Kynan watched the three watch keepers at their consoles and hoped that his own uncertainty didn’t show. This was the first time in his young career as First Pilot that he had taken independent action, diverting a starship from its planned schedule. Furthermore, he was a fugitive and possibly an outlaw on his own home world. And he intended to take unconsecrated persons, Janessa and the warlock, into a sanctuary. It was unnerving for an inexperienced Navigator to diverge from the orderly fulfillment of his duties in this way--but he was at a loss to think what else he could do. The situation called for older heads than his, and the sanctuary on Aurora seemed the logical place to find the guidance he needed so desperately.
Meanwhile, Kynan thought, I am a Navigator, a First Pilot--and I must act like one. The ghost of a wry smile touched his lips. Just as though I know what I am doing.
Being on the bridge of a starship was soothing, however. The soft humming of the walls and hull, the familiar sights and sounds, the sense of life that pervaded the great ancient vessel--all helped to build and sustain confidence. With this ship, Kynan thought, I could fly to the end of the sky, to Andromeda and the Magellanic Clouds. It might take a lifetime to reach those distant ports, but the ship could do it.
Austere in clean black clericals, free of his weapon harness, his head covered by the black skullcap of his rank, Kynan stood in command of one of the mightiest engines ever built by the hand of man. It could not help but build confidence, even in one so young.
The viewscreens ahead and behind showed the oddly grouped stars. Those ahead were violet, those behind, red. In the time of Grand Master Emeric, the Mystery of the Red Shift had been the subject of many a learned synod of the Order. Navigators, time out of mind, had pondered its meaning. Now it was known that it was but a natural phenomenon caused by the extreme speed of the ship. Navigator Anselm Styr, an indefatigable investigator (who eventually paid with his life for his scientific curiosity) had discovered that light traveled at a finite and measurable velocity. He had theorized that the Red Shift was caused by the separation of light into its various components when an object--in this case the starship--approached light-speed. (The terms “sublight” and “superlight” had been part of the dogma of star flight since the Dark Time.)
Styr’s theory postulated that as a starship accelerated into the faster-than-light speed range, the shift stabilized and the apparent colors of the stars remained unchanged. But the apparent shape of the subjective universe was deflected by the increase of the starship’s mass to near infinity, causing the star images to group ahead and behind the vessel. He had even suggested that at some point along the velocity curve, the stars would vanish completely and the starship would be ejected from “real” spacetime into a continuum as yet unexplored by men. In this way, the heretic priest had suggested, voyages to other galaxies might be attempted, since the unknown continuum’s space-time would probably be of different, and possibly smaller, dimensions than the familiar universe.
Styr’s theories were currently discussed in Algol, and as a student Kynan had found them baffling and fascinating. Styr himself, unfortunately, had turned from theoretical physics to practical physics a century before. He had produced a controlled nuclear reaction, was accused of heresy, and ended his distinguished career on a scaffold at Biblios Brittanis. The Order approached new knowledge--or even the rediscovery of the old--with extreme timidity.
It was the way of things, Kynan told himself. Fear of science was natural among members of a race that had populated the stars only to be brought crashing down into savagery by the hammer blows of the hideous weapons created by their own technology. Rebuilding confidence and civilization after so dark a time as the Interregnum was a delicate business, to be approached with great caution. That, in the end, was the true purpose of the Order of Navigators.
Yet slowly the old mysteries were uncovered. Kynan, like many a young priest before him, dreamed of the time when men would begin to break new ground, rather than redo what the godmen of the First Empire had done before. He hoped this time of discovery would come in his lifetime --but he knew that this was unlikely. He was not even certain that if the time should come before his own end, he would fit into the new age, for it would surely be a time when science and religion parted, divided, each discipline going its separate way. And I am, after all, he thought, a priest of the Order Militant.
One lived one’s life in the time allotted by God and the spirit of the Star. Not yesterday and not tomorrow, but today.
He made the sign of the Star and withdrew from the sanctum of the control room, seeking the living spaces and the quarters Evart had assigned to Janessa and Baltus, the warlock.
The journey from Gonlan, at the edge of Rhadan space, to Aurora customarily took from ten to thirty hours, Earth Standard, depending on the relative positions of the astronomical bodies involved. With Brother Evart, Kynan had plotted orbits and trajectories for an intersystem flight of twenty-one hours. Time enough to rest and think and plan, for at the moment, he realized with a pang for his own inadequacy, he had no real scheme of action. And in the face of impending war, catastrophe (the Vulk had made that very clear), and the Star knew what else, he needed desperately to act wisely and speedily. For a moment, as he strode through the tunnel-like companionways of the vast, empty ship, he was conscious of his youth and inexperience. Twenty, he thought, is too callow an age to carry the fate of nations. Still, the Galacton himself was but twenty--and he carried on his shoulders the responsibility for all the worlds of the Empire. If Torquas the Poet could deal with the problems of twenty thousand planets, surely Kynan the Navigator could deal intelligently with the problems of two.
The warlock was waiting for him in the entryway that led to what must have been, in First Empire times, one of the main troop bays of the ship. The cavernous chamber was sparsely lit: only three small globes of the hundreds in the low overhead burned. The farthest reaches of the bay were lost in shadows.
It was obvious that Baltus had been exploring this section of the craft. His bearded face was set in an expression of delighted wonder familiar to Kynan. Warlocks--as a class--loved the starships and enjoyed nothing more than investigating them without an escort of Navigators, for they were freethinkers, free researchers, actually, and the starships were still the most direct link to the wonder-working builders of the legendary First Empire.
“Kynan,” the warlock said without preamble. “I have never explored a Lyran starship before. The troop bays are different from the ships of the Rhad.”
Kynan stood beside the warlock, looking down the vast empty sweep of the compartment, trying to imagine what it must have looked like filled with the soldiers of the First Empire and their fantastic weapons. “All the starships have differences, Baltus. Each star system--province, actually--supplied troops of a special sort to the armies of the Empire. The Lyri were always infantry. Flying infantry, it appears. Each man was equipped with a device to nullify gravity.” He pointed to the oddly honeycombed overhead. “We think the devices were stored in the ceilings when not in use.”
The warlock’s eyes gleamed hungrily. “What men they were--those ancient ones. By the holy Star, when will the Navigators let us learn from them?”
Kynan said disapprovingly, “The search for old knowledge is the province of the Order, warlock. Only the Order.” Baltus shook his head sadly. “No warlock would agree with you there, Nav Kynan.”
“Warlocks can still be burned,” Kynan cautioned. “Remember that, Baltus.”
The older man sighed and shrugged. “But there is so much to know, so much we need to discover.”
“The cloister on Algol is the place for that. The cloister and the sanctuaries.” Kynan was, after all, a consecrated man and a priest. There were times when he felt as Baltus did--as all warlocks did--that the free investigation of scientific truths was the true heritage of all men, not just priests of the Order. But these doubts were momentary. Man’s bloody history bore witness to the dangers of unrestricted
science.
Baltus smiled. “We made some progress, Nav Kynan,” he said. “In Kier of Rhada’s time, you might have handed me over to the Inquisition merely for the suggestion that the Order might be wrong.”
Kynan’s manner softened, for the warlock and he were old acquaintances. “No, not even in The Rebel’s day. The Inquisition was part of the Dark Time. All that is behind us, please God.”
Baltus’s smile faded. “There will be a dark enough time for Aurora soon, Kynan. What are we to do?”
The Navigator frowned and shook his head. “I wish I knew. My brain is bursting. I don’t know which thoughts are mine and which are the Rhadan Vulk’s. I keep thinking we must divert and go to Nyor--and yet that can’t be right. The danger isn’t on Earth. It’s here on the Rim. Aurora is the place. The sanctuary, at least.” He pressed his fingertips against his skull. “I have been in Triad often enough to know that there should be no conflicts in a man’s thoughts afterward. Yet I keep having this urge to turn for Earth. I know Gret didn’t plant that in my mind. His loyalty is to Rhada. But why--” He broke off, shaking his head in perplexity. “I’m only a starship priest, Baltus. Politics has always baffled me. But why do I keep thinking of Torquas, whom I’ve never seen? And General Tran-- who is like a figure out of a legend to me?”
“When the Vulk implant a man’s subconscious, only the Star knows what he may see,” the warlock said. “It is told that the Vulk joined with Kier the Rebel to defeat a cyborg in the Three Encounters during Mariana’s rebellion, and the star kings swore that he turned to steel during the fight. Who can say what is possible for the Vulk?” He smiled slightly. “Obviously he didn’t remain steel, since he married Queen Ariane and gave her five children but--” He shrugged. “It is well to turn to steel when one needs to. I think you need to now, Nav Kynan. LaRoss, Tirzah, and General Crespus will be looking for us when the Gonlani army makes a planetfall on Aurora. They’ll call us traitors.”
“They are my bond-father’s men,” Kynan said.
“And your bond-father is dead, Kynan. So, for all we know, is Karston the heir. Gonlan is without a legitimate king. LaRoss can rule as he pleases. His loyalty has always been to Karston, but who can tell now--?”
Kynan turned away from the silent, empty bay. “Was I wrong, then? To take Janessa out of Melissande? By all the cybs and little demons, Baltus, could I leave her there as a hostage while our armies level Aurora?”
“Was it your idea?” the warlock asked shrewdly. “Have you asked yourself that? To take her out of Melissande wasn’t the act of a fire-breathing citizen of Gonlan--or of Rhada, for that matter.”
“The Vulk suggested it,” Kynan said, uncertainly. “But--”
The warlock waited, looking closely at the young priest’s face.
“No, it was more than the Vulk’s suggestion,” Kynan said with decision. “It wasn’t the act of a loyal Rhad, perhaps. But it was what any Navigator would have done. The Order commands a higher loyalty than nationality, Baltus. It must be so, or the Empire would fall to pieces. My bond-father Kreon would have understood. It was Kreon, after all, who gave me to the Order as a child. He was an honorable and religious man. He would say that I have done the right thing.”
“Right, perhaps. But dangerous, Nav. Very dangerous. Gonlan without a star king is a peril to all of the Rim. Perhaps more than that. I can’t believe all this happened by accident.” The warlock spoke earnestly. “There is a pattern, a design--”
“But whose?”
The warlock veiled his eyes, for he knew that what he was about to say would offend the young Navigator. “Only the Empire or the Order make such designs, Kynan.”
Janessa awoke from a weary, dozing slumber and lay on her bed listening to the humming of the starship. Like all of the people of the age, she was familiar with the great, ancient vessels that flew between the stars. But the wonder of how this miracle was actually accomplished never failed to fascinate her. From childhood she had kept in her mind the youthful excitement of star travel. That these machines, so incredibly old, could transform the shining lights in the sky into stars and planets where one might walk and live never failed to arouse her sense of the magnificence of her race. Men had built the starships, not gods. That was the glory of it. And perhaps, one day, men might build starships again.
The quarters assigned to her must have belonged, in other times, to the most distinguished personages who star- traveled. The chamber in which she found herself was not immense, but the curving design of the walls and ceilings gave an impression of unlimited space. Mirrored panels reflected her image, and mysterious cabinets with stylized controls filled one entire bulkhead. She had no idea of what those cabinets might once have contained, though she suspected that once there had been hidden machines to store and care for personal belongings of the star traveler using this stateroom.
The bathing accommodations had been partially restored by the Lyri who owned the starship. Water could be made to flow into a sunken, globular depression in the humming deck plates of the small anteroom. But it was obvious that at some time in the distant past, bathing aboard this vessel had been something far more entertaining than a mere immersion of the body in water. Fully a dozen spigots and spray nozzles ringed the bathing globe. Janessa could only guess at their use.
For an Auroran of the middle Second Empire, however, even a hot bath was a luxury, and Janessa wasted no time in taking advantage of it. The uniform of a Rhadan-Gonlani cadet she had worn aboard had been dried and pressed into a semblance of neatness by the junior Navigator on board, and it lay awaiting her when she emerged, refreshed from the bath.
For a moment the Auroran girl stood before one of the shining wall mirrors in her quarters and thought about the magnificent First Empire ladies who must once have seen themselves reflected there. By comparison, she thought ruefully, Janessa of Aurora was a poor thing. Her figure was too boyish by half, she concluded, the result, no doubt, of many hours spent in the warlike training and activities the Rim worlds demanded of their royal women. The unaccustomed brilliance of the electric lights glinted from her smooth, shining hair that curled damply to her shoulders. She stretched and made a face at herself, frowning at the darkening bruises she had acquired on that nightmare flight from Melissande. No First Empire noblewomen had ever been knocked black and blue on horseback in a race across the cliffs of the Stoneland Peninsula, she guessed. She touched the thin scar on her abdomen left by a Navigator surgeon’s primitive removal of an inflamed appendix a year earlier. Surely no great lady of the First Empire had ever been scarred that way, either. Her father’s warlock had once told her that Vulks had been the surgeons of the Golden Age and that under proper conditions they operated on humans without leaving a mark on them. Janessa shivered. Perhaps a scar was a small price to pay for not submitting so to the Vulk.
That was senseless prejudice--Kynan would tell her so, she was certain. She turned away from her reflection and began to dress almost angrily. She was most strongly attracted to Nav Kynan, and this, she felt instinctively, was a danger to them both. She was Janessa, heiress to Aurora and betrothed to Karston of Gonlan. A dynastic marriage had been planned while they were still children, and she had never, until now, had cause to question it. And who, after all, she thought with Rim-worlder’s arrogance, was Nav Kynan? A foundling, an adoptive son of a minor star king. Why, he could have come from anywhere! The good Lord and the Star only knew where the Navigators had found him or why they had placed him in the care of old Kreon, a petty under-king of the Rhad.
Still, she thought with a slow-breaking smile that was suddenly warm with youthful enthusiasm, he was very brave, quite handsome. And she did so like the way he looked at her with devotion in his eyes. Janessa of Aurora had seen enough of devotion in the eyes of the young warmen of the rim to know when one of them was falling in love with her.
It was going to cause trouble. There was no doubt of it. But let it! There was already trouble enough brewing. A tiny bit more wouldn�
��t be impossible to bear.
With that, Janessa made her decision. Whatever would be in this coming war between her country and Kynan’s, she would have her Navigator if she chose. And choose she did.
Satisfied, she finished dressing and went to seek the young man she had decided to love.
She found him in a bay near the entry valve where they had stabled the horses. He was rubbing the fetlocks of the mare Skua and talking to her in a low voice.
Janessa heard her reply to something Kynan had said with a flick of her gray-maned head. “It was good to fight again,” the animal said in that guttural voice of the Rhad warhorse.
Kynan stood and ran a hand over the old mare’s neck. “You saved me, you old woman.” He laughed softly and added, “And I have stolen you. If we ever return to Gonlan, I must find the money to buy you.”
Skua’s mind was incapable of developing any interest in the fine points of her ownership. She said, “We fight again soon?”
“I hope not,” Kynan said. “Not where we are going.”
“It is good to fight,” the mare muttered, butting him with her head.
“It is better to live in peace,” the Navigator said, more to himself than to the mare, who could never grasp such a concept in any circumstances, bred as she was for battle.
“No,” Skua said. “Fight.”
Kynan laughed and slapped her flank gently. “Monster,” he said.
The mare raised her head at Janessa’s approach and bared her tigerish teeth. Janessa said sharply, “Skua!”
The mare shook her head angrily.
“She’s jealous of me,” Janessa said.
Kynan looked at the girl and replied, “She has reason, lady.”
Skua made a threatening noise in her throat, and Kynan rapped her sharply across the muzzle. The mare walked stiffly away, silent on her padded feet. When she reached the place where Baltus’s animal lay dozing on the deck, she extended her neck and nipped the sleeping mare’s rump. The other scrambled to her feet, outraged.
The Navigator of Rhada Page 9
