… 69… 70… 71… 72… 73… 74 degrees
George and Mara were waving their arms to draw attention to themselves. Almost uselessly, they felt sure. They were still nowhere near enough. George could see the ship still rising. He judged it to be less than 20 degrees from the perpendicular. Maybe only 15…
Within minutes those friendly, helpful tanks would complete their task—then swiftly turn and rend. The resultant havoc on the ship would be quite irreparable. Any human survivors would, like themselves, be marooned on Venus, with small chance of rescue, less chance of finding food… Until either they starved or Senilde’s mad war machine hunted them down at last. The chariot plowed on at the same obstinately unhurried pace.
… 78… 79… 80… 81… 82 degrees.
Captain Freiburg was strained as tautly as any of the cables. At any second now the shifting center of gravity would cause the ship to swing to the vertical position automatically, without need of further hauling. He glared angrily at the nearing armored vehicle, resenting its presence at such a crucial moment. He noted that it carried no visible armament. Nor could he see either a circle or a triangle sign on it. Perhaps it intended no harm, after all. All the same, it was an untimely disturbance.
But then, events had never timed themselves to suit him. Quite the reverse, in fact.
Was that something moving on the flat top of this huge, ugly intruder? A speck. Two specks. People?
Damn them, nothing was going to stop him now. He’d failed too often because of unexpected, ill-timed interferences from the extraneous world. He was in rebellion against the unjust treatment of a lifetime. He’d see this thing through, anyhow. He set his teeth and kept the tank pulling steadily.
… 84… 85… 86 degrees.
Came a thin wail, very high, rushing by, and then it was gone. There was an appalling jerk and Freiburg’s tank was dragged back for some metres. He slammed on the brakes as it stopped, and yelled aloud with bitter anger and despair.
Fate was still against him, and had struck again.
He slumped in his seat, sunken in a private mental world of gloomy gray and funereal black. He fumbled for his pipe, and lit it. The infantile sucking soothed… Presently, he roused and took a look outside. The towering spaceship had slewed around, dragging all the tanks, save one, back a little distance. The one tank remaining out in front was the mate’s. The mate himself was standing beside his tank, holding one end of the parted cable. He was white-faced, divided between apprehension of the chariot thundering towards them and realization of what had just missed his tank. Childishly trying to shift some of the blame, Freiburg bawled: “Thought you said the cables would hold, mister.”
The mate shook his head, disclaiming responsibility, and pointed to the ground at his feet. With a qualm, Freiburg saw the brand-new, straight slice marking the path of a great steel wheel.
He jumped to the conclusion that it had been shot at them by the approaching juggernaut. He shook a futile fist at it, knowing it would be equally futile to open fire with their small guns against that immense mass of armor-plate. Anyhow, it was too late: the thing was almost upon them… It ground to a halt with a clangorous noise. Then he saw it was George Starkey and some strange girl up there.
There was too much to explain. This wasn’t the time or place for explanations. A flight of bombers dropped its cargo three kilos away. Another steel wheel screamed by eagerly making for the bomb smoke, George said, rapidly: “This is Mara. She’s my girl. She’s on our side. Nobody else is. Get this, Skip—all of the bombers, tanks, and war machines are out to get us. All of ’em—we have no friends. There’s a crazy warlord behind it—tell you about him later. First, lower the ship to the ground again, pronto.”
“What? We’d nearly got it up. Would have been up if that blasted wheel hadn’t cut the cable—”
“Best bit of luck you ever had,” said George. “My, Providence was sure on your side that time. Tell you why later. Look, trust me, do as I say, for Pete’s sake. No time to lose. These damn tanks may get the order to move from the warlord at any moment. If they do, the ship will crash down and get smashed again.”
Freiburg argued no more. He issued orders. The crew slowly reversed their tanks, let the ship down.
“Now,” said George, “disconnect the antenna from every one of these tanks. Then they’ll be powerless to turn on us.”
“Also powerless to raise the ship again,” the mate demurred.
“Yes,” snapped George. He pointed to the great war chariot. “But that won’t be—it’s self-powered. And it’s got more traction power than all of those tanks put together.”
“Jump to it, mister,” growled Freiburg.
Even when, at last, they were all sealed in the ship, the racket outside was scarcely muffled. Waves of planes were methodically pattern-bombing the whole area. It would only have been a matter of time…
The ship’s vents roared a defiant answer. The ship rose vertically amid a cloud of dust and smoke that was not all of its own making. Gathering speed, it drove up into the grim Meknitron cloud belt. It got through unscathed and emerged like a leaping salmon into the powerful sunlight above.
When they were far enough into space to see both Earth and Venus as globes, the occupants of the ship were still exchanging their stories. Earth was distant and minute, and gleamed like a tiny ball-bearing. Venus was near, and looked like a ball of lamb’s wooclass="underline" white, fluffy, innocuous. Mara alone was silent, wrapped in wonder at the sight of her planet as a sphere floating in nothingness.
Suddenly, she exclaimed and pointed. Tiny black spots were beginning to speckle that pure, dazzling cloud-surface.
Everyone watched the sullying spots spread slowly. And tried to visualize the immense catastrophes causing them.
George said: “Senilde has gotten well into his stride now. That’s a full-scale atomic war. Immortal or not, I can’t see how he or Leep can possibly survive it.”
“Maybe some Earthman will go there again someday and interview the winner—if any,” Freiburg remarked.
“Know something? It won’t be me. I’m a pipe and slippers man after this.”
“What does he mean, George?” asked Mara, baffled by an inexact Teleo translation.
George drew her closely to him. “You may find out for yourself soon, dear. You know, I never really had a home of my own before. I’m looking forward to it.”
She responded, as ever, passionately. Freiburg, slightly embarrassed, turned away to regard dwindling Venus and its dark stains of disaster. George and Mara had already forgotten it.
—«»—«»—«»—
[scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]
[A Proofpack Release]
[October 3, 2005]