The Anglic which replied was sufficiently fluent that one couldn't be sure how much of the humming accent and sibilant overtones were due to Ythrian vocal organs, how much simply to this being an offplanet dialect the speaker had learned. "Thanks, greetings, and fair winds wished for you. I hight Erannath, of the Stormgate choth upon Avalon. Let me quench thirst and we can talk if you desire."
As awkward on the ground as he was graceful aloft, he stumped to the pool. When he bent over to drink, Ivar glimpsed the gill-like antlibranchs, three on either side of his body. They were closed now, but in flight the muscles would work them like bellows, forcing extra oxygen into the bloodstream to power the lifting of the great weight. That meant high fuel consumption too, he remembered. No wonder Erannath traveled alone, if he had no vehicle. This land couldn't support two of him inside a practical radius of operations.
"He's gorgeous," Fraina whispered to Ivar. "What did you call him?"
"Ythrian," the Firstling replied. "You mean you don't know?"
"I guess I have heard, vaguely, but I'm an ignorant wanderfoot, Rolf. Will you tell me later?"
Ha! Won't I?
Mikkal settled himself back in the shade where he had been. "Might I ask what brings you, stranger?"
"Circumstances," Erannath replied. His race tended to be curt. A large part of their own communication lay in nuances indicated by the play of marvelously controllable quills.
Mikkal laughed. "In other words, yes, I might ask, but no, I might not get an answer. Wouldn't you like to palaver a while anyhow? Yo, Fraina, Rolf, join the party."
They did. Erannath's gaze lingered on the Firstling. "I have not hitherto observed your breed fare thus," he said.
"I—wanted a change—" Ivar faltered.
"He hasn't told exactly why, and no need for you to, either," Mikkal declared. "But see here, Aeronaut, your remark implies you have been observing, and pretty extensively too. Unless you're given to reckless generalization, which I don't believe your kind is."
Expressions they could not read rippled across the feathers. "Yes," the Ythrian said after a moment, "I am interested in this planet. As an Avalonian, I am naturally familiar with humans, but of a rather special sort. Being on Aeneas, I am taking the opportunity to become acquainted, however superficially, with a few more."
"U-u-uh-huh." Mikkal lounged crosslegged, smoking, idly watching the sky, while he drawled. "Somehow I doubt they've heard of you in Nova Roma. The occupation authorities have planted their heaviest buttocks on space traffic, in and out. Want to show me your official permit to flit around? As skittery as the guiders of our Terran destinies are nowadays, would they give a visitor from our esteemed rival empire the freedom of a key near-the-border world? I'm only fantasizing, but it goes in the direction of you being stranded here. You came in during the revolt, let's suppose, when that was easy to do unbeknownst, and you're biding your time till conditions ease up enough for you to get home."
Ivar's fingers clenched on his gunstock. But Erannath sat imperturbable. "Fantasize as you wish," he said dryly, "if you grant me the same right." Again his eyes smote the Firstling.
"Well, our territory doesn't come near Nova Roma," Mikkal continued. "We'd make you welcome, if you care to roll with us as you've probably done already in two or three other Trains. Your songs and stories should be uncommon entertaining. And . . . maybe when we reach the green and start giving shows, we can work you into an act."
Fraina gasped. Ivar smiled at her. "Yes," he whispered, "without that weed in him—unless he was in camp— Mikkal wouldn't have nerve to proposition those claws and dignity, would he?" Her hair tickled his face. She squeezed his hand.
"My thanks," Erannath said. "I will be honored to guest you, for a few days at least. Thereafter we can discuss further."
He went high above them, hovering, soaring, wheeling in splendor, while they rode back across the tilted land.
"What is he?" Fraina asked. Hoofbeats clopped beneath her voice. A breeze bore smoky orders of starkwood. They recalled the smell of the Ythrian, as if his forefathers once flew too near their sun.
"A sophont," Mikkal said redundantly. He proceeded: "More bright and tough than most. Maybe more than us. Could be we're stronger, we humans, simply because we outnumber them, and that simply because of having gotten the jump on them in space travel and, hm, needing less room per person to live in."
"A bird?"
"No," Ivar told her. "They're feathered, yes, warm-blooded, two sexes. However, you noticed he doesn't have a beak, and females give live birth. No lactation—no milk, I mean; the lips're for getting the blood out of prey."
"You bespoke an empire, Mikkal," she said, "and, ye-ih, I do remember mentions aforetime. Talk on, will you?"
"Let Rolf do that," the man suggested. "He's schooled. Besides, if he has to keep still much longer, he'll make an awful mess when he explodes."
Ivar's ears burned. True, he thought. But Fraina gave him such eager attention that he plunged happily forward.
"Ythri's planet rather like Aeneas, except for havin' cooler sun," he said. "It's about a hundred light-years from here, roughly in direction of Beta Centauri."
"That's the Angel's Eye," Mikkal interpolated.
Don't tinerans use our constellations? Ivar wondered. Well, we don't use Terra's; our sky is different. "After humans made contact, Ythrians rapidly acquired modem technology," he went on. "Altogether variant civilization, of course, if you can call it civilization, they never havin' had cities. Nonetheless, it lent itself to spacefarin', same as Technic culture, and in tune Ythrians began to trade and colonize, on smaller scale than humans. When League fell apart and Troubles followed, they suffered too. Men restored order at last by establishin' Terran Empire, Ythrians by their Domain. It isn't really an empire, Mikkal. Loose alliance of worlds.
"Still, it grew. So did Empire, Terra's, that is, till they met and clashed. Couple centuries ago, they fought. Ythri lost war and had to give up good deal of border territory. But it'd fought too stiffly for Imperium to think of annexin' entire Domain.
"Since, relations have been ... variable, let's say. Some affrays, though never another real war; some treaties and joint undertaking, though often skulduggery on both sides; plenty of trade, individuals and organizations visitin' back and forth. Terra's not happy about how Domain of Ythri is growin' in opposite direction from us, and in strength. But Merseia's kept Imperium too busy to do much in these parts—except stamp out freedom among its own subjects."
"Nothing like that to make a person objective about his government," Mikkal remarked aside.
"I see," Fraina said. "How clearly you explain.... Didn't I hear him tell he was, m-m, from Avalon?"
"Yes," Ivar replied. "Planet in Domain, colonized by humans and Ythrians together. Unique society. It'd be reasonable to send Avalonian to spy out Aeneas. He'd have more rapport with us, more insight, than ordinary Ythrians."
Her eyes widened. "He's a spy?"
"Intelligence agent, if you prefer. Not skulkin' around burglarizin' Navy bases or any such nonsense. Gatherin' what bits of information he can, to become part of their picture of Terran Empire. I really can't think what else he'd be. They must've landed him here while space-traffic control was broken down because of independence war. As Mikkal says, eventually he'll leave—I'd guess when Ythrians again have consulate in Nova Roma, that can arrange to smuggle him out."
"You don't care, Rolf?"
"Why should I? In fact—"
Ivar finished the thought in his head. We got no Ythrian help in our struggle. I'm sure Hugh McCormac tried, and was refused. They wouldn't risk new war. But . . . if we could get clandestine aid—arms and equipment slipped to us, interstellar transport furnished, communications nets made available—we could build strength of freedom forces till— We failed because we weren't rightly prepared. McCormac raised standard almost on impulse. And he wasn't tryin' to split Empire, he wanted to rule it himself. What would Ythri gain by that? Whereas if our pu
rpose was to break Sector Alpha Crucis loose, make it independent or even bring it under Ythri's easygoin' suzerainty— wouldn't that interest them? Perhaps be worth war, especially if we got Merseian help too— He looked up at
Erannath and dreamed of wings which stormed hitherward in the cause of liberty.
An exclamation drew him back to his body. They had topped a ridge. On the farther slope, mostly buried by a rockslide, were the remnants of great walls and of columns so slim and poised that it was as if they too were flying. Time had not dimmed their nacreous luster.
"Why ... Builder relic," Ivar said. "Or do you call them Elders?"
"La-Sarzen," Fraina told him, very low. "The High Ones." Upon her countenance and, yes, Mikkal's, lay awe.
"We're off our usual route," the man breathed. "I'd forgotten that this is where some of them lived."
He and his sister sprang from their saddles, knelt with uplifted arms, and chanted. Afterward they rose, crossed themselves, and spat: in this parched country, a deed of sacrifice. As they rode on, they gave the ruins a wide berth, and hailed them before dropping behind the next rise.
Erannath had not descended to watch. Given his vision, he need not. He cruised through slow circles like a sign in heaven.
After a kilometer, Ivar dared ask: "Is that ... back yonder ... part of your religion? I wouldn't want to be profane."
Mikkal nodded. "I suppose you could call it sacred. Whatever the High Ones are, they're as near godhood as makes no difference."
That doesn't follow, Ivar thought, keeping silence. Why is it so nearly universal belief?
"Some of their spirit must be left in what they made," Fraina said raptly. "We need its help. And, when they come back, they'll know we keep faith in them."
"Will they?" Ivar couldn't help the question.
"Yes," Mikkal said. In him, sober quiet was twice powerful. "Quite likely during our own lifetimes, Rolf. Haven't you heard the tale that's abroad? Far south, where the dead men dwell, a prophet has arisen to prepare the way—"
He shivered in the warmth. "I don't know if that's true, myself," he finished in a matter-of-fact tone. "But we can hope, can't we? C'mon, tingle up these lazy beasts and let's get back to the Train."
IX
The mail from Terra was in. Chunderban Desai settled back with a box of cigarettes, a samovar of tea, and resignation to the fact that he would eat lunch and dinner and a midnight snack off his desk. This did not mean he, his staff, or his equipment were inefficient. He would have no need to personally scan two-thirds of what was addressed to his office. But he did bear ultimate responsibility for a globe upon which dwelt 400 million human beings.
Lord Advisor Petroff of the Policy Board was proposing a shakeup of organizational structure throughout the occupied zone, and needed reports and opinions from every commissioner. Lord Advisor Chardon passed on certain complaints from Sector Governor Muratori, about a seeming lack of zeal in the reconstruction of the Virgilian System, and asked for explanations. Naval Intelligence wanted various operations started which would attempt to learn how active Merseian agents were throughout the Alpha Crucis region. BuEc wanted a fresh survey made of mineral resources in the barren planets of each system in the sector, and studies of their exploitability as a method of industrial recovery. BuSci wanted increased support for research on Dido, adding that that should help win over the Aeneans. BuPsy wanted Dido evacuated, fearing that its cloud cover and vast wildernesses made it potentially too useful to guerrillas. The Throne wanted immediate in-depth information on local results should His Majesty make a contemplated tour of the subjugated rebel worlds....
Night filled the wall transparency, and a chill tiny Creusa hurtled above a darkened city, when a thing Desai himself had requested finally crossed the screen. He surged out of sleepiness with a gasp. I'd better have that selector reprogrammed! His fingers shook almost too badly for him to insert a fresh cigarette in his holder and inhale it to ignition. He never noticed how tongue, palate, throat, and lungs protested.
"—no planet named, nicknamed, or translated as Jean-Baptiste, assuredly not in any known language or dialect of the Empire, nor in any exterior space for which records are available. Saint John, Hagios Ioannes, and the continent of San Juan on Nuevo Mexico were all named after a co-author of the basic Christian canon, a person distinct from the one who figures as active in events described therein and is termed in Fransai Jean-Baptiste, in Anglic John the Baptist....
"The origin of the individual self-denominated Aycharaych (v. note 3 on transcription of the voice print) has been identified, from measurement upon holographic material supplied (ref. 2), with a probability deemed high albeit nonquantifiable due to paucity of data.
"When no good correlation was obtained with any species filed with the Imperial Xenological Register, application was made to Naval Intelligence. It was reported by this agency that as a result of a scan of special data banks, Aycharaych can be assumed to be from a planet subject to the Roidhun of Merseia. It was added that he should be ' considered an agent thereof, presumably dispatched on a mission inimical to the best interests of His Majesty.
"Unfortunately, very little is known about the planet in question. A full account is attached, but will be found scarcely more informative than the summary which follows.
"According to a few casual mentions made in the presence of Imperial personnel and duly reported by them, the planet is referred to as Chereion (v. note 3). It is recorded as having been called variously 'cold, creepy,' 'a mummy dwarf,' and 'a silent ancient,' albeit some favorable notice was taken of art and architecture. These remarks were made in conversation by Merseians (or, in one instance, a non-Merseian of the Roidhunate) by whom the planet had been visited briefly in the course of voyages directed elsewhere. From this it may perhaps be inferred that Chereion is terrestroid verging on subterrestroid, of low mean temperature, sufficiently small and/or old that a substantial loss of atmosphere and hydrosphere has been suffered. In short, it may be considered possibly not too dissimilar to Aeneas as the latter is described in the files. Nothing has been scanned which would make it possible for the sun to be located or spectrally classified. It must be emphasized that Chereion is obscure, seldom touched at, and never heard of by the average Merseian.
"Some indications were noted, which owing to lack of planet. Identification of subject Aycharaych as of this Chereion may be more highly regarded than this by the top levels of the Roidhunate hierarchy, and that indeed the dearth of interest in it may have been deliberately instigated rather than straightforwardly caused by primitiveness, poverty, or other more usual factors. If so, presumably its entire populace has, effectively, been induced to cooperate, suggesting that some uniqueness may be found in their psychology.
"The Chereionites are not absolutely confined to their planet. Indentification of subject Aycharaych as of this race was made from pictures taken with microcameras upon two different occasions, one a reception at the Terran Embassy on Merseia, one more recently during negotiations in re Jihannath. In either case, a large and mixed group being present, no more than brief queries were made, eliciting replies such as those listed above. But it should be pointed out that if a Chereionite was present at any affair of such importance (and presumably at others for which no data are on hand) then he must have been considered useful to the Roidhunate.
"As an additional fragment, the following last-minute and essentially anecdotal material is here inserted. Naval Intelligence, upon receipt of the request from this office, was moved to instigate inquiries among such of its own personnel as happened to be readily available. In response, this declaration, here paraphrased, was made by one Cmdr. Dominic Flandry:
"He had been on temporary assignment to Talwin, since he was originally concerned in events leading to the joint Terran-Merseian research effort upon that planet (v. note 27) and his special knowledge might conceivably help in gathering militarily useful data. While there, he cultivated the friendship of a young Merseian officer.
The intimation is that he introduced the latter to various debaucheries; whatever the method was, he got him talking fairly freely. Having noticed a member of a species new to him in the
Merseian group, Flandry asked what manner of sophont this might be. The officer, intoxicated at the time, gave the name of the planet, Chereion, then went on to mumble of a race of incredible antiquity, possessing powers his government keeps secret: a race which seemingly had once nurtured a high civilization, and which said officer suspected might now cherish ambitions wherein his own people are a mere means to an end. Flandry thinks the officer might well have said more; but abruptly the ranking Merseians present ended the occasion and left with all their personnel. Flandry would have pursued the matter further, but never saw his informant or the Chereionite again. He filed this story as part of his report, but Regional Data Processing did not evaluate it as more than a rumor, and thus did not forward it to the central banks.
The Day Of Their Return Page 9
