‘What is your work?’ Iern inquired of her.
She hesitated, shook her head, and replied, ‘Better change the subject.’
Iern thought of the crates behind him. He had been emphatically informed that their contents were no affair of his. Books, maybe? But what could be secret about a book? Dangerous drugs? He couldn’t imagine the woman trafficking in that, and besides, if he remembered aright, the Northwest Union had no tariffs or restrictions on trade, foreign or domestic. Valuable metals? Every ancient site in western Uropa had lain stripped for centuries, and while he’d heard mention of her having gone east, he didn’t think anything salvageable remained there either. The tribes had brought nothing of that nature to exchange for civilized wares for generations.
What had the outlanders been doing in the Domain? Plik’s impression that it was government rather than commercial business seemed vaguely reinforced by Iern’s recent experiences, but might be mistaken. Moreover, from what the clansman knew about the Union – exceedingly little, he realized – he wondered if you could make a distinction between public and private agencies there.
His exuberance shrank. He was going to be very much alone for a while, in a strange land among folk whose purposes were unknown. ‘May I ask some questions?’ he said. ‘You don’t have to answer any that you, um, shouldn’t.’
‘Sure, go ahead.’ Ronica smiled at him once more, reached over, and patted his hand. Hers was warm and hard. Her sleeves were rolled up; sunlight struck gold from the tiny hairs on her arm. He found it an effort to concentrate on collecting information. ‘I gather you’ve been through a rough spell. Why not put you at ease? Remember, though, I want your story in return!’
‘With pleasure … well, not complete pleasure, under the circumstances, but – Oh, for a start, was my guess right about a stop in Krasnaya?’
‘Yes,’ Mikli responded. ‘Let’s hope the opposition doesn’t make the same guess.’
‘Opposition?’
‘The Maurai, who else?’ Ronica snarled. ‘We’ll ride a flamer if they catch us.’
‘They won’t try, actually,’ Mikli said. ‘What reason do they know to? Doubtless they’ll notice that you and I have not come back to Kemper on the ship, and conclude that I’ve finished my dirty work and you are flying me home. But whatever my villainy was, it must be finished; whatever report I intend to make, I must have alternative channels of communication for it. Besides, we’ll be in Seattle before the ship returns to port. Chasing us would be an expensive exercise in pointlessness. No, I was simply hoping that any investigation they do make doesn’t lead them to our cozy arrangement in Krasnaya.’
Iern felt his throat and shoulder muscles tighten. An electric tingle passed through him. ‘The way you talk,’ he breathed, ‘it’s proof – you and they, secret agents, foreign agents, in the Domain –’
‘No comment,’ Mikli said lightly and kindled a cigarette.
Ronica wrinkled her nose at the smell and made a production of cranking down a window several centimeters. The chill air that came in was somehow calming to Iern, as was her speech: ‘Well, this much comment. We were busy, aye, but not to your harm. The Maurai are our enemies, not your beautiful country and nice people.’
‘What were you doing?’ he dared to challenge.
‘Nothing against you! And Mikli – well –’
‘She’s been told no more than she needed to know, which was minimal,’ the Norrman said. ‘Standard precaution in intelligence work. Yes, most of my assignment was to gather intelligence, especially about Maurai activities in Uropa. Also, I hoped to give a few of your leaders second thoughts about closer interaction with the Federation. I’ll be happy to explain to you, at length, why that’s a bad idea for the Domain as well as distressing to the Union.’
‘Did the coup take you by surprise?’ Iern demanded.
‘Oh, my, yes. I’m frankly underjoyed. Captain Jovain can be expected to cultivate Gaeanity, which is opposed to everything we stand for in the Northwest. And he speaks of the Domain’s taking an active role around the world: beginning in eastern Uropa, guiding civilization as it revives there. A Gaean-dominated continent – Well, maybe you can do something about that, my friend.’
Ronica gave Iern a regard first startled, then thoughtful.
‘And yet,’ the clansman protested, ‘you are making for Krasnaya, a Gaean country.’
‘That’s different. Haven’t you heard? The Mong Wars are over,’ Mikli replied with mild sarcasm. ‘Relations between their states and the Northwest Union are correct, if not precisely ecstatic. True, Yuan, the largest and strongest, does still throw its weight around to a degree. But Krasnaya no longer gets involved in any shenanigans. It’s peaceful to the point of timidity.’
‘What have you in mind?’
‘A certain polk – regiment, you might say – in Krasnaya maintains an airfield in a fairly isolated location. Its commander is willing to sell supplies to Northwestern flyers who happen by. We do have treaties allowing us a limited number of flights per year over Mong territory. The Maurai know that, of course, but I think we’ve kept knowledge of this particular field, I mean its cooperativeness, from them. Our pilots don’t use it often, bonus payments keep its officers discreet, and why or how should the enlisted personnel notify foreigners? Generally the place serves us as a refueling station for exploratory flights to the wild country east and south.’
Exploratory in search of what? wondered Iern.
Ronica asked his next question for him: ‘I’ve not been through there myself. Not my stamping grounds. A chance to see Uropa was irresistible, but otherwise – What’ll we do, Mikli? How guard our cargo from snoopers? Camp by the plane?’
‘No, it would be an insult to refuse hospitality. But the seals on these crates will be unbroken when we leave in the morning,’ her associate said. ‘The commander does not wish to lose his little sideline, nor have the details of it passed on to higher echelons.’
‘Good! I’ll really be wanting to stretch myself, come nightfall.’ Ronica moved her elbows in circles, an exercise with incidental effects pleasing to Iern. He felt relieved by what he had heard, a sense of being among comrades.
Her glance at him buttressed it. ‘You must be plumb worn raggedy,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we have lunch, and afterward you try for a piece of sleep? When you wake, I’d like to hear about you.’
He nodded. His head was, in truth, beginning to feel both scooped-out and heavy.
‘I put sandwiches and a bottle of wine in that red bag on top of our luggage, next to you, Mikli,’ she went on. ‘First, though, I got to piss.’ She unbuckled her safety belt. ‘Hand me the pot, will you? Hell, when we don’t even have any aisle space – It makes no big difference, and the contortionist act needed by a girl will probably be fascinating, but I’ll think the better of you, Iern Ferlay, if you’ll just stare out the window for a few minutes.’
2
The hour was past noon when Terai got aloft. He opened the pod, boarded his jet together with Wairoa and Plik, and stood it on its airy tails just as soon as Hivao had cleared the river mouth. To an indignant call from the coast guard station, he replied, ‘I am sorry, I know this is illegal and I apologize, but an emergency has arisen. It is my own action and responsibility, no one else’s. Please note I have not overflown any land and am bound west overseas. If you wish to make a formal complaint, please contact the Federation ambassador.’ As yet, there was insufficient traffic between the two nations to warrant consulates.
He pressurized the cabin and climbed steeply. Nothing in Uropa could overhaul this machine except, maybe, a Weather Corps vehicle of the first class, and to the best of his knowledge, all such were too distant from here, and unarmed as well. He turned for a glance, through a rear panel, at the dwindling, sinking moon of Skyholm. If they yonder wanted to fire-blast him, they’d better hurry. He did not expect they would, when his infraction was minor and they had everything else to think about.
The cabin had pla
ces for half a dozen, twice as many as were here. Terai had seen no reason to bring more. If he found his quarry under suitable conditions, he could force it down by himself, and either he or Wairoa could use the guns to cover the other if that one had to go out on the ground and secure their prisoners. If he failed to make the capture, extra men would have wasted their time, possibly risked their lives, for nothing; and much remained for them to learn and accomplish in the Domain, he hoped. According to doctrine, he, the chief of the expedition, should have dispatched a subordinate rather than himself. But their mission was not of a nature to make him indispensable. His second in command could perfectly well take charge, whereas Terai and Wairoa had become a uniquely qualified team in the field.
Moreover – the huge body tautened – that was probably Mikli Karst ahead. Terai had a score to pay off.
Sitting alongside a resentful Plik, Wairoa strove to mollify him: ‘Yes, we did lure you on board in order to kidnap you like this. We regret it far more deeply than we regret violating Domain airspace, but after we have explained, you may agree we had no choice. We will do you no injury, and we will return you as soon as possible and pay you a generous compensation.’
The Angleyman leaned back, let knobbly fists fall open, and regarded his seatmate for a while. ‘How will you return me?’ he inquired. ‘I doubt the authorities will let you land, after what’s happened.’
‘We can call our ship to stand out to sea and take us aboard. Or if that isn’t practical for some reason, we can get you passage of a different sort, through Espayn, for example. It would take longer, but I repeat, you shall be well paid for your time.’
Plik stared around him, at the sleek cabin, gun posts, windows full of sky but equipped with steel shutters. His gaze went back to the abnormal form beside him, and thence to Terai. Both Maurai had donned white uniforms that stood forth against his own shirt and trousers (faded, patched, darned) like snow against fallen leaves. ‘This must be a large matter,’ he said slowly.
Wairoa’s tone became stern. ‘It is.’
Terai looked around again. ‘Y’know, Plik,’ he drawled, ‘it should be an adventure for you. See a bit of the world, hey?’
The singer coughed out a laugh of sorts. ‘Shrewd! … Well, we can talk, at least.’ He rubbed bloodshot eyes. ‘First, what about a drink, followed by breakfast?’
Wairoa nodded, unbuckled, and went aft to a cabinet. He brought back a flask of whiskey at which Plik snatched, before he returned to start heating food and making coffee on a hotplate. Terai leveled the jet off at ten kilometers and put it on autopilot. It hissed along at close to the speed of sound.
He moved to seat himself across the aisle from Plik, lean over toward the passenger, and rumble, ‘We haven’t much time. We need your help fast, or it’s no good, none of it. Can we start talking at once?’
‘Aaah!’ Plik’s Adam’s apple, which had bobbed an impressive number of times, came to rest as he lowered the flask. ‘Yes, I feel better already. But you owe me an explanation, you realize. Suppose you begin.’
Terai brought forth pipe and tobacco pouch. He kept his look upon them while they occupied his hands and he said awkwardly: ‘We know you guided Talence Iern Ferlay aboard the Northwestern ship, and take for granted he’s being flown to what he thinks is refuge. Understand, we’re sure he’s quite innocent in this ugly business. We mean him no harm, and in fact we can offer him asylum ourselves – honest asylum. What made us seize you was the hope you can give us clues to exactly where he’s headed, so we can overhaul him and the rest before it’s too late.’
Too late for what?’
‘I wish I didn’t have to say this. That plane is delivering the stuff for a new War of Judgment.’
Plik almost dropped the bottle. Terai moved his head up and down, up and down. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘nuclear explosives.’
He described the evidence in harsh words. ‘Iern Ferlay must simply have happened along,’ he finished. ‘I daresay Mikli took him back because he might be a useful pawn. Besides, Mikli lives for troublemaking – stirring up the anthill, he called it once when we talked. Do you know, the rest of his gang may be sincere, but I believe Mikli Karst is mad. That he wants to put the torch to the world so he can see it burn.’
‘Nuclear explosives,’ Plik whispered. ‘My feeling was truer than I knew.’
‘What?’
‘Archetypes,’ said Plik wildly. ‘The demons are stirring against the gods. But who are the demons and who the gods?’
He took a hefty swig before he twisted around to peer at Wairoa. ‘Who are you?’ he called.
Wairoa did not look up from his work. ‘I have given you my name,’ he said.
‘What are you, then? The same question, of course.’ Plik became owlish. ‘I… do not… wish to give gratuitous insult. But you are a strange one, I have wondered about you before, and now I need to know somewhat.’ He looked at Terai. ‘I can’t agree to help you, whatever my help may be, until I understand what myth we are in – can I?’
Well, if he’s a lunatic too, I think he’s harmless, and best we humor him. Terai explained the genetic mosaic.
Plik’s face stiffened. ‘Thanks,’ he said in no friendly voice. That gives me a better idea of why the Gaeans regard you Maurai as the ultimate enemy.’
‘Hunh?’ replied Terai, astonished. ‘Are you a Gaean?’
‘No, no. I am a Christian; a Nicene Christian – laughably archaic, no? Yet God has always allowed much strangeness to go about in the world, and reveals Himself in ways that are often terrible. I referred to your so coldly making free with life.’
Wairoa brought a tray whereon stood a plate of ham, eggs, and buttered toast, a glass of tomato juice, and a mug of coffee. ‘You have not asked me whether I object to existence,’ he clipped.
Plik looked long at him, while Wairoa arranged the tray in its rack and after he had sat down again. ‘I think you may be the loneliest human creature on Earth,’ the Angleyman murmured finally, ‘but you control yourself like a steel spring.’
Wairoa started the least bit, and almost spoke.
‘Your special senses and abilities –’ Plik went on. ‘Yes, it is something to be the great Watchman. And at the end of the world, you can let that coiled spring fly free.’
Terai lost patience. ‘What in Nan’s name are you blithering about?’ he exclaimed. ‘See here, you, the power to smash several cities is escaping westward. We need your cooperation to stop that, and by Tanaroa, we’ll have it. You are not going to slip into a drunken stupor till we’ve gotten your information out of you!’
At once he regretted his bullying note. The relief was enormous when Plik nodded vigorously and said, ‘Oh, you shall have it, whatever it is and whatever it may be worth. I’ve read my history books. Should I want Vineleaf screaming among ruins, the skin burned off her and her eyeballs melted? Only let me feed first.’ He gave hearty attention to his tray.
The dread that lay in the bones of every Maurai crawled out of Terai’s and into his flesh. ‘How can you say something like that,’ he mumbled, ‘and then sit and eat like that?’
Plik engulfed a forkful of ham. His answer was quasi-cheerful: ‘Why, I am a poet of sorts, and horror is the proper business of poets.’
After a conventional interrogation, the interplay between him and Wairoa became an event which Terai could only watch in awe and incomprehension, with chest aching from held breath and strained muscles, while the aircraft speared westward. Later Wairoa said it had been unique in his own experience. He had never before worked with anyone like Plik, nor did he imagine he ever would again.
The two of them felt their way forward through nuance after nuance. There was hypnosis, to bring out buried memories, but there also came to be a kind of mutual trance, wherein a silence might have as much meaning as a sentence, and the words gave little to listening Terai. Subliminal whispers and shifts of expression (and posture, odor, what else?) must likewise have passed back and forth, as Plik lay on a pad in t
he aisle and Wairoa hunkered above him.
–‘“Krasnaya,” he guessed?’
‘Mikli’sface, his body – That guess was right.’
–‘Mikli was amused?’
‘Yes, to me he felt somehow, creepily amused by all this. –
In the end, after the better part of an hour, Plik rose, shuddered, got back in his scat and groped for his bottle. Wairoa settled down cross-legged in the aisle for a time before he too stood up, sought Terai, and said, expressionless:
They intend to refuel in Krasnaya. It is reasonably close to being on a direct route to the northern tier of the Union, where secret activities can be most readily carried out; and they have no reason to suppose we have reason to pursue them. Besides, Mikli was making snap decisions, including the decision to go along himself. It’s his way. I’ve gained a number of clues to his character which may prove useful. But they aren’t immediately relevant. As for his precise destination, I have considered the airfields in Krasnaya and narrowed down the possibilities to a fairly small territorial range. Give me a map.’
Terai did not pause to marvel at the encyclopedic mind which had so incidentally revealed itself. He just obeyed. Wairoa pointed to an area not far north of the greatest of the Great Lakes. ‘Air traffic is slight over that region; it’s mostly wilderness. Make for it, use radar when you have approached, and the chances appear good that we can detect them and intercept them well ahead of whatever goal they have.’
‘Lesu Haristi –’ Terai breathed.
‘If you have no further need of me, I would like to rest awhile,’ Wairoa said. He withdrew to the rear of the passenger section, settled down, and did not sleep but… meditated?
3
While the Captain’s office was not large, it was, above every place else in Skyholm, tradition-hallowed. No photograph of those who formerly occupied it had ever been replaced on the bulkheads, though time had turned the oldest nearly faceless. Beneath that of Charles Talence and directly above the desk hung, framed, the original copy of the Declaration of Tours, signed by him and the entire Ancestral crew – a seed from which the Domain would grow. (‘We pledge ourselves to more than a rebuilding of what the material world has lost. It is to the causes of peace, order, justice, and ultimate reunion that we dedicate our lives and this instrumentality whose warders we have become.…’) The desk itself was a gift from High Midi when that realm joined; glass protected the ivory inlays on its top, but five centuries of use had left their scuffs and scars on oak panels. A modern console – radiophone, video screen, computer terminal, printer, et cetera, et cetera – was the wellspring and channel of information, but on a shelf beside it stood books that had risen with the Thirty. None but scholars could now read that French Bible, the novels by Jane Austen and Castelo Branco, comedies of Holberg, poems of Villon and Goethe, but they were the last such relics that had not crumbled away. The wool carpet covering the deck in subdued colors was no antique, but it did express the gratitude of Devon in Angleylann after Skyholm had blasted a pirate fleet a generation ago. Hundreds of years earlier, a Captain had caused to be engraved above the outer door the words We Serve.
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