“Little he cares for Rheatt!”
There would be no point, I told myself, in trying to explain to her that Becmath worked not for himself, but for a higher ideal. Neither did I confess the doubts and anxieties that were beginning, despite myself, to eat into my guts.
Even before my trip to Merame we had begun setting up a baseline camp on the other side of the gateway. Most of our main equipment was already parked there: landsloops for street fighting inside Klittmann, big wagons for transporting food, fuel and ammunition, and a fleet of aircraft adapted for carrying heavy bombs so we could blast our way inside.
Bec planned a big role for aircraft in the new Killibol. He was quick to recognise that they could furnish the speedy communications the Dark World (to give it its ancient name) had so far lacked. City isolationism, as Bec called it, would shortly be at an end.
The two Rotrox legions were not long in coming. We pushed them through the gateway straight away to get them acclimatised. We didn’t interfere with them in any way, but our own Rheattite forces were organised along different lines — in small units, Klittmann fashion, gangster fashion. We’d already taught them what to expect when they got inside the city.
I spent all my time on the other side getting things straightened out for the big drive. A few days later Bec and the others joined me. They were all eager for action.
The scene was vivid. Brilliant searchlight lit up everything. Neither the Rotrox nor the Rheattites could see too well in what was to them unrelieved gloom. During the time we spent at the base camp we were forced to wear our goggles just as if we had been on Earth.
The Rotrox, arrogant as usual, wished to be in the vanguard. I issued them with maps and they set off in their troop carriers with us following a few hours behind.
We crossed the river by the bridge we had built and set off across the dead landscape. The landsloops went first, in convoy, followed by the wagons and our own troop carriers. The command sloop, with me, Bec, Grale, Reeth and Hassmann in it, was the same one we had journeyed to Earth in; it was the only one that was atom-powered and it was larger than the others. During the rest period, when we camped, we slept in tents.
Usually we ate an evening meal with the top Rheattite officers headed by Heerlaw, our top man in the League of Rheatt. On our second day out a row blew up at one of these meals. The others had elected to eat on their own; neither Reeth, Grale nor Hassmann had ever become socially familiar with the Rheattites. Bec and myself sat with Heerlaw and half a dozen other officers comprising the effective leadership of their part of the campaign.
Earlier that day we had come across the remains of the handiwork of the Rotrox legions ahead of us. Evidently the Rotrox had stumbled on a band of nomads. The wagons and protein tanks were smashed open and strewn all over the place. Bodies were everywhere. It didn’t look as if the Rotrox had left a single one of them alive.
“Is this the kind of civilisation we are bringing to Killibol?” one of the Rheattites denounced angrily. “Ever since I was a boy I have been hearing of the new vigour and freedom our work will bring to mankind. Is this what it means?”
This was strong stuff indeed. All the officers were young, belonging to the new generation we had raised. As he said, he’d been indoctrinated since he was a boy. To some extent they’d been quarantined from the real unpleasantness of Rheatt’s position, or rather it had been played down to them. This was their testing time, their first exposure to nasty reality.
“From the Rotrox we must always expect brutality,” Heerlaw answered, glancing at Bec. He was a man who wouldn’t deviate no matter what he saw. He had been closest to us and he had the kind of toughness that’s bred in Klittmann itself.
“We must co-operate with them for the sake of the task,” he continued. “The end justifies the means.”
Another officer broke in, slamming his knife on the table. “I say it was an atrocious act. It should be punished.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Heerlaw told him. “How could the Rotrox have done otherwise? What if the people they found had sent word to the city we are about to attack?”
Throughout all this argument Bec sat silent. Suddenly I found myself speaking.
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s sickening. If this is how we’re going to behave it would be better if we had never set out. The Rotrox are monsters and it’s not easy to imagine what will happen when they get inside Klittmann.”
Bec glared at me fiercely. A brooding silence followed, in which the Rheattites continued to eat uneasily. Shortly afterwards we left for our respective tents.
Bec spoke to me warningly as we entered our own tent. “I don’t want any disaffection in our ranks, Klein,” he said, lowering himself into a comfortable chair and pouring us both goblets of hwura. “I think you spoke out of turn there.”
“Maybe.” I accepted the goblet. “But that guy had a point. Our Rheattites still aren’t too hard-bitten. We’ve led them to believe they’re going to build an empire worth building. Instead they see that mess we saw today. Frankly I’d be happier if the Rotrox were well out of this.”
Bec snorted contemptuously. “I can remember when you wouldn’t have turned a hair. Anyway, the Rotrox put us where we are. I’ll handle them when the right time comes. Heerlaw has the right idea: the end justifies the means.”
I knocked back the goblet and reached for the jug. “You haven’t seen the things I saw on Merame.”
We drank for a while. Bec was thoughtful. Finally he looked at me curiously and said: “I think you’d better make a trip back to Rheatt for a day or so, Klein.”
The goblet stopped midway to my mouth. “Why?” I said in surprise.
“Those klugs were shooting their mouths off back there. I’ve had one or two indications back home — in Rheatt, that is — too. It could be there’s an independence movement growing. Now would be the time for it to come into the open, when we’re not around to stop it.”
“But we’ll soon be at Klittmann! I don’t want to miss that.”
“Oh, you won’t, with any luck. Just nose around Parkland and see if everything’s quiet. If there’s nothing up you can fly out to Klittmann. Otherwise, you know what to do.”
I was disappointed, but Bec was adamant. I had to go.
When I got to Parkland I soon got the feeling that Bec had given me a bum steer. Everything was as usual. The supply routes to the gateway were functioning perfectly. All the League of Rheatt organisations were waiting expectantly for news of the first victory.
Bec had told me to stay for at least two days, maybe three, I hung around, feeling moody and uncertain. There was no real need for me here. My mind was with those columns millions of light years away, pushing their way forward with headlights blazing.
Suddenly I thought of Harmen, the old alk. Bec and he had been close, in a way. Bec had got a lot of his ideas from him. Maybe it would be a good idea to talk to Harmen, I thought.
His laboratory was some distance from Parkland so I flew there in a small aircraft I piloted myself. I found Harmen sitting in a spacious study. In a small bookcase were the precious books he had managed to bring from Klittmann so many years ago.
On the way in I had noticed that the building was full of his assistants, or apprentices as he called them, wearing purple smocks. Harmen kept the house well lit for their benefit and wore dark goggles all the time. Otherwise he was the same crazy alk I had known before. His hair straggled down his shoulders and his big hooked nose poked out beneath the goggles, making him look like some weird animal.
I told him he’d soon be able to move back into Klittmann if he wanted to. He was non-committal. The move would be difficult, he said. Some of his equipment was heavy and conditions might not be stable in Klittmann for a while.