“Those hoofs will stamp slowly.”
“Hey? Oh. Oh, yes. We’d speak of wheels. Agreed, with the best will in the universe, neither government can end this conflict overnight. But we can make a start, you and us. We restrain the Kursovikians, you restrain the Sixpoint. All military operations suspended in the Zletovar till further notice. You’ve that much discretionary power, I’m sure.”
“I do,” Runei said. “You do. The natives may not agree. If they decide to move, either faction, I am bound to support the sea people.”
Or if you tell them to move, Hauksberg thought. You may. In which case Enriques will have no choice but to fight. However, I’ll assume you’re honest, that you’d also like to see this affair wound up before matters get out of hand. I have to assume that. Otherwise I can only go home and help Terra prepare for interstellar war.
“You’ll be gettin’ official memoranda and such,” he said. “This is preliminary chit-chat. But I’ll stay on, myself, till we see how our try at a parley is shapin’ up. Feel free to call on me at any time.”
“Thank you. Good day, my lord.”
“Good day, Com—Fodaich.” Though they had been using Anglic, Hauksberg was rather proud of his Eriau.
The screen blanked. He lit a cigaret. Now what? Now you sit and wait, m’ boy. You continue gathering reports, conducting interviews, making tours of inspection, but this is past the point of diminishing returns, among these iron-spined militarists who consider you a meddlesome ass. You’ll see many an empty hour. Not much amusement here. Good thing you had the foresight to take Persis along.
He rose and drifted from the office to the living room. She sat there watching the animation. Ondine again—poor kid, the local tape library didn’t give a wide selection. He lowered himself to the arm of her lounger and laid a hand on her shoulder. It was bare, in a low-cut blouse; the skin felt warm and smooth, and he caught a violet hint of perfume.
“Aren’t you tired o’ that thing?” he asked.
“No.” She didn’t quite take her eyes from it. Her voice was dark and her mouth not quite steady. “Wish I were, though.”
“Why?”
“It frightens me. It reminds me how far we are from home, the strangeness, the—And we’re going on.”
Half human, the mermaid floated beneath seas which never were.
“Merseia’s p’rhaps a touch more familiar,” Hauksberg said. “They were already industrialized when humans discovered ’em. They caught onto the idea of space travel fast.”
“Does that make them anything like us? Does it make us like … like ourselves?” She twisted her fingers together. “People say ‘hyperdrive’ and ‘light-year’ so casually. They don’t understand. They can’t or won’t. Too shallow.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve mastered the theory,” he jollied her.
“Oh, no. I haven’t the brain. But I tried. A series of quantum jumps which do not cross the small intervening spaces, therefore do not amount to a true velocity and are not bound by the light-speed limitation … sounds nice and scientific to you, doesn’t it? You know what it sounds like to me? Ghosts flitting forever in darkness. And have you ever thought about a light-year, one measly light-year, how huge it is?”
“Well, well.” He stroked her hair. “You’ll have company.”
“Your staff. Your servants. Little men with little minds. Routineers, yes-men, careerists who’ve laid out their own futures on rails. They’re nothing, between me and the night. I’m sick of them, anyway.”
“You’ve me,” he said.
She smiled a trifle. “Present company excepted. You’re so often busy, though.”
“We’ll have two or three Navy chaps with us. Might interest you. Diff’rent from courtiers and bureaucrats.”
She brightened further. “Who?”
“Well, Commander Abrams and I got talkin’, and next thing I knew I’d suggested he come along as our expert on the waterfolk. We could use one. Rather have that Ridenour fellow, ’course; he’s the real authority, insofar as Terra’s got any. But on that account, he can’t be spared here.” Hauksberg drew in a long tail of smoke. “Obvious dangers involved. Abrams wouldn’t leave his post either, if he didn’t think this was a chance to gather more information than he can on Starkad. Which could compromise our mission. I still don’t know but what I was cleverly maneuvered into co-optin’ him.”
“That old bear, manipulating you?” Persis actually giggled.
“A shrewd bear. And ruthless. Fanatical, almost. However, he can be useful, and I’ll be sure to keep a spot on him. Daresay he’ll bring an aide or two. Handsome young officers, hm?”
“You’re handsome and young enough for me, Mark.” Persis rubbed her head against him.
Hauksberg chucked his cigaret at the nearest disposal. “I’m not so frightfully busy, either.”
The day was raw and overcast, with whitecaps on a leaden sea. Wind piped in rigging; timbers creaked; the Archer rocked. Astern lay the accompanying fleet, hove to. Banners snapped from mastheads. One deck was covered by a Terra-conditioned sealtent. But Dragoika’s vessel bore merely a tank and a handful of humans. She and her crew watched impassive as Ridenour, the civilian head of xenological studies, went to release the Siravo.
He was a tall, sandy-haired man; within the helmet, his face was intense. His fingers moved across the console of the vocalizer attached to one wall. Sounds boomed forth which otherwise only a sea dweller’s voice bladder could have made.
The long body in the tank stirred. Those curiously human lips opened. An answer could be heard. John Ridenour nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let him go.”
Flandry helped remove the cover. The prisoner arched his tail. In one dizzying leap he was out and over the side. Water spouted across the deck.
Ridenour went to the rail and stood staring down. “So long, Evenfall,” he said.
“That his real name?” Flandry asked.
“What the phrase means, roughly,” the xenologist answered. He straightened. “I don’t expect anyone’ll show for some hours. But be ready from 1500. I want to study my notes.”
He walked to his cabin. Flandry’s gaze followed him. How much does he know? the ensign wondered. More’n he possibly could learn from our Charlie, or from old records, that’s for sure. Somehow Abrams has arranged—Oh, God, the shells bursting in Ujanka!
He fled that thought and pulled his gaze back, around the team who were to go undersea. A couple of assistant xenologists; an engineer ensign and four burly ratings with some previous diving experience. They were almost more alien to him than the Tigeries.
The glory of having turned the battle of Golden Bay was blown away on this mordant wind. So, too, was the intoxicating sequeclass="underline" that he, Dominic Flandry, was no longer a wet-eared youngster but appreciated as he deserved, promised a citation, as the hero of all Kursoviki, the one man who could talk the landfolk into attempting peace. What that amounted to, in unromantic fact, was that he must go along with the Terran envoys, so their mission would have his full approval in Tigery eyes. And Ridenour had told him curtly to keep out of the way.
Jan van Zuyl was luckier!
Well—Flandry put on his best nonchalance and strolled to Dragoika. She regarded him gravely. “I hate your going down,” she said.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Wonderful adventure. I can’t wait.”
“Down where the bones of our mothers lie, whom they drowned,” she said. “Down where there is no sun, no moons, no stars, only blackness and cold sliding currents. Among enemies and horrors. Combat was better.”
“I’ll be back soon. This first dive is just to ask if they’ll let us erect a dome on the bottom. Once that’s done, your fleet can go home.”