by Hogan, James
"Christ, that's terrible!" Dulaney exclaimed. "What happened to them?"
"Oh, they're okay," Bob's voice answered. "Our guys at the base saw them coming
on the recce scopes and got the hell out. The base was evacuated—of personnel,
anyhow—it seems they left a lot of equipment behind. Must have been a real
panic."
"Who was in charge down there?" Dulaney asked, dismayed.
"Caspar Lang and Giraud. They got away in one of the military landers with the
last of the garrison, but they hadn't arrived back at the Orion when the message
was transmitted. Apparently they weren't being very communicative, so no one was
too sure exactly what had happened. We're standing by for an update."
Dulaney frowned to himself for a second or two. "If they've been kicked out of
Padua and we don't even have a base there anymore, it means the whole Paduan
program just came apart at the seams."
"I know—that's why I thought you ought to hear about it," Bob said.
"Any more?" Dulaney asked.
"Not for now. Shall I call through there again when we get the next bulletin?"
"Yes, do that. Thanks, Bob. I'll talk to you later." Dulaney cut the call and
looked up at the numb faces across the table. "Well, I guess you all heard that.
It sounds as if they've really screwed up this time. Let's wait and see what
comes through next. . . ." His eyes came back to Ramelson. "Anyhow, in the
meantime, where were we? You were just about to say something, I think, Burton."
Ramelson emitted a long, remorseful sigh. "I agree with Phil," he replied. "The
most charitable view we can take is to attribute it all to psychological
breakdown within the mission's directorate, caused by a combination of high
stress, excessive demands of responsibility, and totally unforeseen effects of
the remote extraterrestrial environment. It's imperative that the situation be
remedied immediately, before we run into any further misadventures. My proposals
are therefore as follows:..."
38
CAPTAIN MASON OF THE U.S. SPECIAL FORCES ACKNOWLEDGED THE call on the monitor
panel inside the guardroom of the main perimeter gatehouse at Genoa Base One.
"Taloid riders and vehicles approaching the gate, sir," the voice of Pfc.
Caronetti reported from the searchlight post on the upper level. "Some of the
passengers appear to be Terrans." At the same moment the screen in front of
Mason came to life to show the view being picked up by a rooftop camera. A
procession of walking wagons and mounted Taloids was approaching along the broad
avenue between steel lattices, girderwork frames, and pipe-draped processing
tanks that led from the city. The pace was slow and easy, giving no cause for
alarm.
"I wonder what the hell this is," Mason muttered over his shoulder to Petrakoff,
the guard sergeant.
"Five'11 get you ten it's Zambendorf and his people showing up at last,"
Petrakoff said.
Mason stared at the screen for a few seconds longer, and then nodded. "Yeah . .
. you're probably right, Jan. You'd better alert the Base Commander. Call three
more of the guys out front and get them helmeted up on standby. I'm going
outside to join Pierce and Macnally and find out what's happening."
In the first of the open carriages behind the advance guard of Genoese cavalry,
Zambendorf was sitting between Abaquaan and Arthur, facing Galileo and Moses,
who had their backs to the raised platform supporting the seats of the two
Taloid coachmen. The rest of the team was in the second carriage with Leonardo,
the Genoese mapmaker, and Lancelot, Arthur's knight who had brought Galileo out
of Padua. Various aides and officials from Arthur's court followed in the train
behind, which included Leonardo's family, Lord Nelson, and a representative
contingent of Druids.
The advance guard emerged into the clear area in front of the main gate through
the perimeter fence of Genoa Base, and moments later a searchlight beam swung
round to illuminate the procession in brilliant white and transform the
surrounding structures into ghostly skeletons of steel standing out vividly
against the background darkness.
"I don't see Tango Baker Two anywhere," Abaquaan said, turning in his seat to
scan the immense, squat, stubby-winged forms of the surface landers, parked amid
floodlit clutters of service gantries, maintenance platforms, cargo hoists, and
access ramps on the far side of the fence. "Andy and the boys must have gone
back up to the ship already."
"Well, at least they should have come out of it all with their noses clean,"
Zambendorf answered.
"Let's hope so."
After snatching Moses from the cliff at Padua, Zambendorf had decided to fly
directly to Camelot, Arthur's residence, to deliver Moses safely into the
Genoese care and reunite him with his brother, Galileo, before the team gave
itself up to the Terran authorities at Genoa Base. The Genoese had insisted,
however, on making the occasion one for all kinds of elaborate farewell
formalities which had involved seemingly half the Taloids in the country, and
the team had remained there, resting and eating in the flyer, for fully
twenty-four hours. To minimize the risk of the proceedings' being distastefully
interrupted, the team had maintained a strict communications blackout, omitting
even to contact Massey and Thelma, since a genuine ignorance of the team's
whereabouts would be less likely to compromise their position in the face of
questioning by Leaherney's people. Finally, to round everything off in style,
Arthur had proposed a grand procession across the city to carry the team to the
Terran base; not wishing to risk unwittingly giving any offense, Zambendorf had
accepted the offer, leaving the flyer parked in Arthur's rear courtyard to be
collected later by its rightful owners.
It had been a good try, Zambendorf thought to himself, and even if in the final
part of it all they hadn't succeeded in rendering Padua completely harmless, at
least the nation of Genoa had been kept intact for the time being. He could only
hope that the team's gesture would attract enough attention to cause the
mission's directors to have second thoughts about the whole question of
Terran-Taloid relationships, and hopefully would stimulate a more enlightened
outlook among the policymakers on Earth. And if it turned out that he had soured
his backers and promoters sufficiently to permanently impair his career, then
that was just too bad. He had stood by the principles that mattered on his own
scale of values and had achieved something that he believed worthwhile. He had
done as much as anyone could have, and the future could take its course. He had
no regrets.
"See how brightly the violet halos shine around the Lumian flying-ships,"
Kleippur said from beside the Wearer. "Dost thou still see them as magic beasts
sent from heaven, Groork?"
Groork shook his head. "Nor the Lumians as angels. What more dismal a prospect
could be imagined than that all the universe's knowledge could be contained in
one ancient book? Nothing new to discover? Nothing more to be learned? Never
again the excitement of exploring the unknow
n? How pathetic is the future that
some would wish upon themselves!"
"Your future, at least, promises to be a busy one," Thirg said. "The answers to
the questions that I hear you asking now will not spin themselves into skeins of
words as effortlessly as before, however, I fear."
"Maybe so, but thou shalt see that my energies are undiminished, and the
mystic's passion is not quenched but merely redirected," Groork replied
confidently.
"The application of this industriousness to the studies into which thou hast
declared intent to launch thyself will show interesting results indeed, if my
prognostications serve me well," Kleippur commented.
"I do not doubt it," Thirg said, sighing. He still hadn't recovered fully from
the astonishment with which he had learned of Groork's escapades in the
Meracasine and at Pergassos, and his even greater amazement at observing his
brother transformed into a staunch advocate of the methods of impartial
questioning and objective inquiry. Now that Groork had flown through the sky,
his latest passion was to view firsthand the other worlds that Thirg had told
him about, and he had been pestering the Wearer for an opportunity to go on one
of the voyages that the Lumian flying-ships made to the Great Ship beyond the
sky.
As for Carthogia, while the threat from the Kroaxians had been temporarily
extinguished, the longer-term future was far less certain. The issuing to
Eskenderom of weapons sufficiently potent to have deterred the Wearer from
honoring his pledge to Groork seemed to confirm that the Lumian king was firmly
committed to promoting rivalry among the Robian nations in order to obtain their
dependency and ultimately their complete subjugation. It was unlikely,
therefore, that Kleippur would see his realm free to determine its own destiny;
the Lumian conditions for supplying the weapons that Carthogia needed would
doubtless entail sacrifice of its independence just as surely as would conquest
by a reconstituted Kroaxian army at some later date.
On the other hand, it seemed that despite their arts and their skills, the
Lumians were as divided among themselves as the royal houses and the clergy of
Kroaxia and Serethgin. There were other, more powerful kings in Lumia than the
king who ruled the Great Ship, the Wearer had said, and the Lumian system of
government constrained the actions of its kings, making them very much subject
to the approval of their citizens. The Wearer's many friends who held positions
of high office in the trades guilds of Lumian town criers and heralds would
spread the news far and wide of the Wearer's willingness to anger the Great
Ship's king and face imprisonment in protest against Robia's treatment. That the
Wearer and his followers had chosen to defy the Great Ship's king and were
willing to face imprisonment upon their return was evidence that integrity and
high moral principle were not unknown among Lumians, and that was grounds enough
for hope. Kleippur, therefore, characteristically coming to the conclusion that
all was not necessarily lost, had refused to allow his capacity for action to be
weakened by an unduly pessimistic outlook and braced himself to face the future
with fortitude and the resolve to make the best he could of such opportunities
for bettering his situation as might present themselves. And a better example
than that to model his own attitude on, he wouldn't find anywhere, Thirg had
decided.
Three figures in Terran military suits walked forward from the gate as the
procession drew up. "Well, I suppose this is it, Otto," Zambendorf said. "Thank
Arthur and his people again for their hospitality and tell them it might be a
while, but I'm sure we'll be back to see them again sometime." Abaquaan relayed
the message via the transmogrifier, and Arthur responded in like vein. Clarissa,
Vernon, West, and Fellburg came forward from the second carriage, and after a
final round of handshakes and salutations, Zambendorf turned to face the three
soldiers waiting patiently behind him. "Thank you for the courtesy, er . . .
Captain, isn't it? Well, everyone's accounted for. We're all yours."
"Captain Mason, Special Forces," a voice replied. The figure wearing a captain's
insignia peered at the nametag on Zambendorf's suit and at the tags of the two
others nearest him. "You are Zambendorf and his people, I take it."
"Of course we are. Who else did you expect to come wandering in from the surface
of Titan?"
"It's good to see you back. A lot of people were getting worried." Behind Mason,
several soldiers left the guardhouse to open the gate, and another group of
figures was approaching from the base administration building.
"Well, aren't you supposed to arrest us or something?" Zambendorf said.
"No," Mason answered. "I guess you're maybe gonna have to answer a few questions
about stealing that lander, but you probably had your reasons ... I don't know.
Anyhow, we don't have any orders that say anything about arresting anybody. The
Base Commander should be on his way here now. He'll know a lot more than I do."
Zambendorf blinked with surprise at the mildness of the reception. "This is
amazing," he murmured, more to the others with him than to Mason. "I'd have
thought Leaherney would have been more upset about what happened to Henry's
army. In a way I feel quite disappointed."
"Maybe we didn't achieve as much as we thought," Abaquaan said uneasily.
"Even Caspar Lang wasn't bothered? I figured he'd be apopleptic," Clarissa said.
Mason looked puzzled behind his faceplate. "What does it have to do with them?"
he asked. "They're all out—finished. General Vantz is in charge of the mission
now."
"Out?" Zambendorf repeated incredulously. "Who? When? How?"
"Leaherney, Giraud, Lang," Mason told them. "I guess a whole heap of crud
finally hit the fan somewhere back home. A directive came through to the Orion
about twelve, maybe fourteen hours ago, relieving them of command, effective
immediately, and putting the mission under full NASO control. They upset the
Taloids over at Padua somehow and got their asses kicked outta the base
there—musta had something to do with that. Anyhow, here's Mackeson, the base
chief, now."
The group from inside the base arrived and began to usher Zambendorf's party
through the gate. "Harold Mackeson, NASO—Genoa Base Commander," the most
prominent among them announced in an English accent. "Glad to see you're all
safe. Welcome back again. When it started looking as if you might have had an
accident, O'Flynn finally owned up about the flyer. Do you know, he'd been
faking the log all the time and nobody missed it—extraordinary! We've been
calling you nonstop, but heard no reply. Is the flyer okay?"
"Yes, and not far from here," Zambendorf said as they all began to walk toward
the administration building. "I gather there have been some changes."
"Oh, you wouldn't believe the ruckus: Giraud and Lang getting thrown out of
Padua; the base there being abandoned; Leaherney's whole team out on their ear
... There's been more going on than in all the time the Orion's been in orbit."
"What happe
ned at Padua?" Zambendorf asked.
"Well, Henry's gone, with his chief priest and just about all the others that
Giraud and Company were dealing with," Mackeson replied. "It seems the Paduan
Taloids had some kind of revolution and got rid of the whole bunch. Vantz—he's
in charge now—has sent down an exploratory team, who have managed to make
contact with the new leaders that seem to be emerging from it all."
"What started this revolution, or whatever it was?" Abaquaan asked.
"I don't know if you heard about it, but some kind of new, nonviolent religion
broke out suddenly among the Druids, then became all the rage in Henry's army
and messed up his invasion plans . . . something to do with some Taloid messiah
who appeared out of nowhere. Well, apparently this messiah and his religion
finally found their way to Padua. Result—out with Henry, and out with our
arms-dealers. To be honest with you, old boy, I can't say I'm all that sorry to
hear it either."
Zambendorf stopped walking abruptly. Mackeson halted a split second later and
looked back with a puzzled expression. "What was that again?" Zambendorf said.
"What's happened with the Paduans?"
"A new religion is sweeping the whole country," Mackeson answered. "They say
everybody's equal, they won't kill, they won't fight wars, and they've told us
where to shove our weapons."
Zambendorf swallowed hard. The formula sounded very familiar. "If that's true,
then the Paduans aren't very likely to try attacking Genoa again," he said.
Mackeson snorted. "Oh, from what I've heard, you can put any thoughts like that
completely out of your head, old chap. The Genoese are their brothers now.
Everyone's their brother. They aren't going to be attacking anybody."
Gasps of surprise were audible from the rest of Zambendorf's party. "My God! Do
you know what this means? ..." Zambendorf looked back toward the gate, where the
Taloids were standing and watching, their hands lifted in a final salute. He
looked back at Mackeson, waved his arms excitedly, and pointed. "That's Arthur
and his advisors. The messiah's there too, with his brother. They don't know
about any of this yet. We have to tell them!"
"What?" Mackeson sounded bemused. "That' s absurd. How could a messiah cause all
that fuss and not know about it? Be sensible old boy, please."
