sergeant commanding the guard detail in the aft cargo hold also got a call from Robin. "Lieutenant Delucey acting on behalf of Major Ulak. All men in the aft section proceed to the midships quarterdeck immediately to receive further orders."
"Sir."
The route forward led through an instrumentation bay, where the same Yarbat up-then-down-again treatment was repeated. It proved singularly effective with military personnel running at the double, and netted the whole squad.
* * *
The skeleton crew that Quoyn had left behind to watch over the Bridge Deck were the only ones left—though they had no notion of the fact—by the time Luthis came along the passage between the ancillary rooms to the rear, followed by a mixed group of senior staff and scientists. The two guards posted at the entry to the Bridge stepped forward as they approached. "Not past this point," one of them told him.
"But Major Ulak told us to assemble here," Luthis retorted indignantly.
"What is it?" The corporal who was now the most senior of those present came across.
"The party due to go over to the Trojan with Commander Reese. We were told to come here."
The corporal was uneasy. He hadn't been briefed on this. "I don't have any instructions on that. My understanding was that the list isn't approved yet. Assembly would be in the lock area, not here."
Vicki emerged from the throng and began heading toward where Reese was standing with some ship's officers. "Commander, isn't there—"
"You can't come into the Bridge area, ma'am," one of the guards repeated, moving across to block her.
Luthis, grumbling, edged into the space the guard had vacated. "I refuse to be run back and forth like a lab rat. Call Major Ulak."
Flustered, the corporal produced a compad. More figures were milling in from the passage. The guards who had been left looked to the corporal for direction, but for a few vital seconds his attention was focused on making the call. Suddenly, guns appeared in the hands of the arrivals. A couple of the guards managed to raise their weapons but they were outnumbered. Luthis trained a pistol on the stupefied corporal, still with his compad raised, gun in his unbuttoned holster, and held out his other hand. "Be sensible. We've got you cold," Luthis said. "Ulak and the others are all harmless and locked away, every one of them. Tell your men to stand down."
The corporal looked from the muzzle aimed at him from a couple of feet away, then around at their hopeless situation. He nodded. "Do as he says," he told them.
Reese emitted a sigh, finally releasing the tension he had been holding down. This last part had needed to be quick and to go without hitches. The party on the Bridge had been maintaining contact with the Trojan. "Disarm them and secure them in the officers' day room," he instructed the First Officer.
"Yes, sir!" The FO moved away, grinning.
Reese turned to Vicki. "He pulled it off. That's quite a son."
Vicki was suddenly overcome with relief, too. "I always thought it. But then, when was there a mother who didn't? I thought I'd lost him long ago. I don't mean when the Trojan vanished. Long before that—lost him as a person. I still don't have the whole story. But it must have been even harder on him than it was on me."
Robin appeared from the aft direction and joined them as the last of the Trojan's boarding party were being led away. "The engineers are manhandling cables through from the power conversion section now," he reported. "Wernstecki and a couple of his people are setting up their computations. He says they'll need at least half an hour."
Reese indicated the crew station where a channel was open to the Trojan. "It's all yours. Stall them as long as you can," he said.
* * *
In the Trojan's Command Module, Valcroix paced impatiently and looked up at the clock display above the mural screens on the Control Deck. One of the screens showed the Aztec, appearing stationary as it maintained its matching course. He came back to where Grasse was standing with General Nyrom and Captain Walsh. "What's keeping them?" he muttered. "We asked for a simple list of nominations. Wasn't it Reese who initiated this in the first place? Why is it taking so long?"
"Could you check again, General?" Grasse said.
Nyrom turned back to the crew station where an operator was monitoring the channel to the Aztec. "Get me Ulak," he instructed. "I want Major Ulak personally this time. Make that plain."
"I'll try, sir."
But it was Lieutenant Commander Delucey's face again that appeared on the screen.
Nyrom's patience had worn thin. "Why are my orders not being followed?" he demanded curtly. "I asked for Major Ulak. Put him on."
"I'm sorry, but the major is not present on the Bridge Deck at the moment, sir."
"Connect me to his personal code."
"We're not getting a response on that circuit, sir. Shall I send another party to locate him?" Evasions, excuses. What was going on there?
"Lieutenant Commander Delucey, I demand an explanation. Where is your commanding officer? Why have we not been able to speak with him?"
"I'm not familiar with the layout of this ship, sir."
"Put Commander Reese of the Aztec on!" Nyrom snapped. What had happened all of a sudden? Up until now Delucey had always been a capable, first-rate officer.
"He's conferring with the scientific delegation in another part of the ship, sir."
"Connect me to him, then!" Nyrom exploded.
What seemed an interminable wait ensued. Finally, Reese's face appeared on the screen. "General?"
"Commander Reese, I want an explanation. Where is Major Ulak?"
Reese looked puzzled. "The major? He's been waiting for your approval of the nominations list."
"We haven't received any list yet."
"That's strange. I—"
"What is going on over there? I warn you, Commander, if I don't get a satisfactory answer right now, I'll put a full crew aboard your ship and have you and everyone else there locked up for the remainder of the voyage. . . ."
Across the floor, an operator at one of the watch consoles called out suddenly, "Surveillance alert! Permission to report?"
Walsh looked over from the group that Nyrom had just left. "Go ahead."
"Sensors are showing thermal signatures on the Aztec's maneuvering thrusters. Radar indicates attitude altering. She's starting to move, sir."
"Commander Reese, what's happening?" Nyrom demanded. "Your ship is moving out of station. What in hell do you think you're doing? Do I have to remind you that we are an armed vessel?"
"Moving? That's absurd. Let me check."
But it was clearly true.
On the large screen, the Aztec was starting to swing visibly, its tail coming around to bear in Trojan's direction.
"I don't know what they're up to," Grasse called back from the monitor station.
"Prepare for action. Issue a final warning," Valcroix said to Walsh. "If they ignore it, fire to disable, not destroy."
Walsh addressed the Chief Armaments Officer. "Deploy secondary lasers for low kill on stern section. Bring close-range disablers to launch readiness. Pods to Orange standby."
On the screen Aztec's stern was now full-face toward the Trojan. "Aztec firing main drive," the watch operator sang out.
"They must be insane," Walsh murmured, shaking his head. "There's no way they can hope to get out of range of what we're carrying."
"Secondary lasers locked on stern section, twenty percent power," the CAO reported. "Ready to fire. Awaiting orders."
"Aztec has cut main drive."
Walsh's face creased in bemusement. "It doesn't make any sense. If they're—"
"What—?"
"Argh!"
"Jesus Christ!"
It was as if a gigantic, invisible hammer had struck the ship. The entire floor bucked sideways suddenly, sending everyone who had been standing sprawling across the floor and in heaps on top of each other, and pitching console operators from their seats. Loose items flew in torrents off shelves and worktops and tumbled across the floor. Closet doors burst open; drawers slid out and fell off their runners. The air was filled with the juddering and groans of distorted structures protesting. Some figures managed to untangle themselves and pull themselves back to their feet . . . just in time to be bowled over by the next jolt. When they tried to rise again, their bodies felt unnaturally heavy, causing them to flounder more and lose coordination. A lighting fixture detached from its recess in the ceiling and shattered across the floor.
* * *
Trojan had the general form of a stepped axle carrying a wheel at the thicker end. The wheel consisted of six spokes with various functional modules at the ends, interconnected by a communications ring. "Down" within the module decks meant outward, the force defining it being generated by a slow rotation of the whole structure. When the ship was accelerating under thrust, the spokes trailed back, tilting the module decks at the correct angle to create a normal gravity simulation.
The Anguished Dawn Page 37
