HANSHAW: Poor Meroa…
JILL. Let her get the news f-f-trom the Zera’s post in Sehala when it learns… as a soldier’s wife deserves.
HANSHAW: Sure.
JILL: This tears it. We’d already sworn we’d find a way to get help to him. Now—he is not going to have died for nothing!
HANSHAW: What can be done?
SPARLING: We’ve given that a lot of thought. But suppose you describe matters where you are.
HANSHAW: Not promising. I’m afraid. The Navy sits tight on everything useful. I scarcely think a few civilian passenger flyers buzzing the barbarians will stampede them, do you? They’ll have seen occasional overflights before, and heard about us. Firearms haven’t fazed them, have they?
SPARLING: You can’t persuade Dejerine to release real weapons, or look the other way while you do? After all, it involves rescuing us. I’ve got our location pinpointed on the map, and a grid to identify landmarks. A pilot couldn’t miss who came to get us. You said our captivity, Jill’s in particular, was a cause of the general strike. Well, won’t Dejerine hope, maybe with reason, if we’re freed, the strike will end?
HANSHAW: I, uh, I don’t believe it would. Emotions here are mighty powerful under the quiet surface. Sure, we’ll send a flyer after you. But as for Dejerine letting us use equipment or even risk Primavera men to save a part of civilization that wouldn’t be in those dire straits if it weren’t for his mission, his war— Children, I can foresee that kind of affair leading to secession, like Eleutheria’s and New Europe’s except that Primavera would join the Gathering. And next I can see Earth either losing us or having to send occupation troops it can ill afford, and Dejerine ruined for his “mismanagement.” And I can foresee him forseeing exactly the same.
No, speaking as our resident politician, I can tell you that things are superficially tranquil because we don’t have such an involvement, such a commitment to the Zera Victrix. We’re distressed at the pass it’s in, maybe more distressed than we know; but it was the Gathering, not us, that chose to abandon it when it declined to come home. Let us join it in battle—Well, I said feelings are frighteningly strong, however tight-held. It’ll be very hard for you, Jill, not to stay a flaming symbol when you return—twice bereaved now by this accursed war. since everybody knows how close you were to Larreka— Yeah, I beg you to resist the temptation. The last thing we need is a blowup.
JILL: Twice bereaved?
HANSHAW: What’d I say? Slip of the tongue. Let’s not waste breath, let’s discuss the wherefores of recovering you. Why didn’t you get in touch immediately after you completed your survey, Ian?
JILL: Wait a minute.
HANSHAW: Uh—
JILL: Wait a bloody minute. You said, when you called before, my capture helped bring on the strike. But I’d been captured many days earlier. You were glossing something over, God. What happened next?
SPARLING; Jill, you wait. We’ll get briefed when we get back.
JILL: God, what are you hiding?
HANSHAW: Ian’s right, girl. Wait.
Silence.
JILL (a dead voice): It was Don, wasn’t it? News about my brother.
Silence.
HANSHAW: Yes. He was killed in action.
Silence.
SPARLING: Jill, darling, laren—
JILL: Odd. I feel just numb-
SPARLING: You’ve been hurt to the heart already.
JILL: How’s the family bearing up?
HANSHAW: Strongly. All you Conways are that sort. But me and my big flapping mouth—Jill, I’m, I’m sorry—
JILL: No, you did right. I’d want to know… Ian, can I sit down on this log and hold your hand, and you discuss the rest?
SPARLING: Of course. I love you.
Silence.
SPARLING: Hello, God? Excuse, please. A shock to me, too.
HANSHAW: Everybody liked Don, and nobody liked the war. His death triggered the resistance.
SPARLING: (with slight difficulty): This doubles the reason for relieving Port Rua. A memorial— But see here. We’ve another reason yet. One that changes everything, Our way, we think, our way to force help out of somebody. In these parts and northward is intelligent T-life.
HANSHAW: Huh?
SPARLING: Yes. The weirdest tittle beings. Judas! I’d guess the study of their psychology alone could bring on a revolution in that field.
HANSHAW: Are you sure they’re sophonts?
SPARLING: We’ve met a few. Seen them handle artifacts. Exchanged signs, if not words. Arnanak, the barbarian king, had contacted them, traveled way into their country and—He’s using them to reinforce his power; the Valenneners think they’re supernatural. In reality, he’s made a deal. They’ll share in the booty of better lands when he’s finished his conquests. But here’s the peak of it all. They’re few and primitive, these dauri, as he calls them… but they know where an ancient Tammuzian ruin is. What it was like originally, what it’s like after a billion years, I have no idea. However, Arnanak brought home an object, a portable star display is my guess, that time hasn’t touched. Mull that over a while!
HANSHAW: Whe-ew-w-w…
SPARLING: Obviously we humans can offer the dauri a lot more than he can, and learn about them and—(Oh, Jill, Jill)—but only if we can function effectively here on Ishtar. Which requires we have the Gathering to help us—which requires we save it—and with the dauri living in Valennen, Port Rua is the place to start.
Silence.
HANSHAW: M-m-m, yes, I agree. At a bare minimum, if we knack the barbarian organization, keep the outpost, yes, then the Gathering should be able to mount guard on the north; and there won’t be that awful pressure on the south… Yes. But how, Ian?
SPARLING: Would it be possible for the flyer, no, the flyers that fetch us to carry homemade bombs? Apparently the enemy makes massed charges, trying to reach the walls and break through by sheer weight of numbers. Bombs dropped into the brown of them—I hate the idea, but consider the alternative.
HANSHAW: Are you sure it’d work?
SPARLING: No. But we haven’t thought of anything better to try.
HANSHAW; Uh-huh. Well, let me see. Our explosives are locked away these days, but—m-m-m— Well, I’ll have to ponder as you suggest, and consult a few reliable men, and— You can wait some days, can’t you?
SPARLING: Yes, we assumed we’d have to-
HANSHAW: We’ll keep in touch. How about I call you daily at—shall we say noon?
SPARLING: That sounds reasonable.
HANSHAW: Starting tomorrow, then.
SPARLING: Now we’d better sign off.
HANSHAW: Until tomorrow. Jill, I’m so unspeakably sorry.
JILL: That’s all right, God. Let’s… go on… and salvage what they both lived for.
Click.
Half a minute passed before Hanshaw added slowly to Dejerine: “What all Primavera lives for. You try to suppress aid in the teeth of this news, and you probably will touch off a revolt.”
Dejerine nodded. He felt stunned and drained.
“The single thing you need do,” Hanshaw said, “is not react vigorously to the storehouse incident. Explain in your report that you’re holding off action while you investigate. GHQ will agree that’s a sound policy, I’m sure. We figure we can send off all our expedition in maybe five days. Afterward we’ll face the music.”
The resolution did not burst upon Dejerine. It appeared to his awareness like something which had been there for a time, in embryo for a much longer time, and its strength lent a great calm.
“No,” he said. “Delay is not necessary.”