'Just about,' said Ogg. 'The men have to collapse the other tents and get the heavy stuff through.'
T think it would be wise to leave the rest of the jeeps behind,' Orelli said. 'The professor's prediction appears to have been accurate.'
Ogg frowned. 'Accurate?'
'Outside,' Orelli waved a hand. 'Outside. Look outside.'
Faustaff and Ogg went to the entrance of the tent and looked. A great, troubled expanse of purple-blue radiance filled the horizon, growing rapidly. Its edges touched a blackness more absolute than the blackness of outer space. The grey ash had ceased to fall and the ground close by had lost its original appearance. Instead it was beginning to seethe with colour.
Wordlessly Ogg and Faustaff flung themselves back towards the tunneller. Orelli was no longer in the tent. Evidently he hadn't waited for them. The tunnel was beginning to look unsteady, as if about to close. Faustaff followed Ogg into it, feeling sick as he remembered Peppiatt's death earlier. The grey walls flickered and threatened to break. He moved on, not walking or propelling himself by any normal means, but drifting near-
weightlessly until, with relief, he found himself standing on a rocky mountain slope at night time, a big, full moon above him.
Silhouetted in the darkness, other figures stood around on the mountain side. Faustaff recognised the outlines of Ogg and Orelli.
Faustaff felt infinitely depressed. E-15 would soon be nothing more than fast-dissipating gas.
Even the salvagers seemed moved by their experience. They stood around in silence with only their breathing to be heard. In the valley below Faustaff could now make out a few lights, probably those of the salvagers' camps. He was not sure where his camp was in relation to his own base on E-11.
Faustaff saw a couple of men begin to climb down the slope, feeling their way carefully. Others followed and soon the whole party was beginning to pick its way down towards the camp, Faustaff in the rear.
At length they got to the valley and paused. Faustaff could now see that there were two camps—one at either side of the short valley.
Ogg put his hand on the professor's arm. 'Come with me, professor. We'll go to my camp. In the morning I'll take you to your base here.'
Orelli gave a mock salute. 'Bon voyage, professor.' He led his men towards his own camp. 'I will see you tomorrow on the matter of spoil-division, Gordon.'
'Very well,' Ogg said.
Ogg's camp on E-ll had the same impermanent air as the hastily abandoned one on E-15. Ogg took Faustaff to his personal quarters and had an extra bed brought in for him.
They were both exhausted and were soon asleep in spite of the thoughts that must have occupied both their minds.
6
Steifflomeis on a Mountain
Just after dawn Faustaff was awakened by the sounds of activity in Gordon Ogg's camp. Ogg was no longer in the tent and Faustaff heard his voice calling orders to his men. It sounded like another panic. Faustaff wondered what this one could be.
He went outside as soon as he could and saw Ogg supervising the packing up of tents. A tunneller stood in the open air, and the salvager technicians were working at it.
'You're going through to another world,' Faustaff said as he reached Ogg. 'What's happening?'
'We've had word of good pickings on E-3,' Ogg said, stroking his moustache and not looking directly at Faustaff. 'A small U.M.S. was corrected near Saint Louis—but parts of the city were affected and abandoned. We can just get there before the situation's properly under control.'
'Who told you this?'
Ogg said: 'One of our agents. We have quite good communications equipment, too, you know, professor.'
Faustaff rubbed his jaw. 'Any chance of coming through your tunnel with you?'
Ogg shook his head. 'I think we've done you enough favours now, professor. We're leaving Orelli's share of the
loot behind us. You'll have to make some sort of deal with him. Be careful, though.'
Faustaff would be careful. He felt somewhat vulnerable, being left to the doubtful mercies of Orelli, yet he had no intention of pressing Ogg to let him through the tunnel to E-3. He watched numbly as the salvagers got their equipment and themselves through the subspacial tunnel and then witnessed the peculiar effect as the tunneller itself was drawn through the tunnel it had created. Within seconds of the tunneller's disappearance, Faustaff was alone amongst the refuse of Gordon Ogg's camp.
Ogg had left him behind knowing that he ran fifty per cent risk of being killed outright by the malicious Orelli. Perhaps in Ogg's mind this was a fair chance. Faustaff didn't stop to wonder about Ogg's psychology. Instead he began to walk away from the camp towards the mountains. He had decided to try to make his way to his own base rather than trust Orelli.
By midday Faustaff had sweated his way through two crooked canyons and half-way up a mountain. He slept for an hour before continuing. His intention was to reach the upper slopes of the mountain, which was not particularly hard to climb and there was no snow to impair his progress. Once there, he would be able to get a better idea of where he was and plan his route. He knew that his base lay somewhere to the north-east of where he was, but it could be half-way around the world. Barren, and a 11-but completely covered by bleak mountain ranges though it might be, this planet was still Earth, with the same approximate size as Earth. Unless his base was fairly close, he couldn't give himself very good odds on his surviving for much more than a week. He still consoled himself that he was better off here than with Orelli and that there was a slim chance of search parties being sent out for him, though probably he was already thought to have been killed. That was the worst part of it.
Without being self-important, he was aware that with him dead there was a good chance of his organisation losing heart. Though he did little but co-ordinate his various teams and advise where he could, he was an important figure-head. He was more than that—he was the dynamic for the organisation. Without him it might easily forget its purpose and turn its attention away from the real reason for its existence, the preservation of human life.
Sweating and exhausted Faustaff at last reached a point less than thirty feet from the mountain peak where he could look out over what seemed to be an infinity of crags. There were none he recognised. He must be several hundred miles from his base.
He sat down on the comparatively gradual slope and tried to reason out his predicament. Before long, he fell asleep.
He awoke in the evening to the sound of a muted cough behind him. Turning, unbelievingly, towards this human sound, he saw with some astonishment the dapper figure of Steifflomeis sitting on a rock just above him.
'Good evening, Professor Faustaff,' Steifflomeis smiled, his black eyes gleaming with ambiguous humour. 'I find this view a trifle boring, don't you?'
Faustaffs depression left him and he laughed at the ludicrousness of this encounter. Steifflomeis seemed bewildered for a second.
'Why do you laugh?'
Faustaff continued to laugh, shaking his large head slowly. 'Here we were,' he said, 'with no human habitation to speak of in hundreds of miles ...'
'That's so, professor. But ...'
'And you are going to try and pass this meeting off as coincidence. Where are you on your way to now, Herr Steifflomeis? Paris? Are you just waiting here while you change planes?'
Steifflomeis smiled again. 'I suppose not. In fact I had a great deal of difficulty locating you after E-15 was
eliminated. I believe E -15 is your term for that particular Earth simulation.'
'It is. Simulation, eh? What does that mean?'
'Alternate, if you like.'
'You're something to do with the D-squads, aren't you?'
'There is some sort of link between myself and the Demolition squads—an apt term that. Coined by your father wasn't it?'
'I think so. Well, what is the link? What are the D-squads? Who do they work for?'
T didn't take the trouble of visiting this planet just to answer your questio
ns, professor. You know, you and your father have caused my principals a great deal of trouble. You would never believe how much.' Steifflomeis smiled. 'That is why I am so reluctant to carry out their orders concerning you.'
'Who are your "principals"—what orders?'
'They are very powerful people indeed, professor. Their orders were for me to kill you or otherwise make you powerless to continue interfering in their plans.'
'You seem to approve of the trouble I have caused them,' Faustaff said. 'You're opposed to them, then? Some sort of—of double-agent? You're on my side?'
'On the contrary, professor—your aims and theirs have many similarities. I am opposed to both of you. To them, there is some purpose in all this creation and destruction. To me, there is none. I feel that everything should die—slowly, sweetly rotting away ...' Steifflomeis smiled, more wistfully this time. 'But I am a dutiful employee. I must carry out their orders in spite of my own aesthetic fancies ...'
Faustaff laughed, once again struck by the comedy of Steifflomeis's affectation. 'You are in love with death, then?'
Steifflomeis seemed to take the question as a statement carrying some sort of censure.
'And you, professor, are in love with life. Life, what is more, that is imperfect, crude, half-formed. Give me the
overwhelming simplicity of death to thatV
'Yours seems a somewhat adolescent rejection of the tangle of being alive,' Faustaff said, half to himself. 'You could try to relax a bit—take it more as it comes.'
Steifflomeis frowned, his assurance leaving him even more, while Faustaff, calm, for some reason, and in fairly good spirits, pondered on what Steifflomeis had said.
'I think you are a fool, Professor Faustaff, a buffoon. I am not the adolescent, believe me. My lifespan makes yours seem like the life-span of a mayfly. You are naive, not I.'
'Do you get no enjoyment from being alive, then?'
'My only pleasure comes from experiencing the decay of the universe. It is dying, professor. I have lived long enough to see it dying.'
'If that is true, does it matter to you or me?' Faustaff asked bemusedly. 'Everything dies eventually—but that shouldn't stop us enjoying life while it is there to be enjoyed.'
'But it has no purpose!' shouted Steifflomeis, standing up. 'No purpose! It is all meaningless. Look at you, how you spend your time, fighting a losing battle to preserve this little planet or that—for how long? Why do you do it?'
'It seems worthwhile. Have you no. sympathy, then, for the people who are destroyed when a .planet breaks up? It's a shame that they shouldn't have the chance to live as long as possible.'
'But to what use do they put their stupid lives? They are dull, fuddled, materialistic, narrow—life gives them no real pleasure. The majority do not even appreciate the art that the best of them have produced. They are dead already. Hasn't that occurred to you?'
Faustaff debated this. 'Their pleasures are perhaps a little limited, I'd agree. But they do enjoy themselves, most of them. And living is enough in itself. It is not just the pleasure of life that makes it worthwhile, you know.'
'You talk like one of them. Their amusements are vulgar, their thinking obtuse. They are not worth wasting time for.
You are a brilliant man. Your mind is tuned to appreciating things they could never appreciate. Even their misery is mean and limited. Let the simulations die, professor—let the inhabitants die with them!'
Again Faustaff shook his head in bemused amusement. 'I can't follow you, Herr Steifflomeis.'
'Do you expect their gratitude for this stupid dedication of yours?'
'Of course not. They don't realise what's going on, most of them. I am a little arrogant, I suppose, now that you mention it, to interfere in this way. But I am not a thinking man in most spheres, Herr Steifflomeis.' He laughed. 'You might be right—I am probably something of a buffoon.'
Steifflomeis seemed to pull himself together, as if Faustaff s admission had restored his assurance.
'Well, then,' he said lightly. 'Will you agree to let the planets die, as they must?'
'Oh, I'll continue to do what I can, I think. Assuming I don't starve out here, or fall off a mountain. This conversation is a little bit hypothetical when you consider my circumstances, isn't it?' he grinned.
It seemed rather incongruous to Faustaff that at that point Steifflomeis should reach into his jacket and take a gun out.
'You puzzle me, I admit,' said Steifflomeis. 'And I should like to watch you caper a little more. But since the moment is convenient and I have tiresome orders to carry out, I think I will kill you now.'
Faustaff sighed. 'It would probably be better than starving,' he admitted, wondering if there was any chance of making a dash at Steifflomeis.
7
Cardinal Orelli's Camp
In a manner that was at once studied and awkward, Steifflomeis pointed the gun at Faustaff s head while the professor tried to think of the best action to take. He could rush Steifflomeis or throw himself to one side, risking falling off the mountain ledge. It would be best to rush him.
He probably would not have succeeded if Steifflomeis hadn't looked up at the moment he ran forward, crouching to keep as much of his great bulk out ,of the line of, fire as possible. Steifflomeis had been distracted by the sound of a helicopter engine above him.
Faustaff knocked Steifflomeis's gun to one side and it went off with a bang that echoed around the peaks. He hit Steifflomeis in the stomach and the bearded man went down, the gun falling out of his hand.
Faustaff picked up the gun and levelled it at Steifflomeis.
Steifflomeis frowned and gasped in pain. It was obvious that he expected Faustaff to kill him and a peculiar expression came into his eyes, a kind of introspective fear.
The helicopter was nearer. Faustaff heard it behind him and wondered who the pilot was. The noise of its engine became louder and louder until it deafened him. His clothes were ruffled by the breeze created by its rotors. He began to
sidle round Steifflomeis, keeping him covered, so he could see the occupant of the helicopter,
There were two. One of them, wearing a smile of infinite cruelty, was the red-robed Cardinal Orelli, his laser rifle pointing casually at Faustaff s stomach. The other was a nondescript pilot in brown overalls and helmet.
Orelli shouted something through the roar of the motor, but Faustaff couldn't hear what he was saying. Steifflomeis got up from the ground and looked curiously at Orelli. Momentarily Faustaff felt more closely allied to Steifflomeis than to Orelli. Then he realised that both were his enemies and that Steifflomeis was much more likely to side with Orelli. Orelli must have come looking specifically for him, Faustaff decided, watching the pilot skilfully bring the helicopter down on the slope a little below him. Orelli's rifle was still pointing at him.
The engine noise died and Orelli climbed from the cockpit to the ground, walking up towards them, the fixed, cruel smile still on his lips.
'We missed you, professor,' he said. 'We were expecting you at our camp much earlier. You lost your way, eh?'
Faustaff could see that Orelli had guessed the truth; that he had deliberately chosen to enter the mountains rather than join the malicious ex-clergyman.
'I haven't had the pleasure,' said Orelli, turning a warier smile on Steifflomeis.
'Steifflomeis,' said Steifflomeis looking quizzical. 'And you are ... ?'
'Cardinal Orelli. Professor Faustaff calls me a "salvager". Where are you from, Mr Steifflomeis?'
Steifflomeis pursed his lips. T am something of a wanderer,' he said. 'Here today, gone tomorrow, you know.'
'I see. Well, we can chat at my camp. It is more comfortable there.'
Faustaff realised that there was little point to arguing. Orelli kept him and Steifflomeis covered as they walked
down to the helicopter and climbed in, squeezing into the scarcely adequate back seats. With the gun cradled in his arms so that the snout pointed in their general direction over his shou
lder, Orelli settled himself in the seat next to the pilot and closed the door.
The helicopter took the air again, banked and began to fly back in the direction from which it had come. Faustaff, grateful for his reprieve, though expecting a worse fate, perhaps, from Orelli, who hated him, looked down at the grim mountains that stretched, range upon range, in all directions.
Quite soon he recognised the valley, and Orelli's camp came into sight, the collection of grey dome-tents hard to make out against the scrub of the valley floor.
The helicopter descended a short distance from the camp and landed with a bump. Orelli climbed out and signalled for Steifflomeis and Faustaff to go ahead of him. They got down on to the ground and began to walk towards the camp, Orelli humming faintly what sounded like a Gregorian chant. He seemed in good spirits.
At Orelli's signal they bent their heads and entered his tent. It was made of material that permitted them to see outside without being visible the.mselves. There was a machine in the centre of the tent and Faustaff recognised it. He had also seen, once before, the two bodies that lay beside it.
'You recognise them?' Orelli asked casually, going to a large metal chest in one corner of the tent and producing a bottle and glasses. 'A drink? Wine only, I'm afraid.'
'Thank you,' said Faustaff, but Steifflomeis shook his head.
Orelli handed Faustaff a glass filled to the brim with red wine. 'St Emilion, 1953—from Earth Two,' he said. T think you'll find it pleasant.'
Faustaff tasted it and nodded.
'Do you recognise them?' Orelli repeated.
'The bodies—they're D-squaders, aren't they?' Faustaff said. 'I saw some like them on E-15. And the machine looks like a disrupter. I suppose you have plans to use it in some way, Orelli.'
'None as yet, but doubtless I shall have. The D-squaders are not dead, you know. They have been at a constant temperature ever since we found them. We must have passed through that camp of theirs on E-15 shortly before you. The body temperature is low, but not that low. Yet they aren't breathing. Suspended animation?'
The Rituals of Infinity Page 6
