Gods of the Greataway (34 page)

So he labored in the snow, while Icarus coughed on the locomotive footplate in the heat of the fire, and eventually he laid a straight track toward the high walls and curved the track upward at the end so that a locomotive, rushing along it, would be launched into the air. That was the impetus he needed that was what the wheels were for — to help get the locomotive airborne.

Then, because he wanted
to take no chance of overloading, he built another, similar track and fired up his second locomotive for Icarus.

Finally, he discussed his plan with his son. To his surprise, Icarus was overjoyed, thinking little of the danger — but questioning his father again and again on the capabilities of the locomotives.

“I don’t know, Icarus.” Why were his son’s eyes so bright? Why was he standing, when a few minutes before he’d seemed too weak to rise? “The impetus of the wheels will throw the locomotive into the air, and the steam will lift it over the wall. More than that I can’t tell you.”

“Flying … We’ll be flying, like birds. Do you realize that, Father? Doesn’t the thought move you?”

“Machinery moves me. So, we may fly a short distance. My main intent is to get you out of here. I thought that was what you wanted, too.”

“Yes … But flying…”

The locomotives stood side by side. Icarus, flushed and bright-eyed, stood at one regulator, his father at the other.

“Now …”said Daedalus.

Simultaneously they pulled on the regulators, and in unison, the two locomotives rolled down the tracks, gathering speed. The compound echoed with exhaust beats as smoke was hurled into the sky. Rail-joints rattled under the wheels. Daedalus saw the intense expression on his son’s face and wondered. Icarus glanced across at him and grinned a fierce grin of joyous anticipation. Side by side, the two locomotives roared toward the wall.

The beat of exhaust deepened as they hurled themselves at the grade and began to climb. The man and the boy held the regulators wide open, urging every last gram of power out of their bellowing mounts. The rails fell away beneath them.

They rose into the air.

Daedalus held his breath as his locomotive leveled out, skimming the top of the wall with a scant meter to spare. He looked ahead and saw a fair land stretching into the distance, wooded hillsides and lakes with winding rivers glistening in the sunlight — quite unlike his native Ionia, but beautiful, and a fine place for Icarus and him to settle down in. He saw a cluster of friendly cottages, and he eased off the regulator and opened the cylinder cocks, blowing off steam. The locomotive began a gentle descent. He motioned Icarus to follow him.

But Icarus
still clung to his regulator, and the smoke roared from the chimney, drawing the furnace into an inferno and building ever higher pressure in the boiler. He was laughing, eyes blazing, and faintly his father heard the words, “Flying, I’m flying! Into Space, into Space …”

Daedalus landed, descended from the cab, looked up and wept.

Icarus flew on, ever higher, until his father could see him no longer. He rose until the clouds were beneath him, and where they parted he could see a green land below, rivers and villages and coastline, like a colored map. That land didn’t interest him, because Space lay before him. His lifelong dream was about to come true. Tugging at the regulator, he rose …

He rose until he reached the limits of Earth’s atmosphere, then the furnace began to falter and flicker, because there was no oxygen to feed it. The boiler pressure dropped. Frantically he shoveled in more coal, but it served only to dampen the fire further.

The locomotive fell.

Icarus screamed. The locomotive fell back into the atmosphere, but the fire was out, the steam pressure low. Icarus fell, down, down, through the clouds until he smashed into the summit of a great mountain, creating a crater a kilometer wide, and only then did the furnace reignite, but it was too late.

Icarus was dead.

The boiler exploded with a mighty roar, and fire and steam gushed from the summit of the mountain, which men called Stromboli. From time to time Stromboli still explodes and throws steam and molten stuff into the sky — and men say “Icarus has fallen on another happentrack.” And since there are happentracks without limit, Icarus will always fall and Stromboli will always erupt.

And
Daedalus?

Years later, when he was an old man alone in his cottage, his only possessions a few goats, Starquin appeared to him in the form of a Dedo.

“Why did you do it?” asked Daedalus. “Why did you take Icarus? I was the guilty one. I spoiled the Earth.” Over the years he’d had dreams of the future, and he’d seen what he’d done on other happentracks.

The beautiful woman looked at him. There was no pity in her eyes, no humanity — because at that moment she was totally possessed by Starquin, the Logical One.

She said, “It is the way of a man to invent only one thing in his lifetime. You invented the steam engine — nothing more. But Icarus—had he lived, he would have discovered the Great-away. Mankind is not ready for that, Daedalus. Not yet.”

So saying, she disappeared, leaving Daedalus alone.

C
ountless
years after Icarus, Mankind
did
discover the Greataway, and the age of Invisible Spaceships began. The Invisible Spaceships — as fast as thought and as clean as the new moon, powered by the Outer Think. They were much more practical than Icarus’s locomotive — or even the Celestial Steam Locomotive, which came later and which was not a true Invisible Spaceship — because only insubstantial Dream People could ride it.

The secret of the Outer Think was lost after the war with the Red Planet, so the minstrels say. This is not strictly true, because Selena’s vulpids, among others, used a limited version of mind travel. But it makes a good story and gives the minstrels the opportunity to credit the rediscovery of the Outer Think to Manuel and Elizabeth, the Great Lovers.

On that morning, after Starquin had spoken through the mouth of the priest, Manuel and Elizabeth made their way to a pool where axolotls lived, in the shadow of the Dome. Here they held hands.

They materialized on the Skytrain for the last time. Blind Pew was in charge now, tapping his way up and down the aisle, a figure of infinite menace. The fun had gone out of the voyage, and the passengers were scared and silent. The Bale Wolves had been defeated on this particular happentrack and, so far as the passengers could see, further travel was pointless.

“I want to go
home,’ Bambi said plaintively.

Pew said, “Hist — there’s stowaways aboard! By the powers, I’ll rummage them out and keelhaul the dogs!”

“It’s only us,” said Manuel. “So shut up and sit down, Pew!”

Pew’s stick made an audible hiss as it swung toward Manuel, and it would surely have killed him if it had not, at the moment of impact, suddenly faded and passed right through him, leaving him unharmed.

“By God!” exclaimed Sir Charles. “The young whippersnap-per has the measure of Pew!”

“Pew’s only a smallwish,” said Beth. “He’s in your power if you have the courage to face him down.”

Silver suddenly bobbed up, hobbling from the direction of the Locomotive. “Don’t be doing anything hasty, now, shipmates! Save your psy. Reckless wishing could send us all to Davy Jones!”

Bambi sat very still, staring at Pew. She said, “If we’re very careful, we can wish away little things on this Train without hurting the composite. I think this horrible blind man is only a little thing that has become blown up in our minds. A tiny man my father once made, he said …” She was beginning to talk quietly to herself, a frequent habit of hers. Her gaze drifted to the window, where a supernova glittered countless light-years away. “Makes no difference where you are, anything your heart desires will come to you …” And her voice became inaudible, but she turned and looked at Pew again.

And suddenly Pew was naked.

He stood there bereft of his shapeless black hat and green eyeshade, and his great swirling stinking cloak was gone, and his shirt and pants, and even his cracked seaboots. He stood there a blind old man, face pointing this way and that in sightless bewilderment, his hands cupped over his groin. He was skinny and wrinkled and defenseless and totally pathetic.

He was a solid smallwish and it would have taken more than Bambi’s psy to remove him entirely, but she had hit upon a way to whittle him down.

With a croak
of despair he bolted for the Locomotive, bony shanks pumping.

“Well now, me hearties,” boomed Silver, visibly gaining in stature. “Now here’s a pretty kettle o’ fish. Not that I have any time for the likes o’ Pew, but we must have discipline.” Nevertheless he found it hard to conceal his glee, and after a short oration on the value of teamwork, he shouted, “The Song, shipmates, let me hear the Song!”

And at that moment, the Celestial Steam Locomotive ran into a Hate Bomb.

*

Manuel and Beth were lost in their little world of love at the time, holding hands and planning their future in Pu’este, when a group of images passed through their minds.

First they saw Silver swinging toward them, a smile on his broad face, while from his free hand feathers fell, and a trickle of blood as he crushed the parrot in a clenched fist.

Next came Pew, fully clothed but for his eyeshade, and his eyes were like moons in his pointed face, dull moons that roved about before fixing a blind gaze upon them. Then one eye winked, a slow, grotesque hooding of the orb.

Thirdly the fireman came, and he had no face at all. The cowl of his black cloak contained a head that was featureless but not smooth, composed of ridges and furrows in independent movement, as though a carpet of maggots were devouring a side of meat.

And for the fourth image, Manuel and Beth each saw something different.

Manuel saw Beth, and yet it was not the Beth he knew. This new girl looked like Beth and she was smiling, but it was a smile of false invitation like a prostitute’s, and she thrust her hips forward as she swayed toward him, and her dress fell off one shoulder so that the breast was exposed — not only to him, but to a vast number of eyes that suddenly materialized around them. Then this new Beth spoke, and she said, “Come to me, honey!” and as he stood, hypnotized, she produced a glittering little knife from the pocket at her waist and held it before her, so that he could not help but impale himself as he was drawn irresistibly forward …

Beth
saw Manuel smile tenderly at her. He said, “Kiss me, my love,” and as she did so, her tongue probing toward his, he suddenly bit down …

… and they found themselves fighting, somewhere there was a knife, and around them the passengers were fighting, also. Not only were they possessed with hatred for each other, but there was a dreadful fear in them, too, so that they fought with desperate and murderous intent and the knife was a millimeter from flesh …

“I love you, Beth,” said Manuel, trying not to struggle.

The knife was against his throat now and her crazed eyes stared into his.

“I love you, Beth,” said Manuel.

Her eyes widened with the first uncertainty, but it was too late, and the maddened brain gave the signal to the muscles, and the knife slid forward.

“I love you, Beth,” said Manuel, keeping still.

And suddenly the roar of hatred faded, the sulfurous air became sweet and the passengers quieted down, looking at one another in puzzlement, wondering what they were fighting about — and why, a second ago, they’d had every intention of fighting to the last man.

Beth stared incredulously at the knife in her hand, then dropped it to the floor, and the final image — of a sad-faced, dark man who had wanted to rule the world — faded from her mind in a rush of loving psy as she caught hold of Manuel and hugged him, and felt his arms around her, too.

And thus was the first Hate Bomb defused. After that it became easier. The Hate Bombs had served their purpose; they had saved Humanity. It was a pity that Humanity had in the meantime mislaid that special quality of love that would have allowed the Bombs to be nullified earlier — but now Manuel and Beth removed them one by one.

Ana drew the purple drapes aside and stepped into the pavilion of Shenshi. The ancient Dedo leaned against her Rock, watching her daughter expressionlessly.

“The time has come,” she said.

“That’s good,” said Ana.

“It is not an occasion for satisfaction. It is not an occasion for anything except the knowledge that my Duty is done and my Purpose fulfilled. Satisfaction is a human emotion, Ana.”

“Please let me experience it just a little longer, Mother. What a pretty girl Elizabeth is! She’s just perfect for Manuel.”

“Naturally. I took a great deal of care over her appearance.”

“But I thought it was just chance. I thought the Bale Wolf’s venom cured the Girl and turned her into Elizabeth.”

“All humans must have a good dose of evil in them, otherwise they’re not truly human. The venom of the Bale Wolf will cure every neotenite on Earth”.

“But Elizabeth’s
face
”

“I
experimented for many thousands of years, using an Everling artist who is a blood relative of Manuel, although the artist never knew what was happening. Finally, I tested Manuel with a portrait, and he reacted favorably. Elizabeth was Manuel’s perfect woman. As the Girl, she loved him already. So the two of them, with powerful emotional ties, were capable of removing the Hate Bombs. Nobody else could have done it. It was all carefully calculated.”