The Earth Gods Are Coming (6 page)

Shrill voices gobbled. Ropes flew out, bars against the sun, to catch and hook
Swallow.
The shattered control room boat was drawn tightly against two sailing ships.

Heads craned down. Arms were raised. The noise increased.

"Don't do anything silly," Inglis said tiredly. "Act calmly. They're coming aboard."

-

Inglis had worked hard all his life, making a career for himself in the marines against unspoken, and all the more cloying for that, parental opposition. His natural advantages had been outweighed by obscure origins; but despite that he had had his successes; had volunteered to join the CDB capsule dropping organization at an early age; had come through that experience safely and with enhanced prestige, and, in making a brilliant match with Laura CWB, had at last imagined himself breaking clean away from all that had held him back. In the first flush of marriage it had seemed that the stars alone could contain his ambitions and his development. Later, bit by bit and concession by concession, Laura had had her own way until he felt himself to be a bondsman, fettered to the Solar System. There was still a great deal of love in their marriage; but it was overlaid with the thick crust of divergent habit and self-seeking.

Inglis sat now in the pleasantly rocking room of the houseboat, trying on his new scarlet scraps of cloth, and marveling anew at the changes a few weeks had made in the outlooks and living conditions of the quondam crew of
Swallow.
When the little aliens had burst inboard he had imagined that the next moment would see the end, or at least an unpleasant confinement. Instead, they had been treated as equals—not as gods, which would not have surprised him—and had been offered accommodation aboard a well-found sailing ship. They had transferred all their scanty belongings to their new home and the control room section had been sunk.

Belita had been buried with the fullest honors they could contrive at sea.

Despite the welcome fact that Gerda was a navy-qualified philologist and thus better fitted to decipher the alien language, they had all, within a fortnight, been able to speak it and rub along with rapidly increasing fluency. That had confirmed Inglis' suspicion that the spaceship flier had sent down more than a mere mental hypnosis with that damned great blaring voice. None of the Terrans seemed the same. There was a heightened frenzy about them that had sprung back as soon as they had recovered from that macabre dance.

Now, looking back, all of them, including Inglis, felt that to have been a supreme moment in their lives. Linda and Sammy openly bemoaned the fact that the dancing ecstasy had not fallen on the aliens again. The two were' often seen on the deck, surrounded by leaping and cavorting sailors. These people called themselves Pogosan, which meant "Thinkers of the Sea."

The cabin door curtains were lifted, tinkling on their rings, and Gerda and M'Banga entered. They both looked fit and the color in her cheeks gave a lustre and sparkle to Gerda's blue eyes. They both wore ribands of emerald green.

"Look at old scarlet banner," Gerda said lightly. "A real first class noble." She used the word in English; the Pogosan translation of noble was "he of the rich, fat, broad, thick and heavy tail." Alien methods of rank nomination were apt to be more logical than speakable, and the Pogosan system was so strictly built upon a class system that the Terrans had had no option but to fall in with their hosts' customs.

"Is everyone ready?" Inglis asked, ignoring Gerda's banter.

"Ready, skipper," M'Banga said. "Sammy and Linda are beside themselves with excitement. This promises to be a big day. A big day," he finished, vaguely.

"Where's Toni?"

"Sulking because she has to wear yellow, and thus cannot stand with us at the ceremony."

"You know," Inglis said, fingering his scarlet cloth. "We might perhaps have stood out that we were all nobles."

"The damage was done the moment you began taking command again, Roy. The Pogosan are quick, intelligent people and they saw how the youngsters jumped when you spoke."

"And," added Gerda, pulling her green headcloth more securely, hiding her hair, "it may be unfeeling and callous to say so; but I'll say it just the same. You, M'Banga, Ranee and I are more fitted ..." She paused, looked at Inglis and away, quickly. "We carry a heavier responsibility for spreading the Word."

She was quite sincere. M'Banga nodded solemnly in agreement.

Inglis said, "That is true. Sammy and Linda are full of enthusiasm, but I mistrust their staying power. Toni is very young and Anton, too, is inexperienced." He smiled round on them. "We do bear a heavy responsibility. We have to put all our energy into spreading the Word. It will be a joyous task."

"Hear, hear," said Gerda and M'Banga, together.

A communion of spirit possessed them so that for that moment they felt very close, knit in the service of a dedicated crusade.

A high Pogosan voice shrilled out on the deck. A trumpet blared, the shell giving the sound a thick, textured tone. Inglis gave a final fussy twitch to the scarlet riband encircling his right thigh. The scarlet shoulder patch secured over and under his left armpit seemed to stay in position well enough, but the movement of the muscles of his legs was always dislodging the thigh patch so that it slipped down. Most embarrassing. He'd tried stitching it to his shorts, but the Pogosan had objected. Color patches, they justly said, were not a part of clothing and to join them to articles of dress was tantamount to less majesty.

The conch whooped again.

"The city must be joining fenders with the strangers," M'Banga said. "Perhaps we ought to be going."

"Yes." Inglis moved to the door curtains, lifted them to call Hannah, who was standing guard over the shrine of radio parts. Hannah, her white ribands denoting a noble of the third class, smiled at Inglis, her muscular body as bronzed and brown as an old cannon.

"If you like, Hannah, you can put Toni or Anton on guard ..." Inglis broke off. This over caution was senseless. He said firmly, "I believe we can dispense with a guard over the radio gear. The Pogosan have shown no inclination to steal. We know from their mores that communal property is sacrosanct to them. Hannah, you can go off duty now, and we can all go to the ceremony together."

"Thank you, Roy," Hannah said, immensely pleased.

"I think you're quite right, Roy." Gerda was pulling selfconsciously at her head scarf again. "The Pogosan are inherently honest. In fact, they are a delightful people."

They walked through onto the deck. All the Terrans had been quartered aft of the mast and the ship's captain, a genial, mild mannered Pogosan with silver tingeing the tips of his silky hair, was sharing some lower officer's cabin so as to leave the wide staterooms in the stern vacant. Inglis sniffed appreciatively at the morning breeze. The sky had a high pale-blue luminescence that betokened a fine day.

"We can do with good weather today," he said to M'Banga. He pointed at the other city floating on the lee side. "Quite a metropolis. How many ships and houseboats and rafts do you think there are, M'Banga?"

M'Banga looked across. "As big as this one." Spread all about on the sea the wooden hulls and tall masts rocked and bobbed in the swell. Hundreds of pinkish birds with webbed feet and yellow, scooping beaks, circled and howled overhead. They formed up neatly in lines to take their turn in swooping down onto the scraps thrown overboard from the galleys. Flags and banners and bunting fluttered everywhere and a sense of urgency and excitement pervaded everything going on. It was a bright, brisk morning and an animated and color filled scene, loud with laughter and the sounds of music, the slap of waves and the pleasant, companionable shipboard sounds inseparable from wooden ships.

Gerda drew his attention back inboard. "Here's the captain."

The little Pogosan had his green rank-patches prominently displayed. He was showing his two big front teeth in an engaging expression that was the equivalent of a broad smile.

"The admiral awaits your presence, strangers," he said, visibly affected and excited by the morning's portentous events. The word for "admiral" was a complex one, developing upon the shape and weight of tail. The Pogosan still called the Terrans strangers; the word meant more than it did in English.

"Thank you, Captain," Inglis said quietly. "Shall we go along now?"

"If it would please you, of red banner."

"May the misty ones smile upon you," Inglis said in a salutation as new as their own entry onto this planet.

They walked towards the gangplank. It was a solid structure, wide enough to accommodate three people abreast, equipped with strong carved railings. From it, Inglis knew, a person could walk dryshod from end to end of the armada, moving from ship to houseboat and raft by the gangways that ran everywhere. A Pogosan living in the center of the city barely saw the sea at all, save for wedge-shaped sparkles between the curving bows of ships.

Floating at the rear of each of these conglomerations of ships and rafts were wide expanses of logs to be used for repairs and new building. Many ships were mere floating barns, stuffed with good food and drink, water, wine and bread, cordage, tar, nails, canvas—everything that a floating city might need.

The journey to the central raft, floating between the two cities, was made in style. On their progress they were joined by many high-ranking Pogosan; the red and green and white ribands clustered from vantage points all about. Somewhere in that throng were Linda, Sammy and Toni. Inglis wished they were with him. He was feeling a strong sense of responsibility for his crew, a feeling heightened by the work they were committed to. The Word must be spread about this world as fast as may be.

During the ceremony they would take a spectator's part. This was acceptable to Inglis. Much as he was fired with the desire to spread news of the Four Caves, he understood that the more he could learn of the Pogosan the better. And this contact of his city with another would teach him much.

The raft was large and solid and floated with an assurance that no gale could ever wrench its stout timbers apart. It was gay with flags and banners. The assembled nobles stood about, rank on rank, leaving a central square with two opposite approaching lanes. The Terrans, because of their superior height, stood close to the water's edge, looking comfortably over the glittering throng towards the center.

Conches blew lustily. Wind slapped the flags. The sea smelt clean and fresh and full of the tang of adventure.

The admiral of their city advanced with slow and dignified, steps, onto the raft, along the carpeted pathway, followed by a brilliant retinue. He was preceded by a functionary who was of large physique for a Pogosan. This Thinker of the Sea carried, upright before him as though it were a banner, a tree branch from which fresh green leaves were growing. Inglis knew it had that morning been reverently cut from the sacred tree aboard the admiral's ship. A sea society, however much they might hate land, would have a natural reverence for the trees that gave them the wood that made their life possible.

From the opposite direction the admiral of the other city walked, preceded in like fashion by his own branch from his sacred tree. The two parties met. The clamor from conches and stringed instruments was deafening.

The voices of the two admirals carried clearly to every part of the raft and were passed on in a lightning chain of repititions by the city criers until everyone, right out to the floating reserves of timber, heard what was said.

There were the greetings. The wishes that the voyage had been prosperous. News of other cities. Condolences on mishaps. Bartering for commodities in short supply. Deals for surplus materials. There would be, later that night when the cities were lit by the myriads of gigantic lanterns in all the colors of the spectrum, the assignations and engagements and a marriage or two would be solemnized before the cities even thought of parting. The Pogosan were monogamous—that was miracle enough; perhaps not so much of their miracle of mammalian ancestry was, but still a sharp reminder that they had much in common with the aliens in their midst.

The sight of this meeting of two floating cities in the wide ocean and the emotions it evoked brought vividly into Inglis' mind the memory of another such meeting in the great deeps between two other representatives of a widely traveling culture; but the memory vanished as soon as it was evoked. He listened to the happy exchanges going on in the center of the raft.

Soon it would be the admiral's joy to announce the great and glorious news. Soon he would tell the people of this new city of the Four Caves and the veiled powers and of the ghoul-eyed ones of mystery and high promise. These Pogosan would be invited to rejoice in the great visitation, to join in the wonders of the Four Caves, and know that they, too, had been chosen as the people dear to the hearts of the banner waving, misty-eyed ancients in their might wisdom.

The admiral told the great news. He used the words, the words of power and glory that rang like brazen strokes as they had rung that day from the colossus hanging in the sky. He repeated joyfully the surging cadences, the virulent fire of rhetoric that was more than human. As he spoke the people of his city grew more and more excited; they could not contain themselves. The occasion, the atmosphere, had aroused them.

By ones and twos, then by shiploads, they began their ritual dancing that suited perfectly their physiology and their customs and that had nothing in it of salaciousness. They began curling their massive tails, flinging themselves up and down in ecstatic trancelike prancings.

It was very much like the Dancing Death of the Terran Medieval Period, although there was nothing of death in this joyous dance that welcomed the return of the misty-eyed ancients.

Inglis jerked a quick look at Gerda. Her face was rapt, her eyes uplifted. The Terrans did not join in the dance; they had no need of that purely physical form of expression; but Inglis remembered with amused tolerance that he had stopped them from dancing aboard the old control room ship from
Swallow.

People all about were shouting. They were singing and dancing, giving vent to the dominant emotion that possessed them all.

The infection spread to the new city. Pogosan there were dancing and strutting, waving their tails high. Inglis knew that there were parallels here, to be found in vaguely recalled services in tall narrow buildings with stained glass windows; but this was of the here and now, of the sea and of a friendly intelligent alien people who danced for the joy of the Word.