The Rebel Worlds
by Poul Anderson
Make oneness.
I/we: Feet belonging to Guardian Of North Gate and others who can be, to Raft Farer and Woe who will no longer be, to Many Thoughts, Cave Discoverer, and Master Of Songs who can no longer be; Wings belonging to Iron Miner and Lightning Struck The House and others to be, to Many Thoughts who can no longer be; young Hands that has yet to share memories: make oneness.
(O light, wind, river! They flood too strongly, they tear me/us apart.)
Strength. This is not the first young Hands which has come here to remember the journey that was made so many years before he/she was born; nor shall this be the last. Think strength, think calm.
(Blurred, two legs, faceless … no, had they beaks?)
Remember. Lie down at ease where leaves whisper beneath hues of upthrusting land coral; drink light and wind and sound of the river. Let reminiscence flow freely, of deeds that were done before this my/our Hands came to birth.
(Clearer, now: so very strange they were, how can the sight of them even be seen, let alone held in me/ us? … Answer: The eye learns to see them, the nose to smell them, the ear to hear them, the tongue of the Feet and the limbs of the Wings and the Hands to touch their skins and feel, the tendrils to taste what they exude.)
This goes well. More quickly than usual. Perhaps i/we can become a good oneness that will often have reason to exist.
(Flicker of joy. Tide of terror at the rising memories — alienness, peril, pain, death, rebirth to torment.)
Lie still. It was long ago.
But time too is one. Now is unreal; only past-and-future has the length to be real. What happened then must be known to Us. Feel in every fiber of my/our young Hands, that i/we am/are part of Us — We of Thunderstone, Ironworkers, Fellers and Builders, Flowers, Housedwellers, and lately Traders — and that each oneness. We may create must know of those who come from beyond heaven, lest their dangerous marvels turn into Our ruin.
Wherefore let Hands unite with Feet and Wings. Let the oneness once again recall and reflect on the journey of Cave Discoverer and Woe, in those days when the strangers, who had but single bodies and yet could talk, marched over-mountain to an unknown battle. With every such reflection, as with every later encounter, i/we gain a little more insight, go a little further along the trail that leads to understanding them.
Though it may be that on that trail, We are traveling in a false direction. The unit who led them said on a certain night that he/she/it/? doubted if they understood themselves, or ever would.
I
The prison satellite swung in a wide and canted orbit around Llynathawr, well away from normal space traffic. Often a viewport in Hugh McCormac’s cell showed him the planet in different phases. Sometimes it was a darkness, touched with red-and-gold sunrise on one edge, perhaps the city Catawrayannis nickering like a star upon its night. Sometimes it was a scimitar, the sun burning dazzlingly close. Now and then he saw it full, a round shield of brilliance, emblazoned on oceans azure with clouds argent above continents vert and tenné.
Terra looked much the same at the same distance. (Closer in, you became aware that she was haggard, as is any former beauty who has been used by too many men.) But Terra was a pair of light-centuries removed. And neither world resembled rusty, tawny Aeneas for which McCormac’s eyes hungered.
The satellite had no rotation; interior weight was due entirely to gravity-field generators. However, its revolution made heaven march slowly across the viewpoint. When Llynathawr and sun had disappeared, a man’s pupils readjusted and he became able to see other stars. They crowded space, unwinking, jewel-colored, winter-sharp. Brightest shone Alpha Crucis, twin blue-white giants less than ten parsecs away; but Beta Crucis, a single of the same kind, was not much further off in its part of the sky. Elsewhere, trained vision might identify the red glimmers of Aldebaran and Arcturus. They resembled fires which, though remote, warmed and lighted the camps of men. Or vision might swing out to Deneb and Polaris, unutterably far beyond the Empire and the Empire’s very enemies. That was a cold sight.
Wryness tugged at McCormac’s mouth. If Kathryn were tuned in on my mind, he thought, she’d say there must be something in Leviticus against mixing so many metaphors.
He dared not let the knowledge of her dwell with him long. I’m lucky to have an outside cell. Not uncomfortable, either. Surely this wasn’t Snelund’s intention.
The assistant warden had been as embarrassed and apologetic as he dared. “We, uh, well, these are orders for us to detain you, Admiral McCormac,” he said. “Direct from the governor. Till your trial or … transportation to Terra, maybe … uh … till further orders.” He peered at the fax on his desk, conceivably hoping that the words it bore had changed since his first perusal. “Uh, solitary confinement, incommunicado — state-of-emergency powers invoked — Frankly, Admiral McCormac, I don’t see why you aren’t allowed, uh, books, papers, even projections to pass the time … I’ll send to His Excellency and ask for a change.” I know why, McCormac had thought. Partly spite; mainly, the initial stage in the process of breaking me. His back grew yet stiffen Well, let them try!
The sergeant of the housecarl platoon that had brought the prisoner up from Catawrayannis Port said in his brassiest voice, “Don’t address traitors by titles they’ve forfeited.”
The assistant warden sat bolt upright, nailed them all with a look, and rapped: “Sergeant, I was twenty years in the Navy before retiring to my present job. I made CPO. Under His Majesty’s regulations, any officer of Imperials ranks every member of any paramilitary local force. Fleet Admiral McCormac may have been relieved of command, but unless and until he’s decommissioned by a proper court-martial or by direct fiat from the throne, you’ll show him respect or find yourself in worse trouble than you may already be in.”
Flushed, breathing hard, he seemed to want to say more. Evidently he thought better of it. After a moment, during which a couple of the burly guards shifted from foot to foot, he added merely: “Sign the prisoner over to me and get out.”
“We’re supposed to—” the sergeant began.
“If you have written orders to do more than deliver this gentleman into custody, let’s see them.” Pause. “Sign him over and get out. I don’t plan to tell you again.”
McCormac placed the assistant warden’s name and face in his mind as carefully as he had noted each person involved in his arrest. Someday — if ever—
What had become of the man’s superior? McCormac didn’t know. Off Aeneas, he had never been concerned with civilian crime or penology. The Navy looked after its own. Sending him here was an insult tempered only by the fact that obviously it was done to keep him away from brother officers who’d try to help him. McCormac guessed that Snelund had replaced a former warden with a favorite or a bribegiver — as he’d done to many another official since he became sector governor — and that the new incumbent regarded the post as a sinecure.
In any case, the admiral was made to exchange his uniform for a gray coverall; but he was allowed to do so in a booth. He was taken to an isolation cell; but although devoid of ornament and luxury, it had room for pacing and facilities for rest and hygiene. The ceiling held an audiovisual scanner; but it was conspicuously placed, and no one objected when he rigged a sheet curtain for his bunk. He saw no other being, heard no other voice; but edible food and clean fabrics came in through a valve, and he had a chute for disposal of scraps and soils. Above all else, he had the viewport.