Inferno: A Chronicle of a Distant World (The Galactic Comedy) (20 page)

Finally the road ended, and they got out of their vehicle and left it behind. Since the guide seemed confident that there was no need to lock or hide it, Cartright didn't suggest that he do so.

They walked along a rough dirt path for a few miles, with Cartright stopping to rest every half hour.

"Is something wrong?" asked the guide after the fourth halt.

"No," said Cartright, leaning against the thick bole of a tree and trying to catch his breath. "I've just realized that I'm not as young and fit as I used to be."

The guide accomodated him by slowing the pace, and at noontime they came to an encampment in the midst of a large clearing. There were some fifteen tents, including a huge one that Cartright assumed must be Krakanna's. A number of jasons, some of them adult, most adolescents, were going about their chores, cleaning weapons, gathering firewood, policing the grounds.

Two small jason boys, both armed, were squatting down playing a game that involved a number of sticks and pebbles; when they saw Cartright, they immediately stood up and saluted. Cartright smiled at them, then realized as they remained rigid and motionless that they were waiting for him to return their salute. He did so, one of them smiled at him, and they went back to their game.

He was then ushered into a large tent, and he found himself face-to-face with a small, wiry, middle-aged jason who stood up to greet him.

"I am James Krakanna," he said, extending his hand. "I am very glad you decided to come, Mr. Cartright."

"I'll be very blunt with you, Mr. Krakanna," said Cartright, taking his hand. "You have done many things of which I disapprove. But you are opposed to Sibo Dushu, and for that reason alone, it would have been criminally irresponsible for me not to at least listen to what you have to say."

"Fair enough," said Krakanna. "I admire your honesty."

"To the best of my knowledge, we have never met before," continued Cartright. May I ask why you have sought me out?"

"We have never before met as equals," replied Krakanna, "but I have seen you many times. You were an important force in Faligor's history, Mr. Cartright, and now you are one of the last Men on the planet." He paused. "Our recent history is as much your doing as anyone's, and I thought you might like to help set things right."

"Now just a minute . . ." began Cartright heatedly.

"I make no accusations," interrupted Krakanna. "I place no blame. I do not question your love for Faligor. I only point out that prior to Man's attempts to shape us into your version of utopia, there was no carnage, there was no genocide, there was no Gama Labu or William Barioke or Sibo Dushu."

"We never meant for them to abuse their power," said Cartright.

"I know that. And yet they have abused it. The three of them have killed off very close to a third of our population. They have destroyed our economy, destroyed the fabric of our society, and alienated those worlds that might have been our friends. This is why I continue to wage war."

"With children," said Cartright disapprovingly.

"Look around you, Mr. Cartright," said Krakanna. "All that's left are children."

Cartright sighed deeply and considered the statement. "All right, Mr. Krakanna," he admitted. "You have a point."

"Please sit down, Mr. Cartright," said Krakanna, taking a chair for himself and indicating an empty one to Cartright, who gratefully walked over and sat on it. "I didn't send for you to make points, but to ask for your help. I am going to launch my attack on Dushu in about a month. I have bided my time, waiting until I knew there were no more tyrants lurking in the background. As far as I can tell, he is the last, and so my battle shall be with him. We will win, Mr. Cartright, but at enormous cost in life to both sides."

"How do I know you won't become just another tyrant after you win?" said Cartright, gratefully accepting a tall glass of water from an aide who entered the tent.

"You don't," replied Krakanna. "But you have free run of my camp, and I will see to it that you are given free passage to any area that is under my control. You may ask questions of anyone you encounter—soldier, villager, nomad, it makes no difference—and I will instruct your escorts to let you ask those questions in private. Before you leave, I want you to satisfy yourself that what I tell you now is the truth."

"That seems fair."

"It is essential that I be fair with you, Mr. Cartright," he said, "because I am going to make you do something you have never done before: I am going to make you choose between two sides and support one of them."

"I support whatever is best for Faligor," said Cartright.

"Empty words, Mr. Cartright. It is time for you to stop being a passive observer, and join the forces of Good against those of Evil. It is that simple."

"Nothing is ever that simple," said Cartright.

"This is," answered Krakanna forcefully. He paused for a moment, as if trying to order his thoughts. "I want you to know," he continued, "that not a single one of my followers has ever been paid so much as a single credit in salary, and yet we have not had any deserters in more than four years."

"How do they live?"

"The same way we lived before you came to Faligor: off the land."

"How large is your army?" asked Cartright.

"Large enough for the task at hand. I also want it noted that we have never killed any moles or Men, and the only jasons we have killed have been those wearing the military uniforms of Barioke or Dushu, nor will we kill Dushu when we capture Remus."

"How can I prove that to my satisfaction?" asked Cartright. "Your soldiers will almost certainly support your statements."

"Ask any villager you come across. Offer my soldiers money to contradict what I have said. You are an intelligent man, Mr. Cartright; you will find ways to determine whether or not I am telling the truth."

"All right," said Cartright. "Let me grant for the moment that everything you have said is true. What does that have to do with me? I still don't know why you wanted to see me."

"I have been observing you for years, Mr. Cartright," said Krakanna, "and I have come to the conclusion that you are an honorable man. Not a practical or a realistic one, but an honorable one, which is sufficient for my purposes." He paused again, while Cartright tried to decide whether he had just been complimented or insulted. "The few doctors that were not killed by Labu and Barioke work in the cities; we do not have any medical personnel with our army. Our medical supplies, by which I mean those we have stolen, are minimal, and I suspect Dushu will destroy his own once he realizes that the battle is lost and my troops will soon be occupying both Romulus and Remus. Dushu has gathered all his troops around the two cities and this promises to be the bloodiest battle ever fought on this planet. A good many of the wounded on both sides will need expert medical attention, and this is where you come in."

"How?" asked Cartright.

"I want you to become our representative to the Republic, and to urge them to arrive with medics and supplies after we launch our final attack. Their presence here could save literally thousands of jason lives—on both sides."

"I'm surprised you care what happens to your enemies," said Cartright.

"There is a difference between necessary killing and senseless slaughter, Mr. Cartright," replied Krakanna. "And unlike my predecessors, I do not plan to unite this planet by killing off every last jason who disagrees with me. In case it has escaped your notice, it's been tried before without much success." He paused. "Well, Mr. Cartright, on which side do you stand?"

"I'm not sure yet," answered Cartright. "I like what I have heard, but I have been fooled before." He stared at Krakanna. "Why are you on record as opposing a democratic form of government?"

"I oppose it at this point in time because the general populace's lack of literacy and the sad state of communications—radio, video, holo, newspaper—makes it impossible for more than a small percentage of us to cast an informed vote."

"And the alternative is to install yourself as dictator?" asked Cartright dryly.

"I have no intention of being a dictator," rplied Krakanna. "There are many forms of government other than democracy and tyranny, Mr Cartright. "Your race's home planet offers numerous examples, ranging from monarchy through republic through socialism and communism. Your African nation of Botswana had a popularly-elected president and lower house of legislature, while the upper house was composed entirely of hereditary tribal chiefs."

"You seem to have studied us very thoroughly."

Krakanna smiled. "I was a teacher of political science before I became a guerilla leader. I have fond hopes of returning to that profession someday."

Cartright stared at him for a long moment.

"If you can convince me you are telling the truth," he said, "I will do whatever I can to help you."

28.

Dear Susan:

I have been to see James Krakanna, and I have come away convinced that he is the one jason who can save this beleaguered world.

I know, I know, I've said that before about other leaders, but this time I'm sure that I'm right. We spoke for many hours, and while I do not wholly approve of his politics or his methods, they were both shaped by the events that I helped to trigger through my ignorance and my idealism. Even an old man can learn from his mistakes, and I think I am learning from mine.

Krakanna claims that he has no desire to rule Faligor, that he wants to reinstate the original constitution and hold elections within three months of forcing Dushu out of office. I've heard that before from every other leader, and I must confess that while I think he believes it, I don't foresee it happening. Nor would it necessarily be a good thing: Krakanna has too much to offer to go back to being a schoolteacher. There probably aren't twenty jasons left alive with the equivalent of a college education; Faligor can't afford not to make use of each of them.

I spent almost two days as Krakanna's "guest," going where I pleased and speaking to whomever I pleased, and I rid myself of a number of misconceptions. For example, while I have been calling this a children's army for quite some time, well over half its members are battle-hardened adults, and they're in command of most of the units. But it's the children that you see and the children that you remember. During the time I was there I saw literally thousands of them. Most were undernourished, some were unarmed, very few of them spoke or understood Terran, but all of them were unfailingly friendly and polite—and most of them had been in combat.

I stopped to speak to some of them, and inevitably their stories were the same: their families, and frequently their entire villages, had been destroted by Labu or Barioke or, in the case of the most recent recuits, Dushu. They had managed to escape and lived only for revenge. Eventually they linked up with other survivors, and finally they had found (or been found by) Krakanna's forces, which they had immediately joined. It was amazing to speak to fourteen-year-old jasons who had known nothing but the life of a soldier for five or six or even seven years.

During my second day there, Krakanna took me to the Ramsey National Park. As we drove in through the main gate, I saw the remains of the devastation that Labu's goons had caused, and further on there were piles of bleached bones where they had used herds of Thunderbulls for target practice. There were a few avians in the sky, and a couple of small animals in the trees, but by and large my overwhelming impression was one of desolation.

We drove about five miles, then turned off the track and headed toward a dense patch of bush. Finally he parked the vehicle just short of the bush and waited.

I sat motionless for almost half an hour, wondering what it was we were anticipating, and then suddenly he grabbed my shoulder and pointed at a movement behind the nearest patch of foliage—and suddenly, nine stately, majestic Thunderbulls paraded past, on their way to water.

Like everyone else, Krakanna had thought all the Thunderbulls were dead, and was thrilled to find out that he was wrong. These nine had been so widely dispersed that they might never have found each other in a park as huge as this one, but Krakanna's people managed to drive them togther, and now there is a breeding herd of two males and seven females. He told me he longed for the day that there would once again be thousands of Thunderbulls in the park, possibly all descended from these nine, and observed by tourists from a hundred different races.

Personally, I don't think he gives a damn about Thunderbulls as such; he sees them as a way to rebuild the tourism industry and attract hard currency and put jasons to work—but on the other hand, I don't think his motives are as important as the end result, which will be to both save the wildlife and reestablish a necessary industry.

I know I have had my enthusiasms in the past, but I truly believe that in Krakanna I have found the one jason who might yet save this planet. I have agreed to help him, to act as his go-between with the Republic, and suddenly I'm excited, because for the first time in too many years I'll be doing something to help, rather than just wringing my hands.

It will be dangerous, but I feel alive again!

Love,

Arthur

29.

As if Faligor didn't have enough problems, it found itself visited with another during Sibo Dushu's reign. Villagers and city-dwellers alike began dying by the dozens, then the hundreds, and ultimately the thousands, with the villagers hit the worst. The symptoms were always the same: the victim would begin slurring his speech and limping, and within weeks or months would gradually lose control of his body until he could no longer walk or even feed himself. The muscles began to atrophy, and no amount of exercise or medication could strengthen them. Eventually, since he could not even masticate, he starved to death. Even those victims who were moved to hospitals and given intravenous fluids were unable to handle them, and the end was always the same: a grotesque, skeletal corpse.