The Fugitive Worlds (7 page)

He was drawing close to the Neldeever Plaza, which
housed the headquarters of the four branches of the armed
services, when he espied a familiar blond head projecting
above the stream of pedestrians coming towards him. Cassyll
had not seen his son for perhaps a hundred days, and he felt
a pang of affection and pride as—almost with the eyes of
a stranger—he noted the clear-eyed good looks, splendid
physique and the easy confidence with which the young man
wore his skycaptain's blue uniform.

"Toller!" he called out as their courses brought them
together.

"Father!" Toller's expression had been abstracted and
stern, as though something weighed heavily on his mind, but
his face lit up with recognition. He extended his arms and
the two men embraced while the flow of pedestrians parted
around them.

"This is a happy coincidence," Cassyll said as they drew
apart. "Were you on your way home?"

Toller nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't get home last night,
but it was very late before I got my ship safely berthed, and
there were certain problems. ..."

"What manner of problems?"

"Nothing to cloud a sunny day like this," Toller said with a smile. "Let's hasten homewards. I can't tell you how much
I look forward to one of mother's littlenight spreads after an
eternity of shipboard rations."

"You appear to thrive on those selfsame rations."

"Not as well as you on proper food," Toller said, trying
to pinch a roll of fat at Cassyll's waist as they began to walk
in the direction of the family home. The two men exchanged
the kind of inconsequential family talk which, better than
deliberated speeches, restores a relationship after a long
separation. They were nearing the Square House, named
after the Maraquine residence in old Ro-Atabri, before the conversation came round to weightier affairs.

"I've just been to the palace," Cassyll said, "and have
come away with news which should interest you—we are to
send a twenty-strong fleet to Land."

"Yes, we're entering a truly wondrous era—two worlds,
but one nation."

Cassyll glanced at his son's nearer shoulder flash, the
saffron-and-blue emblem which showed that he was qualified
to pilot both skyships and airships. "There'll be a deal of work for you there."

"For me?" Toller gave a humorless chuckle. "No thank you, father. I admit I'd like to see the Old World some day, but at present it is one great enamel house and I don't relish
the prospect of clearing away millions of skeletons."

"But the journey! The adventure! I thought you'd jump at the chance."

"I have quite enough to occupy me right here on Overland
for the time being," Toller said, and for a moment the
somber expression Cassyll had noted earlier returned to his
face.

"Something is troubling you," he said. "Are you going to
keep it to yourself?"

"Have I that option?"

"No."

Toller shook his head in mock despair. "I thought not.
You know, of course, that it was I who picked up the advance
messenger from Land. Well, another ship appeared on the
scene at the last moment—unwarranted—and tried to scoop
up the prize from under my very nose. Naturally I refused to give way. . . ."

"Naturally!"

". . . and there was a minor collision. As there was no
damage to my ship I forbore making an official entry in the
log—even though the other commander was entirely to
blame—but this morning I was informed that an incident
report had been filed against me. I have to face Sky-commodore Tresse tomorrow."

"There's no cause for you to worry," Cassyll said, relieved
to hear that nothing more serious was afoot. "I will speak to
Tresse this aftday and acquaint him with the real facts."

"Thanks, but I think I am obliged to deal with this kind
of thing by myself. I should have covered my flank by making
an entry in the flight log, but I can call on enough witnesses
to prove my case. The whole thing is really very trivial. A
flea-bite. . . ."

"But one you continue to scratch!"

"It's the sheer deceitfulness involved," Toller said angrily. "1 trusted that woman, father. I
trusted
her, and this is how
she repays me."

"Aha!" Cassyll almost smiled as he began to plumb beneath the surface of what he had heard. "You didn't say that
this unprincipled commander was a woman."

"Didn't I?" Toller replied, his voice now casual. "It has
no relevance to anything, but it so happens that she was
one of the Queen's brood of granddaughters—the Countess
Vantara."

"Handsome woman, is she?"

"It is possible that some men might . . . What are you
trying to say, father?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Perhaps I'm a little curious about
the lady because this is the second time within the span of a
couple of hours that her name has been mentioned to me."
From the corner of his eye Cassyll saw Toller give him a
surprised glance, but—unable to resist tantalizing his son—
he volunteered no further information. He walked in silence,
shading his eyes from the sun in order to get a better view
of a large group of ptertha which were following the course of the river. The near-invisible spheres were swooping and
bounding just above the surface of the water, buoyed up by
a slight breeze.

"That's quite a coincidence," Toller finally said. "What
was said to you?"

"About what?"

"About Vantara. Who spoke of her?"

"No less a person than the Queen," Cassyll said, watching
his son carefully. "It appears that Vantara has volunteered
to serve with the fleet we are sending to Land, and it is an
indication of the strength of the Queen's feelings towards
the enterprise that she is giving the young woman her
blessing."

There was another protracted silence from Toller before
he said, "Vantara is an airship pilot—what work is there for
her on the Old World?"

"Rather a lot, I'd say. We're sending four airships whose task it will be to circle the entire globe and prove there are
no disputants to Queen Daseene's sovereignty. It sounds
quite an adventure to me, but of course there will be all the
privations of shipboard life—and you've had your fill of
service rations."

"I don't care about that," Toller exclaimed. "I want to go!"

"To Land! But only a moment ago. ..."

Toller halted Cassyll by catching his arm and turning to
face him. "No more play-acting, father, please! I want to
take a ship to Land. You will see to it that my application is
successful, won't you?"

"I'm not at all sure that I can," Cassyll said, suddenly
uneasy at the prospect of his only son—who was still a
boy in spite of all his pretensions to manhood—setting off
across the perilous bridge of thin air which linked the two
worlds.

Toller produced a broad smile. "Don't be so modest,
father of mine. You're on so many committees, boards,
tribunals, councils and panels that—in your own quiet way,
of course—you practically run Kolcorron. Now, tell me that
I'm going to Land."

"You're going to Land," Cassyll said compliantly.

That night, while he was waiting for Bartan Drumme to
arrive with a telescope, Cassyll thought he could identify the
true cause of his misgivings about Toller's proposed flight to the Old World. Toller and he had a harmonious and satisfying relationship, but there was no denying the fact that the boy had always been unduly influenced by the stories and legends surrounding his paternal grandfather. Apart from the striking physical resemblance, the two had many mental attributes in common—impatience, courage, idealism and quickness of temper among them—but Cassyll suspected that the similarities were not as great as the younger Toller pretended. His grandfather had been much
harder,
capable of total ruthlessness when he deemed it necessary, possessed of an obduracy which would lead him to choose certain death rather than betray a principle.

Cassyll was glad that Kolcorronian society was gentler and safer than it had been even a few decades ago, that the world in general offered fewer chances for young Toller to get himself into the kind of situation where—simply through trying to live up to self-imposed standards—he might forfeit his life. But now that he was committing himself to fly to the Old World those chances were bound to increase, and it seemed to Cassyll that the ghost of the long-dead Toller was stirring into life, stimulated by the scent of dangerous adventure, preparing to exert its influence on a vulnerable young man. And even though he was thinking about his own father, Cassyll Maraquine devoutly wished that that restless spirit would confine itself to the grave, and to the past. . . .

The welcome sounds of Bartan Drumme being admitted by a servant at the front entrance roused Cassyll from his chair. He went down the broad staircase and greeted his friend, who was carrying a wooden-tubed telescope and tripod. The servant offered to take the telescope, but Cassyll dismissed him, and he and Bartan carried the heavy instrument up to a balcony which afforded a good view to the west. The light reflected from Land was strong enough for reading, but nevertheless the dome of the sky was thronged with
countless bright stars and hundreds of spirals of varying sizes and shapes, ranging from circular whirlpools to the narrowest
of ellipses. No less than six major comets were visible that night, splaying fingers of radiance across the heavens, and
meteors darted almost continuously, briefly linking one
celestial feature to another.

"You surprised me this foreday, you know," Cassyll said.
"Nobody I know can talk like you, regardless of the audience
and circumstances, but you seemed flummoxed for some
reason. What was the matter with you?"

"Guilt," Bartan said simply, raising his head from the task
of setting up the tripod.

"Guilt!"

"Yes. It's this damned fourth planet, Cassyll. Every in
stinct I have tells me that it does not bode well for us. It
shouldn't
be
there. Its presence is an affront to our under
standing of nature, a sign that something is going terribly amiss, and yet I am unable to convince anyone—not even
you—that we have cause for alarm. I feel that I have betrayed
my Queen and country through my sheer ineptness with
words, and I don't know what to do about it."