Then he realized that the cavalrymen, although still firing, were fighting among themselves. The sword-waving officer fell, was trampled by the broad, splayed hooves of his rearing mount. Troopers toppled from their saddles. The infantrymen in the trucks were struggling hand to hand. One of the tractors peeled away from the line abreast formation, turned with surprising nimbleness and opened fire, with its heavy machine gun, on the one which had been its next abeam. There was a sudden cloud of steam as the boiler was ruptured.
Grimes heard Lennay’s voice. And how, he wondered, was the Darijjan able to speak to him? But the High Priest had clambered down the hull to the open airlock doors and was in the control cab. He was saying, “They are with us, Captain Grimes. They are with us. Fly on to the city, slowly. Let the goddess’s soldiers precede you . . .” Grimes cut fore-and-aft thrust, hovered. Looking down he could see that the three surviving tractors were turning, that the ground was littered with dead cavalrymen and the bodies of those who had been thrown from the troop trucks. He watched the depleted force regroup, proceed back to where they had come from. He saw two fast riders gallop ahead of the main body.
He said, “I am not making fun of your religion, but those soldiers were very easy converts.”
Lennay said, “Many of them were already true believers. And now they have seen the glorious, living proof that Madame Tamara is indeed the incarnation of the Lady Delur.”
“Mphm. She must be getting chilly up top. Or don’t goddesses feel the cold?”
“Please not to jest, Captain Grimes. And please remember that the God Samz is working through you, just as Delur works through Madam Tamara—although not so strongly. I cannot help but feel that He could have chosen a more suitable vessel. You are capable, that I would never deny. But you lack the . . . divine aura.”
“We can’t all be Handsome Frankie Delamere,” said Grimes.
“Your pardon, Captain?”
“I was just thinking out loud. Commander Delamere is an old . . . friend of mine. He’s long on presence, but short on ability.”
He adjusted thrust, slowly followed the soldiers to the city. Lennay left him, went to rejoin Tamara on top of the pinnace.
Chapter 27
THROUGH THE OPEN DOORS of the airlock, even above the arrhythmic clangor of the pinnace’s inertial drive, Grimes could hear the shouting, the singing, the screaming discordancy (to him) of trumpets, the boom and rattle of drums.
“Delur! Delur! Delur!”
He could see through the viewports the gathering crowds spilling out into the narrow streets, the scuffles that went breaking out between the adherents to the old religion, now openly declaring themselves, and those who still supported the church of the establishment. But there seemed little doubt that in this city, at least, the worshippers of Delur and Samz were in the majority—or, perhaps, any gods who were against the invading Shaara and the pro-Shaara president would do.
Little Sister was flying over a sea of upturned faces, of waving arms. Grimes could imagine what the people were staring at, regretted that he himself could not see Tamara standing there between the laser cannon, her body golden in the golden light of the morning sun, her graceful curves in erotic contrast to the no less graceful angularities of the twin weapons.
“Delur! Delur! Delur!”
And what about Samz? he thought a little sourly.
He kept the pinnace just above rooftop level, following the street, maintaining station on the three armored tractors, now in line ahead formation and leading the troop of cavalry and what seemed to be almost a full regiment of infantrymen. He watched as the column leader loosed off its machine gun at a crowd of men desperately attempting to set up a barricade of furniture and overturned wagons. Even now, he thought, the god Darajja possessed devotees willing to die for their beliefs.
And die they did.
The tractors rolled over the half-completed barricade, splintering beds and chairs and tables, crushing the bodies of its defenders. They clattered into the square, their iron wheels striking sparks, visible even in the bright sunlight, from the cobblestones. They steered for the metal platform that had been set up by the Shaara, upon which Grimes and Tamara had been exposed and humiliated. Grimes thought at first that the intention was to destroy this symbol of alien brutality but it was not so. Wheeling with quite amazing smartness the war vehicles took up stations about it, forming the three points of a triangle, their guns pointing outwards. Cavalry and infantry filled the gaps between the machines, making a menacing display of their rifles.
Lennay appeared in the airlock door, came to the control cab to stand just behind Grimes. He said, “This display has exceeded my wildest expectations, Captain. Even I had no idea that we have so many supporters . . .”
“God is on the side of the big battalions,” Grimes told him. “We may not be a big battalion but, until the Rogue Queen returns, we have the superior fire power.”
“These people,” said Lennay soberly, “are with god, or the gods. The old gods. They know that we, with Delur to lead us, to inspire us, destroyed the Shaara.”
Grimes grunted dubiously around the stem of his cold pipe. “And what was I doing while Delur was supposed to be leading and inspiring?” he asked.
“Delur and Samz always act as one,” Lennay told him. “That dual principle worked through you and Madame Haverstock. She the inspiration, and you the . . . the . . .”
“The driver,” supplied Grimes. “Oh, well, I suppose that this chariot of the gods has to have a chauffeur.”
“You jest, Captain.”
“Too right. Just a jesting pilot, that’s me.” He laughed at his play on words, his good humor restored.
“Can you land on the platform, Captain?” asked Lennay.
Grimes assessed the situation. “Mphm. I could, I suppose. There’ll be considerable overhang, of course, and that structure could never support Little Sister’s weight . . . But I can keep the inertial drive running, just kicking over . . .”
“Then land on the platform, please. Or appear to do so. After you have set down, the God Samz will appear beside his consort. It is necessary that you show yourself to the people. Delur without Samz is like . . . like . . . You Terrans have a saying . . . Yes: like coffee without cream.”
“I prefer my coffee black,” said Grimes.
He returned his attention to the controls, gently moving ahead until the platform was immediately below the pinnace. Carefully he reduced vertical thrust. Little Sister dropped slowly, touched with an almost imperceptible jar. Grimes ran a practiced eye over the instruments on the console, was satisfied. As long as the inertial drive was kept running on this setting the golden ship would weigh no more than a few grammes relative to the surface upon which she rested.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll get up top with Tamara to take my bow. Don’t touch anything on the control panel during my absence. We aren’t ready to ascend into Heaven just yet.”
He got up from his seat, made for the airlock.
“Wait!” said Lennay. “First you must remove your raiment.”
“What?”
“You must remove your raiment. At a time of triumph the god, as well as the goddess, must be naked. So they have always been depicted in our religious art.”
Grimes shrugged. After all, he asked himself, what did it matter? The day was warm enough, and even though he was not an exhibitionist he was no prude. He undid the simple fastenings of his tunic and let the garment fall to the deck. He left his boots on; he had a ladder to climb and those recessed rungs had not been designed to be negotiated by bare feet. He walked slowly to the airlock. As he appeared in the chamber a great shout went up from those of the people who could see him. “Samz! Samz!” Not only his prominent ears reddened in embarrassment; he could feel the angry flush spreading over his entire body. He bowed stiffly then turned to ease himself out of the chamber. He had to be careful; the forward part of the pinnace (as was, too, the after part) was overhanging the edge of t
he platform and a fall to the cobblestones would be injurious to body as well as to pride. He extended an arm until he found handhold, then fumbled with a booted foot for a recessed rung. His other hand went out, and then the other foot. He started to climb. He knew that he must look ludicrous—a naked man going up a ladder with genitalia a-dangle—but he was committed, and the cries of Samz! Samz! seemed to be more expressive of adoration then derision. He scrambled to the upper hull of the pinnace with an agility evocative of the simian ancestry of his race. He joined Tamara between the twin laser cannon.
“Samz! Samz!”
He raised his arms in a gesture of benediction.
“Delur! Delur!”
She lifted her flashing sword, making a tired flourish.
She muttered, “Now you can start finding out what it’s like . . .” Then, “I wish to all the Odd Gods of the Galaxy that the bastards wouldn’t keep stoking up those damned steam engines!”
A cloud of sulphurous smoke suddenly erupted from the tall funnel of the tractor up wind from them, eddied about them. Sparks stung their unprotected skin.
“At least they aren’t throwing dead cats at us this time,” remarked Grimes philosophically.
The smoke cleared.
Tamara waved her sword again with something less than enthusiasm. Grimes made his bless-you-my-children gesture.
He said, “This is starting to get boring.”
She sneered, “You’ve only just begun. I’ve been on show for hours.”
Less than one hour, thought Grimes, but deemed it politic not to say the words aloud.
Lennay clambered up from the airlock, walked slowly forward to the guns. He looked happy. Grimes and Tamara regarded him sourly.
He said, “I have learned that Hereditary President Callaray and General Porron, together with their high-ranking officers, are aboard Baroom, accompanying the Rogue Queen, advising her, while she wages war against Desaba. That is why the army came over to us after no more than a token show of resistance . . .”
“And they’ll change sides again when Baroom comes back,” said Tamara.
“If she comes back,” Grimes told her.
She said, “I’m only a postmistress, not a naval officer. But even I know that an armed pinnace is no match for a warship.” She contrived to make the waving of her sword in response to the cheers of the crowd a singularly un-warlike gesture. “You’ve got your ship back, Grimes. I’ve got the mail—and don’t forget that it still has to be delivered. I propose that we get the hell out of here and resume our voyage.”
“Lady Delur!” Lennay’s voice was shocked. “You cannot mean that!”
“We’ve done our share, Mr. Lennay. We’ve given you this city. It’s up to you to hold it.”
“But the prophecy . . .”
“We’ve delivered you, haven’t we? If you can’t stay delivered it’s just too bad.”
“I agree,” said Grimes judiciously, “that it would be unwise to wait here for the Rogue Queen’s return . . .”
She said, “I’m glad to hear you say that, Grimes. For a moment I was afraid that you were taking this god and goddess rubbish seriously.” She slapped viciously at a spark that had alighted on her right breast. “I’ve had it in a big way!”
“Lady Delur . . .” implored Lennay.
“We shall not wait here for Baroom’s return,” stated Grimes.
“Captain . . . you cannot leave us now . . .” It was odd, and rather annoying, thought Grimes how even now Lennay was addressing Tamara as a deity and himself as a mere shipmaster. But it did not matter. He knew, briefly, that something, some entity outside himself, was speaking through him, was implanting in his mind the knowledge of what must be done, what could, quite easily, be done. He himself had little knowledge of what facilities were available in this city, but somehow such information, in great detail, was now available to him. And from his own memory came scraps of Terran naval history, recollections of what he had read of stratagems employed during wars at sea.
He said, “We will not wait for the Rogue Queen—and the President Callaray and General Porron—to come to us. We will go to them.”
“You’re mad!” exclaimed Tamara.
Mad? he wondered. If she’d said “possessed” he might have agreed with her. But he ignored her and spoke to the native.
“Mr. Lennay, is it essential that your chief clerk be taken to the cave for medical treatment?”
“No, Captain. There is an excellent hospital here.”
“Good. And there is an arsenal . . .”
“Yes.”
“And part of it is the new yard for building airships. The framework of the Tellaran is almost completely assembled.”
“How do you know?” asked Lennay, puzzled.
And how do I know, Grimes asked himself, that Tellaran is the name of a flying reptile?
He said, “We will take your man to the hospital. Then we fly to the arsenal, to the airship yard. You will tell the workers what I want done.”
Chapter 28
LITTLE SISTER lifted from Plirrit.
Her builders would never have recognized her although, just possibly, they might have realized that she was propelled by an inertial drive unit and that the pusher airscrew mounted at the after end of the long car slung beneath her was for show only. But they would have had to be very close to her to hear the distinctive beat of her real engines; her golden hull had been thickly lagged with mattresses of vegetable fibre which acted as very effective sonic insulation.
Little Sister was now, to all except the most intimate inspection, a Darijjan airship. It had been neither a difficult nor a lengthy task to slide her hull into the cage formed by the already assembled frames and longerons. There was no need to be concerned about the strength of the structure; it was for camouflage only. The real strength, the mailed fist in the velvet glove, was concealed by the panels of fabric that had been stretched and glued and sewn over the ribs, would remain hidden until Grimes got close enough to Baroom to do what he knew must be done, would be done. Until then he would have to limit his speed to one within the capabilities of the almost sophisticated gas turbine that was to have been Tellaran’s engine, would have to refrain from maneuvers obviously impossible to a dirigible.
The airship yard technicians had worked with a will, had grasped at once what was required of them. It almost seemed that if Lennay had not been there to interpret the job would have been done just as well and just as speedily.
And speed was essential.
Even though this was a world without the electric telegraph, without radio, news travelled. There was the network of railways. There were steamships. And not everybody in Plirrit was a devotee of the Old Religion; there were those who, already, must be endeavoring to get word of the happenings to their absent President, and, through him, to the Rogue Queen.
So Grimes, as soon as the last stitch had been made in the last seam of the fabric envelope, lifted ship. Tamara was with him, and Lennay. Grimes had not wanted either of them along on what might well be a suicide mission but they had insisted on accompanying him.
Little Sister moved slowly out of the vast hangar, lifted into the evening sky, drab in her disguise, harmless looking. The crowd that had gathered watched in silence. There were no cheers, no singing. Yet Grimes could feel the emotion of those who were, in some odd way, his worshippers. There was the unvoiced prayer that Samz and Delur would overthrow the invaders from outside, the unspoken hope that the Old Religion would once more hold sway on this world, that the joyless faith that had supplanted it would itself be supplanted.
Grimes sat at his controls, Tamara beside him. Lennay stood behind them. The view from the ports was circumscribed; there were only concealed peepholes in the camouflaging envelope. This was of no great importance; radar would suffice for pilotage. Grimes set course, put the ship on to a heading that would bring her to Kahtrahn, the capital city of Desaba. He had received no intelligence that Baroom was there but he knew that this wa
s where he would find the Rogue Queen. He knew, too, that the outcome of the battle would be determined by his own skills. Samz, for all his power, his omniscience, was only a local deity and, insofar as technology was concerned, knew no more than those whose faith had given him being. Grimes switched over to the auto-pilot. He said that he was going down into the gondola. Tamara said that she would catch the opportunity for some sleep. Lennay accompanied Grimes. A ladder had been rigged from the open airlock door to the control car of the dummy airship. This had not been fitted out; there was neither compass nor altimeter and the wheels that would have been used by the altitude and steering coxswains were still with other equipment back in the hangar. The wide windows were glazed, however, although nobody had thought to clean the tough glass before lift-off. Nonetheless, thought Grimes, he was getting a better view from here than he had been from the pinnace’s control room. He looked out and down to the dark landscape, to the distant clusters of lights that were towns and villages. Ahead the Maruan Range was a darker shadow against the dark sky. Little Sister would find her own way over the mountains without a human hand at her controls; nonetheless Grimes decided that he would prefer to do that piece of pilotage himself. He had time, however, to complete his inspection of the gondola. He made his unimpeded way aft; no partitions had yet been set up at the time of the requisitioning of the airship. Lennay followed him. He looked at the engine and at the motionless airscrew. The motor was completely enclosed in a cylindrical casing from which pipes led to the tanks of pressurized hydrogen. There were dials, meaningless to Grimes, wheel valves and levers. He asked Lennay, “Can you start this thing?”
“Yes, Captain. But surely it is not necessary.”
Galactic Courier: The John Grimes Saga III Page 12
