“So has Eagleheart. You cannot hold it against him.”
“What do you see as the end of it all?” Blackstar asked the lord of Falcor.
“I don’t know,” replied Deathdancer. “But I do not think that you need worry too much about Eagleheart’s attempt to replace Stormwind. There are few enough ships in the galaxy, and it will take time to convert them. We won’t outnumber you at all for a long time. Any advantage there is is still with your fleet. I hope there is time to find a settlement before the situation gets out of hand. It may be that all it will take is one crushing defeat—one which can be followed through until the losing side is forced to surrender. That can come at any time. Neither fleet is very large.”
“I see,” said Blackstar. “I hope that you are right. I only wish Castanza had not sent that message.”
“Why did he do it?” asked Hornwing.
“Who knows?” replied Blackstar. “I wonder if he knew, when he did it, what it would lead to.”
Blackstar came slowly to his feet, and began to walk slowly away toward the Human ships. Mindmyth went with him, and the Beasts followed him with their eyes for some distance.
A LITTLE TRUTH
A little truth can be as dangerous as a little knowledge. Blackstar had been told a little of the truth by two very sincere men. It did not altogether calm his fears, but it caused him to lay them aside temporarily. It did not occur to him that Hornwing and Deathdancer could be as ignorant about Eagleheart as he was himself.
With nothing resolved, the two fleets left Stonebow. The Beasts returned to Diadema, the Humans to their new base on Sandaval. But Alexander Blackstar was not with the Beasts when they landed on Sandaval: he went to Home alone. He wanted to talk to his father.
What he wanted to discuss with Starcastle was fairly simple, but not very clear in his mind. He wanted to talk about what Starbird had done, and what Starbird ought to do, and what the Beasts had done. He asked for advice, but Starcastle refused to pass any judgments on the actions of his second son. On the matter of the Beasts, he was more willing to speak.
“There is nothing we can do but wait,” said Starcastle definitely. It was the code he lived by: inaction in the face of everything. But Blackstar did not understand that. He accepted the advice.
“Hornwing seems to be a good man. He has confidence in Eagleheart. Do you think lie is right?”
“How can I know that? How can even Hornwing know that? We can all see and judge what Eagleheart does and says. It is what he intends to do that matters. And what Eagleheart believes.”
“And what does Eagleheart believe?”
“Something, apparently, which makes him want to continue the war. Something which wants to set the Beast race against the Human race. Perhaps it is simply that he believes our races are different. If so, then he and I agree. Perhaps he feels that tire Beasts have earned the galaxy, that they made it what it is, and that Humans are unnecessary. Perhaps he thinks that there is injustice in the fact that the Humans own what the Beasts have made. Again I am forced to agree.”
Blackstar was aghast. “But that’s nonsense! Beast or Human, we are all men. What does it matter who wears the mark of the Beast and who does not? We have inherited what we have from our fathers. There is no injustice in the fact that the Humans own the starworlds where the Beasts live. The Beasts have their lords too. If we are not necessary, then neither are tire Beast lords. Including Eagleheart.”
Starcastle laughed. “Under our precious code of honor, around which the galaxy revolves, it is a grave sin to question another man’s station, to say that he is less or more than you. To every man his place and his integrity. But die whole structure of galactic civilization is built on the premise that one man is better than another, that a Human is better than a Beast.
“Never mind whether it’s true or not, or even whether it means anything at all. But think why the Beasts were made in the first place. They were built to do a job that we could not do. They were built to capture and harness the stars— not for themselves, but for us. They were sent to establish bridgeheads for us, to do the work that we couldn’t do. And most important of all, they were sent to populate the worlds widi men who could extract dieir wealth for us, the Humans, not for themselves.
“Has it never occurred to you that if a Beast was the equal of a Human, dien we would never have built the Beasts at all; we would have done the job ourselves. But we couldn’t take the galaxy when the omega-drive gave it to us. We inherited the stars and there was no way we could use our inheritance. Because there weren’t enough of us…
“A simple, straightforward reason. That reason is in the history which you are taught to accept and be proud of. It seems so simple that no one ever bothers to question it. But it’s no reason at all. It won’t stand alone. Beasts are men, like us. They breed just like we do, with the same nine month gestation period. So why did we need Beasts? Why couldn’t we just breed Humans?
“And that’s the difference. We couldn’t. So we built the Beasts, who could. We—the Humans—had overpopulated Home three times over. After hundreds of years of misery, war and chaos, which somehow managed to snatch us back from the brink twice, and just as surely carry us over it again, we began to exercise some self-control. The restrictions we imposed weren’t new. They’d been rigidly enforced laws half a dozen times, but they’d always been broken, evaded, and repealed over and over. But after a few hundred years, people began to accept them. They not only obeyed the restrictions, they believed in them. Our ancestors gradually reached an equilibrium. They really began to come to terms with the smallness of their planet. It burned deeper and deeper into the mind of every man and woman, with every generation, that excessive procreation was the greatest evil in existence. A man with children became a pariah.
“It came about slowly—a little genetic manipulation, a little psychology and psychosurgery, a lot of bitter experience—but it was built in. It set far more firmly than any religious belief, any ethical conviction. It became a part of Human nature. Man must not breed to excess. The population must not increase. Children must be born twenty years apart, and never more than two of them.
“For eight hundred years, life on Home was balanced. The days of struggle were over. There were few enough people for there to be enough for everybody. The discipline had been hammered into the mind of the people, into the flesh of the people, so deeply that it was absolutely ineradicable. Then we inherited the stars. Omega-drive put the center of the galaxy within our reach in a single day. From one edge of the lens to the other in a hundred hours!
“The stars were wide open for conquest; all we had to do was go and take them. But there weren’t even enough Humans to put a thousand people on every perfect world— about a hundred or two on every habitable world, if the high-gravity planets like Falcor and the low-oxygen worlds like Nager were counted.
“What had been done could have been undone, of course. The Human race could be taught to breed like rabbits again. But it is not easy to take away the teaching of eight hundred years, especially when it has been genetically and psychosurgically reinforced. It wasn’t a matter of withdrawing restraints and allowing human nature to take over again. If the exploding population had ever been a part of Human nature, that part had been long lost. The Human race was pathetically sane, and was faced with the prospect of either becoming neurotic again, or leaving the stars alone.
“But instead, the Beasts were devised and built. It was easy, if somewhat expensive. They were turned out in thousands—mass produced and shipped off to the stars. Only about four or five billion were actually made from raw materials over a span of about fifty or a hundred years. After that, they were simply allowed to breed and populate the starworlds by themselves. They did what we could not do, and claimed the stars. They made worlds tenable for us by civilizing them. The Humans followed them—two or three hundred to the more economically important worlds, ten or twenty to others. Most of us stayed on Home, or on the worlds nearest to Home.
&nbs
p; “The Human population today is exactly the same as it was ten thousand years ago. The Beasts outnumber us by millions and more to one.
“And all that says why I think Humans are qualitatively different from Beasts. Their society, their basic nature, is subtly different. And there are Humans still—not many, I suppose, because ten thousand years is a long time—who think that the Beasts are still animals simply because they breed quickly. And us, the Humans? We maintain the outdated standards. It has become so much a part of Human nature not to breed that we still don’t do it, no matter how much time passes, no matter how little purpose there is to it. A man who has children is no longer subject to legal action, no longer a focus for open condemnation. But they talk about him behind their hands, disapprove of him deep in their minds, without even realizing why.
“Believe me, Alexander, I know this. I know it better than any man alive. Because I am Starcastle the leper, the tainted man. I am an inhuman monster. I have six children.
“I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. I even dislike myself for it. Perhaps you don’t feel the same, having been brought up as one of six. Perhaps you don’t even know what
I’m talking about. But it’s there, I assure you. The Humans despise their own leader. The House of Stars is assuming the role of a symbol of decadence. If there is any threat to the House of Stars, then it will not be the Humans who spring to our defense. They’ll fight for you or David, but not for me. And don’t trust them too far yourself.
“Go back to the fleet, Alexander. Don’t try to tell David what to do. Don’t blame Eagleheart too much for whatever he does. And remember that someday you’re going to have to carry the burden of the Human race on your back. Do a better job than I have.”
Alexander Blackstar left his father’s house with a little more truth. But it was still not the right truth. It was no real help in solving the problems with which he was faced.
OVERTURES TO STORMWIND
Eagleheart wanted Stormwind back. He needed the lord of Sabella. It would take far too long to replace Stormwind’s substantial force with the odd ships that would be attracted by his appeal, and which would necessarily take time to arrive. He was acutely conscious that he was still vulnerable, and he was scared of a Human landing on Diadema.
He went to see the Urside lord, and told him exactly what had happened on Stonebow, with a carefully censored version of why. He hoped that Stormwind’s anger would have died sufficiently to allow the Beast lord to listen.
Eagleheart spoke quietly and sanely to Stormwind, with none of his usual dramatic posturing. He explained the idea of Beast unity carefully, as a harmless and very desirable thing. He spoke of the place Stormwind occupied in the imagination of the Beasts who watched the war from afar. He told of the vital place Stormwind could occupy in the united Beast nations. He apologized, sincerely, for the angry words which had passed between them. He admitted that he had been wrong about the girl, carried away by his zeal.
His arguments were lucid, his voice had its usual innate magnetism. He destroyed all Stormwind’s aggression and sowed doubt in Stormwind’s mind about the hasty conclusions he had drawn.
But Stormwind refused to back down. He believed that he might be wrong, and he should have accepted what Eagleheart said, because he was an honorable man. But he was also a vain man. Retreat was impossible for him to swallow. He had martyred himself on the pyre of his pride, and he would not rise from the ashes.
Judson Deathdancer came to him and explained his part in the battle on Stonebow. He told Stormwind about the Felides who had died covering for the absence of the Ursides. He asked Stormwind to come back, speaking as a friend and fellow warrior.
And Stormwind refused.
Robert Hornwing came also, with a cloak of seriousness. He told Stormwind about his conversation with Blackstar, about half-formed suspicions and fears. He explained why he thought such suspicions did not warrant the action Stormwind had taken. He told Stormwind that he understood, and told Stormwind that he thought he should return to fulfill his responsibilities. Stormwind said no.
As each one came and left, Stormwind’s resolution hardened. Every time he said no, it made it all the easier to say no again.
Mark Chaos was subtler than Eagleheart or Hornwing . He made his overtures to Saul Slavesdream, and infected him with the ideas which he wanted put to Stormwind.
They were the same ideas which the others had put to Stormwind, but the lord of Sabella loved Saul Slavesdream, and the long, semicoherent appeal almost got through to him. He was on the verge of being won over when Slavesdream accidentally let slip that he had been talking to Chaos. Stormwind did not blame Slavesdream, he simply lost interest in what the Vespan had to say.
His refusal to revoke his decision was adamant, and remained so.
FALSE MOVE
As Blackstar s ship lifted from Home and went into omega-drive, the four Beast ships which had been waiting for it swung into pursuit.
Blackstar had signalled to Home to tell his father that he was coming, before leaving the rest of the Human fleet. It was pure coincidence that Jade Keyrie liked playing with high-omega apparatus to see what he could hear. He knew most of the frequencies which the Humans used for ordinary communications, but was always trying to pick up more. He had managed to locate Blackstar’s signal by pure luck, had told Judson Deathdancer what it said. Deathdancer told Cain Rayshade and Mark Chaos. Chaos acted instantly.
Chaos, Deathdancer, Keyrie and Rayshade had taken off for Home, hoping to stay undetected long enough to catch Blackstar unawares. They maintained strict high-omega silence, and stayed on omega-drive lurking outside the orbit of Home and hoping.
Blackstar was still preoccupied when he took off, and did not immediately align for Sandaval. Thus, when he saw the four raiders, he was in something of a poor position.
His second-in-command, Peter Bellsong, was piloting the ship. Blackstar stood at his shoulder, casting quick glances behind him at the screen showing the pursuer.
“How long to Sandaval?” snapped Blackstar.
“A few minutes to align. A few more in transit.”
There was no possibility of dodging the four ships while alignment was taking place. The ship’s computers had not been designed for combat. They were built to do one job at once. Evasion and alignment were mutually incompatible as far as the ship was concerned.
The four Beast ships separated and came in on different screens, swinging from screen to screen to avoid defensive fire.
“Run,” said Blackstar. “As slowly as you can, and swerve as fast and often as possible.”
It paid, in omega-drive, to run as slowly as possible. If one ran at maximum velocity, then by the time help arrived one was not where the help was. There was also the additional danger, out here on the edge of the galaxy, of finding oneself outside the lens. The computers needed reference points on two different screens to align, and once outside the galaxy, the computers could not get the ship back.
“Shall I stay within the system?” asked Bellsong from the controls.
“Give them to me,” said Blackstar, and slid smoothly into the control seat as Bellsong moved to the adjacent position: that of the gunner who maintained surveillance on the control screen. “Where are the ships,” he demanded, as his finger began to fly over the control panel.
“Were losing them!” said Bellsong. “They’re too far away to hit us without locking on to our flight pattern. We’re safe unless they get closer, or until their computers start analyzing our evasive action faster than you can change it.
Blackstar flicked open an emergency high-omega channel and began to send a distress call. While his voice mechanically repeated the call for help, his fingers keyed in an evasive pattern, and short stabs of his fingers more or less at random continually varied it to stop the Beast ships analyzing it too quickly.
The Beast ships opened fire, and Blackstar guessed that his appeal for assistance had been overheard. None of the ships was close enough
to score a hit without having its control guns aligned with computer precision on the quarry, and Blackstar was not troubled. But the Beast ships were settling down to the chase and were gradually working closer. Whichever way his improvised evasive pattern carried him, there was a Beast ship moving to cut him off. They were not trying to duplicate his pattern of flight: they were trying to get close enough to fire without needing such precision aiming.
Blackstar’s fingers moved smoothly and quickly over the incoder apparatus which instructed the computers what to do. He swung the ship round and about as quickly as possible, but four pursuers were at least one too many even for his skill as a pilot, and they were always just that fraction closer. But minutes ticked slowly by, and help should be on the way. He contemplated running the ship back into the orbital plane of the asteroids or making an attempt to land, but decided either would be absolutely suicidal.
White light splashed the control screen as a Beast ship got too close. Bellsong swung the battery of guns mounted on the nose of the ship into rough line and retaliated. Black-star’s fingers danced and the Beast ship was suddenly gone.
“Any damage?” asked Blackstar.
“He missed,” said Bellsong. “So did L”
“How much longer?”
“I don’t know.”
Blackstar’s ship weaved through the net which the Beasts were trying desperately to catch him in. Four times they fired, but although one or two of the misses were close enough to jar the ship, he remained undamaged. So did the Beasts.
“They’re dropping back!” yelled Bellsong.
“They’re aligning. They must have given up.”
“Thank God for that.”
Blackstar allowed his fingers to slow down, although he did not stop keying the modifications to his evasive pattern, just in case. The bright dots that were the Beast ships became fainter, and smaller.
“They’re too late!” said Blackstar, with sudden surprise. In one comer of the control screen, stretching across two of the other screens as well, was a loose scattering of paler, much fainter, and much smaller dots. They were closing quickly on the four brighter sparks that were the Beast ships.
The Days of Glory Page 11
