Orion Shall Rise

by Poul Anderson

  A number at the top indicated the cipher matrix used. She could decode in her head as fast as she could from a book. Dipping brush in ink, she began to write. After a minute she was amused to notice that she was doing calligraphy.

  Humor froze and fell out of her as the burden of the message began to appear. At the end she sat motionless, while the sun set and night flowed upward in the room.

  ‘– to those of principal grade throughout the Five Nations, enjoining them to absolute secrecy. Until permitted, you should give to no one the least sign that you possess the following information. Within the hour, you should perform the Exercise of Discretion.…

  ‘– you know about a mad quest by an unknown faction, seeking fissionables.…

  ‘– authorities ordered monitoring, seismological and radiological, terrestrial and atmosphere.… No public mention of this effort has been made, but of course the Minister of War in Yuan stands in a confidential relationship to Prorók Chepa and habitually seeks his counsel.…

  ‘– above Chukri. A slight but measurable increase in the background radiation count was observed and aircraft were dispatched to collect samples. … Unequivocally products of uranium fission –

  ‘– source unidentified. There were no unambiguous ground tremors on which to triangulate. Either it was an air burst or it took place very far west of us. Both could be true, of course.…

  ‘– Northwest Union is not the sole possible culprit. It was never made public, but Yuanese military intelligence has ascertained that a Beneghali attempt to construct a fusion generator was approaching success when the Maurai learned of it and mounted a commando operation which destroyed the plant. Elements within the Federation itself may conceivably be planning revolt. The Domain of Skyholm seems implausible, but certainly the potential capability exists, as it does in Espayn, Free Merica, Meyco, and perhaps some of the marginally technological societies. The explosion or explosions did occur in a high latitude, but there are plenty of uninhabited lands and untrafficked waters to which anybody could send a testing expedition. An accusation like this is much too grave, too apt to bring a violent reaction, for us to make blindly.…

  –– Soldati governments are keeping the knowledge to themselves for the nonce, informing no foreign powers.…

  ‘– you have been told because you are among the Custodians of Humanity. Yours is the task of guidance away from a new Death Time and, very likely, Gaea’s casting off of our whole species. On the practical side, you are in a network that covers much of the globe. Keep alert. If you believe you have any smallest clue, report it in cipher.…

  ‘– whoever is responsible for this must be found out and annihilated. You are the defensive cells of Gaea. Through you, now, acts the Life Force.’

  – Vanna sat long in the dusk, alone with this newest truth. Finally she folded the papers and tucked them into her bosom, to carry home and burn. They felt harsh against her skin. Abruptly she put elbows on desk, buried face in hands, and wept.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The door at the top of the front stairs opened and afternoon sunlight struck dazzlingly downward into the Pey-d’Or. A dozen drinkers looked up from their tables, as did Sesi from her stance, and saw a pair of bulky shadows athwart that brilliance. The door closed again behind them and boots thumped. Wariness fell on the men together with the returned gloom, for these newcomers were strangers, and armed.

  They stopped at the bottom of the stairs and peered around. At this hour, nearly all patrons were sailors from ships in port. Among their burly, shabby-brightly-clad forms, four were conspicuous as outlanders. One was Plik, who sprawled against the board, legs across the floor. Opposite him, in conversation until now, sat a short, sallow man with short, grizzled hair and beard, long nose, ready smile but wintry eyes, dressed in a high-collared tunic and buckskin trousers. Two benches away, a Maurai had been plying the barmaid with jokes and propositions; she giggled and encouraged him when she wasn’t taking orders. Off by himself in a corner was another Maurai, to judge by his blouse, sarong, and sandals; but he was a bizarre sort, short-bodied, long-legged, hair in black and brown stripes, features disharmonic, skin covered by dark splotches of which one made a domino mask. He alone did not stare at the arrivals.

  Dressed alike in green, they had insignia of military rank on their sleeves and the emblem of a globe on their shoulders. Their heads bore sklerite helmets, and at their belts were not just combat knives and truncheons, but a pistol apiece.

  Sesi moved toward them through an uneasy silence, smiling and swinging her hips a little more than usual. ‘Greeting, sirs,’ she said in her accented Francey. ‘What is your pleasure?’

  When the sergeant replied, his own intonation was Eskuara: ‘We are here on business of the Domain. Attention, everybody!’

  A half-drunken deckhand bristled and jeered, ‘The Domain? Hai, what the devil’s going on? I never saw uniforms like yours before, and I’ve been around, I have.’

  The corporal took the word, sounding as if his home state was Marnaube: ‘We belong to a new force, the Terran Guard. The Captain has ordered it.’

  ‘A couple of weeks after taking office?’ muttered Plik. ‘Oh, no, hardly. This must be the preorganized outfit that occupied those key points on the ground – and Skyholm – during the glorious revolution. Eh, my friend?’ he asked his tablemate.

  Mikli Karst leaned close and answered low, ‘Yes, obviously, but don’t say it aloud.’ He grinned. ‘You perceive and understand a great deal for a souse, but you’re not used to government from the center and I’d hate to see you get in trouble.’

  Plik scowled and swigged.

  ‘At ease,’ the sergeant called. ‘We’re going around town making an announcement. Too important for the radio or newspapers alone. Pay heed.’

  He took a document from a pocket, unfolded it, cleared his throat, and read aloud:

  ‘Talence Jovain Aurillac, Captain of Ileduciel, to the people of the Domain, for its welfare and safety.

  ‘You are aware that an imminent danger has lately compelled the posting of troops aboard the aerostat. This danger still exists. While it does, visits on other than essential business must be suspended. Normal functions and services will be maintained, and the authorities and inhabitants of every state shall continue their normal routines unless otherwise directed.

  ‘Perils and uncertainties confront us on every side – conflicting ambitions and mutinous discontent at home, hostile nations growing in strength abroad, the entire configuration of the world changing at storm speed, politically, socially, economically, technologically, even religiously. Although I am vowed to preserve the integrity of the Domain, that is not possible by freezing ourselves into a new Isolation Era. We must be ready to institute whatever changes are healthful. Some will be radical. Most obviously and immediately, the Domain cannot continue as loosely organized as it has hitherto been. We must have a stronger central authority, prepared to act as swiftly and decisively as needful. To this end, I have established the Terran Guard, a security corps taking precedence over any state militia or police, coequal with the regular armed services but with distinct responsibilities and under the direct command of the Captain.

  ‘People of the Domain, you too can help your country in its hour of peril. Investigation of enemy plans and actions against us is proceeding apace, and you shall have a full account immediately after your government does. Meanwhile, at present certain crucial individuals are missing.

  The most urgently wanted is my kinsman Talence Iern Ferlay, a Senior in his Clan and lieutenant colonel in the Air Force. You have probably seen or heard reports of his violent behavior in Skyholm and his seeming escape from it, aided by persons unknown. One is reluctant to speak ill of a popular figure, and at present he is only under summons as a material witness. However, it has become increasingly clear that he knew much more than he pretended. If he is alive, his testimony will be of the utmost significance in our pursuit of the factions that would undermine us, and wit
hholding it is treasonous. If he is dead, that will at least be a clue for your guardians.

  ‘By this warrant, I demand the help of all who may have knowledge pointing to his whereabouts. I remind them that their first allegiance is to Ileduciel and its Captain. For information leading authorized agents to Talence Iern Ferlay or his body, a reward of five thousand golden aers is offered.’

  The sergeant read on: ‘– automatic amnesty … preferment… physical description as follows –’ while Plik shaped a silent whistle, Mikli stroked his beard and smiled, the sailors and Sesi grew wide-eyed, and Wairoa sat observing.

  At the end, the sergeant barked, ‘Is that clear? Any questions?’ None came. He snapped a salute and clicked his heels. The corporal imitated him. ‘In duty to the Captain!’ he exclaimed, ritually although it was a ritual new in the Domain. The two men wheeled smartly about and departed.

  Again silence prevailed, until the half-drunk seaman slapped palm down on board, a gunshot noise, and bawled, ‘Zhesu up the mizzenmast! Are they after the Stormrider? Just because he stands against that mother-diddling Gaeanity?’

  A nearby man tautened. ‘Watch your language, mate,’ he said. ‘I’m a Gaean, and proud to be.’

  ‘Why?’ asked a third. ‘No insult meant, I’m not looking for a fight, but what is it in Gaeanity, anyhow?’

  ‘Truth, that’s what’s in it,’ replied the second. ‘Oh, aye, the fine points are too much for me, and belike I’ll never feel Oneness myself, but I know it’s real. And so do a holdful of people brighter than you or me, mate.’

  ‘It’s the coming thing,’ opined a fourth man. ‘It’s getting harder and harder to deal with Gaeans unless you’re a Gaean yourself, or respectful of the creed, anyhow; and a lot of those deals are fat, very fat.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Ye-e-es, I could use five thousand aers. And I’ve seen Iern myself, strutting around in this same tavern, not long ago.’

  ‘Hold on!’ shouted the first. ‘Whoever turns the Stormrider in to his enemies will answer to me.’ He lifted a knotty fist. ‘I’m from the Etang. My wife and kids would’ve been dead, save for him. And by every devil underneath your arse, Iern should’ve been Captain, too. He wouldn’t take the kind of shit we’re in for. Because mark my words, we’re in for plenty.’

  ‘Then where’s he gone?’ demanded the second. ‘Why’d he run away? What’s he got to hide?’

  Plik, who had sat inhaling and sipping the mustiness of his wine, murmured to Mikli, ‘What he has to hide is his hide, I think.’ The pun came across in the Angley he used.

  The Northwesterner nodded. ‘Your esteemed Captain is being, shall we say, decisive,’ he replied, low-voiced. ‘But then, I gather that Iern’s action forced his hand.’

  Plik regarded him closely through the aromatic dimness. The two of them had struck up an acquaintance bordering on friendship. Mikli enjoyed the songs, Plik the accounts of the Northwest Union, each the sardonicism of the other. ‘I wonder what else you’ve gathered,’ the Angleyman said. ‘What is your real business in Uropa? Your vagueness about it has approached the poetic.’

  Mikli made his eyebrows repeatedly rise and fall. ‘Have I been vaguer than the Maurai over there? Nobody brags about commercial and quasi-diplomatic negotiations in progress. That fun gets too expensive.’

  ‘But you seem less upset than you might be about what’s happened, in spite of Jovain and his followers being frankly cool toward your nation.’

  ‘They’re cooler toward the Maurai.’ Mikli started a cigarette and used it for a baton in between puffs. ‘Interesting paradox. You’d think Gaeans would favor the Maurai, wouldn’t you? Ecologically minded society, conservative but tolerant, whereas we Norries tend to be infatuated with machinery and to look on Earth less as a house than a warehouse. But in practice, the Maurai claim a stewardship over the planet that the Gaeans want for themselves, and the Maurai attitude is too rationalistic and pragmatic as well. Also, of course, making the Domain a world power entails sapping the Federation hegemony, something we in the Union would be delighted to help along. On this account, perhaps we’ll write yet another chapter in the tortuous history of alliances.’

  ‘I wouldn’t lay money on that.’

  ‘Oh, not now. Jovain isn’t about to break off relations with either party soon, or anybody else, assuming he could do it. The authority of the Captain has its limits, which can’t be greatly expanded overnight, and besides, he’ll naturally want to keep his options open. Expect simply a shift of emphasis, while he consolidates his position – starting with disposal, one way or another, of that cumbersome Talence Iern Ferlay. Pending our airman’s apprehension, his reputation is a convenient target. Have you heard the news about his wife?’

  Plik nodded, tossed off his drink, and signaled for more. ‘You needn’t repeat the obvious to me,’ he said, ‘especially since I disagree with your implied prediction.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Granted, I am a souse, but a well-read souse, and a bit of a poet to boot. They say that only mathematics can make sense of the physical world. Well, only poetry and music can make sense of the human world, because humans are the least rational of the animals and how else shall we symbolize their madness?’ Plik shook his head. ‘No, my chum whom I am about to cadge a refill from, no, you lay out a neat scheme for Captain Jovain, but I guarantee you it won’t come to pass. It’s neat, you see, logical, self-interested, therefore not human.’

  ‘Indeed? It was formulated by a human, wasn’t it? What fatal flaw do you detect?’

  ‘It’s a matter of the soul of the people – for every people has a soul, and if not strictly immortal, it’s damnably hard to kill.’ Plik spread his hands. ‘I can’t explain, unless indirectly through a song.’ Sesi arrived. He threw an arm around her buttocks and rubbed his cheek across her belly. ‘A fresh charge, Vineleaf, provided this gentleman pays.’

  ‘I will,’ Mikli said, ‘if you’ll promise me that song.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Plik answered. ‘Such things come if they choose. When you try to force them, they send idiot changelings instead. But I think that this one has chosen to come. Give me another day or two.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Mikli laid a coin on the table. ‘And another calvados for me, dear doxy.’

  A buzz sounded. He was alert instantly as a cat. ‘No, hold mine.’ From a pouch at his belt he took a miniaturized radio transceiver, laid it to his ear, listened for a moment, and brought the input disc before his lips for a brief reply in Unglish.

  Rising, he said, ‘I’m sorry, I must go. Drink my share of the money in good cheer, Plik, if not exactly good health.’

  ‘You’ve been waiting for that message these past few days,’ said the Angleyman.

  Mikli smiled, his smile that was peculiarly fetching despite the bad teeth. ‘No epochal deduction. Yes, we’ve had a party in Alleman country, searching out trade possibilities, and they’ve just called in that they’ll arrive here shortly. I have to make arrangements. You make your song – and the barmaid, for that matter.’

  He left. A few minutes later, Wairoa the lonely did likewise. Emerging on the street, he sauntered idly back and forth a while, until he had the information he needed to send him in a particular direction. Given his distinctive appearance, he was a most implausible spy, provided he kept out of normal earshot and did not seem unduly interested in his surroundings.

  Thus he saw a weary, dusty, sweaty group ride into town, a light wagon with a covered load in their midst, a large blond woman at their head. He saw Mikli lead a band of men from the Northwestern ship to meet them and escort them back, politely but absolutely fending off curious passersby. He saw the wagon unhitched and a cargo boom lift it onto the deck. Although at a distance, he saw exultation upon Mikli, who capered about and repeatedly kissed the woman’s hands; it was not her that the little gray man welcomed, but the freight she had brought.

  That night, like a drift of mist, Wairoa slipped aboard. The gangplank was drawn in. Besides the regular watch, a d
etail stood sentry around the cart. None of them noticed the soft thunk of a rubber-sheathed grapnel he cast from the water where he swam, nor his climbing the rope and creeping over the planks – but then, he took hours, and when he poised motionless, his dappled nudity melted into moonlight and shadow. He did not come nearer the wagon than a hatch coaming he used for concealment. It was not necessary. The sole instrument he carried was a hand-held ultrasonic beam generator; it was small and simple because he, alone on the ship and in the world, could hear and analyze the echoes of its probing.

  As cautiously as he proceeded, he did not regain the wharf until the stream had begun to shiver with a wan eastern gray. Thereupon he hastened to the inn where Terai had quarters.

  2

  Night came again, bringing wind and wrack. The moon, well past the half, had risen when Plik left the building that stood over the Pey-d’Or.

  Almost sober, he walked as fast as the murk between far-spaced street lamps allowed, for cold blew about his threadbare coat. Nevertheless the moon, as it seemingly flew in scud, caught a smile on his mouth, and he hummed a tune against the whine of air, scrit and rattle of paper trash; when a tomcat commenced a serenade to some puss behind some pair of shutters, Plik laughed aloud. ‘Good luck, my friend,’ he called. Try going down the chimney.’

  His way to the decrepit house where he rented a room for himself and another for his books led across the square beside the Cathedral of Corentin. Only the moon shone on it, fitfully, for at this hour it was empty save for him and a dust devil. The church lowered above like a shadow cast on the sky by a twin-peaked mountain. He passed the southwest corner. His footfalls rang hollow on stone.

  ‘Plik! Stop.’

  He obeyed the voice, turned, and moved in his awkward fashion toward the one who had so quietly hailed him. Iern stepped out of the darkness between wall and tower. Plik broke into a run, reached and embraced him. Iern gave back the hug till the Angleyman groaned, ‘Please. My ribs may be poor things, but they are mine own.’