The Fugitive Worlds (29 page)

better to forget about the chilling dreamworld of mathematics and imagine himself gently drifting from one island to another in a glassy black sea.

One of the traits Toller shared with his grandfather was impatience—even a few days of forced inactivity being enough to unsettle him. He had read liven Zavotle's log of the Farland flight in its entirety and could recall a related passage word for word.
Our captain has taken to quitting the control deck for long periods. He spends hours at a time in the middle sections, wedged in place at a porthole, and seems to find some kind of solace in these reveries in which he does nothing but stare into the depths of the universe.

Feeling oddly furtive and self-conscious. Toller occasionally emulated his grandfather, going down into the strange netherworld of the ship where the narrow rays of light from the ports created confusing patterns of shadow among the internal struts and the bins which housed supplies of power crystals, firesalt, food and water. He would position himself in a narrow space between two storage lockers, and simply allow his thoughts to drift while he gazed through the nearby porthole. The sound of the main engine was stronger there, the smell of the hull's tarred canvas lining more noticeable, but he could think better in the solitude.

Inevitably, his thoughts often turned to the mysteries and dangers of the near future. It seemed incredible that not very long ago he had bemoaned the dearth of adventure in his life, the lack of any opportunity to prove himself worthy of his illustrious name. Now he was engaged in a venture which, although honorable, was so desperate that even the old Toller Maraquine might have counseled against it, one for which—try though he might—it was almost impossible to foresee a successful outcome.

The idea had come to him in an instant of total despair and he had seized on it gratefully and with manic certitude, seeing a clear-cut way through all the barriers and pitfalls of circumstance. It had all seemed so perfect. He could not be teleported to the alien planet in pursuit of his loved one— therefore he would fly there in a Kolcorronian ship and take the whole of Dussarra by surprise. Divivvidiv averred he was an unimportant member of his society and consequently without value as a hostage, but his claim was belied by his being in sole command of the great midpoint station. The stage was all set for a hero—armed with naught but daring, imagination and a trusty blade—to astound and confound the might of an alien world. There would be the swift, unseen descent by fallbag and parachute to a point near the enemy capital . . . the clandestine penetration of the alien leader's citadel . . . the bargaining sessions in which Toller held the upper hand ... the reunion with Vantara . . . the return to Overland by way of teleporter and skyship or parachute . . . the idyllic, aureate future with Vantara by his side. . . .

You
fool\
The recriminations would sometimes come with the same devastating psychic force as the original preposterous idea, and in those moments Toller would writhe and almost moan aloud with self-loathing. Only one element of the bizarre situation remained changeless amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, giving him the resolve he needed to see the matter through. He had vowed to himself and to others that he would make his way to Vantara's side, and—that being the case—he had no option but to press forward, regardless of how slight the chances of success might be, even if it transpired that certain death lay ahead. . . .

Viewed from a height of more than four thousand miles, the home world of the alien intruders looked remarkably similar to Land and Overland. The cloud cover consisted of the same patterns of broad flowing rivers breaking up into vortex streams or isolated whirlpools. It was only when Toller made his eyes refocus that he saw through the filigrees of shining vapor to the planetary surface and realized that the proportion of land masses to oceans was lower than he would have expected. The predominant color was blue, with only

occasional patches of subdued ochres to indicate land.

"It looks as though we could all end up with wet arses,"
he said somberly, gazing down through a porthole at the
great convex shield of the planet.

It is not too late to abandon your insane scheme.
Divivvidiv
turned his black-drilled eyes towards Toller.
There is nothing at all to prevent you from going home and living out your life
in security and comfort.

"Are you trying to undermine our resolve?"

I
am doing what you told me I must do in order to preserve
my life
—
giving you sound information and advice.

"Do not become over-zealous," Toller said. "The only
information I require from you at this stage concerns the
drop to the surface. Are you positive you have made the due
allowance for crosswinds? While 1 have no wish to descend
in the sea, I have an equally strong aversion to the idea of
landing in the heart of the city."

You can trust me
—
all relevant factors have been taken into
consideration.

Divivvidiv had scarcely left his restraint net since the ship
had been turned over at the midpoint of the flight, his time
being spent in hushed meditation and the issuing of numerous
demands for course and speed adjustments. Toller had
formed the opinion that the alien, even with his awesome
talents, had found it much more taxing to guide the ship
while it was travelling "backwards" and he was referring to
marker stars which were opposed to the direction of flight.

Now, however, with the ship in orbit at the fringes of Dussarra's atmosphere Divivvidiv was in a much more re
laxed and accessible mood. It was obvious that he feared the
descent through the planet's atmosphere, but—for some
reason peculiar to his kind—the fact that it involved no
hand-to-hand
killing
enabled him to face the ordeal with
much the same fortitude as a reasonably courageous human.

He had already donned his silver skysuit in preparation
for quitting the ship—an event due in less than one hour— and was concerning himself with his food supplies. When told that Kolcorronian rations consisted largely of strips of desiccated beef and fish, augmented by disks of compressed grain and dried fruit, he had insisted on bringing provisions of his own. The alien food seemed to consist mainly of varicolored cubes of tough jelly which had been wrapped in gold foil. Divivvidiv had taken a number of them from a pocket and was carefully scrutinizing the gleaming blocks, possibly in search of a tidbit.

Toller was again struck by his composure and, doing his utmost to foresee adverse factors, wondered if Divivvidiv was in possession of whole realms of knowledge of a kind which had not even been hinted at in all their telepathic exchanges. As an exercise in practical strategics, Toller tried to project his mind thousands of years into the future of the Kolcorronian civilization, with emphasis on the technology of warfare, and on the instant an alarming vision blossomed behind his eyes.

"Tell me something, greyface," he said. "That
thing
you call the Xa . . . It
is
a mere machine, isn't it?"

Basically
—
yes.

"And you have endowed it with the ability to see, with utmost clarity, objects which are thousands of miles away?"

Yes.

"It therefore seems eminently logical to me that your home world, the cradle of your civilization, would be plentifully provided with similar machines." Toller paused to let his words have effect and the alien was able to follow his line of thought unaided by speech.

You are quite wrong!
Divivvidiv injected amusement into his reply.
There are no devices detecting this ship and giving warning of its presence. We do not keep a watch on our skies. Why should we?

"To warn you of invading armies . . . enemy forces."

But where would such invaders come from? And why

should another culture act in a hostile manner towards Dussarra?

"Conquest," Toller said, beginning to wish he had never started the exchange. "The desire to conquer and rule. . . ."

That is tribal thinking, Toller Maraquine
—
it has no place among civilized communities.
Divivvidiv returned his attention to the sorting of his food cubes.

"Complacency is the enemy of. . . ." Toller, to his annoyance, found himself unable to complete what he had hoped would be an aphorism. Becoming restless, he operated the handle of the air machine, mixing a fresh charge of firesalt with the water in its wire mesh reservoir. Divivvidiv had shown an interest in the device at the start of the flight, and had explained that air was made up of a mixture of gases, one of which—oxygen—supported life, fed fires and led to the rusting of iron. When firesalt came into contact with water it gave off copious quantities of oxygen, thus enabling the ship's crew to survive long journeys through interplanetary vacuum. Toller had made a written note of the new scientific knowledge for the benefit of interested parties back in Prad, even though he did not care to speculate on their chances of receiving it.

It would have been a simple matter to bring the ship down to a level where the surrounding air was breathable, shut down the main engine and bail out. That way they would have been quitting a vessel which appeared to be at rest, and the whole business of getting into the fallbags and linking them together would have been comparatively easy. However, Divivvidiv had objected that the inert ship would then follow roughly the same path down through the atmosphere as the three parachutists, arriving at the surface like a bomb which could possibly claim Dussarran lives.

Toller had not been unduly alarmed at that prospect—he regarded the entire alien population as sworn enemies—but he had accepted the argument that his bargaining position
could be compromised by the unnecessary loss of life. There
was also the consideration that he wanted to land stealthily,
and not to the accompaniment of a huge explosion.

For those reasons the ship had been turned on its side after
being brought into the atmosphere and had been aimed in a direction which, according to Divivvidiv, would allow it to
fall harmlessly into the sea. The main engine was still firing,
with the controls lashed at the minimum thrust setting, and
now Toller and Steenameert were faced with the problem of
keeping hold of their prisoner while abandoning a ship which was building up a respectable speed. Divivvidiv, being much
lighter than the other two, would fall through the air at a lesser rate. He had only to get free once and the laws of
physics would see to it that his escape was made good as the
vertical separation between him and the humans increased.

Toller had been very much aware of the problem and had
insisted on all three being connected by a single strong line
before emerging from the ship. There was only one exit,
which was located in the middle section, and it had been
kept as small as possible to preserve the structural integrity
of the hull. In consequence, the three had been forced to
cling to one another in a kind of distasteful intimacy while
Toller pulled back the greased bolts. The door was a trun
cated cone, so that interior pressure would force it tighter
into the seals of the frame, and it took all the power of his
free arm to wrench the crafted wooden disk backwards into
the ship.

A howling blast of icy air battered at Toller's skysuit.
Tightening his grip on Divivvidiv's slight figure and Steenameert
's encircling arm, he launched all of them out into cold
white sunlight. They tumbled in the ship's slipstream. An instant later their ears were assailed by a stuttering roar and
the universe turned a blinding white as they were engulfed
in the choking gases of the condensation trail.