The Overlords of War (3 page)

“I had no option,” he said. “Like they say, all’s fair in love and war.”

Nonplused, she stared at him. “What war are you talking about? Corson, you’re out of your mind!”

“George,” he said. “George Corson.”

At least she had not foreseen that, the other half of his full name, or at any rate she had not bothered to use it. With deliberation he set about untying her. He realized that that was why her face had relaxed. She let him do it without saying a word. Then she rose in a single movement, rubbed her wrists, confronted him and—before he had time to move—slapped his face, twice. He did not react.

“Just as I thought,” she said scornfully. “You can’t even cog. How could an atavism like you crop up? What use are you? Oh, something like this could only happen to me!”

She shrugged her shoulders and turned away, her gray eyes fixed on the sea over which the craft was soundlessly floating.

Exactly like the heroine of an old teleplay, Corson thought. A prewar teleplay of the kind in which girls would pick up guys by the road, and a lot of more or less dreadful things would happen to them, and generally they wound up falling in love. Myths. Like coffee, or tobacco—or a ship such as this one.

“That’ll teach me to invite people in whom I don’t know,” she went on, as though playing a part in just such a teleplay. “We’ll find out who you are when we get to Dyoto. Until then, you behave yourself. I have influential friends.”

“The Princes of Uria?” Corson suggested sarcastically.

“I’ve never heard of any princes. Maybe in legendary times . .

Corson swallowed hard.

“Is this planet at peace?”

“Oh, only since twelve centuries ago to my knowledge! And I hope it’ll stay that way to the end of time.”

“Do you know any of the natives?”

“Yes, of course. They’re avians. Intelligent, harmless, spend most of their time discussing philosophy. Slightly decadent types. Ngal

R’nda is one of my best friends. Say, who do you think you’re dealing with?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. That was a strict and literal truth.

Her manner softened. “I’m hungry,” she said. “You must be too, I imagine. I’ll go and see if I’m still capable of fixing something for us after what you’ve put me through.” He could not detect the slightest apprehension in her tone, only friendliness.

“Your name?” he said. “After all, you do know mine.”

“Floria,” she answered. “Floria Van Nelle.”

That’s the first woman who’s told me her name in five years . . .

“No,” he corrected himself silently. “If I’m not dreaming, if this is not a trap, or a hallucination, the three-dimensional full-color delirium of a dying man, then in twelve hundred years, or two thousand, or three thousand.”

She was putting a glass in his hand. He almost dropped it.

When he was full, his brain started to work normally again. He took stock of the situation. He still had no idea what could have happened on Uria except that apparently a state of peaceful coexistence obtained between the millions of humans who lived here and the scarcely more numerous native population. He knew he was bound for Dyoto, an important city, in company with the loveliest girl he had ever set eyes on.

And that the Monster was wandering in the Urian forest, ready to breed, to give birth to eighteen thousand little Monsters who would quickly become as dangerous as their parent. That would be in at most six months, perhaps less if the Monster found plenty to eat.

Now he could work out what had most likely happened. When the Monster hurled itself clear of the ship just before the explosion, it had not made a jump of a few seconds through time, but a journey across millennia. And had dragged George Corson along. The Princes of Uria no longer existed; nor did the Solar Powers. The war had been lost or won, but in any case forgotten. He could consider himself discharged from the service and abandon his soldier’s uniform. Or else he could regard himself as a kind of involuntary deserter, marooned in the future. He was no longer any more than one man lost among the billions of citizens of a galactic federation covering the whole of the Lens and extending towards the Andromeda Nebula. It united planets he would doubtless never go to, linked by a network of transmatters allowing virtually instantaneous transit from world to world.

Now, he had no identity, no past to live down, no mission to accomplish. From Dyoto, he could head for any of the stars he had seen shining in the night sky and there pursue the only profession he knew, war. Or choose another. He could run away, forget Earth, forget Uria, forget the Monster, forget this girl Floria Van Nelle, lose himself for ever in the mazes of space.

And let the new inhabitants of Uria figure out on their own how to cope with the Monster and—soon—its eighteen thousand offspring.

But he couldn’t fool himself. He was aware it would be a long time before he stopped asking himself one all-important question: why had Floria come to pick him up just in time?

Why did she give the impression that she was acting, rather poorly, a role she had learned by heart? Why had she switched from anger, which wasn’t faked, to cordiality as soon as she had her wits about her again?

From a distance Dyoto resembled an enormous pyramid whose base rested on air more than a kilometer above the ground, a jagged cloud along whose sides dark planes flecked with sparkling dots of light were ranged like geological strata on the flank of an eroded mountain. It took Corson’s breath away.

Then the pyramid seemed to disintegrate. The cloud became a labyrinth. The buildings, or machines, which composed the city were widely spaced one from another. A twin river jetted vertically from the earth and ran through the city like a pillar trapped inside an invisible tube. Vehicles flitted along the city’s three-dimensional arteries. Just as the ship carrying Corson reached its outskirts, two major buildings, both cubical in shape, rose skyward and flew off toward the ocean.

Dyoto, Corson told himself, was a fine example of city planning based on antigravity and bearing the stamp of an anarchically conceived society. In his experience the use of antigrav was confined to warships. As for anarchy, that was no more to him than a historical label; it had no place in time of war. Every man, every object, had a role assigned by the system. But in twelve centuries, or however many millennia, there had been time for things to change. At first sight it was clear that antigrav must now be as common as fusion power. Could it itself have become a source of energy? He had heard vaguely about projects of that kind. Antigrav generators aboard warships consumed a hell of a lot of power, but that meant nothing. The forces exerted by one mass on another must also represent a vast energy potential.

Such a city, by contrast with those he was used to, was not a more or less fixed collection of structures. It was a fluid group of them; one could cast or hoist anchor at will. Only the primary function of the city endured, that of bringing people together so they could exchange goods and ideas.

Slowly Floria’s ship climbed along one of the faces of the pyramid. The buildings were so arranged, Corson noted, that even the lowest stories of the city enjoyed a great deal of sunlight. That argued the existence of some central authority, regulating traffic and allotting places to new arrivals.

"Here we are,” Floria said abruptly. “What are you going to do?” “I thought you were going to turn me over to the police.”

Seeming interested, she said, “That’s what would have happened in your time? Well, the lawmen will find you by themselves if that’s what they want. I’m not sure they still know how to carry out an arrest, though. The last one must have happened a decade ago.”

“I—I assaulted you.”

She burst out laughing. “Let’s say I needled you, shall we? And it’s been a terrific experience, keeping company with a man who can’t tell from one moment to the next what you’re going to say or do.”

She walked straight up to him and kissed him on the mouth, then drew back before he had time to clutch at her. He stood there gaping. Then he told himself that what she’d said had the ring of truth. Meeting him had excited her. Well, she might not be used to men like him, but he knew women like her. He had found favor in her eyes because he had used violence against her. So the fundamental characteristics of humanity couldn’t have changed in these twelve centuries even if certain superficial talents had evolved.

He could capitalize on a situation like this.

But something in him rebelled. He wanted to get the hell out. A kind of instinct was urging him to put the maximum possible distance between this planet and himself. The impulse was solidly founded on what he knew was going to happen here. Possibly in twelve centuries—or more—the human race had made enough progress to get rid of eighteen thousand Monsters easily. He doubted it. And he was well aware that if he stayed in Floria’s vicinity much longer he was going to become attached to her in a way that would seriously hamper his freedom of action.

“Thanks for everything,” he said. “If I can do anything in return one day . . . ?”

“You’re very sure of yourself,” she said. “And where are you thinking of going?”

“Some other planet, I hope. I . . . Well, I get around a lot, and I’ve spent plenty of time on this world.”

Her eyes widened a little. “I won’t ask why you’re lying, Corson. But I am wondering why you lie so badly.”

“I enjoy it.”

“Not very much, apparently.”

“I do my best.”

He was aching to put a multitude of questions to her, but he bit them back. He would have to explore this new universe on his own. For the time being he wanted to keep his secret, so he would have to make do with the meager data he had acquired during this morning’s conversation.

“I’d hoped for something else,” she said. “Still, it’s up to you.”

“I can do you a favor anyhow. I’m going to get off this planet.

You do the same. In a few months life here is apt to be intolerable.”

“Go with you?” she countered ironically. “You’re not even capable of seeing one minute into the future, and here you are playing the prophet! Well, I’ll give you some advice in return. Get some new clothes. If you don’t you’ll look very silly.”

Embarrassed, he emptied the pockets of his combat uniform and accepted a sort of tunic which she offered him.

When on Mars, breathe like a Martian . . .

The ship was pulling alongside an aerial jetty now. Corson felt really silly in his new outfit. The craft came to a dead stop.

“Have you an incinerator?”

“A what?”

He bit his lip. "Ah . . . Something which gets rid of refuse.”

“An eraser? Well, of course."

She showed him how the device worked. He rolled his uniform into a ball and tossed it in. The loose-fitting clothes he had put on would adequately hide his gun, under his left armpit. He was almost certain she had spotted the weapon, but that she had no idea of its purpose. The uniform vanished before his eyes.

He went straight to the door, which opened for him. On the point of leaving, he wanted to say something, but words would not come. He made a vague gesture with one hand. For the moment, his mind Was dominated by a single obsession.

He needed somewhere quiet to think out how he could get the hell away from Uria—fast

The landing stage was soft under his boots—correction: under his sandals, now. A pang of alarm struck him as he looked around. He could have stayed longer with Floria, picked up a lot more information ... As far as he could tell, his haste to get away stemmed from an ancient soldier’s reflex: never stay longer than you have to in a temporary hideout. Keep moving, always keep on the move!

So his present behavior was still conditioned by a war over a millennium old, which he had resigned from the night before. But he was aware of something else, too. Floria was young, lovely, and very likely available. He himself came from an epoch of total war, where practically every ounce of human energy was devoted to combat or to the industrial effort which made fighting possible. He was suddenly exposed here to the possibilities of a world where individual happiness appeared to be the only law. The contrast was too much for him. He had left the ship because in Floria’s company he suspected he would not be able to think straight.

He reached the end of the landing stage and studied with mistrust narrow gangways fitted with handrails, steeply slanting ramps. He was worried that he might draw attention to himself by his nervousness, but he soon realized that nobody was likely to notice. In his universe, a stranger was instantly assumed to be a spy even though it

was absurd to imagine that a Urian would risk entering a city held by humans. A spy scare had an additional purpose apart from maintaining security. It kept people’s minds busy. He was cynical enough to recognize the fact.

These inhabitants of Dyoto displayed a lot of courage. They leaped from one ramp to another even if they were twenty or thirty meters away. Corson thought for a moment that they must have miniaturized antigrav units hidden in their clothes, but soon realized he was wrong. At his own first attempt he jumped from a height of three meters, landed with his knees bent, and nearly fell over. He had expected a much more violent impact. Emboldened, he tried a dive of twelve meters or so, and saw coming straight toward him a tiny aircar. The machine had to swerve to avoid him and its pilot turned a face pale with rage or fright. He told himself he must have broken a traffic regulation. He moved on quickly, afraid of finding some sort of patrolman at his heels.

Most of the time the people around him seemed not to be heading anywhere special. They spun and wheeled like insects, darted down three stories, let themselves be swept up by invisible air currents which set them down six levels higher, chatted for a moment with an acquaintance, and continued on their senseless way. From time to time somebody entered one of the buildings that formed the skeleton of the city.

Loneliness overcame Corson some three hours later. He was hungry and he felt tired. His initial excitement had subsided. He had assumed he would locate, without difficulty, a public restaurant or a dormitory, or the two combined, such as existed on all planets occupied by the Solar Powers for the benefit of soldiers and travelers, but he had failed to spot one. He dared not question any of the passers-by. Eventually he decided to enter one of the larger buildings. Beyond its door there was a vast hall. Things were laid out on immense counters. Thousands of people were milling around and helping themselves.