Charles Carr, page 13
What had begun as a fight became a pursuit. The speed of the salamanders increased, and it became harder to hit them. Taylor noticed that some of them, grazed by a blast jet instead of being struck squarely, writhed and recovered, continuing their flight. He saw, too, that there were heat-devils mingled with the salamanders, and that when a heat-devil was in front of them the blast weapons became ineffective. Screened by the heat-devil, the salamanders were then untouched.
Still the pace of the fleeing salamanders increased. They were drawing steadily away.
Harper reluctantly stopped the pursuit. He slackened speed, wheeled round, and broke the radio silence that he had imposed by ordering all his vehicles to rendezvous at their original objective.
Taylor experienced a feeling of anticlimax as the weary drivers and gunners descended stiffly from their cabs, grotesque figures in their heavy protective clothing. But there was plenty still to do - casualties among the men to be treated and listed, and damage to vehicles to be assessed. On the ground near where the fireball had burst, the vegetation was still flaring, and there was slight radioactivity. Taylor ordered some of the crews to decontaminate, and put out the fires. Then he went back to where he had left Harper.
“Would you say,” Harper asked, “that this was where the fireballs came from?”
“Yes,” said Taylor, “just about here.”
“I was looking for some traces - anything to show how the things are made. The earth here looks different. Do you see?”
“Yes,” Taylor said. “But that’s the track of a heat-devil. I’ve seen something like it before -
that same scorching, and what look like glass beads.”
Harper flicked sweat from his face.
“Those fireballs can’t be created out of nothing,” he said, scanning the ground.
Some of the men were searching the area nearby. Pratt, who had been repairing some damage to his vehicle, came over to join them.
“Whatcher lookin’ for, mate?” Taylor heard him say.
“Lookin’ to see ‘ow them fireballs was made.”
“D’you know what I reckon?” Pratt muttered. “I reckon they wasn’t never made. Some boss salamander pulled ‘em aht of ‘is ‘at, like a bleedin’ conjurer.”
He searched diligently, none the less. At the same time he must have been keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding country, for it was he who raised the alarm soon afterwards.
He pointed out what he saw to Harper.
“Heat-devils coming back,” said Harper. “Get in your vehicles and stand by.”
He was hoping.to get a shot at any salamanders that might be escorted by the heat-devils.
But instead of moving into the area that Harper and his men occupied, the heat-devils whirled swiftly round it and were gone. Taylor thought that the saw a salamander in the midst of them, but it was a long way out of range.
As soon as he left Harper’s vehicle after this disappointment, Taylor looked back towards Station Twenty-Four. It was almost hidden by smoke. He drew Harper’s attention to this.
“The station’s on fire.”
Harper glowered at the sight. He signalled at once for all available vehicles to follow him.
Even as they raced towards the high buildings, however, the volume of smoke was decreasing.
By the time they halted under the walls only thin fumes were rising. But the damage was considerable. Great holes yawned in the structure, and the destruction had not been confined to one spot.
“Where’s the station Head?” Harper shouted.
“He is dead,” a frantic voice answered. “Very many are dead.”
“He is not dead. I saw him -“
There was a great deal of shouting inside the building, and then the station Head appeared.
He was a small man, and at first he looked dazed. But by the time Harper and Taylor had dismounted and drawn near he was able to speak coherently.
“What have you done?” he asked.
“We have avenged you,” Harper answered.
“Vengeance!” the Head exclaimed angrily. He controlled himself, and went on. “That is not what I wanted. I wanted my station to be protected.”
“How did this happen?” Taylor asked, pointing to the damage. ‘Did the heat-devils cross the trench?”
“No. It looked as though the trench was being filled in -“
“By a salamander?”
“I do not know. It was hard to see. If it was a salamander, it left with the other things just as we saw you moving over there. But then a fireball hit here and blew up.”
“Is the damage bad?” asked Harper.
The Head nodded. “We can just keep working, but our output is cut right down.”
“You’d better radio to Una,” Harper said.
“I can’t. The radio is destroyed. Can you send a message for me?”
“No,” Harper said. “The sets in my vehicles are all short range.”
“Lyon must be told,” said Taylor anxiously.
“Of course. And Leblanc too.”
“I’ll fly in and take a message.” Taylor stared at a level track of land beside the oxygen station. “But where’s the ‘plane?” he asked.
“The pilot was watching,” said the little man. “When the heat-devils drew near he took off.
I did not see where he went.”
“That pilot was wise,” Harper commented. “He took no risks with your ‘plane. I don’t expect he’s gone far. You’ll be able to call him back by radio.”
Taylor went back to the set in the vehicle. It was not long before he had got in touch with the pilot, and the ‘plane was soon in sight.
“I’m sorry to pull out like this,” Taylor apologised.
“You’ve plenty to do here. I wish I could have stayed to help.”
“You have to go,” said Harper. “Lyon must know what’s happened. I’ll tidy up here.
There’ll be some burials.” He sighed. “Ask Lyon whether he wants me back in reserve at Una, or whether I’m to cover Station Thirteen. If the radio’s no good, he’ll have to send out a message by ‘plane. Thanks for all you did, Taylor. I couldn’t ask for a better gunner.”
“It’s been good to get back among men in overalls,” said Taylor. “I get tired at times of the people in robes.”
Harper grinned. “I dare say Lyon feels the same. You’d better hurry. He must be surrounded by robes now. That’ll make him glad to see you, apart from your news.”
23
Harper’s whimsical prediction proved literally true. As soon as Taylor arrived at his headquarters he sought Lyon in his office, but he was not there.
Taylor tried the conference room, and there he found Lyon, a powerful overalled figure, seated at the head of the table. For the rest, the room was filled with robes, their wearers forming a jostling, gesticulating mob. They had all left their seats at the table.
Not only was Taylor half deafened, but he was unable to reach Lyon’s side quickly, as he wished, in order to deliver his report. All he could do, from just inside the doorway, was to catch Lyon’s eye and give a slight nod which he hoped would be taken as a signal of success.
Then Taylor began to work his way through the throng. As he did so, he looked round to see whether any men whom he knew were present.
Neither Leblanc nor Manzoni was there, but he saw Sanger speaking loudly to a cluster of men. They were minor political delegates - all the men in robes - and they looked both angry and scared. Good material for Sanger to work on, thought Taylor. When he had entered the room he had felt weary. Now the sense of a crisis impending had made him alert and observant again.
Lyon had a powerful voice, and he used it now to secure the attenton of the discordant assembly.
“If you’ve finished your discussion, let us go on.”
They all obeyed him, at least to the extent of clustering round the table again, though none of them sat down Taylor continued his efforts to thread his way through to Lyon. But he paused instinctively as Sanger began to speak.
“They want to be sure of breathing,” he said, beginning on a surprisingly reasonable note.
“But there’s no shortage of oxygen yet.”
“There will be. They demand bubbles.”
Coming from Sanger, the closing words sounded comically incongruous.
Lyon gave a short laugh. “Bubbles” he asked. “Who are asking for bubbles?”
“These delegates,” Sanger replied angrily, sweeping his arms out to indicate all the other men assembled in the room. “They represent all the people.”
“Not my people,” said Lyon proudly.
“Do not be too sure. In any case, your group is a very small minority. What is wanted now is a number of large protective covers, like we had before. You would not remember; it was before you came.”
“I know what you mean. But who is to make them?” Lyon demanded. “Everybody is fully employed.”
“That,” said Sanger with relish, “is the point of our demand. You must release men - take them from your evil work of war.”
“Why should I?”
“Because what you do is sinful. The salamanders are sent to drive us out. We should not resist them.”
“I wonder,” said Lyon scornfully, “why you try even to stay under cover. Why don’t you all lie down and wait for death? You aren’t consistent, Sanger.”
“There is a difference,” Sanger claimed, but he disconcerted. Lyon began to press his advantage, but Sanger became sourly insistent.
“I would abandon the planet entirely,” he said, “and I hope to persuade all reasonable men that that is the best course. At present there are many here who hope for a compromise. They think there may be some area where the salamanders will allow them to stay. But whatever our opinions, we are not suicidal, as you pretend to think we are. And whether we move to another planet or to another part of this one, we need time to prepare for the next step. That is why we must be protected from the shortage of oxygen. How can you answer that argument? You cannot,” Sanger claimed triumphantly.
There was a moment of dead silence. Everybody else in the room was conscious that the issue lay between two men. Taylor edged forward, a little closer to where his chief sat.
“You mean, I suppose,” Lyon said to Sanger, “that I cannot give an answer that will satisfy you. That is true. But I still have a reply.”
He paused skilfully at this point, and thus secured the unwavering attention of his hearers.
“I might say,” he went on, “that oxygen helmets are ready if they are needed. But that is only a palliative; I don’t offer it as a solution or even as a compromise. No. What you are going to have - whether you want it or not - is battles - not bubbles. This is a war, and you will have to accept danger and disaster as well as discomfort.”
“It is a sin! ” cried Sanger, his voice cracking.
“Do you believe,” Lyon asked patiently, “that humanity has a mission in the universe? I do; and I believe, therefore, that it is our duty to survive, even if it means war.”
Taylor saw that, after Lyon had spoken, some of the delegates nodded reluctantly. Others looked sideways at each other and began to discuss what had been said. Lyon’s restrained manner had quietened the crowd; the threat of panic had receded.
But still Sanger made an effort to rally the delegates to support his own views.
“It is the anger of providence,” he shouted, “the anger of providence at the disregard of moral laws.”
“I don’t understand,” said Lyon, “what Sanger means. And I doubt whether he understands himself.”
The delegates were looking puzzled also. They stared doubtfully at Sanger. And Sanger seemed, with an effort, to control his wrath as he sought for arguments. A look almost of triumph showed on his haggard features as he found the phrases that he needed.
“I say that the behaviour of your own people - your own staff - is undermining obedience to our laws.”
Lyon frowned, uncomprehending.
“Be more precise,” he said.
“So you do not understand?” Sanger sneered. “Look at him!” He pointed dramatically at Taylor. “He understands. But I will return to that later. For the present, Lyon, I will content myself with asking a question that you should be able to answer. Tell us, if you can, what has happened at Station Twenty-four.”
To Taylor it seemed that there was confidence as well as malice in the question. He wondered whether Sanger had some intelligence system, some rapid means of communication of his own. It was clear at least that he hoped to embarrass Lyon.
Lyon answered at once, with no attempt at evasion.
“We have had no recent messages. The radio is out of action.”
“So you don’t know.” Sanger looked round at the delegates, speaking now not to Lyon, but to them. “This is your war leader. He does not know.”
“But,” Lyon went on, unmoved, “Taylor is here, as you see. He has just come from Station Twenty-four to report to me. Let me share with you the news he brings!”
Attention was focussed now on Taylor, and the crowd opened so that he was able to pass through and take his stand at the table near Lyon. He gave his report without emotion, avoiding any expressions of encouragement that might have led to a belief that the struggle was virtually over and that no more effort was needed. But he left no doubt in his hearers’ minds that a victory had been won.
When he had finished he looked at Lyon, hoping to read approval in his expression. It was Taylor’s first attempt at influencing a large audience diplomatically. He felt that he had carried out his unexpected task reasonably well; and it was understandable that he should expect his meed of praise. But Lyon’s eyes were turned calculatingly on his chief opponent.
Sanger was angry; there could be no doubt of that. It occurred to Taylor that the man’s information must have been incomplete. He had counted upon a disaster at Station Twenty-four and a defeat for Harper’s force. The news that had just been announced was by no means what he had hoped for.
“With Taylor’s report,” said Lyon, “I think we may close the meeting. You will have a good deal to think about, and I hope you are more optimistic than when you came here. You will realise that, if the best use is to be made of this advantage that we have gained, I shall now have plenty of work for my staff.”
When he had ended his brief speech he turned to Taylor with the quick smile of approval for which the young man had been waiting. The delegates began to file out of the conference room, and Taylor moved closer to Lyon, expecting to receive instructions from him.
But before Lyon had spoken again, Sanger came to the table and leaned upon it.
“Ask him about Nesina.” Sanger spoke to Lyon, pointing at Taylor as he did so. A few seconds later Lyon and Taylor were left alone.
Lyon gave a deep sigh. “I’m glad that’s over,” he said.
“Why did you hold this meeting, sir?” Taylor asked. “It was touch and go.”
“Leblanc was doubtful about it too,” Lyon said. “It was my idea. I thought it was better to meet them and answer their criticisms than to drive the discontent underground. I don’t think any harm’s been done. On the contrary, thanks to you, some good has come of it. And at least I know what they’re thinking.”
“Even what Sanger is thinking, sir?”
“Sanger,” said Lyon. “Yes, he interprets pacificism to suit himself. He’s certainly an efficient rabble-rouser. The only complete answer to him is success in our operations.”
“I noticed that our men are beginning to get on well with the locals,” Taylor said. “That, of course, is at a lower level than Sanger works on. But danger does humanise these people. If only they would relax! They need repose and laughter.”
“You stick to your theory, Taylor; and I don’t say you’re wrong. But Sanger might just turn the scale. He’s dangerous. What was it he said about you and - what was that name?”
“Nesina,” said Taylor, flushing. He told Lyon frankly of his close association with the girl.
“So that’s it,” Lyon said. He leaned back in his chair and thought the matter over.
Finally he said, “Sanger’s trying to hit at us in any way he can. Perhaps he expects me to dismiss you. But I’ve never liked that marriage law of theirs. In any case, he’s stretching the interpretation of the law too far - the letter of the law, that is to say. You’re offending against the spirit of it: that can’t be denied.”
Taylor found that his mouth was dry. “Do you want me to give up seeing Nesina, sir?” he asked.
Lyon shook his head.
“No. Why should I? But there’s nothing else I can say or do to help you now.” He paused again, and then said briskly, turning to more practical matters. “I’ll have Loddon back here. It’s time he showed some results. And I’ll withdraw Harper’s force to Una. You said he had some injured men, didn’t you? They’ll need attention.”
“There’s a doctor at Station Thirteen,” Taylor said. “They could get treatment there, and Harper might be in a better position, in case the next attack -“
“No. They’re to come back here. We may soon have better vehicles for them, and better weapons too. How soon? I can’t say exactly,” said Lyon, rising to his feet. “But we need to win, and victory depends on the scientists and technicians. I’ll drive them harder still.”
24
Taylor went to Lyon’s office to make one of his periodical reports.
“Oxygen’s down a little more, sir,” he said. “Over the last twenty hours -“
“Never mind the figures,” said Lyon. “I can feel the result for myself. Go and see how Loddon’s doing in his new workshop. Tell him I expected his projector to be in production before this.”
“Projector, sir?”
“Yes. He’ll know what that means, if you don’t.”
Taylor knew better than to ask for further details.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and went.
