The Fugitive Worlds (4 page)

"It is a very serious—"

"Where's your sense of humor, Toller Maraquine?" Vantara cut in. "Of course, now that I think of it, you always did take yourself too seriously."

Toller was taken aback. "Are you claiming that we have met before?"

Vantara laughed again. "Don't you remember your father taking you to the Migration Day reception at the palace when you were little? Even then you went around wearing a sword. . . trying to look like your famous grandfather. . . ."

Toller was certain he was being mocked, but if this was the countess's way of backing down without too much loss of face he was prepared to be compliant. Anything was better than continuing the needless confrontation.

"I confess to not remembering you," he said, "but I suspect it is because your appearance has changed to a greater degree than mine."

Vantara shook her head, rejecting the implied compli
ment. "No. It's simply that you have a poor memory—what
about this skyman for whose custody you were, only minutes
ago, prepared to risk the safety of two ships?"

Toller turned to Steenameert, who had been listening to
the exchange with interest. "Go aboard my ship and have
the cook prepare you a meal. We will continue our conver
sation in comfort." Steenameert saluted, took hold of his
parachute and dragged it away.

"I presume you asked him why the expedition lasted so
much longer than expected," Vantara said casually, as
though the clash of wills had never taken place.

"Yes." Toller was unsure of how to deal with the countess,
but he decided to try making their relationship as informal
and friendly as possible. "He said that Land was empty. He
spoke of empty cities."

"Empty! But what has become of the so-called New Men?"

"The explanation, if there is one, should be in the dis
patches."

"In that case I must visit her Majesty, my grandmother,
as soon as possible," Vantara said. The reference to her
royal family connection had been unnecessary, and Toller took it as an indication that he was expected to keep his
distance.

"I, too, must return to Prad with all possible speed," he said, making his tone brisk. "Are you sure you don't want
any help with repairs?"

"Positive! The seams will be sewn before littlenight, then
I'll be on my way."

"There's just one more thing," Toller said as Vantara was
turning away. "Strictly speaking, our ships were in collision
and we are supposed to file incident reports. How do you
feel about that?"

She met his gaze directly. "I find all that paperwork rather
tiresome, don't you?"

"Very
tiresome." Toller smiled and saluted. "Goodbye, captain."

He watched the countess and her junior officer walk off in the direction of their ship, then he turned and retraced his steps to his own vessel. The great disk of the sister planet was filling the sky overhead, and the shrinkage of its sunlit crescent told him there was not much more than an hour until the daily eclipse which was known as littlenight. He was acutely aware, now that they had parted company, of the extent to which he had allowed himself to be manipulated by Vantara. Had a man been guilty of such appalling behavior in the air and arrogance on the ground, Toller would have given him a verbal blistering so fierce that it could easily have provoked a duel, and most certainly would have indicted him in an official report. As it was, he had been unmanned and bemused by the countess's incredible physical perfection, and had conducted himself like an impressionable youth. It was true that he had conclusively defeated Vantara on the main issue, but in retrospect he could almost believe that he had been as much concerned with impressing her as with carrying out his duty.

By the time he reached his ship a crewman was standing beside each of the four anchors and making ready for departure. He went up the rungs on the side of the gondola and swung himself over the rail, then paused and stared at Vantara's grounded craft. Its crew were busy detaching the gasbag and laying it out on the grass under Vantara's supervision.

Lieutenant Feer came to his side. "Continuous thrust to Prad, sir?"

If I
ever get married,
Toller thought,
it has to be to that woman.

"Sir, I asked you if—"

"Of course I want continuous thrust to Prad," Toller said. "And bring Steenameert to my cabin—I want to talk to him in private."

He went to his cabin at the rear of the main deck and
waited for the skyman to be shown in. The ship felt alive
again, its timbers and rigging emitting occasional creaks as
the structure as a whole adjusted to the tensions of flying
into the wind. Toller sat at his desk and toyed abstractedly with navigation instruments, unable to put the Countess
Vantara out of his thoughts. How had he managed to forget
meeting her as a child? He could recall being dragged against
his will to the Migration Day ceremonies, at an age when he scorned the company of girls, but surely even then he would
have noticed her among the giggling, gauzy creatures at play
in the palace gardens. . . .

His musings were interrupted when Steenameert tapped
at the door and came into the small room, still brushing food
particles from his chin. "You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes. We were interrupted at an interesting point in our
conversation. Tell me more about these empty cities. Did
you see no living people whatsoever?"

Steenameert shook his head. "Not one, sir! Lots of skele
tons—thousands of them—but, as far as I could tell, the
New Men no longer exist. Their own pestilence seems to
have turned against them and wiped them out."

"How far abroad did you travel?"

"Not far—two hundred miles at the most. As you know,
we only had the three skyships . . . nothing with lateral
thrusters . . . and had to rely on the winds to get us about.
But that was enough for me, sir. After a while I had an
uncanny feeling about the place—I
knew
there was nobody
there.

"I mean, we first dropped down only a couple of miles out of Ro-Atabri, the old capital. We were in the heart of ancient
Kolcorron itself. If there were any people living on Land,
that's where they would be found. It stands to reason that's
where they would be found." Steenameert spoke fervently, as though he had a personal stake in convincing Toller that
his ideas were valid.

"You're probably correct," Toller said. "Unless, of course, it is something to do with the ptertha. From what
I've been taught, the worst of them infested Kolcorron, while
the other side of the globe was comparatively free of them."

Steenameert became even more intense. "The second
great discovery we made is that the ptertha on Land are
colorless—just like those on Overland. It appears that they have already reverted to their neutral state, sir. I suppose it
was because the poison they developed for use against hu
mans had done what was required of it; and now they are in
a state of readiness to war against any other type of creature
which threatens brakka trees."

"That's very interesting," Toller said, but—belying his words—his attention wandered as the image of Countess
Vantara's face began to swim before his mind's eye. I
wonder how I can arrange to see her again. And how long will it take?

"It seems to me," Steenameert was saying, "that the
logical thing to do now is to mount a proper expedition. Lots
of ships, well-equipped and carrying settlers, to reclaim the
Old World—just as King Prad predicted we would."

Toller had half-consciously noted earlier that Steenameert was unusually well-spoken for a ranker, and now it came to
him that the man also seemed better educated than might
have been expected. He examined Steenameert with new interest.

"You've been pondering this matter, have you?" he said.
"Is it your wish to go back to Land?"

"Yes, sir!" The smooth skin of Steenameert's face grew pinker. "If Queen Daseene decides to send a fleet to Land I'll be among the first to volunteer for the journey. And if
you were likewise inclined, sir, I'd consider it an honor to
serve under you."

Toller considered the notion and his mind conjured up a somber-hued picture of a handful of airships roaming over landscapes of weed-shrouded ruins wherein lay millions of
human skeletons. The vision was made even more unappeal
ing by there being no place in it for Vantara. If he went to Land, he and she would literally be worlds apart. It shocked
him to find that he was already according her such a promi
nent place in his life scheme, and with so little justification,
but it showed the extent to which she had breached his
emotional defenses.

"I can't help you get back to the Old World," he said to
Steenameert. "I believe I have enough to keep me fully
occupied right here on Overland."

Lord Cassyll Maraquine breathed deeply and pleasurably as
he came out to the front steps of his home on the north side
of the city of Prad. There had been rain during the latter
part of the night and as a result the air was sweet and
invigorating, making him wish he did not have to spend the
morning in the stuffy confines of the royal residence. The
palace was little more than a mile away—visible as a gleam
of rose-colored marble beyond serried trees. He would have
enjoyed making the journey on foot, but he never seemed
to have time for such simple pleasures these days. Queen
Daseene had grown highly irritable in her old age, and he
dared not risk annoying her by being late for his appointment.

He went to his waiting carriage, nodding to the driver as
he climbed in. The vehicle moved off immediately, drawn
by the four bluehorns which were a symbol of Cassyl's
elevated status in Kolcorron. Until less than five years ago
it had been forbidden by law to have a carriage which
required more than one bluehorn, because the animals were so necessary to the developing economy of the planet, and even now teams of four were something of a rarity.

The equipage had been a gift from the Queen and it was
politic for him to use it when going to visit her, even though
his wife and son sometimes bantered with him about growing
soft. He always took their criticism in good part, even though
he had begun to suspect that he was indeed becoming too
fond of luxury and pampered ways of living. The restlessness
and craving for adventure which had characterized his father
seemed to have skipped a generation and manifested them
selves in the young Toller. On a number of occasions he had
come close to falling out with the boy over his recklessness
and his outmoded habit of wearing a sword, but he had never pressed matters too far. In the back of his mind there had always lurked the idea that he was acting out of jealousy of the hero worship Toller accorded his long-dead grandfather.