World without Stars

by Poul Anderson

  Ya-Eltokh came to me, his feet painted with blood. “I see the big boat now,” he rasped.

  “Don’t let it near, but don’t let our boats attack it either,” I ordered. With fifty or so Azkashi to help, and a single doorway to defend, he shouldn’t have a problem. I led a small troop to the lower decks, where we had commenced salvage operations before the Niao arrived.

  That job was not any further along. The Ai Chun had no interest in a spaceship as such. Their gangs had been stripping away metal for more prosaic uses.

  But Urduga was there, hastily bound when the fight started. I cut him loose and he wept for joy.

  “How’ve you been?” I asked.

  “Bad,” he told me. “They haven’t mistreated us yet, in a physical sense, I mean. We’re still being … explored, so they’ll know exactly what they want to do with us. But I’d gotten to the point where I begged them to send me out here as a supervisor.” He looked around with haunted eyes. “So far I’ve managed to keep them from damaging anything essential.”

  “We’ve got to be quick,” I said. “The plan is that we draw most of their strength out on the lake. Then our shore force hits them. But Hugh’s boys have to take the compound before the enemy thinks to wreck our survival equipment. What can we improvise here against a warship?”

  Urduga threw back his head and bayed like one of the Pack. “I’ll handle that!”

  I left him in the laboratory while I went back topside to see how the fight was going. The galley stood off, barely visible in the fog, deck crowded with soldiers. Those of our crews that had not boarded with us had prudently withdrawn from the neighborhood. Thus far our scheme had worked. Rorn must feel sure that Valland and I had organized the attack. But he’d figure, we hoped, that we knew better than to attempt storming the compound against energy weapons. Instead, we must expect to use the Meteor for a bargaining counter; and he in his turn must expect to besiege us here.

  Valland couldn’t long delay his own move. And if then that shipload of giants returned to meet him—

  An arrow whistled past me. I ducked back into the lock chamber. “What next?” ya-Eltokh growled. The hunters around him hefted their weapons and twitched their tails. They could keep the galley at arm’s length, but it had them bottled up. Enclosed in these hard walls, they grew nervous.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Like beasts in a trap?”

  “Wait! Do you follow ya-Valland or not?”

  That quieted them a little for the necessary horrible minutes. But I was close to crying myself when Urduga joined us. Several of the Pack, whom I’d detailed, accompanied him with a load of bottles.

  He peered into the swirling grayness. “We’ll have to lure them closer,” he said.

  I explained the need to ya-Eltokh. He turned to his folk. “Out!” he cried.

  He led them himself, down the ladder into a sleet of arrows. They entered the water and swam toward their scattered boats. A horn blew on the galley. Its oars chunked. It slipped alongside us. Now that the Pack had gotten so desperate as to attempt a battle on the lake, the warriors could recapture the spaceship and then deal with our flotilla at leisure.

  Urduga struck fire to fuses. I helped him pitch out the bottles. Mostly they contained liquid hydrocarbon, but he’d found some thermite as well.

  Fire ran across the deck. Soldiers ululated when they burned, sprang overboard and were slain from our dugouts. A few got onto the ladder. Such blowgunners as we had kept dealt with them.

  An armored colossus, brave and cool-headed, shouted his command. The oars moved again. The galley started for shore. But flames roared red throughout the hull. Dugouts and swimmers kept pace. If any of the Herd reached land, they would not be hard to kill.

  Wolf howls resounded from afar. Ya-Kela had seen, and led his charge out of the woods. Energy beams flashed like lightning in the fog. They took their toll. But ya-Kela’s mission was simply to distract the defenders—

  —while Hugh Valland and a small, picked cadre went unnoticed on their bellies, up to the stockade.

  We’d built well. A battering ram could not have gotten the palisade down before the crew was shot from above. But he expended his own pistol charges. Wood did not burn when those bolts hit. Cellular water turned to steam and the logs exploded. He was through in a minute.

  He sped for the food tanks. Soldiers and workers alike tried to bar his way. His gun was exhausted, but he swung an ax, and his hunters were with him. They gained their position, formed a circle, and stood fast.

  They would soon have died, for the diminished garrison still outnumbered them, and had those other firearms to boot. But they had purchased ya-Kela’s opportunity. In one tide, he and his men reached the now ill-defended wall and poured through the gap.

  Yes—his men.

  Combat did not last long after that. At such close quarters the Herd was slaughtered. Never mind the details. What, followed was all that mattered. I have to piece it together. But this was when we lost everything we thought we had gained.

  Valland broke through the remnants of the fight and led a few Azkashi toward our shack. The door was locked. His fist made the walls tremble. “Open up in there!”

  Rorn’s voice reached him faintly: “Be careful. I have Bren and Galmer here, and my own gun. I can kill them.”

  Valland stood for a space. His followers growled and hefted their weapons. Unease was coming upon them like the fog that roiled past their eyes.

  “Let’s talk,” Valland said at length. “I don’t want to hurt you, Yo.”

  “Nor I you. If I let you in, can we hold an honest parley?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wait a minute, then.” Standing in red wet murk that was still cloven by the yells and thuds of combat, Valland heard some sounds of the Yonder language. A treble fluting responded.

  His Azkashi heard too. A kind of moan went among them, they shuffled backward and ya-Kela exclaimed shakenly: “That is one of the dwarfs. I know how they talk. Our scouts did not see that any of them had landed here.” He gripped Valland’s arm with bruising force. “Did you know, and not tell us?”

  As a matter of fact, the human must have thought, yes. He had not his omnisonor with him, to aid in shaping tones, but he managed to convey scorn. “Do you fear the downdevils even when they are beaten?”

  “They are not like the Shkil. They do not die.”

  “We may find otherwise.” Somehow Valland made them stay put until the colloquy inside ended and the door creaked open.

  The blind telepath stood there. Blackness gaped behind him. Rorn’s order rasped from within: “You come by yourself, Valland.” As the gunner trod through, the dwarf closed the door again.

  Rorn activated the lights enough for him to see. Bren and Galmer lay on two bunks, tied hand and foot. A pair of soldier Niao flanked a great wooden tub filled with water. They crouched tense, spears poised, lips drawn back from teeth. Rorn stood before the tank. His energy pistol was aimed at Valland’s midriff. His features were also drawn tight; but—maybe just because he had put on a little weight—serenity remained beneath.

  Valland glanced at his comrades. “How’re you doin’, boys?” he asked softly.

  “All right,” Galmer said.

  Bren spat. “Hugh, don’t let this cockroach use us against you. It’d be worth getting shot by him, as long as we know you’ll squash him later.”

  Rorn smiled, without noticeable malice, and reminded: “You’ll never build your escape vessel if you lose their skills, Hugh. And there’s no other way off this planet. The Yonderfolk left nothing behind except a few items the Ai Chun took apart centuries ago. What I’ve learned while we were here convinces me the Yonderfolk really don’t use radio for communication, nor are they likely to notice a laser flash, nor— Never mind. You’ve got to have these men.”

  “For their own sakes, if nothin’ else,” Valland agreed. He leaned his ax against the table and folded his arms. “I can’t believe you’d murder your fellow
human bein’s, Yo.”

  “Not willingly. Only if I absolutely must, and then in love and service. But they are hostages. They’ll leave with us.”

  “Now you know I can’t allow that. We’d never get ’em back.” Valland sought the gaze of the prisoners. “Hate to sound theatrical, but stayin’ laconic is hard work. Which’d you rather be, dead or slaves?”

  Sweat glistened on their skins. Galmer jerked out, “You needn’t ask,” and Bren nodded.

  “You see,” Valland told Rorn, “you can buy your own escape with their lives and freedom, but that’s all.”

  Rorn looked uncertain. A splashing resounded from the tank, and the two great sleek heads broke surface. Through the scant illumination, chalcedony eyes probed at Valland. He gave them stare for stare.

  The Ai Chun spoke via their dwarf. In the Earth-days since he renounced his species, Rorn had improved his command of Yonder until he could readily use it; so much does the removal of inward conflict do for the mind, and you may decide for yourself whether it’s worth the price. “Do you follow them, Hugh?” he asked. “Not so well, eh? They say—” He stopped. “Do you know just what they are?”

  “The skipper told me about them,” Valland said shortly.

  “He’s prejudiced. They are … good, wise— No, those words are too nearly meaningless. … They are as far beyond us as we are beyond the apes.”

  “I’m not sure how far that is.” Valland shrugged. “Go on, what do they want?”

  “You’ve … we’ve caused them a heavy loss. This latest episode goes further to prove that they can’t tolerate us running loose, any more than we could tolerate pathogenic bacteria. But they don’t strike out, blindly destructive, as men would. They’ll take us in. They offer us more than we could ever hope to gain, or know, or feel, by ourselves.”

  “Like your case?” Valland said. “Sorry, but I am bein’ sarcastic. The answer is no. You and they can go in return for our friends. Then, if you all leave us be, we’ll do the same for you.”

  Rorn translated. The Ai Chun were slow to reply, as they were slow to most things. In the end:

  “Negative,” Rorn said. “They don’t fear death. They’re reborn, immortal in a way we’ll never achieve.”

  “Have you swallowed that crock yourself?”

  “Makes no difference. I’m not afraid either, not of anything any longer. But think. It doesn’t matter whether their belief is correct or not. What does matter is that they hold it. By taking these men away from you, whether by death or captivity, they’ll ruin you. For the sake of that, they don’t much mind cutting short a pair of incarnations.”

  “They’d better not mind,” Valland grinned bleakly, “with their chums listenin’ in.”

  “Don’t you understand what that means?” Rorn breathed. “You aren’t just confronting two individuals. An entire world! You can’t win on your own terms. But let go your pride. It’s no more than a monkey screaming from the treetops how important he is. Let go, use your reason, take their guidance, and you’ll have our true victory.”

  “Spare me the sermon, Yo. I got a girl waitin’ on Earth. The rest of us have our loves too, whatever they may be, as strong as yours. We’d sooner die than give them up. I’ve lived a fair spell, and it’s been my observation that hate doesn’t make for conflicts which can never be settled. People who hate each other can still strike bargains. But conflictin’ loves are somethin’ else.”

  Valland stood a while, stroking his beard and sunk in thought. Outside, the battle had ended. In the silence that now filled the hut, one grew aware of breathing, the faint lap of waves in the tank as the Ai Chun stirred, the thump of a spear butt on the floor, the heat and stenches and inward-crowding shadows.

  Finally Valland gusted a sigh. He raised his head and spoke, low but resonant. “How about me?”

  “What?” Rorn gaped at him.

  “I organized this attack, you know. Modest as I am, I doubt if my gang is any military threat without me. If you must keep a hostage, suppose you take me instead of those fellows.”

  “No, Hugh!” Galmer cried.

  “We can’t afford heroics,” Valland said to him. “You can spare my technical knowledge, at least. And maybe I can talk these people into makin’ peace. Think you could?”

  Bren thrust his face up, so that light could touch the lines and hollows lately carved therein. “You don’t know what they’re like,” he said.

  Valland ignored him. “Well?” he asked Rorn.

  “I … I don’t know.” A conference followed. “They must consider this.”

  “All right,” Valland said. “I’ll leave you alone to talk the proposition over.”

  He started for the door. “Halt!” Rorn yelled. A soldier sprang in pursuit.

  Valland obeyed, turned about and said evenly, “I’ve got to tell them outside in any event, and prove this is my personal idea. Otherwise you could get attacked soon’s you cross the threshold. I’ll come back in two, three hours and see what you’ve decided. Agreed?”

  They stood dumb and let him depart.

  XIV

  VICTORY was dead meat in ya-Kela’s mouth. Word had run through the Packs: There are actual downdevils here, now when God is withdrawn from heaven. Ya-Valland himself could not prevail against them, he left the house they have taken without those he went in to save, and however strange his kind may be to us, we can see, we can even smell the horror that clutches him and his mates. Day glares upon us. Best we slink off under the forest roof.

  Many had already done so. And more and more of them followed, picking up their gear and vanishing into the mists. They spoke little, but that little made a mumbling across the land like the first wind-sough before a storm.

  He himself was fain to leave. But because ya-Valland asked it, he used his last shreds of authority to hold some in place. A hundred or less, they squatted well away from the compound in a ring about such prisoners as had been taken. They dared not tend the dead of either side. Corpses littered the tussocky ground, rocked among the reeds, sprawled beneath the walls; and the carrion wings wheeled impatiently overhead.

  Ya-Valland, ya-Argens, and ya-Urduga stood disputing in their own tongue, which no longer seemed likely to be God’s. Ya-Kela waited, slumped down on heels and tail, feeling his age and his weariness. He had been given to understand that ya-Valland would go away with the downdevils as the price of liberty for his other two mates. But without him, what were the rest? They seemed to feel likewise, for the talk waxed fierce until ya-Valland cut it off and would listen to no more.

  Then he addressed the One. He had fetched his musicmaker. The Azkashi sounds limped forth: “Be not disheartened, my friend. We did not succeed as well as we hoped, but the hunt is far from ended.”

  “We have run ourselves breathless,” ya-Kela said, “and the quarry swings about to gore us. Who may prevail against the downdevils save God, Who has forsaken the world?”

  “I do not plan to stay with the enemy for long,” ya-Valland said.

  “They have taken captives often and often. None ever returned. Old stories tell of a few whom the Packs recaptured in skirmishes. They were so changed that naught could be done but kill them as gently as might be.”

  “I shall not suffer such a fate if you will stand by me.”

  “I owed you a blood debt,” ya-Kela said, “but it has been paid with folk who were dear to me.”

  “You have not yet paid your debt to your people,” ya-Valland said sharply.

  Ya-Kela started, glanced up at him, and rose to bring their eyes more nearly level. “What do you mean by this newest riddle?”

  “Something that you—all the Azkashi—must come to understand. Without it, you are doomed. With it, you have hope; more than hope, for when free folk know what freedom costs and how to meet that cost, they are hard indeed to overcome.”

  A faint tingle ran along ya-Kela’s skin. “Have you a new magic for us?”

  “Better than a magic. An idea.” Ya-Valland soug
ht words. “Listen to a story.

  “In the sky-place whence I come were two countries. One was called Europe, where dwelt a people like myself. The other was called America, and a different folk possessed it whom we named Indians. The people of Europe crossed the waters between and started to take land in America. Most of the Indians were hunters. At best, they could not match the powers of the Europeans, who were not only farmkeepers like the Niao but also had new weapons. Thus, in time, the Europeans took all America away from the Indians.”

  Ya-Kela stepped back. His ax lifted. “Are you telling me that you are akin to the Herd?” he shouted.

  Ya-Velland’s mates clapped hands to those fiery weapons they had repossessed. He waved them back, spread his own empty hands, and said:

  “In some ways, yes. In other ways, no. For example, the Indians held a faith in beings not unlike the downdevils, whereas the Europeans worshiped one God. I am trying to teach you a lesson. Are you brave enough to hear me out?”

  Ya-Kela could say nothing but, “Yes.” Lowering his ax was harder work than his charge into arrows and flame.

  “For, you see,” ya-Valland said, “the Indians need not have lost. In the early days, at least, they outnumbered the European settlers. They were masters of the wilderness. They were not slow to get for themselves weapons like those of the invaders. In truth, at times they had better ones, and inflicted numerous bloody defeats on their foe.

  “Why, then, did they lose?”

  “The reasons were several. But a great one was this. They were satisfied to win a battle. To them, any piece of land was as good as any other, provided both had game. They fought for honor and glory alone. If once a territory had been occupied, and farms had covered it, they did no more than raid its outskirts. And seldom did they stand and die like Europeans, to hold a place that was holy because their fathers were buried there.