Galactic Empires 2, page 18
Moana gasped, sudden understanding waking her mind. The Hierarch brushed her with his eyes and sighed.
‘Tandor is free. I fulfill my promises. You tried and failed, yet you tried. Now—’
He paused, fingertips pressed together, brooding down at Angus.
‘Many thousands of eons ago, before our race came into existence, all Karr belonged to the Elder Race. It lived a long time on this world, before it went on.’
Angus grinned, ‘Your priest said that. You and he mean—’
The Hierarch spoke patiently, as if lecturing a child. ‘It did not die out. It went on, to another plane of existence. Everything must progress. That is the immutable law of nature. The First Race progressed, far beyond our understanding, beyond the natural laws as we know them. They exist today—somewhere outside.
‘Stasor, now. Take him, for instance.’ The Hierarch flicked burning black eyes at Moana. ‘Some think he is a god. He is a member of the Elder Race.’
Moana said harshly. ‘Blasphemy! You speak blasphemy of Stasor.’
The Hierarch shrugged. ‘I tell you Stasor is a four-plane man, one not bound by our three dimensions. He and his kind have gone on to that other world. They left behind them rules to guide those who came after them. They left the pools. They were a great race, the Elders, and the black pools are their greatest discovery. Those rules they gave us are contained in the Book of Nard. I want that book!’
‘Why?’
The Hierarch smiled gently. ‘With the secrets of the Elders at my fingertips do you think the Diktor could keep us penned here in the Citadel?’
A faint hope burned in Angus’ chest. ‘You mean, you wouldn’t be cloistered any more? That you’d give your science to the people and help them up?’
‘Pah!’ snapped the Hierarch. ‘The people? Pigs! They wallow in their filths and love it.’ His burning black eyes glittered fanatically. ‘No. I mean I—and not the Diktor—will rule all Karr!’
He is mad, too, thought Angus. He and the Diktor—mad with the lust for power. If the Diktor dies and the Hierarch rules the people will change a bootheel for a mortar and pestle. Even the stars must revolt against that.
II
The street was dark, except for the moonlight shining faintly through the serrated rooftops, and reflected grey and dismal from the rounded edges of the cobblestones. Angus and a cowled man made a short dash, ran into the shadows, and trotted at a slow pace. Above them a sign creaked on rusty chains. Angus looked behind at the huge stone bulk of the Citadel where it rose from solid rock, wall piled on wall, and turret on tower, and battlement upon bastion. Beyond the Citadel the thin, delicate spires of the palaces towered above the clean, fragrantly perfumed Upper City. Up above, there was no swill. There was no stench of rotting garbage. The patricians did not know what roast derstite looked like on a greasy platter, or how broiled colob smelled or what awful stuff the vintners sold in the big Mart.
Angus said, ‘I still don’t see why the Hierarch bothers sending me after the Book. He has a lot of scientists who’d do a better job of finding it.’
The lips of the man twisted in the darkness of the cowl. ‘How do you think the Diktor keeps us penned in the Citadel, red-man? He has spectragrams of each of us in his palace, attached to central controls. Every once in a while he has his captains check on our locations. When the vibratory beams touch us, they reflect our spectrums on the visi-screens. If one of us is out of place—beyond the limits of Karr City, that is—he sends a patrol to find and capture us. We lost several good men that way before we grew resigned. Once a scientist is captured by the Diktor he is destroyed. Instantly.’
Isn’t there anyone else to help you?’
The scientist showed his disdain by a twitch of the lips. ‘Who? One of the people? They’d run so fast to betray us a theto-hound couldn’t catch them. They hate the Diktor, but I think they hate us more.’
Behind them the shadow of a man with a zigzag scar on his face disengaged himself from beneath an overhanging cornice and silently followed.
Angus and the scientist went through the narrow streets, down stone steps and across a great square. To one side the red lanterns of the Spotted Stag tavern glowed and the shouts and roistering laughter of men mingled with the shrill excited laughter of a woman.
The scientist glanced about him nervously, wet his lips with his tongue. ‘I don’t like this section. It’s too near the wharves. There are other rats than the four-legged kind.’
A blackish, blunt instrument in the hand of a half-naked man bounced from the skull of the cowled one. Angus went forward, left hand hooking. He caught the big man on the side of the mouth and drove his head sideways. His right fist was crossing as his left landed. He hit the man with his right hand and the man went backwards into a brick wall.
‘Easy, Angus,’ growled a voice in back of him, with a hint of laughter in it.
Angus whirled, teeth bared. When he saw the bald head of the giant in front of him he laughed harshly.
‘By the gods! Tandor. The Hierarch did keep his promise, then!’
‘We heard you’d missed killing that scum that lives in the palace by an inch. Tsk! The Hierarch felt that, with luck, Stal Tay would be dead by now. He let me go, yes. As soon as he learned that you and that priestess were in the black pool.’
Angus bent and threw back the cowl of the scientist. There was a swelling lump on the back of his head. Angus said, ‘I thought you broke his skull when you hit him.’ He looked at the man stirring against the brick wall. ‘Sorry, friend. I thought you a footpad.’
‘Tandor told me you were fast. He wasn’t lying.’ The man grinned ruefully, feeling his jaw.
Tandor shouldered Angus aside and picked up the cowled man. He led the way up through the streets, the limp man’s legs and arms dangling inertly. Tandor asked, ‘Where was he taking you?’
‘To a hidden globe-ship. I’m supposed to find the Book of Nard. The Hierarch is holding Moana as hostage for my success.’
Tandor whistled softly, eyes round. ‘He exchanged me for the girl. A smart man, the High Priest!’
Laughter came out at them from the ill-lighted interior of the tavern together with the dry smell of wine and the stench of sweating flesh. Tandor kicked the oak door open and went along the wall with his burden. A girl with a rag around her middle ran for Angus, tipsily pressing wet lips to his. She threw up a wooden goblet, the red wine splashing over its rim, crying, The Anvil! To Red Angus the Anvil—the only friend we have!’
The roar echoed in his ears as Angus stepped into the little side room. Tandor kicked a chair toward Angus, reaching for a wooden pitcher. He growled, ‘Are you going hunting for the Book?’
Angus stretched out his legs and dragged a full goblet toward him. He stared at the dark liquor. Finally he said, ‘Yes, I’m going.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve seen the way they live in the Upper City. I’ve seen the life they lead and I’ve seen the life those people out there in the big room lead.’
Tandor made a rumbling sound in his throat. ‘You don’t think they’ll appreciate your changing it, do you?’
Angus looked thoughtful. He smiled, ‘I know what our race is heading toward, now. We will be like Stasor—the man behind the veil—eventually. The longer the Diktor stays in power, and others like him, the longer will the rest of us be kept from that goal.’
Tandor grinned like a wolf. ‘Some men like to be martyrs. It’s a weakness of the brain.’ He scowled, and brought the flat of his ham-like hand down on the wooden tabletop. ‘I say it’s madness. Let the Hierarch and the Diktor slit each other’s throats. Let’s go back to the star trails, Angus. Out where a man can breathe and stretch himself.’
Angus shook his head. ‘Take the ship yourself. Go raiding, if you want. I stay. I want to answer a question.’
‘What question?’
‘Why is science?’
‘Why is—You’re crazy, now. I know it. Of all the stupid questions. Science is an art designed to better the life standards of the patrician class. There. That answer you?’
‘I say science is something that should benefit all. Why do we have torches while the Hierarchy and the patricians use illumilamps and incandescent walls? Why don’t we have stoves instead of hearths or electronizers instead of percussion guns?’
Tandor smirked. ‘It’s safer.’
Angus got to his feet and walked about the smoky, oak-beamed room. In the reddish light his chest and thickly muscled arms seemed coated with crimson. The crop of red hair on his rounded, square-jawed skull added to the illusion. He planted his hands on his hips and stood in front of his lieutenant.
‘I turned pirate when the last Diktor executed my father for leniency with his servants. The Diktor said he was undermining governmental discipline. I took my mother and fled into space. I found a safe spot on Yassinan. I built a pirate empire with your help. I’d offer up all that—all the wealth we’ve amassed in Yassinan—to smash the setup here!’
Tandor spat on his hand and rubbed his palm on the flat of his bald dome. He said drily, ‘You make me mad, Angus. You aren’t satisfied with things. Always you have to change them. Isn’t life full enough for you now?’
Angus ignored him. ‘If I could get the Book of Nard and free Moana and take her away to safety we might stand a chance. If we could develop science undisturbed on Yassinan we could do it.’
‘Why fret about Moana?’
‘She became my vow-companion. You know what that means to somebody like the Diktor.’ Angus slapped his broad leather belt decisively. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll go in his globe-ship and try and find the Book. Tandor, you stay here. Raise men to fight for us.’
The big man with the bald head nodded gloomily. He poured wine from the wooden tankard, downed the brimming goblet in one long gulp. He wiped his lips on the palm of his hand and rubbed it dry on his bald head. ‘I hear you. I think you’re mad but I hear you. What are you going to do with that?’
His thumb jerked at the limp scientist in the long cowled robe. Angus shrugged. ‘He’ll come around. When he does I’ll pretend I’ve fought off his assailant. Meanwhile, you find out which globe-ship he means to give me. Can you do that?’
The big man rumbled. ‘Tandor can do anything. I’ll find out without leaving the room.’ He lifted his voice and bellowed. When the door opened and a face peered in, Tandor grinned, ‘Find that wharf-rat Plisket and send him in here.’
Plisket limped in, grinning at Angus, bobbing his head. His eyes opened when he heard what Tandor wanted. He chuckled, The hierarchy plot like a pack of fools. Everybody outside the Citadel hates them. It happens I hate the Diktor more. They gave me gold to build a ship.’
‘The Skimmer?’ asked Tandor. ‘That wonder-boat you were telling me about?’
It is a wonder-boat. It incorporates the—’
‘Never mind the details,’ rapped Angus, leaning his palms on the table. ‘Is that the boat the hierarchy want me to use?’
It must be. It’s the only one unchartered. And Angus—if you are to control it—remember that it will submerge. And it has four speeds, two more than…’
Tandor slapped the table with his palm, making the goblets bounce. ‘Enough, enough. Plisket, your tongue wags like a hound’s tail. Angus, are you ready?’
Angus stretched his tall, heavily shouldered body. He went and bent his lean height over the shallow-breathing scientist and swung him up in a fireman’s hitch. He walked firmly, steadily, as he headed for the oaken door.
The man with the zigzag scar on his cheek drew back into the darkness of a jutting second storey as a door creaked open down the street. His eyes glittered, watching Angus emerge with a cowled body atop a shoulder. The hidden man touched a glittering knob strapped to his wrist, turned the knob and lifted it to his mouth.
Angus did not see him, did not hear him whisper into the voxbeamer. He heaved up, settling the body on his shoulder. He began to trot, with space-devouring strides. He went by the spot where Tandor’s bully had struck down the cowled man. He went ten paces beyond it, and halted. He lowered the man to the ground and began to shake him.
‘Wake up… he didn’t hit you that hard. Come on. Man, stir yourself… that’s better… see me, do you? Who am I? Angus. Good. You’re better? All right… on your feet… I’ll give you a hand.’
The scientist teetered weakly, tried to smile. ‘I told you it was a place for rats. What happened?’
‘I beat him off. I carried you a bit, thinking he might come back. We’ve lost some time.’
‘Sorry. I’ll make a report to the Hierarch. He’ll be glad to know you didn’t run out on him.’
Red Angus clipped coldly, ‘I wouldn’t leave Moana to that Diktor devil. The Hierarch knows that.’
The cowled man nodded. ‘Just the same, I’ll tell him. I like you, Angus. If I can ever help you, remember Thordad.’
‘You’re all right? Sure you can go on?’
‘I can go on. Hurry. Never mind me. I’ll make it.’
They saw the towering ball of the globe-ship as they broke from the squat buildings framing the square at the waterfront. It was a ball of golden brilliance, riding the slight sea-swell despite its bulk, occasionally rubbing against the soft snubbers attached to the dock. In the moonlight it loomed majestic and awe-inspiring above the wet, rounded stones of the quay. Its soft slip-slup motion on the waves made it seem alive in the salt-laden breeze moving in from the sea.
The scientist halted. ‘I leave you here. You know how to get to the Flaming Land? Good.’
Thordad held out his bony hand. Angus grinned and clasped it. He chuckled, Tell the Hierarch to dust off a shelf in his Literatum. I’ll fill it with the Book of Nard.’
Thordad smiled, turned on a heel and strode off into the darkness of an alleyway. Angus went on, eyes gleaming up at the hulk of the ship. He heard the wind whistling in the rooftops, and across the flat stretch of the square. With eyes and ears already occupied, he did not hear the sobbed cry Thordad managed as a hand closed on his throat, nor did he see the dagger dripping crimson in the hand of the man with the zigzag scar, rising to fall again and again in Thordad’s body.
Angus went across the gangplank into the curved port. He pressed a stud and the door slid into place. Lights sprang to full illumination, revealing shimmering metal beams and cross-braces, glittering crimson floor, and long banks of control panels. Glowing tubes, slowly warming, flooded the gigantic room with a soft blue color.
Angus studied the meters. He drew down a red-handled lever. Far below the plasticine-sheltered engines throbbed, roared their power. Slowly the great hull of the globe-ship began to revolve, circling the inner ball. The fine margin of air-space, charged with electronically regulated magnets, made a soft, swooshing sound as the outer ball rotated faster. The inner ball, gigantic gyroscope set in a magnetic field, held steady, while the outer globe swirled rapidly.
The globe-ship seemed a huge ball that some giant’s hand was shoving through the water. It flipped water from it as it raced. Its bulk, designed for the minimum amount of friction in water, danced across the waves with terrific speed.
Angus watched the great bulk of swaying, restless water ahead of him, saw combers flee by, watched huge swells come and go, split by the globular hull. He flipped over the light-map and studied his progress, making changes in the directional needle.
He headed out across the heaving Car Carolan Sea toward the Flaming Lands, where no living man had ever gone before.
The Diktor turned from a contemplation of the serried bands of light glistening across the beaded spectrograph screen. A young attendant in golden jacket and breeches touched a button at his command and the screen went dead.
The drapes over the arched doorway at the end of the room billowed aside as an officer entered, clicked heels and bowed. His voice was hoarse. Teoman has returned, Eminence. He bears news of the pirate.’
The Diktor came striding across the floor, sweeping his cloak behind him with a short, thickly muscled arm. He gestured peremptorily and the billowing curtains lifted. A man with a zigzag scar on his cheek bobbed his head up and down, sidling into the room.
‘The pirate has gone in a globe-ship across the Car Carolan Sea, Highest One. A scientist of the Dragon Class was assisting him. I daggered the scientist but I could not reach Angus in time.’
The Diktor bit his lip. ‘Moana?’
The spy shook his sparsely-haired head. ‘No sign of her. Eminence. She was not with him.’
The Diktor tossed a bag of coins to Teoman, gestured the man out. He snapped an order and went striding back and forth across the room as the officer hurried out.
The officer came back with two red-clad attendants who wheeled a squat engine, bulbs and gears locked inside a transparent jacket, before them. High on the gleaming metal top of the machine stood a vox-phone.
The Diktor bent and put his lips to the vox-phone. He said irritably, ‘Subject: the Car Carolan Sea and adjacent territories. Query: What, if anything, of scientific value is reputedly found in that region?’
There was a faint hum of the gears and pistons. A soft, gentle voice replied, ‘The Flaming Land and the Desert of Dead White Stones border the Car Carolan Sea to the west. To the east is the continent of Karr Major. To the south the ice floes that are barren. To the north, the polar regions. Beyond the Flaming Land is an inland sea fed underground by waters from the Car Carolan. Beyond that sea lies the desert. It is an uninhabited land. There is nothing of scientific import there aside from the volcanic region of the Flaming Land.’
The machine clicked and died. The Diktor sighed. He would have to go and see Stasor. He did not want to do that because he had a feeling that the members of the Elder Race did not approve of him and his methods.
Even far out at sea Angus felt the heat coming toward him in surging waves. Mists, formed from water heated to the boiling point, rose like a white pall to shelter the Flaming Lands from his eyes. But here and there, through a breeze-made rift, he could see huge tongues of fire, red and sullen, rising from the ground.
