Fire Time

by Poul Anderson

  ‘Still on deck,’ Larreka said, as they do in Haelen. ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, we, we’re all right – went for a sunset walk, and we’re sitting on a hilltop watching the dale underneath fill up with twilight – but, Uncle, you’re being attacked!’

  ‘They’ve gotten small joy of it so far,’ Larreka said.

  ‘So far?’ she pounced. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘More of the same. What else?’

  Silence buzzed. Maybe Jill and Ian whispered to each other. Or maybe not. This room on this evening was of all the world the most eerily unreal place to be in. When she spoke at last, her tone was hard: ‘How long can you hold out?’

  ‘Why, that depends–’ Larreka said.

  A legionary obscenity cut him off. ‘I quizzed your technie while we waited for you. No help is coming. Right? You haven’t even had us, for what bit of good we might’ve done. Uncle, I know you, and God in heaven damn it, I claim soldier’s privilege – you level with me.’

  ‘I thought we might simply gab for a spell,’ Larreka said into the cold countenances of instruments and controls.

  ‘I’m beyond the age where a piece of candy will do me,’ Jill said. ‘Listen, I know. The rest of the Gathering has written you off. Supposing they did change their minds about what it’s worth to hold Valennen, as you hoped they would if you held out – supposing that, they’re too late. Arnanak’s outsmarted them. My people are … paralyzed, or leashed by their own Navy. Your retreat is blocked and, since you won’t surrender, you’re to be annihilated. Arnanak was quite frank about that to both Ian and me. Your aim now is to make your annihilation so expensive that civilization gets a breathing space. Right?’ Jill’s voice broke across. ‘God damn it, I repeat, we can’t let the thing be!’

  ‘All die at last, dear,’ he told her in a surge of gentleness. ‘Look at it this way: I’m spared watching that happen to you.’

  The shaken answer came: ‘Ian and I have decided we’ll get them off their asses in Primavera … somehow. … Ian, we will!’ After she had shuddered, she spoke steadily. ‘Keep this circuit available to us. Stand by for a patch-in to Hanshaw’s office at any hour. You savvy?’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ Larreka asked. A fear sharpened his words.

  ‘We don’t know yet. Something.’

  ‘You must not risk yourselves. That’s an order, soldier.’

  ‘Not to save Port Rua?’

  Larreka stared into the abyss before he remembered how he had sent the chief of cohort off on a fire ship, and Jill had always liked to think of herself as attached to the Zera Victrix. ‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘check with me beforehand, okay?’

  ‘Okay, old dear,’ she whispered.

  Sparling’s dry, abashed tone: ‘Uh, considering drain on batteries, we’d better stick to immediate practicalities. Have you any estimate of how long you can hold out unaided?’

  ‘Till sometime between tomorrow morning and the fall equinox. It involves a clutch of imponderables,’ Larreka said, while he thought what a grand mate for Jill this Ian would have been if twenty years didn’t make such a grotesquely big difference to humans. ‘Eventually they’ll cross our barriers and breach our walls. We can’t shoot that many fast enough to prevent it. But if we inflict heavy casualties early in the game, Arnanak may elect to go slow, spending fewer males he’ll be wanting later on. Once they are inside, we’ll make them capture the town house by house.’ He pondered. ‘Ng-ng, split the difference and call thirty-two days a reasonable guess.’

  ‘No more than that?’ Sparling asked low. ‘Well … we’ll have to think and act fast. I may already have the germ of an idea. Luck be yours, Larreka.’

  Across the wilderness and those same two decades, little girl Jill said, ‘Smoo-oo-ooch.’ The connection broke instantly – lest he hear her crying, Larreka thought.

  He turned to Irazen, who had waited. ‘Anything further to report to me?’ he inquired.

  ‘Nothing important, sir,’ his second replied.

  ‘I want a nap. Action should resume shortly after first moonrise. Call me then.’

  Larreka sought his quarters. They had been Meroa’s too, and still held things of hers and memories. As he doffed his armor, he stood before a photograph of the two of them and their latest child at the time, taken by a man in the early years of Primavera. Jacob Zopf had died a bachelor, his own race had no more memory of him than lay in their archives, but whenever she visited there, Meroa tended the Earth flowers she had planted on the grave of her friend. Well, you’re that sort, Larreka thought to her.

  He stretched flat on his left side because he had the double mattress to himself, closed his eyes, and wondered what to dream about. Fun and fantasy were probably wisest – let him, say, have wings and see what happened. It could be too saddening to wake with a mindful of ghosts. And yet, how much longer did he have for living back through the past and his might-have-beens? If he wanted a good death dream, he ought to start planning and experimenting now. Of course, he might not get killed in any way that let him depart from existence in the style and company he wanted. … ‘Ah, damn,’ he growled, concentrated on the wedding of Jill and Ian, and drowsed off into a feast which turned out riotously merry.

  Seroda roused him by lamplight as per orders. The barbarians ashore were on the move again. Their galleys had raised anchor and were headed from midstream to the fishery dock. They had made no attempt against the larger ship that stood a ways off from them; doubtless they supposed its crew merely watched for an unlikely chance to slip past their fellows in the bay.

  ‘Okay, I’ll be along,’ Larreka said through what was half a yawn, half a chuckle at things which had happened at his dream party. Seroda gave him a bowl of soup and helped him back into his battle kit. He left HQ in a cheerful mood. Who knew, maybe his friends really would find a way to bail him out.

  The assault on shore shouldn’t bring any surprises that officers on the spot couldn’t handle. The riverside was less predictable, more interesting. Larreka hied there. From a bartizan above the gate, he observed.

  Caelestia had cleared the western hills and was rapidly swinging up among the stars. To him it looked like a red shield curiously emblazoned. Its light spilled through the hot air, across the barren land, sullen until it struck the water; then it suddenly turned silver-cool, a trembling bridge. The barbarian craft moved black across that glade. When they docked, the yells of their crews rent whatever peace had been in this night.

  The trick would be to keep them busy till the fire ship arrived – same as they were supposed to keep the legion amused while their comrades hit the opposite end of town. Across moonlit roofs, Larreka heard the racket of that attack.

  Bows droned, missiles whistled. Only those invaders stopped who were struck. The rest advanced in zigzag dashes, hard for sight to follow among shadows. Many carried torches, which streamed and sparked from their haste.

  Behind them, sails loomed phantomlike, limned by flames. The crash when ship smote dock went on through ground and bones. The blaze roared outward. Yet the Valenneners, however dismayed they might be, didn’t break and run. They struggled over the earthworks to the bottom of the stockade; they poured oil out of leather bottles onto the timber, and their brands kindled it.

  Did Arnanak deliberately fool me into thinking this was a diversion? Chaos, this is the main event! ‘Out, out!’ Larreka bawled. ‘Sally – shove ’em back – before the whole wall burns!’

  He pounded down the ramp and to the gate. Sword unsheathed, he led his troopers forth.

  Metal sang upon metal. The barbarians rushed in, recklessly brave, hewing, hewing. Outnumbered, the legionaries stayed behind their shields and worked. They drove a wedge into the enemy that warded those of them who doused the fires. Then reserve forces reached the scene, and the soldiers could advance. Step by step, stab by stab, they drove the foe back down to the burning ships and the tides beyond.

  ‘Good lads!’ Larreka cheered. ‘Come on, finish ’em
off, in the name of the Zera!’

  A blow rocked him. Pain forked from his right eye. Darkness followed. He dropped the Haelen blade and fumbled at the shaft in his head. ‘Already?’ he asked aloud. Amazement gave way to a whirling and thundering. His legs crumpled beneath him. A trooper crouched close. Larreka paid no heed. In the red light of moon and flames, he called on the strength he had left, before it ebbed wholly away, to help him dream what short small death dream he could.

  XXI

  Massive-walled, the room in the Tower of the Books was almost cool. Twinned sunlight slanted through windows curtained by strings of glass beads, to break in multitudinous hues on the stone floor. The same colors brightened the air, butterfly-like entomoids around Jerassa’s mane. The scholar stood at a table whereon he had unrolled a parchment from the full shelves which lined this chamber. His English was precise to the verge of pedantry; but no Ishtarian could help turning language into music:

  ‘Here are diagrams of various muscle-powered vessels in use when humans arrived. They may still be found in some areas. The problem is, you see, my kind may be individually stronger than yours, but we are considerably larger too. Fewer rowers, or crew-folk of any sort, can fit into a given hull. How best to apply available force?’ He pointed. ‘This shows a supporting framework and system of sockets which enable forefeet as well as hands to work on an oar. And this shows a treadmill to drive paddle wheels or, in later models, a screw. But such devices are inefficient, and apt to break down when good steel is not present to withstand torque. The Valenneners and Fiery Sea islanders therefore combine fore-and-aft sails with ordinary oars, making a craft highly maneuverable though of limited displacement. We South Beronneners, as you may have noticed, favor large square-riggers. They have the drawback of sluggish response – for, in spite of arrangements like bosun’s chairs and ankle hooks, the crews cannot get about aloft as readily as you.

  ‘Since your emissaries have taught us improved metallurgy, designers have been experimenting with propellers turned by windmills. In due course, naturally, we hope to build engines, but as yet the industrial base for that is absent and now, given periastron, we will scarcely establish any for centuries.’

  He did not add, We could, if Primavera were again free to help us survive. There was no hint of reproach in the rich, sober voice. But Dejerine, standing beside him, winced.

  ‘Those are exquisite just as drawings,’ the human managed to say, quite truthfully. ‘And the … the brains, the determination, to accomplish this much when Anu forever returns–’

  All at once it must out. ‘Why have you received me?’ he asked. ‘Why do your people keep on being friendly to my men, when their own breed in town won’t speak to them?’

  Jerassa’s eyes, which were golden, met his in calmness. ‘What would we accomplish by a freezeout of lonely youngsters, save to fence ourselves off from the many interesting things they can tell? Most of us are aware they had no choice about their purpose here. The Primaveran community hopes to exert influence on your ultimate leaders, through you, by withholding the skills – and the kinship – you need. We possess neither.’

  Dejerine swallowed. ‘You’ve certainly won our sympathy,’ he admitted. ‘For your plight; for the marvels we’d lose if your civilization died.’ And I too am brought to wonder about the war in space. Is it worth the cost and agony? Is it winnable ever? Is … it … even … any proper business of Earth’s? ‘But we have our duty.’

  ‘I belong to a legion,’ Jerassa reminded him.

  The Ishtarian was about to resume his discussion of Sehala’s pre-discoverey scientific and technological status, when Dejerine’s com buzzed. He hauled the flat case from his tunic pocket, pressed accept, and barked into it: ‘Yes? What now?’

  ‘Lieutenant Majewski here, sir,’ the Spanish came, tinny by contrast. ‘Police Intelligence. I’m sorry to disturb you on your day off, but this is urgent.’

  ‘Ah, yes, you’re assigned to keeping track of our good local citizens. Proceed.’ Unease went along Dejerine’s backbone.

  ‘You’ll recall, sir, they had accumulated a large stock of explosives for their projects. We left it in the storehouse under seal. After friction got bad, I decided to install a radio alarm, unbeknownst to them, and did under guise of rechecking the inventory. Shortly before dawn today, it rang. Unfortunately, we had nobody near town – well, the burglars would have made sure of that. By the time I could flit there with a squad from base, the job was done. Very professionally. The seal showed no visible sign of tampering. The interior looked so usual, too, that we had to count practically every object to find that ten cases of tordenite and fifty blasting cells were gone.’

  Dejerine whistled.

  ‘Yes, high-powered technicians were at work,’ Majewski continued. ‘As for the reason why nobody was stationed in town – they’d have received the alarm signal as soon as my office did. But Mayor Hanshaw had asked them to help search for a flyer that had called to say a storm was forcing it down in the Stony Mountains. Well, sir, your orders are to grant any reasonable request. They all four went. A wild goose chase, I suspect but can’t prove.’

  ‘This is crazy!’ Dejerine protested. ‘Hanshaw wouldn’t get involved with saboteurs. … Does he know you know about the burglary?’

  ‘He asked why we were back in the storehouse. I thought I’d better consult you, and gave him a vague story about possibly unsafe conditions having been reported. He raised his eyebrows but made no comment.’

  ‘Good man, Majewski. I’ll see this gets into your career file. Pro tempore, you and your group stay in quarters and answer no questions. I’m on my way.’

  Dejerine clicked off, mumbled an apology to Jerassa, and hastened out. Unseasonably, the day sweltered. Thunder-heads towered black in the west. Light elsewhere seemed a still angrier red than before. He was glad to enter his vehicle and lift it.

  On the short hop to Primavera, he called Hanshaw. It was a relief to find the mayor at home. No matter how unlikely, apocalyptic visions had jittered in the Earthman’s brain. ‘Dejerine here. I must see you at once.’

  ‘Ye-es, Captain, I was sort of expecting you. Best we keep talk between the two of us, huh?’

  Dejerine parked outside the house. Two passersby stared through him. He clattered into its shaded shelter. Stiff-faced, Olga Hanshaw brought him to the living room and closed that door as she departed. Her husband’s big-bellied form occupied an armchair near a recorder. He didn’t rise, but he lifted a hand and smiled slightly around a cigar. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Squat yourself.’

  Dejerine gave him a soft salute and tensed down into a seat opposite. In English: ‘I’ve just gotten terrible news.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sir, please allow me to be blunt. This is too serious for pussyfooting. Stolen high explosives, and reason to believe you may have connived at the theft.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it stealing. The stuff belongs to us.’

  ‘Then you admit guilt?’

  ‘Wouldn’t call it guilt either.’

  ‘That material was sequestered for Navy use. Sir, in spite of our disagreements, I never imagined you might get involved in treason.’

  ‘Aw, come on.’ Hanshaw let out a blue reek of smoke. ‘I do admit I’d hoped we could operate on the QT. You had the place gimmicked, hey? But relax. We’re not giving aid and comfort to enemies of Earth. And you’ll never miss that smidgin we, uh, reappropriated.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Off in the boondocks, along with a few technies and their apparatus. I can’t tell you where; didn’t want to know, in case you interrogated me. You’ve no way of arresting them till they’ve completed their mission. And – Yuri, I foresee your grabbing any excuse you can, to let them off the hook.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Dejerine clamped fists together on knees.

  ‘I think we should play back a conversation of mine a couple of days ago.’ Beneath Hanshaw’s easy drawl dwelt bleakness. ‘I always record such things. You
recall the situation in Valennen? Jill Conway and Ian Sparling prisoners in the outback, and Port Rua under near-as-damn continuous storm by what looks like every brave in the continent.’

  A twisting went through Dejerine. Jill – ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘When Ian went there, he smuggled in a microcom, and brought relays for the soldiers to distribute which’d connect him to Port Rua. And therefore to us, if occasion demanded.’

  ‘You never told me!’ Dejerine exclaimed. He felt sick with hurt.

  ‘Well, you’re a busy man,’ Hanshaw grunted.

  Dejerine thought of streets where he walked like a ghost, and work in the desert slowed to a crawl, and the hours he spent composing reports euphemistic enough to stay the Federation’s hand from Primavera for at least a while. ‘Didn’t you think I’d be interested? Why, those two – they may have turned from me, but I am still their friend–’

  Again Jill rode over the valley, the long hair aflow in her speed; again she jested and discoursed and showed him wonders which her eagerness about them turned into miracles; again she fed him in the amiable clutter of her home, and played and sang to him under the high stars of her planet. Again she came back when he lay sleepless, alone at night. Again he swore wearily at himself for being an adolescent inside, then claimed he wasn’t really infatuated – attracted, as any normal man would be, but no more than a brief acquaintance would cause – besides, one should allow for a loneliness that other encounters, in bed and out, had never filled since Eleanor left.

  Dejerine stiffened in a lift of anger. ‘If you are quite through punishing me,’ he said, ‘you can turn on that recording.’

  ‘Touché,’ Hanshaw conceded. His expression turned warmer. ‘Understand, because of limited battery they hadn’t contacted us directly before. Through Port Rua we heard they were in good health and spirits, well treated, on a sort of estate in the western uplands. I did pass on word about the strike, since that might conceivably affect their plans or actions. Then day before yesterday I got a call straight from them.’