The Enemy of My Enemy (23 page)

So, thus preoccupied with pleasant dreams, he processed the incoming freighter, punching the proper keys and saying the proper words and watching her settle in the proper berth, and watching the proper unloading mechanisms rise into place, the task of refueling commence simultaneously and in proper order. There were no freight floats in waiting, and this caused him some mild and momentary wonder, but he supposed they would be along in sufficient time. They were; he ceased entirely to concern himself in the matter. In another year he was going home on leave; he scanned the sequence in his mind. The voyage in a companionably crowded dormitory section. The pause at the Double Ports of Pemath for various forms of sensual exercise. The trip up-country via river — slow, but cheap … and pleasant — the welcoming. A banquet at his expense for the clan elders; prestige maintained by having three dishes for everyone; thrift maintained by these being moderately small dishes. All predetermined. The only open question was marriage. Should —

“What vessel is that out there, boy?”

Not a flicker passed over the duty operator’s pale, freckled face to indicate either that he resented having his pleasant meditations interrupted or that he was surprised by the sudden and unexpected appearance of the Commercial Deputy.

“Master, Lermencas ship bring freight-chop.”

“Yes, I can
see
that. But what — ”

The Pemathi had observed that Mothiosant was playing neither his languid, indifferent public role nor the crisp, efficient private one known to the Pemathi grapevine. The man was — and this was new — nervous, agitated. But the operator had anticipated the next question, tapped a key, pointed to the photoscan, prepared to interpret the sequence of symbols and numbers if the Commercial Deputy were going to pretend he could not. But the quick knowing way the latter eyed the scan, his mutter of “general cargo,” showed that he wasn’t.

“Well. I’m going down. Switch on for me,” he said, and was gone.

The operator permitted himself one yawn, watched through the transparent walls as the Deputy seated himself on the moving overhead, switched it on, watched it glide down the ramp. It was not essential that he marry on his visit. Should, however, his clan find a girl sufficiently dowered or sufficiently well-connected or sufficiently comely, should the astromancers observe the connection to be fortuitous, he might do so … .
What
was the Deputy doing, standing up recklessly like that in his moving seat?
Why
was he waving his hands? Climbing the barrier to the opposite side? Did he mean he wanted the up-track switched on? Probably. The operator tapped the switch. Something was out of the ordinary. Which meant, almost certainly, that something was wrong. He watched a moment more, then gave a deep sigh, slid to the floor, crawled into the windowless inner chamber adjacent, closed the door, got under the table. This was all rather disappointing, but it was of course predestined. It remained questionable whether predestination was particular (in which case, precautions were useless) or merely general. At any rate, he had already sent his last quarter’s savings abroad. And on deposit in the clan shrine were his nail clippings, hair combings, and the requisite five drops of blood.

Part of him, at least, would receive proper burial in his native land.

• • •

Tonoro almost felt himself to be Jerred Northi again altogether. It would be good if he could have had his old crews here with them, but at least he had not forgotten his old skill at organizing illicit ventures. The present one had something in common with tow-tapping, although of course it was both more dangerous and more — incomparably much more — important. It had been obvious to him, for example, that a Bahon-built freighter would not do for this first trip in — afterwards, perhaps, concealment might not be necessary. To his surprise, this had not been equally obvious to Bishdar Shronk and Cominthal, though they admitted the point immediately. Inexperienced entirely at this sort of thing, they had then fretted because pirating a Lermencasi bottom might arouse instant suspicion; it was he who had pointed out that one could be chartered at once without difficulty or question at any one of a score of ports. And he it was, too, who had arranged for the freight floats to be on hand to pick up this first cargo; that took even more conniving and contriving … . It was
quite
useful to have been a tow-tapper. And to know the thousand and half a thousand ways of obtaining Pemathi assistance without giving public notice of the fact.

The floats came down along the slot, paused, received their mechanically unloaded cargo, continued down along the slot to its end, and were then off under their own power each to a different destination. It would take complete mobilization devoted to that one purpose alone for the Tarnisi to find even some of them — and long before that could have been done they would have unloaded and left. Unloaded: under the dripping trees of some northern forest. Unloaded: on the threshing field of some hamlet of thatched hovels. Unloaded: on an island in the river. In a high place surrounded by marsh. The shanty suburbs of a city. Unloaded under the slow-melting stars and the moonless night sky of Orinel.

The smell of fuel was in his nostrils, nothing but the small sound of the machinery and an occasional whisper in his ears, his mind preoccupied with thought of Atoral … surely she would be safe? Surely her father’s long pro-Volanth views were universally known, his recent, sudden, about-face not yet common knowledge. Surely his house would be spared. Tonoro had spoken of it more than once to Cominthal, each time obtained an impatient assurance. So, now, he was trying to put the matter out of his mind.

Seconds afterwards he realized that he had been aware of the figure seated on the moving overhead, had even observed it suddenly stand up and peer over the side. But he had not been concerned with it until it cried out the first syllables of his name. Then it was that the spell of the night and the mechanical motions of the scene and his preoccupied thoughts was broken. The unloading went on as before, but nothing else did. The man there, forward and above, was Mothiosant. Did he know, then? Voices shouted, feet came pounding. He knew now.
Had
he known? No, else he would not be here alone?
Was
he alone? No time to reflect, consider, plan. Time only to act. Mothiosant tried to leap over the barrier dividing the up-track from the down-, fell back. A fire-charge wooshed and snapped. He got to his feet, began to climb over. Another charge. Another. His leg remained in view on the barrier, as though he had detached it in his struggles, but the cry of pain following the next charge showed that he hadn’t. And all the while he kept shouting something.

Tonoro alone had noticed the subtle change in the mechanical sounds from the overhead. He now gave the quick orders which intercepted a case from the unloading, opened it quickly and carefully, picked out the black, egglike objects, passed one to one of the Volanth who had appeared from out of the shadows, signaled for and obtained sudden silence.

“He is going
that
way now … he’s dropped down so that We can’t see him or even his seat from here. You’ll have to gauge by the sound. Can you?”

The Volanth’s confident grin distended his hairy mouth. He cocked his head, hefted the object in his hand, was for a second all intent attention (thus must he have listened for the rustling or perhaps even the breathing of small creatures hidden in the thickets) and in one swift movement had thrown it. They saw it rise, curve, descend. Heard the
crump
which followed. Heard the machinery grind to a halt. Saw that portion of the overhead dissolve into dust and saw the dust sift to the ground in the orange glow of the light-units. For a moment there was no sound save the satisfied one the thrower made in his throat, deep.

For now Tonoro knew for sure that he had indeed found the ideal weapon with which to arm the Volanth. Of its history he knew very little; the process of self-education in his case had scarcely allowed for research into the subject of subatomic particles. But this much he had known — the only type of atomic weapon ever known to have been used on Orinel was based upon the power of the rare element, carthagium, to annihilate the demetron, one of the many subatomic particles. It had been found (though where or when, he did not know) that the destruction of five demetrons per atom was the maximum which could be attained without dangerous by-effects. As this was sufficient to cause material decomposition, and as a certain amount of caution in regard to such things had become almost instinctive, carthagium was prepared in five-dem units only, the amount of a charge being calculated in the number of five-dems contained. It had been centuries since Orinel world polity had passed the stage of international conflict on a scale involving weapons producing such massive damage. No nation would now venture to use them, though all nations still ventured to make them. And everyone knew of the deadly, black, egg-shaped five-dem units of which each charge was composed. Apparently it had never occurred to anyone that the units were weapons in themselves. Apparently no nation possessing them had ever been obliged to arm overnight a people experienced in using no weapon but a rock or stone. It was only here and now in Tarnis that the two factors had met. A people deprived of anything more complex, lest they should turn on their oppressors, was now about to turn on their oppressors with something at the same time infinitely complex and equally simple.

And, Tonoro realized, gazing on the gaping structure and the settling dust with a sick feeling, the war with which this weapon would be chiefly waged had already begun.

Sarlamat faced the Conjoint Council — the five Chief Lords and the six Chief Guardians — and tried again to explain. “That is not the way the protective screen
works
!” he exclaimed. “It is not something solid, like a roof. It is not even something partially solid and partially vacant, like a net. Imagine a number of men scattered about a field. Someone throws a large ball at the field. At once, all the men rush towards the ball and put up their hands and catch it and try to prevent its touching the field.
That
is how the protective screen works — the particles are in suspension, they are sensitized; as soon as a body above a certain mass approaches, the particles rush together and interpose themselves between it and the area being — ” He broke off, threw up his hands. Death approached on all sides, and he was here, lecturing like a pedagogue with all the time in the world.

“But they do
not
interpose themselves,” Lord Losacamant objected. “We see it ourselves — these damned and devilish gorum-rocks that the brutes have made just go right through your so-called protection screen. So — ”

“You must get bombs!” Guardian Othofarinal cried.

“
Gorum, gorum
, it has nothing to do with
gorum
: they aren’t magic and they aren’t rocks,” Sarlamat declared, with passion. “They are five-dem units and the reason that the screen particles do not keep them out is because no one ever thought it would be necessary to make it possible for objects of such small mass to be screened out. If there were only time,
time
— But there is not — ”

“Bombs!”

The Guardian was obsessed with the word and concept. He had never seen bombs or been anywhere near where they were dropped; perhaps he thought of them, consciously or otherwise, as objects with a sense of discrimination, possessing the proper social prejudices. “What do you expect bombs to do?” Sarlamat demanded. “Where would you have them dropped? On the cities, where half of our people have fled? On the country estates? On all of them? A charge big enough to destroy a city — drop it on one house? Because perhaps a Volanth is hiding in it? Perhaps your daughter or your grandson is hiding in it!

“Over the centuries this whole planet has deliberately built up a system of using short-range weapons because of the known insanity of developing larger, longer-range ones. No one is going to use the only major weapon in existence now — if it’s used in an intranational war, the next step might be to use it in an international war. The risk’s too great. When we — when I and the Commercial Deputy — is there still no news of him? — learned that the Bahon were arming the Quasi we never dreamed that they were arming them with
this!
”

The Conjoint Council had not been entirely still while he was speaking and now that he had stopped it burst again into full cry. It was meeting at Yellowtrees, Mothiosant’s country estate, not because it was his or because of its historical associations (there was no time now for sentimental gestures), but because in the suddenness of the outbreak and the uncoordinated movements to and fro, it had provided a convenient, temporary rallying-place. The fabric and furnishings of the mansion were still intact, the Pemathi house-boys still attended neatly and promptly as ever.

Otherwise, though, nothing was the same. The Council, for all its noise and gesticulation — now and then for a moment relapsing into the ornate formalities of familiar times, then falling into abrupt and momentary silence, then bursting forth again — the Council was still in a state of shock. Not since the almost legendary age of Lord Maddary had the Volanth broken out into war. Ah, the view had always been that the Volanth were always doing so, and on this basis the periodic levies had gone out to punish them. But this — this carrying of war out to the estates, the very towns and cities of the Tarnisi — this was different! This was in truth a war! And in acknowledging this, they, in effect, acknowledged that the rest was all a lie. The Volanth for a thousand years had not really made war upon the Tarnisi.
But they were doing
it
now
.

Losacamant said, “If the Lermencasi intend to help us at all, if we aren’t to be wiped out, then at least they will send us the same things — not ‘gorum-rocks,’ you call them something else? — but they have them, too? They’ll supply us with them, too, I must hope? Because if they do not, my brother, why — By my blood! Then all who have the Seven Signs will perish!”