John Rackham (5 page)

"Ah!"
Jasar pushed his picture device to one side a little. "Maybe I can
explain that one to you a bit more easily." He halted, glanced up in some
surprise as Widow Fairfax came close, with an earthenware flagon couched in her
elbow and a beaker into which she poured something and set before him.

"Ale!"
she said.
" Tis
but thin stuff, but better in my
belief than the honey-sweet mead which is all they know of, hereabouts. I brew
it myself, from a method learned by my husband from a wandering friar, many
years ago. There is enough and to spare. Do not stint."

Jasar
sampled the brew, rolling it on his tongue, then swallowed and made a grave
nod. "It has edge, body, and a fine flavor. I thank you, madam. May you
live long and regret nothing. Now, Jack, what about you?
Techniques
of war.
Strategy.
Command
positions.
How do I convey that to you? I think I know." He brought
back the magic screen, dissolved the picture on it, produced a small rod, and
began to draw in swift sure lines of light, "A valley. Your men gathered
just here. This is a pass in the hills. Narrow. And your men must pass through
to join up with friendly forces. But your
enemy, not in great
numbers but with equal arms, hold
the heights on either side, here and
here. They see all that you do. They can shoot down on you, where you expend
all your effort merely to throw a shot that high. You are stuck. Together with
your allies on the far side you are strong enough to sweep the enemy from the
height, but so long as you are divided you can't do that. Every time you try
the height, you lose more men than they do. Is it clear? What do you do
now?"

Jack
studied the crude plan carefully, thinking his way into the problem, fleshing
out the thin lines with his own inner pictures of hills he had seen.
"There may be some greater cunning that escapes me," he suggested,
"at this very moment. I am no soldier. The best that comes to my mind is
this. Somehow the enemy must be shaken, dislodged from that height, met on
level ground."
"Granted.
But
how?"

Jack
scowled at it again. "If these be hills such as I know, then there would
most likely be trees, and bushes abounding. Given a small force of men skilled
in woodcraft and light of foot, would it not be possible for them to go
around, here, and thus take the enemy position in the rear? To strike swift and
sudden, while all their eyes are intent the other way? Without knowing more of
the countryside at that point I can think of little else."

Jasar
chuckled. "I'm going to take some of the credit for the way I put it out
and at you, but let not that detract anything from you and what you said. You
have described it exactly on the hairline. That is precisely what I am on the
point of trying to do. Agreed I am only one, by myself, but I have a trick or
two to offset that. Let's look again at the other diagram." He brought
back the array of red and blue stars and lines, and pointed at one spot.
"This the precise
equivalent of that pass
. Our
forces are here and here. That red web is stopping us from joining together.
And that is the key point. It is a fortress with an ill-defended rear. That's
because it is backed on to an unexplored and undeveloped sector of this
galactic quadrant.
In your terms, a wild wood free of hostile
powers.
But there—" he made an arrow with the little rod— "is
where we are, right now. You see? All their attention is concentrated that way.
I am past and around them, and ready to strike from the rear."

Jack
eyed that lonely white arrow, all by itself. "I understand your parable,
Sir Jasar, but you are still but one man.
Against a
host?"

"As I said, I have a few tricks."
Jasar*s easy good humor faded and he became more stern than Jack would have
believed possible. "I mount the kind of trickery that a solitary man can
risk and get away with, where a gang would only get in each other's way. And
there is always this, Jack. A man can die only once. Better that one man should
chance his life, and possibly lose it, than that millions be lost for the want
of a little nerve.
That"—he aimed a finger at
it—"we call it Hilax Four.
Their call-signal, that I have heard
often, is BB7 Arc. I have studied it in every possible detail we can get. I
think I can get in. I daresay he will drop and firm his screens at the first
sign of any breakthrough, but
I’ ll
be inside by then.
Thafs all I need."

"You
mean," Jack said, following the implication in the tone, "you can get
in, but not get back out again?"

"That's
about it. But don't you worry on my account
That's
my
job. Your pardon, madam, for bringing the ugly breath of war into this gracious
and peaceful dwelling, although I suspect the idea is no stranger, even
here."

"It
has become part of our lives of recent years," she admitted sadly. "I
am often told that I should be thankful my man died here at home and not away
in some strange far land, but I find naught to be thankful for in that,
nor
any sense in one man killing another, whatever the
reason. Sir Jasar, you make it sound as if wars and stories of wars are the
common lot of all manner of folk."

"Our
wise men tell us so, madam, even if they are not too well agreed on why it has
to happen that way. However, I will not bring my war around your home. All I
seek is a substantial area of solid bedrock,
a
sound foundation on which I can build a temporary structure. Of
a
size
..
.
how
do you
measure, Jack? What units do you use?"

Without
really understanding, Jack said.
"Why
...
an inch, a foot, a yard.
Or a chain, a furlong,
a
mile.
How big do you
seek?"

"Those are just words. How much is an
inch?"

Jack
spaced his finger and thumb, then shook his head at himself, went to his
quiver, came back with an arrow. "A yard is six and thirty inches. This
shaft is one more, is called a cloth yard because it is the custom with
a
tailor to allow for edging. So my father told me."

"Thirty-six
inches?"
Jasar was impressed.

'Twelve
inches to
a
foot, three feet to
a
yard." Jack was patient his mind catching the general idea now.
Jasar nodded.

"Duodecimal base.
That is rare. I must register that with my
record-log. Who knows, I may yet live to report it to the savants. What were
those others again?"

Still
patient, Jack explained ell and rod and chain to him. Jasar frowned in quick
calculation. "Yes, that's near enough. I need a base about a chain and
a
few inches across. Come and show me the lay of the land nearby, will
you?"

The sun was dipping low in the sky now. Jasar
found time to admire the cultivated patches, and was impressed to learn that
such a great area was all kept by hand labor.

"
I’ ll
take care not to spoil that for you, at any
rate," he promised. "You know, Jack, yours is a precarious living in
many ways, but it also has virtues. All of us are creatures of the planet we
live on. We all come in the first instance from the soil, the fertility of the
outer crust, and there is such a thing as getting too far away from our
origins, losing touch with the source. I've never grown a thing in my life,
wouldn't know how to begin."

They
were beyond the cabbage rows now and moving toward a stand of elms, treading on
tough bent grass. Jack snorted his rejection. "Little skill is called for
in making things grow, Sir Jasar, only a great deal of backaching labor and
much patience. I have no great stomach for spending the rest of my days in
grubbing in the ground. Had that branch not fallen when it did, I would now be
away, far.
overseas
with others from the village,
learning how to fight."

"You
lost out both ways, didn't you?" Jasar halted, looked around and nodded to
himself. "This will do very well, I think."

"For what?"
Jack wanted to know, and the little man chuckled.

"So
far, most of the time, you've asked the kind of questions I can give an answer
to, but I have the uncomfortable suspicion you are about to spoil that record.
Let's see, now." He tilted his head aside humorously. "I said
,
if you remember, that I wanted to build a structure. Which
is true, but it won't be your notion of building. More like growing. And it will
be tall.
Very tall."

"As
tall as a tree, perhaps?"

"Much more.
But think of it as a tree, if you like. If I call it a jump-grid, which
it will be, that won't mean anything to you. Just watch while I mark off the
spaces for it. Starting from here, I am going to mark off eight root-points.
This will be the first one." Jasar reached back and to one side with his
hand and that hand came back holding something from his belt that seemed to
snuggle into his hand as if it belonged there. Only a stubby end projected,
like a coppery finger. Jack watched intently, saw Jasar twist his hand and do
something delicate to that rod, then aim it downward at the grass-covered
ground. He heard a faint hum, saw a sudden eye-hurting white glare. Then a
crackle, and a boiling of a gray-white smoke, ripped away in the breeze . . .
and there, down through the tough grass to the soil below was a perfectly round
hole about eighteen inches across, and vapor lifted lazily from the exposed
earth.

Now
Jasar took another device from his belt, held it to one eye as if peering into
it for a moment or two. Then he did something again with the grass-eater, held
it as if aiming, peered into the other thing
...
and this time the dazzling glare was as fine as a hair, but long, striking
slantwise ahead and to the ground. Again there was acrid smoke in the breeze.
Now Jasar started off treading the line he had made, came to a halt, aimed that
thing down, and Jack knew he was cutting another hole. Then he turned and went
off at an angle and did it all over again.
And again.
Until he had created eight holes and was back where he had started.

"That's
the first bit." He grinned mischievously at Jack's expression.
"Cleared away the grass and weeds.
Now we plant the
seeds. Going to help me?"

"What
must I do?" Jack was uneasy but determined not to show it. It could not be
evil, he reasoned, under such a smile. Jasar led the way now back to that
peculiar ship of his, with its uncanny skin-pricking aura. Once inside he
clicked open a low-backed cupboard and reached inside, to bring out a thing
that was mostly metal rod, wrist-thick, sharp-pointed at one end, and capped at
the other with a curious cover all buttons and wires and braid. Out came
another, then another, until there were eight on the floor, and Jasar was
breathing just a little faster than when he began.

"This
is where I need your strong arms, lad. These things are heavy, and not
surprisingly, with all the gad-getry in them. Do you reckon you can manage two
under each arm?"

"I can but try. Can these be the seeds
you spoke of?"

"That's
right.
Not the kind of seeds you know, but then the tree that
will grow from them isn't your kind of tree, either.
If
they work at all.
I've seen this done only under test conditions, and I
have grave doubts what your ionosphere will do to the ionic-exchange balance
in them. But we can only try. And hope." He stooped and managed to catch
up two, putting
them
head-to-tail, tucking them under
one arm. Then he arranged two more, crouched, and grunted with effort as he
stood again. Jack got the idea. The metal was cool to his touch, and full of
that curious tingling force, but the four seeds were not what he would have
called heavy. Together they troubled him no more than a half-sack of potatoes.
Either Jasar was not as strong as he looked, or it was something to do with
that extra "gravity" he had spoken of. Together they tramped back to
that first scorch-mark Jasar had made.

"You're
very pointedly not asking me how these things work," the little man
declared. "And I like that. You catch on very fast. But I can tell you
what they will do.
Or ought to do, anyway.
Let's just
plant one, first." He lowered the sharp-pointed end into the precise
middle of the cleared patch, pressed just hard enough to impale it, then
fiddled with the buttons on the top. Little fires flared under his touch. Jack
had realized by now that these fires were not the kind that burn, but were in
some way used to show that the machine was alive. This one, all at once, made a
thin scream and dug itself rapidly into the soft soil as far as the cap-cover,
then stopped. That was what it did. To ask how a thing worked was such an alien
concept to Jack's mind that he only half understood what Jasar meant by it.
What did it matter, anyway? The strange title man set off for his next bare
patch, heading into the fire-red glow of near-sunset.
Said
Jack, skeptically but with some caution, "How soon will you know for sure
that your seeds are fertile?"