Orion Shall Rise (57 page)

The warmth chilled a little. ‘Well, what do you have to say?’

She straightened, returned him stare for stare, and drew breath before it rushed from her:

‘My corps has been discussing things. Not in a body, but individually. A number of us are distressed at what has been happening lately. And what threatens to happen. We have kinfolk, ancestral homes that we see on furlough, allegiances older than our work here. I intend no disrespect, but the, the manner of Your Dignity’s election was, was irregular. Some question it. Some ask what became of Iern Ferlay. They express doubt of, of his alleged suspiciousness. Sir, please understand that I, the persons for whom I speak, we are not denouncing or anything like that. For the good of Skyholm and the Domain, we wish to give you a warning.’

Jovain stiffened until his back twinged.
No, such a reaction is not wise, not truly Gaean
. The interior voice was almost inaudible. ‘Proceed,’ he snapped.

‘There is unhappiness with Your Dignity’s policies, and anger, and – and disobedience. And now the trouble with Devon, that many people think is unjustified. More and more cadre officers announce they won’t answer a call to arms for that issue, but will stay home and lead the pysans and townsfolk in keeping their ancient rights. Sir, this is terrible!’

‘It is.’ Jovain mustered his own will. ‘It cannot be allowed. It shall not be.’

‘What does the Captain propose to do, if we come to the brink?’

‘Let us hope we do not. That common sense, if nothing else, will prevail. Skyholm does hold the final power.’

Her hands quivered. ‘Sir, that is why I am here. To warn you this isn’t true. A substantial part of the staff, aloft and aground, have decided they – we cannot let Skyholm fire on its people. Or on a foreign country that has done us no real harm. We cannot, we will not.’

It was like a hammerblow. Jovain sagged back. ‘Your oath,’ he whispered. ‘Your tradition of service.’

Her diffidence vanished. ‘We read the oath as a pledge to keep Skyholm for the benefit of the Domain.
That
is the tradition of our corps. We are not about to change.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing but reconciliation, sir. If the Captain would consult
more widely, and heed more opinions, everybody could agree on a settlement. We, my group, we aren’t politicians. We don’t presume to set terms. We simply implore you to make peace before too late.’

Jovain braced himself afresh. ‘And if I try and fail, what then?’

‘Sir, you must not fail. I repeat, we will not operate Skyholm against any part of the Domain or any innocent foreigners.’

‘“We”! Who are the lot of you? Name them.’

The dark, primly covered head shook. ‘No, sir. That might invite reprisals. Can’t you see that we are trying to prevent an open breach?’

‘You speak for –’ Rage flared. It tasted metallic. ‘You bitch, you’re the one who started this sedition!’ Jovain screamed. ‘You!’

She rose. ‘Perhaps I should go,’ she said quietly. ‘Anytime the Captain desires to talk further, he can find me in my quarters or at my station.’

Jovain sat alone and shuddered. After minutes, he became able to send for Mattas. When the ucheny entered the office, Jovain groaned, ‘Help me. Ease me.’

An hour of yogic exercise, chant, meditation brought calm. It was not the deep inner peace of Gaea, it was like the flatness of a sea while the air gathers itself for a storm. ‘We’ll forestall them,’ Jovain said. ‘Whom shall I contact first? Counselors – Terran Guard – loyalists – not sufficient. Necessary, but not sufficient. The Espaynians, Dyas Garsaya for a liaison –’ He stared at the photograph of Charles Talence, which centuries had rendered nearly faceless. ‘And the Maurai?’ he murmured. ‘Yes, maybe in due course the Maurai. Whatever I decide, “due course” had better be soon.’

Mattas dragged on his beard. ‘I don’t like that last,’ he said. ‘But if you must, I suppose you must. We can’t let slip what we’ve won. It means too much to Earth.’

Abruptly Jovain recalled that, aside from a brief ceremonial visit to Tournev, he had not since he became Captain set foot on ground. The lands that he ruled had become a clouded map far below, less real to him than yonder picture. He could at least take the picture off the bulkhead, handle it, cast it on the deck and grind it underfoot if he chose. The world had shrunk to this globe in heaven, most often to this single cell within it. Would he ever be free to leave Skyholm?

‘–
The government of the Northwest Union declared itself powerless to act. Her Majesty’s representatives pointed out steps which it could take to help: forbidding any further work on the infamous Orion project, requiring the surrender of the facilities, proclaiming those persons outlaw who do not promptly obey, and calling upon all citizens to cooperate in the abolition of that worldwide menace. When the Chief and Grand Council refused this minimum, Her Majesty’s government perforce considered it a rejection of the ultimatum. The grace period has expired, and a state of war exists between the Maurai Federation and the Northwest Union.’

The order of the day echoed in Terai’s head next morning, as the armada stood out to sea. He had known that matters must come to this, known it from the moment he stumbled into an office in Vittohrya and saw who awaited him – not only Kurawa of the Intelligence Corps, but the director of the Inspectorate and the supreme commander of occupation forces, there in the middle of the night.

But then a month followed that was like a fever dream after the wilderness. Medical examinations, treatment of injuries, rest and diet, yes, except that the rest and the diet were snatched on the run. Interrogation, flight to the great base on Oahu, truly intensive questioning, interviews with officers of every rank and specialty, a number of them flown in from N’Zealann, sessions under drugs for total recall, conferences, and several drunken parties to make it bearable. Meanwhile the diplomats wrangled and the harbors filled with warships, as Oceania marshaled her strength. Sometimes a piece of news from elsewhere drifted past … the Mong nations were likewise preparing to fight, the Free Merican states agreed on a boycott of their Northern cousins and talked of alliance against them, the Captain of Skyholm issued a proclamation of deepest concern and support, Beneghal set grudges aside and offered assis
tance.… None of it quite registered on Terai.

What did burn its way into him was what he witnessed in the streets whenever he left base. Awaii had been in the Federation for hundreds of years. More races had mingled their blood here than in N’Zealann itself. Yet the public announcement of Orion’s existence – a desperate attempt at generating pressure on a Union that was flatly not interested in meaningful negotiations – had in this ancient Merican possession touched off madness. Not in everybody, or even a majority, no. But in appallingly many, above all the young. They swaggered about in imitations of Northwestern costume. They scrawled
To the starsi
on walls and pavements. They danced in torchlit parades, they kindled bonfires on mountaintops, and chanted. They shouted down campus speakers who tried to explain what a monstrosity Orion was, or they just declined to come listen. In a few areas they rioted. And it was not as if they understood the arguments on either side. The news had exploded over them too swiftly, too recently, for education. It was that
their
tribe of old was daring this thing.
Let the Norrmen go! Let the Wolf run free!

For Terai, the flareups only reinforced his conviction that war was inevitable. That odd man Plik (how did he fare? How did Wairoa?) had been right, in his way. A hurricane of the soul was rising; reason, wisdom, consciousness itself were no more than spume blown on the wind.

Nevertheless, when the loudspeakers carried Admiral Kepaloa’s iron voice across decks where sailors waited row upon row, when he uttered the unrecallable word, Terai would have wept if he had been alone.

This day he stood at the taffrail of the flagship
Rongelap
and watched the mountains of Awaii drop under the horizon. They were blue-gray at their distance, between a turquoise heaven and a sea which ran sapphire, cobalt, indigo, laced with foam more white than the clouds towering aft or gulls skimming above the wake. Sails and sails bedecked those waves, banners flew brave from a hundred hulls, out over the edge of the world. Behind him the dreadnaught swept grandly bow-ward in teak and bronze and myriad crew, six masts upbore her own multitudinous wings, the breeze sang in lines and thrummed in spars and eddied back down through odors of pitch and salt. The power and pride of Oceania bore north on crusade, and Terai knew he should have rejoiced.

To him came young Lieutenant Roberiti Lokoloku, also of Intelligence, who had become a friend during the debriefing, and stopped by his side, and after a little said shyly: ‘You don’t look very glad, Captain Lohannaso.’

‘Are you?’ Terai retorted. ‘We’re off to kill people, you know.’

The black Papuan countenance flinched. ‘Yes, true … and some of them are known to you personally, hu? But what we are doing is right.’

Terai continued to stand arms folded, eyes aimed at the receding land, while he nodded. ‘Aye. If I didn’t think that, I wouldn’t be aboard.’

‘Er … I must admit I, I don’t entirely understand why you are. I mean, after everything you’ve done, they must have offered you a long leave, and afterward an assignment at home.’

‘They did. I volunteered for the expedition. No, I insisted.’

‘Why? If I’m not being nosy.’

Terai unbent his arms and clasped the rail. The motion set muscles astir under tattoos and T-shirt; he had almost regained full weight. ‘I’m not certain myself. But I had to – to see this thing through? Or carry out one last duty before – before what?’ He snorted. ‘Enough. I don’t believe in fate.’

‘What do you believe in?’ Roberiti dared ask.

‘Grandchildren.’ Terai gusted a laugh. ‘I’ve enjoyed life. I want them to be able to.’

‘–
no further disorders in Seattle, but the policy continues in force, that no Maurai, military or civilian, may go outdoors unaccompanied. In Portanjels, an explosion damaged a Navy freighter. There were no casualties. It is theorized that saboteurs planted a bomb on a piece of driftwood and launched it on the tide. The hinterlands remained quiet after last week’s savage firefight on Mount Rainier. However, aerial scouts, taking advantage of a rare break in the weather, report signs of preparation for major guerrilla attacks. Intelligence has confirmed that a massive exodus did take place, apparently northward, by ship, boat, motorcar, and aircraft. The scale of this movement seems larger than had been supposed. The cause is obscure. It may be panic, although the high command has repeatedly assured Northwesterners, including members of the notorious Wolf Lodge, that they will be safe in their persons and property as long as they keep the peace
.

‘In Wellantoa, Prime Minister Lonu Samito addressed Parliament. His broadcast speech declared that the situation is well in hand and the nation’s most urgent need is public calm. He decried hysteria at any mention of nuclear explosives, pointing out that whatever supply the enemy has accumulated must be small, and apparently committed to the Orion project. As for it, Sir Lonu said, the lunacy of the whole idea proves that the Wolf gang is too irrational to pose a serious danger.’

‘Which
is
why we’re sending the Grand Fleet against them,’ Terai muttered.

The officers in the wardroom paid no attention. They were listening to the radio news or playing cards. All at once he wanted out of this stuffy air and bland voice. He took his pea jacket off the rack and sought the companionway.

It was not unduly cold on deck, but raining again. The water fell straight, so thick that its silver-gray drowned vision within a few hundred meters. It sluiced chill across his skin, drummed dully on the ship, gurgled off through the scuppers. Windless,
Rongelap
throbbed ahead under power, sails folded, but waves still ran high from half a gale in the night and the hull rolled to their booming pace.

Companion vessels that he could see were dim. Nearest was an aircraft carrier. The flat silhouette was unmistakable; that class necessarily ran always on engines. Her twin hulls were about as long as the battleship’s one, a hundred and twenty-five meters. Twenty VTOL planes rested on the forward half of her catamaran deck beneath the bridge, like bullets stood on end.

No – nineteen. The twentieth broke through the ceiling and swung, aglisten, into an approach path. It must have gone to take a noon sight on the sun, as a check on inertial navigation systems. The sound of its jets came faintly to Terai.

He wondered afresh how anyone could endure the high North. Rain – rain at home was quick, joyful, alive with light, and left a rainbow for a mark of its blessing. Here it was a ceaseless presence. When it did not fall, which it seemed to do more hours than not, it brooded in cloud and mist; even the monstrous winter darknesses rarely saw heaven. Could the North have driven its dwellers insane? Could they be embarked on their Orion hellishness not as a wild strategic gamble – that being merely what they told themselves it was – but because they were starved for stars?

Dolphin-graceful (
O Hiti, our romps together!
), the airplane descended.

A flaw came out of nowhere. Ship and flyer lurched. The pilot missed the deck. A wing struck and crumpled. The plane cartwheeled. The time felt like days before it struck water, but then it sank instantly.

Sirens wailed. Men scuttled about.
Rongelap
drew to a halt of her own, and lifeboats dropped from davits. Useless. The armada had taken its first loss, and what killed the man was the North he had come to tame. Terai bruised his fist, hammering on the rail.

That night, a heavy fog arose. Despite radar, a frigate and a fuel tanker collided. Both ships were disabled, and several more crew-folk perished.

‘–
In a radio communique, Fleet Admiral Alano Kepaloa denied reports of extremely high casualties. “We have had a setback, not a disaster,” he maintained. “Nor can it properly be said that we were taken by surprise. Our hope was to force Cook Inlet, disembark our marines at Tyonek town, and send them inland to find and seize the Orion site. Aerial reconnaissance showed only a single warship in the firth, an obsolete steam-driven ironclad which the Union was allowed to keep after the last conflict. It has been secretly and illegally refurbished, with missile launchers as well as gun turrets, but should be no match for us
.