The People of the Wind

XI

Liaw of The Tarns spoke. “We are met in the Great Khruath of Avalon, that free folk may choose their way. Our enemy has taken elsewhere most of the might which he brought against us. This is no victory, since those vessels will make war upon the rest of the Domain. Meanwhile he has left sufficient ships to hold us cut off. They are unlikely to attack our world. But they will seek to find and root out our bases among the sister planets and the few warcraft of ours that are left in space. Save for what harassment our brethren aboard can contrive, we have no means of taking the offensive. Our defenses we can maintain indefinitely. Yet no pledge can be given that great harm will not be wrought on Avalon, should the foe launch a determined effort. He has declared that in the end we are sure to be subjugated. This is possibly true. He has then declared that we can expect better treatment if we yield now than if we fight on, though at best we will come under Imperial law and custom. This is certainly true.

“They who speak for you rejected the demand, as was their duty until you could be summoned to decide. I remind you of the hazards of continued war and the threat of a harsh peace should we lose. I remind you furthermore that if we do resist, the free folk of Avalon must give up many of their rights and submit to the dictation of military leaders for as long as the strife may last.

“What say the choths?”

He and his colleagues stood on the olden site, First Island in the Hesperian Sea. At their backs rose the house of David Falkayn; before them greensward slanted toward beach and surf. But no booths or tents had been raised, no ships lay at anchor, no swarms of delegates flew down to form ranks beneath the trees. Time was lacking for ceremonious assemblies. Those elected at regional meetings, and those individuals who signified a wish to speak, were present electronically.

A computer-equipped staff worked hard inside the house. However taciturn the average Ythrian was, however unwilling to make a fool of oneself by declaiming the obvious, still, when some two million enfranchised adults were hooked into a matter of as great moment as this, the questions and comments that arrived must be filtered. Those chosen to be heard must wait their turns.

Arinnian knew he would be called. He sat by Eyath before an outsize screen. They were alone on the front, hence lowest bench. At their backs the tiers rose, the household of Lythran and Blawsa crowded thereon, to the seat of the master and his lady. Liaw’s slow words only deepened the quiet in that broad, dark, weapon-hung chamber; and so did the rustle of feathers, the scrape of claws or alatans, when someone shifted a little. The air was filled with the woodsmoke odor of Ythrian bodies. A breeze, gusting in from a window open on rain, added smells of damp earth and stirred the banners that hung from high rafters.

“—report on facts concerning—”

The image in the screen became that of a rancher. Behind him could be seen the North Coronan prairie, a distant herd, a string of quadrupedal burden-bearing zirraukhs led by a flapping youth, a more up-to-date truck which passed overhead. He stated, “Food production throughout the Plains of Long Reach has been satisfactory this year. The forecasts for next season are optimistic. We have achieved 75 percent storage of preserved meat in bunkers proofed against radioactive contamination, and expect to complete this task by midwinter. Details are filed in Library Central. Finished.” The scan returned to the High Wyvans, who promptly called on another area representative.

Eyath caught Arinnian’s arm. He felt the pulse in her fingers, and the claws on the two encircling thumbs bit him. He looked at her. The bronze-brown crest was stiffly raised, the amber eyes like lanterns. Fangs gleamed between her lips. “Must they drone on till eternity molders?” she breathed.

“They need truth before they decide,” he whispered back, and felt the disapproving stares between his shoulderblades.

“What’s to decide — when Vodan’s in space?”

“You help him best by patience.”

He wondered who he was to give counsel. Well, Eyath was young (me too, but this day I feel old) and it was cruel that she could hope for no word of her betrothed until, probably, war’s end. No mothership could venture in beaming range of beleaguered Avalon.

At least it was known that Vodan’s had been among those which escaped. Too many orbited in wreck. More Terrans had been destroyed, of course, thanks to the trap that Ferune and Holm sprang. But one Ythrian slain was too many, Arinnian thought, and a million Terrans were too few.

“—call on the chief of the West Coronan guard.” He scrambled to his feet, realized that was unnecessary, and opined that he’d better remain standing than compound his gaucherie by sitting down again before he had spoken. “Uh, Arinnian of Stormgate. We’re in good shape, equipping, training, and assigning recruits as fast as they come in. But we want more. Uh, since nobody has mentioned it, I’d like to remind people that except for ranking officers, home-guard service is part-time and the volunteer’s schedule can be set to minimize interference with his ordinary work. Our section’s cooperation with the North Oronesians is now being extended through the entire archipelago, and we aim to do likewise in southerly and easterly directions till, uh, we’ve an integrated command for the Brendan’s, Fiery, and Shielding Islands as well, to protect the whole perimeter of Corona.

“Uh, on behalf of my father, the First Marchwarden, I want to point out a considerable hole in Avalon’s defense, namely the absence of a guard for Equatoria, nothing there except some projector and missile launching sites. True, the continent’s uninhabited, but the Terrans know that, and if they consider an invasion, they aren’t likely to care about preserving a piece of native ecology intact. I, uh, will receive suggestions about this and pass them along the proper channels.” His tongue was dry. “Finished.”

He lowered himself. Eyath took his hand, gentler this time. Thank fortune, no one wanted to question him. He could be crisp in discussing strictly technical problems with a few knowledgeable persons, but two million were a bit much for a man without political instincts.

The talk seemed interminable. And yet, at the end, when the vote was called, when Liaw made his matter-of-fact announcement that the data bank recorded 83 percent in favor of continued resistance, scarcely six hours had passed. Humans couldn’t have done it.

“Well,” Arinnian said into the noise of cramped wings being stretched, “no surprises.”

Eyath tugged at him. “Come,” she said. “Get your belt. I want to use my muscles before dinner.”

Rain beat through dusk, cold and tasting of sky. When they came above the clouds, he and she turned east to get away from their chothmates who also sought exercise. Snowpeaks and glaciers thrust out of whiteness, into a blue-black where gleamed the early stars and a few moving sparks which were orbital fortresses.

They fared awhile in silence, until she said: “I’d like to join the guard.”

“Hm? Ah. Yes; welcome.”

“But not fly patrol. That’s essential, I know, and pleasant if the weather’s halfway good; but I don’t want a lot of pleasure. Look, see Camelot rising yonder. Vodan may be huddled inside a dead moon of it, waiting and waiting for a chance to hazard his life.”

“What would you prefer?” he asked.

Her wings beat more steadily than her voice. “You must be caught in a hurricane of work, which is bound to stiffen. Surely your staff’s too small, else why would you be so tired? Can’t I help?”

“M-m… well—”

“Your assistant, your fetch-and-carry lass, even your personal secretary? I can take an electro-cram in the knowledge and skills, and be ready to start inside a few days.”

“No. That’s rough.”

“I’ll survive. Try me. Fire me if I can’t grip the task, and we’ll stay friends. I believe I can, though. Maybe better than someone who hasn’t known you all these years, and who can be given another job. I’m bright and energetic. Am I not? And… Arinnian, I so much need to be with you, till this cripplewing time is outlived.”

She reached toward him. He caught her hand. “Very well, galemate.”

In the wan light she flew as beautiful as ever beneath sun or moon.

“Yes, I’ll call for a vote tomorrow,” Matthew Vickery said.

“How do you expect it’ll go?” Daniel Holm asked.

The President sighed. “How do you think? Oh, the war faction won’t bring in quite the majority of Parliament that it did of the Khruath; A few members will vote their convictions rather than their mail. But I’ve seen the analysis of that mail, and of the phone calls and — Yes, you’ll get your damned resolution to carry on. You’ll get your emergency powers, the virtual suspension of civilian government you’ve been-demanding. I do wish you’d read some of those letters or watch some of those tapes. The fanaticism might frighten you as it does me. I never imagined we had that much latent insanity in our midst.”

“It’s insane to fight for your home?”

Vickery bit his lip. “Yes, when nothing can be gained.”

“I’d say we gain quite a chunk. We kicked a sizable hole in the Terran armada. We’re tying up a still bigger part, that was originally supposed to be off to Ythri.”

“Do you actually believe the Domain can beat the Empire? Holm, the Empire can’t afford to compromise. Take its viewpoint for a minute if you can. The solitary keeper of the peace, among thousands of wildly diverse peoples; the solitary guardian of the borders against the barbarian and the civilized predatory alien, who carry nuclear weapons. The Empire has to be more than almighty. It must maintain credibility, universal belief that it’s irresistible, or hell’s kettle boils over.”

“My nose bleeds for the Empire,” Holm said, “but His Majesty will have to solve his problems at somebody else’s expense. He gets no free rides from us. Besides, you’ll note the Terrans didn’t keep throwing themselves at Avalon.”

“They had no need to,” Vickery replied. “If the need does arise, they’ll be back in force. Meanwhile we’re contained.” He filled his lungs. “I admit your gamble paid off extraordinarily—”

“Please. ‘Investment.’ And not mine. Ours.”

“But don’t you see, now there’s nothing further we can use it for except a bargaining counter? We can get excellent terms, and I’ve dealt with Governor Saracoglu, I know he’ll see to it that agreements are honored. Rationally considered, what’s so dreadful about coming under the Empire?”

“Well, we’d begin by breaking our oath to Ythri. Sorry, chum. Deathpride doesn’t allow.”

“You sit here mouthing obsolete words, but I tell you, the winds of change are blowing.”

“I understand that’s a mighty old phrase too,” Holm said. “Ferune had one still older that he liked to quote. How’d it go? ‘—their finest hour—’ ”

Tabitha Falkayn shoved off from the dock and hauled on two lines in quick succession. Jib and mainsail crackled, caught the breeze, and bellied taut. The light, open boat heeled till foam hissed along the starboard rail, and accelerated outward. Once past the breakwater, on open sea, she began to ride waves.

“We’re planing!” Philippe Rochefort cried.

“Of course,” Tabitha answered. “This is a hydrofoil. “Ware boom.” She put the helm down. The yard swung, the hull skipped onto the other tack.

“No keel? What do you do for lateral resistance?”

She gestured at the oddly curved boards which lifted above either rail, pivoting in response to vanes upon them. “Those. The design’s Ythrian. They know more about the ways of wind than men and men’s computers can imagine.”

Rochefort settled down to admire the view. It was superb. Billows marched as far as he could see, blue streaked with violet and green, strewn with sun-glitter, intricately white-foamed. They rumbled and whooshed. Fine spindrift blew off them, salty on the lips, spurring the blood where it struck bare skin. The air was cool, not cold, and singingly alive. Aft, the emerald heights of St. Li dwindled at an astonishing speed.

He had to admit the best part was the big, tawny girl who stood, pipe in teeth, hawklike pet on shoulder, bleached locks flying, at the tiller. She wore nothing but a kilt, which the wind molded to her loins, and — to be sure — her knife and blaster.

“How far did you say?” he asked.

“ ’Bout thirty-five kilometers. A couple of hours at this rate. We needn’t start back till sundown, plenty of starlight to steer by, so you’ll have time for poking around.”

“You’re too kind, Donna,” he said carefully.

She laughed. “No, I’m grateful for an excuse to take an outing. Especially since those patches of atlantis weed fascinate me. Entire ecologies, in areas that may get bigger’n the average island. And the fisher scout told me he’d seen a kraken grazing the fringes of this one. Hope we find him. They’re a rare sight. Peaceful, though we dare not come too near something that huge.”

“I meant more than this excursion,” Rochefort said. “You receive me, a prisoner of war, as your house guest.”

Tabitha shrugged. “Why not? We don’t bother stockading what few people we’ve taken. They aren’t going anywhere.” Her eyes rested candidly on him. “Besides, I want to know you.”

He wondered, with an inward thump, how well.

Somberness crossed her. “And,” she said, “I hope to… make up for what happened. You’ve got to see that Draun didn’t wantonly murder your friend. He’s, well, impetuous; and a gun was being pulled; and it is wartime.”

He ventured a smile. “Won’t always be, Donna.”

“Tabitha’s the name, Philippe; or Hrill when I talk Planha. You don’t, of course… That’s right. When you go home, I’d like you to realize we Ythrians aren’t monsters.”

“Ythrians? You?” He raised his brows.

“What else? Avalon belongs to the Domain.”

“It wont for much longer,” Rochefort said. In haste: “Against that day, I’ll do what I can to show you we Terrans aren’t monsters either.”

He could not understand how she was able to grin so lightheartedly. “If it amuses you to think that, you’re welcome. I’m afraid you’ll find amusement in rather short supply here. Swimming, fishing, boating, hiking… and, yes, reading; I’m addicted to mystery stories and have a hefty stack, some straight from Terra. But that’s just about the list. I’m the sole human permanently resident on St Li, and between them, my business and my duties as a home-guard officer will keep me away a lot.”

“I’ll manage,” he said.

“Sure, for a while,” she replied. “The true Ythrians aren’t hostile to you. They mostly look on war as an impersonal thing, like a famine where you might have to kill somebody to feed him to your young but don’t hate him on that account. They don’t go in for chitchat but if you play chess you’ll find several opponents.”

Tabitha shortened the mainsheet and left it in a snap cleat. “Still,” she said, “Avalonians of either kind don’t mass-produce entertainment the way I hear people do in the Empire. You won’t find much on the screens except news, sleepifyingly earnest educational programs, and classic dramas which probably won’t mean a thing to you. So… when you get bored, tell me and I’ll arrange for your quartering in a town like Gray or Centauri.”

“I don’t expect to be,” he said, and added in measured softness, “Tabitha.” Nonetheless he spoke honestly when he shook his head, stared over the waters, and continued: “No, I feel guilty at not grieving more, at being as conscious as I am of my fantastic good hide.”

“Ha!” she chuckled. “Someday Ill’count up the different ways you were lucky. That was an unconverted island you were on, lad, pure Old Avalonian, including a fair sample of the nastier species.”

“Need an armed man, who stays alert, fear any animals here?”

“Well, no doubt you could shoot a spathodont dead before it fanged you, though reptiloids don’t kill easy. I wouldn’t give odds on you against a pack of lycosauroids, however; and if a kakkelak swarm started running up your trousers—” Tabitha grimaced. “But those’re tropical mainland beasties. You’d have had your troubles from the plants, which’re wider distributed. Suppose a gust stirred the limbs of a surgeon tree as you walked by. Or… right across the ridge from where you were, I noticed a hollow full of hell shrub. You’re no Ythrian, to breathe those vapors and live.”

“Brrr!” he said. “What incurable romantic named this planet?”

“David Falkayn’s granddaughter, when he’d decided this was the place to go,” she answered, grave again. “And they were right, both of them. If anything, the problem was to give native life its chance. Like the centaurs, who’re a main reason for declaring Equatoria off limits, because they use bits of stone and bone in tool fashion and maybe in a million years they could become intelligent. And by the way, their protection was something Ythri insisted on, hunter Ythri, not the human pioneers.”

She gestured. “Look around you,” she said. “This is our world. It’s going to stay ours.”

No, he thought, and the day was dulled for him, you’re wrong, Tabitha-Hrill. My admiral is going to hammer your Ythrians until they have no choice but to hand you over to my Emperor.