Space Opera (20 page)

“I went to help Miss Roswyn,” said Roger. He looked hopelessly toward the forest. “I heard her scream. I thought I could help her.”

“The impulse was rash and foolish,” said Dame Isabel severely. Then she added in a kinder voice: “Though by no means discreditable.”

“If we unshipped the lifeboat,” said Roger desperately, “and flew over the forest —”

“It would be useless,” said Bernard Bickel. “To do any good we’d be forced to fly at tree-top level, and who knows what capabilities the creatures have? A well-aimed arrow could disable the boat.”

“I don’t want to seem unkind,” said Dame Isabel, “but I refuse to let anyone risk their life to no purpose.”

Captain Gondar muttered, “She’s probably dead right now.”

And all again fell silent, looking off toward the forest.

“I frankly don’t know what to do,” said Dame Isabel finally. “There seems no possibility of making contact with the creatures who inhabit this world. And no matter how much we regret this terrible occurrence we can’t remain here indefinitely.”

“We can’t just abandon her!” protested Roger in a shocked voice.

“I’m willing to make any reasonable effort on her behalf,” said Dame Isabel, “but we can’t overlook the fact that she went off of her own volition, without taking the slightest counsel of myself or Mr. Bickel or Captain Gondar. She is, or was, a very disturbed and erratic young woman; I don’t feel that we are justified in taking drastic risks or allowing the basic purpose of the expedition to be perverted by this young woman’s self-centered ambitions.”

Roger could produce no convincing rejoinder. He looked to Bernard Bickel and Captain Gondar for support, but found none.

“We just can’t go away and leave her!” he repeated desperately.

Bernard Bickel said in a gloomy voice, “There’s not much else we can do.”

Roger turned to look at the forest. “All the rest of my life,” he said, “I’d wonder what had happened to her. Whether she were still alive, waiting for someone to come for her. Just imagine yourself out there, hurt, or perhaps tied to a tree, seeing the
Phoebus
rise up into the sky and leave.”

There was silence. Then Bernard Bickel said with subdued intensity: “If we could only establish contact! If there were some way to demonstrate that we were not antagonistic!”

“According to Madoc Roswyn,” said Roger, “the people were music lovers — why don’t we put on a performance where they can see it? If anything would convince them of our good intentions, that should do it.”

Bernard Bickel turned to Dame Isabel. “Why not?”

“Very well,” said Dame Isabel. “Necessarily we will be forced to play here, in front of the ship. The acoustics will be vile. Still, the scheme is worth trying. Captain, will you have the piano brought out? Andrei, look to the sets; not the backdrops, but a few symbolical properties.”

“Of course. And the opera?”

“I think — yes, I feel that
Pelleas and
Melisande
will be as happy a choice as any.”

The green-seeming sun approached the horizon; the sets were ready; a dais for the orchestra had been arranged; a sound amplification system was directed toward the forest.

The musicians and singers ate a rather tense dinner, conversing in low voices: the performance they were about to put on, to an unseen and unknown audience, would be perhaps the most taxing of their lives.

In the green-gray dusk the musicians went to their instruments. The air was even more still than on the previous evening: from the forest came not the slightest whisper of sound. The instruments were tuned; small lights illumined the music stands. A pink spot played on Sir Henry Rixon; tall, handsome, impeccably dressed, he made a grave bow toward the forest, raised his baton. The music of Debussy flowed across the night and into the forest.

Spotlights illuminated the first set: a mythical forest and a fountain. The opera proceeded, and the attention from the forest was almost palpable. The first act gave way to the second act, and now the music reached that rare and wonderful region where it seemed to move of itself, naturally and inexorably … There was motion at the edge of the forest. Into the reach of the light staggered Madoc Roswyn. She was bruised, haggard, dirty; her garments were torn, her eyes were bright; she moved with a strange jerking motion, like a walking doll with a broken mechanism. Roger ran forth to meet her; she almost fell into his arms. Bernard Bickel came to help; they took her back to the ship. All the while the music proceeded; the fated lovers moved to their destiny.

“What happened?” Roger asked in anguish. “Are you harmed, or injured?”

She made a gesture which might have meant anything. “Evil is here,” she said in a husky broken voice. “We must leave, and put Yan far out of mind.”

Dame Isabel said, “You must come inside, child; Dr. Shand will look after you. We will leave tomorrow morning —”

Madoc Roswyn laughed harshly. She gestured back to the forest. “They listen to the music; it is the first heard on Yan for hundreds of years. They listen but they hate you for it, and as soon as the music stops they will attack the ship.”

“What’s this?” demanded Dame Isabel. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“They listen,” said Madoc Roswyn, “but they listen in envy, knowing themselves and what they have done to Yan …”

“This is ridiculous,” Dame Isabel declared. “I can’t credit human beings with such malevolence … They are human I presume?”

“It makes no difference,” said Madoc Roswyn in a weary half-whisper. “They came to listen and to prepare their vengeance; they forgot me and I was able to slip through the forest toward the music.” She turned toward the ship. “Please let me go aboard the ship; I want to be clear of this dreadful planet …”

Roger and Dr. Shand took her aboard the ship. Dame Isabel turned to Bernard Bickel. “What is your opinion, Bernard?”

“She knows more about these people than we do; I think we should be ready to leave as soon as the opera is over.”

“And leave our sets behind? Never!”

“Then we had better start taking the sets aboard; we can do this inconspicuously and the music can continue as long as necessary. I’ll go have a word with Andrei and Sir Henry.”

The opera went into the fifth act; the crew carried the used sets back into the ship. The opera ended; the music continued. More of Debussy: the
Nocturnes
. The last of the sets were carried aboard, then the lighting system, and the sound-amplifiers.

The orchestra, who now understood the nature of the situation, played on, glancing nervously from the corners of their eyes toward the forest.

The chairs were taken from under them, and Sir Henry’s podium: they played standing. Word was passed that all was secure; under cover of a constantly shifting spotlight, the musicians one by one took their music stands and instruments and slipped aboard the ship, with the harpist and the percussionist assisted by crew-members. Finally only Sir Henry, the great resonant piano and the violins remained outside; and now the folk in the forest comprehended what was afoot, and awoke from their dreaming. A rock arched down from space, struck the piano keyboard.

Bernard Bickel called, “All into the ship, everybody! Quick!”

The pianist, the violinists and Sir Henry ran for the ramp, and just barely escaped the rocks which struck down where they had been standing. Out in the shadows there was movement, a dark sliding forward. The ramp was pulled aboard, the port snapped shut; the
Phoebus
rose into the night, leaving behind the polished black grand piano.

Dame Isabel, more relieved than she would have admitted to anyone, marched into the infirmary, where Madoc Roswyn, in a white nightgown, lay quietly in a hospital bed. Her eyes were open, focused on a point somewhere beyond the ceiling. Dame Isabel looked questioningly at Dr. Shand, who nodded. “She’ll be all right. Shock, exhaustion, bruises. She wants no sedation.”

Dame Isabel approached the bed. “I am extremely sorry you suffered as you did — but you should never have run into the forest.”

“I had to know the truth of Yan.”

“You found out,” said Dame Isabel drily.

“Yes.”

“Exactly who is it that lives in the forest? What has happened to them?”

Madoc Roswyn seemed not to hear. She stared at the point beyond the ceiling for almost half a minute. Dame Isabel peevishly repeated her question.

Madoc Roswyn shook her head. “I do not care to say. It is no longer important. If I say one word, then I will never be free of the subject. No. I will say nothing. Henceforth I know nothing of the Yan that was. I am only Madoc Roswyn of Merioneth, and I will never again be anything more.”

Dame Isabel left the infirmary, marched to the saloon where singers and musicians were drinking wine rather freely and comparing their impressions of the performance.

Dame Isabel took Bernard Bickel aside. “The girl will say absolutely nothing of what occurred in the forest, or what has happened to that wretched planet! I have never known anyone so completely self-centered! Surely she must know that we are all curious!”

Bernard Bickel nodded. “Perhaps she is right. Perhaps it is better that Yan remain a mystery.”

“Bernard, you are an incorrigible romantic!”

“No less than yourself! If not, would we be here in the first place?”

Dame Isabel gave a sour laugh. “Of course you are right … Well, well, then: so ends our visit to Yan. And now there have been enough preliminaries, as many casual detours as necessary. We will take ourselves directly to Rlaru, with no further diversions or delays.” She rose to her feet. “Perhaps you will come with me to the bridge, while I give Captain Gondar his orders.”

Captain Gondar stood alone looking out into the great glittering expanse of the cosmos. The ship had not yet gone into space-drive and the view was the natural light of the stars.

“From here, Captain,” said Dame Isabel, “we will set a course directly to Rlaru.”

Captain Gondar drew a deep breath. “That’s a terrible long pull. The detour into Hydra took us far off course. We can return to Earth almost as easily.”

“No, Captain,” said Dame Isabel inexorably. “I insist that we pursue our original plans. Rlaru will be the next stop.”

Captain Gondar’s chin sagged, the shadows under his eyes suddenly seemed darker. He turned away, looked out across space. “Very well,” he said in a muffled voice, “I will take you to Rlaru.”

Back across the galaxy fled the
Phoebus
; through the Orion Sector, where Rigel occulted a far dim star which was Home Sun. The mood of the opera company was subdued, but morale had not deteriorated. As two pianos had been included among the orchestra properties, rehearsals continued without interruption.

Madoc Roswyn remained in the infirmary three days. Dr. Shand reported to Dame Isabel that only youth and vitality had brought her back to the
Phoebus
; whoever or whatever had attacked her might well have left her for dead. Roger sat with her for long periods; at times a grace of her old self would show itself; at other times she seemed to be reliving the events in the forest, when she would wince and close her eyes and turn her face to the wall; but for the most part she lay quietly, watching Roger.

Logan de Appling stalked about his duties in silence and injured dignity. Captain Gondar had disassociated himself from everything but his own inner existence and except for a minimum participation in the business of the ship spoke to no one. Dame Isabel attempted to extract detailed information regarding Rlaru, but Captain Gondar seemed absent-minded and vague.

Dame Isabel inquired sharply: “The inhabitants are quite friendly?”

Captain Gondar turned his head, and his sunken eyes gradually came into focus. “Friendly? You saw the Ninth Company; did they seem unfriendly?”

“No, of course not. Although I have always considered their abrupt departure rather ungracious, in view of our efforts.”

Captain Gondar ventured no opinion of his own.

Dame Isabel returned to the subject of Rlaru itself. “I believe you stated that you had photographed the planet?”

Captain Gondar looked at her blankly. “Did I tell you that?”

“Yes, during our original negotiations.”

“I don’t recall the circumstances.”

Dame Isabel said briskly, “I would now like to be shown these photographs. There can be no possible reason for further caution.”

Grudgingly Captain Gondar went to his cabin, returning with a plain white envelope, from which he took three rumpled photographs.

Dame Isabel gave him a stern glance, as if in admonishment for unnecessary circumspection. She took the photographs and examined them. The lack of detail was disappointing. The first had been recorded from a height of perhaps 500 miles, the second from 100 miles, the last from about five miles. The first showed a wide ocean, a north continent with a long peninsula depending into the temperate zone. The second showed the southern end of the peninsula, and hinted of the relief: low mountains to the north, hills rolling south to a nearly flat river-plain at the southern cape. The third picture, somewhat blurred, showed a shore-line, a river meandering between wide terraces, a hint of what might have been cultivated fields.