Banning said, after a moment, “All right. If there's nothing else I can do—"
He was turning as he said it, and of a sudden he was on Rolf's broad back, his forearm around the dark man's neck in a strangle-hold, squeezing.
Rolf gasped, “Sorry, Kyle—” and then his massive muscles seemed to explode like bursting springs, and Banning found himself hitting the cabin wall with a crash. He lay, the breath knocked out of him.
Rolf unlocked the door. He turned a moment and said dourly, “I'd have been flayed alive for that, in the old King City. But it was a pleasure. Now cool down."
He went out.
Banning, left alone, sat and stared a long time without moving, at the metal wall. He felt that his mind was floundering, and he clawed for a grip on reality.
"I am Neil Banning, and I am merely dreaming—"
He struck the wall with his clenched fist. His knuckles bruised convincingly. Blood showed on them. No, that wouldn't work.
"All right, this ship is real. A starship, going to Antares. Rolf is real, and this New Empire — a star empire that Earth doesn't dream of. But I'm still Neil Banning!"
Not Kyle Valkar — no! If he let himself believe that he was another man completely, a man from far star worlds with a past he couldn't remember, then his own personality, his own self, would waver and vanish like smoke and he would be nothing—
The Empire existed. The starships existed. Earth didn't know of them, but they obviously knew about Earth, knew its ways and languages from secret visits. This ship, Rolf, had made such a secret visit. They had come, they had taken Neil Banning, and now they were going away again. There was a purpose in that. They needed, for some vast star-intrigue, a man who could pose as Kyle Valkar. The Valkar, the descendant of ancient star-kings. And he, Banning, by physical resemblance could play the part. He was to be a pawn in their intrigue, and would be a better pawn if Rolf could convince him that he really was the Valkar.
Banning tried desperately to think what he must do. It was hard, for he still reeled from the impact of a newly-revealed universe, the unearthly shock of being in this ship. But he must, in this incredible predicament, fight for himself.
"Find out things,” he thought. “Learn where you stand, what they're trying to do with you, before you attempt anything. You've got to know—"
Hours went by. The deep, almost inaudible drone was the only sound. Outside these metal walls was the primal abyss, and a billion suns. He must not think of that.
Rolf came back. He brought new clothing for Banning, like his own, outlandish but comfortable — and the rich fabric of the white tunic had a stylized sunburst symbol picked out in jewels on the breast. Banning put it on without objection. His mind was made up — he must learn, and learn fast.
"Now you look like The Valkar,” grunted Rolf. “You've got to talk like him, too. And there's little enough time."
Rolf began, naming every object in the cabin in his own language. Banning repeated the words. And then the words for “star” and “king” and “Empire."
"Rolf."
"Yes?"
"This Old Empire, of which the Valkars were kings. You said that was ninety thousand years ago?"
"Yes. A long time. But it's still remembered, on all of the star-worlds except a few that sank back into complete savagery, like Earth."
Banning was startled. “Earth? It was part of that Old Empire?"
"It, and half of the galaxy.” Rolf brooded. “When the crash came, when the Old Empire fell, it was the faraway fringe-worlds that lost contact most completely. No wonder their colonists soon sank to savagery, almost to apehood, as on Earth."
From the somber references that Rolf made, in this and the next visits, Banning began to piece together a vague picture, an undreamed-of cosmic history.
The Old Empire, the Empire of the Valkars! They had ruled it from Katuun at Antares, their starships had webbed the galactic spaces, and the people of a myriad suns paid tribute to their power. But there had long been murmurings against the rule of these galactic lords, and more than one abortive rebellion. Finally, the Valkars themselves had precipitated a crisis.
Word spread that in a remote, inaccessible part of the galaxy, the Valkar lords were preparing a secret, terrible agency that would overawe all rebels in future. None knew its nature, or its powers. But rumor called it the Hammer of the Valkars, and said that with it the Valkars could destroy all the peoples in the galaxy if they wished.
That rumor detonated a cosmic rebellion! The peoples of the star worlds would not let the Valkars attain such life-or-death power over them. They rose in revolution, and civil war rent the whole fabric of interstellar civilization and shattered the Old Empire. Many, many far systems and worlds, when the starships came no longer, sank into barbarism and a long night.
A few star-worlds retained their civilization, their technics. They kept a few starships flying. And those few worlds, centering around the system of Rigel, expanded their efforts to bring more and more worlds back into a cooperative civilization. Thus had begun the New Empire, which professed to reject the pride and pomp of conquest of the Old Empire, and to bring a new day of cooperation to all planets.
Rolf spat in hatred. “They and their hypocritical talk of friendliness and peace! They've won many over. But some still remember the old Valkar kings who made the stars their footstools!"
Banning said, “But the thing that brought on the rebellion — the thing you called the Hammer of the Valkars. What happened to that?"
Rolf looked at Him gravely. ‘It has been lost, for all those ages. Only the Valkars knew where the Hammer was being prepared, and what it was. The clue to that secret was passed down from father to son, ever since the Old Empire fell. You were the only one who had that clue."
Banning stared. “So that's why Kyle Valkar is so pivotal a figure in all this!"
Rolf said grimly, “That's why. You told me — and me alone — that the Hammer was on a world kept in Cygnus Cluster. You said that, with the star-maps of ninety thousand years ago, you could find that world."
The big man added somberly, “You almost succeeded, Kyle. You found the maps you needed in the archives at Rigel, you started out toward Cygnus Cluster. But Tharanya and Jommor overtook you, and destroyed your memory and exiled you on faraway Earth, and now nobody knows the secret of the Hammer's hiding-place."
It sounded wildly incredible to Banning. He said so, and added, “Why wouldn't they have killed the one man who held such a secret, to make sure?"
Rolf said sardonically. “Jommor would have done so, and gladly. But Tharanya wouldn't. A woman — even one like Tharanya — shouldn't rule an Empire."
"And you are trying to overturn this New Empire,” Banning probed, “With just the few men in this ship?"
"There'll be others, Kyle. A message has been sent to them, and they'll gather at Katuun. Not many — but we'll be enough to pull down the Empire, if we have the Hammer."
"But you don't have it! And I know nothing of how to find it!"
"No, Kyle. But perhaps you soon will!"
When Banning tried to learn more, Rolf grunted, “Later. Right now, you must learn to speak. I've said that I restored your memory before we left Earth, and you're sick from the shock of that."
"The man who drove the car must know differently,” Banning reminded.
"Eyre?’ said Rolf. ‘He's safe, he's my man. But the others don't know. They're anxious to see you. You must appear soon, as Kyle Valkar."
Banning was learning the language fast. Too fast. For this language was enormously complex, showing every sign of vast age. Yet Banning picked it up easily. He reproduced Rolf's accent perfectly. It was as though his tongue and lips were used to shaping those sounds, as though this knowledge was already in his mind, dormant, needing only awakening.
He shrank from that thought. It would mean that Rolf was right, that the people of that Nebraska town had told truth, that Neil Banning didn't exist. He couldn't, he wouldn't, believe that. How could a
man let his own self go? No, it was a trick, Rolf had somehow hypnotized the folk of that town — it was only a clever imposture he was being used for.
There was no day or night for Banning. He slept, ate, and finally Rolf said, “They're waiting."
"Who?"
"My men. Your men, Kyle. You can speak well enough. You're coming out, I told them that you'd recovered."
Banning went cold. He had dreaded this moment. As long as he remained in the little cabin, he could postpone realization of his situation. Now he had to face it.
"Go along with it!” he told himself. “Find out for sure just what's behind Rolf's lies, before you make your move!"
The door was opened. Rolf stood aside, waiting for him to go first. He walked out into the corridor.
"This way,” said Rolf's harsh voice, at his ear. “To the right. Get your head up. You're supposed to be the son of kings."
The corridor led into an officers’ mess. A half-dozen men rose to their feet as Rolf said loudly, “The Valkar!"
They looked at Banning with desperate, hungry eyes. He knew he had to speak to them. But before be could, one wolf-faced man stepped forward. He spoke deliberately to Banning.
"You are not the Valkar."
CHAPTER IV
Silence, a seeming eternity of it, in which Banning stared into the dark wolfish face before him and felt his heart sink under an icy weight of apprehension. Well, that was that. They'd found him out. Now what? Rolf's warning came back to him — surrender, Jommor, death.
He thought desperately that he should speak, try to bluster his way out of it, but his tongue was stiff in his mouth. Before he could force it to make words, the wolf-faced man lifted his wine-glass high and shouted, “But you will be! We fought for you before, we'll fight again — and this time we'll see you back on your rightful throne. Hail, Valkar!"
"Hail Valkar!"
The cry rang from the metal walls. Relief swept over Banning and the hawk-eyed, hard-handed officers misread the emotion on his face for something else and cheered again. From some inner corner of Banning's soul there came unexpectedly a sense of pride. For a moment it seemed only right and good that these men were giving him a chieftain's greeting. His back straightened. He looked at them, and said, “The Valkars have never lacked for good men. I—"
He faltered. The brief moment was gone, and he saw Rolf looking at him, satisfaction shading swiftly into anxiety.
Abruptly, Banning smiled. Rolf had got him into this. Let Rolf worry. Let him sweat. Let him loyally and abjectly serve the Valkar.
"Wine,” he said, “I'll give my officers a pledge in return."
Rolf's eyes narrowed, but he put a wineglass in Banning's hand.
"Gentlemen,” said Banning, “I give you the return of the Old Empire and the freedom of the stars!"
The response almost deafened him. He turned to Rolf and whispered in English, “Corny — but effective, don't you think?” He drained the glass.
Rolf laughed. It was genuine laughter, and Banning felt that he had done something that pleased Rolf instead of angering him.
To the others Rolf said, “Jommor's cleverness failed. In spite of him, the Valkar is not changed. I know. I taught him his first lessons. He is still the Valkar."
He presented the officers one by one. Schrarm, Landolf, Kirst, Felder, Burri, Tawn. They looked like hard, competent, devoted men. Banning did not think he would last long among them if they found out he was not the Valkar, but only Neil Banning of Nebraska. He was afraid of them, and fear sharpened his wits, finding words for his tongue and a lordly carriage for his head. He was amazed at how easy it was to be lordly.
He was beginning to think he might get away with it when a young orderly came into the messroom and snapped to attention so rigidly that Banning could almost hear his bones crack.
"Captain Behrent's compliments,” he said, “and would the Valkar honor him by attending the bridge? We are now entering the Drift—"
A strident whistle from a speaker high in the wall drowned out the orderly's words. A voice followed the whistle, requiring all hands to take their stations.
The officers prepared to go. They laughed and said, “It was touch and go on the outward trip, but this time running the Drift will be easy with the Valkar at the helm."
"— entering the Drift,” said the orderly with dogged determination, “and the Captain defers to—"
Between the whistling, the monotonous repetition of orders, and the jostling of the officers as they went out the orderly gave up. He turned on Banning a look of pure hero-worship and said simply, “Sir, we'd all feel safer with you as our pilot now."
Oh, God, thought Banning, and looked despairingly at Rolf. Rolf smiled, and when the orderly stepped back, he said, “Oh, yes, you're a space pilot, one of the greatest. To be a king of stars, you must be a master of space, and you were trained to it like all the Valkars, from childhood."
"But I can't—” Banning babbled.
There was no time for more, for the orderly was holding the door open. He went through it, with Rolf, feeling trapped, and helpless.
He entered the bridge.
It was an overwhelming place, and for the first time the complete and prosaic reality of the starship was borne in upon him. Before, it had been a room, a glimpse through an incredible window, and an intellectual acceptance of something that all his former training denied. Now it became a terrifying actuality in winch men lived and worked, and gambled on their skill that they would not die.
The low broad room was crammed with instrument panels, tensely watched by the crew's technicians. In the center of the space an officer sat half surrounded by a ground-glass screen across which moved a constant stream of figures and symbols. Under his hands was a thing that resembled an organ keyboard, and Banning guessed that this was the heart and nerve-center of the ship. He hoped the man knew how to play it. He hoped it very much, because the big curving view-plates that opened up the front and two sides of the bridge revealed a view of interstellar space which even an utter greenhorn like himself could recognize as appalling.
A man with a lined, bulldog face and white hair cropped to his skull turned and saluted Banning. He wore a dark tunic with a symbol of rank on his breast, and he, did not look as though he were accustomed to defer to anyone in the handling of his ship. Yet it was without a trace of irony or anger that he said to Banning, “Sir, the bridge is yours."
Banning shook his head. He was still staring at the view-plates. At an oblique angle, the ship was speeding toward an area that stretched like a cloud across space. It was dark, occluding the stars, and yet it swarmed with little points of brightness, firefly motes that danced and flickered, and Banning knew that this must be one of those clouds of cosmic drift that he had read about in articles on astronomy, and that the bright motes were the bigger chunks of debris across its front, catching the light that blazed from all the suns of heaven.
It dawned on him that they were going into that.
The captain looked at him. So did the officer at the control-bank, and the technicians at the instrument panels, in swift, darting glances. There was a sickness in Banning, and a very great fear.
Words came to him from somewhere. He said to Behrent, almost genially, “A man's ship is as close as his wife, Captain. I would not come between either of them.” He pretended to study the panels, the ground-glass screen, the control-bank, as though be knew all about them. “And if I did,” he went on, “I could do no more than you've done already."
He stepped back, making a vague and gracious gesture that might have meant anything, and hoped that his hand was not too obviously shaking.
"Certainly,” he said, “Captain Behrent needs no instructions from anybody."
A flush of pride spread over Behrent's leathery face. His eyes glowed. “At least,” he said, “do me the honor to remain."
As a spectator,” said Banning. “Thank you.” He sat down on a narrow seat that ran underneath the starboard port, and Ro
lf stood beside him. He could sense that Rolf was wryly amused, and he hated him even more. Then his gaze was drawn to the port. For a moment he wished desperately that be could take refuge in his cabin, where all this was shut out. And then he thought, no, it was better to be here where you could at least see it coming.
The leading edge of the Drift rushed toward them like a black wave, all aglitter with the flashing of the cosmic flotsam that wandered with it.
Rolf said casually in English, close to his ear, “It's the only way to avoid the Empire's radar net. They watch the spaceways rather thoroughly, and we'd have a hard time explaining our business."
The wave, the Drift, the solid wall of black was right on top of them. Banning shut his jaws tight down on a yell.
They hit it.
There was no shock. Naturally. It was only dust, with the bits of rock scattered through it. Quite tenuous, really, not anything like as dense as a prairie dust-storm. It got dark. The blazing sea of stars was blotted out. Banning strained his eyes into the view-plate and saw a faint glimmering, a whirling shape as big as a house bearing down on them. He started to cry out, but the officer's hand had moved on the control-bank, and the plunging shape was gone, or rather, the ship was gone from it. There was no inertia-shock. The field-drive took care of that.
Rolf said quietly, “What that boy said was true, you know. You are the finest pilot here."
"Oh, no,” whispered Banning. “Not I."
He clutched the back of the seat with sweating bands and watched for what seemed hours, as the ship dodged and reeled and felt its way through the nighted Drift, while the chunks of interstellar rubbish hurtled silently past, little things no bigger than rifle bullets, huge things as big as moons, all of them deadly if they hit. None of them did, and Banning's fear was drowned finally in awe. If Captain Behrent could take a ship through this, and still bow to the Valkar as a spaceman, the Valkar must really have done something miraculous.
They came out at last into a “lead", a clear path between two trailing fringes of the Drift. Behrent came to stand before Banning. He smiled and said, “We're through, sir."
The Sun Smasher Page 3
