Okatar Kang stood at the crest of a hill with the first rays of the rising sun at his back. Below him, the valley floor was still cloaked in darkness, but the Komani technicians had set up a battery of viewscreens that showed the Mobile Force.
The Kang paced restlessly behind the technicians, who were seated before their mobile viewscreens. The highpitched shriek of Terran engines was wafting up from the valley.
“”What are they doing?” Okatar demanded of no one in particular.
One of his nobles, pacing alongside him, answered, “They are preparing for the battle, starting their engines.”
The viewscreens suddenly went blank. Before Okatar could say anything, the technicians had readjusted them, and the pictures of the sprawling Terran armored Force reappeared.
“”They’ve put up an energy shield,” one of the technicians said.
“We expected that,” said the noble at Okatar’s elbow. “It cannot be a very powerful shield, since its generating equipment must be small and mobile. An hour’s worth of force beams should saturate it.”
“What about missiles?” Okatar snapped.
“The Terran shield will probably stop some of them, but not all. Their shield could not possibly be as strong as the screen we have around our camp. Of course, our warriors will be able to penetrate the shield with ease. Not even the Terrans have been able to devise an energy screen so solid that a man cannot step through it.”
Okatar nodded. “How much longer before the signal?”
The noble glanced at the watch set into his jeweled wristband, “The signal should be given—now.”
A hundred beams of light lanced out of the hills down toward the still-shadowy valley floor and splashed into blinding brilliance against the Terran energy shield. Missiles roared through the morning mists and exploded in flashes of flame. Through the noise of the explosion rose a mighty shout as Komani warriors charged down from the hilltops, riding their one-man flyers straight toward the Terrans.
Okatar stood riveted before the viewscreens, his nobles clustered about him. They watched the Terran armored vehicles shift positions as they awaited the onslaught of the Komani. Here and there, missiles penetrated the Mobile Force’s energy shield and blasted into the ground. One of them hit a cruiser, and Okatar could not restrain an exultant laugh. The force beams, though, were stopped completely by the shield-
“What are they up to?” Okatar wondered aloud as he watched the screens.
The smallest Terran vehicles—scoutcars and troop carriers —seemed headed for the rear, while the big dreadnaughts nd battle cruisers were moving up to face the Komani attack.
They’re moving their lightly armored vehicles away from our missile barrage,” one of the nobles said.
Okatar looked up from the screen. It was light enough now to see the valley floor deariy. The Komani warriors were halfway down the hills, halfway to the valley floor. But his attack was not interesting Okatar as much as the Terrans’ moves toward the rear.
“Why are they pulling their troops away from the fighting? Do they expect to face my warriors with their armored vehicles atone, without infantry support?”
“The Terrans have no stomach for facing our warriors man to man,” said a noble. “They are too cowardly to fight, except from within an armored vehicle.”
Okatar nodded, but his face was still frowning in puzzlement
At his slot in the control center, Vorgens watched the viewscreen before him, his high forehead puckered into worried wrinkles.
Someone slid into the empty seat next to him. Vorgens looked up. It was die exec.
The older officer smiled, “Reports from Sectors W5 and 6 sound pretty smooth so far. Everything progressing according to plan. Ugtit resistance.”
“Are me engineers ready to go?” Vorgens asked. “That’s the most critical part of the operation.”
“Ready and anxious. As soon as you give the word.”
Vorgens nodded. “Where’s Sergeant Mclntyre?”
“I believe he went out with me other troopers in the vans.”
“Yes, that sounds like him.”
The Star Watchman returned his attention to die viewscreen. It was bright dayBght now, so mat the infrared scanners were no longer necessary. The screen showed the hills before them, widi the glaring, yellow Oran automatically filtered out. Flashes from force beams blazed almost continuously against the energy shield now, and explosions churned up the valley floor. The mammoth dreadnaughts and battle cruisers were weaving back and forth in an intricate, computer-controlled dance that had so far kept the Komani missiles limited to two damaging hits and a half-dozen minor ones. Anti-missiles were picking off a good many incoming missiles, as well. So far the Komani had not used nuclear warheadsProbably they only had a few and were saving them for an emergency, Vorgens thought, or for the moment when the energy screen collapsed.
The Watchman’s attention was focused on the Komani warriors making their way on their one-man flyers down the broken, tumbled rocks toward the valley floor. They were about halfway between the crest of the hills and the bottom.
“They’re sticking pretty close to cover,” the exec observed.
“Yes, but the cover thins out rather quickly as they approach the valley floor,” Vorgens said. “I think we can hold our fire for another few minutes, and then hit them with a massed barrage “
The exec nodded agreement. “We might try peppering the hilltops with missiles, too. The Komani probably have their second and third waves up there.”
Vorgens thought a moment “I’d rather wait until I see some definite targets. No sense wasting ammunition on probabilities.”
“As you wish.”
And no sense bombarding the Shinarian rebels, Vorgens thought to himself, if we can avoid getting them into combat altogether. “What’s the latest word from W5 and 6?” the Watchman asked.
The exec flicked a switch on his desk communicator, and scanned the report that flashed across its tiny viewscreen. “The troopers have advanced about halfway up he slopes. Their perimeter is almost exactly as planned— the outer edges of the two sectors. Looks good.”
“Start the engineers to work.”
“Yes sir.” The exec pressed a stud on the communicator.
“Are all the units in the forward battle line ready to fire?” Vorgens asked.
“All units report fire control tracking and standing by,” answered the communications tech.
Vorgens took a last look at the viewscreen before him. The Komani warriors were nearing the base of the hills.
“Commence firing.”
The Terran battle line let loose a devastating hail of beams and missiles that caught the advanced elements of the Komani attackers in an inescapable deluge of fire. The force beams sprayed back and forth across the lines of warriors and their little flyers. Men and machines were sliced apart, brush and grass set ablaze, rocks and earth vaporized by the intense beams of light. Anti-personnel missiles exploded overhead, showering the area with deadly shrapnel.
The spearhead of the Komani attack was shattered. The Terran curtain of fire began to creep up the face of the hills, catching the Komani warriors further back. The Komani advance halted and the warriors took whatever cover they could find among the sparse bushes and Jagged rocks of the hillsides.
“We stopped them!” the exec marveled. “Stopped them cold,”
“Too easily,” Vorgens countered.
“We could counterattack; move up those hills and mop them up.”
Vorgens shook his head. “Perhaps that’s what they expect us to do. No, instead of attacking, we’re moving back. Pass the word—all units to fall back slowly half a mile.”
“But that will give us less room for maneuvering— make us a more compact target.”
“Yes, and it will also make a greater open space between us and the enemy; an open space almost completely without cover. This is a rear guard action, remember. We’re trying to avoid major contact with the enemy.”
The exec nodded, then began giving out the necessary orders on his communicator.
Slowly, the ponderous dreadnaughts and cruisers and their escorting vehicles began to withdraw from their positions. The battlewagons on the flanks pulled back first, then those in the center joined in the movement. A huge bowed line, spreading nearly the width of the valley floor, edged backward, away from the still-risingun.
They were in the midst of the maneuver when the real Komani attack came howling out of the hills on both their flanks. Thousands of warriors swarmed down on both sides of the Terran line and began pouring fire into the armored vehicles-
“This is it,” Vorgens muttered as he watched his viewscreen. The hills, even the sly, seemed black with charging Komani.
“Good grief, look at them,” the exec said. “It’s a lucky thing we didn’t advance when I wanted to. We’d have been surrounded.”
“Let’s get to work,” Vorgens said.
The Watchman began dictating a steady stream of ordersIn response, the Terran battle line continued to edge backward, and bowed even more, with the battlewagons on both flanks pulling back further and facing outward to meet the double attack of the Komani.
A sudden hail of missiles and force beams, including a few nuclear missiles, smashed into the Terran forces. One of the nuclear warheads got through and vaporized a dreadnaught. Vorgens1 own vehicle, a few stations up he line, bucked and rattled when the concussion wave blew past.
As abruptly as it came, the Komani barrage ended, and the flying warriors swarmed into the massed Terran vehicles. Vorgens met them with concentrated fire, his dreadnaughts and cruisers sweeping the sky with force beams.
Despite frightful losses, the warriors continued to bore in. They penetrated the energy shield, and began attacking individual vehicles with grenades and missileguns. Vorgens ordered his vehicles to “pop hatches” and allow the crews to meet the attackers with handguns and rifles—much more effective now than the powerful, longrange weapons in the turrets.
The main batteries of the dreadnaughts and cruisers, at Vorgens’ orders, kept up a constant rain of fire on the slopes of the hills, in an effort to prevent the Komani from reinforcing their first wave of attackers,
The battle line of Terran armor was enveloped in a wild, confused struggle of men and machines. Komani warriors swooped everywhere, shooting and bombing as they flew. Terran Marines crouched in their hatches and fought back with force beams and anti-personnel missiles and grenades. The big turrets spat their beams of death toward the hills, while the smaller gun batteries aboard the battlewagons spun and fired at the darting Komani warriors. Dust and smoke, explosions and flame, enveloped everyone and everything.
Deep within his dreadnaught, at the control center, Vorgens could hear the muffled explosions as his eyes watched the battle shift back and forth, on the viewscreen.
“”We’ve got to disengage from the warriors,” he muttered to himself. “We’ve got to scrape them off our backs ... otherwise the whole plan will fail.”
Okatar Kang stood under the cloudless sky and watched the raging battle on the valley floor. He ignored he viewscreens set up before him, and instead held a pair of molectronic binoculars to his eyes. When he put them down, his face was set in a grim mask of anger.
One of the nobles standing beside him said, “The warriors have penetrated the Terran energy shield on both flanks. It is only a matter of time now. Shall I have the Shinarians join the attack?”
“They have no transport. It will take them the better part of an hour before they can reach the fighting,” Okatar grumbled.
“Then we had better start them now.”
“Yes, send them off.” Okatar paced along the crest of the hill. The breeze was blowing down from the higher hills toward the valley floor, so mat the smoke and noise of the battle was carried away from him.
“Why did they retreat?” Okatar demanded. “The frontal attack did not fool them. They did not hold their ground. They retreated. Why? Did they know that we would attack their flanks? If they had advanced, or even held their ground, our double flank attack would have overwhelmed them. Now—the issue is in doubt.”
“Their commander made a lucky guess,” one of the nobles answered. “Our men will still prevail over them.”
“But at what cost? Our losses will be very heavy.”
“For every man who falls today,” another noble predicted, “a hundred Komani warriors will join your standards tomorrow. This victory will establish you as the leader of all the clans, everywhere.”
Okatar looked hard at the noble. “If we have a victory today.”
“Surely you don’t think that the Terrans could defeat us!”
“Not of themselves,” Okatar replied. “But we have traitors in our camp. Men in whom our trust is misplaced. Perhaps ...”
A communications technician jumped up from his field table and dashed over to the Kang-
“What is it?” Okatar demanded.
The tech bowed quickly and answered, “Reports from our men holding the far hills, on the other side of the valley, sire. They have been under attack since the sun rose, and steadily forced back. If they are not reinforced, the Terrans will drive them from their positions and open an escape lane out of the valley,”
Okatar snapped his binoculars to his eyes. “By the blood of our forefathers,” he thundered, “the smoke is covering the area completely.”
A noble shrugged at the news. “A Terran diversion. They cannot possibly get those lumbering vehicles of theirs across me hills in any time less than a day. There are no roads, and no trails wider than—”
“Sire, the Terran engineers are blasting out roadbeds through the area that our warriors have been driven from.”
Okatar roared something unintelligible and thrust the startled technician aside. He strode to the communications table and talked directly to the leader of the Komani under attack.
When Okatar straightened up and faced his nobles, his face was furious. ‘They’re seizing the hills and building an escape road through them. If we don’t stop them, they’ll be out of this valley before nightfall.”
“But how ...”
“How did they know that those particular hills were held with only a skeleton force? Who told them?”
“Sire, we can find the traitors later. At the moment we must prevent the Terrans from escaping,”
“Contact the second and third waves of our attacking forces and order them to close the gap in our lines in those hills.”
“But—what about the main attack?”
“The first wave alone will have to do as much damage to the Terrans as it can,” Okatar said. “Have the warriors who made the original frontal attack join them.”
“What about the Shinarians?”
“Get them into the battle as quickly as they can get there. But I doubt that they will be in time.”
The oldest noble of the group, his facial hair grizzled and his back bent with years, spoke up. “Sire, you are condemning the brave warriors of the first attacking wave to certain death. They cannot destroy the Terran forces by themselves, without support.”
Okatar nodded curtly. “They will buy time for us, while we sew up the trap again. The Terrans must not \ escape, no matter what the price. That is my command!” s
As he sat in the control center, watching the progress of the seesaw battle over his armored vehicles, Vorgens felt a cold, hard knot forming in his stomach. He had taken the responsibility of command, and now the anxiety and tension of that burden were making themselves felt. “What time is it?” he asked. “Almost noon,” the exec replied. “It’s not going too well, is it?”
“We’re holding our own.”
“But we’ve got to disengage from this attack. We can’t retreat, or try to support me troopers up in the hills, while the Komani are on top of us,”
The exec rubbed his jaw for a moment. “Listen,” he said, “each vehicle has a complement of armored flying suits. Why don’t we form a reserve brigade and throw them at the Komani? Maybe we could clear them off.”
Vorgens nodded. “It’s worth a try.”
As the exec began rattling off the orders to form a flying reserve brigade, Vorgens suddenly felt the strength ebbing out of him. His head began to throb, it was an effort to raise his arm and rub his forehead, even his vision seemed to be going blurry.
Energy capsule, he said to himself, as he rumbled with his tunic pocket. Need another booster.
He puued the two remaining pills from the pocket and tared at them in the palm of his hand for a blank momentThen he realized a noncom was at his elbow with a cup of water.
“Thank you,” Vorgens mumbled, and he took one of the capsules.
“Anything else, sir?” the noncom asked.
Vorgens looked up at the Terran. He was as young as the Watchman himself, pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, without the weight of the galaxy’s peace on his shoulders.
“No, that’s all, thanks ... Or wait—remind me in six hours to take the other pill.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Vorgens focused his attention back on the viewscreen. The battle was still raging outside the dreadnaught. Several vehicles were ablaze now, and the ground between them was bomb-pitted and littered with dead and dying men, both Terran and Komani.
“The flying squads are ready to go, sir.”
Vorgens squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think”It would probably be better if they massed at one spot, and then hit the Komani as a solid unit. Don’t you think so?”
The exec nodded”Exactly. I’ve given them the word to group first at battle cruiser J-7”—he pointed to the stereomap on the desktop before him—”in the middle of our battle line.”
“Good. Have them sweep to the far side of the valley first, and once that flank is cleared, they can come back this way.”
“Right.” The exec flicked a switch on his communicator and gave the orders.
From every vehicle of the embattled Terran group, a half-dozen or so men emerged, clad in armored suits with jetbelts on their backs. Some of them never cleared the hatches: Komani warriors cut them downBut most of them fought their way toward the rendezvous point over a flame-blackened, battered cruiser, and then heeled as a unit and began advancing on the milling, free-wheeling Komani attackers-
The Komani warriors fought mostly as single units. That was their glory and their strength. Their tactics were chaos and confusion. They merely blackened the sky and hit their enemy from every direction at once.
But the Terran flying brigade had the solidity and firepower of an airborne dreadnought. Like a mammoth cloud of death, the Terrans began sweeping the sky clean of the Komani.
Vorgens watched the progress of the aerial battle. But a comer of his mind refused to devote itself to the struggle overhead. Something was out of place. Something had changed in the picture on his viewscreen. What was it?
The main batteries of the dreadnaughts and cruisers were no longer firing into the hills, as he had ordered! But some of the battlewagons were shooting missiles and force beams across the valley floor, in the direction where the first attack had come from, at sunrise.
What’s going on? Vorgens wondered,
The Star Watchman began twisting the control knobs of his viewscreen. in an effort to get a panoramic view of all the action.
Komani warriors were advancing along the valley floor, from the same spot where the sunrise attack had started.
But that was just a holding attack, meant to draw us into the trap on our flanks.
And on those flanks, where the Komani should be pouring wave after wave of attackers—nothing. Silence. No enemy action.
The main attack was coming from our flanks, Vorgens reasoned. Now Okatar has stopped that attack. He’s left his men here over our vehicles, with no further support.
The answer flashed into his mind with bunding clarity. At the same moment, a trio of nuclear explosions rocked he summit of the hills where the Terran troopers and engineers were struggling to open up an escape route.
“The enemy has broken off his attack on us,” Vorgens shouted into the exec’s ear. “They’re trying to recapture Sectors W5 and 6!”
The exec arched his eyebrows and punched a button on his communicator. A report lit up on his viewscreen.
“The troopers have taken the crest of the hills. The engineers have blasted out a passable grade about a third of the way up to the top... Hold on, there’s more. The troopers are under bombardment. Looks as though a major counterattack is on the way.”
“Get every cruiser out of this battle line and up those hills as fast as possible,” Vorgens snapped. “Put every available man from the dreadnaughts into flying suits and clear the attackers off our decks. I want nothing but skeleton crews aboard the dreadnaughts. We’ve got an escape route open. Now it’s going to be a race to hold it!”
Sergeant Mclntyre wormed through the brush, a pistol in his good hand, and took a careful look out over the edge of the ridge. Down below, a hundred yards or so, a squad of Komani were setting up a heavy beamgun to spray the ridge where Mclntyre’s men had dug in.
The Terran troopers had won that ridge in midmoming against stiff Komani resistance, and had held it against three counterattacks of steadily increasing fury.
The Terrans had dug in and waited for the engineers, and finally the main body of the Mobile Force, to reach them. But now, late in the afternoon, they had seen nothing but enemy warriors.
A missile shrieked by. Mclntyre instinctively dug his face into the grassy ground. The blinding flash, instantly followed by an ear-splitting explosion, told him that another nuclear warhead had been fired at themFully half the men he had started out with were already dead r wounded, but that particular missile, Mclntyre knew, was off target. It plowed up some ground, knocked down trees for a square mile around, and sent up an ugly mushroom cloud, but it hadn’t hit any of his menIf anything, it had merely made the engineers’ job a little easier by clearing some more of the hilly country for them.
Patiently, Mclntyre waited until the Komani squad had put their beamgun together. Then he tossed a pair of grenades at them, in rapid succession. The explosions were sharp but unspectacular. When the smoke cleared, the beamgun was a shambles and the Komani killed. With a grim smile of satisfaction, Mclntyre edged back to the slit trench where Giradaux and the rest of his men were waiting-
Another strong attack’ll finish us, the sergeant knew. And th’ Komani are gettin’ set for a .big one. Pretty soon now. Plenty of movement down in that brush. They’re just about set to wipe us up.
Someone was rushing toward him, racing as fast as he could while doubled over so that one hand nearly touched the ground. Mclntyre pointed his pistol at the lanky, awkward form, then recognized Giradaux.
“I thought I told you to stay with the others,” the sergeant growled as Giradaux flopped belly down beside him.
“We got a visitor back at the trench, Sarge. An engineer.” Giradaux’s lean, angular face was split by a big toothy grin. “Say’s he’s got a couple of cruisers crawling up right behind him, and the dreadnaughts are on their way, tool”
Mclntyre looked at the grinning trooper, then sud, denly scrambled to his feet. Standing bolt upright, he stared down toward the valley floor.
About twenty Terran vehicles were scattered across the valley, smoldng and inert. The rest of the Mobile Force was streaming up the hillsides, along paths of raw arth gouged out by the engineers and the Komani bombardment, toward the crest of the hills—toward freedom.
Giradaux and the sergeant scampered back to the slit trench. A batde-scan-ed cruiser was -already there, and the troopers were clambering aboard its rear deck.
“He did it!” Mclntyre shouted to the young trooper. “That Star Watchman has pulled us outta the trap. We’re gettin’ outta this valley—alive!”
The engineer, grimy and hollow-eyed, called from his one-man scoutcar, “No time for celebration, sergeant. Let’s get out of here before the Komani try to hit us again.”
Mclntyre grabbed a handhold on the cruiser’s side and hoisted himself upwards.
“They ain’t gonna try anything now,” he answered, over his shoulder. “They’ve lost this battle, and they know it.”
The cruiser whined into life, lifted off the ground by about a foot, and rumbled off with the battered, jubilant troopers aboard. The engineer gunned his little scrambler and scooted up alongside, placing the crusier between himself and the Komani.
Half a mile away, a Komani officer stood under a cloudy, smoke-filled sky and spoke into his wrist communicator:
“The main body of the Terran forces has reached the summit of the hills. We will attack again if you order us to, but my company is down to less man half its original strength. The Terrans have the advantage of massed firepower, and their armored vehicles are faster than our flyers, once they are in open country.”
After a long wait, an utterly exhausted voice sounded from the communicator, “Break off contact with the enemy. Regroup your men. The battle is over.”
It showered briefly at sunset, as the Mobile Force streamed out to the rolling, open countryside. Then all through the night clouds piled up thicker and darker until, by dawn, it began to rain steadily.
Sittas heard the first drops strike the roof over his head. The old priest was standing by a window on the upper floor of the town hall of Matara, a tiny farming vilfage a few miles from the valley of Carmeer.
He had turned the town hall—the only two-story building in the village—into an emergency hospitalTerrans, Komani, and the few Shinarians who had been wounded in the battle were being brought in. Sittas stood by the window after a full night of dressing wounds and blessing the dead, and watched the maimed and shattered men still being brought through the muddy, rainspattered morning into the makeshift infirmary. When would the pitiful parade end? Sittas had gathered every doctor and every available boy and woman from milesound. But they were few. terribly few, for this horrible toll.
“It’s not a very pretty sight, is it?”
Sittas turned and saw Altai at the door, a raincape over her shoulders, her hair glistening wet.
“You are ... all rights’
She nodded”The Watchman kept his word. The Terrans avoided firing on usOnly Merdon and his best three squads got into the fighting, and they had to ride piggyback on Komani flyers to reach the Terrans. Merdon could have stayed out of it altogether. The Watchman gave us that opportunity.”
“Well, thank heaven that you are safe, and that more of our people were not involved in the battle. Merdon was not hurt, was he?”
“No, he’s all right.”
“Good.”
Altai stepped over to the window and looked at the steady line of wounded coming into the building.
“It was an awful battle, though. Even if our people didn’t have much to do with it.”
“I know,” the priest said. “Unless we can bring peace to Shinar quickly, this will be only the first of many, many battles, and our people will be fully involved in the next ones.”
“What do you intend to do?” she asked.
Sittas shook his head. “I’m not certain. That’s the terrible part of it. I don’t know what to do next.”
“You’re tired,” Altai said. “We all are. Time to sleep now.”
“But the wounded need help...”
She took him by the arm and steered him to a couch along the far wall of the room. “The wounded don’t need someone who’s about to fall asleep on them. Sleep now, and you’ll be much better able to help them when you awake.”
The old man sat on the edge of the couch. “You emind me very much of’my sister ... your mother. She was very domineering, too, despite being much younger than I.”
Altai smiled at him. “Enough talking. Sleep,” she said firmly.
With a resigned shrug, Sittas kicked off his sandak and stretched out on the couch. Altai put her raincape over him, and walked softly out of the room. The lights went off as she closed the door.
Squatting outside the pelting rain, a Komani warrior eyed the town-hall-turned-hospital with the patient cunning of a stalking panther. The old man is in there, the warrior knew. Only the wounded, or Shinarian doctors and helpers, were allowed inside. Sooner or later the old man would come out. Then the warrior would kill him. Time did not matter. The reason behind the warrior’s orders „ did not matter. All the warrior knew was that Sittas must v die. There was no other purpose for the Komani’s existence but to cany out the order of death. Silently he sat in the rain. his chin cupped in his massive hands, and waited.
Sittas was awakened by the sounds of three Shinarian youths trying to place a wounded Komani on a makeshift pallet of blankets and coats. The town hall was overflowing. The rain had stopped, and a late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows. Outside, Sittas could see that more wounded had been left on litters in the town square.
The old priest immediately went downstairs, into the ‘“ welter of cots and pallets and doctors and weary, busy women and boys who were attending the injured men. Altai was among them.
“Here,” Sittas said to his niece, as she tried to wrap a bandage over a young Terran’s arm. “I’ll do that. You find the town mayor and bring him here immediately.”
The mayor was short, round and bland-faced. He listened patiently as Sittas explained what he wanted to do, then replied with a shrug:
“The people probably won’t want to bring wounded foreigners into their homes, but I shall tell them that you have asked them to do so. We shall see how they react.”
The reaction was startling, even to Sittas. Nearly every family in the tiny village showed up at the town square and took at least one of the wounded men lying out on the worn old paving stones. The casualties were all safety indoors before night fell.
The mayor was amazed. “These people revere you, Sittas.”
The priest shook his head. “It is not me. They are good-hearted people. I only pointed out how they could help.”
All through the night, with only an hour or so of rest, Sittas attended “his” patients. Near dawn, one of the doctors reported worriedly:
“We have just about stripped the entire district clean of medical supplies. There’s practically nothing left to go on.”
Altai, standing nearby her uncle, said, “Perhaps I can get more.”
As she went off toward the building’s only tri-di transceiver, a Komani officer strode into the main entrance. He looked across the sea of bedridden men that filled the entiyway and stretched on into the other rooms.
“Which of you is in charge here?” he demanded of the Shinarians.
Everyone turned toward Sittas.
“I am Sittas,” the priest said, making his way toward the Komani. He saw a trio of warriors standing just outside the doorway.
The Komani officer said, “In the name of Okatar Kang, I claim the Terrans sheltered here as prisoners ...”
“Never!” Sittas snapped, with a vehemence that surprised them all.
The old man walked up to the Komani. and, standing barely as tall as the officer’s breastbone, said furiously, ‘This place is sanctuary for wounded men. Do you understand? Sanctuary. Neither Okatar Kang nor the Terran commander has any right to claim prisoners here. The men here are no longer warriors—not until they are well enough to rejoin their companions. In this town the war does not exist. Isn’t it enough that you have killed and crippled so many? Get out of here—you smell of death. Out!”
The Komani officer was forced back a step. Uncertainly, he mumbled, “Well, if it’s sanctuary ... we have no quarrel with your religious feelings.” He turned and walked out. The three warriors followed him,
Outside, the Komani warrior who had been silently waiting for almost three days, sat immobile and watched the entrance to the town hall. For an instant Sittas was framed in the doorway, and the warrior’s hand slid to the butt of his pistol, but then the priest turned away and went back inside the building. The warrior grunted to himself and relaxed. He did not stop watching.
News of sporadic fighting between the Terrans and Komani trickled into the hospital that morning. The Mobile Force was in the open country, and a few of their scoutcars had brushed briefly with Komani patrols.
Near noontime a Terran supply van rumbled through the dusty main street of Matara and stopped before the town hall. A white flag flew from its whip antenna. A lieutenant and five other Marines got out of the cab and entered the building, looking for Sittas.
. “We have a van full of medical supplies, sir,” the lieutenant told the priest. “Compliments of the Ten-an Imperial Star Watch and Marine Corps.”
As the Terrans, with a dozen Shinarian youths helping them, unloaded the supplies, Sittas found Altai and said:
“I know this is your doing. But how did you accomplish it?”
She smiled at her uncle. “I phoned our people in Capital City. They saw to it that the Terran garrison there learned of your need for medical help. The garrison informed the Star Watchman, I suppose, and he sent the supplies.”
Sittas shook his head. “Lines of communication become very strange in wartime.”
Before the Terran van was unloaded completely, a small civilian groundcar pulled up beside itThe driver hopped out lightly, trotted around to the passenger’s side, and opened the door. A tall, broad-girthed, balding Shinarian stepped out—Clanthas.
He cocked an eye at the Terran vehicle, then walked into the town hall. For several minutes he spoke to no one, but merely paced slowly through the improvised hospital, watching Shinarians tending the wounded Teryrans and Komani. He nodded to a few of the doctors, grinned at the women and youths assisting them. Finally, Clanthas spotted Sittas. The old priest was standing on the balcony that ran around three sides of
Jthe large, ground-level room that had been the town hall’s main auditorium. Clanthas climbed the stairs slowly, yet he was still puffing a bit when he reached the top.
Sittas was locked in a discussion with one of the doctors.
“All right, they’re well enough to leave and rejoin the rest of the Terrans,” the doctor was saying. “But how do you get them back to their own men safely, without the Komani stopping them?”
“We can put them on the Terran van, outside,” Sittas replied.
“And what about tomorrow, or the day after?” i “We can ask the Terrans leaving today to have their w commander keep in touch with us by tri-di. When we re ready to release more of them, they can send another vehicle, under a truce flag.”
“And you expect the Komani to honor the flag of truce?”
Sittas nodded. “They know that their own wounded are being tended here. If they do anything to disrupt our work, their own men will suffer for it.”
The doctor shrugged. “I hope you’re right..., Very well. I’ll tell the Terran lieutenant that we’ll have a few men for him to take back with him.”
“Good.”
As the doctor turned to find the lieutenant, Clanthas stepped up to the old priest
“You do not know me. My name is Clanthas.”
Sittas’ wrinkled face broke into a smile. “Clanthas of Katan? The merchant who organized the first protests and demonstrations against the Terrans?”
Clanthas nodded, with a rueful grin. “I did help to get the movement started; it has gone much farther than I expected.”
“Yes. But your aims and ideals were good ones, I am honored to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
“You are looking for your son, Merdon? He is not here, but he is well and happy.”
“Yes, I know. I spoke with Merdon on tri-di last night. Actually, I came here to see you, and this hospital. News of what you have done is spreading all over Shinar. You have become a national hero, Sittas.”
“Me?” Sittas laughed. “An unlikely hero, I must say. I have done practically nothing. It is the doctors, and the good people of this town. And the Terran commander, too; he sent us a van-load of medical supplies.”
“Yes, I know. My driver parked next to the Terran van. Fortunately, they don’t know who I am.”
Altai hurried up the stairs to her uncle. “Excuse me.
The Terrans have finished unloading. Their lieutenant wants to speak with you.”
“Ah yes; and there are several things I want to talk over with him.” Sittas turned back to Clanthas. “Will you pardon me for a moment?”
“Certainly.”
The priest gestured toward the girl. “My niece, Altai, will be glad to show you around the building and to answer any questions you may have. Altai, this is Clanthas of Katan, Merdon’s father.”
“Merdon’s father?” Altai gasped as Sittas started down the stairs. Her hands flew to her hair. “I... I must look terrible. These slacks and this old blouse ... you must excuse my appearance. I had no idea ...”
Clanthas chuckled at her. “I wasn’t expecting to find you in a ball gown. Merdon has told me quite a bit about you. You are as lovely as he said you were.”
“Oh ,. thank you.”
They began to talk, mostly about Merdon, and were deep in conversation when Sittas returned.
“I have decided to accompany the Terrans back to the Mobile Force,” the old man said. “The lieutenant has told me that the Star Watchman has assumed command of all Terran units on Shinar. He has asked to see me, and I believe it might be helpful to go to him, now that he has such power in his hands.”
“I’ve heard some rumors about a Watchman on the planet,” Clanthas said. “You know him?”
Sittas nodded. “Altai can tell you about it. I must hurry off, the Terrans are anxious to leave.”
The old priest, flanked by the Terran lieutenant and five troopers left, the building and climbed into the cab of the bulky supply van. The Komani warrior who had been waiting in the town square watched with helpless fury. He could not get a good shot at the old man with six Terrans surrounding him, and he could not get close nough to use a grenade without the Terrans stoppingim.
As the supply van whined to life and lifted off the lavement, the Komani wearily trudged back to his own lyer, resting in an alley off the square. Perhaps he coulda’lyatch up with the van in the open country. If the Terransere not alert, he could execute the old man, and get aalf-dozen Terrans in the bargain.
Sittas eyed the Star Watchman critically as they sat in the tiny compartment aboard the dreadnaught. The priest had never before been inside a vehicle of such size, yet he was most amazed’at how much the Terrans were able to squeeze into the big groundcar.
Vorgens’ quarters, where they were sitting, was typical. The bunk was folded into the bulkhead; the webbed chairs and table had been slid out of the same opening that the bunk fitted into. The short side of the compartment was taken up with a translucent viewscreen, another wall had a stereomap scanner built into it. The furniture was stored in the third wall, and the fourth was barely wide enough to accommodate the door that led into the passageway. The ceiling was covered with lightpanels, There must have been a clothes closet in the compartment, but Sittas could not determine where it might be-
His inspection of the compact room took only ament. As he shook hands with Vorgens and they both sat down facing each other, Sittas could see that the Watchman had changed.
It was nothing obvious, but Vorgens looked somehow different. He seemed well and hearty enough, but there were tiny lines around his eyes, and his face was slightly thinner, tauter. There was a different air about him. The Watchman was no longer a troubled, bewildered youth thrown into the middle of a world he could not understand. He was a Star Watch officer, in command of the Terran forces on this planet. He had accepted the responsibility of command, and had discovered at last that he could, to a degree, take that world into his own hands and begin to shape it for himself.
“I hear you were attacked on your way to join us,” Vorgens said, hunching forward slightly in the webbed chair.
Sittas shook his head. “You could hardly call it an attack. Your troopers discovered a lone Komani warrior following our van. They fired a few beams at him, and he shot a small missile at us, which a trooper disposed of with another beamgun. Then the Komani dropped out of range.”
“But he continued to follow you?”
“Yes. Until we reached the scoutcars at the perimeter of your encampment.”
Vorgens laughed. “We’re not camped here. Sittas, we’re merely stopped for a few hours. I’ve been keeping the Mobile Force on the move constantly since we broke out of the valley.”
“Then it is true that you have assumed command.”
“I had to,” the Watchman answered, serious now. “Aikens would not listen to reason. There was no one else to whom I could turn. I decided that I had more information about the situation than anyone else, so I took charge.”
“A Star Watch officer has such authority?”
“T do, now. Whether or not I had the right to take such authority into my own hands is a matter that will be settled by a Star Watch court, sometime in the future.” Sittas leaned back in his webbed chair. “The lieutenant you sent to Matara with the medical supplies said that you wanted to see me.”
/-. “That’s right,” Vorgens replied. “First, I want to thank you again for your part in saving my life—and the lives of all the men in mis Mobile Force. Nothing that we could do can ever repay the debt we all owe you.”
Sittas waved a hand of protest. “That is all in the past. It is tomorrow that interests me—and you, I should judge.”
“Yes, tomorrow, and all the days that come after,” Vorgens agreed. He hesitated for a moment, framing the right words in his mind, then asked, “If I invited the leaders of the Shinarian rebel movement to a truce conference here, would they come?”
The old priest shook his head. “No, I doubt that they \ would.”
“Suppose I went to Capital City and asked them to meet with me there?” “They would still smell a trap,” Sittas answered”They 5 realize perfectly well that you do not know who they are. Why should they expose themselves?”
“I know Merdon,”
“Everyone on the planet knows Merdon. But he is only one of the leaders. He commands the youngest, and the most aggressive of the rebels, but there are many other groups—in the cities, in the hills, among the farmrf ing villages. They do not make up an army, as Merdon’seople do, but they will fight in their own ways for Shi nar’s freedom. These are the people you must reach, andhese are the leaders you do not know.” L “Then help me to meet them,” Vorgens pleaded earH nestly, “They trust you Tell them that I want to discuss jl, a peace settlement with them. Tell them that I’ll meet hem in Capital City, if they like, and they’ll be guaranteed freedom from arrest.”
Sittas stroked his chin thoughtfully. “They will still be revealing themselves to you. What’s to stop you from having them arrested after the conference?”
“My word,” Vorgens replied, “and your trust in me.”
“You are putting it up to me to bring the rebel leaders to your conference table,” the old man mused.
“You’re the one man on this planet that both sides can trust.”
“That is very flattering.”
“And very true.”
Sittas shrugged. “I suppose you have the right idea. We can lose nothing by trying.”
“Good!” Vorgens grinned broadly. “You have the Mobile Force’s communications equipment at your disposal.”
“Yes, using the tri-di would be faster than contacting each man in person. If they are not afraid to appear on tri-di and run the risk of having you Terrans trace their whereabouts.”
Vorgens shook his head. “They have to take some risks. Peace isn’t built on flowers and handshakes alone.”
It took four days to arrange the conference. Four days in which the Mobile Force, spread across the countryside like a moving cloud of giant insects, covered more than three hundred miles and fought six skirmishes with Komani attackers.
One of the clashes was fairly serious. A full battalion of Komani swooped down on a temporarily disabled light cruiser and two repair vans, just as dawn was breaking. The cruiser and her escorts were in the rear of the Terran formation, separated from the rest of the Mobile Force by a broad, swift-running river with thick woods on the far bank. The Komani reasoned that they could verwhelm the stragglers before any other Terran vehicles could get back to help.
The Komani warriors slashed across the sky with the sun at their backs and caught the surprised Terrans in the open. Before they could scramble into their vehicles, half the Terrans were killed or wounded, and one of the repair vans was in flames. The men aboard the cruiser quickly started to tight back, though, and frantically called for help.
The cruiser was being pounded by grenades, and the second repair van was badly damaged, when the Komani attackers were startled by movements in the woods across the river.
Trees seemed to be toppling, bursting into flame, exploding. As the turmoil approached the river bank, the Komani could see that a pair of battle cruisers was smashing through the woods, using their force beams to destroy the trees in front of them.
Finally the cruisers burst through the woods and started down the bank of the river. They did not pause a moment at the water, but skimmed right across, completely indifferent to the material underneath them.
As the Komani started to face the counterattack, another pair of Terran cruisers fell on them from the flank. The attackers were decimated; only a handful escaped the Terran envelopment.
Attacks on straggling vehicles ceased after that action.
The conference room that Sittas had picked was actually part of a church building. The room, warmly appointed in polished Shinarian wood, stood off to one side of the main chapel. It was a small chamber, with a central oblong table surrounded by leather-padded, highbacked chairs.
Vorgens sat at one side of the table, flanked by Sergeant Mclntyre—whom the Watchman had made his ersonal aide—and Sittas. The priest introduced the eight Shinarians who sat across the table.
“And the spokesmen for all the groups represented at this meeting,” Sittas concluded, “is Cianthas of Katan.”
Clanthas nodded pleasantly.
“You are Merdon’s father?” Vorgens asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I can see the family resemblance. The commander of the city garrison has told me quite a bit about you.”
Clanthas answered evenly, “I could tell you quite a bit about the commander.”
“I imagine you could,” Vorgens said, grinning.
“We are ready to begin,” Clanthas said, “if you are.”
“Is Merdon going to be here, or are you representing him?”
Clanthas’ broad face clouded over. “I do not know if Merdon intends to join this conference or not. No one here represents him, or his group.”
“I will represent Merdon,”
Vorgens turned round in his chair and saw Altai standing in the arched doorway of the conference room. She was still wearing a “field uniform” of slacks and tunic, but somehow she looked more feminine than Vorgens had ever seen her to be.
The men rose from their seats. Altai went to the chair next to her uncle’s and Sergeant Mclntyre stepped over and held the chair as she sat down.
“I believe, then,” Vorgens said, “that all the factions on Shinar are represented—with the exception of the Komani, who are not noticeably enthusiastic about truce conferences.”
They all murmured agreement.
“The purpose of this meeting is quite simple,” the Watchman began. “Everyone here, I think, wants peace for Shinar. The question is: what is the cost of peace?”
“Merdon’s price for peace is well known,” Altai said.
“He has instructed me to tell you that he will stop fighting when the Terrans leave Shinar. Freedom is his price.”
Vorgens nodded. “And the official Terran price for peace is submission to the Empire. The Marines were sent to this planet to smash the rebellion and restore order under Terran terms.”
One of the Shinarians protested, “Surely you cannot have called us here merely to tell us this!”
“Of course not,” Vorgens replied. “I’m only trying to show that inflexibility on either side will only prolong the fighting.” Turning to Altai, he asked, “Doesn’t Merdon realize by now that if the Terrans should leave Shinar, your planet would become a prize for the Komani?”
Altai glanced at her uncle, then answered, “Merdon believes that once the Terrans are driven off Shinar, Okatar Kang will want to attack the Empire somewhere else. He believes that we can be strong enough to prevent the Komani from overpowering us.”
“You know the rebel situation as well as Merdon does. Do you believe this too?”
“Merdon is our chief. He knows better than I.”
“But do you agree with him?” Vorgens asked.
After a long pause, she said, “I’m only a girl. My opinion counts for very little.”
Clanthas broke into the conversation. “Perhaps I should recapitulate the history of this rebellion. It started when the Empire began installing nutrient processing plants and uprooting our farmers. We appealed to the Terran governor, to no avail. We organized demonstrations, and the governor used troops to suppress us. Riots broke out. Many of the younger people—my son among them—decided to fight force with force. The governor was assassinated. The Marines were called in. The younger rebels asked the Komani to help us...”
“And here we are,” Sittas murmured.
“Exactly,” Clanthas said. “The situation is completely out of control. All we want is for Shinar to be left in peace. We do not want to become a cog in your Empire. Neither do we want to become vassals of the Komani. Yet the Terrans and the Komani are fighting over us, turning our own world into a battleground. No matter who wins, we will lose.”
“All we want is to be left alone,” said another Shinarian.
Vorgens answered, quietly and patiently, “That is a dream that will not come to pass in my lifetime or in yours. Shinar will not be left alone. It can’t be left alone, no matter how much you wish it to be. If the Terrans don’t make you part of their Empire, the Komani or someone else will. The simple truth is that Shinar is not powerful enough to remain completely independent. You never were. Before the Terrans, you were ruled by the Masters, remember. You were never alone. No nation is. Or could be.”
“Then what choice do we have?” a Shinarian blurted miserably. “Must we stand meekly by and watch you and the Komani rip our world to pieces in a battle to see which of you will be our overlord?”
“Your choice.” Vorgens reasoned, “is one of degree. It may be possible. I think, for you to work out some system of self-government within the Terran Empire. I know that other nations have done this. I can’t see why Shinar couldn’t—in time. Within the Empire, there is the hope of eventual self-government. Not the total freedom that Merdon wants, perhaps, but a good part of it. Under the Komani, you have nothing to look forward to except destruction and death.”
Sittas countered. “The Terrans have never permitted us the luxury of hoping for self-government before.”
“I know, and you have no official promise of it now, only my own feeling that, if we can act boldly and successfully in the next few weeks, the Empire might be more favorably disposed to hear your case.”
Clanthas’ eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”
. “Simply this. The Mobile Force can’t defeat the Komani here on Shinar by itself. We can defend ourselves, and that’s about all. Reinforcements are on their way, but Okatar Kang could ravage this planet quite thoroughly before they get here. If you want to prevent the Komani from destroying your world, you must help me to fight against them-
“Okatar has one weakness. He must win, here on Shinar. He must win quickly and decisively. If he can be held at bay, frustrated, kept off balance, then his dream of glory will soon fade. The other Komani clans will not ally themselves with himPerhaps even his own people will become tired of fighting a fruitless war. Then, when the Star Watch reinforcements arrive, you, yourselves, will have achieved already a large part of the victory.
“The choice is yours to make. Either you fight for your own world, with the Terrans and against the Komani, or you allow the Komani to take over your planet, and you give them the springboard they want to touch off a galactic war.”
One of the Shinarians asked, “Do you think that, if we help your troops fight the Komani, the Empire will look with favor on your request to govern ourselves?”
“I think they might, but I can’t guarantee it.”
“You ask us to risk much for only the hope of freedom.” Clanthas said.
“Men have risked everything time and again,” Vorgens shot back, “for the hope of freedom. It’s the only hope you have.”
Altai laughed softly. “What you’re saying is that the threat of the Komani will force the Terrans to treat us with respect.”
“I am saying,” Vorgens answered firmly, “that your own courage and self-respect are the only tools you have for achieving freedom. It’s your choice. You must decide.”
“May I point out,” Sittas said, “that we have here an fficial of the Terran Empire telling us to make our own decision about our own fate. That in itself is a milestone.”
The little group remained silent for a moment.
Finally Clanthas said, “You are right. Watchman. It is a decision we must make for ourselves. Such a decision is not easily arrived at. We must have time to think. To discussYou understand that?”
“Of course,” Vorgens said. “But you must understand that time is precious, to all of us.”
Clanthas nodded. He rose from his chair, and everyone else got up.
“We will give you our answer within a few days.”
“Good enough,” Vorgens said.
More than an hour later, as their speedy little skimmer raced across the grassy countryside back to the main body of the Mobile Force, Mclntyre said:
“I just hope that Star Watch Headquarters really does decide to send the reinforcements you told the natives we were gettin’.”
“So do I, Sergeant,” Vorgens answered fervently. “So do I.”
The yellow sun of Shinar glittered brazenly on the sea and pressed its warmth into the long, curving, white beach. But the six young Shinarians trudging slowly along the sand paid no attention to the brilliant sun, nor to the steady, stiff breeze coming off the water, and the crashing surf that it propelled.
“And that’s all that the Watchman had to say?” Merdon asked, rhetorically.
Altai nodded. “It seemed to be a good beginning.”
“Beginning?” Merdon laughed. “He’s just asking us to gp right back to where we started.”
“How did the other leaders take to his proposal?” Tarat asked.
“They seemed”—she hunted for the right word— “impressed.”
“When you boil down to essentials,” Merdon said, “the Watchman is asking us to help the Empire fight off the Komani. In return for this, he promises to do his best get the Imperial bureaucracy to consider—consider, mind you—giving us some measure of freedom in the undetermined future.”
“What more can he do for us?” Altai asked.
“More? He hasn’t done anything. Not a thing. The conference was a farce.”
“Well, maybe not,” Romal piped. “The Watchman is giving us a chance to prove to the Terrans that we can take care of ourselves. After all, wouldn’t the Empire be indebted to us if we helped to stop the Komani threat?”
Merdon glared down at his little quartermaster.
“What other choices do we have?” Altai insisted. “The Komani haven’t crushed the Mobile Force. The chances are that the war will go on for some time—until either the Terrans or the Komani bring enough reinforcements to Shmar to overpower the other. If we wait until that happens, we’ll be at the mercy of the winner, whichever it may be.”
“Not if we help the Komani to smash the Terrans.”
Tarat objected, “But the Empire is probably sending more troops here. We can’t fight the whole Star Watch!”
“There are no reinforcements on their way here,” Merdon answered flatly. “Okatar Kang is certain of that, and so am I.”
“How do you know?”
“He has his ways of finding out. Shinar is just a tiny pebble to the Terrans. They won’t risk more men here until they realize that there’s much more than our single planet involved. By the time they make up their minds, it’ll be too late.”
“All this might have been true.” Altai said, “if we had beaten the Mobile Force in the valley of Carmeer. But we haven’t. The Mobile Force is still here, as strong as ever. The Watchman can fight the Komani indefinitely, if he has to.”
“Thanks to you.” Merdon snapped.
Altai stared at him, stunned.
“Well, you let him escape from the Komani. We had the Terrans boxed in, but he pulled them out of the trap. We had a chance to get rid of the Terrans, and you worked for them, instead of for us.”
For several moments, no one spoke.
Finally Altai replied, in a voice trembling with pain and anger, “If I hadn’t helped the Watchman, if we had fought the battle that you were hoping to fight, most of us would be dead right now, and Okatar would be ruling this planet.”
“Shinar would be free, you mean.”
“No, Merdon, you’re wrong. If we must choose between the Terrans and the Komani, I will go with the Terrans.”
“What about freedom for Shinar?”
“There are more ways to obtain freedom than with a gun,” she said.
Merdon looked at the four youths, watching them waiting for his next reaction.
“All right, then,” he said, with a deadly calm, “you can go with the Terrans if you like. I won’t stop you.”
Without another word, Altai turned her back on Merdon and walked away. In shocked silence, the others watched her stride up the beach, toward the groundcars parked on the grassy dunes above.
“If any of the rest of you feel the same way, now’s the time to say it.”
The four young lieutenants glanced uneasily at each other. Ron shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, then blurted out, “I’m sony, Merdon. She’s right and you’re not. I’m going with her.”
He broke into a run, following Altai’s footsteps.
Tarat shook his head”There’U be others joining them when they hear about this.”
“Let them go,” growled Merdon, furious, “They’ll crawl back to us when we’ve freed Shinar.”
Altai climbed up the dune and reached the groundcar without noticing Ron following her. She opened the door f the little bubble-topped car and dropped into the driver’s seat. Only then did she allow herself to break into the tears that she had been holding back.
Okatar Kang paced his tent like a caged jungle beast, while his council of nobles sat passively at their long table and watched their chieftain.
“So the Terrans have been talking with the native leaders, have they? These spineless Shinarians blow with the windWhen we had me Terrans trapped, they were pleased with us. Now that there is more fighting to be done, they’re not so sure.”
“The natives are no immediate threat to us. Lord Okatar,” said one of the nobles. “It is the Terrans.”
“The Terransi” Okatar spat”They’re lucky to be alive, and they know it. They are merely trying to protect themselves; they are no danger.”
“But still, they have a powerful force.”
“I wish they would offer us battle,” Okatar said. “We would overwhelm them, once and for all. But, no, instead they retreat, they flee from usVery well. Let them run.”
“What have you in mind?”
Okatar stopped his pacing and faced the council table. “We are going to make this planet feel the full might of the Komani. Until now we have attempted to deal with the Shinarians as allies. But they have betrayed usNow we shall treat them as subjects. This planet is ours for the taking, and I intend to take what we want from it.”
“What about the Shinarian forces still allied to us?”
“They have plotted against us. Merdon and his children’s army have hoped that we would drive off the Terrans, and then be so weakened that they could drive us off.”
“Do you intend to force Merdon to join the Terrans?”
“That, he will never do. No, I intend to offer him a bargain—a bargain on Komani terms. He can still serve with us, but as a subject, not an ally. When we are finished ith Shinar, he can take control of the planet, but he will be our subject.”
“If he refuses this bargain?”
“He will die.”
“And the Terrans?”
Okatar smiled fiercely. “We shall start a campaign of terror and looting that will turn this planet upside-down. We shall take what we need and what we want from the Shinarian countryside and the towns that have no Terran garrison. Sooner or later, the Terrans will be forced to offer us battle. They will stop running and try to attack our forces; possibly they will attempt to attack this camp. When they mass, we will mass. When they attempt to strike at us, we will destroy them!”
“In the meantime, we will be gathering supplies and equipment from the natives.”
“Exactly so,” Okatar said. “With every day, our strength will grow, and the Shinarians’ dread of our power will grow equally. With every day, the Terrans will become weaker.”
As the exec sat in Vorgens’ quarters and listened to what the Star Watchman was telling him, his eyes widened more and more, until white showed almost all the way around them.
“I—I can’t believe you mean what you’re saying,” the exec protested.
Sergeant Mclntyre, standing at the doorway to the tiny cubicle, nodded grimly. “Neither could I, when he told me, sir. Can’t you talk him outta doin’ it?”
Vorgens half turned in his webbed chair and surveyed the sergeant with a wry smile. “My aide, here.” he said to the exec, “said he thinks the idea is crazy.”
“It’s certainly ... unusual,” the exec said, lamely.
The smile faded from Vorgens’ face. “Unusual or not, do you think the idea is sound?”
“From a military point of view, yes sir, I do,” the xec admitted, nodding. “But from your own personal point—”
“That’s my problem,” Vorgens said, abruptly getting up from the webbed chair. “All right, if it’s sound militarily, we’ve got to do it. Let’s go.”
“Now?” Mclntyre asked.
“Right now, and I want the two of you along as witnesses.”
With a frown on his beefy face, Mclntyre led the way down the narrow passage to Brigadier Aikens’ quarters. When the sergeant hesitated at the door, Vorgens knocked-
“Come.”
Mclntyre opened the door, and the three of them stepped in. Aikens was lying in his bunk, reading a report projected overhead.
The brigadier cocked an eye at Vorgens, then swung up to a sitting positionThe projector automatically shut off.
“To what do I owe this honor?”
“Was that the Officer of the Day’s report you were scanning?” Vorgens asked.
“That’s right. I like to keep up on what you’re doing with my men. Any objections?”
“No. None at all... May we come in?”
Aikens gestured to the unfolded writing desk and the pair of webbed chairs Hanking it. “Make yourself at homeYou’re in command, aren’t you?”
Mclntyre could see Vorgens’ whole body stiffen at the brigadier’s sarcasm. The Watchman took one of the chairs. The exec and the sergeant remained standing.
“I trust you’ve been physically comfortable,” Vorgens said.
“Don’t play games with me. Watchman. You’re up to something. Now what is it?”
“You’ve been keeping track of the Mobile Force’s actions.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, of course.”
“Good, I’ve been thinking over the situation for the past two days, and I’ve come to a decision ...”
“And you expect me to give you advice? Don’t waste your time.”
Vorgens clenched his fists. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a visible effort to remain calm, he resumed, “I’m not looking for advice, but I do have a question to ask you. Your answer will affect the lives of the men of this Mobile Force, and the lives of every man, woman and child on Shinar.”
For the first time, Aikens looked directly at the Watchman. “Well?”
“I want to know if you’re willing to resume command of the Mobile Force.”
Aikens’ eyes flashed for an instant. Then he asked slowly, “Resume command? What brought you to that decision? You made it pretty clear that I’m unfit to command.”
“Brigadier, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. I assumed command because I represent the authority of Star Watch Headquarters, and you were unwilling to follow the policies expressed by my orders.”
Aikens glared at the Watchman, but said nothing.
“It’s quite obvious,” Vorgens went on, “that my training as a Star Watch officer can never match your experience as a commander in the field. I took over the command of this Force because it was the only way to get us out of the Komani trapBut I have no delusions about my ability to direct a full-scale planetary action. The situation calls for an able, experienced field commander. Are you willing to resume command, or not?”
The brigadier grinned humoriessly. “I knew you’d be handing the ball back to me sooner or later. You haven’t got the backbone for this land of responsibility.”
Strangely, Vorgens smiled back at the older man, “Perhaps you don’t understand me,” he said. “I want you to esume command of the Mobile Force ... under my authority. I am in charge of all Terran forces on Shinar, and until a higher-ranking Watchman reaches the planet, I shall remain in command. I’m offering you tactical control of the Mobile Force; strategic decisions will be made by me.”
“You ... you ...” Aikens’ face glowered red, and the rage seemed to well up in his throat, choking him. “You’re offering me—tactical command—under your authority! I—I’ll ...”
“Before you say anything else,” Vorgens warned, his voice suddenly as sharp as a cutting beam, “I’ll be forced to turn over the job to the executive officer, if you don’t accept the command.”
Aikens half rose off the edge of the bunk, then sat down again. His face turned a mottled purphsh color.
“I’m sorry that it has to be this way,” Vorgens said, more gently, “but I can’t see any other way.”
“All right. Watchman,” Aikens said, after several moments’ silence, “I’ll resume command of the Mobile ForceI’ll pull your little carcass out of the fire ... and when we’ve settled this business on Shinar, I’ll call for a court-martial so fast your head will swim.”
Vorgens nodded, “I’m sure a court of inquiry will be necessary to straighten out our differences. But, for the moment, let’s hope we can both rise above our personal feelings.”
“I’m a soldier, youngster; I know how to keep my feelings to myself when it’s for the good of the men. But don’t have any illusions. We’re poles apart, you and me, Now and always. Understand?”
“Perfectly.”
Vorgens walked back to the dreadnaught’s control center in silence. His face was immobile. He felt empty and drained of emotion.
It was a complete surprise to see Altai sitting at an ntended control desk. The trooper on watch said to Vorgens:
“She just showed up at one of the scoutcars on the perimeter and said she wanted to see you, sir. Wouldn’t talk to anyone else.”
The Watchman went to her. Altai’s face was outwardly calm, but Vorgens could sense the tenseness within her. Her dark eyes showed no trace of the tears she had been shedding.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked, sitting down next to her.
“I’ve left Merdon,” she said quietly. “Several squads of our fighters have decided to join you and fight against the Komani. They are waiting for your orders,”
“I see. And Merdon?”
“He ...” For just an instant it seemed her self-control would crack. “He refuses to change his mind. He will fight against you, he says, until Shinar is free.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Vorgens replied, “and sorrier still to see you so—upset. He means very much to you, doesn’t he?”
“Once he did,” she said. “Now, we couldn’t be farther apart if we were on opposite ends of the world.”
Vorgens smiled at her.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s not funny, merely an odd coincidence. Someone just told me that I was poles apart from him.”
“You? You’re among your own men, why should you worry about one person?”
“He’s a very important person. And as far as being among my own men ... I’m among strangers. With the exception of two or three people, I’ve known you and your uncle longer than any of the men here.”
“You’re as alone as I am,” Altai said.
“Yes,” Vorgens agreed. “That’s right.”
The Komani warrior sat under a tree at the crest of a hill overlooking Shinar’s Capital City. He had lost track of the days since he had first started hunting the old priest, first at the town of Matara, then along the road to the Mobile Force’s camp, and finally here at the city.
He could not follow his prey into the city, of course. The Terran garrison would shoot him on sight. So he waited, living off terrified fanners and villagers nearby, sleeping in me open, waiting with remorseless patience. Sooner or later, the priest would leave the city, and he could be attacked or killed.
As he sat with his broad back against the sturdy shade tree, the warrior studied the city spread out on the plain below. It was the biggest collection of buildings he had ever seen, even larger than the rare clan gatherings of the Komani, which covered whole valleys with bubbletents.
A thought drifted across his mind like a dark cloud:
What if the priest left the city by a road other than the one he came in on? There were many roads into and out of the city. What if the priest was no longer there, and had escaped?
The warrior pondered over the matter. The priest did not know he was being stalked. There was no reason for him to leave the city stealthily. On the other hand, there was no reason for him to choose the road the Komani was watching.
After a long struggle with the problem, the warrior finally made a decision. He would return to Matara. If the priest left the city, he was bound to turn up at the hospital again, sooner or later. Time was of no importance. And, besides, at Matara there were many other Komani available for companionship,
The warrior rose, took a last look at Capital City, and turned toward Matara,
Vorgens sat at the command desk in the deserted control center and sifted through the morning’s reports. The Komani were stepping up their activities; strikes against the perimeter of the Mobile Force, raids against isolated villages and farms, even a hit-and-run attack on one of the larger cities. They were spreading terror and destruction all around Shinar.
As he read through the reports, Vorgens’ mind kept turning over other problemsAikens had not come out of his quarters since their conversation, three days ago. If the brigadier was willing to take tactical command of the Mobile Force, he had yet to show it. The rebels still had not contacted him, even though more than a week had gone by since their conference in Capital City.
Altai stepped through one of the hatches and entered the control center.
“Are you busy?” she asked.
“Not terribly. Have your people found adequate quarters?”
She nodded as she made her way through the compact maze of desks and consoles and sat down beside the Watchman. “Yes, there’s an old monastery nearby. Once the monks learned that Sittas is my uncle, they allowed us to stay. The boys sleep in the cellar, the girls in the barn.”
Vorgens grinned. “Sounds charming. But, you know, we won’t be in this area much longer. Do you intend to follow us, or stay here?”
“I think we’ll stay here for the time being—until we decide on what to do.”
“We’ve all got some decisions to make, and not much more time to waste before we make them. The Komani are beginning to run wild all over the planet.”
“I know,” she said. “Have you received any further word from Star Watch Headquarters about reinforcements?”
“Nothing definite,” Vorgens admitted. “Reinforcements are being prepared, but I can’t get firm word on how much and how soon.”
The desktop viewscreen at his elbow chimed softly. Vorgens touched the control stud.
“Message for you, sir. From Capital City.”
“Is it the garrison commander?”
“Relayed through his office, sir. But the message is from a native. Clanthas ...”
“Put him through!”
Vorgens glanced at Altai as the viewscreen began to glow with color. She looked as excited as he felt.
Clanthas’ broad, slightly jowly face filled the screen. “A good day to you. Watchman. And to you, Altai.”
“And the same to you,” Vorgens replied. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”
The merchant assumed a slightly apologetic expression. “It took somewhat longer than I expected, but I think you’ll find my news worth the waiting.” He paused dramatically. “The other leaders and I have decided to take ou at your word. We will help you and work against the Komani in whatever way possible.”
Only now did Vorgens realize he had been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly and murmured, “You did it.”
“Don’t overestimate my powers of persuasion,” Clanthas said. “Most of the leaders were dead set against working with the Empire. Even now the best that can be said is that they are going ahead with grave misgivings, but with the Komani killing and looting everywhere ... we really have no choice.” .”Except surrendering to the Komani.”
“We discussed that possibility,” Clanthas admitted cheerfully, “and rejected it. We will help you—or allow you to help us, depending on how you look at the matter.”
“We will work together to defeat the Komani and bring peace to Shinar,” Vorgens said, firmly.
“And then what?” Altai asked.
Vorgens turned to her. “Then we will work together just as hard to give your people the freedom for which they are fighting.”
“Amen to that,” Clanthas said. “Well ... now that we’re at your disposal, what are your plans for us? Most of my people are not organized into fighting groups, the way Merdon’s units are. But they can help to defend themselves, if you’ll show them what to do, and give them some weapons.”
Vorgens nodded. “Our plans haven’t crystallized yet. But your decision should certainly clarify our thinking. I’ll call you back as soon as we have drawn up a comprehensive pictureWill you remain in Capital City?”
“I think not,” Clanthas said. “I’m going back to Katan.”
“Is my uncle still with you?”
“He was, until this morning. Helped tremendously in convincing the other leaders that you were trustworthy, too. He started back to the hospital at Matara this moming. Should be there by nightfall.”
The three of them chatted for a few minutes longer.
When Clanthas’ image had faded from the viewscreen, Vorgens touched a button and called for Mclntyre-
The Sergeant’s face took form on the screen,
“Please give my compliments to Brigadier Aikens and ask him to meet me in the control center as soon as possible. Tell him that the native leaders have decided to work with us, and we must draw up a battle ‘plan immediately.”
“Yes sir,” said the sergeant.
Within a half an hour, Aikens, the executive officer, and the top officers of the Mobile Force’s staff were crowding the control center. Vorgens was still at the command desk, with Altai beside him and Mclntyre standing behind.
“I have already drawn up two tactical plans,” Aikens said, with a slightly malicious emphasis on me word tactical. He dropped two thick notebooks on Vorgens’ desk.
“One of the plans is based on the assumption that the natives will not aid us, and I assume that such an assumption is now outdated.”
“That’s right,” Vorgens said.
“Very weB then.” Aikens tapped on the cover of one of the notebooks. “This is the plan to use, in that case.”
Vorgens opened the book and thumbed through it. “Very detailed,” he said. Then looking up at the brigadier, he asked. “Would you care to give me a brief rundown on the main features of the plan?”
“It’s quite simple,” the brigadier said. “Have you ever seen what happens when you put a drop of ink into a glass of clear water?”
Vorgens’ eyebrows arched, and his forehead wrinkled. “Why ,. the color spreads through the whole glass.”
“Exactly. Now suppose that the glass of water is a certain district of this planet, open to attack by the Komani. And the drop of ink—”
“The drop of ink would be a unit of Marines,” Vorgens said.
‘€
“Very good. Watchman! You’re quite astute today.”
Vorgens’ eyes flashed angrily for a moment, then he regained his self-control and answered, “I have my momentsEvidently what you’re proposing to do is to split up the Mobile Force into small units and spread them through Shinar.”
“Right,” Aikens said. “Each unit will be strong enough to fend off a Komani raiding party, and the units will be spaced close enough together so that one group could come to the aid of another, in case the Komani mount an unusually heavy attack.”
“And what if the Komani mass a really large force, such as they did in Carmeer?”
It was Aikens’ turn to flush with anger. For a moment he said nothingThen, finally, “We will depend to some extent on the natives for intelligence reports. If we learn that the Komani are massing for a fuu-scale battle, we will also mass our forces.”
“Fine,” Vorgens said. “Now, how much territory can we protect in this manner?”
Aikens took up the notebook from Vorgens’ desk and rifled to a page toward the back. “We analyzed the cruising speed of our vehicles, the logistics problem, our response time to an attack-alert, and other factors ... the computer came up with an answer.” He showed the page of computations to the Watchman. “We can cover roughly half the populated area of the planet.”
“And the other half?”
Aikens shrugged his shoulders.
“Have you assumed that the natives would be armed?”
“No.”
“Suppose we armed them and trained them -.. couldn’t we gradually extend our protection to the whole planet, then?”
Aikens hesitated a moment, then, looking at Altai, he answered, “We could arm the natives and train them briefly. But could we trust them?”
Vorgens replied instantly, “They’re trusting us, brigadier. So I guess we’ll have to trust them.”
“I see.”
“It’s a good plan,” Vorgens said. “Please take the necessary steps to put it into operation immediately, and contact the garrison commanders at the four cities we now hold. Tell them that you’ll be taking some 6f the stocks from their arsenals to give to the natives.”
Aikens glowered. “I will do so only under protest.”
“Do it any way you like,” Vorgens said. “But do it.”
After Aikens and his staff had cleared out of the control center, Altai said, “I would like to go to Matara briefly and see my uncle once more. It looks as though we’ll be fighting again soon, and I’d like to visit him while I can.”
“All right,” Vorgens said. “I’d like to see him, too. Sergeant, how long would it take us to drive over to Matara?”
Mclntyre thought for a moment. “I could get you there on a scrambler before nightfall.”
The farmer’s truck was ancient and slow. Sittas, already bone-weary from a solid week of pleading and cajoling with the rebel leaders at Capital City, was even too tired to pay attention to the flaming colors of the sky as Oran dipped behind the hills that surrounded Matara. Soon they would be back at the hospital, and he could rest. The farmer, sitting in the driver’s seat, was too awed by his unexpected guest to utter a word throughout the long, hot, dusty trip.
It was dusk when the truck finally pulled into the town square of Matara. The normally placid air of the place was still banished by the bustle of activity connected with the hospital. A Komani litter, buoyed by four of the versatile one-man flyers, hovered at the bottom of the town hall’s steps. Evidently more wounded warriors had just rrived. Merchants and farmers had set up stalls along one side of the square, to supply the makeshift hospital with the goods (and a few luxuries) that it required. People of all descriptions were coming and going through the square. Even a Terran scrambler was parked in front of the hospital, Sittas noticed.
He climbed down stiffly from the truck and started toward the steps that led into the town-hall-tumedhospital.
Altai appeared at the door, atop the steps, and ran down to meet him.
“So here you are!” she said. “Clanthas told us you were coming here. We got here before you-”
“We?” the old man asked, slightly puzzled.
“The Watchman and his aide and I. We came to see you. Vorgens and the sergeant are inside. He’s amazed with the hospital.”
“I see ...”
A Komani warrior, dusty and travel-stained, advanced on them. “You are the one called Sittas?”
The old man turned to face the Komani. “Yes, I am Sittas.”
The warrior drew his ceremonial sword. “In the name of Lord Okatar, I must take your life.”
Everyone froze. The square, pulsating with life an instant earlier, became as still as death. No one moved, even the breeze seemed to die, as the Komani held his sword before him, pointed directly at the old priest.
It was Altai who broke the spell. She stepped in front of Sittas and said, “You cannot kill him!”
“You are a woman, and unarmed. Stand aside.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
Before the warrior could reply, the farmer who had driven the truck rushed up and stood beside the girl. “And me too!”
Immediately, everyone in the square began to throng around the warrior. There was not a weapon on any of hem, but they stood there, unmoving, as the Komani watched them through his unblinking, yellow cat’s eyes.
With his free hand, the warrior reached for the pistol on his belt. Before he could grasp it, a beam lanced through his shoulder. The warrior sagged to the ground. His sword clattered on the paving stones.
Everyone turned, and saw Vorgens and Mclntyre at the top of the town hall steps. The sergeant held a gun in his massive fist.
Vorgens dashed down the steps, with Mclntyre at his heels. The crowd opened a lane for them.
“He was going to kill us!” Altai sobbed.
Vorgens put his arm around her. “It’s all right. It’s allight”
The warrior painfully climbed to his knees and began to reach for the sword that he had dropped,
Mclntyre stamped a heavy boot on the sword and put his gun to the Komani’s head.
“Don’t kill him!” Sittas cried. “He was only following the orders of Okatar.”
Without taking his eyes from the warrior, Mclntyre said. “I know how they think. As long as this one lives, he’ll have nothin’ else on his mind but killin’ you.”
“Does that mean that 1 must have him killed?” Sittas asked.
“Take the gun away from him and place him under guard,” Vorgens ordered.
“It is fortunate that you came when you did,” Sittas said to the Watchman.
Vorgens looked around at the crowd. “It looks to me as though you had quite a bit of help without us.”
It was late at night when Vorgens and Mclntyre returned to the Mobile Force. Most of the dreadnaught’s crewmen were asleep. Altai had stayed at Matara, and the Komani warrior had been placed under Shinarian custody.
A. yellow light flashing at the command desk told Vorgens that a message was waiting for him. He activated the viewscreen and scanned the words printed on it.
“Is it from Star Watch Headquarters?” Mclntyre asked eagerly.
Vorgens slumped into his seat. “Yes, it is.”
Mclntyre stepped over beside the Watchman to read the screen:
MINIMAL RELIEF FLEET OF THREE STARSHIPS AND NORMAL COMPLEMENT OF MARINES WILL ARRIVE AT SHINAR IN SIX WEEKS. SWHQ.
“Three ships.” Mclntyre said, stunned. “Three lousy ships.”
“A token force,” Vorgens said. “I suppose that they feel we’re not worth risking more men and ships.”
“But that ain’t gonna do us any good at all!”
“I know. It wilT prove what Okatar’s been saying all along—that the Empire isn’t able to meet the strength of the combined Komani clans. It would’ve been better if they had decided not to send any reinforcements at all.”
Merdon gnawed fretfully on his lower lip as he sat before the blank viewscreen. Standing outside the tri-di booth were Tarat and Romal. The trio were in the abandoned nutrient-processing plant where Merdon had hidden a cache of weapons.
“Is he going to speak to you or not?” Romal asked nervously.
“He’ll come on,” Merdon said. “He’d better.”
As if in answer to the young rebel leader, the viewscreen seemed to dissolve and the powerful form of Okatar took shape. The Komani Kang was seated in his tent. Although no one eke was in the line-of-view, Merdon sensed that Okatar was far from alone.
“I have asked you to come to my camp,” Okatar said. “Why do you refuse, and attempt to speak through the-di? It is difficult to confer fully with you in this manner.”
Merdon sat without answering for a moment, and the two stared at each other, face to face. Finally Merdon said, “Shall I be frank ” “By all means.”
“I was going to visit your camp, but my lieutenants asked me not to, for two reasons. First, they feel that you have broken the bonds of friendship and common purpose that we once had between us. Second, they fear that I might never leave your camp—alive.”
“You have suspicious friends,” Okatar said impassively. “They value my life more than I do, perhaps. But I agree with them on the first point—your raids on our people are not the works of an ally.”
J” Okatar nodded “Correct. I have learned that your people are no longer allies of the Komani They were friendly with us only when it seemed that the Terrans would be wiped out in the valley of Carmeer. Now that there is the prospect of continued fighting before us, ,/ your people have meekly returned to the Terrans and asked to be forgiven for their audacious dreams of freedom.”
“And because they are weak you attack them,” Merdon snapped.
“The Komani take what they want. If your people resist, we use force. The time for wheedling and coaxing is past. If we fail on Shinar, everything fails, and I will not see the Komani conquest of the Terran Empire , thwarted by a herd of self-pitying sheep!”
“We can fight!” Merdon shouted “We’ve shown that we can. We’ve stood up to the Terrans before. It’s you who has dnven my people back into the arms of the Terrans “
Okatar raised a massive hand “The time for discussion and argument is past. To all intents and purposes, Shinar has been conquered The Terrans are content to huddle ithin their cities or inside the armored vehicles of their Mobile Force. These raids on your people have shown that the Terrans will not fight for Shinarians, but only to save themselves. Shinar is ours. Those who resist us will be crushed.”
“And you’ll take what you want from us,” Merdon said dully.
“Exactly so.”
“Suppose ... suppose you drew up a list of the supplies and equipment you need. Suppose I could convince my people to give you what you require. Would you leave Shinar in peace then?”
The faintest hint of a smile flickered across Okatar’s face. “If such a bargain could be arranged, 1 would consider striking at the next Terran target.”
“And leave Shinar?”
“Yes, I would leave Shinar,... Of course, one of my nobles would remain behind as governor of this planet. He would see to it that you continued to honor my requirements for supplies.”
“And the Terrans?”
“The Terrans on Shinar would be forced to withdraw when I struck the next planet, or else their lines of supply with the rest of the Empire would be cut.”
Merdon nodded. “Yes, and Shinar would be free of them.” .
“Shinar would be a vassal of the Komani,” Okatar said. “In return for our protection, we would expect tribute.”
Tribute,” Merdon echoed, “and the first payment would be the Bst of supplies and equipment you’d need to attack the next Terran planet.”
“Correct,” said Okatar.
Merdon glanced at his two lieutenants, outside the tri-di booth. They both seemed to be in an agony of impatience.
“I must discuss this with my people,” Merdon told Okatar. “I will call you again, shortly.”
“Very well,” Okatar replied. The viewscreen went blank.
As Merdon stepped out of the booth, Romal yelped, “Do you realize what you’re saying? Okatar will demand everything his men can carry ... he’U strip us bare!”
“You can’t be serious about this,” Tarat added. “We can’t ask our people to give the Komani whatever they want.”
Merdon folded his arms across his chest and stared them both into silence. “I don’t see that we have any choice in the matter,” he said firmly.
Clanthas basked in the warm sunshine flooding the broad veranda that surrounded the upper floor of his house in Katan. Beyond the railing of me veranda, the flat white roofs of other houses marched down the sloping hillside to the bright blue waters of the harbor. Across the harbor was the busy port of Katan, where the farm produce from a thousand miles around was gathered together and loaded on the big sea-going transports which skimmed across Shinar.’s oceans and lands with equal ease.
Seemingly sitting across the veranda from the merchant was the tri-di image of Vorgens. The Star Watchman had been explaining, for the past half-hour, the Terran plan of action which Brigadier Aikens had drawn up.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” Clanthas said. “The Marines will set up small task units—based on your armored vehicles—in the villages, towns, and citiesThey will give arms to the people and teach them how to fight. They will patrol the farmlands until the people themselves are able to guard their own land. Then they will move on to another district and repeat the same procedure.”
Vorgens nodded. “That’s right. The ultimate goal is to have the entire planet covered by either Terran Marines r your own people. We want to deny the use of your land to the Komani—to fence them in, so to speak.”
“Suppose the Komani mass for a major attack?” Clanthas asked. “They still outnumber your Mobile Force by a great margin.”
“If they mass, we’ll have to face them. I hope that we’ll have enough time to train a good number of your people, and that they will be fighting alongside us, in the event of a major battle.”
Clanthas murmured agreement.
“What we’re trying to do,” Vorgens went on, “is to throttle down the Komani raids on your people. We’re trying to keep the skirmishes and fighting down as much as possible.”
“I understand. Still, it appears that there is no end to the fighting in sight.”
“True enough,” Vorgens admitted.
Clanthas suddenly shifted the subject. “Do you know why this rebellion began? I mean, the real reason?”
“I think I do,” Vorgens said, “but I’d like to hear your opinion.”
“The reason goes back more than a century, to the time when we were still dominated by the Masters. You see, the Masters saw to it that we remained a static nationOur population was fixed at about 500 million, and we never rose much above that figure.”
“Yes, I know,” Vorgens said.
“In those days,” Clanthas went on, “Shinar fed not only itself, but all the worlds within fifteen light-years of our planet. We were not prosperous, of course, but we were in equilibrium with the rest of the Masters’ domain. We knew what to expect, from one day to the next.”
“And then the Terrans came.”
“Yes. The Terrans crushed the Masters and liberated Shinar. We were suddenly thrown on our own devices. For a while, everything continued as it had always gone. But something important had changed. Slowly, at first, nd then with explosive speed, our population began to grow. When I was Merdon’s age, Shinar had two billion people; now we have three billion.”
“And it is difficult for you to feed yourselves,” Vorgens said.
“Not yet difficult, but that day is fast approaching. However, we must use all the food we produce to feed ourselves. Practically nothing is left for export. Our trade with the other worlds around us is dying, and we are becoming a bankrupt nation. That is the underlying reason behind the people’s resentment of the Empire. The installation of the food processing plants was merely the trigger. They already hated the Terrans, because they were becoming overcrowded and pauperized, under the Empire.”
“But couldn’t they see that the nutrient plants were the answer to their problem?” Vorgens asked. “Didn’t the governor explain that the processing plants would enable you to multiply your output of foodstuffs many times over, and reopen your trade with the other planets?”
Clanthas shrugged. “A proclamation of that sort was issued, but very little effort was made to explain things to the fanners. All they knew was that they were being moved off their farms to make room for the Terran factories.”
Vorgens shook his head. “I was afraid that this was the case. Evidently the Terran governor didn’t realize that people can’t change their whole way of living overnight— even when it’s extremely necessary for them to do so.”
“It may be necessary,” Clanthas answered, “but hardly desirable.”
“I realize that, but the planets that depended on your food a few decades ago are now going hungry, to a large extent. From the Empire’s point of view, the problem of Shinar affects all of Shinar’s neighbors. If we can’t solve your problem, and solve it soon, rebellion against the
Empire might well break out elsewhere. That’s what I fear most,” Vorgens said worriedly, “that this movement against the Empire will spread to other planets. If it does—or if the Komani decide to attack another Empire planet—then there’ll be no way to stop a general war from developing. We’ve got to keep this problem confined to Shinar, and solve it here. Otherwise we’ve lost.”
The argument had raged hotly while Merdon, Tarat, and Romal paced the length and breadth of the. idle nutrient-processing plant.
“You’re going to ask our people to strip their homes, their farms, their cities, and give everything to the KomaniThey won’t do it!” Tarat bellowed.
“They’ll have to,” Merdon said evenly. “The Komani will just take it anyway.”
“No, no, no,” Romal said, his round face flushed with agitation. “The people are willing to fight the Komani.”
Merdon laughed bitterly. “Then the Komani will take what they want and kill our people, too.”
Tarat shook his head. “I never thought I’d see you give up.”
Anger flashed in Merdon’s eyes. Then he replied quietly, “Can we beat the Komani?”
“No, but...”
“Do we want them off Shinar?”
“Of course.”
“Will their attack on another planet force the Terrans to leave Shinar?”
“Probably it will,” Tarat admitted.
“Then I don’t see that we have any choice,” Merdon said. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but if it will get rid of both the Terrans and the Komani ...”
“How do you know it’ll work out that way?” Tarat said. ‘There’s only one chance in a million.”
“Then I’ll take that one chance!” Merdon snapped.
“But it’s so dangerous, Merdon,” Romal pleaded. “Maybe the best thing to do, after all, would be to put n with the Terrans. At least the/re not as bad as the Komani, and the Watchman said ...”
“It would be safer to join the Terrans,” Merdon said softlyThen, his voice rising, he continued, “It would have been safer still never to have tried to rebel against them, but we weren’t interested in safety then. We wanted freedom! Now that things look black, are we going to turn our backs on our hopes, our dreams? Are we going to tell our people: ‘Go on back home, the whole thing was a big mistake. Go home and ask the Terrans to forgive you’? Well, are we?”
“What else can we do, Merdon?” Tarat asked. “Let the Komani rule us in the Terrans’ place?”
“No! I’ll tell you what we can do. We can dare! We can take that one chance in a million and make it work for us—or die trying. As long as there is that one chance—no matter how slim it might be—we’ve got to risk everything for it. Do you understand? We’ve got to. Otherwise everything we’ve done so far is wasted. The men who’ve died for our cause, died for nothing. The people who believe that we will fight to the last drop of sweat and blood to make Shinar free, will have been hoodwinked.
“I know how hard it will be to fill the Komani’s demands. I’m not sure that we can convince the people to make this sacrifice, even for their own eventual freedom, but I’m going to try! Who will follow me?”
Tarat scratched nervously at his cheek, glanced at little Romal, and then said softly, “Well, if you think there’s really a chance that we can get rid of both the Terrans and the Komani ...”
“We won’t be rid of the Komani,” Romal argued. “You heard what Okatar said. There’ll be a Komani governor over us.”
“We had a Terran governor over us once. Where is he now?”
Romal blinked. “He’s—he was—assassinated.”
“And what’s to stop us from driving off a Komani governor, after the warriors have left Shinar? What would the Komani governor have to back up his word, except our own fear of Okatar?”
“That would be enough,” Tarat said. “If we didn’t behave, Okatar could have the whole Komani nation on our backs in no time flat.”
“Not if they’re fighting the whole Terran Empire. Shinar could still become free while the Ten-ans and the Komani exhaust themselves in their war.”
Romal shook his head. “That’s an awfully long gamble to take.”
“But if it works ...”
“Fine, if it works,” Tarat said. “But what if it doesn’t?”
“It’ll work,” Merdon said stubbornly. “It’s got to.”
Within a few minutes, the Shinarian youth sat facing Okatar on the viewscreen while his lieutenants stood uneasily off to one side.
“Draw up your list,” Merdon said firmly, “and I’ll try to get my people to meet your needs. But the list must be kept to essentialsWe don’t intend to supply tribute. Shinar is a poor planet. There’ll be plenty of booty for you elsewhere in the Empire.”
“True enough,” Okatar said, noncommittally. “I will instruct my seneschal to prepare the list.”
“Very well.”
“Oh yes, there is one other item which I want to make clear to you,” Okatar said. “I have sent a column of warriors to investigate rumors about a well-stocked arsenal, and warehouses filled with food, in the city of Katan. I intend that they should carry through this investigation, even if they must use force, I don’t want to have the feeling that anyone—including you—might be hiding things from me.”
Abruptly, the viewscreen went blank.
Vorgens perched atop the cab of a troop carrier and watched the Marines working with the farmers under the bright, hot sun of Shinar. The meadow spread out before him was dotted with groups of’men and machines. The Terrans, in their bright uniforms, helmets and glare visors towered impressively over the indifferently dressed, dark-skinned little farmers.
One knot of men was clustered around a dismantled heavy beamgun. The Shinarians were learning how to put it back together. Another group was tinkering with field communications helmetsClose by the troop carrier. a young captain was lecturing the village elders on modern theories of defense in depth against flying Komani attacks. Farther off, near the edge of the meadow, a platoon of youngsters was peppering a grove of trees with small arms fire.
This had been the first day, the first experiment in the joint Terran-Shinarian defense system that Aikens and
175 -
Vorgens had worked out. The Star Watchman smiled to himself. Both sides had been somewhat wary at the beginning, early in the morning, but now they seemed immersed in the problem. The Shinarians appeared especially impressed with the idea that they could defend themselves; no Terran had ever granted them that much before.
A communications tech popped his head up from, the open hatch beside Vorgens.
“Message for you, sir.”
“What is it?”
“From the main body of the Force, sirOne of the natives was looking for you—that girl, the one that was with the priest.”
“Altai?”
“The exec spoke with her a few minutes ago. She seemed very agitated, he said, and was coming over here to see you. She’s flying on a Komani vehicle, sir.”
Vorgens nodded absent-mindedly. What was wrong with Altai? Suddenly the tech’s last words made an impression on him:
“Alert everyone in the area that a single Komani flyer will be coming in. I don’t want anyone firing at it ... especially those eager recruits down by the woods.”
The tech arched his eyebrows and nodded. “Yes sir.” He disappeared inside the hatch.
Vorgens’ face knitted into a frown. Something was wrong. Altai isn’t the type that panics—but she’s flying here to see me—instead of using the tri-di. Something is very wrong.
Yet, strangely, he felt pleased that she was coming to him. No matter what the trouble was, he would be glad to see her.
About a half-hour later, a lone Komani flyer whizzed over the meadow, then slowed and spiraled down lower. Vorgens could see Altai’s hair streaming in the wind. She potted the Watchman, and put the flyer down beside the troop carrier.
Vorgens clambered down from the groundcar as she ran up toward him.
“It’s Merdon,” she said breathlessly, before he could ask anything. “He’s gone wild. Okatar is sending a column of .troops to sack Katan—where his father lives. Merdon is gathering up as many men as he can to attack Okatar’s main camp and kill him.”
It took Vorgens a moment to digest the news. “But that’s insane,” he said finally. “The camp is too heavily guarded for him to get through. It’s a suicide mission, and it won’t help his father in Katan.”
Altai nodded. “Katan is too far away to be reached in time. The Komani troops will be there tomorrow morning, at the latest. Even if Merdon had enough groundcars for his men, he couldn’t be there until late in the afternoon. What can we do? He’ll kill himself!”
Vorgens looked at her. Altai’s lovely face was twisted with worry over Merdon.
“Has he at least told his father about the attack?”
“I—I think so. Oh, he was so furious! He was raging. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
“It’s all right. He has a temper and he uses itIt saves strain on his nervous system.”
“But what are we going to do?” she pleaded. “What can we do?”
Vorgens grinned at her. “First, we can calm down and try to think straight. Second, can that flying machine carry the two of us?”
“Um ... yes, I imagine so. It’s built to cany Komani warriors, and neither of us is much more than half their weight.”
“Good. Let’s go back to my headquarters. We’ve got work to do.”
“And that’s the way I see it, brigadier,” Vorgens said.
Aikens was sitting across the table from the Watchman, in the dreadnaught’s officers’ wardroom. A pair of majors and the exec were also at the table. Steaming coffee mugs stood before each man.
Aikens had listened in dour silence to Vorgens’ analysis of the situation. Now, he hunched forward in his chair and leaned his elbows on the green tabletop.
“Let me understand you clearly. You want to dispatch troops to Katan to beat off the Komani attack, and you expect me to devise a tactical plan of battle.” As usual, he placed a slight, sullen accent on the word tactical.
“First of all,” Vorgens answered, “I want your opinion on whether we can beat off the Komani attack. I don’t want to waste troops on a meaningless gesture.”
Aikens nodded. “That’s sensible. Based on what the observation planes from Capital City have reported, the Komani column should be at Katan by mid-moming tomorrow. The earliest we could get there would be midaftemoon. So’we can’t stop their attack.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“But we can,” Aikens went on, with a curious crooked smile, “smash that column of savages just the same. Let them hit the city. Let them wreck it. Then we’ll hit them when they’re totally disorganized and unprepared for fighting.”
“But there wouldn’t be much left of the city when we got through.”
Aikens shrugged. “Perhaps the citizens could hold off the attackers for a few hours. You claim they’re fighters.”
Vorgens let the brigadier’s sarcasm slide past him. “That might work. I’ll get in touch with Clanthas and see what he can organize in the way of a defense. In the meantime, your staff should draw up detailed battle plans. Determine how many troops you’ll need and how much transport. Also, I’m going to dispatch a transport group for some of the natives who’re willing to fight in defense of Katan.”
Aikens grunted noncommittally. “Til keep the few planes we have at Capital City in the air to watch the Komani.”
“Should you have them try to bomb the column—slow it down?”
The brigadier shook his head. “No, the Komani are too spread out for nuclear weapons, and trying to go low and hit them with beams or missiles will just get the planes shot up. If we had more planes, or if these backward natives had some ...”
“They’re not backward. They just don’t need aircraft.” Vorgens said. “Groundcars can go almost as fast as subsonic planes, and they can carry considerably more pay! With groundcars, and tri-di communications, these people simply don’t need fleets of fast aircraft.”
“Well, backward or not, they don’t have what it takes,” Aikens said acidly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have \ work to do.”
“Yes,” Vorgens said, rising from his chair, “so do I.” The Star Watchman hurried through the narrow passageways to the dreadnaught’s communications center— that compact jumble of molectronic transceivers, coders. viewscreens and recorders. Altai was there, talking quietly with the two technicians on duty. The techs seemed happily amazed at the chance to talk to a young, goodlooking girl. As Vorgens stepped through the open hatch, though, they both shot out of their seats and stood at ramrod attention.
“Stand easy,” Vorgens said. Then, he asked Altai, “Did you reach Clanthas?”
““Yes. Merdon had already called him, and advised him to abandon the city. Clanthas refused. He’s organizing the people of Katan. They’re going to fight for their city.”
“Good, we’re going to help them.” “ “What ... what about Merdon?” she asked. js “Can he be reached by tri-di?”
Altai shook her head. “I tried a few minutes ago. He’s left the factory, where he had set up headquarters.”
Vorgens rubbed his temple thoughtfully. “In that case,” he said, “we’ll have to go out and find him.” He turned to the techs. “Get Sergeant Mclntyre and tell him to have an aircar ready for us in ten minutes.”
“Yes sir.”
The Mobile Force had three aircars, used mainly for scouting. They took off vertically on jets of air blasted straight downward—somewhat similar to the method used to raise the groundcars above ground level. The aircars lifted for several hundred feet, though, and then the jet engines swiveled and moved the craft forward. Stubby wings provided all the necessary lift, and the craft could sprint at twice the speed of sound, when required.
“There they are, sir,” said the Marine pilot as they flew over Merdon’s forces.
Mclntyre, sitting in the gunner’s seat, grunted. “Not much of a force t’ tackle th’ whole Komani camp.”
Vorgens and Altai looked through the plastic bubble window as the pilot banked. Several hundred young men and girls were gathered on the grassy field below. Some were in trucks and small groundcars, most were afoot. They had plenty of small arms, but practically no heavy equipment. At the head of the loosely organized column was a light Terran armored groundcar.
“We captured that in the first battle at the university,” Altai explained. “It is Merdon’s prize possession.”
“Put us down in front of the armored car,” Vorgens told the pilot.
The aircar settled down swiftly, on screaming jets. As it touched the grass with its landing wheels, the armored car pulled up and stopped. The rest of the Shinarians slowly began to gather around, as Vorgens and Altai stepped down from the aircar, and Merdon, Tarat and Romal got out of the armored vehicle.
“We meet again,” Vorgens said.
“What are you doing here?” asked Merdon.
“I want to talk with you.”
“The time for talking is finished. Get out of our way. We have work to do.”
They stood face to face—the young, slim foreigner in his Star Watch uniform, and the equally young, slightly bigger native. They were nearly the same height, and almost the same complexion. From a distance, where you could not see the difference in clothing, they might seem to be brothers.
“Tour mission can wait a few minutes, can’t it?” Vorgens insisted”What I have to say is vitally important to all of us, including your father.”
The tenseness in Merdon’s face relaxed a bit. “All rightA few minutes.”
Vorgens looked around at the crowd that had gathered about them.
“Perhaps we could talk better up there.” He pointed to a little knoll.
Merdon shrugged.
“We’re going for a walk, sergeant,” Vorgens told Mclntyre, “and I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Merdon said much the same to Tarat. Then they started walking, in silence.
But as they reached the foot of the knoll and began climbing its gentle slope, Merdon asked: “You talked with my father?”
“Altai did. He’s organizing a defense of the city.”
“He’ll get himself killed.”
“What are you going to do to help save him?”
Merdon glanced at the Watchman”There’s nothing I can do. You know thatKatan is too far away, even for the fastest groundcars. The Komani will be there before we can get to the city.”
“r1 r!”
So? Merdon stopped walking. “So I’m going to hit the
Komani where it will hurt the most. I’m going to kill Okatar.”
Vorgens pursed his lips thoughtfully. Then he said, “That won’t save your father.”
“He could save himself if he’d abandon the city.”
“Would you run away, if you were in his place?”
Merdon opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.
“You may have heard,” Vorgens said, resuming his climb toward the top of the knoll, “that my personal situation has changed somewhat since our last meeting.”
Merdon, striding swiftly to catch up with the Watchman, could not help grinning. “I’ve heard.”
“I’m no longer a prisoner, and while my rank is still that of a junior officer, I am the Star Watch officer in command of Shinar.”
“I—I apologize for the way I treated you on our first meeting. I lost my temper.”
Vorgens plucked a leafy twig from the shrubbery. “I accept your apology ... under one condition. I want you to hear me out.”
“I’m listening.”
“There are only three points I want to make. First:he Empire has not treated Shinar wellThis is not because of Terran maliciousness; it’s just an accidental by-product of the Imperial system. You could be treated much better under the EmpireOther worlds are.
“Second: Shinar is too small a world, and too weak militarily, to stand alone. If Imperial troops were not here fighting for your people—don’t frown, that’s what they’re doing—if they weren’t here to fight for your people, the Komani would be ruling you with a whip and a gun.
“Finally: Shinar can achieve its own internal freedom under the Empire. I’m saying can, not wiS. Other planets have done it. Perhaps yours can, too. It’s something worth working toward, worth risking a lot for—it’s even orth fighting for—because it’s the only way you’ll ever gain freedom.”
“What kind of freedom would it be?” Merdon asked, with quiet bitterness. “The Terrans would still control us. They’d own our souls.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Vorgens said. “The usual arrangement is to allow the planet complete internal freedom. You can rule yourselves in any way you see fit. The Empire would reserve the right to regulate your commercial treaties with other planets, but once a treaty is made, it’s binding on the Empire as well as you. The Empire is ruled by law. You’d have all the legal rights that any other self-governing planet of the Empire enjoys.”
“You make it sound like Sittas’ dreams of heaven.”
Vorgens laughed. “No, it won’t be heaven. While the Empire is ruled by law, it is still governed by men. There’ll always be differences of opinion, problems, arguments. But you’d have as much of a chance to get your own way as anyone else would.”
They had reached the top of the knoll, and stood in knee-deep scrubgrass. A soft breeze moderated the heat of the sun. The deep blue, nearly violet, sky stood sparkling and cloudless all around them.
Vorgens stretched an arm toward the horizon. “This is a good world, MerdonA green world, filled with people who deserve a chance to live in peace.”
“They deserve freedom!” Merdon insisted. “And they’re willing to fight for it.”
Vorgens stepped over to the slightly taller Shinarian and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Don’t you understand, you hothead? I want them to be free! I want them to live their lives the way they want; to reach in any direction they choose; to be free from all outside domination.”
Merdon took a step backward, and Vorgens let his hands drop to his sides. Then he went on, “They can do this under the Empire. It won’t happen overnight, but they can achieve this freedom. Peacefully! What alternative to the Empire do you have? The Komani? Nonsense. Complete independence? You’d be swallowed up by more powerful neighbors within a year. Fine words and brave sentiments are perfectly good in their place, Merdon, but it takes more than that to achieve freedom. You must look at the real world, as it actually exists—not the world you would like to see, not your own dreams. In this real world, you must work for solutions that can be achieved.
“You can’t solve all your problems with a wave of the hand,” Vorgens went on. “You tried to do that by bringing the Komani to Shinar. What’s happened? Chaos. No one’s going to come to Shinar and grant you complete independence at a stroke, but under the Empire you have a better chance to achieve more freedom than any other way offers.”
Merdon scratched his head. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted. “I—I told Okatar he could name his own price if he would just leave Shinar and attack another Empire planet. Anything—all the equipment, food, ammunition he wanted—just to leave Shinar. It was a stupid thing to do. A wrong thing. His answer was—to take the offer, and at the same time attack Katan.”
“He wants to show you that you’ve been conquered,” Vorgens said.
“Right. To Okatar, we’re already slaves. He’ll take what he wants from us.”
“Unless we stop him.”
“And that’s what I’m going to do,” Merdon concluded grimly.
“Not by attacking his camp,” Vorgens countered. “All you’d accomplish there is your own death.”
“I’ve got to try!”
“Then try this: join us in the defense of Katan. Your father’s organizing the citizens of the city. If he can hold ‘ ut for a few hours, we can bring up Terran Marines, and your own forces, and crush the attackers.”
Merdon shook his head. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? I just don’t have enough groundcars to get to Katan that quickly.”
Vorgens grinned. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? I can have a squadron of vans and troop carriers here within the hour.”
Merdon was silent for a moment. Then, looking straight into the Watchman’s eyes, he said, “I’ve been terribly wrong about a lot of things, but most of all about you, I’m going to tell my people to follow your orders. I’ll stay behind—unless you—unless you’re willing to have me fight alongside you.”
Vorgens said nothing, but put his hand out toward Merdon. The Shinarian smiled broadly, and took the Watchman’s hand in .a firm grasp. Then they went down, side by side, to the waiting people.
Clanthas was sitting out on the veranda again, watching the sun go down. For the first time in his life, he felt fear at the approach of night. Somewhere off in the rolling countryside, he knew, a column of Komani warriors was advancing on his city.
A Terran jet flew overhead, its engines barely audible at the great altitude it held, its contrail of “frozen lightning” picking up the reddish glow of the dying sun. There was no airfield at Katan. The busy port city depended on groundcars and the huge, ocean-spanning transports that skimmed over land and sea with equalase.
That was a Terran jet overhead. Strangely, it seemed to comfort the merchant. The Terrans were active. They were coming to the aid of KatanBut would they come soon enough? That was the question.
Through the long night the people of Katan prepared for the oncoming Komani. The arsenal was opened and every citizen—male or female—old enough and strong enough to handle a weapon was issued one. The city’s lights burned all night long as, building by building, block by block, people huddled together to make plans, to pick the best windows and rooftops to mount guns, to pray.
By dawn, they were ready. The usual early-morning bustle of commerce was replaced by a deadly, calm, quiet. Shops and offices were closed. Windows and doors bolted. The streets were empty, except for a few patrolling policemen. The hot, yellow sun rose, the sparkling water lapped the harbor docks and seawalls, the morning breeze blew in from the ocean, but the citizens of Katan were not out of doors to see. They waited indoors, grimly checking their weapons and ammunition.
The city lay curving around its crescent-shaped harbor. A small river cut through the heart of Katan, dividing itto two unequal segments, called the Lesser City and the Greater City. Beyond the outskirts of the city, beyond the parks and playgrounds and occasional suburban estates, were the rolling, wooded hills that masked the approach of the Komani.
The lulling calm of the morning was shattered by the scream of an aircar streaking fast and low over the buildingsThe plane circled twice, then made a vertical descent into a deserted public park in the residential section of the city.
A handful of policemen ran to the aircar as its Jets whined to a stop. Guns poked out ominously from dozens of windows and rooftops. Vorgens, Aikens, Mclntyre, and two of the brigadier’s staff officers climbed out. The Shinarians relaxed. A groundcar slid up to the Terrans, and they were whisked to Clanthas’ home.
Clanthas had turned his veranda into a battle headquarters, The town council, the mayor, the police chief and several other community leaders were there to greet the TerransVorgens quickly introduced Brigadier Aikens, Sergeant Mclntyre, and the brigadier’s two aides.
“We passed over the Komani column,” the Watchman said before Clanthas could say anything. “They’re about two hours away—perhaps a little less.”
“And your troops?” the mayor asked.
“They’re moving up in land cruisers,” Brigadier Aikens said, stepping between Vorgens and the mayor. “Won’t be here until noon, at the earliest. You must defend the city as best as possible until then.”
The mayor exchanged worried glances with the others.
“The brigadier has drawn up a plan of action,” Vorgens said.
“Do you have a map of the city?” Aikens asked Clanthas.
The merchant smiled. “Better than that ... I have the city itself.”
Clanthas led them around the veranda to the side that faced away from the harbor. The entire group clustered round Aikens as he looked out over the rooftops of Katan.
“I see what you mean,” the brigadier said, “An excellent viewNow then, that large square building down there, across the river ...” He pointed. “That’s the arsenal, isn’t it?”
Clanthas nodded.
Aikens turned and leaned slightly over the railing. “And down on this side ... those are the warehouses?”
“Yes, along the waterfront of the Lesser City.”
Aikens grunted with satisfaction. “All rightNow, the arsenal and the warehouses will be the two principal objectives of the Komani.”
“The arsenal will be practically useless to them,” Clanthas said, “since we have distributed almost all the weapons and ammunition to our people.”
“Good! I was counting on that. We’ll let the Komani spend some time and effort taking the arsenal, but we won’t defend that end of the city very strongly. Evacuate your people and leave only a thin screen of men; fight a rear guard action.”
The mayor gasped. “You mean that we should allow them to take half the Greater City? But the factories, the business district, the homes ...”
“They have no military value,” Aikens snapped. “You’re fighting for time, with untrained rabble facing tough, battle-tested troops. You can’t hold the entire city. You’ve got to pick out the-part that you must defend, and let the Komani have the rest, temporarily.”
“But they’ll loot it ... destroy everything.”
Aikens planted his fists on his hips. “Listen! I’m here to save your necks and to defeat the Komani. I’m not going to worry about real estate values.”
Vorgens added, more softly, “If all goes well, the Komani won’t have much time for looting. Besides, the buildings would be damaged much more severely if heavy fighting took place in them,”
The mayor shook his head. “I suppose so.”
“All right then,” Aikens resumed, turning slightly away from the Watchman. “The warehouses will be defended. We’ll set up a firm tine of resistance a few blocks in front of them. And we’ll also set up a flanking line along the river.”
“The river is no barrier to Komani mounted on flyers,” Vorgens pointed out.
Aikens smiled icily, and with an obvious patience, explained, “No, but it’s a moderately wide open space, with no buildings to provide shelter. If they try to fly across the river, they’ll be putting themselves in the middle of a firing range.”
“Good,” Clanthas said, sensing the hostility between the two men and trying to change the subject before it broke out into the open. “What else?”
“Three companies of Imperial Marines are being flown here by jet. They should arrive momentarily.”
“But we have no airfield.”
“They’ll jump from the planes and come down on jetbelts. When our task unit from the Mobile Force arrives, we’ll be able to drive the Komani out of the city—if all goes well this morning.”
“Very well,” Clanthas said. He turned to the mayor, “We must inform our people about this plan of battle. We have to move swiftly.”
Within a moment, the veranda was deserted, except for the Terrans.
“They seemed to accept your plan,” Vorgens said to the brigadier.
“They’d better.”
Sergeant Mclntyre asked the Watchman, “Sir, when the airborne troops get here, they’ll need somebody t’ show ‘em where they’re supposed t’ set up ... won’t they?”
“Very well. Sergeant,” Vorgens said, “you may report to the brigade commander. I didn’t think I’d be able to keep you out of the fighting.”
Mclntyre saluted brisldy. “Thank you, sir!”
Aikens said, “If you’re going back to the Mobile Force, Watchman, you’d better start off right away. There’s not much time left before the shooting starts.”
Vorgens met the older man’s eyes. “When are you leaving?”
“When the battle’s done.”
“Then I’ll stay too, if you don’t mind.”
They stood facing each other in silence for a moment. Then Aikens turned away.
“Look!” shouted one of the brigadier’s aides. ‘The jets.”
They could see three fine, white contrails hurrying across the morning sky. Within minutes, the planes had come low enough to flood the city with the thunder of their engines. Tiny figures began to jump from them, with crisp military precision, and float slowly downward.
Vorgens turned away and looked at the hills. Wordlessly, he reached out and tapped Aikens’ shoulder. The brigadier turned and stared in the direction of Vorgens’ gaze.
Coming over the hills, like a dark cloud of angry locusts, was the swarm of Komani flyers.
It was not pretty to watch a city being destroyed-
Vorgens stood at his post on the veranda, within earshot of the communications center that Aikens had set up, and saw the battle unfold.
The Komani split into two columns. One bore straight down on the Lesser City, driving for the warehouses by the waterfront. The other swung wide across the open suburban greenery and attacked the Greater City, aiming for the arsenal.
By noontime, the bright sunshine was blotted out by a pall of smoke rising from dozens of fires raging through Katan. Vorgens could see that most of the Greater City was a shambles. The Komani had slashed their way easily o the arsenal, and when they found it nearly empty, had turned their frustrated rage to the building itself. They set it ablaze, and then fanned out through the Greater City, looting, burning destroying. Now the arsenal was a blackened, gutted shell, and the buildings around it smoldered also.
But all this was secondary to the fierce battle flaring through the streets of the Lesser City.
The Komani column driving toward the warehouses had met stiff resistance from the citizens of Katan and from the hastily assembled brigade of Marines. Aikens’ defensive perimeter, drawn up a few blocks in front of the warehouses and swinging around to follow the riverside flank, had temporarily stopped the Komani onslaught.
The fighting had slowed down to a bitter, house-tohouse, man-to-man struggle. Most of the Komani had dismounted from their flyers and fought now on foot. A few still remained aloft, though, to pepper rooftops and windows. Clanthas’ veranda had been buzzed several times. Vorgens now held a beam pistol in his hand.
Although they were outnumbered, the Komani were relentlessly pressing their attack home. They had quickly learned to stay out of the buildings, where a dozen Shinarians could surprise a lone invader. Now they were boring through the streets and over the rooftops, routing the city’s defenders with superior discipline and the dispassionate courage that comes from long experience in battle.
Three times Aikens had to move his core of Imperial Marines backwards, because the Komani had penetrated the streets on their flanks and threatened to surround them. Now they were fighting in the square that opened onto the warehouse district.
Vorgens could see, too, that the Komani sacking the Greater City must have received word of the heavy fighting going on near the warehouses. They had stopped heir senseless looting and burning, and were forming up in the streets.
The Watchman ducked around a comer of the veranda to Aikens at his makeshift communications center. The brigadier had taken one side of the veranda and filled it with technicians, aides, and equipment.
He was leaning over one of the techs, barking orders into a viewscreen. Vorgens touched his arm. The brigadier straightened and turned to the Watchman.
“In another moment or two,” Vorgens said, “the warriors from the Greater City will be flying here to help their friends.”
“I know!” Aikens snapped. “What do you think I’m trying to do here, organize a tea party? I’m setting up a lane of fire on both sides of the riverWe’ll cut down as many of ‘em as possible before they can join the attack here.”
“What about our task unit from the Mobile Force?” Vorgens asked.
“They’re on their way.”
It was almost two hours more before the Terrans finally arrived.
The three companies of air-dropped Marines had been whittled down to a stubborn handful, fighting tenaciously at the steps of the warehouses they were defending. Shinarians—old men, boys, women among them—fought and died alongside the Imperial troops.
All along the river Komani warriors were darting wildly on their utterly maneuverable flyers, trying to avoid the withering fire coming up from both banks. Some of the flyers got through, and went on to join the attack on the warehouses. Most of the others had turned back though, and were blasting the buildings from which the Shinarians fired.
A squad of flying Komani warriors had fought its way to the roof of one warehouse when Vorgens saw the first
Terran troop carriers racing over the final row of hills before the city.
The Watchman turned to Aikens, and saw that the brigadier was still immersed in crackling out orders to his men. Beyond the brigadier’s shoulder, Vorgens could see more battle cruisers skimming over the harbor water, heading for the warehouses at top speed. Only then did he realize that the vehicles coming in from the hills carried Merdon’s men, not Marines.
The Komani were caught in a vise.
Aikens’ Marines, in battle cruisers and armored cars, drove up the streets between the warehouses, crushing the Komani attack with massed firepowerThe invading warriors fell back, slowly at first, but when they tried to regroup, they found Terran armored vehicles boring down on them. The Komani fled for the city’s outskirts, only to be met by Merdon’s vengeful fighters.
By nightfall it was ended. A few of the attackers had escaped—very few. Merdon and the exhausted citizens of Katan rejoiced by torchlight through the blackened, rubble-strewn streets.
Vorgens remained at the railing of the veranda, watching the celebration, in the dark. The city’s electrical power generators had been heavily damaged. “Sir.”
He turned, and in the flickering shadows saw Mclntyre, grimy and tired, but alive. “You’ve—done a good day’s work. Sergeant.”
A satisfied grin broke across Mclntyre’s beefy face. “Thank you sir. Uh—we’re just about ready t’ leave. The brigadier has already gone back t’ the Mobile Force. Ail other troops have pulled out.”
“All right,” Vorgens said quietly, “I suppose there’s no sense in my staying any longer.”
Mclntyre peered out over the railing. “They’re havin’ some time down there—celebratin’ their victory. I—uh, don’t suppose we could stay a bit longer and join ‘em?”
“Victory?” the Watchman echoed. “What victory? Look at this city. It’s smashed to pieces. Who won?”
Mclntyre shmgged. “They seem t’ think they won, sir. They’re already talldn’ about how they’re gonna rebuild the damaged sections of town.”
Vorgens did not answer. He started toward the stairs that led down to the courtyard before Ctanthas’ home and the aircar waiting thereSomeone was coming up the steps. Altai.
“Here you are!” she said to Vorgens.
“I’m on my way back to the Mobile Force,” he said.
“Leaving? But why?”
“Why not? The battle’s over. Your people want to celebrate. You’ll want to get back to Merdon and the others.”
She smiled and stepped closer to him. “I haven’t said more than six words to Merdon since yesterday, and I’m not joining the celebration until you come with me. They’re celebrating their freedom, and you’re the man responsible for it. You’re coming with me!”
“I ...”
Devilishly, she added, “You wouldn’t want Merdon to get aS. the credit, would you? Come on!”
Vorgens grinned back at her. “All right, you win. Sergeant, l-guess we’ll be staying awhile longer.”
“Yes sir,” Mclntyre said happily.
The celebration at Katan was followed by six weeks of virtually uninterrupted battle flaming across the breadth of Shinar. Okatar Kang had decided to sack the planet, relentlessly raiding every district-, every town, systematically taking all the food, weapons, equipment and ammunition he desired.
Opposed to the Komani plan stood Vorgens and his concept of Shinarian self-defense, directed and keystoned by the Terrans.
It was a peculiar battle in many ways. Instead of large masses of troops and weapons clashing head-on, there were skirmishes, maneuverings, feints, sudden vicious attacks, ambushes—few single actions involved more than a battalion of men.
Vorgens worked constantly, almost without rest, living on stimulants, cajoling Aikens, persuading the Shinarians to trust the Terrans.
With the Shinarians taking over a good part of theirn defense, and with Merdon’s fighters providing reconnaissance and intelligence, the Terrans were able to meet the Komani on their own terms. When a Komani raiding party headed for a town, it would be intercepted by a fast, strong squadron of battle cruisers. Fanning villages became little fortresses dotting the countryside, often with a Terran dreadnaught camped in the village square. Komani columns were ambushed. When Okatar massed his strength and tried to force a pitched battle, he found that the Terrans could also disperse and disappear into the countryside.
The Komani still outnumbered the Imperial troops on Shinar. But whenever the Terrans struck, they usually had superior strength at that particular place for that brief time.
It was a war of attrition, with fatigue and hunger and mechanical breakdown playing as important a role as weapons.
“We’re failing,” Vorgens said tiredly. “We’re failing miserably.”
He was sitting at the head of the green-covered table in the officers’ wardroom of the command dreadnaught. Grouped around the table were Merdon, Brigadier Aikens, the exec. Sergeant Mclntyre, and a few other officers.
“I wouldn’t say that. Watchman,” the brigadier objected. ““We’re holding our own against the barbarians.”
“We’ve beaten off most of their attacks. The people are learning to defend themselves.” Merdon agreed.
Vorgens shook his head. “The best we can say is that we’ve accomplished a stalemate. Our objective is peace. We have perpetual fighting. That’s failure.”
“What do you propose?” the exec asked.
“That’s the worst part of it—I can’t see any clear way out,” Vorgens admitted. “Either the Komani will remain here until one side or the other collapses from exhaustion, r—worse still—Okatar will pull his clan off Shinar and attack another planet. Then the whole bloody business will be repeated again.”
“What about the reinforcements on their way here?” Aikens asked.
“They won’t be enough to make much difference,” Vorgens said. “In fact, just because they’re so few, they’ll verify Okatar’s claim that the Empire can’t defend Shinar adequately. Those reinforcements might lead to strengthening Okatar’s hand! Other Komani clans might be tempted to join him when they see how weak the Empire’s response is.” A gloomy silence settled over them.
Finally, Merdon said, “I know a way of breaking this deadlock.”
Everyone turned to him.
“Kill Okatar,” Merdon said simply. “Decapitate the Komani clan.”
Aikens grunted. “You’d never be able to get to him.”
“It would just make the Komani fight harder,” the exec said.
“That would be barbaric,” Voi-gens said. “To deliberately plan a man’s death...”
“This is war,” Aikens snapped. “Every one of us runs the risk of being killed.”
“In battle, yes,” Vorgens countered. “But not in bed. No, I can’t condone assassination.”
“But if it were done,” Merdon insisted, “it would break die stalemate, wouldn’t R?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. It would certainly throw the Komani into confusion, at least temporarily. Perhaps then they might be willing to talk about peace...”
Merdon changed the subject then, and the conference droned on for another fruitless hour. No decision was reached. The Terrans and Shinarians would continue to fight as they had been fighting for more than six weeks. The war of attrition would go on.
In the passageway outside the wardroom, Merdon grasped Sergeant Mclntyre’s arm and asked, “Can we talk for a moment?”
The sergeant nodded, and the two of them walked slowly down the passageway. Mclntyre loomed bulkily next to the slim Shinarian youth.
“What do you think about the chances of getting to Okatar?” Merdon asked in a half-whisper.
Mclntyre shrugged. “It’s a big camp—hard t’ get ,into. And even harder t’ get out of.”
“Listen,” Merdon whispered, suddenly intense, “I know every blade of grass in the camp. I can get six men through the guards and into Okatar’s tent. I’ve been planning this for weeks, and I know it can be done!”
The sergeant rubbed his massive jaw. “How d’ you get ‘em away afterwards?”
“Jetbelts.”
“Might work.”
“I need six men trained in silent night fighting.”
“Five, countin’ me/’ said Sergeant Mclntyre.
Three nights later, they made their try.
Mclntyre had recruited five Marines, including Giradaux. The lanky young trooper had sensed that the sergeant was up to something, and had forced Mclntyre to take him along, as the price of silence.
A driving rainstorm had blown up from the south, predicted by the Terran meteorologists. Merdon was counting on the storm to provide a cover of darkness against the usual twilight glow of the Shinarian night.
They commandeered a scoutcar and started off crosscountry, guided by the car’s infrared lamps. Ordinary lights would have been detected too easily, both by the Komani and the occasional Terran patrols.
Mclntyre drove, with Merdon in the skipper’s seat directing him. The five troopers sat in dark silence amidst their jetbelts, guns and grenades, listening to the whine f the car’s engine and the rain pelting the armored roof just above their helmets.
“There’s the forest coming up,” Merdon said, pointing into the viewscreen in front of Mclntyre. “You won’t be able to take the car very deep into it.”
Mclntyre nodded as he eased up on the throttle. “I’ll put ‘er in a little ways, so she’ll be under cover.”
Within a few minutes, the seven of them were slogging through the rain-soaked woods.
It took nearly two hours of steady marching through the angry rain before they cleared the forest and saw the edge of the Komani camp.
Crouching in the bushes at the forest’s edge, Merdon scanned the camp with infrared binoculars.
“Only a few guards,” he muttered, “and plenty of open space between them. The camp is almost completely blacked out. The rain has even put out the ceremonial fires.”
“Don’t they have automatic detection equipment that sets off an alarm as soon as somebody crosses th’ energy screen?” Mclntyre asked.
“No. That’s a Terran refinement that the Komani don’t have. Guards with snooperscopes ... that’s what they use. Believe me, it’ll be tough enough to get through them.”
They skirted along the edge of the encampment, looking for their best opening. At last they found a spot where the foliage nearly reached the energy screen. There were only about twenty yards of open space between the forest shrubbery and the nearest Komani tents.
They waited for the guard to make a couple of rounds, so they could time his approach. Then they started crawling—two at a time—for the tents. Mclntyre and Giradaux were the first pair to start. The rain had slackened a little but was still heavy enough to be troublesome. For what seemed like hours, the two Marines inched along n their stomachs, while the others covered them with their guns.
Merdon was the last to go acrossHe pulled himself along the wet, slippery grass and mud, his vision restricted to the same view of the world that a worm might have.
Suddenly he heard Mclntyre’s harsh whisper in his helmet earphones. “Freeze!”
Merdon stopped dead and buried his face in his arms. He was wearing a black uniform and equipment, as the Marines were. But still it seemed his heart was pounding loud enough to be heard all over the camp.
Finally Mclntyre whispered, “Okay.”
The young Shinarian slithered across the last remaining yards and joined the others in the relative safety behind the tents.
“What happened?” he asked as they helped him to his feet.
“Changing of the guard,” Mclntyre answered. ‘Two of ‘em walked right out in fronta you. Lucky they didn’t look your way.”
Merdon grinned. “Well let’s get moving while our luck still holds.”
They made their way as quickly as possible toward the center of the camp. Merdon pointed the way, and Mclntyre directed their movements, “The seven of them fanned out slightly, but still kept within sight of each other. One man would move ahead the distance of a single tent, make certain the way was clear, then signal the next man to move up. They kept to the shadows, and their guns were always in their hands, ready to fire.
Four times they had to stop, as guards crossed their path, treading sleepily through the darkened camp. Once a guard started to walk directly toward a pair of Marines, crouching alongside a tent. Mclntyre sprang at the Komani’s back and feHed him with a savage chop at the neck.
“Is he dead?” Merdon whispered.
“Dunno ... but he’ll be out for a good long time, at least.”
“Come on,” Merdon said. “The rain’s slackening. It’s starting to brighten up a little.”
Finally they reached Okatar’s golden dome. Light was streaming from the main entrance.
“There are two other entrances, on the other side of the tent,” Merdon said.
Mclntyre nodded to his men. ‘Two of you take each entrance. Gerry, you and Merdon come with me, through the main gate. Now get this straight, all of you; no Komani leaves that tent alive. Understand?”
They nodded.
The four Marines disappeared into the shadows. Mclntyre hunched down into a squat and surveyed the tent’s main entrance. A pair of guards stood tiredly leaning on their rifles.
“How many Komani will be inside?” the sergeant asked.
Merdon shrugged. “It depends. If Okatar has his full council in there, it might be twenty-five or thirty men.”
The Marines at the other two entrances signaled through their helmet radios that they were ready.
“Okay,” Mclntyre whispered. “Now!”
He got both the guards with a single sweeping blast from his beam rifle as they dashed out of the shadows and toward the entrance.
Inside, the tent suddenly looked deserted—a single large area, richly decorated and furnished—but empty of KomaniThen a grenade went off, somewhere on the other side of the tent.
“The council chamber,” Merdon shouted as he ran toward the far end of the room.
Before they could get to the doorway, a trio of Komani nobles bolted through it and faced them. Merdon cut hem down with his beam pistol before they could change the surprised expressions on their faces.
Inside the council chamber, one of the Marines was sprawled limply over an ornate chair, while another was kneeling beside him, firing at five Komani who had taken shelter behind the massive council table. The farther end of the table was splintered and blackened from a grenade’s blast. Mclntyre pushed behind a chair and up to the table itself, then sprayed the length of it with the highest-power beam he could get from his rifle.. The table flashed into flames, forcing the Komani back away from it. Within less than a minute they were ail mowed down.
“Okatar’s not here,” Merdon shouted. “Come on, we’ve got to find him.”
They dashed through several other rooms, while the three surviving Marines took up defensive stations at each of the three entrances to the tent.
The rooms were empty. Smoke was starting to crawl ominously around them.
“The whole camp’11 be in here in a minute!” Mclntyre shouted.
Merdon said, “He’s got to be ... LOOK our!”
Nearly a dozen Komani burst out of a doorway off to their right. Their first shots knocked down both Mclntyre and Merdon, but Giradaux hurled a grenade into them before ducldng behind a low-slung table. The concussion flattened everything in the room.
Mclntyre was the first to recover. He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled the pistol from his belt. But none of the Komani were moving. Merdon climbed stiffly to his feet, the right side of his tunic showing a spreading stain of blood.
He pointed with his pistol. “This one—here in the middle—that was Okatar.”
Mclntyre pulled himself up. There was an ugly gash long the side of his head. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”
The tent was filling with smoke now, and they could hear the shouts of fighting men approaching. The three Marines were still at the entrance, but two of them obviously were badly wounded.
“I’ll get ‘em,” Giradaux said. He touched the control stud at his waist that activated his jetbelt and rocketed across the room to the first of the wounded men. The trooper hurled his last grenade at the oncoming Komani, then took off on his own jetbelt and started toward Mclntyre.
The sergeant and Merdon had joined the one unhurt Marine, at the entrance he was holding. Flames were licking up the side of the tent, and the Komani were beginning to organize their frantic, helter-skelter attempts to recapture the tent.
Before Ciradaux could reach the other wounded Marine, the trooper keeled over and a horde of Komani boiled into the room.
Without an instant’s hesitation, Giradaux jetted straight upward, sliced open the tent’s dome with his beamgun as he flew, and disappeared through the roof.
Merdon took off at the same instant, leaping through the entrance and spiralling up around the tent’s curving dome. Mclntyre grabbed the wounded Marine and started to follow the Shinarian, but the trooper had collapsed and could not control his jetbelt. Mclntyre hesitated for a moment—just long enough for a Komani warrior to reach him with a ceremonial broadsword gleaming wickedly in his upraised hand.
Vorgens did not notice that Mclntyre was missing until the following morning. It took a little while for him to discover that the sergeant was nowhere in the Mobile Force, that Merdon and a few Marines were also gone, and that a scout car had disappeared.
The Watchman summoned Brigadier Aikens to the dreadnaught’s wardroom. In cold fury, Vorgens explained the situation to him-
“I have only one question,” Vorgens concluded, barely able to keep his voice calm. “Did you authorize this raid in which they must be engaged?”
“Raid?” Aikens asked.
“On the Komani camp,” Vorgens snapped. “Did you authorize it?”
Aikens laughed. “Until just now I didn’t even know about it.”
“I see ,..”
The wall communicator chimed, and a trooper’s faceok form on the viewscreen. “Sir, there’s a trooper here at hatch four who demands to see you. Name of Giradaux. He says ...”
“Send him here at once,” Vorgens said.
It took a minute for Giradaux to get from the outside hatch to the wardroom. He stepped wearily through the doorway, ducldng his head to get his tall, lanky frame through. He looked utterly bedraggled. His uniform was caked with mud. His face was hollow-eyed and grimy. His shoulders slumped dejectedly. He didn’t bother to salute. “We got him for you,” he said to Vorgens.
“Got him?”
“Okatar. He’s dead. I hope that makes you happy.”
“What are you ...”
“We got Okatar,” the trooper said, his eyes filling with tears, “and they got th’ Sarge. Four killed, one wounded—sir. Trooper Martinis and I weren’t touched, It’s a big victory for you—sir. A big victory.”
“Mclntyre was killed?”
“That’s right,” Giradaux answered, his voice rising. “Did you expect any of us to come back alive?”
“I didn’t even know ...”
“You knew he’d try it. You must have knowm. He’s dead, and you—”
“That’s enough\” Aikens bellowed.
Giradaux snapped to attention.
“Get to your quarters, trooper. And don’t budge a toe out of them until you’re told to. Move.”
With deliberate care, Giradaux made a letter-perfect salute. Aikens returned it, and the trooper pivoted on his heel and left the wardroom. But Vorgens could still feel the pain that he felt, and sensed the anger within him,
“Whatever possessed a veteran like Mclntyre to—to ignore my wishes, to go dashing off on his own?”
Aikens smiled grimly. “An army is built on discipline, Watchman. Mclntyre saw that discipline shattered the way you took over command. He was simply following the example you set—and you see where it leads.”
Vorgens sat in stunned silence as Aikens got up from his chair and strode out of the wardroom. He remained there, alone, heedless of time, staring at the bare, metal wall with unseeing eyes. Officers and orderlies would open the door to the wardroom from time to time, and, seeing him there and the expression on his face, would silently shut the door and leave Vorgens to himself.
Finally, the exec stepped in, hesitated a moment at the door, then walked to the chair next to Vorgens and sat down. He placed a yellow dispatch film on the tabletop before the Watchman.
“The ships from Star Watch Headquarters have arrived and taken up a parking orbit around the planet. When do you want the troops to land?”
Vorgens blinked, and focused his thoughts on the exec’s question with an obvious effort.
“Tonight,” he said at last. “Tell them to land under cover of darkness. I don’t want the’Komani to see how few they are.”
The exec nodded. “Sir—I’ve been thinking. We could run the landing ships up and down as many times as you wish. They don’t have to have a full load of troops on board. They can just shuttle back and forth between the starships and the planet all day long, if you like. The Komani won’t know.”
“That would only fool them temporarily,” Vorgens said.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Is there anything else?”
“That—uh, that girl, sir. Altai. She’s been waiting to see you.”
“No, I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Sir, she’s been waiting almost all day.”
“Oh? What time is it?”
“Nearly dark, sir.”
“I—I didn’t realize that I’d been here so long.” He ran a weary hand across his eyes. “All right, I suppose I’ll have to see her sooner or later. Send her in “
“Yes sir.”
“Oh ... and release Trooper Giradaux from his quarters,” Vorgens called out as the exec headed for the door. “He’s to resume his normal duties.”
“Very well. sir.”
The exec opened the door, stepped through, and held it open for Altai. Vorgens rose and stood at the head of the table as she walked across the compact little room to him.
“I—I just realized that I don’t know if Merdon’s dead or alive,” the Watchman said.
“He’s in the infirmary,” Altai said, sitting down next to Vorgens”He lost quite a bit of blood, but otherwise he’s not in serious condition.”
Vorgens sat down and said nothing.
“Merdon told me that the plan was his,” she went on. “He takes full responsibility for it.”
The Watchman shook his head. “No. I’m in command. Whatever happens is my responsibility.”
“But you didn’t know.”
“I should have. I might have guessed at it. I know Merdon doesn’t give up an idea so easily. I gave Mclntyre the impression that only Okatar’s death could save us from continual fightingHe gave up his life at my suggestion, not Merdon’s.”
“But you can’t blame yourself for everything that happens on Shinar. That’s wrong!”
“1 blame myself for what happened last night, and for a lot more, besides. As I look back on it, I realize how foolish I’ve been. I was going to bring peace to Shinar— single-handedly, if necessary! What a joke. All I’ve brought is pain and death and unending fighting.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. There were hollows under his eyes, and his voice sounded husky.
“But you—I ...” Suddenly Altai was tongue-tied. “Do you have a first name?” she blurted. “I can’t call you Vorgens, or Watchman.”
In spite of himself, he smiled. “Ehml’n, in my native language. The Terrans find it easier to say Emil.”
“All right—Emil. Don’t you realize how much you’ve done for Shinar—for all of us?”
He shook his head.
“You’re blaming yourself for all the lolling that’s taken place here. That’s wrong! Thanks to you, the men who’ve died have put a meaning to the deaths. They’re accomplishing something that only you have allowed them to do.”
“Yes,” Vorgens replied. “Only me.”
She reached out and grasped his hands on the tabletop. “You’ve given us something to fight for—not the dream of complete freedom that Merdon wanted. Most of the people never believed that such a dream was possible. That’s why Merdon’s followers were only among the young. You’ve taught us that we may be able to gain real freedom within the Empire.”
“That might be an even wilder dream than Merdon’s,” Vorgens said.
She smiled at him. “You don’t believe that, and neither do I. You’ve shown us that Terrans and Shinarians can work together. You’ve proved to us that we can think and act for ourselves, that we can defend our homes when necessary. Not by calling in warriors from another land—but by ourselves.
“And you’ve shown me,” she said more softly, “that a man who hates fighting is a much better man to follow than someone who has learned to enjoy it.”
“That’s—very kind of you,” he said, looking into her deep, dark eyes. “In all the bitterness and bloodshed of these past months, the only touch of warmth and brightness has been you. Knowing you was almost worth all the rest.”
“Was?”
“I’ve decided to leave Shinar. There are Star Watch officers aboard the ships carrying our reinforcements. Any one of them would be much better qualified to command the Imperial forces here than I am.”
“No! You can’t. They wouldn’t know the situation here the way you do. And how can our people trust a total stranger?”
“What else can I do?”
“Finish the work that you started out to do! You’re the only man who has the grasp and the courage to try. Don’t give up now. Keep working to bring peace to Shinar. Finish the work that we’ve all given so much to— especially your sergeant.”
“Do you really think it might be possible?”
“It has to be,” Altai insisted. “With Okatar gone now, who knows what will happen next?”
“The next step,” Vorgens muttered, half to himself, “probably depends on us.”
She said nothing, but sat back and watched his face as he thought over the alternatives.
Suddenly Vorgens got up from his chair and strode to the communicator on the wall near the door. He punched out a call number on the directory buttons. The exec’s face showed up on the viewscreen.
“Please send my compliments to the commander of the relief ships in orbit,” the Watchman said, “and ask him to delay landing the troops until full daylight at Capital City. The troops are to be landed just outside the city. And your idea about running the shuttles an extra few times to impress the Komani sounds good. Keep the landing ships running all day.”
“Yes sir,” the exec replied, grinning.
“And another thing—I want an aircar for tomorrow morning, with a volunteer pilot. The car must be painted white.”
Thus the boldest step of all in the struggle for Shinar was begun.
Vorgens should have been surprised to see Giradaux standing at attention beside the white-painted aircar, but somehow he was not,
“You volunteered to pilot me?” the Watchman asked as he stepped up to the craft. He spoke softly enough so that the officers and men standing nearby would not overhear.
“Yes sir,” Giradaux answered, looking straight ahead. “I wanted to—well—to make up for what I said yesterday, sir.”
Vorgens nodded. “I understand.”
Brigadier Aikens joined them. “If this pilot isn’t satisfactory ...”
“He’ll do,” Vorgens said.
“You’re still determined to go through with this?”
The Watchman nodded. “Military action has taken us about as far as we can expect. It’s time to try a political stroke.”
Aikens frowned distastefully. “You probably won’t get through this alive.”
“Perhaps.” Vorgens admitted cheerfully, “but that would be no great loss to you, would it?”
Before the brigadier could reply, Vorgens swung up the access ladder and climbed into the aircar’s open cabin. Giradaux trotted around to the other side, got in, and pulled down the plastic bubble top. The turbines growled into life, spraying dust around the base of the little craft. Aikens and the other men backed away as the car climbed slowly, its engines rising in pitch as its altitude increased. Finally the engines tilted forward, and the aircar shot ahead through the morning sky.
Aikens shook his head as the car disappeared from sight.
“We’ll never see them again,” he said to the exec.
Vorgens spent most of the time aloft looking at the tri-di viewscreen on the control panel before him. He was watching the Imperial reinforcements land, just outside Capita] City. A half-dozen needle-sleek, silvery landing ships were sitting tail-down on the plain and disgorging Marines. As he watched, two more settled (town slowly, making the ground beneath them shimmer in the haze of their gray fields. Another ship took off, rising slowly, catching the morning sun on her gleaming bull.
It was an impressive sight, even though the actual number of Marines was quite small.
Finally Giradaux touched his arm and said, ‘There it is, sir.”
Vorgens followed the trooper’s gaze and saw the Komani camp.
A ring of ceremonial fires, spaced every fifty yards or so, circled the perimeter of the vast encampment. The gaudy domed tents were decked with blood-red drapings. Long processions of men, women and children were filing among the tents, heading for the center, where the dead Kang lay.
In the place where Okatar’s golden tent had stood there now rose a tall pyre, unlit as yet. Heaped atop it were piles of offerings—weapons, ornaments, warriors’ trappings, personal treasures—glittering in the sunshine. Vorgens could see the processions of Komani all converged on this pyre. Each person, no matter how young or old, handed something to the warriors who were stacking the offerings on the wooden structure that held the dead Kang’s coffin.
Suddenly the sky around them was black with Komani flyers, buzzing angrily all around. Vorgens held up his hands in the sign of peace.
One of the Komani pulled up close enough to touch the aircar, and for several moments they flew side by ide, staring at each other. Finally the warrior touched a jeweled band at his throat and then pointed to his lips.
“Try the radio,” Vorgens said to Giradaux.
“Leave here at once,” the warrior was snarling, “and be grateful that we do not kill on a day of mourning. Only our ancient custom has saved your lives today.”
Vorgens replied evenly. “I have come to pay my respects to your chieftainI would like to land in your camp, and do him what little honor I can.”
The warrior looked thunderstruck. “You dare to suggest that you should be allowed to—to ..,” He sputtered with rage.
“Do you dare,” Vorgens asked calmly, “to refuse an honor to your Kang? How many chieftains have had an enemy leader ask to see their pyre?”
The warrior hesitated. Finally he said. “This is not for me to decide. The council must make the choice.”
For nearly an hour, the Terran aircar circled slowly over the camp, with its sullen escort of Komani flyers.
“You’re depending an awful lot on their customs, ain’tcha, sir?” Giradaux asked.
“They’re ruled by custom,” the Watchman replied. At least, that’s what they told us at the Academy.
At last the warrior told them to follow him to a landing. They put down in a cleared area near the edge of the camp. A knot of elders stood there, solemn and hostile, as Vorgens climbed down from the aircar.
“I am Lensor,” said one of the Komani, a grizzled, wrinkled nobleman, slightly stooped with age. Still he towered above the Watchman. “Until a new Kang is chosen, I am leader of the council. By what right do you presume to interrupt our sacred funeral ceremony?”
Vorgens said, “I have come to express my sorrow at Okatar’s death.”
“Sorrow?”
“His death was not by my order. I did not know of it ntil after the assassination took place. I did not wish to have him lolled.”
“Yet you are the leader of his enemies.”
“Yes,” Vorgens admitted, “but this battle has gone beyond my control—beyond anyone’s control. The war on Shinar has lost its meaning. We are fighting each other now simply for the sake of fighting.”
The Komani said nothing.
“I don’t have much in the way of personal possessions to add to the pyre,” Vorgens went on, “but I do want to give these, as a token of my regret.” He unpinned the diamond insignia clips from the collar of his tunic and handed them to the nobleman.
For a moment, Lensor stood frozen, immobile. Then slowly he extended his massive hand and accepted Vorgens’ offering.
“I shall place them on the pyre myself,” he said.
“Thank you. May I stay to witness the ceremony? I could remain at this spot, if you wish.”
The nobleman turned to his fellow council members. None of them objected.
“Very well, you may remain. And—after the ceremony, you will accept our hospitality,”
“Agreed,” Vorgens said. “Perhaps then we can talk of ways to stop this killing.”
“Yes> perhaps the time has come to talk of peace.”
Sittas sat in Vorgens’ tiny compartment aboard the dreadnaught while the Star Watchman packed his few belongings in a travel Idt.
“This court-martial that you must face,” the old priest asked, “is it serious?”
“More than serious,” Vorgens said. “I may be lucky just to remain in the Star Watch.”
“Even though you have stopped the fighting? Even though the Komani have left Shinar?”
“That will have very little to do with it, I’m afraid. The charges filed by Brigadier Aikens concern insubordination, armed mutiny, personal malice, and a few other items.”
“But the Imperial Senate wants you to report to them, to present the case for Shinar’s self-government.”
Vorgens looked up from the travel Idt, which was resting on his bunk. “Yes, I’ve been ordered to appear before the Senate, together with Clanthas and some of the other
Shinarian leaders, but that’s got nothing to do with the court-martial.”
“Still, I doubt that you have much to fear,” Sittas said hopefully.
Vorgens shook his head. “I’d like to stay in the Star Watch ... but—I’d do it all over again, if I had to!”
“You were right, and the brigadier was wrong,” Sittas said.
“I was lucky.”
“The Komani have gone. Shinar is at peace.”
“More luck than skill,” Vorgens insisted. “Okatar’s death took most of the fight out of them. The way your own people were fighting helped to make them realize they had no glory to gain here. I guess that handful of reinforcements was the last straw. So the Komani nobles blamed everything on Okatar and went back home.”
“Of course, your hint that more Terran reinforcements might arrive at any time helped to push them in the right direction.”
Vorgens nodded. “I wanted to make certain that they knew the Empire was ready and able to defend itself. They took the bait and accepted a path to peace that wouldn’t shame them.”
“Therefore, the court-martial must acquit you,” Sittas concluded. “None of this would have come to pass if Brigadier Aikens had remained in charge.”
“I wish you would be sitting on the bench at the trial,” Vorgens answered, laughing. “I don’t know. Nothing is definitely settled yet. Suppose the Senate decides not to allow Shinar any measure of self-government? Then the court-martial could add treason and sedition to its list of charges.”
He looked around the compartment, satisfied himself that he had everything he wanted, and snapped the kit shut. He opened the door to the passageway.
“Do you seriously believe,” Sittas asked, rising to join him, “that the Empire will refuse our modest request?”
Vorgens grinned. “I think they’ll listen to Clanthas and agree with him. If they’re wise, old friend, you have nothing to fear.”
“Yes,” the priest agreed. “Sooner or later, wisdom wins through.”
“Sooner or later,” Vorgens agreed. “But in the meantime a terrible toll of bloodshed can take place. A lot of men—good men—can be sacrificed.”
“The violent ones have had their day on Shinar,” Sittas said. “Now it is time for a wiser man, a better man, to hold sway.”
“I hope so,” the Watchman said.
They reached the outer hatch and swung it open. The bright, yellow sun sent a shaft of warmth into the passageway. Outside, Vorgens could see the landing ship waiting to take him up to an orbiting starship and then back to Earth. Clanthas and several others were clustered by the base of the ship.
Vorgens clambered down the ladder to the ground, then helped Sittas navigate the metal rungs. He turned around to pick up his travel Idt, and found Altai standing beside him. For the first time since he had met her, she was wearing a dress—simple, feminine, beautiful.
“I—I was wondering if I’d—get to see you,” Vorgens said.
Sittas cleared his throat and announced, “I believe I’ll chat with Clanthas for a moment. You two can join me there.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t come to see you off?” Altai asked, with a touch of mischief in the comers of her mouth.
“I wasn’t certain if you’d get a chance to.”
“I won’t say goodbye,” she said, “because I expect you to return to Shinar before the year is out.”
“That might not be possible,” Vorgens said quietly. “At any rate, you’ll soon have other things to occupy your mind, without worrying about me. Merdon will be out f the hospital soon. By the end of the year, you might even be married.”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“We hardly know each other.”
“We’ll have a lot to talk about.”
He grinned at her. “Yes, I suppose so. All right, I’ll be back, then. One way or another.”
They walked together toward the men at the ship. Within a few minutes Vorgens, Clanthas, and the others had boarded. Altai and Sittas stepped back and watched as the ship reverberated with power, took off majestically, and disappeared into the distant sly.