Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places)

by Harry Turtledove

  Twenty men, though, seldom keep a secret for long. The morning of June 9th, Park opened his paper to find the report of a defiant speech by Yon Brahtz, in which he announced bluntly that “the thanes of the Cherogian March of Vinland will defend the ricks they inherited from their heroic forebears, by any means needful, and moreover the means for such defense are ready and waiting!” Park translated this to mean that if the Scoglund amendment were passed by a coalition of Rubies and insurgent New Belfast Diamonds, the squirearchy would secede.

  But that would mean civil war, which in turn would mean postponement of the elections. What was even more serious, the Diamond thingmen from the seceding provinces would automatically lose their seats, giving the Rubies a clear majority. Since the Rubies would no longer need the support of Park’s insurgents, they would be disinclined to make a deal with him to appoint a mayor of his choice.

  Park privately thought that, while in theory he supposed he believed in the Scoglund amendment, in practice both his and the Ruby leaders’ interests would be better served by dropping it for the present, despite the growls of the Dakotians and Cherogians. However, the Ruby leaders were firm; that huge block of Skrelling votes they would get by emancipating the aborigines was worth almost any risk.

  As for such questions as the rights of the Skrellings as human beings, or the unfortunate Vinlanders who would be killed or haggled up in a civil war, they were not considered at all.

  Park, holed up in the Isleif Street apartment with a couple of bodyguards, answered a call from Dunedin. “Haw, Hallow? Thane Callahan is here to see you.”

  “Send him over here. Warn him ahead of time who I-” Park remembered the guards, and amended: “warn him about everything. You know.”

  Lord, he thought, all this just to get hold of Noggle, still shut up in the Psychophysical Institute! Maybe it would have been simpler to organize a private army like Brahtz’s and storm that fortresslike structure. A long-distance call for the mobilization of his Sons of the Vikings, as he called his storm troopers. Kedrick, the Bretwald of Vinland, had refused to mobilize the army because, he explained, such an action would be “provocative”… Maybe he secretly favored the squirearchy, whose man he was; maybe he was just a pacific civilian who found the whole subject of soldiers, guns, and such horrid things too repulsive to discuss; maybe he really believed what he said… Callahan arrived with a flourish. Since MacSvensson was no longer boss of New Belfast, the Sachem went openly about the city without fear of arrest and beating-up by the police.

  He told Park: “It would be worth my life if some of my fellow Skrellings knew I’d told you. But the Dakotians have an army secretly assembled on the bounds. If the Vinlanders start fickting among themselves, the Dakotians’ll jump in to grab the northwestern provinces.”

  Park whistled. “How about the Cherogians?”

  “They’re holding back, waiting to see how things are turning out. If the war seems to be fruitbearing, they’ll try a little rickting of the bounds themselves.”

  “And what will your Skrellings do then?”

  “That depends. If the Scoglund changelet is lost, they’ll join the foe to a man. If it goes through, I think I can hold most of them in line.”

  “Why do you tell me this, Callahan?”

  The Sachem grinned his large disarming grin. “Two reasons. First, the bishop and I have been friends for years, and I’ll stick to his body no matter where his soul may be. Twoth, I’m not fooled, as some of my Skrellings are, by talk of what fine things the Dakotians’ll do for us if we help them overthrow the palefaces. The Dakotian realm is even less a folkish one than the Bretwaldate’s. I know a thing or two about how they treat their ain folk. So if you’ll stick to me, I’ll stick to you.”

  Park would have liked to appear at the opening of the Althing as Bishop Scoglund. But, as too many people there knew him as Allister Park, he attended in his mustache, hair dye, and spectacles.

  The atmosphere was electric. Even Park, with all his acumen, had been unable to keep up with events. The risks were huge, whichever way he threw his insurgents’ votes.

  He kept them shut up in a committee room with him until the last possible minute. He did not yet know himself whether he would order them to vote for or against the amendment.

  The clock on the wall ticked around.

  A boy came in with a message for Park. It said, in effect, that the Sons of the Vikings had received a report that the amendment had already been passed; had mobilized and seized the town of Olafsburg.

  Who had sent that mistaken message and why, there was no way of finding out. But it was too late for anybody to back down. Park looked up and said, very seriously: “We’re voting for the Scoglund Amendment.” That was all; with his well-trained cogs no more was necessary.

  The bell rang; they filed out. Park took his seat in the visitors’ gallery. He said nothing but thought furiously as the session of the Althing was opened with the usual formalities. The chairman and the speaker and the chaplain took an interminable time about their business, as if afraid to come to grips with the fearful reality awaiting their attention. When the first motions came up, a dead silence fell as Park’s men got up and walked over to the Rubies’ side of the house. Then the Rubies let out a yell of triumph. There was no more need of stalling or delicate angling for marginal votes. Motion after motion went through with a roar. Out went the Diamond chairman and speaker, and in went Rubies in their place.

  In an hour the debate had been shut off, despite howls from Diamonds and their sympathizers about “gag law” and “high-handed procedure.”

  The amendment came up for its first vote. It fell short of the two-thirds required by eleven votes.

  Park scribbled a note and had it delivered to the speaker. The speaker handed it to the chairman. Park watched the little white note drift around the Ruby side of the house. Then the Ruby leader got up and solemnly moved the suspension of thingmen Adamson, Arduser, Beurwulf, Dahl, Fessenden, Gilpatrick, Holmquist… all the thingmen from the seceding area.

  Most of those named didn’t wait; they rose and filed out, presumably to catch airwains for their home provinces. The amendment passed on the second vote.

  Park looked up the Ruby leader after the Althing adjourned. He said: “I hear Kedrick still won’t order mobilization. Talks about ‘Letting the erring brethren go in peace.’ What’s your party line on the matter?”

  The Ruby leader, a thin cool man, blew smoke through his nose. “We’re going to fick. If Kedrick won’t go along, there are ways. The same applies to you, Thane Park.”

  Park suddenly realized that events had put him in a suspect position. If he didn’t want himself and his cogs to be damned as copperheads, or the Vinland equivalent, he’d have to outshout the Rubies for unity, down with the rebels, etcetera.

  Well, he might as well do a good job of it.

  That afternoon the guards at the Psychophysical Institute were astonished to have their sanctuary invaded by a squad of uniformed knicks with the notorious Allister Park at their head flourishing a search warrant. The charge was violation of the fire ordinances — in a building made almost entirely of tile, glass, and reinforced concrete.

  “But, but, but!” stuttered Dr. Edwy Borup. Park merely whisked out another warrant, this time for the arrest of Joseph Noggle.

  “But, but, you can’t stop one of my patients! It’s — uh — illegal! I’ll call Mayor Greenfield!”

  “Go ahead,” grinned Park. “But don’t be surprised if you get a busy signal.” He had taken the precaution of seeing that all the lines to the mayor’s office would be occupied at this time.

  “Hello, Noggle,” said Park.

  “Haw. Who are you? I think I’ve met you — let me see-”

  Park produced an air pistol. “I’m Allister Park. You’ll figure out where you met me soon enough, but you won’t talk about it. I’m glad to see my figuring came out right. Can you start a man’s wheel today? Now?”

  “I suppose I could
. Oh, I know who you are now-”

  “Nay comments, I said. You’re coming along, brother, and doing just as you’re told.”

  The next step was when Park walked arm in arm with Noggle into the imposing executive building. Park’s standing as a powerful boss saw him through the guards and flunkeys that guarded the Bretwald’s office on the top floor.

  The Bretwald looked up from his desk. “Oh, haw, Thane Park. If you’re going to nag me about that mobilization order, you’re wasting your time. Who’s — eeee! Where am I? What’s happened to me? Help! Help!”

  In bounded the guards, guns ready. Park faced them sadly. “Our respected Bretwald seems to have had a mental seizure,” he said.

  The guards covered the two visitors and asked Kedrick what was the matter. All they could get out of Kedrick was: “Help! Get away from me! Let me out! I don’t know who you’re talking about. My name’s not Kedrick, it’s O’Shaughnessy!”

  They took him away. The guards kept Park and Noggle until a message from the acting Bretwald said to let them go.

  “By the brazen gates of Hell!” cried Park. “Is that all?”

  “Yep,” said the new Secretary of War. “Douglas was a Brahtz man; hence he saw to it that the army was made as harmless as possible before he skipped out.”

  Park laughed grimly. “The Secretary of War sabotages-”

  “He does what?”

  “Never mind. He raises hell with, if you want a more familiar expression. Raises hell with the army for the benefit of his party, with the Dakotians about to come whooping in. I suppose it oughtn’t to surprise me, though. How many can we raise?”

  “About twenty thousand in the burgish area, but we can arm only half of them rickly. Most of our quick-fire pipes and warwains have been hurt so it’ll take a month to fix them.”

  “How about a force of Skrellings?”

  The Secretary shrugged. “We can raise ’em, but we can’t arm them.”

  “Go ahead and raise ’em anyway.”

  “All right, if you say so. But hadn’t you better have a rank? It would look better.”

  “All right. You make me your assistant.”

  “Don’t you want a commission?”

  “Not on your life! Your generals would go on strike, and even if they didn’t I’d be subject to military law.”

  The army was not an impressive one, even when its various contingents had all collected at what would have been Pittsburgh if its name hadn’t been the lovely one of Guggenvik. The regulars were few and unimpressive; the militia were more numerous but even less prepossessing; the Skrelling levy was the most unmilitary of all. They stood around with silly grins on their flat brown faces, and chattered and scratched. Park thought disgustedly, so these are the descendants of the noble red man and the heroic viking! Fifty years of peace had been a blessing to Vinland, but not an altogether unmitigated one.

  The transport consisted of a vast fleet of private folkwains and goodwains (busses and trucks to you). It had been possible to put only six warwains in the field. These were a kind of steam-driven armored car carrying a compressor and a couple of pneumatic machine guns. There was one portable liquid-air plant for charging shells and air bombs. The backwardness of Vinland chemistry compared to its physics caused a curious situation. The only practical military explosives were a rather low-grade black powder, and a carbon-liquid-oxygen mixture. Since the former was less satisfactory as a propellant, considering smoke, flash, and barrel-fouling, than compressed air, and was less effective as a detonant than the liquid air explosive; its military use was largely confined to land mines. Liquid oxygen, however, while as powerful as trinitrotoluol, had to be manufactured on the spot, as there was no way of preventing its evaporation. Hence it was a very awkward thing to use in mobile warfare.

  Park walked into the intelligence tent, and asked the Secretary of War: “What do you think our chances are?”

  The Secretary looked at him. “Against the squires, about even. Against the Dakotians, one to five. Against both, none.” He held out a handful of dispatches. These told of the success of the Sons of the Vikings in extending their hold in the southwest, not surprising considering that the only division of regulars in that area were natives of the region and had gone over to the rebels. More dispatches described in brief fragments the attack of a powerful and fast-moving Dakotian army west of Lake Yanktonai (Michigan). The last of these was dated 6 P.M., June 26th, the preceding day.

  “What’s happened since then?” asked Park.

  “Don’t know,” said the Secretary. Just then a message came in from the First Division. It told little, but the dateline told much. It had been sent from the city of Edgar, at the south end of Lake Yanktonai.

  Park looked at his map, and whistled. “But an army can’t retreat fifty miles in one day!”

  “The staff can,” said the Secretary. “They ride.”

  Further speculation about the fate of the First Division seemed unnecessary. The one-eyed Colonel Montrose was dictating an announcement for the press to the effect that: “Our army has driven off severe Dakotian attacks in the Edgar area, with heavy losses to the foe. Nine Dakotian warwains were destroyed and five were captured. Other military booty included twenty-six machine-pipes. Two foeish airwains were shot down…”

  Park thought, this Montrose has a good imagination, which quality seems sadly lacking in most of the officers. Maybe we can do something with him — if we’re still here long enough…

  The Secretary pulled Park outside. “Looks as though they had us. We haven’t anything to fick with. Not even brains. General Higgins is just an easygoing parade-ground soldier who never expected to have to shoot at anybody in his life. For that matter neither did I. Got any ideas?”

  “Still thinking, brother,” said Park, studying his map. “I’m nay soldier either, you know; just a thingman. If I could give you any help it would be political.”

  “Well, if we can’t win by fickting, politics would seem to be the only way left.”

  “Maybe.” Park was still looking at the map. “I begin to have a thock. Let’s see Higgins.”

  Fortunately for Park’s idea, General Higgins was not merely easygoing; he was positively comatose. He sat in his tent with his blouse unbuttoned and a bottle of beer in front of him, serene in the midst of worry and confusion.

  “Come in, thanes, come in,” he said. “Have some beer. Piff. Got any ideas? Blessed if I know where to turn next. Nay artillery, nay airwains to speak of, nay real soldiers. Piff. Do you guess if we started fortifying New Belfast now, it’d be strong enough to hold when we were pushed back there? Nobody knows anything, piff. I’m supposed to have a staff, but half of ’em have got lost or sneaked off to join the rebels. Blessed if I know what to do next.”

  Park thought General Higgins would make a splendid Salvation Army general. But there was no time for personalities. He sprang his plan.

  “Goodness gracious!” said Higgins. “It sounds very risky — get Colonel Callahan.”

  The Sachem filled the tent opening when he arrived, weaving slightly. “Somebody want me?” Belatedly he remembered to salute.

  Higgins barked at him: “Colonel Callahan, do you ken you have your blouse on backwards?” Callahan looked down. “So I have, ha-ha. Sir.”

  “That’s a very weighty matter. Very weighty. No, don’t change it here. You’re drunk, too.”

  “So are-” Callahan suppressed an appalling violation of discipline just in time. “Maybe I had a little, sir.”

  “That’s very weighty, very weighty. Just think of it. I ought to have you shot.” Callahan grinned. “What would my regiment do then?”

  “I don’t know. What would they do?”

  “Give you three guesses, sir. Hic.”

  “Run away, I suppose.”

  “Right the first time, sir. Congratulations.”

  “Don’t congratulate me, you fool! The Secretary has a plan.”

  “A plan, really? Haw, Thane Park; I didn’t s
ee you. How do you like our army?”

  Park said: “I think it’s the goddamndest thing I ever saw in my life. It’s a galloping nightmare.”

  “Oh, come now,” said Higgins. “Some of the brave boys are a little green, but it’s not as bad as all that.”

  A very young captain entered, gave a heel-click that would have echoed if there had been anything for it to echo against, and said: “Sir, the service company, twentieth regiment, third division, has gone on strike.”

  “What?” said the general. “Why?”

  “No food, sir. The goodwains arrived empty.”

  “Have them all shot. No, shoot one out of ten. No, wait a minute. Arrived empty, you say? Somebody stole the food to sell at the local grocers. Take a platoon and clean out all the goods shops in Guggenvik. Pay them in thingly I.O.U.’s.”

  The Secretary interjected: “The Althing will never pay those off, you know.”

  “I know they won’t, ha-ha. Now let’s get down to that plan of yours.”

  * * *

  The names were all different; Allister Park gave up trying to remember those of the dozens of small towns through which they rolled. But the gently rolling stretches of southern Indiana were much the same, cut up into a checkerboard of fields with woodlots here and there, and an occasional snaky line of cottonwoods marking the course of a stream. The Vinlanders had not discovered the beauties of billboard advertising, which, to Park’s mind, was something. Not having a businessman’s point of view, he had no intention of introducing this charming feature of his own civilization into Vinland. The Vinlanders did have their diabolical habit of covering the landscape with smoke from faulty burners in their wains, and that was bad enough.

  A rising whistle and a shattering bang from the rear made Park jump around in the seat of his wain. A mushroom of smoke and dust was rising from a hillside. The airwain that had dropped the bomb was banking slowly to turn away. The pneumatics clattered all along the column, but without visible effect. A couple of their own machines purred over and chased the bomber off.