“Anyway,
MacDonald’s terribly conscientious about his job. He feels that as long as he
has people under him—us—and he’s supposed to be a noncom, he should give it his
best shot. He’s always trying to pick up something new, getting people to teach
him what they know. He reads a lot, a bit of everything but heavy into military
subjects. He never once volunteered us for anything, never tried to suck up to
Command, but he’s never shirked anything either. When they give him a job he
does it right down the line.
“Oh, he’s a
strange one, all right. Likes to try his hand at new things, even writes poetry
occasionally; but it stinks, especially his haiku. Pretty good with the hands,
too, but I gather that you’ve already found that out.”
They talked a
bit more, then Van Duyn went out to speak to Gil, who was checking oil levels
in the road wheels of Alpha-Nine, digging dirt from the little glass circle at
the center of each wheel with his thumbnail and frowning in concentration.
Without preamble
the older man said, “Sergeant MacDonald, I’d like you to come back to Coramonde
when your time in the army is finished, or simply stay here when we send your
friends back. You could be of inestimable value to our cause.”
Gil
straightened. “Look, I’ve got nothing against Springbuck. In fact, I’m certain
he’d be a good King or whatever, but—”
“You don’t
understand. Springbuck’s job as Pretender and true Heir to the throne is to
back our plan to institute a more equitable government in Coramonde. We are
going to seek the help of other nations and factions within this realm.”
“Van Duyn, do
you know what the hell you’re talking about? Have you ever seen civil war? I’m
not saying it isn’t justified here, but I hope for your sake that you realize
what price innocent people will have to pay. Are you ready to provoke something
like that?”
“If my
companions and I do not,” the other answered steadily, “the scenes you saw in
Erub and at Amon’s mansion—oh, yes! Andre has told me!—will be repeated
throughout this part of the world. Even now it will be a difficult thing to
prevent.”
“Why look at
me? Why don’t you come back with us and appeal to the government for help?”
“No, for
several reasons. I cannot leave at this critical juncture, for one thing.
Besides, think for a moment what would happen, even if I took time and managed
to convince the right people of our situation here. The chances are that they’d
either slap a security cover on the whole issue or they’d throw it up to the
UN. If the latter, there’d be a land rush to get guaranteed economic and
political spheres. Who’s to say Yardiff Bey wouldn’t win support for
Strongblade as incumbent? Then there’d be study missions with the results
digested through every committee on Capitol Hill. And in the meantime don’t you
think the Vatican would be outraged to find no vestige of the Christian mythos
here? That would prompt an ecumenical council to end them all. No, I have no
intention of involving my old world in the problems of my new one; the
contiguity effect will stay a secret if I can help it. It may be duplicated
elsewhere—indeed, if the number of cosmos is infinite or near infinite, it is
constantly being discovered—but I shall do all that lies in my power to keep it
from the people and nations whom I quit when I developed it.”
Gil shifted
tactics. “How would I get back? Because I can’t just stay here. You snatched up
Lobo
more or less by chance, and your machine was kept in Earthfast.”
“Yes, but the
first apparatus is still at the Grossen Institute, as far as I know. And that
is another worry. If anyone at the Institute should ever deduce its purpose and
operation, I suppose that a gifted man or team could reconstruct my
breakthrough and devise new activation components to replace the ones I
removed. But you could come back by using it; I’ll give you the address of the
man with whom I left the missing parts and a note of introduction.”
Gil exploded.
“You’ve got a lot of hide on you, Van Duyn. Get myself mixed up in this crazy
business again, maybe on a one-way ride this time, and bring your gizmo along
as a bonus? You’re insane, is what; strictly out-of-your-tree.”
Springbuck, who
had come up to listen, stepped between the two. He was more authoritative, more
martially erect than he had been when Van Duyn had first met him. The past day
or two had left a profound mark on him. He faced the sergeant. “I am asking you
to return to help us,” he said. “And I offer you as reward anything which might
lie within my suzerainty. But I do not think that, if you returned, you would
do it for payment. We will understand if you don’t fare again to Coramonde, but
your aid would be of immense value to me and those who will stand with me.”
Gil blew out
his breath between pursed lips, long and loud. “Van Duyn.” he said at last,
“get me your address book. We’ll figure out a target date for me to come back
through.” To the Prince he said, “You know, it’s been said that the first guy
to be King was a lucky soldier. Okay, you’ve been getting lucky lately; let’s
see what happens.”
They had all
washed sketchily and eaten lightly. A change of clothes would have been nice,
but they were used to being grubby.
“Don’t change
the settings on the programming input,” Van Duyn was saying for the fifth time.
“I already know just where you’ll come through and I’m fairly sure that the
time relation is on a one-to-one order, so there’ll be someone waiting to meet
you.” He held in his hands a sheaf of papers covered with shorthand
scratchings, product of several hours of rambling dictation by Gil with assists
from the rest of the Nine-Mob on the topic of warfare with particular attention
to guerrilla fighting. In a pouch at the scholar’s side were the few hand
grenades they’d had left, to be kept against the sergeant’s return. Gil had
vetoed the suggestion that they leave behind a few small arms, since they
couldn’t foresee how badly they would need them in the war to which they were
returning.
The sergeant
was nodding his acknowledgment, shrugging on his flak jacket with its rip from
the cavalryman’s spear, and looked to his squadmates. “How about it? Any of you
guys coming back with me?” All four answers were negative.
No surprise.
Olivier and Handelman are married, Pomorski’s engaged and Woods is dying to
start college. They all think I’m nuts and who’s to say they’re wrong? Ifs not
all that unlikely that I’ll never get out of here again, once I come back.
Stupid ass.
He gave a wave
to Andre and Gabrielle deCourteney. “You can do it, right? Send us to a few
seconds before you grabbed us and a couple of yards farther back?”
Andre waved
back and nodded with a smile, but his sister merely studied the APC coolly.
Van Duyn left
the track’s side, closing the geometrical designs and lines of its runed
pentacle behind him. Then they stood, Springbuck, the deCourteneys and the
scholar in a circle around
Lobo.
Gil had an impulse to shout out, to
tell them that he could not come back and not to expect him. But he was cut
short as Gabrielle’s marvelous form, arms upraised, became the center of the
now-familiar blue pulsations.
Cold grayness
broke around the APC again, then they were sitting in the midst of a dusty road
as waves of heat rose in the searing dry season. Ahead of them another track
was rumbling along as a movement stirred in the grass to the right. Then
Lobo
was in motion again, sent, as Andre had promised it would be, to a point
several yards behind and seconds before the ambush, overlapped with itself in
time.
Gil watched the
first rocket go off, saw his own crew responding out ahead of him. Woods goosed
the track as he searched for the second RPG-4 man, and spotted him. The Gil
MacDonald in the lead APC did not see the man in time, but his older
counterpart to the rear had already been through this ambush once and was
waiting when the man stood. He cut the small figure down with his first burst
and killed the backup man with the AK-47. The track commander in the cupola of
the other
Lobo
turned in confusion. Gil, knowing what a blackened,
battered sight they were, raised a fist to Gil MacDonald, who returned it with
a grateful grin.
Just then the
lead
Lobo
faded from sight and the second rolled forward to mop up what
was left of the confused ambushers.
Freegate, Beyond, and Elsewhere
I wish all
men to be free,
As much
from mobs as men
—
From you
as me.
LORD BYRON
TAKING into account the scavenged
horses plus those belonging to Springbuck and the deCourteneys—they didn’t want
to use any of the draft animals as saddle horses—they settled on a party of
fifteen for what Van Duyn termed their hejira to Freegate.
Besides basic
provisions, the thaumaturgical apparatus and the few books and scrolls, they
took only a minimum of personal belongings and their weapons. All had intended
to take part in the journey, and those not chosen to go were disappointed and
were mollified only when Van Duyn took them aside to explain the commission of
war with which they were to be invested as guerrillas. The others saw to what
little packing was needful.
Gabrielle found
several occasions to brush against Springbuck or let her hand touch his, and
each time his skin tingled and his face burned red. He was not unaccustomed to
female companionship and had taken his first lover years before; but he felt
gawky and sheepish in her presence and suspected that she liked things that way
and was contriving through outwardly innocent acts to keep it so.
When Van Duyn
returned, the scholar was not pleased; his wretchedness as Gabrielle’s favor
drifted from him wouldn’t permit any such uplifting emotion. But he was
satisfied. “I put Treehigh in deputation over them,” he said. “He’s
self-reliant and physically competent. I think that he’s the sort of man we’ll
need here, though he is petulant at not being able to go with us.”
The Prince
recognized the name, its owner being a big, bearded lumberman, quiet and
intense.
“All of these
people should be able to return to their homes, once we’re gone,” the scholar
added. “Yardiff Bey’ll have bigger fish to fry than Erub.”
It was decided
that they’d rest a bit longer, then depart under cover of darkness.
Springbuck’s sleep was fitful, filled with slow-motion excerpts of the battle
in Amon’s mansion and passing glimpses of Gabrielle. When Andre shook him awake
by torchlight, he was bathed in sweat. He dashed himself with water from the
trough, then resumed boots, sword and other gear and saddled Fireheel. The gray
snuffled his master, scenting strange places upon him, but was eager to be
away. The war-horse had stood too long in a stall’s confinement with tamer beasts.
The dressing on the Prince’s wounded right leg, just above the boot top, began
to fret him and he removed it. The cut wasn’t nearly healed but looked as if it
would remain closed, and he wanted to let the air get at it.
There was
plenty of room on the reconnaissance cavalryman’s saddle for the meager share
he was to carry. He was up and mounted in a moment and Fireheel pranced and
curvetted happily. Van Duyn was ahorse with his rifle and was followed by the
deCourteneys, with Gabrielle in boyish hose and jerkin, and the other eleven,
mostly young, with two women among them. The baby was carried papoose-style on
one rider’s back. One of the women, whose husband and infant son had been
slaughtered in Erub, had volunteered to care for the child and was plainly
happy for the consolation.
Waving final
good-byes to those few still in the castle, they turned and filed out across
the drawbridge. One of the locals, a slight fellow with kinky brown hair and a
freckled face, led the way with the deCourteneys and the other Erubites strung
behind. Springbuck and Van Duyn, at the outlander’s suggestion, fell back to
the end of the column.
It required
full attention to guide their horses at first, but soon they were on a broad
trail and could see somewhat better. The Prince wondered for a moment what
would happen to the vast carcass of Chaffinch, lifeless on the fields they left
behind them.
Van Duyn said,
“I haven’t had much time these few hours we’ve known each other to tell you
about my country, about the ideas and ideals from which I draw my philosophy. I
thought that, since we’ll be passing some time travelling, you might care to
hear a little of them.”
Springbuck
agreed guardedly, partly because he felt guilty about the older man’s anguish
over Gabrielle’s change of fancy, wanting to show that he bore no ill feeling.
Van Duyn spoke at length, fascinating the Prince, about his home and the great
documents and statements of his Reality and his nation. The Heir of Kings was
oddly moved by passages from compacts, speeches and laws. He considered much of
what he heard blatant heresy, held it seditious and unmoral. But it was
compelling withal, a vivid narrative of the struggle of imperfect Man, through
battle and the intricacies of law, toward human enfranchisement.
The monologue
came to an end “I’ve explained this,” Van Duyn finished, “because I must ask
something of you. When we’ve gamed control of Coramonde, I’d expect you, as
Ku-Mor-Mai,
to abdicate and create representative government in the suzerainty.”
Springbuck was speechless
for long moments. Just when he’d begun to dream of taking his father’s place
with such allies as the deCourteneys and Gil MacDonald!
Receiving no
answer, Van Duyn pressed him harder. “After all, you’d already forfeited the
throne, more or less, when you came to us.”