Chapter 27
THROUGH THE OPEN DOORS of the airlock, even above the arrhythmic clangor of the pinnace’s inertial drive, Grimes could hear the shouting, the singing, the screaming discordancy (to him) of trumpets, the boom and rattle of drums.
“Delur! Delur! Delur!”
He could see through the viewports the gathering crowds spilling out into the narrow streets, the scuffles that went breaking out between the adherents to the old religion, now openly declaring themselves, and those who still supported the church of the establishment. But there seemed little doubt that in this city, at least, the worshippers of Delur and Samz were in the majority—or, perhaps, any gods who were against the invading Shaara and the pro-Shaara president would do.
Little Sister was flying over a sea of upturned faces, of waving arms. Grimes could imagine what the people were staring at, regretted that he himself could not see Tamara standing there between the laser cannon, her body golden in the golden light of the morning sun, her graceful curves in erotic contrast to the no less graceful angularities of the twin weapons.
“Delur! Delur! Delur!”
And what about Samz? he thought a little sourly.
He kept the pinnace just above rooftop level, following the street, maintaining station on the three armored tractors, now in line ahead formation and leading the troop of cavalry and what seemed to be almost a full regiment of infantrymen. He watched as the column leader loosed off its machine gun at a crowd of men desperately attempting to set up a barricade of furniture and overturned wagons. Even now, he thought, the god Darajja possessed devotees willing to die for their beliefs.
And die they did.
The tractors rolled over the half-completed barricade, splintering beds and chairs and tables, crushing the bodies of its defenders. They clattered into the square, their iron wheels striking sparks, visible even in the bright sunlight, from the cobblestones. They steered for the metal platform that had been set up by the Shaara, upon which Grimes and Tamara had been exposed and humiliated. Grimes thought at first that the intention was to destroy this symbol of alien brutality but it was not so. Wheeling with quite amazing smartness the war vehicles took up stations about it, forming the three points of a triangle, their guns pointing outwards. Cavalry and infantry filled the gaps between the machines, making a menacing display of their rifles.
Lennay appeared in the airlock door, came to the control cab to stand just behind Grimes. He said, “This display has exceeded my wildest expectations, Captain. Even I had no idea that we have so many supporters . . .”
“God is on the side of the big battalions,” Grimes told him. “We may not be a big battalion but, until the Rogue Queen returns, we have the superior fire power.”
“These people,” said Lennay soberly, “are with god, or the gods. The old gods. They know that we, with Delur to lead us, to inspire us, destroyed the Shaara.”
Grimes grunted dubiously around the stem of his cold pipe. “And what was I doing while Delur was supposed to be leading and inspiring?” he asked.
“Delur and Samz always act as one,” Lennay told him. “That dual principle worked through you and Madame Haverstock. She the inspiration, and you the . . . the . . .”
“The driver,” supplied Grimes. “Oh, well, I suppose that this chariot of the gods has to have a chauffeur.”
“You jest, Captain.”
“Too right. Just a jesting pilot, that’s me.” He laughed at his play on words, his good humor restored.
“Can you land on the platform, Captain?” asked Lennay.
Grimes assessed the situation. “Mphm. I could, I suppose. There’ll be considerable overhang, of course, and that structure could never support Little Sister’s weight . . . But I can keep the inertial drive running, just kicking over . . .”
“Then land on the platform, please. Or appear to do so. After you have set down, the God Samz will appear beside his consort. It is necessary that you show yourself to the people. Delur without Samz is like . . . like . . . You Terrans have a saying . . . Yes: like coffee without cream.”
“I prefer my coffee black,” said Grimes.
He returned his attention to the controls, gently moving ahead until the platform was immediately below the pinnace. Carefully he reduced vertical thrust. Little Sister dropped slowly, touched with an almost imperceptible jar. Grimes ran a practiced eye over the instruments on the console, was satisfied. As long as the inertial drive was kept running on this setting the golden ship would weigh no more than a few grammes relative to the surface upon which she rested.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll get up top with Tamara to take my bow. Don’t touch anything on the control panel during my absence. We aren’t ready to ascend into Heaven just yet.”
He got up from his seat, made for the airlock.
“Wait!” said Lennay. “First you must remove your raiment.”
“What?”
“You must remove your raiment. At a time of triumph the god, as well as the goddess, must be naked. So they have always been depicted in our religious art.”
Grimes shrugged. After all, he asked himself, what did it matter? The day was warm enough, and even though he was not an exhibitionist he was no prude. He undid the simple fastenings of his tunic and let the garment fall to the deck. He left his boots on; he had a ladder to climb and those recessed rungs had not been designed to be negotiated by bare feet. He walked slowly to the airlock. As he appeared in the chamber a great shout went up from those of the people who could see him. “Samz! Samz!” Not only his prominent ears reddened in embarrassment; he could feel the angry flush spreading over his entire body. He bowed stiffly then turned to ease himself out of the chamber. He had to be careful; the forward part of the pinnace (as was, too, the after part) was overhanging the edge of the platform and a fall to the cobblestones would be injurious to body as well as to pride. He extended an arm until he found handhold, then fumbled with a booted foot for a recessed rung. His other hand went out, and then the other foot. He started to climb. He knew that he must look ludicrous—a naked man going up a ladder with genitalia a-dangle—but he was committed, and the cries of Samz! Samz! seemed to be more expressive of adoration then derision. He scrambled to the upper hull of the pinnace with an agility evocative of the simian ancestry of his race. He joined Tamara between the twin laser cannon.
“Samz! Samz!”
He raised his arms in a gesture of benediction.
“Delur! Delur!”
She lifted her flashing sword, making a tired flourish.
She muttered, “Now you can start finding out what it’s like . . .” Then, “I wish to all the Odd Gods of the Galaxy that the bastards wouldn’t keep stoking up those damned steam engines!”
A cloud of sulphurous smoke suddenly erupted from the tall funnel of the tractor up wind from them, eddied about them. Sparks stung their unprotected skin.
“At least they aren’t throwing dead cats at us this time,” remarked Grimes philosophically.
The smoke cleared.
Tamara waved her sword again with something less than enthusiasm. Grimes made his bless-you-my-children gesture.
He said, “This is starting to get boring.”
She sneered, “You’ve only just begun. I’ve been on show for hours.”
Less than one hour, thought Grimes, but deemed it politic not to say the words aloud.
Lennay clambered up from the airlock, walked slowly forward to the guns. He looked happy. Grimes and Tamara regarded him sourly.
He said, “I have learned that Hereditary President Callaray and General Porron, together with their high-ranking officers, are aboard Baroom, accompanying the Rogue Queen, advising her, while she wages war against Desaba. That is why the army came over to us after no more than a token show of resistance . . .”
“And they’ll change sides again when Baroom comes back,” said Tamara.
“If she comes back,” Grimes told her.
She said, “I’m only a postmistress, not a naval officer. But even I know that an armed pinnace is no match for a warship.” She contrived to make the waving of her sword in response to the cheers of the crowd a singularly un-warlike gesture. “You’ve got your ship back, Grimes. I’ve got the mail—and don’t forget that it still has to be delivered. I propose that we get the hell out of here and resume our voyage.”
“Lady Delur!” Lennay’s voice was shocked. “You cannot mean that!”
“We’ve done our share, Mr. Lennay. We’ve given you this city. It’s up to you to hold it.”
“But the prophecy . . .”
“We’ve delivered you, haven’t we? If you can’t stay delivered it’s just too bad.”
“I agree,” said Grimes judiciously, “that it would be unwise to wait here for the Rogue Queen’s return . . .”
She said, “I’m glad to hear you say that, Grimes. For a moment I was afraid that you were taking this god and goddess rubbish seriously.” She slapped viciously at a spark that had alighted on her right breast. “I’ve had it in a big way!”
“Lady Delur . . .” implored Lennay.
“We shall not wait here for Baroom’s return,” stated Grimes.
“Captain . . . you cannot leave us now . . .” It was odd, and rather annoying, thought Grimes how even now Lennay was addressing Tamara as a deity and himself as a mere shipmaster. But it did not matter. He knew, briefly, that something, some entity outside himself, was speaking through him, was implanting in his mind the knowledge of what must be done, what could, quite easily, be done. He himself had little knowledge of what facilities were available in this city, but somehow such information, in great detail, was now available to him. And from his own memory came scraps of Terran naval history, recollections of what he had read of stratagems employed during wars at sea.
He said, “We will not wait for the Rogue Queen—and the President Callaray and General Porron—to come to us. We will go to them.”
“You’re mad!” exclaimed Tamara.
Mad? he wondered. If she’d said “possessed” he might have agreed with her. But he ignored her and spoke to the native.
“Mr. Lennay, is it essential that your chief clerk be taken to the cave for medical treatment?”
“No, Captain. There is an excellent hospital here.”
“Good. And there is an arsenal . . .”
“Yes.”
“And part of it is the new yard for building airships. The framework of the Tellaran is almost completely assembled.”
“How do you know?” asked Lennay, puzzled.
And how do I know, Grimes asked himself, that Tellaran is the name of a flying reptile?
He said, “We will take your man to the hospital. Then we fly to the arsenal, to the airship yard. You will tell the workers what I want done.”