Poul Anderson - Starways

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"'FIVE OF OUR WORLDS ARE MISSING!" That was the essence of the report that

shocked the galactic Nomads at their annual meeting. For each of the five

mighty star-ships reported vanished was a world of its own-a man-made,

self-sustaining city-state housing thousands of people. The Nomads themselves

were an unplanned by product of man's conquest of the stars. They were the

gypsies of the distant future, the restless rovers of outer space. But to

Joachim of the Peregrine they represented a way of life that was to be dearly

defended. So it fell to him to make his own world-ship the bait in a cosmic

trap set to catch the galaxy's unknown foemen! STAR WAYS by POUL

ANDERSON ACE BOOKS, INC. 1120 Avenue of the Americas New

York 36, N.Y. STAR WAYS Copyright, 1956, by Poul Anderson An Ace

Book, by arrangement with Avalon Books. To the MFS- all of

them Printed in U.S.A. CHAPTER I Rendezvous THERE IS A

PLANET beyond the edge of the known, and its name is Rendezvous. Few worlds

are more lovely to the eyes of men. As the weary ships come in from space and

loneliness, they see a yellow star against the great cold constellations; and

nearing, they see its crowded glory swell to incandescence. The planet grows

as the ships strain closer; it becomes a sapphire shield banded with clouds,

blurred with rain and wind and mountain mists. The ships sweep around the

planet, mooring themselves to an orbit between the moons, and it is not long

before the boats spring from them and rush down out of the sky to land. And

then, for a little while, the planet comes alive with noise and movement as

human life spills free. This might have been Earth, in some forgotten age

before the glaciers went south. Here, there is the broad green swell of land,

reaching out to a remote horizon. Far away, mountains begin; on the other

side is the sea. The sky is big here, lifting above the world to blue

immensity. But the difference is what haunts you. There are trees, but they

are not the oak and pine and elm-or palm, baobab, sequoia-of Earth, and the

wind blows through their leaves with an alien sound. The fruits of the trees

are sweet, pungent, luscious to eat, but always there is the hint of a taste

men never knew before. The birds are not yours; the animals of plain and

forest have- six legs and a greenish shimmer to their fur. At night, the

constellations bear the look of strangers, and there may be four moons in the

sky. No, it is not Earth, and the knowledge becomes a hunger in you and will

not let you stay. But you have never seen Earth; and by now, the hunger has

become so much a part of you that you could not find a home there, either.

For you are a Nomad. And only you have learned where to find this quiet

place. To all others, Rendezvous lies beyond the edge of the known.

CHAPTER 11 Secret War? THERE WAS nobody else on the boat, They had all

swarmed off to pitch their booths and mingle with the rest, to frolic and

fight and transact hard-headed business. Peregrine Joachim Henry's footsteps

echoed bellow between the bare metal walls as be entered the airlock. The

boat was a forty-meter column of steely comfortlessness, standing among its

fellows at the end of Nomad Valley. The temporary village had mushroomed a

good two kilometers from the boats. Ordinarily, Joachim would have been down

there, relaxed and genial; but he was a captain, and the Captain's Council was

meeting,. And this was no assembly to miss, he thought. Not with the news be

had to give them. He took the gravity shaft, floating along the upward beam to

the top bunkroom where he had his box. Emerging, he crossed the floor,

opened the chest. Joachim decided that a shave was in order, and ran the

depilator quickly over his face. He didn't usually bother with regalia-like

all Nomads, be wore any outfit he cared to, or went nude, on a voyage. Visits

to planetary surfaces didn't ordinarily require him to dress formally; but the

uniform- was expected of him. "We're a hidebound bunch, really," he reflected

aloud as he glanced in the mirror. It showed him a stocky man of medium

height, dark-skinned, with grizzled hair and squinted gray eyes in a mesh of

crow's-feet. The face was blunt and battered, crossed with deep Lines, but it

wasn't old. He was in early middle age-sixty-five years-but there was

vitality in him. The kilt, with its red-black-and-green Peregrine tartan, was

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tight around his waist. Had the, damn thing shrunk? No, he was afraid he bad

expanded. Not much, but Jere would have kidded him about it, and then let out

the garment for him. Jere. It was fifteen years now since she had made the

Long Trip. And the children were grown and married. Well-He went on

dressing. Over his light shirt be slipped an elaborately embroidered vest,

with the Joachim coat of arms woven into the pattern. His sleeve bore the

insignia of rank-captain-and service-astrogation. Buskins went on the legs;

pooch and bolstered gun at the waist, and plumed bonnet on the close-cropped

head. Because it was hereditary and expected of him, be wore the massive gold

necklace and its diamond-crusted pendant. A purple and scarlet cloak flapped

over his shoulders, gauntlets on his hands. Joachim crossed the bunkroom and

went down the shaft, out the airlock, and down the retractable gangway ladder

again. A dim path wound up from the valley and be took it, moving with a

slightly rolling, bearlike gait. The sky was utterly blue overhead; sunlight

spilled on the wide green sweep of land; wind brought him the faint crystal

laughter of a bellbird. No doubt of it, man wasn't built to sit in a metal

shell and hurry from star to star. It wasn't strange that so many had dropped

out of Nomad life. Who had that girl been-Sean's girl, from

Nerthus-? "Salute, Hal." said a voice behind him. He turned. "Oh, Laurie.

Haven't seen you for long." Vagabond MacTeague Laurie, a walking rainbow in

his uniform, fell into step beside Joachim. "Just got in yesterday," he

explained. "We're the last, I suppose, and we carried word from the Wayfarer

and the Pilgrim that they couldn't make it this year. So this one reckons all

the ships are accounted for by now-anyway, Traveler Thorkild said he was

calling the meeting for today." "Must be. We spoke to the Vagrant out near

Canopus, and they weren't coming. Had some kind of deal on; I suppose a new

planet with trading possibilities, and they want to get there before anybody

else does." MacTeague whistled. "They're really going far afield. What were

you doing out that way?" "Just looking around," said Joachim innocently.

"Nothing wrong in that. Canopus is still free territory; no ship has a claim

on it yet." "Why go on a jump when you've got all the trade you could want

right in your own territory?" "I suppose your crew agrees with you?" "Well,

most of them. We've got some, of course, that keep hollering for 'new

horizons,' but so far they've been voted down. But-hm." MacTeague's eyes

narrowed. "If you've been prowling around Canopus, Hal, then there's money

out there." The Captains' Hall stood near the edge of a bluff. More than two

centuries ago, when the Nomads found Rendezvous and chose it for their meeting

place, they had raised the Hall. Two hundred years of rain, wind, and

sunlight had fled; and still the Hall was there. It might be standing when

all the Nomads were gone into darkness. Man was a small and hurried thing; his

spaceships spanned the light-years, and his feverish death-driven energy made

the skies of a thousand worlds clangorous with his works, but the old immortal

dark reached farther than he could imagine. The other captains were also

arriving, a swirl of color and a rumble of voices. There were only about

thirty this rendezvous-four ships had reported they wouldn't be coming, and

then there were the missing ones. The captains were all past their youth,

some of them quite old. Each Nomad ship was actually a clan-an exogamous group

claiming a common descent. There were, on the average, some fifteen hundred

people of all ages belonging to each vessel, with women marrying into their

husbands' ships. The captaincy was hereditary, each successor being elected

from the men in that family, if any were qualified. But names cut across

ships. There had only been sixteen families in the Traveler I, which had

started the whole Nomad culture, and adoption had not added a great many more.

Periodically, when the vessels grew overcrowded, the younger people would get

together and found a new one, with all the Nomads helping to build them a

ship. That was the way the fleet had expanded. But the presidency of the

Council was hereditary with the Captain of the Traveler, third of that name in

the three hundred years since the undying voyage began-and he was always a

Thorkild. Wanderer, Gypsy, Hobo, Voyageur, Bedouin, Swagman, Trekker,

Explorer, Troubedour, Adventurer, Sundowner, A,fi(.Yrant-joachim watched the

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captains go in, and wondered at the back of his mind what the next ship would

do for a name. There was a tradition which forbade using a name not taken

from some human language. When everyone else had entered, Joachim mounted the

porch himself and walked into the Hall. It was a big and goodly place, its

pillars and paneling carved with intricate care, hung with tapestries and

polished metal reliefs. Whatever you could say against the Nomads, you had to

admit they were good at handicrafts. Joachim sank into his chair at the

table, Crossed his legs, and fumbled for his pipe. By the time he had lit up

and was emitting cheerful blue clouds, Traveler Thorkild Helmuth was calling

the meeting to order. Thorkild was a tall, gaunt, and stern-faced man, white

of hair and beard, stiffly erect in his carved darkwood seat. "In the name of

Cosmos, rendezvous," he began formally, Joachim didn ' t pay much attention to

the ritual that followed, "All ships except five are now present or accounted

for," concluded Thorkild, "and therefore I call this meeting to discuss facts,

determine policy, and make proposals to lay before the voters. Has anyone a

matter to present?" There was, as usual, quite a bit, none of it very

important, The Romany wanted a territory extending fifty light-years about

Thossa to be recognized as her own-no other Nomad ship to trade, exploit,

build, organize, or otherwise make use of said region without permission of

the assignee, This was on grounds of the Romany's having done most of the

explore ation thereabouts. After some discussion, that was granted, The

Adventurer wished to report that the Shan of Baijaz. Kaui on Davenigo,

otherwise known as Ettalume IV, had laid a new tax on traders. The planet

being known to the Coordination Service, it wasn't possible for Nomads to

overthrow the Shan by violence, but with some help it might be possible to

subvert his government and get a friendlier prince. Was anyone interested?

Well, the Bedouin might be; they could talk it over later The Stroller

had had more direct difficulties with the Cordys. It seemed the ship had been

selling guns to a race who weren't supposed to be ready for such technology,

and Coordination Service bad found out about it. All Nomads had better watch

their step for a while. The Fiddlefoot was going to Spica, where she

intended to barter for Solarian products, and wanted to know if anyone cared

to buy a share in her enterprise. Goods hauled clear from Sol were

expensive. It went on-proposal, debate, argument, report, ultimate decision.

Joachim yawned aid scratched himself. His chance came finally, and lie

flicked a finger upward. "Captain Peregrine Joachim," acknowledged Thorkild.

"Do you speak for your ship?" "For myself and a few others," said Joachim,

"but my ship will follow me in this. I've got a report to

make." "Proceed." Then eyes turned on him, down the length of the Council

table. Joachim began recharging Ms pipe. "This one has been sort of curious

for the last few years," he said, "and he's been keeping his eyes open. You

might think I was a Cordy, the way I've been reconstructing the crime. And I

think it is a crime, or maybe a war. A quiet but very thorough war." He

paused calculatingly to light his tobacco. "In the past ten years or so,

we've lost five ships. They never reported back to anyone. What does that

mean? It could happen once or twice by sheer accident, but you know bow

careful we are I-I-I dealing with the unknown. Five ships is just too many to

lose. Especially when we lose them all in the same region." "Now hold on,

Captain Peregrine," said Thorkild. "That isn't so. Those ships disappeared

in the direction of Sagittari -but that includes a hell of a lot of space.

Their courses wouldn't have come within many parsecs of each other." "No-o-o.

Maybe not. Still, the Union covers even more territory than this volume of

space where our people vanished." "Are you implying- No, that's ridiculous.

Many other ships have been through that region without coming to barm, and

they report that it's completely uncivilized. Such planets as we touched at

have been thoroughly backward. Not a mechanical culture-on even one of

them." "Uh-huh." Joachim nodded. "Isn't that an odd fact? In so big a chunk

of space, there should be some race which has at least gotten as far as steam

engines." "Well, we've touched on-hm." Thorkild stroked his beard. Romany

Ortega Pedro, who had a photographic memory, spoke up. "The volume within

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which those ships disappeared is, let us say, twenty or thirty million cubic

light-years. It contains perhaps four million suns, of which virtually all

are bound to have planets. It's an unpromising region precisely because it is

so backward, and few ships have gone there. To my knowledge, Nomads have

stopped at less than a thousand stars in that volume. Now really, Joachim, do

you consider that a fair sample?" 'No. I just mention it as a

little-indication, shall we say? I repeat, this one denies that five ships in

ten years could have been lost because of unknown diseases, treacherous

natives, trepidation vortices, or the like. Their captains weren't that

stupid. "I've talked with Nomads who've been there, and also with

outsiders-explorers, traders, scouts looking for colony sites, anyone. Or any

thing, since I also got hold of some otherlings"-he meant nonhuman

spacemen-"who bad passed through or stopped by. I even talked my way into the

Corcly office on Nerthus, and got a look at their Galactic Survey

records. "Space is too big. Even this little splinter of the Galaxy that man

has traversed is larger than we can think-and we've spent our lives in the

void. It's thirty thousand lightyears to Galactic center. There are some

hundred billion suns in the Galaxyl Man will never be able to think

con- cretely in such terms. It just can't be done. "So a lot of information

lies around in the shape of isolated facts, and nobody coordinates it and sees

what the facts mean. Even the Service can't do it-they have troubles enough

running the U@on without worrying about the frontiers and the

beyond-frontiers. When I started investi- gating, I found I was the first

being who'd even thought of this." "And what," asked Thorkild quietly, "have

you found out?" "Not too much, but it's damned indicative. There have been

otherling ships which vanished in that region, too. But Coordination and

Survey never bad any trouble. If something had happened to one of their

vessels, they'd have spyboats out there so fast they'd meet themselves coming

back. You see what it means? Somebody knows a lot about our

civilization-enougb to know who it's safe to molest. "Then there are any

number of E-planets-which is what you'd expect-and not too many of them seem

to have natives-which is what you wouldn't expect. They-well, there are at

least a dozen whicl-i remind you of Rendezvous, beautiful green worlds with

not a building or a road in sight." "Maybe they're shy, like the ones on this

planet," said Vagabond MacTeague. "We'd been here for fifty years before we

knew there were natives. And a similar case bappened on Nerthus, you

remember." "The Nerthusians have an unusual sort of culture," said Romany

Ortega thoughtfully. "No, most likely those worlds you speak of are really

uninhabited." "All right," said Joachim. "There's more to tell. In a few

cases, there were E-planets with what we'd considered a normal culture:

houses, farming, and so on. Contact was made rather easily in all those

instances, and in general the natives seemed not unfamiliar with the sight of

spaceships. But when I checked the reports against each other, I found that

none of those planets bad been visited before by anyone from our

civilization." "Now bold on," began Thorkild. "You aren't

suggesting-" "There's more yet." Joachim interrupted. "Unfortunately, few

scientifically minded expeditions have been in thethe X region, so I couldn't

get an accurate description of flora and fauna. However, a couple of those I

talked to had been struck by what seemed remarkably similar plants and trees

on some of these supposedly uninhabited E-planets. Galactic Survey had some

helpful information there. They had noted more than similarity-tbey had found

identity of a good dozen plant species on six uninhabited worlds. Explain

that awayl" "How did Survey explain it?" asked Fiddlefoot Ko-arna. "They

didn't. Too much else to do. Their robotfile bad integrated a reasonable

probability that the similarity was due to transplantation, maybe accidental,

by a Tiunran expedition." "Tiunra? I don't think I've beard-" "Probably you

wouldn't have. They're the natives of an M-planet on the other side of Vega.

Strange cultiire-tlicy bad space travel a good five hundred years before man

left Sol, but they never were interested in colonization. Even today, I

understand they don't hive much to do with the Union. They're just

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uninterested. "Anyway, I took the trouble to write to Tiuiira. Sent the

letter off on Nerthus a good two years ,igo, I asked whoever was in charge of

their survey records about the X region, What bad they found out? What had

been done by them, or to them, out here? "I got my answer six months ago, when

we stopped back at Nerthus. Very polite; thev'd even written in human Bqsic.

Yes, their ships had gone through the X region about four centuries ago. But

thev hadn't noticed the things I mentioned, and were sure they hadn't done anv

transplanting, accidentally or otherwise. And they had lost four ships. "All

right." Joachim leaned back, sprawling his logs under the table, and blew a

series of smole rings. "There you have it, lads. Make what you will of

it." Silence, then. The wind blowing in tbrou-h the open door stirred the

tapestries. A light metal plaque rang like a tiny gong. Finally Ortega

spokee, as if with an effort; "What about the Tiunrans? Didn't they do

anything about their missing ships?" "No, except leave this part of space

alone," said Joachim. "And they haven't informed Coordination?" 'Not as far

as I know. But then, Coordination never asked them." Tborkild looked bleak.

"This is a serious matter." "Now there's an understatement," drawled

Joachim. "You haven't absolutely proved your case." "Maybe not. But it sure

ought to be looked into." "Very well, then. Let's accept your guess. The X

region, perhaps the entire Great Cross, is under the rule of a secretive and

hostile civilization technologically equal to ours-or superior, for all we

know. I still can't imagine how you'd conceal the kind of technology

involved. just consider the neutrino emission of a large atomic power plant,

for instance. You can find your way across many lightyears to a planet where

they're using atomic energy, just by the help of a neutrino detector. Well,

maybe they have some kind of screen." Thorkild tapped the table with a lean

forefinger. "So, they don't like us and they've spied us out a bit. What

does that imply?" "Conquest-they figure to invade the Union?" asked

MacTeague. Trekker Petroff said, "They may just want to be left

alone." "What could they hope to gain by war?" protested Ortega. "I'm not

guessing about motives," said Joachim. "Those creatures aren't human. I say

we'd better assume they're hostile." "All right," said Thorkild. "You've

given most thought to this business. What follows?" "Why, look at the map,"

said Joachim mildly. "The Union, both as a cultural and a semipolitical unit,

is expanding inward toward Galactic center, Sagittari. The X empire

lies squarely across the Union's path. X, however peaceful, may feel that

countermeasures are called for. "And where are tve? On the Sagittari-ward

frontier of the Union, and spreading into the unmapped regions beyond. Right

smack between tl-le Union and X. The Coordination Service of the Union doesn't

like Nomads, and X has already shown what he thinks of us. We're the

barbarians-right between the upper and nether millstones!" Another pause.

Death they could face, but extinction of their entire tribe was a ntimbin,,

concept; and the whole Nomad history had been one long flight from cultural

absorption. Thirty-odd ships, with some fifty thousand humans- w,hat can be

done? Joachim answered the unspoken cry with a few slow words: "I've been

thinking about this for some little while, friends, and have some sort of an

answer. The first requirement of any operation is intelligence, and we don't

even know if X is a menace. "Here's what this one proposes. Let's just keep

the matter quiet for the time being. Naturally, no ship will enter the Great

Cross, but other-wise we can go on as usual. But I'll make a scout of the

Peregrine, and we'll spy out the unknowns." "Eh?" Tborkild blinked at

him. "Sure. I'll tell most of my crew, at first, that it's an exploratory

venture. We'll snoop around as we ordinarily do, and I'll direct the snooping

the way I tbink'll be most useful. We can fight if we must, and once we go

into hyperdrive we can't be followed or shot at." "Well, that sounds-very

good," said Thorkild. "Of course," smiled the Peregrine, "we can't be hampered

in our work. I'll want a formal action-in-council authorizing me or my crew

to break, bend, or even obey any law of the Nomads, the Union, or anybody else

that may seem convenient.' 'Hmmm-1 think I see where this could lead," said

MacTeague. "Also," said Joachim blandly, "the Peregrine will be in a

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primitive region-and hostile where it's not primitive-and won't have the

normal chance to turn an honest credit. We'll want a-say a twenty percent

share in all profits made between now and next rendezvous." "Twenty percent!"

choked Ortega. "Sure. We're risking our whole ship, aren't we?" CHAPTER

III I l a l o a PEREGRINE THORKILD SEAN could not forget the girl who had

stayed behind on Nerthus. She had gone alone into the city, Stellamont, and

had not come back. After a while, he had taken a flier and gone the twelve

hundred kilometers to her fatber's home. There was no hope-she couldn't

endure the Nomad life. Two years can be a long time, and memories blur.

Thorldld Sean walked through the Nomad camp under the heaven of Rendezvous and

knew how far away Nerthus was. Darkness had come to the valley-iiot the still

shadow of Nerthus, which was almost another Earth, but the living, shining

night of Rendezvous. Fires burned high, and the camp was one babel. The

trading had gone on till it was done. The Captains' Council had met, and its

proposals had been voted on by the men of the ships-now the time of rendezvous

was ready to culminate in the Mutiny. Un- married women were not allowed to

attend that three-day saturnalia-the Nomads were strict with their maidens-but

for everyone else it would be a colorful memory to take skyward. Except for

me, thought Sean. He passed a bonfire, crossing the restless circle of its

light-a tall slender young man, fair-skinned, brown-haired, blue-eyed, his

face thin and mobile, his movements angular and loose-jointed. Somebody bafled

him, but be ignored it and went on his way. Not tonight, not tonight.

Presently the camp was bebind him. He found the trail he was looking for and

followed it steeply upward out of the dale. The night of Rendezvous closed in

on him. This was not Earth, nor was it Nerthus, or any other planet where men

had built their homes. He could walk free here, and no hdden menace of germ

or mold or poisoned tooth waited for him; yet somehow Sean felt that he had

never been on so foreign a world. Three moons were up, One was a far white

shield, cold in the velvet sky; the second a glowing amber crescent, and the

third almost full and hurtling between the stars so that he could see it

moving. Three shadows followed him over the long, whispering grass, and one

of them moved by itself. The light was so bright that the shadows were not

black; they were a dusky blue on the moon-frosted ground. Overhead were the

stars, constellations unknown to the home of humanity. The Milky Way was

still there, a bridge of light, and he could see the cold brilliance of Spica

and Canopus, but most of heaven was strange. The hills into which he went

stirred with moonlight and shadow. Forest lifted on one side of his path,

high feathery leaved trees overgrown with blossoming vines. On the other side

there was grass and bush and lonely copse. Now and then be saw one of the

six-leged animals of Rendezvous. None of them were afraid; it was as if they

knew be wasn't going to shoot at them. Light moved here and there. The

glowing insects bobbed on frail wings over the phosphorescent glow of

lamp-flowers. Sean let the sounds of the night flow into him. The memory of

his wife drowned as if in rippling water, and the new eagerness within him was

a quiet, steady burning. She stood where she had told him to come, leaning

against a tree and watching him stride across the hills. His footsteps grew

swifter until he was running. The Nomads had looked for an Earthlike

planet-E-planet -outside of the ordinary space lanes, a meeting place which no

others would be likely to find. They had not explored much beyond the site

chosen for their gatherings, but even so it had been a shock, fifty years

later, when they learned that Rendezvous had natives after all, The laws on

the Union were of small concern, but aborigines could mean trouble. These

dwellers bad been a gentle sort, though, remarkably humanoid but possessing a

culture unlike any ever created by man. They bad sought out the newcomers,

had learned the Nomad dialect with ease, and bad asked many questions. But

they had not told much concerning themselves; nor were the Nomads especially

interested, once it became clear that these beings had nothing to trade. The

natives had courteously presented the Nomads with the area they already held,

asking only that they not be molested elsewhere, and this the humans had

readily voted into law. Since then, an occasional native had shown up at the

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assemblies, to watch for a while and disappear again -nothing else, for a good

hundred and fifty years. Blind, thought Sean. We're blind as man has always

been. There was a time when he imagined he was the only intelligent life in

the universe-and he hasn't changed much. The thought died in the wonder that

stood before him. He stopped, and the noise of his heart was loud in his

ears. "Ilaloa." She stood looking at him, not moving or spealdng. The

loveliness of her caught at his throat. She could have been human-almost-had

she not been so unhumanly fair. The Lorinyans were what man might be in a

million years of upward evolution. Their bodies were slim and full of a

liquid grace, marble-wbite;; the bair on their beads was like silk, floating

about the shoulders and down the back, the color of blued silver. He had

first seen Ilaloa when the Peregrine came to Rendezvous and he had wandered

off to be alone. "I came, Ilaloa," he said, feeling the clumsiness of words.

She remained quiet, and he sighed and sat down at her f eet. He didn't have

to talk to her. With men, be was a lonely being, forever locked into the

night of his own skull, crying to his kindred and never knowing them or

feeling their nearness. Language was a bridge and a barrier alike, and Sean

knew that men talk because they are afraid to be silent. But with Ilaloa he

could know quiet; there was under- standing and no loneliness. Let the native

females be! It was Nomad law which needed little enforcement on other

planets-who was attracted by something that looked like a caricature of man?

But no spear had thudded into his flesh when he met this being who was not

less but more than a woman; and there had, after all, been nothing to disgrace

them. Ilaloa sat down beside him. He looked at her face-the smooth, lovely

planes and curves of it, arched brows over huge violet eyes, small tilted

nose, delicate mouth. "When do you leave?" she asked. Her voice was

low, richly varied. "In three days," he answered. "Let's not talk about

it." "But we should," she said gravely. "Where will you go?" "Out." He waved

his hand at the thronging stars. "From sun to sun, I don't know where. It

will be into new territory this time, I hear." "To there?" She pointed at the

Great Cross. 'Why-yes. Toward Sagittari. How did you know?" She smiled.

"We hear talk, even in the forest. Will you come back, Sean?" "If I live.

But it won't be for at least two years-a little more in your reckoning. Maybe

four years, or six, I don't know." He tried to grin. "By then, Ilaloa, you

will be-whatever your people do, and have clffldren of your own." "Have you

none, Sean?" It was the most natural thing in the universe to tell her of

what bad happened. She nodded seriously and laid her fingers across

his. "How lonely you must be." There was no sentimentality in her voice; it

was almost mattter-of-fact. But she understood. "I get along," be said.

With a sudden rising of bitterness: "But I don't want to speak of going away.

That will happen all too soon." "if you do not want to leave," she said,

"then stay." He shook his head heavily. "No. It's impossible. I couldn't

stay, even on a planet of my own kind. For three- hundred years the Nomads

have been living between the stars. Those who couldn't endure it dropped out,

and those from the planets who fitted into our kind of life were taken in.

Don't you see, it's more even than habit and culture by now. We've been bred

for this." "I know," she said. "I only wanted to make it clear in your own

mind." "I'm going to miss you," he told her. His words stumbled over each

other. "I don't dare think how much I'll miss you, Ilaloa." "You have only

known me for some few days." "It seems longer-or shorter-I don't know. Never

mind. Forget it. I've no right to say some things." "Maybe you do," she

answered. He turned around, looking at her, and the night was wild with the

sudden clamor of his heart. CHAPTERIV Trevelyan Micah 'YOU WILL

GO to the Sagittarian frontier of the Stellar Union," the machine had said.

"The planet Carsten's Star 111, otherwise called Nerthus, is recommended as a

starting point. Thereafter-" The directive had been general and left the

agent almost complete discretion. Theoretically, he was free to refuse. But

if he had been the sort to do that, Trevelyan Micah would not have been a

field agent of the Stellar Union Coordination Service in the first place. The

psychology of it was complex. The Cordy agents were in no sense

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swashbucklers, and they knew the fear of death often enough to realize that

there was nothing glamorous about it. They believed their work to be

valuable, but were not especially altruistic. Perhaps one could say that they

loved the work. His aircar went on soundless gravity beams over the western

half of North America. The land was big and green below him, forest and

rivers and grass waving out to the edge of the world. Scattered homes

reflected sunlight, upward, isolated houses and small village groupings.

Though, in a way, all Earth was a city by now, be thought. When

transportation and communication make any spot on the planet practically next

door, and the whole is a socioeconomic unity, that world is a city-with half a

billion people in it! The sky was full of aircraft, gleaming ovoids against

the high blue. Trevelyan let his autopilot steer him through the

fourth-level traffic and sat back smoking a thoughtful cigarette. There was a

lot of movement on and over Earth these days. Few were ever really still; you

couldn't be, if you had a job in Africa and a-probably temporary -dwelling in

South America, and were planning a holiday at Arctic Resort with your

Australian and Chinese friends. Even the interstellar colonists, deliberately

primitive though they were, tended to scatter themselves across their

planets. There had been no economic reason for the outward surge of man when

the hyperdrive was invented; the emigration was a mute revolt of people for

whom civilization no longer bad any need. They wanted to be of use, wanted

something greater than themselves to which they could devote their fives-if it

were only providing a living for themselves and their children. Cybernetic

society had taken that away from them. If you weren't in the upper ten

percent)t-a scientist, or an artist of more than second-rate talent-there was

nothing you could do which a machine couldn't do better. So they moved out.

It bad not happened overnight, nor had it fully happened yet. But the balance

had shifted, both socially and genetically. And a planet, the bulk of whose

population was creative, necessarily controlled the intangibles that in the

long run would shape all society. There was scientific research; there was

the education that directs men's thoughts, and the art that colors them.

There was above all an understanding of the whole huge turbulent

process. Trevelyan's thoughts ended as the autopilot buzzed a signal. He was

approaching the Rocky Mountains now, and Diane's home was near. It was a small

unit perched almost on the Continental Divide. Around it, the mountains rose

white and colossal, and overhead the sky was pale with cold. When Trevelyan

stepped out, the chill struck like a knife through his thin garments. He ran

to the door, which scanned him as he neared and opened for him, and shivered

once he was inside. "Diane!" he exclaimed. "You choose the damnedest places

to live. Last year it was the Amazon Basin. . . . When are you moving to

Mars?" "When I want to multiplex it," she said. "Hullo, Micah." Her casual

voice was belied by the kiss she gave him. She was a small woman, with

something young and wistful about her. "New project?" "Yes. Coming along

pretty well, too. I'll show you." She touched keys on the multiplex and the

tape began its playback. Trevelyan sat down to absorb the flow of

stimulicolor patterns, music, traces of scent and associated taste. It was

abstract, but it called up before him the mountains and all mountains which

had ever been. "It's good," he said. "I felt as if I were ten kilometers up

on the edge of a glacier." "You're too literal," she answered, stroking his

hair. "This is supposed to be a generalized impression. I'd like to work in

some genuine cold, but that's too distracting. I have to settle for things

like ice-blue color and treble notes." "And you say you never learned the

cybernetic theory of art?" - "'Art is a form of communication,"' she quoted

in a singsong. "'Communication is the conveyance of information. Information

is a pattern in space-time, distinguished by rules of selection from the

totality of all possible arrangements of the same constituents, and thus

capable of being assigned a meaning. Meaning is the induced state of the

percipient and in the case of art is primarily emotional-' Bother it! You can

have your mathematical logic. I know what worts and what doesn't, and that's

enough." It was, be realized. Braganza Diane might not grasp the synthesizing

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world-view of modern philosophy, but it didn't matter. She created. "You

should have let me know you were coming, Micah," she said. "I'd have made

arrangements." "I didn't know it myself until just lately. I've been called

back. I came to say goodbye." She sat quiet for a long moment. When she

spoke, it was very low, and she was looking away from him: "It couldn't

wait?" "I'm afraid not. It's rather urgent.' "Where are you

going?" "Sagittari frontier. After that anything can happen." "Damn," she

said between her teeth. "Damn and triple damn." "I'll be back," be

said. "Someday," she answered thinly, "you won't come back." Then, getting to

her feet: "Well, relax. You can stay tonight, of course? Good, let's have a

drink now." She fetched wine in goblets of Lunar crystal. He clinked glasses

with her, listening to the faint clear belling, and raised his to the light

before be drank. A ruby flame glowed in its heart. "Good," he said

appreciatively. "What's the news from your end?" "Nothing. There's never

very much, is there? Well, I bad an offer from an admirer. He even wanted a

contract." "If he's a right sort," said Trevelyan gravely, "I think you should

take bin. up on it." She regarded him where be sat, and saw a big, lean man,

his body compact and balanced with the training of modern education. His face

was dark and hook-nosed, a deep wrinkle between the green eyes, and most

people would have called the look of those eyes cold. The hair was straight

aid black, with a reddish tint where the sun caught it. There was something

ageless and impassive about him. Well-the Coordination Service caught its

agents young. They weren't supermen; they were something less

understandable. "No,' she said. "I won It.,, "It's your life." He didn't

press the matter. Their liaison went back several years. For him, she knew,

it was a Pleasant convenience, nothing more; be bad not offered a contract and

she had not asked for one. "What is your directive this time?" she asked. "I

don't know, really. That's the worst of it." "You mean the machine wouldn't

tell you?" "The machine didn't know." "But that's impossible!" "No, it I@t.

It's happened before, and it will happen again with increasing frequency

until-" Trevelvan scowled. "The real problem is finding some new principle

altogether. It might even be philosophical, for all I know." "I don't

understand." "Look," he said, "the basis of civilization is communication. In

fact, life itself depends on communication and feedback loops between organism

and environment, and between parts of the same organism. "Now consider what we

have today. There are approximately a million stars which have been visited

by man, and the number grows almost daily. Many of these stars have one or

more planets inhabited by beings of intelligence comparable to ours, but often

with action-and-thought patterns so different that only long, painstaking

study will ever suggest their fundamental motivation. Full empathy remains

impossible. Imagine the effects on these of a sudden introduction to an

interstellar civilization! We have to reckon with their future as well as our

own. "Remember your history, Diane. Think what happened in Earth's past when

there were sovereign states working at unintegrated cross-purposes." "You

needn't strain the obvious," she said, annoyed. "Sorry. I'm just trying to

tie in the general background. It's fantastically complex, and the problem is

getting worse. It's a case of transportation outstripping communication.

We've got to bring all the components of our civilization to- gether. You

need only recall what happened on Earth back around the Second Dark Ages.

Nowadays it could happen between whole stellar systems" She was still for a

moment, throwing away one cigarette and lighting another. "Sure," she said,

then. "That's what the Union was organzed to prevent. That's what Cordy work

consists of.' "We've found different types and emphases of intelligence in the

Galaxy," he flung at her, "but they can all be given a rating on the same

general scale. Ever wondered why there is no species whose average

intelligence is appreciably higher than man's?" "Well, aren't all the planets

abouit the same age?" "Not that close. A million or ten million years should

make a real difference to organic life. No, Diane, it's a matter of natural

limits. The nervous system, especially the brain, can only become so complex,

then tile whole thing gets too big to control itself." "I think I see what

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you're driving at,," she said. "There are natural limits to the capacities of

computing machines, too." "Uh-buh. Also 'Lo systems made up of many machines

together. Diane, we couldn't co-ordinate as many planets as are included in

our civilization range today. And that range is still expanding." She nodded.

Her face was serious, and there was a foreboding in the eyes that met his.

"You're right but what does this have to do with your new mission?" "The

overworked -integrators are-- years behind in correlating information," he

said. "A time can screw to monstrous proportions before they learn of it.

And we, the flesh-aiid-blood Cordys, are no better off. We perform our

missions, but we can't oversee everything. The integrator has only gotten

around to considering some reports of disappearing ships, botanical anomalies

on supposedly uninbabited planets, and the Nomad clans. The probability

indicates something tremendous." "What is that?" she breathed. "I don't

know," he answered. "The machine suggested that the Nomads might be up to

something. I'm going to find out." "Why do you Cordy's have it in for the

poor Nomads so much?" "They're the worst disruptive factor our civilization

has," he said grimly. "They go everywhere and do anything, with no thought of

the consequences. To Earth, the Nomads are romantic wanderers; to me, they're

a pain. "I doubt that they're behind this business. I suspect something much

more significant." He took out a cigarette and put it to his lips. "But the

Nomads will make a handy place to start." CHAPTER V Nomad

Native NO!" Thorkild Sean looked into his father's eyes. "I don't see what

you have to say about it," "Are you out of your mind?" Thorkild Elof shook his

head like an angry bull. The beard -and the maned hair of a ship elder

swirled white about his shoulders. "I'm your father." Something in Sean

stirred then. Ilaloa's fingers closed taut around his. Looking down, he saw

fear in the big violet eyes, and remembered how far apart he and Elof had

grown in the last four years. He straightened his shoulders. 'I'm a free

crewman of the Nomads, and I do as I please." "We'll see about that!" Elof

swung about, lifting his voice. "Hal! Hal, come over here, will

you?" Joachim Henry stood watching the people of his ship file into their

boats. It was a long straggling line-men still disheveled and hilarious from

the Mutiny. The married women proceeded with careful dignity, most of them

holding babies; the younger girls and boys looked wistfully back at the

valley. "Sean," whispered Ilaloa. He tightened his arm about her slender

waist, feeling her tremble. The long silver hair streamed wildly from her

head-with its fine clean molding and white skin and enormous eyes. But he

felt the terror deep within her. Joachim heard Elof's sbout. "Now what!' be

grumbled. He gave his kilt a hitch and strolled to the argument. "Hello,

Elof, Sean," be nodded. "Who's the-" He caught himself. "The native

lady?" "This is Ilaloa." Sean's voice was strained. Joachim's eyes lingered

appreciatively on the female. "What d'you want' He gestured with his pipestem

at the line of embarkees. "I got enough to do, nursing them back onto the

ship. Make it short, will you, lads?" "It can be," said Elof. "Sean here

wants to take this native along. He wants to marry her!" "Eh?" Joachim's

eyes narrowed in a mesh of fine wrinkles. "Now Sean, you know the

law.'s "We're not offending native notions," the boy threw back at him.

"Ilaloa is free to come with me if she wants." "Your father?" Joachim spoke

softly to her. "Your tribe? What do they have to say?" "I am free," she

answered. Her tones were the sweetest sound he bad heard in a long time. "We

have no-tribes. Each of us is free." "Well-" Joachim rubbed his chin. "What's

going on here' " It was a woman's voice, low and even, and Joachim

turned to the newcomer with a feeling of relief. If he could let them argue

it out to a decision of their own, perhaps he could keep clear of the

mess. Besides, he liked Nicki. She walked towardo them with the long swinging

stride that was a challenge in itself. She was blonde, as tall as many men,

and strongly built; there was a supple flow of muscles under her smooth,

pale-gold skin. She walked over to her brother-in-law and looked into his

troubled countenance.- "What's wrong, Sean?" A slow smile of greeting lifted

his mouth. "It's Ilaloa," he said. "We want to go with the

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摘要：

"'FIVEOFOURWORLDSAREMISSING!"ThatwastheessenceofthereportthatshockedthegalacticNomadsattheirannualmeeting.Foreachofthefivemightystar-shipsreportedvanishedwasaworldofitsown-aman-made,self-sustainingcity-statehousingthousandsofpeople.TheNomadsthemselveswereanunplannedbyproductofman'sconquestofthestars...

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Poul Anderson - Starways

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