“If that’s all they curse,” Burke said, “they’ll be lucky. All right, that leaves my report. Warlord in Chief. I’ve received word from Pallol, the Firvulag generalissimo, that his forces will hold themselves combat-ready for the last three days in September. Under optimal circumstances we’ll mount the attack before dawn on the twenty-ninth, which will give us nearly two full fighting days before the Truce officially begins on October first at sunrise. After that, we humans’ll be on our own, and Finiah better be ready for mop-up. I’ll have more details on plans of attack at the war council later. Okay? Now, new business. We’ll consider the matter of the Howler spy as already introduced and sent to Public Safety for action.”
“The final preparation of the iron weapons,” Khalid said. “My men will soundproof one of the vented caves and turn it into a smithy, I’ll need some help from Phil’s people.”
“More new business?”
“We will need more alcoholic drink,” Marialena said. “Mead or beer from the Firvulag. I can’t have the volunteers swilling our young wines.”
Burke chuckled. “Perish the thought. Uwe, will you sound out the High Vrazel people on that?”
“Check.”
“Any more new business?”
Amerie hesitated. “Perhaps it’s too soon to bring this up. But there is the matter of the second phase of Madame’s plan.”
“Hai!” cried Old Man Kawai. “If Finiah is a success, Madame will want to send others south immediately!”
Philemon was uneasy. “We’ll do well to accomplish even a small part of the first phase of Madame’s plan, much less the other two. I say, leave this to Madame to work out when she returns. It’s her scheme. Perhaps she and that wild little person, Felice, will have worked something out.”
“Caracoles,” grumbled Marialena. “I must consider the later phases, even if the rest of you shirk your responsibility. If our people must go south without proper provisions, it is I who receive the cowchip bouquet! Ahhh, I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you, querida,” the Chief said peaceably. “I’ll talk with you tomorrow about a possible division of rations. But I think that’s the best we can do for now on Phase Two or Three planning. There are too many unknown factors…”
“Such as who will survive Finiah!” wailed Old Man Kawai. “Or, if we even mount the Finiah attack in the first place!”
Vanda-Jo slapped one hand on the table. “Tails up! No defeatism allowed! We’ve going to hit those high-pocket bastards like they’ve never been hit before. And, Khalid, I’ve got dibbies on one iron arrowhead, if you please. There’s a certain Tanu stud on the other side of the Rhine whose ass belongs to me.”
“If you’re sure that one will do it,” the metalsmith laughed.
“Order,” Burke muttered. “Chair will entertain a motion to table strategy planning for the Grand Combat.”
“So move,” said Amerie. It was quickly affirmed and seconded.
“Any more new business?” the Chief asked. Silence.
“Move adjournment,” said Old Man Kawai. “Past my bedtime.”
“Second,” said Uwe, and the Steering Committee meeting came to an end. Everyone except Chief Burke bade Amerie goodnight and slipped away into the shadows. The quondam judge stretched out his wounded leg for the nun to examine.
At length she said, “There’s nothing more I can do for you, Peo. Hot soaks and moderate exercise to keep the muscles from tightening. I can give you a herendorf to block the pain on D-Day.”
He waved a deprecating hand. “We’ll save it for somebody who really needs it.”
“As you like.”
They went outside, where the village was quiet except for faint insect noises. It was nearly midnight and the moon was still down. Burke craned his neck and studied the starry vault of the sky.
“There it is, just above the rim of the canyon,” he said, pointing.
“What?” she inquired.
“Ah, I forgot you were a newcomer, Amerie. The constellation we call the Trumpet. See the triangular bell, the four bright stars forming the straight tube? Take special note of the mouthpiece star. It’s the most important one in all the sky, at least to the Tanu and Firvulag. On the day when it culminates at midnight over Finiah and High Vrazel, those are the oldest settlements, remember, it will mark the opening of the five-day Grand Combat.”
“The date?”
“By our Milieu calendar, around October 31 or November 1.”
“You’re kidding!”
“It’s true. And the noon culmination that takes place exactly six months later comes around May Day. The exotics have another big show then, which Tanu and Firvulag celebrate separately, the Grand Love Feast. Most popular with the females of the species, it’s said.”
“That’s really very odd,” Amerie said. “I’m no folklorist, but those two dates…”
“I know. Only in our time, there was no good explanation, in astronomy or anything else, for the ritualization of those days rather than any others occurring about the same times.”
“It’s ridiculous to assume a correlation.”
“Oh, certainly.” The Native American’s face was inscrutable in the starlight.
“I mean, six million years.”
“Do you know the significance of the mouthpiece star? It’s a marker. Their home galaxy lies almost directly behind the star.”
“Oh, Peo. How many light years?”
“A hell of a lot more than six million. So in one way, they’ve come even farther away from home than we have, poor devils.”
He gave her a brief salute and limped away, leaving her standing beneath the stars.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“But it isn’t blue!” Felice protested. “It’s brown.”
Madame changed the course of their dinghy to avoid a stranded snag. “The color brown, it lacks that certain cachet. The composer wished to evoke the river’s beauty.”
The girl gave a contemptuous snort as she studied the terrain “This place would never win any prizes. Too dry. It looks like it hasn’t rained for months.” She knelt upright in the bow of the little boat and scanned the open dun-colored slopes with the aid of Madaine Guderian’s little monocular. Only in the arroyos and in the flats nearest the Danube were there areas of green. The widely scattered groves of trees had a dusty bluish look.
“I can see a few small herds of hipparions and antelopes,” the girl said after a time. “Nothing else seems to be alive in those uplands on the left bank. No sign of the crater. Nothing distinctive at all except that little volcano yesterday. You don’t think we could have passed it by, do you? This damn river really rolls”
“Richard will tell us at noon.”
The old woman and the athlete had shared one decamole boat since the party had emerged from the Water Caves nearly two days ago. Claude, Martha, and Richard occupied a second boat that drifted a few dozen meters ahead of them on the swift current of the Bright Ystroll. In spite of the drought they had made splendid time, since the flood received most of its water from the Alps, which shone white in the far south. On the previous night they had pulled up on a wooded gravel bar to sleep, the Bogle having warned them against camping on shore. They were grateful for their isolation when they were awakened later by the cries of hyenas. Claude told them that some of the Pliocene species attained the bulk of large bears and were active predators as well as scavengers.
For navigation, they had one precious map. Back at the Tree, Richard had traced pertinent portions from the fading plass of a venerable Kiimmerley +Frey Strassenkarte von Europa (Zweitausendjahrige Ausgabe), which a nostalgic Lowlife treasured as his dearest memento of times to come. The old road map was dim and difficult to decipher, and Claude had warned Richard that the watershed of the Pliocene Danube was going to be greatly altered during the coming Ice Age by volumes of glacial till washing down from the Alps. The tributary streams of the upper Danube that were shown on the map would likely occupy different positions during the Pliocene; and the bed of the great river itself would lie farther south, twisted all out of recognition. The travelers could not hope to follow Galactic Age landmarks to the Ries crater. But there was one precious bit of data from the old map that would have retained its validity over six million years: the exact longitudinal component in kilometers between the meridian of High Vrazel peak (alias Grand Ballon) and that of the Ries (symbolized on the map by the future city of Nordlingen, which lay within what would be a mere ringwall plain on the Elder Earth). No matter how the Ystroll wandered, it was still bound to cross the Ries meridian. As nearly as Richard had been able to determine from the decrepit plass of the road map, the linear distance was 260 kilometers, three and one-half degrees of longitude east of the “prime meridian” of High Vrazel.