Code of the Lifemaker By James P. Hogan

of methane per bright to top up your solutions and wash off the grime extruded

from your joints?”

“Ah, as always you bitch too much, Sallakar.”

“And the likes of you bitch not enough. Would any bondslave tolerate abuse such

as this? Oh no! But it is I who bitch too much. Oh yes! Do you have no desire to

assert your freeman’s rights?”

“Must I remind you that the army is our law, Sallakar? Who ever heard of foot

soldiers demanding rights?”

“And why not?” Sallakar asked. “In Carthogia, so ’tis said, authority is

conferred by majority agreement among the citizens, and owes naught to any force

of arms nor nobility of birth—a most commendable precedent. Why not, then, I

say, in the army also?”

“You’re kidding!”

“Not so. This matter has occupied my thoughts now for many brights. We will form

ourselves a union, Moxeff, to match rank with collective strength, and bargain

our services and loyalty only in return for fair and reasonable conditions that

shall be contractually underwritten. To fight, we would require favorable

numerical odds of two-to-one or better, at least moderately clement weather, and

a minimum-compensation guarantee against worthless plunder. Rest periods would

be fixed at mid- and quarter-bright, one bright in every six declared

combat-free, and a peace-tax levied from the populace to maintain our

remuneration in times of unemployment.”

“Oh, that the foot soldier’s life should bring such bliss! And have you the

intention of reading this, thy proclamation, to our King, Eskenderom, and his

Court personally? Well, may good luck go with you, Sallakar. Doubtless we shall

all speak of you with fondest sentiments and remembrances.”

“Shame on you who can speak thus contemptibly without embarrassment. Would you

partake your share of the betterments we might secure? Oh yes—unquestionably!

But to pledge in return your share of allegiance to our cause? Oh

no—unthinkable! Is it not . . .” Sallakar stopped speaking and turned his head

away to look as a commotion broke out somewhere up ahead. A moment later the

column halted. “What the fom—”

“The desert heaves!” Moxeff exclaimed.

“Is’t a storm?” someone ahead shouted.

“No storm appears thus,” another cried.

“Is this some Carthogian trickery?”

“The ground ahead boils! It is on fire!”

“And around us also—we are trapped!”

A wall of smoke and flame had erupted across the line of march and was climbing

higher by the second to blot out the sky ahead, while above, on the overlooking

slopes to left and right, curtains of shimmering violet light had appeared,

hemming in the front of the column. “I AM THE ENLIGHTENER, WHOM THE LIFEMAKER

HAS SENT AMONG YOU,” a voice boomed, seemingly from everywhere at once, and

echoing among the surrounding hills. “SOLDIERS OF KROAXIA, LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS,

FOR HE HATH COMMANDED, ‘THOU SHALT NOT KILL.'”

“Deploy for ambush! Scatter the column!” a mounted officer shouted as he

galloped back down the line. “Infantry under cover. Cavalry to the flanks. Close

up the wagons.”

“A Company to those rocks. B Company, string out along the gully. C Company,

follow me,” Sergeant Bergolod called out. Officers in front and in the rear

began to shout orders, and in moments the column had disintegrated into bodies

running in all directions. Sallakar found himself crouched with Moxeff and a

couple of others behind some rocks. He peered up over the rock and saw that

figures dressed in white had appeared amid the wall of swirling radiance higher

up—elusive, dancing, etheric figures, apparently devoid of physical substance.

They seemed to be approaching, down the slope.

A soldier nearby raised his hurler loosely to his shoulder and fired, knocking

himself over backward with the recoil. A ragged volley came from another group

behind, and in seconds firing had broken out all along the column. Gripped by

the fear that had seized everyone, Sallakar sighted at a pair of white-robed

figures, held the hurler hard and firm against his shoulder as he had been

taught, and squeezed the finger-lever. The hurler juddered . . . but had no

effect, even though Sallakar was aiming straight at the advancing figures. He

swept the weapon desperately from side to side and up and down to cover every

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