The Ragged Astronauts lao-1

by Bob Shaw

  “Yes.” Toller stared at the sergeant, trying to suppress his feelings of dislike. This was the man who had been formally entrusted with Lain’s safety, and who remained alive while Lain was dead. There was little the sergeant could have done against ptertha in this kind of terrain, and according to his story he had been dismissed by Leddravohr; and yet his presence among the living was an affront to the primitive in Toller’s character.

  “Do you want to go back now, captain?” Engluh showed no signs of being discomfited by Toller’s scrutiny. He was a hardlooking veteran, undoubtedly skilled in the art of preserving his own skin, but Toller could not judge him as being untrustworthy.

  “Not yet,” Toller said. “I want to find the bluehorn.”

  “Very good, captain.” A flickering in the depths of the sergeant’s brown eyes showed his awareness of the fact that Toller had not fully accepted Prince Leddravohr’s terse account of the previous day’s events. “I’ll show you the path we took.”

  Toller mounted his bluehorn and rode behind Engluh as they worked their way up the hill. About halfway to the top they came to an area of laminated rock bounded on its lower edge by an accumulation of flakes. The remains of the bluehorn lay on the loose material, already stripped to a skeleton by multipedes and other scavengers. Even the saddle and harness had been shredded and gnawed in places. Toller felt a coolness on his spine as he realised that Lain’s body would have suffered a similar fate but for the ptertha poison in the tissues. His bluehorn had begun to toss its head and behave nervously, but he guided it closer to the skeleton and frowned as he saw the fractured shinbone. My brother was living when that happened — and now he’s dead. As the pain raged through him with renewed forced he closed his eyes and tried to think about the unthinkable.

  According to what he had been told, Sergeant Engluh and the other three soldiers had ridden to the west entrance of Skyship Quarter after being dismissed by Leddravohr. They had waited there for Lain and had been astonished to see Leddravohr returning alone.

  The prince had been in a strange mood, angry and jovial at once, and on seeing Engluh was reported to have said, “Prepare yourself for a long wait, sergeant — your master disabled his mount and now he is playing hide-and-seek with the ptertha.” Thinking it was expected of him, Engluh had volunteered to gallop back to the hill with a spare bluehorn, but Leddravohr had said, “Stay where you are! He chose to play a dangerous game with his own life — and that is no sport for a good soldier.”

  Toller had made the sergeant repeat his account several times and the only interpretation he could place on it was that Lain had been offered transportation to safety, but had wilfully elected to flirt with death. Leddravohr was above the need to lie about any of his actions — and still Toller was unable to accept what he had been told. Lain Maraquine, who had been known to faint at the sight of blood, would have been the last man in the world to pit himself against the globes. Had he wanted to take his life he would have found a better way — but in any case there had been no reason for him to commit suicide. He had had too much to live for. No, there was a mystery central to what had happened on the barren hillside on the previous day, and Toller knew of only one man who could clear it up. Leddravohr may not have lied, but he knew more than.…

  “Captain!” Engluh spoke in a startled whisper. “Look over there!”

  Toller followed the line of his pointing finger to the east and blinked as he saw the unmistakable dark brown shape of a balloon lifting into the sky above Ro-Atabri. A few seconds later it was joined by three others climbing in close formation, almost as though the mass ascent to Overland was beginning days ahead of schedule.

  Something has gone wrong, Toller thought before he was stricken by a sense of personal outrage. The death of Lain would have been more than enough to contend with on its own, but to that had been added aggravating doubt and suspicion — and now skyships were rising from the Quarter in contravention of all the rigid planning that had gone into the migration flight. There was a limit to how much his mind could encompass at a single time, and the universe was unfairly choosing to disregard it.

  “I have to go back now,” he said, urging his bluehorn into motion. They rode down the hill, rounded a briar-covered shoulder and reached the open slope where Lain’s body lay. The unrestricted view to the east showed that more balloons were rising from the line of enclosures, but Toller’s gaze was drawn to the dappled sweeps of the city beyond. Columns of dark smoke were rising from the central districts.

  “It looks like a war, captain,” Engluh said in wonderment, rising in his stirrups.

  “Perhaps that’s what it is.” Toller glanced once towards the inert anonymous shape that had been his brother — You will live in me, Lain — then spurred his mount forward in the direction of the city.

  He had been aware of the growing restlessness among Ro-Atabri’s beleaguered population, but he found it hard to imagine how civil disturbances could have any real effect on the ordered course of events within the Quarter. Leddravohr had installed army units in a crescent between the skyship base and the edge of the city itself, and had seen to it that they were controlled by officers he could trust even in the unique circumstances of the migration. The commanders were men who had no personal wish to fly to Overland and were stubbornly committed to preserving Ro-Atabri as an entity, come what may. Toller had believed the base to be secure, even in the event of full-scale riots, but the skyships were taking off long before their appointed time.…

  On reaching flat grassland he put the bluehorn into a full gallop and watched intently as the base’s perimeter barrier expanded across his field of view. The west entrance was little used because it faced open countryside, but as he drew closer he saw there were large groups of mounted soldiers and infantry behind the gate, and supply wagons could be seen on the move beyond the double screens where they curved away to the north and south. More ships were drifting up into the morning sky, and the hollow roars of their burners were mingling with the clacking of the inflation fans and the background shouting of overseers.

  The outer gates were swung open for Toller and the sergeant, then slammed shut again as soon as they had entered the buffer zone. Toller reined his bluehorn to a halt as he was approached by an army captain who was carrying his orange-crested helmet under his arm.

  “Are you Skycaptain Toller Maraquine?” he said, mopping his glistening brow.

  “Yes. What has happened?”

  “Prince Leddravohr orders you to report to Enclosure 12 immediately.”

  Toller nodded his assent. “What has happened?”

  “What makes you think anything has happened?” the captain said bitterly. He turned and strode away, issuing angry orders to the nearest soldiers, who had an overtly sullen look.

  Toller considered going after him and extracting an informative reply, but at that moment he noticed a blue-uniformed figure beckoning to him from the inner gate. It was Ilven Zavotle, newly commissioned to the rank of pilot lieutenant. Toller rode to him and dismounted, noting as he did so that the young man looked pale and troubled.

  “I’m glad you’re back, Toller,” Zavotle said anxiously. “I heard you had gone out to look for your brother, and I came to warn you about Prince Leddravohr.”

  “Leddravohr?” Toller glanced upwards as a skyship briefly occulted the sun. “What about Leddravohr?”

  “He’s insane,” Zavotle said, looking about him to ensure the treasonous statement had not been overheard. “He’s at the enclosures now… driving the loaders and inflation crews… sword in hand… I saw him cut a man down just for stopping to take a drink.”

  “He…!” Toller’s consternation and bafflement increased. “What brought all this about?”

  Zavotle looked up at him in surprise. “You don’t know? You must have left the Quarter before…Everything happened in a couple of hours, Toller.”

  “What happened? Speak up, Ilven, or there’ll be more swordplay.”

  “Lord Prelate
Balountar led a citizens’ march on the base. He demanded that all the ships be destroyed and the supplies distributed among the people. Leddravohr had him arrested and beheaded on the spot.”

  Toller narrowed his eyes as he visualised the scene. “That was a mistake.”

  “A bad one,” Zavotle agreed, “but that was only the beginning. Balountar had the crowds worked up with religion and promises of food and crystals. When they saw his head on a pole they started tearing down our screens. Leddravohr sent the army against them, but… it was an amazing thing, Toller… most of the soldiers refused to fight.”

  “They defied Leddravohr?”

  “They’re local men — most of them drawn from Ro-Atabri itself — and they were being ordered to massacre their own people.” Zavotle paused as a skyship overhead produced a thunderous roar. “The soldiers are hungry, too, and there’s a feeling abroad that Leddravohr is turning his back on them.”

  “Even so.…” Toller found it almost impossible to imagine ordinary soldiers rebelling against the military prince.

  “That was when Leddravohr really became possessed. They say he killed more than a dozen officers and men. They wouldn’t obey his orders…but they wouldn’t defend themselves against him either… and he butchered them.…” Zavotle’s voice faltered. “Like pigs, Toller. Just like pigs.”

  In spite of the enormity of what he was hearing, Toller developed an unaccountable feeling that he had another and more pressing cause for concern. “How did it end?”

  “The fires in the city. When Leddravohr saw the smoke… realised the ptertha screens were burning… he came to his senses. He pulled all the men who remained loyal to him back inside the perimeter, and now he’s trying to get the whole skyship fleet off the ground before the rebels organise themselves and invade the base.” Zavotle studied the nearby soldiers from beneath lowered brows. “This lot are supposed to defend the west gate, but if you ask me they aren’t too sure which side they’re on. Blue uniforms are no longer popular around here. We should get back to the enclosures as soon as.…”

  The words faded from Toller’s hearing as his mind made a rapid series of leaps, each one bringing him closer to the source of his subconscious alarm. The fires in the city…ptertha screens burning…there has been no rain for many days…when the screens go the city will be indefensible… the migration MUST get under way at once…and that means…

  “Gesalla!” Toller blurted the name in a sudden accession of panic and self-recrimination. How could he have forgotten her for so long? She would be waiting at home in the Square House… still without confirmation of Lain’s death… and the flight to Overland had already begun.…

  “Did you hear me?” Zavotle said. “We should be.…”

  “Never mind that,” Toller cut in. “What’s been done about notifying the migrants and bringing them in?”

  “The King and Prince Chakkell are already at the enclosures. All the other royals and nobles have to get here under the protection of their own guards. It’s a shambles, Toller. The ordinary migrants will have to get through by themselves, and the way things are out there I doubt if.…”

  “I’m indebted to you for meeting me here, Ilven,” Toller said, turning to mount his bluehorn. “I seem to remember you telling me when we were up there — freezing to death and with nothing to do but count the falling stars — that you have no family. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In that case you should get back to the enclosures and take the first ship that becomes available to you. I am not free to leave just yet.”

  Zavotle came forward as Toller swung himself into the saddle. “Leddravohr wants us both as royal pilots, Toller. You especially, because nobody else has turned a ship over.”

  “Forget that you saw me,” Toller said. “I’ll be back as soon as lean.”

  He rode into the base, taking a route which kept him well away from the balloon enclosures. The ptertha nets overhead were casting their patterns of shadow on a scene of confused and frenetic activity. It had been intended that the migration fleet would depart in an orderly manner over a period of between ten and twenty days, depending on weather conditions. Now there was a race to see how many ships could be despatched before the Quarter was overrun by dissenters, and the situation was made even more desperate by the fact that the vulnerable ptertha screens had been attacked. It was fortunate that there was no perceptible air movement — a circumstance which aided the skyship crews and kept ptertha activity to the minimum — but with the arrival of night the livid globes would come in force.

  In their haste to load supply carts workers were tearing down the wooden storage huts with their bare hands. Soldiers belonging to the newly formed Overland Regiment — their loyalty guaranteed because they were due to fly with Leddravohr — roamed the area, noisily exhorting base personnel to make greater efforts and in some cases joining in the work. Here and there amid the chaos wandered small groups of men, women and children who had obtained migration warrants in the provinces and had arrived at the Quarter well in advance of their flights. Above and through everything drifted the racket of the inflation fans, the unnerving spasmodic roar of skyship burners and the marshy odour of free miglign gas.

  Toller attracted scant attention from anybody as he rode through storage and workshop sections, but on reaching the covered way which ran east to the city he found its entrance guarded by a large detachment of soldiers. Officers with them were questioning everybody who passed through. Toller moved to one side and used his telescope to survey the distant exit. Compressed perspectives made the image hard to interpret, but he could see massed foot soldiers and some mounted groups, and beyond them crowds thronging the sloping streets where the city proper began. There was little evidence of movement, but it was obvious that a confrontation was still taking place and that the normal route to the city was impassable.

  He was considering what to do when his attention was caught by shifting specks of colour in the scrubby land which stretched off to the south-east in the direction of the Greenmount suburb. The telescope revealed them to be civilians hurrying towards the centre of the base. From the high proportion of women and children Toller deduced they were emigrants who had breached the perimeter fence at a point remote from the main entrance. He turned away from the tunnel, located an auxiliary exit through the double ptertha meshes and rode out towards the advancing citizenry. When he got close to the leaders they brandished their blue-and-white migration warrants.

  “Keep heading towards the balloon enclosures,” he shouted to them. “We’ll get you away.”

  The anxious-faced men and women called out their thanks and hurried on, some carrying or dragging infants. Turning to look after them, Toller saw that their arrival had been noticed and mounted men were coming out to meet them. The sky behind the riders made a unique spectacle. Perhaps fifty ships were now in the air over the enclosures, dangerously crowded at the lower levels and straggling out as they receded into the zenith.

  Not pausing to see what kind of reception the migrants’would receive, Toller spurred his bluehorn on towards Greenmount. Far off to his right, in Ro-Atabri itself, the fires appeared to be spreading. The city was built of stone, but the timber and rope with which it had been cocooned to ward off the ptertha were highly flammable and the fires were becoming large enough to create their own convection systems, gaining ground with no assistance from the elements. It was only necessary, Toller knew, for a slight breeze to spring up and the whole city would be engulfed in a matter of minutes.

  He urged the bluehorn into a gallop, judging his direction from the groups of refugees he met, and eventually espied a place where the perimeter barricade had been pulled to the ground. He rode through the gap, ignoring apprehensive stares from people who were clambering across the stakes, and chose a direct route up the hill towards the Square House. The streets he had roamed as a boy were littered and deserted, part of the alien territory of the past.

  A minute after enterin
g Greenmount district he rounded a corner and encountered a band of five civilians who had armed themselves with staves. Although obviously not migrants, they were hurrying towards the Quarter. Toller divined at once that it was their intention to harass and perhaps rob some of the migrant families he had seen earlier.

  They spread out to block the narrow street and their leader, a slack-jawed hulk in a cloak thonged with dried pillar snakes, said, “What do you think you’re doing, bluecoat?”

  Toller, who could easily have ridden the man down, reined to a halt. “As you ask so politely, I don’t mind telling you that I’m deciding whether or not I should kill you.”

  “Kill me!” The man pounded the ground imperiously with his staff, apparently in the belief that all skymen went unarmed. “And exactly how…?”

  Toller drew his sword with a horizontal sweep which lopped the staff just above the man’s hand. “That could just have easily been your wrist or your neck,” he said mildly. “Do any or all of you wish to pursue the matter?”

  The four others eyed each other and backed away.

  “We have no quarrel with you, sir,” the cloaked man said, nursing the hand which had been jarred by the fierce impact on his staff. “We’ll go peaceably on our way.”

  “You won’t.” Toller used his brakka blade to point out an alley which led away from the skyship base. “You will go that way, and back to your dens. I will be returning to the Quarter in a few minutes — and I swear that if I set eyes on any of you again it will be my sword that does all the talking. Now go!”

  As soon as the men had passed out of sight he sheathed his sword and resumed the ascent of the hill. He doubted if his warning would have a lasting effect on the ruffians, but he had spared as much time as he could on behalf of the migrants, all of whom would have to learn to face many rigours in the coming days. A glance at the narrowing crescent of light on the disk of Overland told him there was not much more than an hour until littlenight, and it was imperative that he should take Gesalla to the base before then.