A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows by Poul Anderson. Chapter 17, 18, 19, 20

loyalty, old chap. But you haven’t failed me yet.”

“Thank you, sir.” Chives stared hard at his own busy hands. “I …

endeavor … to give satisfaction.”

Time swooped past.

“Attention!” cried from the screen. “You are off course! You are in

absolutely barred territory!”

“Say on,” Flandry jeered. He half hoped to provoke a real response. The

voice only denounced his behavior.

A thump resounded and shivered. The tone of wind and engines ceased.

They were down.

Flandry vaulted from his chair, snatched a combat helmet, buckled it on

as he ran. Beneath it he already wore a mindscreen, as did everybody

aboard. Otherwise he was’ attired in a gray coverall and stout leather

boots. On his back and across his chest were the drive cones and

controls of a grav unit. His pouchbelt held field rations, medical

supplies, canteen of water, ammunition, blaster, slugthrower, and

Merseian war knife.

At the head of his dozen Dennitzan marines, he bounded from the main

personnel lock, along the extruded gangway, onto the soil of Chereion.

There he crouched in what shelter the hull afforded and glared around,

fingers on weapons.

After a minute or two he stepped forth. Awe welled in him.

A breeze whispered, blade-sharp with cold and dryness. It bore an iron

tang off uncounted leagues of sand and dust. In cloudless violet, the

sun stood at afternoon, bigger to see than Sol over Terra, duller and

redder than the sun over Diomedes; squinting, he could look straight

into it for seconds without being blinded, and through his lashes find

monstrous dark spots and vortices. It would not set for many an hour,

the old planet turned so wearily.

Shadows were long and purple across the dunes which rolled cinnabar and

ocher to the near horizon. Here and there stood the gnawed stump of a

pinnacle, livid with mineral hues, or a ravine clove a bluff which might

once have been a mountain. The farther desert seemed utterly dead.

Around the city, wide apart, grew low bushes whose leaves glittered in

rainbows as if crystalline. The city itself rose from foundations that

must go far down, must have been buried until the landscape eroded from

around them and surely have needed renewal as the ages swept past.

The city–it was not a giant chaos such as besat Terra or Merseia;

nothing on Chereion was. An ellipse defined it, some ten kilometers at

the widest, proportioned in a right-ness Flandry had recognized from

afar though not knowing how he did. The buildings of the perimeter were

single-storied, slenderly colonnaded; behind them, others lifted ever

higher, until they climaxed in a leap of slim towers. Few windows

interrupted the harmonies of colors and iridescence, the interplay of

geometries that called forth visions of many-vaulted infinity. The heart

rode those lines and curves upward until the whole sight became a silent

music.

Silent … only the breeze moved or murmured.

A time passed beyond time.

“Milostiv Bog,” Lieutenant Vymezal breathed, “is it Heaven we see?”

“Then is Heaven empty?” said another man as low.

Flandry shook himself, wrenched his attention away, sought for his

purposefulness in the ponderous homely shapes of their armor, the guns

and grenades they bore. “Let’s find out.” His words were harsh and loud

in his ears. “This is as large a community as any, and typical insofar

as I could judge.” Not that they are alike. Each is a separate song. “If

it’s abandoned, we can assume they all are.”

“Why would the Merseians guard … relics?” Vymezal asked.

“Maybe they don’t.” Flandry addressed his minicom. “Chives, jump aloft

at the first trace of anything untoward. Fight at discretion. I think we

can maintain radio contact from inside the town. If not, I may ask you

to hover. Are you still getting a transmission?”

“No, sir.” That voice came duly small. “It ceased when we landed.”

“Cut me in if you do … Gentlemen, follow me in combat formation.

Should I come to grief, remember your duty is to return to the fleet if

possible, or to cover our boat’s retreat if necessary. Forward.”

Flandry started off in flat sub-gee bounds. His body felt miraculously

light, as light as the shapes which soared before him, and the air

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *