Chapter 4
The Council of the Unclaimed People had been in session since early morning; it was now midafternoon, and Karvel, pacing restlessly at the far end of the cavern room, watched the proceedings with a deepening sense of panic.
Their speech was garnished with unfamiliar words and further confused by the fact that several councilmen spoke at once in an incessant, echoing hullabaloo. Eventually, though, Karvel was able to unravel enough of the discussion to know what it was that troubled them.
These green-skinned people could have pursued a gnat through their forest in the dark, but they were inherently unable to cope with a complicated mental problem.
Bowden Karvel represented a highly complicated mental problem.
As Unclaimed People they had a venerable tradition of extending refuge to all who desired it. Always in the past the refugees had been misfits, whose mere act of escaping automatically made them outcasts. Their cities would not want them back, and would not accept them if they attempted to return. They were Unclaimed People.
Bowden Karvel was not unclaimed. Not just one city, but two, were claiming him with a vehemence entirely beyond the experience of these simple forest men. Galdu had already petitioned the Overseer about him. Now Dunzalo had demanded Karvel’s return, and threatened to make its own appeal to the Overseer.
The Unclaimed People were confronted with a problem that had never occurred before in all of their history: Could a person who was claimed become an Unclaimed Person?
Tiring of his pacing, Karvel went to the grill and helped himself to a generous serving of cakes and a bowl of the fruit drink. He still hadn’t been able to identify the strong, vaguely familiar flavor of the cakes, but after his ordeal with Dunzalo’s mush they tasted delicious and made a highly satisfying impression on the stomach.
But his anxiety blunted his hunger. He had come to the forest seeking help rather than a refuge. He was unlikely to receive either.
Abruptly the Chieftain stood up. The debate stopped immediately, and the Unclaimed People crowded in from outside or from the depths of the cave and waited in hushed expectation. Someone touched Karvel’s arm, and whispered to him, and he stepped forward and stood facing the Chieftain.
“Our decision is that you must leave,” the Chieftain announced.
“Am I permitted to inquire as to why?” Karvel asked.
“You are claimed. Therefore you cannot become an Unclaimed Person.”
“You have not yet permitted me to plead my own case. May I do so now?”
The Chieftain hesitated. The Council stirred restlessly. All of them looked surprisingly young. Either they did not show their age because of their superb physical conditioning, or they did not live as long as the city people. Their indecision, too, seemed youthful. They were not governed by a senile reluctance to act, but by doubt as to what their action should be.
“May I speak now?” Karvel asked again.
The Chieftain seated himself resignedly. “Speak, then.”
“I do so with a question,” Karvel said. “On what basis do these cities of Galdu and Dunzalo presume to own me?” He pivoted slowly, meeting the eyes of each member of the Council. “I was not born in either city. I was not acquired in lawful trade by either city. By what right am I claimed?”
Again he regarded the councilmen searchingly across an uneasy silence. “The right of possession? Galdu never possessed me. I was for a time the guest of Dunzalo, but Dunzalo did not rightfully own me and does not now. Your laws and customs are strange to me, for I come from afar. I ask for instruction. Do you not, on occasion, send a messenger or emissary to nearby cities?”
“On occasion,” the Chieftain admitted.
“When that messenger or emissary arrives at his destination, does he then become the property of the city to which he is sent?”
Again there was silence. Karvel smiled. “I am an emissary from my people to yours. I have come an enormous distance, I have suffered a perilous journey, and my mission is of utmost importance to both of our peoples. I cannot fulfill that mission if, wherever I go, I am claimed as property. I ask to be instructed as to your laws and customs. By what right do these cities claim to own me?”
“That is not for us to decide,” the Chieftain said.
“My mission concerns the Unclaimed People as well as the cities. I ask now—”
“No!” The Chieftain sprang to his feet. “Who owns you is no concern of ours. As long as you are claimed you cannot become an Unclaimed Person. Therefore you must leave.”
He turned abruptly, and walked away. The councilmen drifted off, the room began to empty. Karvel hesitated for a moment, getting his disappointment firmly in hand, and then he picked up his equipment and marched toward the exit.
He had won a partial victory. The Unclaimed People were evicting him from their forest, but they were not presuming to decide the claims. He must leave, but at least they had left him free to go.
Unfortunately the victory was meaningless. He had no place to go.
A few aircraft were parked around the edge of the shaded clearing. Paths converged from all directions, some wide roads, some narrow, a few so infrequently used that trailing vines blurred their shape.
As Karvel hesitated a plane broke through the leaves and settled slowly. He recognized Marnox at the controls and Wilurzil beside him. Hurriedly he turned into one of the lesser paths and placed a curtain of vines between himself and the clearing.
He followed the path’s meandering course for several miles, until it widened into a pleasant, deeply shaded forest glade. There he sat down to rest, and demanded of himself what he intended to do next. He could easily wander for days without finding his way out of the forest; and as soon as he emerged the nearest city was likely to claim him as its property.
He had been contemplating this bleak future for nearly an hour when the Unclaimed People appeared. They filtered noiselessly into the glade, and if they saw Karvel they deliberately ignored him.
One of the men held a pole high above his head, and drove its spike horizontally into an enormous tree on the opposite side of the clearing. He grasped it like a trapeze bar and swung up to stand on it. Another pole was tossed up to him, and then another, and he mounted a ladder of widely separated poles to vanish into the tree’s lower branches.
Others swarmed after him. Poles were tossed up to them, and soon they had spread through the tree, reaching out with their poles, hooking with the barb, and sending nuts crashing through the branches to the ground. The nuts were the size of small coconuts, and Karvel backed away in alarm as they began to fall nearby.
One rolled in his direction, and he stooped to examine it. When he touched the rough husk his hand came away stained a dusky green—an Unclaimed People green.
He wiped his fingers on the smooth bark of a tree; the stain did not come off.
“So that’s it,” he mused. “They can’t handle the nuts without getting stain on themselves, and rather than go about with blotchy complexions they stain themselves all over. They don’t seem to care if they wear blotchy clothing. Odd. One thing is certain—they’re nut eaters, and their cakes are made of nut meal. They’re also pretty good acrobats.”
They swung down effortlessly, the last one jerking out the poles as he descended. Then they formed a circle about the tree and stood looking up at it quietly.
“A religious ceremony?” Karvel asked himself. “Are they tree worshipers?”
Watching them, he had an idea. He’d been a total failure as a diplomat. Perhaps it was time he tried some rabble-rousing.
As the circle broke up he stepped forward boldly. “It’s a beautiful tree,” he remarked. “A noble tree. How unfortunate that it must be destroyed.”
They backed away slowly, regarding him with amazement.
“A noble tree,” he said, looking upward and raising his arms in what he hoped was a posture of veneration. “A strong, deathless tree. But a terrible strength beyond understanding shall smash it to the g
round, and fire as hot as the sun shall consume it, and the winds shall scatter its ashes afar. And the same shall happen to that tree, and that tree, and that tree—between one breath and the next your forest shall be no more. I grieve for you.”
He lowered his arms and stole a glance at them as he bowed his head. He had their full, their intense, their breathless attention. “I grieve for you,” he intoned softly. “Your forest shall die. All of these noble, strong, deathless trees shall die.”
The performance was placing a strain upon his vocabulary. He took a deep breath, and raised his arms again. “They could be saved. They will die, but they do not have to die. How unfortunate that your Council and your Chieftain would not listen to me!”
He searched their faces. They were less simple-minded than he had hoped; there were skeptics among them. “Have you not heard what happened to Galdu?” he asked. “The unnamed horror has already struck Galdu. The city was torn apart. People perished by the thousands.”
“Galdu had too many people anyway,” one of them muttered.
“Of course. But do you have too many trees?”
They stirred uneasily.
“First Galdu,” Karvel intoned, “and then your forest The green life around you will be crushed to dusty, dead ashes. I grieve for you.” He was propping up his vocabulary with words of English, and it seemed to add to the harangue’s effectiveness. “This happened among my people,” he went on. “I have stood on a distant hill and watched huge trees smashed to the ground—like this!” He snatched the nearest pole, stepped back, and flung it to the ground.
He paused, waiting for some kind of reaction. There was none. “Between two breaths it will happen,” he said. “One moment a lovely, deep, life-giving forest; the next moment searing heat and invincible force that leaves the barren ground choked with the ashes of death. It could happen tomorrow. It could even happen NOW!”
The last word shattered their immobility. Their stunned expressions twisted to terror. They surged forward, laid hands on Karvel, pulled him toward the path. He broke free only long enough to pick up his equipment before they seized him again and rushed him away. He soon began to lag, but they lifted him bodily and broke into a run. Some of them were speaking gurgling inanities; some were weeping. When finally they burst out into the central clearing they were a panicky mob.
They poured into the cave, filling it with echoing shouts of the impending doom. In a twinkling the room was jammed, and Karvel learned too late that a rabble-rouser could have too much success. For a suspenseful moment many seemed to think that the catastrophe had already occurred. They attempted to fight their way out of the cave while those still outside were struggling to enter and find out what had happened. The milling crowd surged this way and that, taking Karvel with it. A few of the calmer men were waving arms and calling for silence, but they only added to the din.
Karvel stumbled against a bench and managed to climb onto it. Immediately he lost his footing, and only the tight press around him kept him from falling.
“Let the Council meet!” he shouted. “We must act quickly to save the forest!”
No one heard him.
All unknowingly he had dredged up some archaic horror, or given reality to their most terrifying superstition. The force he had unleashed seemed about to engulf him.
He could no longer hear his own voice when he shouted. Hands seized him; he attempted to shake them off, but they persisted, and propelled him forward. Miraculously a way opened for him. He looked back as he gained the clearing outside the cave, and found Marnox beside him. The pilot rushed him to a plane. Wilurzil leaped in after them, crouching down behind the seats. The canopy closed. They shot upward as the Unclaimed People began to emerge from the cave.
About the forest Marnox banked the plane into a wide circle. “What were you trying to do?” he asked Karvel.
“I was trying to get some help for a raid on Galdu. What went wrong?”
“What did you say to them?”
Karvel told him.
“You should have been more specific. They got the idea that you’d destroy the trees yourself.”
Karvel said dejectedly, “Anyway, I’ve made some progress. They took me seriously—which is more than Dunzalo did. What’s been happening there?”
“When the Galds couldn’t find you, they left. We’ve complained to the Overseer and asked damages. Why do you want to raid Galdu?”
“To see if I can disable the U.O. before it’s used again. I have to assume that my blundering has made me too late to stop U.O.-2, but with luck the generals might think I passed it en route. If U.O.-1 goes back they’ll know I failed.”
Marnox and Wilurzil were exchanging blank looks. “What I told the Unclaimed People was no joke,” Karvel said. “That will happen to someone’s forest, or someone’s city, if I don’t get to Galdu. Will you help me organize a raid?”
“On Galdu? The Unclaimed People wouldn’t go there.”
“Not even to save their trees?”
“Perhaps to save their trees, if the need were properly explained to them, but they won’t need to. Galdu no longer has your sphere. The Galds traded it to Bribun.”
“Bribun? A city?”
“Yes. We only heard about it this morning. Bribun learned of your sphere when Dunzalo claimed it. Bribun placed a counterclaim, stating that the sphere belonged to it. It also placed a claim for you, because you arrived in the sphere, its property.”
“Its property?”
“It had it before, but somehow lost it. I don’t remember exactly how the claim was worded. Dunzalo has filed another protest because Galdu traded the sphere to Bribun.”
“It’ll take your Overseer a year just to get all the claims sorted out. Could Bribun have built the U.O.?”
Marnox hesitated. “It’s possible, I suppose. They are a city of mechanics. They make repairs and build replacement parts and machines for many cities. They also train mechanics for trade.”
“I don’t suppose the Unclaimed People would join me in a raid on Bribun.”
“I think you’d best stay away from these Unclaimed People,” Marnox said. “The tribe near Bribun might help you, if it were to their advantage.”
“I didn’t know there was another tribe.”
“There are Unclaimed People everywhere—everywhere the nut trees grow. What is it that you want to do?”
“I want to either disable that sphere or steal it. I don’t care how many cities file claims. It’s mine, and I’m going to make certain that no one will be using it. I can straighten out the technicalities later. Have you ever been to Bribun?”
“Many times.”
“Is it a large city?”
“Not as large as Galdu. How are you going to bring the sphere away? It’s very heavy, isn’t it? This plane couldn’t carry it, and the Unclaimed People don’t have cargo planes. Even Dunzalo doesn’t have one.”
“Does Bribun have one? Well, I’ll steal that too, long enough to get the sphere to a safe place.”
Marnox grinned delightedly. “I’ve never heard of unlawful theft on that scale. I’d like to see it done. We can go to the Unclaimed People near Bribun and ask their help, but you’d best let me do the asking. They won’t be of much use to you if you frighten them witless.”
“Just a moment. What will Dunzalo think about this? I don’t want to make trouble for you.”
Marnox exchanged glances with Wilurzil. “Our orders are to remain with you until we can bring you back to Dunzalo. It isn’t unusual for the Unclaimed People to take days to make up their minds, and what Old Zero-Zero doesn’t know won’t make him or anyone else miss a meal. But we must start now if we’re to get there before dark.”
At half-night, or midnight, they were circling another forest, and the city that glowed in the distance was Bribun. Marnox flashed a signal, and answering flashes came from the six planes that were following them.
“Now?” Marnox asked. He was enjoying himself immensely.
“You’re just a pirate at heart,” Karvel said.
“What’s a pirate?”
“If I told you, you’d want to be one. Give them plenty of time.”
He watched the city uneasily. The Unclaimed People— after Marnox presented Karvel as “Little Fuzzy One,” a venerator of trees—had been gratifyingly cooperative. Everything had gone so smoothly that he had a premonition of disaster.
That feeling was not eased by the presence of Wilurzil. “A raid is no place for a woman,” he had told her, and she calmly cited her Dunzalo orders and climbed aboard.
They continued to circle, watching the gently glowing mass of the city. Suddenly a bright light gleamed at its outer base.
“They’ve opened up to them,” Marnox said.
“Or at least come to investigate. I think we can go in now.”
Marnox signaled again, and they banked out of their circle and flew toward the city. Long before they reached it the outer wall blazed with lines of light, starkly illuminating the dark figures of the swarming Unclaimed People. Karvel could not hear their shouts, but he could see the furious gyrations of their movements. He had asked for nothing more than a demonstration, and he feared that they were overdoing it. In two instances they seemed to have forced the outer gates.
The towers loomed below, truncated cones that recalled those of Galdu, and they drifted to rest on one of them. Three more planes landed beside them, and the other three settled onto another tower. Not until Karvel leaped out did he realize how badly he had blundered.
He had planned his raid like an assault on a medieval castle, and this city was an enormous building that covered square miles. The puny bedlam set up at its walls could not even be heard at the top of the tower. Those in the depths of the city would never know about it unless, in a week or so, someone got around to telling them. His strategic diversion had gone for naught.
“Ready?” Marnox asked.
“Go ahead,” Karvel said.
Marnox led the way, and the sturdy volunteers from the Unclaimed People formed up smartly to follow him. They placed Karvel in the middle, where his diminutive stature and outlandish, hairy features would be somewhat concealed. He moved Wilurzil to his side, telling her that her orange beard made her unnecessarily conspicuous.
The Fury Out of Time Page 13
