Starfarers by Poul Anderson. Chapter 41, 42, 43, 44

The veteran was no coward. Nor was a crack unit, forewarned, likely to suffer serious casualties. On the other hand, if they had to kill, the consequences could go far beyond serious. As never before, the loneliness of decision caught at Panthos.

He mustn’t hesitate. “This may be our last chance to find somebody who’ll negotiate,” he said. “We will proceed.”

“Yes, sir.” The paceman fell back into formation.

As if to bear him out, a noise awakened ahead. Raw yelps echoed between walls, above a growl that took chilly hold of spine and scalp. The throng dissolved. Men, the fewer women, and the yammering urchins shouted, jostled, ran toward the racket, disappeared down the crooked passages. Emptiness loomed and yawned.

Nobody was left to keep the platoon from returning to base, and return had become impossible. “Alert!” Panthos snapped. “Forward!” He broke into quicksteps. Boots thudded at his back.

The canyon opened. He had reached the Seladorian purlieu.

Another world. Another universe? Right, left, and behind, walls rose in their ravaged tiers like hills enclosing a valley. In front, afar, Panthos spied the lake bed, hazy green to the horizon. Green, too, were the terraces that descended intricately before him, but paler, the green of hardihood and frugality. These grasses, grains, bushes, and trees were not biosynthesizers, they were life in its own right, food for their cultivators. The single extravagance was flower beds, flaunting to the sun. Houses and utility buildings stood along paths, a layout planned for optimum use of space. They, too, were made from salvage, but sturdily and neatly, colored rose or yellow or blue.

Recalling what he had learned, Panthos guessed how the Seladorians had toiled, generation by generation, to create this oasis. More to the point today was their effort to expand farther. Yes, they had acquired lawful title to what they set about razing. That mattered nothing to the inhabitants they displaced, or to kindred and friends of the newly homeless. Besides, in Arodish eyes Seladorians were blasphemers. They wanted to abolish the machines on whose productivity depended the subsidies that kept poor folk alive. Drive them into the desert! Exterminate them! If it weren’t for the damned interfering Governance —

At first Panthos saw no rioters. They had spilled off onto lower terraces. Screams and cries tore through the heat. Smoke began to rise. The structures wouldn’t burn, but what was in them could, and it was ill to think about dwellers who hadn’t escaped.

He studied the map in his brain. “We’ll make for the bottom ledge,” he said. “Refugees will have. Hold your fire till I give the order.”

The platoon jogged across the uppermost terrace and scrambled down a stone stairway. Some of the mob raged below. They kept their distance from the constables, shrieking their hatred. Most were on the third level. Men surged from the homes they were plundering. Shouts; rocks and debris thrown; the troopers glared and kept going. A bruise, an impact that drew blood, corpsmen could take it. For a while.

Before patience and discipline broke, they reached the fifth and final terrace. On foundations that must have belonged to a dock, it jutted sheerly out, its edge a cliff. The expanse was all garden and orchard except for a building larger than any above, decked in flowerful vines. The Seladorian temple — no, they called it a communion house. This was hallowed ground.

Several hundred people were there. As abruptly and insanely as the violence started, the attackers had not pursued, not quite yet. Instead they went for the residences and whomever didn’t get away. Those victims couldn’t be many, for believers hadn’t tried to bar doors, nor bolted panicky in every which direction. Somebody had taken quick, effective leadership and brought them here. Mothers bore babies, youngsters trotted at their skirts, men helped the old and the lame along. Children wailed, a few adults wept, but in stumbling wise they moved toward the refuge.

They were garbed like their persecutors, except for one who trotted back and forth beside them. He wore a blue cloak over his gown and carried a staff. With calls and gestures, he herded them on their way.

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