Two dark-painted military flyers—one a general-purpose, twenty-seat personnel carrier, the other, a smaller two-man scout—skimmed over a darkened landscape of low hills marked by pipelines and scattered patches of engineering constructions.
"Delta Two to Delta Leader. Patterned layouts with cluster of pumpkin houses coming up on the imager at twelve o'clock. I think this could be it."
"Okay, we got 'em. Bunch of Ts in the center standing around a walking cart. It looks like them, all right." In the rear cockpit of the larger machine, Captain Mike Mason of the Special Forces contingent flipped to the intercom circuit. "Joe, gimme a close-up on that central area on the intensifier. Make a slow circuit while we check it out, Ed. If it looks Eke this is the place, we'll go straight down." He switched back to call Delta Two. "Two, this is Leader. Stay with us while we make a pass. If it checks out, we're going down. Continue circling for illumination and cover."
"Roger, Leader."
"Area checks clear of obstacles," the copilot reported.
Behind Mason, Sergeant Yaver addressed the squad sitting along the sides of the aft compartment, kitted out in military-version EV suits. "Check weapons, life support, radio. Close and secure helmets. We're going down."
Outside, the stub wing dipped as the craft banked into a tight turn, at the same time shedding speed and height. From the scout trailing in echelon, a searchlight beam came on and stabilized to light up the central open area of the Taloid settlement. The view on the cockpit monitor showed lots of figures standing immobile as they stared upward, or sitting in their crazy walking "spudmobiles." A number of the wheeled and legged machines that usually accompanied them stood in the surrounding area. Mason had heard the scientists refer to them as "animals." It had to be something to do with the loneliness out here getting to their heads. Hell, they were all just machines . . . And now, if the latest reports the Taloids were bringing back to Genoa were anything to go by, they had machines getting a notion that they could steal dead Terran bodies if they felt like it.
Jeez!
Varlech, Avenger-of-Heresies, watched from the central square as the sky dragon came lower and circled the village, which was called Quahal. The smaller dragon following it flooded the surroundings with a cone of violet heat-light. This was his test, he decided: the challenge to his resolve and fortitude sent by the Lifemaker to try his faith. He forced himself to remember that these were not dragons or living beasts at all; they were imitations crafted by the Lumians from rock, as a legwright coaxed imitation limbs from growth seed nurtured in enriched clays. He looked across at the cart with its bundle wrapped in metallic braids and cord. And the Lumians were not immortal or gods.
Most of those around him were standing petrified. They had heard the rumors and listened to tales second- or third-hand, but few, if any—apart from some of his own Avengers who had encountered Lumians before as soldiers with the Paduan army—had ever seen a Lumian flying beast for themselves. Thus far Varlech had proved an effective persuader. Now, he divined, the Lifemaker had deemed him worthy of proving himself with more than just words.
The villagers were not fleeing in terror, as had been the usual reaction when Lumians had first appeared in the skies above Robia. Awe-inspiring as the sight of flying beasts was to them, the people had been told that the aliens, though capable of inflicting terrible vengeance when roused, were just with those who acted peaceably. The prisoners shackled in the carts, who had been taken from Uchal and the other places visited previously, looked on with the resignation of those for whom any unexpected change in fortune could only be for the better. But Varlech's followers remained fearful and uncertain, unable to decide which way the tidings boded. Their eyes were fixed on him, awaiting his guidance. Whatever piece of history was to be written today would be of his making.
That the Lumian flying beasts had appeared from the direction Varlech's Avengers had followed from Uchal could surely be no coincidence. It meant that they had been tracking him, and the reason could only be that they sought to recover the corpse of the dead Lumian the Avengers had been exhibiting across Kroaxia. So, should he stand meekly aside now and allow the prize that had already done much to advance the Lifemaker's cause to be taken away without protest or resistance, demonstrating for all to see that the protectors of the True Faith were powerless? Of course not. Unthinkable. For was not the very fact of the dead Lumian's existence a sign from the Lifemaker that these alien intruders were not invincible? This, then, was the moment to arise—for words to stand back and make way for action, and passions to boil over into deeds. Here might the flame ignite that would sweep across all of Robia.
And if that was not to be but instead, in striking a spark to herald some future conflagration, he should be called upon to make the final sacrifice, then so be it. His way was clear.
The larger of the two flying beasts had slowed almost to hang over them, while the smaller one continued circling and throwing down its violet ray. The Lumians would emerge. Varlech's stratagem would be to lure them on, unsuspecting, until they were away from the protection of their beasts. Then he would attack. He turned his head and called to his followers, pointing as he did so at the Lumian corpse.
"Look before you and see again the fate that awaits even aliens who draw down the Lifemaker's wrath. This bright, you shall be His instrument before all of Robia to expose these false gods. Be disdainful of fear, for any who should fall to dismantling in this enterprise will at once be reassembled among the ranks of the Lifemaker's forever chosen."
His words were effective, inspiring the Avengers with new confidence. They straightened up their postures and gripped their weapons tightly. Varlech made a sign to his lieutenants.
"Clear a space before the cart that holds the Lumian and conceal the men from sight with weapons ready. Kill any villager who attempts a sign of warning."
Pulling and prodding with their swords and hurlers, the Avenger soldiers herded the villagers into a screen around the square and took up positions behind them. To the side, the steeds and draft tractors backed away nervously at their tethers as the larger of the two Lumian craft descended.
A scan of the central area showed it enclosed by shapes that looked, in the glare from the scout hovering overhead, like monster rectangular vegetables with rough corners clearly discernible and wall faces interrupted by door and window openings. Most of the Taloids had fallen back to where the other machines and wagon walkers were jumbled together along the sides of the open space the personnel transporter had landed in. One of the walkers contained a bundle about the size and shape of a suited human, draped in sheets of what looked like woven wire.
"Ramp down and pressures equalized. Power steady at idle," the pilot reported. "Ready to open up."
"Noncompliant, with prejudice," the order had said. That meant "provocative and mean." They weren't there to ask permission or favors. Part of the object of this exercise was to show the natives who was boss. There were times when even machines had to learn respect for rights, property, and decency.
"Sergeant, detail two flanking squads to clear the area to the far end of the open space. Bring three men with me to check what's in that walker. Looks like it could be her."
"Wellman, take the right. Korzhgin, the left. Attwood, Myers, Salvini, follow me," Yaver instructed.
The lock opened, and a double file of heavy-duty-clad figures emerged, moving quickly and without ceremony. They fanned out, driving back the Taloids who had been slower to move with the rest, while behind them in the center Mason and Yaver went forward with the three troopers. Two of them stepped up onto the walker and pulled aside the coverings of the bundle. It was the body of Amy Rhodes. The helmet was smashed; the head inside was unrecognizable, frozen black and solid by Titan's cold. For several seconds Mason could only stare in fascinated revulsion.
It was the moment to strike. "For the Lifemaker and the glory of Kroaxia!" Varlech cried. "Attack!" Around the square hurler tubes rose to aim between the trembling villagers. "Forward!" As the salvo discharged, Avengers broke through the ranks, wielding swords, axes, and lances.
"Aghh!" a Terran voice yelled on the open radio.
"I'm hit! I'm hit!" another cried out.
Shouts of alarm poured over the channel. One soldier was reeling backward, his helmet a web of fracture cracks but still intact. Another was down. A spear hit Mason's backpack but glanced off. Yaver fired a burst from his assault cannon at a pair of Taloids rushing at him whirling clubs. They came apart into collapsing masses of limbs and parts.
"Fire at will!"
The oncoming Taloids ran into a wall of explosive shells fired on automatic. One of them skewered another of the troopers through the shoulder with a lance before being demolished by covering fire from the door of the flyer.
"Attwood, behind!"
"Gotcha, bastard!"
Bodies swung and fell, missiles flew, and confusion seethed on every side. A steel-gray face loomed in front of Mason, and metal hands swung a huge double-edged ax. He began raising his weapon; a burst from somewhere took off the Taloid's head. He fired at another Taloid closing on Yaver from the side. Then the scout swooped low, and the main body of Taloids that had formed to rush the transporter en masse disintegrated in a storm of cannon fire and rocket projectiles from above.
"You two, help me grab the body," Mason yelled. "Sergeant, get those wounded picked up and fall back. Cover us from the door."
As Mason tore away the coverings, hands reached out to haul the frozen corpse in its cumbersome suit down from the wagon. A dart struck one of the soldiers in the midriff, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Another figure ran forward to steer the stricken one back. Mason and the other trooper dragged the corpse back to the flyer and heaved it inside after the wounded, while the rearguard cordon fell back toward the ramp, firing outward. The area beyond was strewn with shattered metal bodies, limbs, components, and pieces, looking like a creation of some mechanical Dante. The impetus of the Taloids' attack had withered under the fire from the scout. Some of them seemed to be wandering aimless and dazed, while the rest fled in disorder along the alleys leading from the central open area. The four-legged "animal" types were in panic, bucking and rearing where they were tied; some had broken loose and were running amok, colliding with each other and knocking down Taloids.
The inner door of the lock closed, and the engine note rose. "Get the hell out," Mason yelled. He loosened his helmet and lifted it off as the flyer rose. "What have we got?" he asked the medic, who was frantically checking the casualties, hacking away torn outer suits with shears, and cutting blood-soaked clothing.
"Two decompressed, but they got 'em inside in time. Torn shoulder, bleeding stopped by the cold. They should pull through okay, sir." The rest looked like limb wounds and a possibly broken leg, all recoverable. With the odds and the surprise, it could have been worse. A good job that the scout captain had reacted promptly.
"Delta Two calling, asking how we're looking," the pilot reported from up front.
Mason turned toward the open door leading into the cockpit. "Tell him we've got a few cuts and bruises, but they'll be okay. And thanks for the quick work."
"We try to please. All part of the service," the pilot relayed back a few seconds later.
Sergeant Yaver and two of the men were working a body bag up over Amy Rhodes's stiff and lifeless form. They pulled the top around the shoulders and helmet, zipped the bag shut, and then lowered it down onto the floor at the rear of the compartment.
Well, the powers that be had wanted an incident, Mason reflected to himself as the two flyers turned onto a course that would take them back to Genoa Base. He wondered what would happen now as a result of it.
Meanwhile, Thirg, Brongyd, and a group of other captives, who had managed to seize weapons and cut their chains in the confusion, wrapped themselves in heavy cloaks and slipped away, out of the place called Quahal. Behind them, amid the wreckage strewn across the village square, a pair of imaging matrices stared sightlessly up at Titan's clouds from a front piece that had belonged to a head casing lying several feet away. Varlech, Avenger-of-Heresies, had gone to meet the Great Assembler.
The version spread by the agents of the Lifemaker's True Faith was that a peaceful exhortation had been attacked without provocation: this was what the Lumians had been forced to resort to in order to prevent word of the revival spreading. Outrage and dismay grew. Nogarech, the new ruler of Kroaxia, who had begun changing to new ways modeled on those introduced by Kleippur in Carthogia, was denounced openly, and his followers were attacked. A movement swelled, calling for reinstatement of the former king, Eskenderom. Even in Carthogia, Redeeming Avengers harassed villagers in the outlying areas, calling on them to rise up against the new regime, which they succeeded in transforming in the minds of many robeings into a product of aliens' design with Kleippur, despite the fact that Kleippur's rebellion had occurred before the Lumians had ever come to Robia. But it was the perceptions that mattered, not the facts.
"Now you see the price that is paid by those who renounce our ancient faith for this alien heresy," a speaker told the crowd in the main square of Pergassos, the principal city of Kroaxia. "They tell us that we should live by a creed of nonviolence. What use is a religion of nonviolence when the Lumians themselves fail to abide by it? Is their true purpose not clear now? They would make Robia defenseless in order to exploit its wealth. Repent now and return to the true path where the Lifemaker awaits in His merciful forgiveness . . ."
The prime-time network news showed a couple of grinning young men lying in cots in a medical facility, with two more in bathrobes sitting at a table behind. Another, his leg in a cast and supporting himself with a crutch, waved at the camera. The announcer's voice, a woman's, continued:
"Good news from Titan for the families of the soldiers who were injured a week ago when a party sent to recover the body of the unfortunate Amy Rhodes—the first fatality to be suffered by the mission—was attacked without apparent reason by crazed Taloids armed with swords, battle-axes, and primitive firearms. It appears that they're all out of danger and well on their way to complete recovery. Private Healy from Minneapolis, who was speared by a lance that penetrated right through his heavy-duty extravehicular suit, was particularly lucky. According to the chief medical officer at Genoa Base, the lance severed a major artery that in normal circumstances might well have been fatal, but the extreme cold of Titan provided an instant coagulant that stopped the bleeding. Meanwhile, the situation on Titan continues to be tense and uncertain . . ."
The view changed to one of heavily armed soldiers in EV suits standing guard outside the main gate of the Terran base, followed by another of two more soldiers manning a viewing instrument in a barricaded observation post. Then came a shot of a particularly unnerving part of Titan's mechanical Amazon, with tangles of machinery silhouetted in the background against flickering patterns of sparks and flame. In the center ground was a group of Taloids looking sinister and menacing from the highlights picking out their contours.
The voice-over continued. "Could the same kind of thing happen again? That's what experts have been asking themselves ever since the incident. The problem is, of course, that we're up against something that's fully over the borderline and in the realm of the unknown. The only safe and prudent answer to go with seems to be, 'Yes, it could.' And, next time, the troops, or scientists, or whoever happens to be on the spot might not be so lucky."
Next on the screen was a man with silvery hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, wearing a navy shirt and light gray V-neck sweater. A caption across the bottom of the screen read: dr. howard dankley, robotics institute, carnegie mellon university.
"The thing to remember is that, while the illusion of motivation and behavior as we know it might be very compelling, we are dealing with a completely unknown, alien form of . . . I hesitate to say 'intelligence,' because all we have any direct evidence of is some extremely elaborate programmed response patterns." Dankley's voice was reasoned and persuasive, matching the expression of calm, striving to mask underlying urgency. "What you and I might think of as universally applicable qualities of 'trust' or 'reliability' could have no significance at all to these beings. Violent reactions could be provoked by factors which to us appear entirely innocuous or might not even be perceptible at all. I don't want to be an alarmist, but I think our people out there on Titan could be in real danger. I only hope that the military force that they've got with them are as good as the recruiting ads say."
A quick flash of the anchorwoman shuffling papers and saying, "General Clark Udswalt at the Pentagon today assured us that they were up to the job," led to another head, tanned and with gray sideburns, wearing a peaked cap with lots of braids. This time the voice was clipped and to the point.
"They've got the best out there that this country can provide, every one handpicked elite. And they're backed by British marines, French airborne . . . I'd back that bunch against any unit of comparable numbers that any country on Earth could put up, anybody you tell me, I don't care who they are."
The view changed to the same face but from a different angle, presumably at a different point in the interview. This time he looked less sanguine. The anchorwoman's voice-over explained, "But the general did admit that it was numbers that constituted the problem . . ."
The sound track cut to Udswalt again. "But there has to be a limit. There are only so many of them, and they're almost a billion miles away. We're talking flesh and blood up against what, if things turn nasty—steel, titanium?" He threw up an empty hand. "Those boys will hang in there to the last one if they have to, but we don't do miracles. They're going to need help. And I only hope to God that we can get it there before it's too late."
The view changed back to the anchorwoman. "But we learned later, following exchanges that have taken place between the State Department and the Japanese Foreign Ministry during the last few days, that some help, at least, is already on the way. It was announced this afternoon that the Japanese have ordered the security force aboard their own Titan mission ship, the Shirasagi—a week out from Earth now and due to arrive at Titan in a little over twelve weeks—to place themselves at the disposal of the military command at Genoa Base in order to ensure maximum protection for all Terrans there." She paused. "That's just a stopgap measure. For a more permanent answer, an effort is going to be made to turn the Orion, due back at Earth in two weeks, around for its return voyage in half the time that was scheduled previously. And when it goes back, it will take with it a full-scale military force put together for the task of preserving order and protecting our people. So let's just hope that nothing gets out of hand in the space of the next few months. There'll be more on that with John Carew later tonight. But for now, over to Chicago, where there's been more trouble involving 'smart' designer molecules. Kate Ormison has this report . . ."
"Most satisfactory," Burton Ramelson pronounced from his office when Robert Fairley called with a summary of developments. "Now we need to clear the way for everything to proceed smoothly this time, without any more interference. That means making sure that Zambendorf and his infernal meddlers are kept safely out of the way. I'll have to give that some thought." He looked out of the screen, went quickly back in his mind over the things his nephew had said, and then nodded. "Most satisfactory, Robert," he said again. "Most satisfactory, indeed."