Land and Overland - Omnibus (87 page)

He was drawing close to the Neldeever Plaza, which housed the headquarters of the four branches of the armed services, when he espied a familiar blond head projecting above the stream of pedestrians coming towards him. Cassyll had not seen his son for perhaps a hundred days, and he felt a pang of affection and pride as—almost with the eyes of a stranger—he noted the clear-eyed good looks, splendid physique and the easy confidence with which the young man wore his skycaptain's blue uniform.

"Toller!" he called out as their courses brought them together.

"Father!" Toller's expression had been abstracted and stern, as though something weighed heavily on his mind, but his face lit up with recognition. He extended his arms and the two men embraced while the flow of pedestrians parted around them.

"This is a happy coincidence," Cassyll said as they drew apart. "Were you on your way home?"

Toller nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't get home last night, but it was very late before I got my ship safely berthed, and there were certain problems…"

"What manner of problems?"

"Nothing to cloud a sunny day like this," Toller said with a smile. "Let's hasten homewards. I can't tell you how much I look forward to one of mother's littlenight spreads after an eternity of shipboard rations."

"You appear to thrive on those selfsame rations."

"Not as well as you on proper food," Toller said, trying to pinch a roll of fat at Cassyll's waist as they began to walk in the direction of the family home. The two men exchanged the kind of inconsequential family talk which, better than deliberated speeches, restores a relationship after a long separation. They were nearing the Square House, named after the Maraquine residence in old Ro-Atabri, before the conversation came round to weightier affairs.

"I've just been to the palace," Cassyll said, "and have come away with news which should interest you—we are to send a twenty-strong fleet to Land."

"Yes, we're entering a truly wondrous era—two worlds, but one nation."

Cassyll glanced at his son's nearer shoulder flash, the saffron-and-blue emblem which showed that he was qualified to pilot both skyships and airships. "There'll be a deal of work for you there."

"For
me
?" Toller gave a humourless chuckle. "No thank you, father. I admit I'd like to see the Old World some day, but at present it is one great enamel house and I don't relish the prospect of clearing away millions of skeletons."

"But the journey! The adventure! I thought you'd jump at the chance."

"I have quite enough to occupy me right here on Overland for the time being," Toller said, and for a moment the sombre expression Cassyll had noted earlier returned to his face.

"Something is troubling you," he said. "Are you going to keep it to yourself?"

"Have I that option?"

"No."

Toller shook his head in mock despair. "I thought not. You know, of course, that it was I who picked up the advance messenger from Land. Well, another ship appeared on the scene at the last moment—unwarranted—and tried to scoop up the prize from under my very nose. Naturally I refused to give way…"

"Naturally!"

"…and there was a minor collision. As there was no damage to my ship I forbore making an official entry in the log—even though the other commander was entirely to blame—but this morning I was informed that an incident report had been filed against me. I have to face Sky-commodore Tresse tomorrow."

"There's no cause for you to worry," Cassyll said, relieved to hear that nothing more serious was afoot. "I will speak to Tresse this aftday and acquaint him with the real facts."

"Thanks, but I think I am obliged to deal with this kind of thing by myself. I should have covered my flank by making an entry in the flight log, but I can call on enough witnesses to prove my case. The whole thing is really very trivial. A flea-bite…"

"But one you continue to scratch!"

"It's the sheer deceitfulness involved," Toller said angrily. "1 trusted that woman, father. I
trusted
her, and this is how she repays me."

"Aha!" Cassyll almost smiled as he began to plumb beneath the surface of what he had heard. "You didn't say that this unprincipled commander was a woman."

"Didn't I?" Toller replied, his voice now casual. "It has no relevance to anything, but it so happens that she was one of the Queen's brood of granddaughters—the Countess Vantara."

"Handsome woman, is she?"

"It is possible that some men might… What are you trying to say, father?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Perhaps I'm a little curious about the lady because this is the second time within the span of a couple of hours that her name has been mentioned to me." From the corner of his eye Cassyll saw Toller give him a surprised glance, but—unable to resist tantalizing his son—he volunteered no further information. He walked in silence, shading his eyes from the sun in order to get a better view of a large group of ptertha which were following the course of the river. The near-invisible spheres were swooping and bounding just above the surface of the water, buoyed up by a slight breeze.

"That's quite a coincidence," Toller finally said. "What was said to you?"

"About what?"

"About Vantara. Who spoke of her?"

"No less a person than the Queen," Cassyll said, watching his son carefully. "It appears that Vantara has volunteered to serve with the fleet we are sending to Land, and it is an indication of the strength of the Queen's feelings towards the enterprise that she is giving the young woman her blessing."

There was another protracted silence from Toller before he said, "Vantara is an airship pilot—what work is there for her on the Old World?"

"Rather a lot, I'd say. We're sending four airships whose task it will be to circle the entire globe and prove there are no disputants to Queen Daseene's sovereignty. It sounds quite an adventure to me, but of course there will be all the privations of shipboard life—and you've had your fill of service rations."

"I don't care about that," Toller exclaimed. "I want to go!"

"To Land! But only a moment ago…"

Toller halted Cassyll by catching his arm and turning to face him. "No more play-acting, father, please! I want to take a ship to Land. You will see to it that my application is successful, won't you?"

"I'm not at all sure that I can," Cassyll said, suddenly uneasy at the prospect of his only son—who was still a boy in spite of all his pretensions to manhood—setting off across the perilous bridge of thin air which linked the two worlds.

Toller produced a broad smile. "Don't be so modest, father of mine. You're on so many committees, boards, tribunals, councils and panels that—in your own quiet way, of course—you practically run Kolcorron. Now, tell me that I'm going to Land."

"You're going to Land," Cassyll said compliantly.

That night, while he was waiting for Bartan Drumme to arrive with a telescope, Cassyll thought he could identify the true cause of his misgivings about Toller's proposed flight to the Old World. Toller and he had a harmonious and satisfying relationship, but there was no denying the fact that the boy had always been unduly influenced by the stories and legends surrounding his paternal grandfather. Apart from the striking physical resemblance, the two had many mental attributes in common—impatience, courage, idealism and quickness of temper among them—but Cassyll suspected that the similarities were not as great as the younger Toller pretended. His grandfather had been much
harder,
capable of total ruthlessness when he deemed it necessary, possessed of an obduracy which would lead him to choose certain death rather than betray a principle.

Cassyll was glad that Kolcorronian society was gentler and safer than it had been even a few decades ago, that the world in general offered fewer chances for young Toller to get himself into the kind of situation where—simply through trying to live up to self-imposed standards—he might forfeit his life. But now that he was committing himself to fly to the Old World those chances were bound to increase, and it seemed to Cassyll that the ghost of the long-dead Toller was stirring into life, stimulated by the scent of dangerous adventure, preparing to exert its influence on a vulnerable young man. And even though he was thinking about his own father, Cassyll Maraquine devoutly wished that that restless spirit would confine itself to the grave, and to the past…

The welcome sounds of Bartan Drumme being admitted by a servant at the front entrance roused Cassyll from his chair. He went down the broad staircase and greeted his friend, who was carrying a wooden-tubed telescope and tripod. The servant offered to take the telescope, but Cassyll dismissed him, and he and Bartan carried the heavy instrument up to a balcony which afforded a good view to the west. The light reflected from Land was strong enough for reading, but nevertheless the dome of the sky was thronged with countless bright stars and hundreds of spirals of varying sizes and shapes, ranging from circular whirlpools to the narrowest of ellipses. No less than six major comets were visible that night, splaying fingers of radiance across the heavens, and meteors darted almost continuously, briefly linking one celestial feature to another.

"You surprised me this foreday, you know," Cassyll said. "Nobody I know can talk like you, regardless of the audience and circumstances, but you seemed flummoxed for some reason. What was the matter with you?"

"Guilt," Bartan said simply, raising his head from the task of setting up the tripod.

"Guilt!"

"Yes. It's this damned fourth planet, Cassyll. Every instinct I have tells me that it does not bode well for us. It shouldn't
be
there. Its presence is an affront to our understanding of nature, a sign that something is going terribly amiss, and yet I am unable to convince anyone—not even you—that we have cause for alarm. I feel that I have betrayed my Queen and country through my sheer ineptness with words, and I don't know what to do about it."

Cassyll gave a reassuring chuckle. "Let me see for myself this harbinger which troubles you so much—anything which stills the famous Drumme tongue must be worthy of careful perusal."

He was still in a mood of comparative levity when, having prepared and aligned the telescope for him, Bartan stepped aside and invited him to look into the eyepiece. The first thing to meet Cassyll's gaze was a fuzzy disk of bluish brilliance which resembled a soap bubble filled with sparkling gas, but one touch on the focusing lever achieved a remarkable result.

There before him, suddenly, swimming in the indigo depths of the universe, was a
world
—complete with polar snow caps, oceans, land masses and the white curlicues of weather systems.

It had no right to exist, but it did exist, and in that moment of visual and intellectual confrontation Cassyll's first thought—with no justification he could understand—was for the future safety of his son.

The height gauge consisted of a vertical scale from the top of which a small weight was suspended by a delicate coiled spring. Its operating principle was so simple and effective—as a ship rose higher and gravity lessened the weight moved upwards on the scale—that only one modification had been introduced in fifty years. The spring, which would once have been a hair-like shaving of brakka wood, was now made of fine-drawn steel. Metallurgy had made great strides in Kolcorron in recent decades, and the guaranteed consistency of steel springs made gauges easy to calibrate.

Toller studied the instrument carefully, making sure it indicated zero gravity, then floated himself out of the cabin and over to the ship's rail. The fleet had reached the weightless zone in the middle of a daylight period, which meant that the sun's rays were washing across him in a direction parallel with the deck. In one direction the universe appeared its normal dark blue, plentifully scattered with stars and silver spirals, but in the other there was a surfeit of light which made viewing difficult. Below his feet, Overland was a huge disk exactly bisected into night and day, the latter half making its own contribution to the general luminance; and over his head, although occulted by the ship's balloon, the Old World was similarly adding to the confusion of radiance.

On a level with Toller, starkly floodlit by the sun, were the three other balloons which supported airship gondolas in place of the lightweight box structures normally used by skyships. The smooth outline of each gondola had been marred by the addition of a vertically mounted engine, the exhaust cone of which projected well below the keel. Further down the sky, ranged in groups of four against the glowing complexities of Overland, were the sixteen ships making up the main part of the fleet. Seen from above, their balloons looked perfectly spherical and had the apparent solidity of planets, with load tapes and lines of stitching to represent meridians. The roar of jet exhausts filled the sky, occasionally reaching an accidental climax as a number of ships fired their pulsed bursts in unison.

Toller was using binoculars to search for the circular group of permanent defence stations, and wishing for a speedy method of finding them regardless of the disposition of sun and planets. The nub of the problem was that he had no real idea which direction was most likely to yield results. His reading of the height gauge could be out by tens of miles, and the convection currents which helped make the air bridge between the world so cold often gave ascents lateral dispersions of the same order. Large though they were on the human scale, the stations were insignificant in the chill reaches of the central blue.

"Have you lost something, young Maraquine?" The voice was that of Commissioner Trye Kettoran, official leader of the expedition, who had chosen to fly in one of the modified ships. He was subject to low-gravity sickness and had hoped that the comfort of an enclosed cabin would lessen the severity of his attacks. His expectations had been in vain, but he was enduring his illness with great fortitude in spite of his age. At seventy-one, he was by far the oldest member of the expedition. He had been appointed by Queen Daseene precisely because he had clear recollections of the old capital of Ro-Atabri and therefore was well qualified to report on present conditions there.