by Stephan Wul
âIt’s still advancing… Fire!’
A whistling noise tore through the jungle, then the sound of broken branches.
‘Let’s get back towards the road!’ ordered Terr.
The tanks cut a path to the right. A gigantic shadow could be seen gesticulating wildly behind a curtain of leaves.
âIs the visibility good enough?’ enquired Terr.
‘Yes, on the fiximage screen!’
‘Deploy now!’
The tanks stretched out in a semi circle, each seeking a favourable angle. A voice came from the telebox.
‘The patrol leader got burnt. I’m taking command… Fire!’
‘Below the left kneecap,’ ordered Terr.
‘Fire!’ the replacement patrol leader said, his hoarse voice covered by deafening howls.
‘Fire!’ said Terr.
The tanks released lines of purple fire through the branches. The rays converged on the same point. A massive indistinct shape collapsed in a tremendous din.
‘We’ve got it! Its legs are crushed, causing it to fall.’
âIs its head turned towards you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right, don’t go near it and stop firing, you might injure us. We’re coming round the back to finish it off.’
They came out onto the road around the back of the wounded beast. Twenty purple rays finished it off, burning the base of its skull. The bossk had one last convulsive movement before its trembling members softened gradually.
The bossk was resting on its side. Its muscular flanks’ oily skin was shining. It gave off an unbearable smell. Squadrons of voracious flies were already swooping down on the gigantic remains.
The first tanks were invisible behind the great corpse lying across the road. Terr spoke into the telebox.
‘Good work,’ he said. ‘How’s the patrol leader?’
‘He’s dead’, replied a voice from the device. The bossk hit him right in the face with a stream of saliva. The acids have made him unrecognizable.
The Aedile did not dwell into fruitless sentimentality.
‘Are there any tanks amongst us armed with harpoon cannons?’
‘Two’, said the guide pointing at a couple of vehicles at the back.
These machines were designed to clear the road from obstacles such as tree trunks or fallen rocks.
Terr ordered a harpoon to be fired in the monster’s withers. The detonation was followed by a soft impact as the cable whipped the air behind the harpoon vibrating deep within the dead flesh.
Terr examined the beast’s position and gave the order to fire another projectile slightly lower. The tanks then went into reverse, skidding on the humus. The cables tightened to breaking point and the harpoons appeared to almost tear off chunks of meat from the corpse. But it slowly spun on itself and toppled on its back.
The tanks carried on and moved a few millistadia to make the beast circle on a slope. In vain. The metal tracks were violently pulling up lumps of black earth. Thebalance between the traction force and the mountain of fat was almost perfect; a mere nudge would be enough to overcome the animal’s weight.
Leading by example, Terr leapt onto the ground and gripped the cable with both hands. Several Oms followed suit, gripping the metal and pulling to support the tanks.
The two machines’ efforts had brought them closer. The groups of haulers became one in a swarm of tensed muscles. One of the tank’s front tracks skimmed the other’s metal side… A phenomenal spark flew out like lightning from the unforeseen contact. All the Oms were thrown to the ground by the shock.
Everyone was momentarily startled. A few sparks lit the stunned faces. One of the tanks slid slightly to the side, away from the other. The phenomenon stopped.
‘What was that?’ uttered Terr.
‘I think I know!’ Sav’s voice said.
Terr turned around and recognized the naturalist. Seated in a muddy rut, Sav was smiling.
‘What are you doing here?’ wondered the Aedile.
‘I didn’t want to miss a bossk hunt!’
‘Did you know that bossks…’
‘Let off electricity, no!’
‘So?’
Sav stood up and rubbed his soiled hands on his
gown.
‘In fact we all generate a little electricity. Or at least our muscles do. A very small amount!… If you were to join together with a thread a point on the outside of the muscle to a point in its centre you’d obtain a current!’
‘Yes’, said Terr, i know that, but…’
‘The first harpoon plunged right in the middle of the bossk’s largest muscle. The other one struck a little lower. As the tanks touched each other the metal cables closed the circuit, hence the discharge!’
Terr shook his head: ‘I’d never have guessed…’
‘Don’t forget the muscle’s huge weight and size!’
‘Yes, well… But what’s going on over there?’
Oms were carefully getting two bodies out of the motionless tanks.
‘The drivers got hit quite badly’, a voice said. A circle formed around the injured Oms. Pale and gasping for breath, they mumbled that they would not be able to drive. They were carried to the side and were replaced.
‘Beware’, said the Aedile. ‘Gently this time! Keep the tanks away from each other.’
Two hours later, long columns of migrants were marching past a ridge of black flesh alongside the road.
4
After an endless day broken up by stops in fortified staging posts, the Oms emerged from the jungle. They advanced along the side of a mountain where blocks of limestone were mounting a secular guard, erect like sentries high above the valleys. A fresh breeze caressed the Oms’ tired backs.
Hundreds of stadia away, the river could be seen meandering towards the shimmering sea. But the horizon was blocked by the Foam Pot’s gentle hills.
The ground flattened little by little and passed a few bald teats before reaching a vast expanse swept by westerly winds. The interminable column wound for a long time amidst the hills and parched valleys, cutting a gash in the plateau. The Oms’ obstinate advance caused herds of cervuces to disappear in a few leaps amongst the canyon’s rocks.
Like a theatre set, lofty peaks were towering high above the end of the world scenery. The sounds of the tanks were thundering in muffled waves, undulating in sonic disturbances before getting lost into the distance. The monotonous concerto lulled the Oms’ march.
Suddenly the air was filled with a more strident music. At first it sounded like a tank. The sound came from above and all the faces turned towards the clouds.
The dumbfounded crowd saw a heavy sphere appear, like a huge menacing fist about to swoop down on the free Oms’ destiny.
Coming from the west, the sphere got dangerously close to the plateau. It appeared to be running along the grass, bouncing along a natural springboard before gaining height and spinning round for along time above the migrants.
The initial surprise subsided and the line scattered. Porters threw off their loads and ran randomly. Some rolled down into treacherous sinkholes. But running was no use. To go where? The great herd seemed to understand and soon stood still, hardly dispersed, bare and defenceless on the plateau’s chalky ridge.
The sphere approached again, raking and flying along the disrupted column, throwing the Oms onto the ground as if they were systematically cut down by a shock wave.
Dazed, they stood still long after the rocket had vanished after circling high above the jungle.
The din subsided and one could hear the Aedile’s orders broadcast by the tanks.
‘You were right, Oms, this was a Traag sphere. Have faith in your Aedile and keep walking. Night will fall soon and we’re nearing the city where all is planned for your protection!’
Everyone obeyed and the column stretched once again towards its goal. The event loosened the exhausted Oms’ tongues and a hum rose from the crowd.
‘A Traag sp
here!’
‘Why didn’t we shoot it down?’
‘Apparently the Aedile gave the order not to!’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘But if the Traags know the exodus was a success, the…’
‘Keep quiet, will you! The Aedile knows what he’s doing. And after all we’re near the city. It’s hundreds of thousands strong and must be a real fortress!’
‘Apparently…’
‘A true paradise, of course!’
‘Much better than the old port!’
Twilight gradually set in, drowning the horizon and restricting everyone’s sight. Once night had fallen, the column came up against a barrier of tanks appearing suddenly from the darkness and everyone understood the gates of the promised city had been reached.
Many were disappointed, expecting reassuring walls, lights, banners and towers crowned with ray launchers. And yet there was nothing. Nothing but darkness strewn with isolated lights. Nothing but flat voices giving indifferent orders:
‘Stop! Follow your tank to the left. Left I said!’
‘Next section, straight on!’
‘No, in lines of three; come on!’
And calls too:
‘Softie!’
‘Redhead!’
‘Come now, keep moving forward!’
‘Follow your tank!’
‘We can’t see a thing!’
‘Blondie!’
‘Don’t look for your partners, you’ll find them in town. Nobody can get lost here… Come on!’
Someone said under a guide’s nose:
‘Funny kind of welcome! I thought there’d be some sort of party. Surely the last migrant column deserves a party?’
The guide pulled his face away from the feverish breath.
‘Come, come, move forward!’
All this was taking place amongst shrieks, conversations, questions, orders and children whining. Everyone remonstrated somehow, embittered by the march’s weariness. But all could feel their heart beating in unison with the great mass. All were suppressing a smile in the knowledge they were supported by the others’ reassuring presence.
Intoxicated by the tanks’ martial din, the great city and the herd’s stamping, the Oms could feel a hardy plant germinating in their hearts, its intimate roots deliciously growing in their guts: a feeling of collective happiness and strength making them forget their bruises, their thirst and the dust.
The imperious rumbling of machines drowned the tremendous murmur. Led by a beam of light a tank was cutting a path through the throng as a loudspeaker proclaimed loudly:
‘Make way! Make way for the Aedile’s tank!’
All felt the nobility of those words and their power warmed everyone’s hearts. Each secretly scoffed at the Traags and their spheres. The order was repeated by
thousands of mouths and turned into cheers.
‘Make way for the Aedile! Make way for the Aedile’s tank! Long live the Aedile! Hapiness onto the Aedile! Happiness! Make way for the tank!…’
The heavy vehicle’s noise shook the vaults, and its headlights lit up sparkling walls of crystals. They realised they’d been walking underground for a while. Tricked by the night the Oms had not seen the caves they were entering.
The voices were not getting lost in the plateau’s breeze. They were bouncing off the walls, twirling back in a strange acoustic dance. Echoes were created by laughing like children:
‘Ho!’
“Ho! Ho! Ho, ho, o, o…”
‘Ha!’
“Ha! Ha, a, a…”
‘Long live the Aedile!’
“Aedile! Aedile, dile, ile…”
‘Ho! Ha! Aedile, dile, o, a, Ha! Dile, o…’
It turned into a racket not unlike a funfair and louder than the hubbub of official exhortations’.
A sudden fearsome roar put an end to the game. Something massive was rolling down the rock face, shattering it into thousands of crystalline projectiles and plunging heavily into a bottomless lake.
The Oms fell into an anxious silence. A guide’s voice could be heard.
‘… Making noise is dangerous! Some rocks are holding by a thread and can come off suddenly!’
The tanks had all disappeared. They must have turned off on tracks set aside for quick journeys. Their metallic din had got lost in the ground’s entrails.
Lots of “Shush” were spreading through the darkness. Everyone advanced silently as the caves’ soul began to sing.
It sounded like an “Aaaa”… A fantastic “Aaaa”, magnificent yet discreet and unsettling, whispered eternally like the breath from an invisible abyss. As they travelled on, it turned into a muffled and deep “Oooo”. The blinded Oms filled the darkness with hallucinations. Along the way they could make out funnels gaping like mouths, with lips made of rocks distended in a grimace.
‘Why isn’t there any light?’ someone dared to ask.
A guide replied:
‘Our orders are to save all light sources until the electrification project is finished. Don’t worry and walk in line holding hands. The road is safe here, and we’ll hand out torches further down.’
Muffled protests burst out here and there.
‘As if holding hands was easy!’
i need two hands to carry my load!’
The guide’s voice resumed:
‘You’ll shortly put down your loads. Be patient.’
They went on through the darkness. Their instinct told them they were walking across a natural bridge above an abyss and from time to time they could hear the sound of waterfalls and torrents. Further on, they could feel they were crossing huge rooms where water drops were playing little tunes over and over as they dropped onto flat stones or basins of different shapes and sizes…
They finally saw some lights. Flames were twisting and turning, giving off the smell of resin and lighting up rocky shapes and tormented faults.
They came across a small group of Oms piling up loads in a crevice.
‘Put your loads down!’ said a guide passing by. ‘Take this, it’s lighter!’
He was offering them torches. Eager hands stretched out.
‘Not all of you!’ protested the guide. ‘One torch for twenty Oms.’
In the flames’ dancing lights they realised they were only a few hundreds. It was explained to them that similar groups had taken different paths to reach the city.
‘There are several passages in order to prevent jams and accidents. Enough questions! Let’s continue this way.’
It was a vast forest. Stalagmites streaked with bright colours from the torches’ reflection were rising towards the vaults hidden in the dark. Like finely sculpted tree trunks, they looked like elegant pillars glittering endlessly.
‘Hold your torches high’, said the guide. ‘And don’t lower your heads. We’re heading waist high through a pond of noxious gas. ‘Take heart! In an hour you’ll see the city with its lights and houses…’
‘… and its beds!’ someone shouted.
Exhausted, the Oms found the strength to laugh.
5
The Aedile’s tank was tearing along a corridor set aside for leaders. It vanished at full speed in a maze of ravines and arches reaching the city in half an hour.
First came avenues levelled by heavy traffic and lined with electrical lights. Further away huge cirques, their walls bristling with openings and access ramps; then numerous metal bridges thrown across streams interspersed with spinning padded wheels.
Masses of workers were hoisting beams, manoeuvring winches, installing networks of electric wires, embedding parapets along the precipices, their enthusiasm increased tenfold in the knowledge they were working towards a common goal.
The tank slowed down on a steep slope, veered to the right and pulled up in front of a porch guarded by two sentries.
The Aedile jumped to the ground, gave a friendly wave to the tank’s driver and approached a guard.
‘Happiness onto you, Aedile’, said the Om.
‘Announce me to the Council’, said Terr. ‘Emergency session’.
He rushed into the building as the Om was leaning over a telebox.
***
Ten or so Oms were in session around a table. The Aedile was speaking.
‘Whether the sphere passed by chance or was intentionally looking for us makes no difference: the Traags know that thousands of Oms inhabit this continent. They know we have tanks and as it’s unthinkable that we swam across the ocean or sailed with crude boats, they know we’re capable of building ships. In time they’ll think quite rightly we can achieve anything, even defeat them. If I was a Traag First Councillor I’d vote for the immediate and total extermination of the Oms!’
Char interrupted:
‘At the very worst we have all night to come up with a defensive plan.’
‘What defensive plan?’ said Terr ironically. ‘What have we got? A few tanks armed with weak ray launchers, a little bit of electrical current and our bare chests! It seems to me very inadequate against hard ray rockets.’
‘They don’t know the city’s exact location.’ voiced Vail.
Terr leapt up:
‘No’, he said, ‘no, no! Tell that to reassure the crowd but not to me! Not to the Council! They spotted which way the column was heading. They know we’re fond of the underground and they’re familiar with the continent’s geology. In other words, they know where we are!’
‘Then I see only one way’, said an officer, ‘which is to get back on the sea and try reaching the other Wild Continent.’
‘With only one ship! Don’t talk nonsense!’
‘Scatter temporarily and set up a city elsewhere’, suggested Char.
A painful silence set in. Asking such an effort from the Oms seemed impossible. In any case, it would take two weeks to achieve.
‘Establish several small colonies as we dismantle the city. And when it’s attacked, sacrifice it and its inhabitants for our race’s survival.’
‘No’, said Terr, ‘we’ll live or die all together. We’ve left enough companions behind with the Traags. Not again. Besides our lives would be constantly under threat as the Traags would go through the continent with a fine-tooth comb.’
