The softness of the summons startled and frightened her; she was sure now that something was wrong.
The horrible thought struck her that she was no longer going to work for the Machine Master, that she was going to be sent back to the girl’s dormitory—or worse, that the chancellor of the school would finally get his chance at her, to wipe her brain clean.
“What have I done?” she said, approaching the Machine Master one cautious step at a time. “Whatever it is, I’ll work twice as hard!”
“You have not displeased me, Visid,” the Machine Master said, and again the softness of his voice filled her with uneasiness.
“What is it, then? I’m not to be sent back to school, am I?”
The flood of relief that went through Visid was tempered by continued alarm. But still she would not avoid the direct question: “What is it, then?”
With something like quiet anguish, the Machine Master said, “I am to be … rid of you.”
“Rid of me? What does that mean?”
The Machine Master was studying her more closely than he ever had—no, it was not that, Visid suddenly realized: it was that he could not say the words!
“Kill me? You’ve been ordered to kill me?”
For a moment the Machine Master did not speak, and then he said, turning to stare with his lidless eyes at the open hand transmitter, “Cornelian thinks you a threat.”
“A threat to who?”
“To Mars. To himself. With Cornelian it makes no difference. He wanted to …”
Visid waited, tense with terror and concentration, until the Machine Master turned back to look at her; his eyes were pooled with tears.
“I told him I would do it,” he said.
Visid, though her mouth was dry, said, looking at him directly, “Then do it.”
“I … cannot.”
Visid, tight-lipped, continued to stare at him. “But I must tell Cornelian that I have carried out his wishes. So I must send you elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“Venus.”
A thrill went through Visid, and what had been a moment ago despair turned into hope. “Venus?”
“There is no one there, at the moment. You will easily be able to escape detection. And I will be able to tell Cornelian that I have … done as he wishes.”
The Machine Master, despite delivering this reprieve, continued to stare at Visid with distress.
“What is it?” Visid asked.
After a moment, he turned once again to his work and said, “Nothing. Prepare for what must be done.”
In a short while, Visid stood ready to be transported by the device that she and the Machine Master had perfected. Surrounded by a circle of her meager belongings: a few articles of clothing; a book of poems her father had given her and that the authorities had never, for some reason, confiscated—perhaps since much of the poetry within was Martian; a toothbrush; a bedroll. She waited for the Machine Master to activate his hand device, but Sam-Sei only continued to stare at her.
Finally, expecting that something needed to be said at this moment, Visid bowed her head and said, “Good-bye, Machine Master. And thank you.”
Sam-Sei continued to gaze at her.
“You’re not having second thoughts about carrying out the High Leader’s wishes, are you?” Visid said, trying to joke but petrified that perhaps that was the case; for that matter, how did she know that the Machine Master had not lied to her, and that when he activated his device he would not merely scatter her molecules to oblivion or land her in the middle of planetless space, carrying out the High Leader’s command?
Visid flinched when the Machine Master suddenly stepped forward and stiffly but softly kissed the top of her head. He pressed something into her hand, which Visid saw was a kit of delicate tools; but as she opened her mouth to thank him, he activated the hand device and the spinning egg of translucent light that typified the machine formed around her.
“Good-bye!” she said, though she knew he could not hear her words through the process.
The Machine Master, as ugly now as on the first day she had met him—yet somehow changed—raised an awkward hand in farewell.
And then Visid was gone–
–and elsewhere.
On … Venus!
It could be nowhere else. Childhood memories assaulted her; but it was, initially, the smell of the planet that flooded her with assurance that she was really on Venus. There was an open, wet smell so absent from dry Mars; an odor of sublime fertility, the promise of unlimited growth and fecundity. It smelled alive. And there was the wide-open sky, blue instead of pink, moist instead of bone-dry, filled with clouds that looked wet to the touch. It was so different from Mars.
Venus!
Visid could barely believe it. She had been transported to a small field beside a wide road; the road was dotted with the wreckage of war-blasted vehicles. A cluster of buildings lay nearby; some of them were ruins, but others looked intact. In the far distance was a mountain range, dominated by a volcanic cone; what looked like a huge glass spike was driven into its side near the summit, and a blanket of cloud rested over its peak like a crown.
Visid breathed the air: moist, not dry.
Venus.
She fell to her knees, overcome.
Home.
Chapter 28
How could things get any better?
Prime Cornelian was nearly giddy with the situation. Things could not have gone better if he had scripted them out beforehand—which, of course, he had; but one never expects things to go exactly as planned.
Yet in this case they had!
How glorious!
And here, to be sitting at the top of the world—at the top of Five Worlds—it was almost too much to comprehend!
Three new comets—his comets—had even appeared in the sky to proclaim his grandeur!
How simply… magnificent!
The High Leader couldn’t help it: he gave a little jig of happiness, concurrent with a chuckle of satisfaction—not caring that his actions could be seen by each of the two hundred thousand Martian citizens gathered before and below him in the newly renovated Olympic Stadium. The old one, though perfectly functional, only held a hundred thousand and had been built with sporting events (the High Leader suppressed a shudder) in mind. Now that one end had been blown out and lengthened, giving more of a gallery effect, and the other end had been sculpted so that one seat only, where thousands had been, was highlighted (more of a throne, actually, set on a magnificent pedestal of red quartz and surrounded by a sheer wall of banners which flapped against the sandstone wall)—well, now, this was a stadium! Every seat, of course, each and every one of the two hundred thousand, was canted toward that single throne, which the High Leader, of course, occupied; and now, in reaction to the High Leader’s uncontrollable act of happiness, each and every voice of those two hundred thousand—as well as some of the other millions who watched on Screens throughout the Five Worlds, no doubt—rose in cheering frenzy, in shared joy, with their High Leader!
Cornelian couldn’t help it—he laughed, and stood on his hind limbs, waving his four hands in benediction—while the sounds of ecstasy grew even louder!
There were minor annoyances, of course—there always were—and this supreme day was no exception. Foremost among them was the Machine Master’s failure, so far, to appear. After all, he had been granted the ultimate honor of sharing the throne platform (he would sit behind the throne, of course, on a low stool) with the High Leader; and Cornelian was to make a big show of bestowing on the Machine Master the ultimate Martian commendation, the High Leader Medal of Honor, the first of its kind, struck in platinum with a likeness (and a good one, too) of Cornelian himself on it in holographic relief. After all, Sam-Sei had earned it; the reason Cornelian was sitting here now among all this adoration was the perfection of the Machine Master’s transport device, which had allowed movement of the plasma soldier generators (another Machine Master marvel) inside Titan’s defenses
.
The least the man could do (besides making all those marvelous machines) was show up at his own presentation.
Ah! And now, here he was!
The Machine Master made his way, stone-faced, out onto the platform and stood mute. He looked so unhappy these days!
Oh, well—he must still be suffering from the unfortunate demise of his Venusian assistant.
The High Leader couldn’t help it! He did his little dance again!
“Cheer up, Sam-Sei!” the High Leader said happily, pulling the Machine Master forward and presenting him to the crowd, which responded with glee. “When things settle down I’ll get you a hundred Venusian assistants, if you wish. A thousand! Titanian ones if you want, too. It’s just that there was something about that girl I didn’t like. Or trust.”
“I really must speak with you,” Sam-Sei said, continuing to frown.
“I said cheer up! And here—take your medal!”
The High Leader made a great show of pinning the commendation on the Machine Master, presenting him to the crowd and letting Sam-Sei bask for a moment in their adoration before nudging him back behind the throne. The Machine Master, however, refused even to smile.
“I must speak with you,” he said dourly.
“Later! First we must review the booty!”
And review they did, as spoils of the Titanian campaign were brought into the stadium and displayed lavishly before the crowd and the High Leader. There were art treasures, rare species of fowl and animal, foodstuffs that had rarely been seen on parched Mars: blue fish with pink gills, sea crabs a yard wide, and dilbras, a rare sweet fish that would be fattened on other delicate sea beasts before being cooked and consumed. There were antiques from the Titanian royal palace; gemstones from the Titanian treasury—sapphires thick as fists, diamonds that hurt the eyes, a ruby nearly the size of a goose—that had been well hidden in the Ruz Balib section of Huygens and now would nestle deep in the Martian exchequer instead.
Then there followed the children, who, after suitable study, would one day rule their former world in Mars’s name!
As they streamed by below, the High Leader turned grinning to Sam-Sei and said, “There you go! Pick one out now! Pick out ten to assist you!”
Unheedful of the High Leader’s words, the Machine Master said, “We must speak—”
Showing testiness, the High Leader turned away, saying, “Later!”
His spirits immediately rose again at the appearance below of a drawn cart at the end of the caravan, which bore what looked to be a large box covered with a rug.
Cornelian stood on his hind legs and laughed. “Bring it up!” he shouted. “Bring it up!”
Immediately, two attendants ran to do his bidding, lifting the box, still covered, and bearing it into a door in the wail below where a hidden lift would bear them and their burden up to the High Leader.
In a few moments they had arrived, setting the box down before Prime Cornelian, who laughed, pushing the rug aside, and seeming to reach down into the box, which was a hamper of sorts; he gave a cry of mock alarm and finally brought something up and out of the crate, holding it up for the crowd’s inspection as a mother might hold a baby by its feet.
“I give you … the king of Titan!”
Jamal Clan gibbered and spat and laughed and drooled, suspended as he was by his single arm; his body twitched and his head jerked this way and that.
“All hail the king!” Cornelian laughed; and two hundred thousand voices joined in his laughter.
The Machine Master had risen from his stool and stood behind the High Leader. “We must speak now. About the comets!”
“Yes, the comets!” Prime Cornelian said heartily. He lowered Jamal Clan back into his basket and watched as the two attendants secured the latched top and covered it again with its rug.
“I command that we see my comets!” the High Leader shouted.
Instantly the stadium’s lights were extinguished, covering the Olympic Stadium with a blanket of night. And there overhead, bunched together like brothers and sisters, were three new comets, brightening nightly, with growing tails.
The crowd ahhhed, and Cornelian said, “Glorious! They come to proclaim my rule!”
“That is what I must speak to you about,” the Machine Master said; the High Leader was annoyed to see that the man had not regained his stool, and furthermore refused to look at the grand sight in the sky.
Peevishness finally overcoming his good humor, the High Leader rotated his head around to glare at the Machine Master.
“What is it, then? What is so important to you that you must interrupt these festivities—partly for your benefit, by the way!”
“The comets …” the Machine Master began. But now the High Leader saw that Sam-Sei was truly upset, not merely dour. For a moment a true bolt of alarm went through Cornelian, to see the Machine Master as he had never seen him before: frightened.
“What about them?” the High Leader snapped, if only to refuse to give in to fear himself.
“They will …” Sam-Sei began; but once again he was unable to continue.
“They will what?” the High Leader screamed, his voice echoing through the suddenly still Olympic Stadium.
“They are heading for our planet, all three of them,” the Machine Master said. “And in nine months’ time they will strike, and destroy, Mars.”
Chapter 29
One morning Dalin Shar awoke to find Earth filling his window.
He did not know how to react. At first he thought perhaps it was a dream—for the planet looked different, somehow, less … blue. He also thought it might be a dream because he couldn’t believe that he was finally here.
Finally home.
“Believe it, Sire,” Shatz Abel said, joining him as he gaped through one of the hold’s picture windows. The pirate held out a huge hand and pointed at what Dalin thought was Afrasia. “You can see the blast marks where Cornelian dropped those newfangled bombs of his. There’s no more Cairo, I’m afraid. Calcutta’s gone, too. Wiped right off the planet.”
As Dalin looked down in realization and shock, Shatz Abel’s grim voice went on. “Looks like he dropped a bomb anywhere he had a question about.” The pirate frowned, indicating a strip of bombarded area off the track of settled Afrasian territory. “I don’t quite understand him doing away with part of the Lost Lands, though.”
After a moment, Dalin said, “That’s where my supporters would have been.”
The pirate gave a long sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t matter where we land, then.”
“I should have been here with them,” Dalin said, his voice filled with self-recrimination.
“Don’t talk nonsense, Dalin. Did you have a choice in the matter?”
“Yes, in the beginning I did. I could have stayed. Instead of running away.”
“You didn’t run, boy. And if you’d stayed you would have died. And if you’d died you wouldn’t be here now.”
“To do what?” Dalin said angrily. “Crawl home to a ruined planet?” He glared down at the wreckage below. “There’s nothing left to fight for! The fight’s over—and I wasn’t here!”
“Well …” Shatz Abel said.
“Halloo, Yer Majesty!” Enry called cheerfully from the hold’s doorway. “There’s someone on th’ Screen for yer!”
“What?” Dalin asked.
Enry jerked a thumb toward the front of the ship. “On the line, Yer Majesty! Someone who don’ b’lieve yer wif us!”
Dalin followed Enry to the front cabin, where Ralf was arguing with someone on the Screen.
“No, no! I tells you, mate, ‘e’s ‘ere wif us now!” Enry pushed Dalin in front of the Screen, where a man he did not recognize went silent, studying him. “You say you’re Dalin Shar, son of Sarat Shar, ruler of Earth?” the man said finally.
“I am,” Dalin said. “And who are you?”
“Never mind,” the man said. “If you follow our instructions, we’ll clear this up soon enough. If you don
’t,” he added, “we’ll destroy your ship.”
“Wha’!” Ralf cried.
“There are three raser cannons trained on you at the moment. If I tell them to fire, they will fire.”
“Don’ do that, mate!” Ralf beseeched. “We’ll do as you say, we will!”
“I hope so,” the man said. “Stay on this line for landing instructions.”
Dalin looked at Enry and Ralf, and at Shatz Abel, who had entered the cabin and had monitored the conversation.
“We do as he says,” Shatz Abel said, to which Enry shrugged and said, “Ri’!”
Twenty minutes later they were landing deep in the Lost Lands, in a part that was not even segregated on any map anymore. Through the ship’s front window, Dalin watched the scorched ground rise up to meet them; it looked brown and barren, the only water they passed over a tepid line of yellow-looking river that fed into a sickly orange-brown lake. Dalin searched vainly for any sign of life, a village or encampment, but saw nothing at all indicative of life, animal or vegetable.
The ship touched down, and, as instructed, they waited, watching the sun sink into a hazy, smoggy horizon; by the time Sol disappeared, its color was that of sludge. The night did not so much rise around them as creep up above them; the sulfurous fog that arose blocked out the stars and most of the surrounding scenery—in a way this was a blessing. There were not even night noises to soothe them, only an eerie moan of wind that rattled the dead trees outside.
“This is creepy, mate,” Ralf said.
“Yeah, I mean, no’ even a bat or wolf to serenade us!” Enry added.
“I don’t like it myself,” Shatz Abel said, his grip constant on one of the ship’s few hand rasers.
“If they’d wanted to blow us apart they would have done it by now,” Dalin said, trying to sound positive.
“Then again,” Enry said, peering into the muck outside the front port, “they could still do it, I suppose.”
“Ri’!” Ralf added nervously. “Or wait till morning.”
Journey - Book II of the Five Worlds Trilogy Page 19
