Empire of Two Worlds

by Barrington J. Bayley

  Bec nodded. “I’m glad we are agreed on one thing. Perhaps we can agree on other things. I can supply the drug the Rheattites need to your slaves and subject populations, making the supply dependent on their co-operation and good behaviour. An addict will do anything to get … well, maybe you’re not familiar with that aspect of human affairs. I can also cut off the supply from the forces that oppose you, reducing their fighting efficiency almost to zero. This drug, though you haven’t realised it yet, is the means to the most perfect control over the whole of Rheatt.”

  He paused, giving the Meramite commander time to think. Then, forcefully and loudly, he said: “It is we, not you, who have that control.”

  “For such impertinence you should die,” the other said coldly. “What the men of Rotrox want, they take. You say you control the drug? We will take it from you. If necessary we will manufacture it ourselves, using Rheattite technicians.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Slowly and carefully Bec explained about Blue Space Valley, the one and only source of Rheattite dope. He finished by bringing me into the conversation. “Klein, tell them what orders our boys in the valley have.”

  “To destroy everything and burn the orchards if anybody tries to get in. It’s quite easy to do: the valley isn’t very large. Either me or Bec has to turn up or there won’t be any Blue Space any more.”

  “You should know that my men are very efficient and always carry out their orders,” Bec put in.

  Imnitrin glanced round at his officers as if inviting comment. One of them stirred.

  “Your story is ridiculous. We will simply set up production of the trees elsewhere.”

  “They won’t grow anywhere else,” I explained. “The valley was created by a meteor impact. The meteor must have contained special minerals that enable the trees to synthesise the drug, because they’re a peculiar strain that’s evolved there alone. They won’t grow anywhere else. I guess if you did take over the valley eventually from our men you might find some seeds that had survived and could grow a new crop then, but that would take years.”

  Big meteors occasionally fell on Killibol. Everybody knew of the one that had destroyed the city of Chingak, spreading radio-active wastes for miles around.

  “You can check these facts with the Rheattites themselves — as you should have done long ago,” Bec supplemented. “Well, that’s the position, Commander. Now let’s talk terms.”

  “Your behaviour is threatening and insolent.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” Bec said, smiling. “We’re here to help you, not to harm you. Our interests are identical. Why, already we’ve made you better off than you were before. You know about the Blue Space drug and why your slaves aren’t able to work. You can even find out where the valley is.”

  “Very well. What are your interests?” Imnitrin leaned over the table. I saw that despite his indulgence in answering Bec’s questions, despite the blunders and oversights that were typical of his race, he was hard, calculating and merciless. “You have not yet answered our questions. Where is your planet? Do you also plan invasion of Earth? What do you want here?”

  “Our planet is so far away that it can’t be seen in the sky,” Bec answered. “It’s in another galaxy, if you know what galaxies are. There’s a special way of getting to it which only we know. As for your other questions, I may as well be perfectly frank. Then you’ll know you can trust me. We’re not here to conquer Earth; quite the reverse. No more of my people will be coming from our own planet. There are only us you have prisoner and my other men, with more powerful weapons you haven’t seen, in Blue Space Valley. We are outcasts from our own world. Our wish is to make a place for ourselves here and eventually to raise strong forces to return to our own planet and destroy our enemies. So that’s what we can offer you, Commander: not only the means to rule Rheatt with ease but also a new world to conquer, with our help. In return we wish to be given positions of honour in your empire.”

  It looked as if Imnitrin was going to spit. “Men of other tribes are not honoured by the Rotrox. It would be necessary to swear oaths of allegiance.”

  “That’s fine by me, Commander Imnitrin. We’ll swear allegiance. We’ll become men of the tribe of Rotrox.”

  Imnitrin gazed at us thoughtfully, speculatively.

  Nine

  A few weeks later I stood with Becmath, Imnitrin and three of his high-ranking officers, looking at the battleground below through the open side of one of their flying cylinders.

  The plain was flanked by gently rising hills to our left, and broke into a series of gullies on the right. All morning Rheattite infantry had been filing into the plain, advancing towards the Rotrox columns camped at one end.

  Imnitrin peered down at the massing Rheattites. “They are many, and well-armed,” he said in his chilling, incisive voice. “Could it be that your plan has gone wrong?”

  “We’ll find that out when the fighting starts,” Bec answered gruffly.

  We were floating about fifty feet above a round-topped hill. A few other cylinders drifted slowly above the landscape, casting shadows on the green-skinned Rheattites. Behind us in the cavernous interior of the cylinder was Rotrox communications equipment: oval screens of a pale blue colour, like icy mirrors, surmounting grey metal cabinets.

  The television system had quite startled me when I first saw it in operation. We had vision phones back in Klittmann, but their definition was crude and blurred compared with the Rotrox sets. The Rotrox could send in colour, too, but the colours came out odd and wrong. Most surprising, they used Hertzian transmission without wires. On Killibol wireless sending of sound or pictures was never considered a practicable proposition, but then we lacked Earth’s ionosphere. The Rotrox, however, used television even to keep in touch with their Council of Chiefs back on Merame.

  It was funny, I thought, how the Rotrox were ahead of us in some things but so backward in others. I guess different life styles produce different technologies.

  I picked up a telescope to scan the faces of the Rheattites. They didn’t seem to be as shaky as we had hoped. I knew Bec was worried. A lot hung on the outcome of this battle.

  My mind went back over the past few weeks. Bec’s gamble had paid off. The Rotrox had allowed him to send me to Blue Space Valley with a television transceiver and I had arrived to find Grale, Reeth and Hassmann firmly in command. Tone the Taker was there, too — my bullets had missed him — but he was barely conscious. The stuff he was taking now had put him in a permanent trance. The expression on his face was something dreamy and weird.

  Straight away Bec had shown his genius for administration. He drew up a plan for distributing Blue Space to the populations under Rotrox control, sending me detailed instructions on what to give each collector that called. Using both Rheattites and Meramites, he was already setting up a pusher organisation, holding the Rheattite population in a rigid web of supply and demand. At one stroke he had begun the process of drawing the strings of power towards his own person.

  The Rotrox were impressed. They admired success, by whatever method. Bec had a knack of getting along with them and they co-operated with his suggestions. Consequently we had all (leaving aside Tone and Harmen) taken oaths of fealty, mingling our blood with that of Imnitrin himself. The ceremony was pretty messy and the wound in my arm still hadn’t healed. But we belonged to the Rotrox Tribe now.

  Imnitrin had made an attempt to put Blue Space Valley in Rotrox hands. Bec had firmly resisted the idea and in the end the Meramites, realising that we had to be cautious on our own account, had not pressed the matter. Reeth and Hassmann were still there now, making sure nothing sneaky happened behind our backs.

  Bec had instantly cut off the pipeline to the army massing further along the border. Why they hadn’t taken the trouble to invest and hold Blue Space Valley themselves is just another example of Rheattite ineptness — but it had become clear that they already had reserves of the dope. Not enough to be completely happy, perhaps, but enough not to be
falling over themselves the way we had hoped. Bec had practically promised the invaders victory and if they didn’t get it their attitude towards us would change. They might even wipe us out. If they won, on the other hand, they would treat us like brothers. To try to lower the opposition’s morale Bec had sent in agents to pass the word around that there would be Blue Space available if the Rheattites threw down their arms, surrendered or even simply lost.

  Imnitrin was also using a telescope, studying, not the ground, but the sky. “The enemy approaches,” he announced. “Battle begins.”

  He stepped further back into the cylinder and began speaking into the television apparatus in the clipped Rotrox tongue. Sweeping over the horizon, fairly high in the sky, was a squadron of Rheattite fighter aircraft. They were similar to the machine I had seen earlier but appeared somewhat smaller and moved more swiftly. At the same time a great shout went up from the horde below and the infantry began to advance.

  The half dozen or so flying cylinders that all the time had been drifting harmlessly over the army took this as their cue and began dropping explosives and gas bombs. The gases — not used extensively for fear they would reach our own side — were almost instantly dispersed by the stiff breeze that crossed the plain and did little harm. The explosives flared in red, smoky blasts and took care of a score of men at a time.

  I was mildly surprised at the unambitious nature of this bombardment. Why had the Rotrox not sprung hundreds of flying cylinders on the Rheattites, loaded to the roof with bombs, and annihilated them from the air? But when I looked at the type of ground weapons both sides had, I realised they were suffering from a rigidity of thinking. In the minds of both the Meramites and the Rheattites, warfare meant primarily close combat. Neither the fire-lances of the Rotrox nor the dart-guns of the Rheattites were accurate at long range, and neither did they pack much of a punch. The combatants stalked one another at close quarters or else fired away at one another at close range, coming swiftly in to grapple with knives if neither was successful. This style of fighting took little account of the type of efficient killing machine we had brought with us from Killibol.

  With startling rapidity the fighter aircraft were among us. They were able to twist and turn in the air with considerable agility. Mounted on the front of their fuselages, just below the cockpit, they carried launching tubes which fired explosive rockets.

  The Rotrox evidently had respect for these skilled aerial fighters. They themselves had atmospheric fighters of a clumsier kind, a great number of which had been launched in midair as the invasion fleet came in. Because of their superior numbers they had succeeded in virtually wiping out the Rheattite air force, but at great cost. What we saw now were the defenders’ last few craft, and the Rotrox had decided not to pit their own surviving flying machines against them.

  Instead, Bec had volunteered our services. He gave me a signal. I climbed up a short ladder. At the same time the side of the cylinder closed up like an eyelid, leaving only a narrow horizontal slot running the length of the vessel.

  I emerged on to a small platform mounted atop the cylinder. One of our Hacker cannon from the sloop had been fitted there, complete with a personnel shield and a full magazine.

  I scrambled behind the cannon and took a good look round me. The fighters were attacking the cylinders, downing them like ninepins. None of the other cylinders seemed to have any means of defending themselves. I saw one tip over and crash to the ground, breaking up under the impact of exploding rockets.

  Then I swung the Hacker round fast. A fighter craft was howling towards me, lining up its rocket tube. I’m pretty good with a Hacker. I put my eye to the sight and pressed the button. A hard stream of shells hammered out. The fighter disintegrated in a cloud of flame, raining fragments all around.

  I grinned tightly, traversing the Hacker and scanning the sky. The platform underneath me was rock steady, had hardly wavered in the blast. I began to feel good.

  Most of the other cylinders were going down now. I adjusted the sight and trained on an aircraft just coming out of an attack dive about a mile and a half away. Only one or two of the shells found their targets but one of its wings dropped off and the machine tumbled earthwards, spinning end over end.

  These fighter craft were nimble but they were flimsy. Just one well-placed Hacker shell was enough to send them flying to pieces. I downed another at fairly long range before they realised where the danger lay. Then two aircraft turned their noses towards me and came up fast. A rocket whanged over my head and exploded some distance behind me. The fighter it had come from followed moments later, on fire and already disintegrating from the hammering I had given it. Flaming fuel splashed down on to the cylinder. For a few seconds I was confused and could see nothing. Then I glimpsed the second fighter howling towards me and hastily tried to train the barrel of the Hacker on it.

  But before I pressed the firing button the aircraft exploded into fragments.

  I took a look at the ground. The shots had come from another Hacker, wielded by a Rotrox gunner in the sloop, which was emerging from one of culverts on the right of the battleground. I was surprised to know I probably owed my life to one of those grey monsters.

  There was only one fighter aircraft left and it was hightailing it for the horizon. I decided to get back inside; the bulk of the cylinder was obscuring my view of the ground and I wanted to get a good look at the action.

  Now that the air attack was over the longitudinal slot was gaping open again. I nodded to Bec as I came down, then peered over the rim of the slot.

  The sloop had entered the fight at the right moment. The Rheattite infantry had pressed against the Meramite columns, which presented a disciplined diagonal array, and the battle-line had swiftly degenerated into a bloody scrum, contained on one side by the line of hills. Into the Rheattite reserves, from their exposed side and from the rear, plunged the sloop.

  Grale was driving. The guns were manned by Rotrox we had previously trained, taking out some of the fittings so that they were able to squat on the floor and fit their ungainly bulk into the interior.

  I estimated that the combatants numbered roughly ten thousand on each side. The effect of the sloop’s armoury on the massed Rheattites was devastating. The Jains and Hackers, as well as smaller portable repeaters fired through the gunslits, cut them down in hundreds. Grale drove recklessly, churning over piles of bodies to penetrate more deeply into the mass.

  The Rheattites had nothing to fight back with, either. They piled up on one another, pushing in a mob to get away from the death-dealing machine. Further in the rear some of the more enterprising began to bring up heavier weapons using explosives; but we had already checked that out and knew they would have little effect: the explosives used on both Earth and Merame were of a crude, low-impact type. The sloop’s armour could take it.

  Consternation and then panic began to spread through the Rheattite ranks. The appearance of this unfamiliar and apparently invincible weapon made a crack in their already shaky morale. Urged on by their officers, the Rotrox took the initiative and pressed the offensive, their fire-lances spitting cascades of hot metal into the green-skinned ranks. Steadily, inexorably, the long disciplined lines of extended lances advanced across the plain.

  By now the Rheattites were beginning to mill up the slopes of the hills. For a moment it looked as though they would break; but somehow, miraculously, they held and began to reform, despite the continuing carnage wreaked by the sloop. The gunners had orders to keep killing until the ammunition was exhausted — which meant that, except for a few magazines cautiously kept safe in Blue Space Valley, we would be out of it altogether.

  Then a new band of Rotrox appeared on a hilltop. These were not warriors, but technicians. With practised skill they erected a series of huge loudspeakers facing the battle-locked armies. A vast voice boomed out — a Rheattite voice, using a minion Bec had found:

  “MEN OF RHEATT! THE DAY IS LOST — LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS! BLUE SPACE WILL BE ISSUED TO
ALL WHO SURRENDER AND YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO GO PEACEFULLY TO YOUR HOMES!”

  The message was repeated again and again. At first it was ignored; then a few listened. Soon the temptation was spreading like fire. As Bec had gambled, thousands of the Rheattites were in fact badly in need of the drug. They had been prepared to fight in the hope of victory, but now that such hope seemed to be fading their will to resist was weak. Men came staggering up the hill, throwing away their weapons. Turning, I saw Imnitrin smiling his sinister smile.

  “The rot begins!” he chimed. “I think the day is ours, brother Becmath.”

  Bec and I glanced at one another. Despite our affiliation into the tribe, Imnitrin had refrained until now from using the term “brother”. Now, we knew, we were really in.

  Down below the sloop fell silent, its magazines empty.

  They took three thousand prisoners, thousands more fleeing.

  The Rotrox herded them into a vast compound. The command vessel, from which Imnitrin had directed the battle, settled on a knoll overlooking the crowd. Around it was a dense ring of Rotrox soldiers.

  “Are you really going to let these men go home with Blue Space?” I asked.

  Imnitrin looked at me, his eyebrows lifted. “These are the more rebellious spirits of Rheatt. They will be a source of trouble while they live. A promise made to an enemy is not a promise.”

  He gave a signal to an officer through the open side of the cylinder. The ring of soldiers opened fire into the dense mass with their flame-lances. The disarmed prisoners surged to and fro, screaming and groaning.

  The mass murder went on apace, bringing an increasing stench of burned flesh.

  I looked questioningly at Bec. He shrugged. So I didn’t think any more about it.

  At the back of my mind I knew we were destroying a beautiful, delicate culture for a vicious, unbeautiful one. But my upbringing and experience had taught me full well that beauty and delicacy are not what count. Force and effectiveness were what counted.