Rork! (16 page)

The white flags of the command posts sometimes swept along, sometimes picked, sometimes felt their way. Down from the yellowgrass, the sloping hills and salt-scented seacoasts of the North; up from the black-mossed rocks and valleys of the South — through the redwing glades, again aflame with rich color — now wet, now dry — they pressed on. And finally, on the west coast the Wild Tocks made first contact with the waiting rorks, and paused. Shortly afterwards the Southern line reached the Eastern one, too. It took a while longer before the Northern line touched either Eastern or Western Rorks, and began Phase Two of the campaign.

Once before, looking down from a skimmer, Ran Lomar had seen a line of rorks and a mass of rips. But the rips had been in swarm then, uncountable, and the rorks had been fleeing. It was different now.

As far as his eye could see the line went on in both directions, advancing westward with almost military precision. He could hear the stamping of the feet, see the haze of dust, feel the vibration of the rorking. The yellow masks bobbed about, the stalked eyes swung all around. Few as the rips were now in comparison with their numbers the year before when their population had exploded, the growing concentration was resulting in ever-larger packs of them. From time to time such a group would form and for a while attempt to hold its ground, teeth bared, bristles high. But the line of rorks never faltered; invariably, the rips gave way.

Rather late, admittedly, a frightening notion had occurred to Lomar. If the rips spread the fever as they advanced, would not those advancing now find the fever, so to speak, waiting for them? The little Medical Aide, startled so thoroughly out of his preocupation with mushrooms that he might never return to them, threw himself into this question with agitated enthusiasm. Rips were captured, killed, dissected, organs probed and peered at, slides and solutions made and examined, soil samples subjected to a variety of tests — the very water and the very air was trapped and tortured to divulge its evidence.

Finally, the verdict.

“Mind you, mind you,” the small physician urged, caution finally overtaking enthusiasm; “this is a provisional opinion — merely provisional, merely an opinion. It’s not an official report.”

And Harb, sweaty, grimy, impatient: “Either
talk,
boy! and talk
fast,
or — ”

So, hastily, not waiting for the sentence to be concluded, the MA talked. Traces of latent fever were found. Almost no evidence that it was now active among the rips. And more, and more:

“ … in fact, it’s my opinion that, well, naturally, the same disease affects different organisms differently, wouldn’t you agree? so it’s my opinion that the fever is only virulent among them during those years when they swarm — in fact —

“… it’s my opinion that it is the effect of the fever upon them which
makes
them swarm!”

In the sudden silence which fell, he added, again timid, “Wouldn’t you agree?”

There was no time for much agreement or disagreement. All through the days the four-fold march went on and on; all through the nights myriad fires burned and glowed. Not since the continent had emerged, molten and hissing and steaming from the sea had the land seen such activity. The camphres and the watchfires blazed, the crybabies wailed as if heartbroken in the bush and forest Beyond, inside the ever-concentrating rectangle, the rips could be heard, coughing and snarling uneasily.

Between twenty and fifty square miles was the ultimate area set by the over-plan for Phase Three. For quite some time before this compression was reached, however, the rips had been standing and fighting with increasing frequency. But the lines of men and rorks hemming them, pressing them in, were thicker now. The savage beasts were speared and clubbed, shot to death, torn apart by powerful claws. Men were, to be sure, sometimes wounded, and rorks as well. But prompt first and subsequent aid resulted in surprisingly and gratifyingly few fatalities.

Finally the ultimate area was reached, somewhat northeast of the continent’s center. This was not quite convenient, in terms of the terrain and the over-plan; so it was, so to speak, rolled back. And then the third phase began in earnest.

A corridor was opened, about a mile wide; “troops” to line or to create it being withdrawn from the other flanks, which immediately proceeded to close in. The rips were driven out of the ultimate area and along the corridor. They were allowed no rest, no time to pause and make stands. Their pursuers worked in shifts, by lamplight and by torchlight and by the light of great blazing fires. By force of arms, by noise, by gunfire and pike-thrust, by stones cast, the rips were forced down the corridor opened for them that led to the selected place on the Western coast.

Unmapped and unknown the greater part of that coast, like the interior, may have been. But this part of it, rimmed by sheer cliffs falling hundreds of feet into the troubled seas, this part of it had long been known and long avoided.

Its boiling and reef-infested waters bore the name of Kill-Man Gulf.

Every vessel that the Wild Tocks could muster — dugout, raft, catamaran — plied in a great arc where the waters of the gulf disembogued into the Western Sea. The single Station boat, making up in speed for its singularity, joined the picket line; and overhead, as close to the water as safety allowed, the skimmers supplied their armament to the blockade.

But few were the rips that survived long enough to be picked off.

The fourth and final phase of the campaign was made with less noise but equal thoroughness. The forces now deployed along the coasts looking for rip breeding grounds — sandy beaches, between high water mark and true ground. Had the creatures been live-breeders, the task might have been simpler — or might have been harder — but at any rate, different. However, they were oviparous monotremes of a sort, and by this time even a child was able to know what to look for: low, rounded, sandy mounds, heaped with sea wrack, the decomposition of which supplied warmth to aid the slow hatching of the eggs.

It was not necessary to destroy the leathery-looking clusters entirely. The blow of a hack, the thrust of a pike, or even a fire-sharpened stick or a spear of sorts improvised from a sharpened shell-shard was sufficient. The sea birds gorged themselves upon this unprecedented feast. But sometimes the searchers found the mounds already broached, the egg husks dry and scattered, and they knew that other predators had beaten them to it.

The last of the mopping-up was on the east central coast, and Ran was bringing his white flag down the sloping shelf rather late one afternoon when his ear-speaker gave a preliminary hum.

“Skimmer Five here — Ranny?”

“Starchy?”

“Seems to be a sort of cove or inlet about two leagues down from where you are. I doubt if it can be seen from shore in either direction … cliffs cut it off … but I think I can see sand. I’m going in — in fact, I’m almost there — yes, sand — and put down and see if I can take care of it my — ”

Ran broke in. “Be careful, Starch. There may be tricky updrafts there. Or down ones, for that — ”

A rueful laugh. “You’re telling me? Um — ” A mutter.

Ran, mildly disturbed, said, “Hold off a bit, will you?” For answer there was only quick, troubled breathing. Then another voice — Harb’s — broke in.

“Pull out of there, Motor Aide. Right now. Do you — ?”

Brief; brief and terrible, was the sound of the crash in their ears. From down the coast a single gust of flame shot up into the air. Then came the smoke. Then silence.

Finally, after a long moment, Harb murmured, “ ‘Fear no more the heat of the sun …’ ”

But Ran had something else in mind. “Or the Q Ship,” he said.

Manton’s death was not made to seem vain by an absence of rip egg nests; the nests were there, all right, and if he had not observed the inlet possibly no one else would have. This put Ran to thinking about something, and he found out rather soon that others were thinking of it, too.

Norna, for one.

It had been some days since he had seen her, exactly how many, he couldn’t remember; and now, looking at her, he seemed to see some reflection of how he himself must look. She was thinner, wearied, eyes reddened, not overly clean, hair tangled and in places white with dried salt spray. Sand clung to her feet and ankles; she scraped them on the sparse grass.

“I’m thinking of Flinders,” she said, abruptly.

“You are!” He looked at her, sharply. “Curious…. Well, I’ve just been thinking of him myself.”

She nodded. The sun was warm, the air clean and smelling of the sea and the little marshy estuary not far away, and of the tiny yellow flowers now suddenly out in great profusion. Down a ways on the shore a Tame Tock suddenly picked up a ruined egg cluster and tossed it, smack, at a rork. For a moment Ran tensed. But before he could move or speak, the rork had whirled around and, with a great backward movement of a powerful foot and leg, splattered the man with mud. The Tock stood there, foolish and gaping. His fellows hooted and snorted at him. The rork made a sound which might have been meant for laughter. Ran relaxed.

“Yes … I means, not just the Mister and all that … how he’s a danger … But we’s not been into his country. If rips be’s there — ”

She had put her finger on it. If any rips remained in or around the Crag — and, probably, some did — then they might eventually reconstitute their former numbers. There was, he mused, uncertainly, some belief that a species could never make a come back if its numbers were reduced beyond a certain point; other factors than mere sexual coupling being involved. If this were true or not, he did not know, nor did he know what the number might be. Possibly, probably, it might well differ from species to species.

But if enough rips did remain about Flinders Crag, then the whole ardous campaign would have gone for nought.

“What do you think, Norna?” he asked. And she told him.

They found Tan Carlo Harb sitting under an improvised lean-to overlooking the Eastern Sea. He was more like his old self, now that the campaign was almost over. He greeted them with a flap of his hand. “Pull up a tree stump … or something,” he invited. “Or just squat, if you want to be picturesque and barbaric and all that. I’ve had enough sand in my crotch, thank you.
Well.
I can offer you cold drinks once again, and I shall insist upon your taking them before you oblige me to listen to whatever it is that I can tell you are just bursting to confide in me.”

He beamed, cheerfully. “I must say that I feel at least ten years younger. The trouble is, I am not
quite
sure that I
wish
to. Ah, the drinks. Hmm, yes, we shall need a new toast, shan’t we? How tiresome.” He lifted his glass.

“Dead rips,” he gave them.

They returned it. “Dead rips!” Ran had clear forgotten how incredibly good a long, cold drink could feel. He seemed to feel this one all the way down.

The SO frowned very slightly. “Now, let me see, before you two young things begin burbling and babbling, now, what was it that I wished to speak about … ? Oh, yes. That nasty old rat, Flinders…. Dear me, what have I
said
?”

Feeling slightly foolish, Ran muttered, “Well, that’s what we wanted to remind you about.”

“
Remind
me? Why, do you suppose that I have forgotten it? For one moment? Never-a-bit. No. Flinders must come to heel. Flinders must police his area. To begin with, realizing full well that he thinks that
he
has cause to hate
me
(which he certainly
does;
ho ho ha), I intend to turn the tables and non-plus him a bit. That always puts savages off balance. So. I am going to issue him an amnesty — issue? Grant. I’m granting him amnesty. Then, while he is still slobbering and wondering what he should think about
that,
I am going to get him to de-rip his pesky little country. Like me to tell you how?”

The plan of Tan Carlo Harb was this: The Mister Flinders was to be asked to duplicate the campaign against the rips, under supervision nominally and tactfully described as assistance. For this, he would be paid a sum of money in chits redeemable, not merely at the Station’s Tocky Store, but in the store where Guildsmen traded. Flinders would be furnished transportation there and back, and he could use the chits to buy anything at all that was for sale; or he could establish credit.

“I will probably extend this privilege to everyone, eventually,” said Harb, contentedly. “After all, they keep shipping the stuff in, you know, and there are buildings and buildings oh just
jammed
with it. Everyone. Wild Tocks, Tame Tocks, those wonderful uncivilized people whom the rorks have been keeping as pets — yes, why not? Rorks, too. Although what
they
could
want
to buy is beyond me. I mean, they haven’t even any necks to string
beads
around! Anklets, maybe.
Well.
But Flinders gets the first crack at it, don’t you see, to entice him to be nice.

“But I’m not going to allow him a flat fee. I want him to have his heart in this, I want him to think of killing rips every single minute. So I’m giving him a bounty. So much per head or tail or pair of ears. Cash on delivery. What think you?”

Ran and Norna looked at each other. Without a word, they nodded. Harb waved his hand. “Over to you, then, cute. Take care of the details. I intend henceforth simply to sit here until my poor tired feet put out weeny
ten
drils
.
Go, my children. Go. Go. Go.”

• • •

Ran arranged the matter from his command post. Reldon, the Commercial Aide, was as red-eyed as most of them, but the redness was no longer from drinking, and his hands didn’t tremble anymore. The matter of heading a trace team, or whatever it might be called, and finishing up the war on rips in Flinders Country, was perhaps not obviously under his jurisdiction as Commercial Aide. But it fitted under it without difficulty; and besides, he had never been in South Tockland, and was eager to seize the chance to go. Ran had some idea that the man was not too eager to return to the Guild Station, anyway — to the same dreary, useless routine; to the waiting bottle and the bottles of waiting friends. Perhaps it might not be a bad idea to post him in Wild Tockland for permanent duty.

Reldon, then, headed the trace team. There were Tame and Wild Tocks on it, and a few rorksmen; these last having shown a perception of terrain and ecology which bordered on the extra-sensory. It was not deemed advisable, though, or even particulary helpful, to include rorks.

The trace team was skimmered down southwards, and Ran, beginning to feel the inevitable letdown of the anticlimax, set about finishing up the work. There was one thing which he did want to see settled. The powwow had only established a one year’s peace between men and rorks. Ran declared that at the end of the year a second powwow would be held, to discuss the possibility of extending the peace. He found no opposition to such a meeting, though his expressions of personal feeling — “Of course a perpetual peace is possible! Haven’t we just finished proving that?” — met with noncommittal reactions as often as not.

Finally, finally, the last inch of coast was pronounced cleared; the forces which had worked clear around the continent met, and closed the circle. There was a jubilation of sorts, but it lasted less time than expected. Everyone seemed suddenly to wake up and realize that they had other things, customary things, to do. Garden plots must be tended, fishing-craft repaired and nets mended, houseys to be reinforced against the damage of the rains.

Offices to be returned to.

One day the beach at Point Conclusion (as Ran named it) was crowded. The next day only a few were left. “Let’s go for a swim, shall we?” he said to Norna. She could not swim, it developed, so he offered to give her a first lesson. Naked, here in open daylight, with others — though not many others — visible. No; Norna refused. Her single undergarment, though, was not bulky enough to impede her arms and legs, and she proved an apt enough pupil.

“Well, that’s enough for now, I guess,” he said, presently. She stood up as he released her, and the sudden sight of the sodden garment clinging to the form of her young body sent his feelings flying. She understood immediately, and flushed; but then her eyes turned to the shore.

“That grove of trees over there….” he murmured in her ear. Arm in arm they waded ashore, first the shore and then the woods seeming a hundred leagues away. For only an instant it seemed that the cloth resisted his fingers, clinging stubbornly to her skin. And then it came away and there was nothing between them but the beating and pounding of their hearts.

Pia Sol had half completed its long march down the sky when they emerged from the woods and walked towards the skimmer which served as command post. An insect buzzed somewhere, louder and more insistently. So great was his preoccupation that not until he had come directly abreast of the skimmer did he realize that he was hearing no insect but a signal buzz.

He leaped into the craft and pressed the cam. “Skimmer Sixteen here. What — ”

Harb’s voice, high and vicious, shrilled in his ear. “Where in the Hell have you been off to?” it demanded. “I’ve been trying to reach you for — ”

“I was out swimming,” Ran said, a sullen note in his voice.

“Swimming! Yes, I’m sure you were. And diving, too, I have no doubt. Well, listen, stud — ” Suddenly the SO’s voice broke. He resumed again, a moment later, in a dull, quiet tone. “Sorry. Sorry. Don’t mind me. Listen … You don’t know what’s been happening down South, do you? It’s my fault. All my fault. I should have known better. Oh, I should have known….”

• • •

One of the Wild Tocks had thrown himself over the edge of the Crag. Miraculously, he had lived, and although it was obvious he could not live for long, he had managed to tell enough of what had happened before he died.

Even in the warmth of latest summer blending into earliest autumn, Flinders Country looked bleak and gaunt. The grass had a pinched look about it. Ran looked from the faces which looked grimly at him, looked around the landscape. It seemed to be familiar — recognition suddenly snapped his eyes clear. He and Norna had passed this way as Flinders’ captives. Something … something just about here had arrested his attention.

“The cairn,” he said.

Jun Mallardy nodded. His eyes were bloodshot, his upper lip seemed frozen into a snarl. “Shows ye the cairn,” he said. It was not far off. The skull that had been there in Cold Time was still there now. Only no snow mantled it now; instead, there was reddish moss —

It was not moss. It was hair.

And it was not yet a skull. It was a head.

“Reldon!”

“Be’s that’s his name?” Mallardy nodded, almost indifferently. “A many names. All’s dead.”

The eyes looked right at Ran. The mouth seemed trying to say something to him. Ran’s hands gripped each other. So near, Reldon had been, so near to climbing up forever from the pit of hopelessness that had wasted his years.
Neither here nor there nor up nor down is there anything that’s any better
… He was trying to say something —

Dead rorks? Dead rips?
Dead Flinders!

“Flinders did it,” someone said. “Flinders did it, Flinders did it, Flin — ”

A hand dug into Ran’s shoulder, shook him. Abruptly the voice ceased. He recognized it now. Edran Lomar’s voice. Jun Mallardy was speaking now. “Flinders did it, says. Yes. Asks, ‘But why?’ I gots no answer. My brother Sai gone up there, and Tig Owelly, and — You knowsn’t their names. We does. Be’s sure, their heads hangs up there on the Crag. ‘Why?’ May’s be the poguey old Mis ter saw’s chance to gets back for all’s feuds, olds and news. May’s be’s he just can’t stand the thought of peace….”

“Never matter, why. Flinders wants blood.”

The other growled and snarled like a rip. “And we s’ll gives him blood. He s’ll haves blood enough to swims in. And — ” he swung around, thrusting his face into Ran’s, “ — Guildsman! Be’s sure! He s’ll have blood enough to
drown
in!”

All the other clans were there. If shouts could raze rocks, the cry that went up then would have shattered Flinders Crag into rubble … into dust.

The massacre of the truce team, which had trustingly entered into the Camp after its Mister’s acceptance of amnesty and terms, had been a mad act. Fenced into his rocky, reeking little country, the opportunity to live at peace had let no light into his hot and festering mind. He operated on a level so low that Harb’s hopeful vision had passed right over without Flinders seeing it. Flinders was able to understand one thing only: all not of his kith and clan were his enemies: here were enemies ready to place themselves in his house and hands! Agree? He would have agreed to fish for the sun at the bottom of the sea, if such agreement would have lured them in.

And now all his people had fled up into the Crag-girt camp, and the Crag was beleaguered. In a sense, the war on the rips had been forgotten, swallowed up into the war on Flinders. Nevertheless, what remained to do in the former fitted in well with the latter. The besiegers formed a circle and gradually closed in. No doubt the few rips found suffered death as much as proxies for Flinders as for their own sakes. But then things reached a stalemate. Those above could not come down; those below could not go up, for the single narrow path and its approaches were guarded by day and by night. True, (Ran reflected), discipline and its sustentation were not within the power of the Wild men for long. Flinders’s guard might relax … eventually. But, so … eventually … might the siege.

And then it would be all to do over again: Rips, Flinders, feuds, fever…. Was this land never to have rest? He himself was the catalyst which had brought about all the recent and present action and reaction. It was up to him to resolve it all.