Land and Overland - Omnibus (94 page)

There was a brief hesitation while the Xa carried out the necessary investigation.
Yes, Beloved Creator, the Primitives are completely passive in that respect.

Divivvidiv felt a surge of mingled revulsion and pity—how could any creature endure going through its entire existence in a condition of mind-blindness? The Primitives' lack of higher sense organs made them easier to deal with in this instance, but the cautious and meticulous side of Divivvidiv's nature prompted him to ask further questions.

Are they a belligerent race?

Yes, Beloved Creator.

Do they carry weapons?

Yes, Beloved Creator.

Extract a description of the weapons for me.

Another pause followed before the Xa spoke.
Their weapons employ solid lead projectiles expelled through tubes by the force of gases compressed in metal containers.
Simultaneously the Xa conveyed to Divivvidiv exact details of the dimensions and energy transference capabilities of the types of weapons the Primitives carried both on their persons and aboard their slow-moving craft.

Divivvidiv felt a growing sense of satisfaction as he became certain there was no obstacle to the plan he had conceived for dealing with the approaching ship and its crew.

You are well pleased, Beloved Creator,
the Xa said.

Yes—I shall now return to my dream and await the arrival of the Primitives in comfort.

You are pleased because it will not be necessary for you to terminate the Primitives' lives.

Yes.

In that case, Beloved Creator, why does it not trouble you that soon you will kill me?

You do not understand these things.
Divivvidiv felt a sudden impatience with the Xa and its obsession with preserving its own pseudo-life. Each time it returned to the subject his own mind was clouded with dark thoughts of genocide, and—in spite of the mental disciplines at which he was adept—the echoes of those thoughts disturbed his dreams.

Toller knew it was only his imagination, but an abnormal quietness seemed to have descended over the Five Palaces area of Ro-Atabri. It was not the sort of quietness which comes when human activity is in abeyance—it was more as if an invisible blanket of soundproof material had been pressed down over everything in his vicinity. When he looked about him he could see evidence that carpenters and stonemasons were busy with their restoration work; bluehorns and wagons were sending up clouds of dust which added scumbles of yellow to the blue of the foreday sky; ground crew and airmen were going about their business of getting the ships ready for the round-the-world flight. Everywhere he looked there was purposeful movement, but the noises of it seemed to be reaching him through the filters of distance, attenuated, lacking in relevance.

The flight was due to begin within the hour, and it was
that
fact—Toller knew—which was numbing his reactions, separating him from the perceived world of the senses. Nine days had passed since Vantara's departure for Overland, and during that time he had sunk into a mood of depression and apathy which had defied all efforts to overcome it.

When he should have been preparing his men and his ship for the circumnavigation he had been lost in thought, living and reliving that strange hour with Vantara at the Migration Day festivity. What had prompted her to behave as she had? Knowing that she was on the eve of quitting the planet altogether, she had raised him to the heights—he could still
feel
her lips against his, her breasts cupped in his hands—only to dash him down again with her sudden callous aloofness. Had she been playing cat-and-mouse on a whim, passing a dull hour with a trivial game?

There were moments in which Toller believed that to be the case, and at those times he plumbed new depths of misery, hating the countess with a passion which could whiten his knuckles and rob him of speech in mid-sentence. At other times he saw clearly that she had exerted herself to break down barriers between them, that she considered him a person of value, and that she would indeed be waiting to receive him when next he set foot on Overland. In those periods of optimism Toller felt even worse, because he and his love—the finest and most desirable woman who had ever lived—were literally worlds apart, and he was unable to imagine how he could endure the coming years without seeing her.

He would stare up at the great disk of Overland, its convex vastness crossed again and again by streamers of cloud, and wish for some means of instantaneous communication between the sister planets. There had been fanciful talk of some day building huge sunwriters, with tilting mirrors as large as rooftops, which would have been capable of sending messages between Land and Overland. If such a device had existed Toller would have used it, not so much to talk to Vantara—bridging the interworld gulf in that unsatisfactory way might have made his yearnings even more insupportable—but to get in touch with his father.

Cassyll Maraquine had the power and influence to obtain his son a special release from the Land mission. In the past, before he had been touched by the madness of love, Toller had scorned such uses of privilege, but in his present state of mind he would have seized on the favour with unashamed greed. And now, to make matters worse, he was on the point of setting out on a voyage which would take him through the Land of the Long Days, that distant side of the planet where he would not even have the spare consolation of being able to see Overland and in his mind's eye watch over Vantara while she went about her oh-so-special life…

"This will never do, young Maraquine," said Commissioner Kettoran, who had approached Toller unnoticed, making his way among piles of lumber and other supplies. He was wearing the grey robe of his office, but without the official emblems of brakka and enamel. Another man of his rank might have sequestered himself in imposing quarters or only ventured abroad with an entourage, but Kettoran liked to wander unobtrusively and alone through the various sections of the base.

"Instead of mooning around here like a maiden with the colic," he continued, "you should be checking the loading and balance of your ship."

"Lieutenant Correvalte is dealing with all that," Toller replied indifferently. "And probably making a better fist of it than I would."

Kettoran pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes, creating a prism of shade from which he regarded Toller with concern. "Listen, my boy, I know it is none of my business, but this infatuation with the Countess Vantara bodes ill for your career."

"Thank you for the advice." Toller deeply resented the elderly man's words, but he had too much respect for Kettoran to hint at his anger other than by mild sarcasm. "I'll keep your good counsel in mind."

Kettoran gave him a small, sad smile. "Believe me, son, before you know it, these days which seem so interminable and so full of pain will be nothing more than faint memories. Not only that—they will seem joyous in comparison to what is to come. You are foolish not to make the most of them."

Something in Kettoran's voice affected Toller, drawing his thoughts away from his own circumstances. "This hardly seems credible," he said, claiming the right to intimacy he had earned on the interplanetary crossing. "I never expected to hear Trye Kettoran talk like an old man."

"And I never expected to
be
an old man—that was a fate exclusively reserved for others. Ponder on what I am telling you, son. And don't be a fool." Commissioner Kettoran squeezed Toller's shoulder with a thin hand, then turned and walked away towards the eastern flank of the Great Palace. His gait seemed to lack something of its usual jauntiness.

Toller stared after the commissioner for a moment, frowning. "Sir," he called out, prompted by a sudden unease, "is all well with you?"

Appearing not to hear, Kettoran continued on his way and was soon lost to view. Toller, now troubled by premonitions about the commissioner's well-being, somehow felt obliged to pay more heed to the advice he had just been given. He began making conscientious efforts to follow what was undoubtedly good philosophical counsel—after all, he was young and healthy and all his life lay before him—but each time he ordered himself to feel cheerful the only result was an obstinate upsurge of his misery. Something within him was antagonistic to reason.

He returned to his ship and went on board, supervising the departure arrangements with a gloomy inattentiveness which he knew was bound to communicate itself to the crew. Lieutenant Correvalte responded by becoming even more wooden and correct in his manner. The voyage was expected to take about sixty days, assuming no mishaps were to occur, and the gondola was a very small space for eight men to be cooped in for that length of time. The psychological strain would be considerable even under ideal conditions, and with a commander who was making it clear from the outset that he had no stomach for the mission there could be problems with morale and discipline.

Eventually all the formalities were completed, and the signal for departure came when a trumpet sounded on board the lead ship. The four vessels took off in unison, their jets sending flat billows of sound rolling out across the parks which surrounded the Five Palaces and into the sunlit environs of Ro-Atabri. Toller stood at the rail, hand on the hilt of his sword, leaving the control of the ship to Correvalte, and stared out at the sprawling expanse of the old city. The sun was high in the sky, nearing Overland, and the gondola was completely contained within the shadow of its elliptical gasbag, making the scenery beyond look exceptionally bright and sharply defined. Traditional Kolcorronian architectural styles made extensive use of orange and yellow bricks laid in complex diamond patterns, with dressings of red sandstone at corners and edges, and from a low altitude the city was a glittering mosaic which shimmered confusingly on the eye. Trees at different stages of their lives provided islands of extra colour which ranged from pale green to copper and brown.

The ships made a partial circuit of the base and took a north-eastern course, seeking the trade winds which would help conserve power crystals during the voyage. Local surveys had indicated that there would be no shortage of mature brakka trees along the route, but broaching their combustion chambers to obtain the green and purple crystals would have been a time-consuming business, and it was intended that the little fleet should complete the circumnavigation using only its on-board supplies.

Toller gave an involuntary sigh as Ro-Atabri began to slide into the distance aft of his ship, its various features flattening into horizontal bands. The voyage, with all its promised tedium and privation, had begun in earnest, and it was time for him to face up to that fact. He became aware of Baten Steenameert, newly promoted to the rank of air-sergeant, eyeing him as he passed on his way to the lower deck. Steenameert's pink face was carefully impassive, but Toller knew his recent moodiness had had its effect on the youngster, who had developed an intense loyalty to him since they had left their home world. Toller halted him by raising a hand.

"There is no need for you to fret," he said. "I have no intention of hurling myself over the side."

Steenameert looked puzzled. "Sir?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, young fellow." Toller was only two years older than the sergeant, but he spoke in the same kind of fatherly tones that Trye Kettoran often used to him, consciously trying to borrow some of the commissioner's steadiness and stoicism. "I've become the butt of quite a few jests around the base, haven't I? The word has gone about that I'm so besotted with a certain lady that I scarcely know night from day."

The bloom on Steenameert's smooth cheeks deepened and he lowered his voice so as not to be overheard by Correvalte who was nearby at the airship's controls. "Sir, if anybody dared speak ill of you in my presence I would…"

"You will not be required to do battle on my behalf," Toller said firmly, addressing his wayward inner self as much as anybody else, then saw that Steenameert's attention had been drawn elsewhere.

The sergeant spoke quickly, before Toller could frame a question. "Sir, I think we are receiving a message."

Toller looked aft in the direction of Ro-Atabri and saw that a point of intense brilliance was winking amid the complex layered bands of the city. He immediately began deciphering the sunwriter code and felt a peculiar thrill, an icy mingling of excitement and apprehension, as he realized that the beamed message concerned him.

By the time Toller got back to base the balloon of the skyship was fully inflated and the craft was straining at its anchor link, ready to depart for Overland. It was swaying a little within the three timber walls of the towering enclosure, like a vast sentient creature which was becoming impatient with its enforced inactivity. A further indication of the urgency of the situation was that Sky-commodore Sholdde was waiting for Toller by the enclosure instead of in his office.

He nodded ungraciously, obviously in a foul temper, as Toller—flanked by Correvalte and Steenameert—approached him at a quick march and saluted. He ran his fingers through his cropped iron-grey hair and scowled at Toller.

"Captain Maraquine," he said, "this is a cursed inconvenience. I've already been deprived of one airship captain—and now I have to find another."

"Lieutenant Correvalte is perfectly capable of taking my place on the round-the-world flight, sir," Toller replied. "I have no hesitation in recommending him for an immediate field promotion."

"Is that so?" Sholdde turned a hard-eyed, critical gaze on Correvalte and the look of gratification which had appeared on the lieutenant's face quickly faded.

"Sir," Toller said, "is Commissioner Kettoran
very
ill?"

"He looks to me like he's already dead," Sholdde said indifferently. "Why did he particularly ask for you to fly him home?"

"I don't know, sir."

"I can't understand it either. It seems a strange choice to me. You haven't exactly distinguished yourself on this mission, Maraquine. I kept waiting for you to trip over that antiquated piece of iron you insist on wearing."