"We can still escape,” Kate urged.
"I told you to go, dearest Kate."
"No. Both of us. We can both get away from here."
Joan's eyes locked on hers. “And afterwards to continue my mission?"
Kate longed to say “yes,” to lie to Joan, anything to get her out of this trap, but her traitor lips shaped the truth. “No. We'd be gone from France, from this time, forever."
Her eyes momentarily went distant, then Joan smiled at Kate even though her eyes still revealed her dread of the fire. “You must go. You need not die here. But my voices say that here is where I stand, here is where I stay."
"Don't listen to them!” Kate screamed. “They don't care about you!"
"They do care,” Joan corrected, her eyes lit with an inner fire now as well. “But they only carry messages to me from my Lord. I always knew it would end. I wish it were not so soon, and I wish it were not to end in fire. But this is my mission, and I will not falter now. Others have died at my command, others have died for France. How can I flee and deny their sacrifice?"
"You have to die so you can keep inspiring people?” Kate yelled. “That's awful. It's not fair!"
Joan turned those intense eyes on Kate. “It is as God wills."
"Then I won't leave you.” Part of Kate was screaming in terror inside her, but she couldn't go now. “You won't face the fire alone."
Joan's answering smile held more gratitude than fear this time. She nodded to Kate and raised her sword in a salute. “Thank you, sister."
Another tree trunk thudded against the breach in the wall. Joan and Kate both tried to shove it aside, but it was heavier than the first and soldiers below were holding it in place as men-at-arms climbed clumsily upward. The archers were firing again, trying to hit Joan and Kate as they struggled to move the tree trunk, but then the first of the men-at-arms reached the top.
Kate swung her sword and fought, side by side with Joan, trading blows with the attackers as one man-at-arms after another came up swinging. One, two, three attackers fell back and down, then in a moment's gap before the next man-at-arms could reach them the two women shoved at the trunk again and this time it shifted, then slid away.
Flames erupted through the floor behind them as the tower turned into a massive chimney feeding the blaze. The floor sagged suddenly as a beam gave way, and Kate staggered back on a still-intact portion of the floor, holding up her arms to protect her face against the heat, trying to keep terror from overwhelming her.
"Kate.” The voice was weak yet somehow penetrated the noise of the fire.
Looking down, Kate's fright turned to horror as she saw Joan half-sitting, half-lying near the breach. The shaft of an arrow that had punched through Joan's breastplate protruded a good foot from her chest. She must have been hit in the instant the tree trunk had been cast down. “Oh, God, no.” Kate fell to her knees beside Joan, momentarily unaware of the fire, the threat of the English forgotten. She reached toward the arrow shaft, then hesitated.
Joan, her face very pale, managed to turn her head to look at Kate. “Don't. It is over ... my sister."
"It—it can't be.” Kate shook her head, renewed tears running down her face and splashing onto Joan's breastplate. “That's not what's supposed to happen. You're supposed to live. To come back with me. You're supposed to."
"My mission,” Joan reminded Kate, her voice growing weaker. “My voices told me ... it must end in fire ... This is my Lord's will ... but, by His grace ... you have given me a gift ... that I die fighting ... and never feel the flames."
"No,” Kate moaned. “In my time you could be happy. You'd belong there. You deserve a better fate than this."
Joan's eyes were shining despite the nearness of death in them. “My fate ... my reward ... is a great one ... my voices tell me ... I shall see my Lord soon ... Take my sword ... Kate, my sister ... live..."
Kate knelt there, shaking, as Joan's breath stilled, her eyes still lifted upward and a smile fixed on her face. “Good-bye,” Kate gasped.
Another section of the floor collapsed, and Kate shrank back against the stone wall as the flames burst out closer to her. The wood floor under them was hot and would surely explode into flame at any moment. The cries of the English seemed faint as they kept back from the inferno the tower had become. Kate gazed on Joan's body, the floor around it smoking now, then picked up Joan's sword and gripped it tightly. Every other defender was dead, no one else had known who Kate was, and so no one would carry the tale of Lady Kate into history. “Good-bye, Joan,” Kate repeated, then pulled back the cuff of her gauntlet and finally punched in the return code through eyes blurred with tears as fire flickered to life on the floor around her.
* * * *
Kate moved in a daze through the pre-dawn campus and to her apartment, not really aware of her surroundings, and never afterward able to understand why she hadn't been spotted by campus security on her way out or stopped by police on the walk home. Maybe anyone seeing an armored knight walking through the dark had not wanted to find out what was going on. But at some point, Kate found herself at the door to her apartment, and managed to dig out her keys.
She paused as the door swung shut behind her, staring at the pictures on one wall. Walking stiffly, Kate moved toward that wall, studying the pictures.
The one that had shown Joan being burned at the stake now depicted a fully armored knight rescuing Joan from the site of her planned execution while bursts of smoke and flame cast by Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret dazzled the English soldiers on guard. Next to it hung a print of a medieval picture Kate had never seen, one showing Joan fighting on the top of a tower while flames rose around her, angels hovering ready to take her to heaven as Joan's attackers cowered in fear below.
Beside that was a photograph of a monument near a small, ruined stone keep, Joan standing in her armor atop a pedestal, gazing heavenward. On the pedestal had been carved the images of knights standing ready to fight to their last with Joan.
Kate just stared at the pictures for a while, then staggered into the bedroom and sat down heavily on her bed, laying the sword carefully beside her and looking at it. She had no idea how long she had been there when a soft knock on the door was followed by a key turning in the lock.
"Hello? Kate?” Cylene's steps sounded softly in the living area, then she peered around the side of the door into the bedroom. “Hey, you weren't on campus this morning and you didn't answer your cell so I wanted to check ... What's the matter?"
Blinking her way back into thought, Kate shook her head. “Nothing.” It came out in a hoarse whisper that even Kate knew didn't sound convincing.
Cylene came closer, bending down to look at Kate's face, then wrinkling her nose. “I smell smoke. Have you been near a fire? Your armor is all beat up. God, that SCA stuff can be a little scary, if you ask me."
"Don't use the Lord's name in vain,” Kate whispered.
"What? Kate, are you okay?” Cylene snapped her fingers in front of Kate's face. “Do you need a doctor?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Sure you are.” Cylene sat down next to Kate, on the opposite side from the sword, looking at the weapon curiously. “You got another sword?"
"Someone gave it to me.” Kate reached out to touch the blade. “She belonged here, Cy. In a time when a woman could be smart and lead knights into battle and be herself. But she was needed then."
"Are you talking about Joan?"
"Yes.” Kate took a long breath, then finally focused on Cylene. “Joan wasn't what I thought. I mean, she was in some ways. But she wasn't any of the things people think about her. No, that's not right. She was all of those things and different things and most of all just herself. Strong and smart and brave. She was Joan."
"Okay.” Cylene looked away. “You know who Joan was now. What did you do, go back in time and talk to her?"
"Uh—"
"Because you've talked about that so many times. ‘If only I could be that mysterious knight
! If only I could be the one to rescue Joan from execution by the English!'” Cylene smiled teasingly at Kate and tapped her armor. “So, was it you?"
"Yeah. It was me."
"What? Kate, this is not funny because you don't sound like you're joking!"
Kate made a major effort and tried to look normal. “I've really always said that I wanted to be that knight? Not that I wanted to keep Joan from being burned alive at the stake?"
"Yes. You've said it a million times, that and about how you used to pray you could be one of the knights with her at the keep. But she didn't burn at the stake because that one knight rescued her, so that's the same thing, isn't it?"
"Not exactly.” Kate smiled, feeling a sense of wonder breaking through the numbness. She really had changed things.
Cylene was still talking. “It's not like Joan didn't get to die fighting. How many women has that inspired over the years?"
"It has?” Kate asked. “I mean, yes, it has. Although, if she had died being burned at the stake it would have been harder for her, Cy. Facing the fire alone and never crying out in pain or for mercy. It would have been the bravest and strongest thing she ever did."
"Uh, sure, I guess. You never talked about it that way before."
"I never really understood before, how strong and brave and amazing she was.” Kate ran one hand through her hair, feeling the ashes still clinging there. Ashes from a fire that had burned more than six centuries ago.
Cylene spoke hesitantly. “So, what have you been crying about? Seriously, Kate, you look like hell."
"I'm a lot better off than the others.” That really sounded wrong, even though it was true. “I mean, I just had some very stressful experiences, and I don't think I'm ready to talk about them."
"All right.” Cylene made an uncertain gesture. “Do you want to keep sitting here or go into the living room where it's more comfortable? I can make you some lunch. When's the last time you ate?"
Over six hundred years ago, Kate realized. “It's been a while. I could use some wine. Red wine.” Cylene helped her get her armor off, unsuccessfully trying to hide her reaction to the state of the clothes under the armor that Kate had been wearing for days. Kate managed to stand up despite her entire body feeling stiff and sore, then walked into the living room behind Cylene, but once there hesitated, staring once again at the picture of Joan on the flaming tower. “I didn't see angels,” she heard herself saying, “but maybe Joan did. Maybe she heard them. She was so calm, so content when she died, so sure she was going to heaven."
"You're scary again,” Cylene said. “And since when do you believe in heaven?"
"I don't anymore. No, maybe now I do. I don't know, yet. But Joan believed, and maybe that's what's needed, like a spiritual Schrodinger's cat. If you don't really believe in heaven and angels, they're not there. But if you do ... and Joan made you believe."
Cylene was looking at Kate with a baffled expression. “Where have you been, and what did you do there, and what did you do with Kate?"
"Kate is still here. I've just learned a few things. It's a long story.” Should she tell Cy? Listen to your heart. Live. Kate reached a decision. “There's probably only one person on earth I could tell it to, and I want to tell you. You may decide I'm crazy, but I'll tell you. I swear it's true."
"You'll tell me? Only me?” Cylene smiled with delight. “Okay. Long story? Maybe I should order pizza delivered. You want mushrooms, right?"
Visions flooded Kate's mind, images of a night distant in time now, a small fire, figures in armor sitting around it roasting wild mushrooms on sticks, Joan's eyes in the firelight as she laughed, a skin of raw red wine being passed around, the dark sky above brilliant with stars more numerous than the modern world could now see. The memory could have brought tears, but instead Kate found herself laughing at the joy of it all. “Yes. With mushrooms."
Copyright © 2009 John G. Hemry
[Back to Table of Contents]
Reader's Department: THE REFERENCE LIBRARY by Don Sakers
When you think about it, science fiction is a lot like food. It comes in many different varieties, those who consume it have very strong likes and dislikes, and (for some of us) it is a necessity for life.
In science fiction as in food, we all have our favorites ... but a steady diet of the same thing gets to be boring. This month I have a diverse menu; I hope you'll find something to please you.
* * * *
The Lost Fleet: Relentless
Jack Campbell
Ace, 320 pages, $7.99
(mass market paperback)
ISBN: 978-0-441-01708-9
Genre: Military SF
Series: Lost Fleet 5
* * * *
I'm not one of those who believe that every sf book has to be stunningly original and deeply meaningful. Sometimes you're just in the mood for something familiar, something dependable: comfort food. In the old days, you could count on Mack Reynolds, Gordon Dickson, or Poul Anderson for a basic good, entertaining story. Nowadays there are many options; one of them is a nice military sf series.
It just figures. Military sf usually has a familiar plot; good guys vs. bad guys. The social trappings are familiar—military rank, command structure, character motivations. A multi-book series generally implies that you're going to be following the same characters through a succession of adventures. And if the series is by a familiar author whose work you know, so much the better.
Jack Campbell's Lost Fleet series meets all the criteria for good, solid comfort food.
To begin with, Jack Campbell is a name that all Analog readers should be familiar with—although you have to look on the copyright page to learn this. “Jack Campbell” is a pseudonym for none other than Analog regular John G. Hemry, and you know he can tell a good story.
Here's the basic set-up for the series: The Alliance and the Syndicate Worlds have been at war for a long time. Captain John ("Black Jack") Geary, commander of the Alliance heavy cruiser Merlon, is the last to enter an escape pod when his ship is defeated and destroyed. The pod automatically puts him into suspended animation until he reaches rescue.
A century later, Geary's pod is found by an Alliance fleet, and he's reanimated. The fleet is deep in enemy space, reeling from defeats and desperate to get home. And here's the legendary hero Black Jack Geary, back to lead them to safety. Before he knows it, Geary is in command of the Lost Fleet, and the adventure has begun.
Except that Geary knows he is only a man, not an all-powerful hero. The ships of the Fleet (there are hundreds of them) include various squabbling captains, an officious politician, an underground resistance, and an unknown number of enemy agents. Geary struggles with his own doubts and demons, uncertain that he can ever succeed in bringing the Fleet safely to Alliance space.
Geary's doubts and weaknesses only make him all the more interesting and sympathetic, which is a good thing in a series protagonist: if you've going to spend multiple volumes with a guy, you want him to be someone you like.
Through four previous books Geary and the Fleet have struggled on through nonstop pursuits, battles, food shortages, and betrayals, limping from one star system to another with barely time to nurse their wounds.
The four previous books are Dauntless (1), Fearless (2), Courageous (3), and Valiant (4). And if I may digress for a moment, here's where sf series writers and publishers could take a lesson from mystery writers such as Sue Grafton (A is for Alibi, B is for Burglar, etc.) and Janet Evanovich (One for the Money, Two for the Dough, and so forth). Would it be so hard to give the hapless reader a break and make the titles go in alphabetical order, or include numbers?
Ahem. Back to the Lost Fleet. In Relentless, Geary takes them to the Heradoo system to rescue Alliance prisoners of war. Of course, Heradoo is also the location of a great number of enemy vessels. Meanwhile, there's the question of what happens when the Fleet gets home—turns out that a sizable contingent wants Geary to overthrow the corrupt Alliance government. Oh, and there are
these saboteurs loose in the Fleet...
The Lost Fleet isn't just mindless action. As you'd expect, Hemry/Campbell writes space battles that conform to the laws of physics; no right-angle turns or shields down by x% in these books. Unsurprisingly, his military officers also ring true; you aren't going to see third-year cadets inexplicably put in command of any flagships here.
Does the Fleet eventually get home? Does Black Jack lead a revolt against the evil politicians? Are there going to be more books in the series? I'm not going to spoil the fun by telling.
With a ragtag fleet fleeing implacable enemies, it's hard not to be reminded of Battlestar Galactica (whichever version you prefer). Don't be fooled; this is no warmed-over television show. The Lost Fleet books are real science fiction, as filling and nutritious as a meal of your favorite comfort foods.
* * * *
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Omen
Christie Golden
Del Rey, 250 pages, $27.00 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-0-345-50912-3
Genre: Star Wars
Series: Fate of the Jedi 2
* * * *
Sometimes you don't want a big meal; you're more in the mood for something less substantial ... maybe some kind of fruit-gelatin salad with those little marshmallows, or something involving things dipped in chocolate. In this mood, you might want to try a Star Wars novel. The background and characters are familiar enough, and you can't beat ultimate good vs. absolute evil.
It's 40-plus years after the original Star Wars, and there's been a lot of water under the bridge in the meantime. Don't worry about catching up; Christie Golden is an old hand at this sort of thing and she rapidly fills in the blanks for any reader who's missed the dozens of novels that have come before. In particular, you won't miss much if you haven't read Fate of the Jedi: Outcast, the volume that immediately precedes this one.
Analog SFF, November 2009 Page 21
