by Bob Shaw
I gave the necessary order and we rode with all speed to the mound, fortuitously surprising the Chamtethans, who had expected us to flee in the opposite direction. We reached the trees well ahead of our pursuers, who in any case were in no particular hurry. Time was on their side, and it was all too clear to me that even if we did succeed in communicating with Kadal it would be to no avail.
While one of the men was beginning to climb a tree with the sunwriter slung on his belt I used my field glasses in an attempt to locate the Chamtethan commander, to see if I could divine his intention. If he was cognisant of my rank he might try to take me alive — and that was something I could not have permitted. It was while sweeping the line of Chamtethan soldiers with the powerful glasses that I saw something which, even at that time of high peril, produced in me a spasm of dread.
Ptertha!
Four of the purple-tinted globes were approaching from the south, borne on the light breeze, skimming over the grass. They were plainly visible to the enemy — I saw several men point at them — but to my surprise no defensive action was taken. I saw the globes come closer and closer to the Chamtethans and — such is the power of reflex — J had to stifle the urge to shout a warning. The foremost of the globes reached the line of soldiers and abruptly ceased to exist, having burst among them.
Still no defensive or evasive action was taken. I even saw one soldier casually slash at a ptertha with his sword. In a matter of seconds the four globes had disintegrated, shedding their charges of deadly dust among the enemy, who appeared to be quite uncaring.
If what had happened up to that point was surprising, the aftermath was even more so.
The Chamtethans were in the process of spreading out to form a circle around our inadequate little fortress when I saw the beginnings of a commotion among their ranks. My glasses showed that some of the black-armoured soldiers had fallen. Already! Their comrades were kneeling beside them to render aid and — within the space of several breaths — they too were sprawling and writhing on the ground!
The sergeant came to my side and said, “Sir, the corporal says he can see our lines. What message do you want to send?”
“Wait!” I elevated my glasses slightly to take in the middle distance and after a moment picked out other ptertha weaving and wavering above the grasslands. “Instruct him to inform Captain Kadal that we have encountered a large detachment of the enemy, but that he is to remain where he is. He is not to advance until I send a further command.”
The sergeant was too well disciplined to venture a protest, but his perplexity was evident as he hurried away to transmit my orders. I resumed my surveillance of the Chamtethans. By that time there was a general awareness that something was terribly amiss, evidenced by the manner in which the soldiers were running here and there in panic and confusion. Men who had begun to advance on our position turned and — not understanding that their sole hope of survival lay in fleeing the scene — rejoined the main body of their force. I watched with a clammy coldness in my gut as they too began to stagger and fall.
There were gasps of wonderment from behind me as my own men, even with unaided vision, took in the fact that the Chamtethans were swiftly being destroyed by some awesome and invisible agency. In a frighteningly short space of time every last one of the enemy had gone down, and nothing was moving on the plain save groups ofbluehorns which had begun to graze unconcernedly among the bodies of their masters. (Why is it that all members of the animal kingdom, apart from types of simian, are immune to ptertha poison?)
When 1 had taken my fill of the dread scene I turned and almost laughed aloud as I saw that my men were gazing at me with a mixture of relief, respect and adoration. They had believed themselves doomed, and now — such are the workings of the common soldier’s mind — their gratitude for being spared was being focussed on me, as though their deliverance had been won through some masterly strategy on my part. They seemed to have no thought at all for the wider implications of what had occurred.
Three years earlier Kolcorron had been brought to its knees by a sudden malevolent change in the nature of our age-old foe, the ptertha, and now it appeared that there had been another and greater escalation of the globes’ evil powers. The new form of pterthacosis — for nothing else could have struck down the Chamtethans — which killed a man in seconds instead of hours was a grim portent of dark days ahead of us.
I relayed a message to Kadal, warning him to keep within the forest and to be on the alert for ptertha, then returned to my vigil. The glasses showed some ptertha in groups of two or three drifting on the southerly breeze. We were reasonably safe from them, thanks to the protection of the trees, but I waited for some time and made sure the sky was absolutely clear before giving the order to retrieve our bluehorns and to return to our own lines at maximum speed. DAY 109. It transpires that I was quite wrong about a new and intensified threat from the ptertha.
Leddravohr has arrived at the truth by a characteristically direct method. He had a group of Chamtethan men and women tied to stakes on a patch of open ground, and beside them he placed a group of our own wounded, men who had little hope of recovery. Eventually they were found by drifting ptertha, and the outcome was witnessed through telescopes. The Kolcorronians, in spite of their weakened condition, took two hours to succumb to pterthacosis — but the hapless Chamtethans died almost immediately.
Why does this strange anomaly exist?
One theory I have heard is that the Chamtethans as a race have a certain inherited weakness which renders them highly vulnerable to pterthacosis, but I believe that the real explanation is the much more complicated one advanced by our medical advisors. It depends on there being two distinct varieties of ptertha — the blackish-purple type known of old to Kolcorron, which is highly venomous; and a pink type indigenous to Chamteth, which is harmless or relatively so. (The sighting of a pink globe in this area turns out to have been duplicated many times elsewhere.)
The theory further states that in centuries of warfare against the ptertha, in which millions of the globes have been destroyed, the entire population of Kolcorron has been exposed to microscopic quantities of the toxic dust. This has given us some slight degree of tolerance for the poison, increased our resistance to it, by a mechanism similar to the one which ensures that some diseases can be contracted only once. The Chamtethans, on the other hand, have no resistance whatsoever, and an encounter with a poisonous ptertha is even more catastrophic for them than it is for us.
One experiment which would go a long way towards proving the second theory would be to expose groups of Kolcorronians and Chamtethans to pink ptertha. No doubt Leddravohr will duly arrange for the experiment to be carried out if we enter a region where the pink globes are plentiful.
Dalacott broke off from his reading and glanced at the timepiece strapped to his wrist. It was of the type based on a toughened glass tube, preferred by the military in the absence of a compact and reliable chronometer. The pace beetle inside it was nearing the eighth division of the graduated cane shoot. The time of his final appointment was almost at hand.
He took a further measured sip of his wine and turned to the last entry in the diary. It had been made many days earlier, and after its completion he had abandoned the habit of a lifetime by ceasing to record each day’s activities and thoughts.
In a way that had been a symbolic suicide, preparing him for tonight’s actuality.… DAY 114. The war is over.
The ptertha plague has done our work for us.
In the space of only six days since the purple ptertha made their appearance in Chamteth the plague has raged the length and breadth of the continent, sweeping away its inhabitants in their millions. A swift and casual genocide!
We no longer have to progress on foot, fighting our way yard by yard against a dedicated enemy. Instead, we advance by airship, with our jets on continuous thrust. Travelling in that manner uses up large quantities of power crystals — both in the propulsion tubes and the anti-ptertha cannon — b
ut such considerations are no longer important.
We are the proud possessors of an entire continent of mature brakka and veritable mountains of the green and purple. We share our riches with none. Leddravohr has not rescinded his order to take no prisoners, and the isolated handfuls of bewildered and demoralised Chamtethans we encounter are put to the sword.
I have flown over cities, towns and villages and farmlands where nothing lives except for wandering domestic animals. The architecture is impressive — clean, well-proportioned, dignified — but one has to admire it from afar. The stench of rotting corpses reaches high into the sky.
We are soldiers no longer.
We are the carriers of pestilence.
We ARE pestilence.
I have nothing more to say.
Chapter 12
The night sky, although it had much less overall brightness than in Kolcorron, was spanned by a huge spiral of misty light, the arms of which sparkled with brilliant stars of white, blue and yellow. That wheel was flanked by two large elliptical spirals, and the rest of the celestial canopy was generously dappled with small whirlpools, wisps and patches of radiance, plus the glowing plumes of a number of comets. Although the Tree was not visible, the sky was overlaid with a field of major stars whose intensity made them seem closer than all the other heavenly objects, imparting a sense of depth to the display.
Toller was only accustomed to seeing those configurations when Land was at the opposite side of its path around the sun, at which time they were dominated and dimmed by the great disk of Overland. He stood unmoving in the dusk, watching starry reflections tremble on the broad quiet waters of the Orange River. All about him the myriad subdued lights of the Third Army’s headquarters glowed through the tree lanes of the forest, the days of open encampments having passed with the advent of the ptertha plague.
One question had been on his mind all day: Why should General Dalacott want a private interview with me?
He had spent several days of idleness at a transit camp twenty miles to the west — part of an army which, suddenly, had no work to do — and had been trying to adapt to the new pace of life when the battalion commander had ordered him to report to headquarters. On arrival he had been examined briefly by several officers, one of whom he thought might be Vorict, the adjutant-general. He had been told that General Dalacott wished to present him with valour disks in person. The various officers had plainly been puzzled by the unusual arrangement, and had discreetly pumped Toller for information before accepting that he was as unenlightened about the matter as they.
A young captain emerged from the nearby administrative enclosure, approached Toller through the spangled dimness and said, “Lieutenant Maraquine, the general will see you now.”
Toller saluted and went with the officer to a tent which, unexpectedly, was quite small and unadorned. The captain ushered him in and quickly departed. Toller stood at attention before a lean, austere-looking man who was seated at a portable desk. In the weak light from two field lanterns the general’s cropped hair could either have been white or blond, and he looked surprisingly young for a man with fifty years of distinguished service. Only his eyes seemed old, eyes which had seen more than was compatible with the ability to dream.
“Sit down, son,” he said. “This is a purely informal meeting.”
“Thank you, sir.” Toller took the indicated chair, his mystification growing.
“I see from your records that you entered the army less than a year ago as an ordinary line soldier. I know these are changed times, but wasn’t that unusual for a man of your social status?”
“It was specially arranged by Prince Leddravohr.”
“Is Leddravohr a friend of yours?”
Encouraged by the general’s forthright but amiable manner, Toller ventured a wry smile. “I cannot claim that honour, sir.”
“Good!” Dalacott smiled in return. “So you achieved the rank of lieutenant in less than a year through your own efforts.”
“It was a field commission, sir. It may not be given full endorsement.”
“It will.” Dalacott paused to sip from an enamelled cup. “Forgive me for not offering you refreshment — this is an exotic brew and I doubt if it would be to your taste.”
“I’m not thirsty, sir.”
“Perhaps you would like these instead.” Dalacott opened a compartment in his desk and took out three valour disks. They were circular flakes of brakka inlaid with white and red glass. He handed them to Toller and sat back to view his reactions.
“Thank you.” Toller fingered the disks and put them away in a pocket. “I’m honoured.”
“You disguise the fact quite well.”
Toller was embarrassed and disconcerted. “Sir, I didn’t intend any.…”
“It’s all right, son,” Dalacott said. “Tell me, is army life not what you expected?”
“Since I was a child I have dreamed of being a warrior, but.…”
“You were prepared to wipe an opponent’s blood from your sword, but you didn’t realise there would be smears of his dinner as well.”
Toller met the general’s gaze squarely. “Sir, I don’t understand why you brought me here.”
“I think it was to give you this.” Dalacott opened his right hand to reveal a small object which he dropped on to Toller’s palm.
Toller was surprised by its weight, by the massy impact of it on his hand. He held the object closer to the light and was intrigued by the colour and lustre of its polished surface. The colour was unlike any he had seen before, white but somehow more than white, resembling the sea when the sun’s rays were obliquely reflected from it at dawn. The object was rounded like a pebble, but might almost have been a miniature carving of a skull whose details had been worn away by time.
“What is it?” Toller said.
Dalacott shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. I found it in Redant province many years ago, on the banks of the Bes-Undar, and nobody has ever been able to tell me what it is.”
Toller closed his fingers around the warm object and found his thumb beginning to move in circles on the slick surface. “One question leads to another, sir. Why do you want me to have this?”
“Because—” Dalacott gave him a strange smile — “you might say it brought your mother and I together.”
“I see,” Toller said, speaking mechanically but not untruthfully as the general’s words washed through his mind and, like a strong clear wave altering the aspect of a beach, rearranged memory fragments into new designs. The patterns were unfamiliar and yet not totally strange, because they had been inherent in the old order, needing only a single rippling disturbance to make them apparent. There was a long silence broken only by a faint popping sound as an oilbug blundered against a lamp’s flame tube and slid down into the reservoir. Toller gazed solemnly at his father, trying to conjure up some appropriate emotion, but inside him there was only numbness.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” he admitted finally. “This has come so… late.”
“Later than you think.” Again, Dalacott’s expression was unreadable as he raised the cup of wine to his lips. “I had many reasons — some of them not altogether selfish — for not acknowledging you, Toller. Do you bear me any ill will?”
“None, sir.”
“I’m glad.” Dalacott rose to his feet. “We will not meet again, Toller. Will you embrace me… once… as a man embraces his father?”
“Father.” Toller stood up and clasped his arms around the sword-straight, elderly figure. During the brief period of contact he detected a curious hint of spices on his father’s breath. He glanced down at the cup waiting on the desk, made a half-intuitive mental leap, and when they parted to resume their seats there was a prickling in his eyes.
Dalacott seemed calm, fully composed. “Now, son, what comes next for you? Kolcorron and its new ally — the ptertha — have achieved their glorious victory. The soldiers’ work is all but done, so what have you planned for your
future?”
“I think I wasn’t intended to have a future,” Toller said. “There was a time when Leddravohr would have slain me in person, but something happened, something I don’t understand. He placed me in the army and I believe it was his intention that the Chamtethans would do his work at a remove.”
“He has a great deal to occupy his thoughts and absorb his energies, you know,” the general said. “An entire continent now has to be looted, merely as a preliminary to the building of Prad’s migration fleet. Perhaps Leddravohr has forgotten you.”
“I haven’t forgotten him.”
“Is it to the death?”
“I used to think so.” Toller thought of bloody footprints on pale mosaic, but the vision had become obscured, overlaid by hundreds of images of carnage. “Now I doubt if the sword is the answer to anything.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that. Even though Leddravohr’s heart is not really in the migration plan, he is probably the best man to see it through to a successful conclusion. It is possible that the future of our race rests on his shoulders.”
“I’m aware of that possibility, father.”
“And you also feel you can solve your own problems perfectly well without my advice.” There was a wry twist to the general’s lips. “I think I would have enjoyed having you by me. Now, what about my original question? Have you no thought at all for your future?”
“I would like to pilot a ship to Overland,” Toller said. “But I think it is a vain ambition.”
“Why? Your family must have influence.”
“My brother is the chief advisor on the design of the skyships, but he is almost as unpopular with Prince Leddravohr as I am.”
“Is it something you genuinely desire to do, this piloting of a skyship? Do you actually want to ascend thousands of miles into the heavens? With only a balloon and a few cords and scraps of wood to support you?”
Toller was surprised by the questions. “Why not?”
“Truly, a new age brings forth new men,” Dalacott said softly, apparently speaking to himself, then his manner became brisk. “You must go now — I have letters to write. I have some influence with Leddravohr, and a great deal of influence with Carranald, the head of Army Air Services. If you have the necessary aptitudes you will pilot a skyship.”
