Half Past Human (S.F. MASTERWORKS)

by T. J. Bass

  Ball pulsed brightly – reds, blues and then a glaring white light. The armies quieted down – awe-struck. Hip studied the heavens expectantly. The aurora fluttered on without a change. Stars blinked silently. Several stars did not blink – Moses was sure these were the so-called wandering stars – planets. The silence dragged out. In the east the lunar disc attracted their attention for a while. Then Ball darkened. Hip mumbled that the signs were not quite right – tomorrow night he’d try again.

  Disappointment spread through the camps. Tinker led a band of blademen into the dark perimeter. They took a Tiller through the circle of foam and raided distant gardens. A token raid, it brought back only scant calories – unnoticed by the hungry masses – but it did show that such a raid was possible. At dawn they were still in the foam when the Huntercraft approached – about twenty of them – gleaming bright hulls at one-thousand-feet elevation. Hatches opened and a shower of arrows rained on Tiller. They dismounted and walked in under the massive chassis.

  ‘Shields up,’ shouted Moses as the squadron passed over, raining arrows. Most of the shafts plunked into the ground. The only injuries were minor. Gravity simply was not an effective accelerator for the light arrows.

  The squadron attempted a turn. Two craft collided in the air and crashed in a canal. The others scattered.

  ‘Not too bright,’ commented Hugh. He stood while a platoon of buckeyes pulled the craft from the waters. The Nebish crews were quickly and mercifully dispatched. One craft looked serviceable to Tinker.

  ‘They must have been on manual – shooting from the craft isn’t allowed when meck brains are flying. You’re right – not too bright. It takes training to fly one of these,’ said Tinker.

  Dust covers were up all morning while Tinker moved parts from one machine to the other. He put it on manual and removed the antenna.

  ‘Good craft – look at that optic acuity. We might learn a lot if we take her up and reconnoiter. Send a runner to Moses and see if he and Toothpick want to survey the battlefield from a mile up.’

  Tinker went back to work. The power cell from the inoperative craft was charged in a garage and spliced into the conductive web of the operative ship. He lined up four bowmen and four blademen to come along. Moses arrived about noon.

  Tinker handled the controls like a professional. His shakedown cruises for Hunter Control made him the best pilot in the area. The bipennis under his seat made him the best-armed. Moses hung onto his seat as they swept low over their troops. Buckeyes waved their shaggy heads from the hatches. This brought cheers from below.

  They surveyed their armies – half a million strong, counting women and children. Their camp covered a three-mile radius around an intersection of the canal-river bed and the 50:00 border rock pile. Rocky high ground was held by bowmen. Blades and spears held shaft caps – there were ten in camp. The perimeter was dotted by a hundred Agromecks – each about a quarter of a mile apart and each burdened again by bowmen.

  Tinker smiled.

  ‘Bowmen on the high ground and Agromecks – spearchuckers and short swords in the shaft caps. We’re secure.’

  Moses tended to agree. He could see Hugh Konte’s platoon moving around the perimeter – daring a Huntercraft to engage them.

  From two thousand feet up the viewpoint changed. The sea of Agrifoam ebbed and flowed for an additional three miles – an area four times that occupied by the army. The Big ES could just as easily blanket a ten- or a hundred-mile radius. As they climbed, their egos shrank. Shaft caps marched endlessly to the circumference of the Earth, it seemed – thousands, tens of thousands.

  A hive Huntercraft approached awkwardly. Tinker circled it. The viewplates were opaque from the outside. He checked the communicator frequencies. Nothing.

  ‘Let’s try and shoot it down,’ said Tinker, enthusiastically. ‘I want three of you bowmen to kneel down under the ceiling hatch and shoot when I open the hatch.’

  He maneuvered under the craft and put his hand on the manual hatch control. The other craft’s airstream buffeted him about.

  ‘Now!’ he shouted, pulling back the lever. The hatch opened to whirling blades. A fusilade of arrows clinked. Tinker banked hard right. The hive craft wobbled off, spitting parts. It landed in a grove of fruit trees.

  Tinker swooped down to examine the stricken craft.

  ‘Look at the way it landed,’ he cheered. ‘Right on a tree trunk. It’ll never fly again. Shall we set down and polish off the crew?’

  Moses studied the terrain.

  ‘We’re ten miles from our camp.’

  ‘So? We don’t have to set down. Say! A couple of you fellows buckle on a harness. I’ll swing you right down on the roof. You can hack open the hatch and dice up the Nebish crew. No problems.’

  Moses glanced at Toothpick. No admonition. He nodded.

  Tinker held her steady while the coup de grace was administered by the two harnessed blademen. Their craft ran smoothly. Moses kept a sharp lookout.

  ‘Huntercraft!’ warned Toothpick.

  The foliage blocked their view of most of the sky, but Moses feared the worst. Toothpick squeaked and tried to estimate range and number.

  ‘Hurry up down there.’

  ‘Don’t you want a head for a souvenir?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Twenty craft. Closing fast,’ said Toothpick.

  Tinker reeled in the blademen as he lifted off.

  ‘Try a run for it,’ suggested Moses. He pointed Toothpick out the window. The little cyberspear sparked menacingly.

  The squadron passed overhead at two thousand feet, and then peeled out of formation one at a time to track in single file.

  ‘We’ve picked them up, that’s for sure,’ said Tinker banking sharply.

  The tracking craft closed after his right-angle turn by crossing the hypoteneuse.

  ‘They aren’t blundering into each other,’ said Moses.

  Tinker squinted through the craft’s optic set at 10 X magnification.

  ‘Those craft are from Orange Country.’

  Tinker flipped open the communicator. Val’s face appeared. They eyed each other bitterly.

  ‘Still fly pretty good,’ said Val.

  ‘Doing all right,’ said Tinker, climbing.

  ‘Let’s see how good you are,’ challenged Val. The screen went dead. One of the Huntercraft left formation and tracked fast. The others broke off contact and scattered at low altitudes.

  Tinker tried to get under the hive craft for a bowshot at the blades, but it dove to tree-top level. Hatches opened several times and Tinker’s hands felt the tick, tick, tick of arrows striking the hull. Three of the other craft returned abruptly and triangulated on him, closing fast. When he tried for escape altitude the hive craft flew under him and began plinking arrows at his blades.

  ‘They certainly learn fast,’ said Tinker. His forehead was dampening. He darted off on a zigzag course.

  Toothpick flickered coherent light beams at the pursuing craft’s view ports hoping to bleach out a few retinas. The craft hesitated and then turned back. Tinker raced for his camp. The hive squadron formed up again and flew high over the fugitive army dropping a couple of tons of building blocks. Again, they were easy to avoid, and casualties were light.

  The perimeter patrols reported three enemy squadrons, over fifty Huntercraft, sighted. There had been only one skirmish – a food column through the Agrifoam was broken up.

  ‘More craft today. Still no concerted attacks. They’re probably building up their forces now, trying to starve us. When they’re stronger, they’ll attack,’ said Tinker.

  Moses nodded.

  ‘And we really can’t attack them effectively on foot. Those are Huntercraft assembling out there. They must be about ten miles away – watching us.’

  Hugh returned from patrol and walked up smiling. He had a generous hunk of boiled meat in a platter of tiny vegetable flakes.

  ‘At least we don’t have to worry about food, anymore. This guy Moon has a
regular food train over there.’

  Tinker and Moses approached the shaft cap where Moon and the squad of bowmen had entered the night before. Buckeyes and fugitives from Dundas filed in empty-handed and came out carrying sides and quarters of red-yellow meat. Trails of pink drippings marked the passing of thousands of meat porters. Nothing looked human to Moses. He thought he’d better investigate.

  He found the porter lines ran all the way downspiral to shaft base. Crawlways and cubicles were silent. Moon and the bowmen had set up a blind at the tubeway entrance. Using crude harpoons with thin cables, they were spearing Nebishes right off the tubes. The impact of the harpoon head usually stilled their victims – if not, the brief drawing and quartering did.

  Moon shouted instructions to a score of busy coweyes.

  ‘Get those heads and entrails back in the tubeways. Be neat. I want every bit of skin off – hands and feet too. We mustn’t offend the cooks.’

  ‘What about this little one. Shall I throw it back?’

  ‘If it’s still alive. If it isn’t, don’t let it go to waste.’

  Old Moon smiled when he saw Moses.

  ‘How we doing?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Moses, without enthusiasm. ‘Wonderful. But you’re going to have to knock off for a while. The Hip is having another ceremony tonite. He wants all his people around him.’

  ‘The Ass at Tabulum—’ mumbled Moon.

  Moses changed the subject.

  ‘We captured a nice Huntercraft today. Tinker has it running smoothly. We took a look around. Huntercraft are gathering outside the foam.’

  ‘It figures,’ said Moon, wiping his hands. ‘There is enough meat here for the guys on the spiral. Let’s knock off, you guys. Get your asses back to the Hip. He’s having one of his mystic fits again.’

  Moon and Moses walked upspiral while Dan munched on a hand.

  The orange glow of forges created an eerie background for Hip’s chants. The fugitives from Dundas found tons of soft iron in the garages – old meck energy converters. It was soft enough to fashion quickly into the double-headed bipennis and the twenty-inch short sword, it was hard enough to hold an edge through a hundred Nebishes.

  Moses, Moon and Tinker sat in the cabin of their Huntercraft listening to a hive entertainment channel while Hip ranted and raved in the distance.

  ‘Are the patrols doubled tonite?’ asked Moses.

  ‘Hugh saw to it,’ said Tinker. ‘He’s a regular little organizer. His patrol squads contain men from both camps – brawn and brains, he says.’

  A song drifted over the camp—

  We will gather at the river.

  We will gather at the river.

  We will gather at the river—

  The wonderful river of Love.

  Both Moon and Tinker sneered. Moses occupied himself with the communicator – tuning in on random channels – getting a lot of static.

  ‘Try 83.6,’ suggested Toothpick.

  Moses tuned in on Josephson’s eager face.

  ‘Hi,’ said Moses. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Josephson looked sheepish. ‘Just conducting a Hunt for you. All of you.’

  Moon and Tinker crowded behind him.

  ‘A Hunt?’

  ‘A really Big Hunt,’ said Josephson, a little pride showing.

  ‘He means to kill us all,’ said Tinker.

  Josephson glanced up at Tinker.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s right. A job is a job. My job is to get you.’

  Tinker laughed and changed the channel back to light musicals.

  ‘Let’s not get to know our enemy too well. We may not be able to kill him when we meet.’

  ‘Try 21.9,’ said Toothpick.

  Tinker raised an eyebrow and turned the dial. Val’s face appeared. He was wearing dark glasses.

  ‘Who’s there?’ asked Val. Behind him a very fat man stood up – fat Walter.

  ‘Tinker here!’

  Val smiled his cynical best. ‘Got bad news for you Followers of Olga. You’ve come to the river at the wrong time.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘There’s no conjunction. Jupiter is alone in Sagittarius,’ explained Val, groping for his collection of beads. ‘Our astrologers have analyzed your bead sequence – now stop me if I’m wrong, but it shows a ringed bead over here. Saturn, right?’

  Tinker nodded – caring little about the occult side of their armies’ existence. He was here to fight and survive. Winning the favor of the gods was Hip’s job.

  Val continued: ‘There are four other beads together in this part of the string. The big one we guess to be Jupiter. Jupiter and Saturn happen to be about fifty-five degrees apart on the zodiac now. That much is fine. But those other bright lights that are wandering around in Sagittarius are just space junk. We’ve found Venus and Mercury. They’re in Gemini with the sun. Mercury is actually going into transit the day after tomorrow, if you’re interested. Mars is off somewhere too – about a hundred degrees out of Sagittarius. Uranus is way over in Pisces. So your beads are all wrong.’

  Moses wrote down Val’s information and gave it to a runner to take to Hip. It might help.

  Tinker called over Val’s shoulder to fat Walter.

  ‘Is he right, Walter?’

  Walter nodded. ‘That craft you are sitting in has good optics. Ask it to check these positions tonite. Our own Bird Dog IV made these sightings.’

  Hip just smiled at Val’s zodiacal diagram. He strung a new sequence of beads and sent it back to Moses. Then he returned to his chants. He knew little of astronomy – Ball designed the beads.

  ‘Looks like he just added two white beads for Mars and Uranus,’ said Moses. ‘His conjunction of four planets is the same.’

  Their captive Huntercraft turned its optics upwards. They leaned on the screen, quickly confirming Val’s words.

  ‘Jupiter, Saturn and Mars are where Val said,’ observed Moses. ‘We’re too late for Uranus tonite. Mercury and Venus won’t be visible until dawn. Looks like the beads are wrong.’

  Tinker shrugged. ‘So what? Were you expecting a miracle?’

  Moses didn’t know.

  The aurora pastels flared – blue, banana and avocado. Hip screamed his chants. Sweating in dance, they sang words of Love and Freedom.

  ‘Now those crazy fools are dropping their weapons,’ complained old Moon bitterly.

  ‘It is what they came for – ceremony, prayers—’ explained gentle Moses. Toothpick had no comment.

  ‘But their stupid frenzy is spreading to our people from Dundas. Everybody is dropping their weapons. They look like they are going to dance till they drop. Who will fight off the hunters tomorrow?’ said Moon. ‘Who will defend them?’

  The answer drifted over the camps: ‘Love will save us. Olga is love. Love will save us.’

  Suddenly Toothpick shouted: ‘Take me Outside.’

  Puzzled, Moses carried him out.

  ‘Hold me up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know why, just point me to the sky and shut your eyes – oooh!’

  Toothpick convulsed. His skin tickled Moses’ hand. From his nose a beam of pure white light penciled into the dark sky. It was near midnight and Sagittarius was directly overhead. Old Moon stood in the Huntercraft, puzzled. A similar pencil of light issued from Ball. A small meteor crossed the sky – a long white scratch on ebony. Another meteor, then another. Then there were hundreds of tiny white and yellow scratches, hardly more than faint curlicues that faded as fast as they appeared.

  Ten miles away in the Huntercraft camp, Val and Walter watched the sky.

  ‘Tiny meteors,’ commented fat Walter.

  ‘And I’ll bet some superstitious troglodyte in that camp is attributing all the fireworks to Olga,’ scoffed Val.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Walter. ‘Listen to this pickup from the shaft cap. They’re singing those old songs we heard on the tightbeam.’

  ‘It will be their last night to sing,’ said Val. �
�Tomorrow another hundred Huntercraft arrive. We’ll have enough to take them.’

  Double-bladed axes, short swords, and metal spear points had proliferated in the camp. Dawn found the troops unarmed and exhausted from the night’s ceremonial dancing. Weapons were scattered everywhere, dusty and underfoot. The perimeter guards were armed, though; and when the first enemy craft appeared the rest of the army sobered fast and rearmed themselves. White-suited archers marched up spirals. Huntercraft darted back and forth spraying arrows.

  Josephson talked to the CO, requesting aid.

  ‘You’ll have to handle it at the local level,’ said the CO. ‘There are similar uprisings on most of the land masses. A million or so buckeyes are involved. That should be no problem for a planet with over three trillions. Use the manual overrides, but handle it locally.’

  A heavy spear struck his craft. The metal point penetrated the hull, releasing a trickle of blue fluid. An idiot light went on. He left the battlefield for an emergency landing.

  Tinker led his company into a shaft cap to clean up a group of hunters. He advanced downspiral swinging his bipennis. Heads rolled. Axemen and blademen followed him across shaft base and into the tubeways. They chopped into the walls and machinery. A bolus of bodies jammed the tube. They moved through the stilled tunnel to the next shaft cap and charged upspiral trapping a unit of hunters against the garage doors. When he finally fought his way back out into the sunlight it was early afternoon. His right arm was tired. He had a minor arrow wound in his left wrist. A coweye bound it. He returned to Mu Ren and napped.

  Hugh Konte woke him up an hour later.

  ‘Tinker! Moses and Hip are having some sort of a meeting in the rocks. We shot down a couple of Huntercraft, and a few more crashed. Toothpick recognized some of the emblems. They are from all over the continent. More arrive by the hour. Troops keep arriving in the tubeways too. I guess we’re going to have to do something.’

  Tinker picked up his axe and followed Hugh to the meeting. Hip was depressed. ‘Last night was supposed to be the conjunction. Today we were supposed to be safe in the arms of Olga,’ he said.