Anderson, Poul - The Star Fox

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2024-12-07 0 0 576.24KB 134 页 5.9玖币

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THE STAR FOX

Poul Anderson

Contents

Part One

MARQUE AND REPRISAL

III

VII

VIII

Part Two

ARSENAL PORT

III

VII

VIII

Part Three

ADMIRALTY

III

VII

VIII

Part One

MARQUE AND REPRISAL

"Le roi a fait battre tambour,

Le roi a fait battre tambour-"

Gunnar Heim halted in midstride. He stood a while, turning his head in search of the voice

that had risen out of the dark.

"Pour voir toutes ces dames.

Et la premiere qu'il a vue-"

It was some distance off, almost lost in the background of machine rumble to landward of

the docks. But only one man was likely to be making his mock with that sinister old ballad, in

San Francisco on this night.

"Lut a ravi son ame. Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan-plan-plan-plan!"

Heim started after the sound. He could still move fast and softly when he wanted to. In a

moment his ears picked up the ring and snarl of a guitar played in anger.

"Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan-plan-plan-plan!"

Warehouses bulked black on his right. At this hour not very long before dawn, the city had

dimmed; there was only a reddish haze above the roofs, and the remote luminous leap of the

palace towers on Nob Hill. To the left a cargo submarine lay like a sleek moon-scaled dragon, but

no longshore robots or men were at work around it. The bay was ebony and a shimmer of glade.

Kilometers distant, the hills on the eastern shore made a wall besprinkled with artificial stars. The

real stars were wan, and so was the defense satellite that climbed rapidly into view-as if all suns

had withdrawn from a planet gone strengthless. Luna stood at half phase near the zenith. He could

not see the light-spot of Apollo City on the dark side, through the damp autumn air.

"Marquis, dis moi, la connais tu?

Marquis, dis moi, la connais tu?

'Quelle est cette jolie dame?'

Et le marquis a repondu:

'Sire Roi, c'est ma femme.'

Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan-plan-plan-,plan!

Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan-plan-plan-plan!"

Heim rounded a shed by the pier and saw the minstrel. He sat on a bollard, looking out

across the water, a man more small and shabby than expected. His fingers leaped across the

twelve strings as if attacking an enemy, and the moon gleamed off tears on his face.

Heim paused in the shadow of the wall. He ought not to interrupt. They had related, in the

Spaceman's Rest, that the buck was drunk and wild. "And when he'd spent his last millo, he

wanted to sing for booze," the bartender said. "I told him we didn't want none of that here. He

said he'd sung his way through a dozen planets and what was wrong with Earth that nobody

wanted to listen to him. I said the strip show was coming on the 3V in a minute and that's what

the customers wanted, not any of his foreign stuff. So he yelled about singing to the stars or some

such pothead notion. I told him go ahead, get out before I threw him out. And out he went. That

was about an hour ago. Friend of yours?"

"Maybe," Heim said.

"Uh, you might go look for him then. He could get into trouble. Somebody might go for an

expensive gutbucket like he was hauling."

Heim nodded and tossed off his beer. The Welfare section of any large city was bad to be

alone in after nightfall. Even the police of Western countries made little effort to control those

whom the machines had displaced before birth. They settled for containing that fury and futility

in its own district, well away from the homes of people who had skills the world needed. On his

walk-abouts through the subculture of the irrelevant men, Heim carried a stun pistol. He had had

use for it on occasion.

They knew him locally, though. He had told them he was a retired spaceman-anything nearer

the truth would have been unwise-and before long he was accepted as a genial drinking or

gambling companion, less odd than many of the floaters who drifted in and out of their indifferent

purview. He waved at several acquaintances, some feral and some surrendered to hopelessness,

and left the bar.

Since the minstrel had probably headed for the Embarcadero, Heim did too. His stride

lengthened as he went. At first there had been no sense of mission about finding the fellow. It had

merely been an excuse to go on yet another slumming trip. But the implications grew in his mind.

And now that his search was ended, the song caught at him and he felt his pulse accelerate.

This stranger might indeed have the truth about that which had happened among yonder

constellations.

"-La reine a fait faire un bouquet

De belles fieurs de lyse.

Et la senteur de ce bouquet

A fait mourir marquise."

As the older tale, also of tyranny, treachery, and death, crashed to its end, Heim reached a

decision.

"Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan-plan-plan-plan!

Rataplan! Rataplan! Rataplan-plan-plan-plan!"

Silence followed, except for the lapping of water and the ceaseless throb of that engine

which was the city. Heim trod forth.

"Good evening," he said.

The minstrel jerked where he sat, drew a ragged breath, and twisted about. Heim spread his

hands, smiling. "I'm harmless," he said. "Was just admiring your performance. Mind if I join

you?"

The other wiped at his eyes, furiously. Then the thin sharp face steadied into a considering

look. Gunnar Heim was not one you met unperturbed, in such an area. He was nigh two meters

tall, with breadth to match. His features were blunt and plain, an old scar zigzagging across the

brow, under reddish-brown hair that in this forty-sixth year of his age was peppered with gray.

But he was decently clad, in the high-collared tunic and the trousers tucked into soft half-boots

that were the current mode. The hood of his cloak was thrown back. His weapon did not show.

"Well-" The minstrel made a spastic shrug. "This is a public place." His English was fluent,

but bore a heavier accent than his French.

Heim took a flat bottle of whisky from his pocket. "Will you drink with me, sir?"

The minstrel snatched it. After the first swallow he gusted, "Ahhh!" Presently: "Forgive my

bad manners. I needed that." He raised the flask. "Isten éltesse," he toasted, drank again, and

passed it back.

"Skål." Heim took a gulp and settled himself on the wharf next to the bollard. What he had

already drunk buzzed in him, together with a rising excitement. It was an effort to stay relaxed.

The minstrel came down to sit beside him. "You are not American, then?" he asked. His tone

wavered a bit; he was obviously trying to make unemotional conversation while the tears dried on

his high cheekbones.

"I am, by naturalization," Heim said. "My parents were Norwegian. But I was born on Gea,

Tau Ceti II."

"What?" The hoped-for eagerness sprang into the singer's countenance. He sat up straight.

"You are a spaceman?"

"Navy, till about fifteen years ago. Gunnar Heim is my name."

"I ... Endre Vadász." The agile fingers disappeared in Heim's handshake. "Hungarian, but I

have spent the last decade off Earth."

"Yes, I know," Heim said with care. "I saw you on a news program recently."

Vadász's lips writhed. He spat off the dock.

"You didn't get a chance to say much during the interview," Heim angled.

"No. They were cautious to mute me. 'So you are a musician, Mr. Vadász. You have worked

your way by any means that came to hand, from star to star, bearing the songs of Mother Earth to

the colonists and the non-humans. Isn't that interesting!'" The guitar cried out under a stroke.

"And you wanted to tell about New Europe, and they kept steering you from the subject. I

wondered why."

"The word had come to them. From your precious American authorities, under pressure from

the big brave World Federation. It was too late to cancel my announced appearance, but I was to

be gagged." Vadász threw back his head and laughed, a coyote bark under the moon. "Am I

paranoid? Do I claim I am being persecuted? Yes. But what if the conspiracy against me is real?

Then does my sanity or lunacy make any difference?"

"M-m-m." Heim rubbed his chin and throttled back the emotions within himself. He was not

an impetuous man. "How can you be sure?"

"Quinn admitted it, when I reproached him afterward. He said he had been told the station

might lose its license if it, ah, lent itself to allegations which might embarrass the Federation in

this difficult time. Not that I was too surprised. I had had talks with officials, both civil and

military, since arriving on Earth. The kindest thing any one of them said was that I must be

mistaken. But they had seen my proofs. They knew."

"Did you try the French? They'd be more likely to do something, I should think."

"Yes. In Paris I got no further than an assistant undersecretary. He was frightened of my

story and would not refer me to anyone higher who might believe. I went on to Budapest, where I

have kin. My father arranged for me to see the foreign minister himself. He was at least honest

with me. New Europe was no concern of Hungary, which could in any event not go against the

whole Federation. I left his office and walked for many hours. Finally I sat down in the dark by

the Freedom Memorial. I looked at Imre Nagy's face, and it was only cold bronze. I looked at the

figures of the martyrs, dying at his feet, and knew why no one will listen to me. So I got very

drunk." Vadász reached for the bottle. "I have been drunk most of the time since."

Now we ask him! flared in Heim. His voice would not remain calm any longer; but Vadász

didn't notice. "Your story, I gather from what bits and pieces have leaked past this 'unofficial

official censorship'-your story is that the people are not dead on New Europe. Right?"

"Right, sir. They fled into the mountains, every one. of them."

"The Haute Garance," Heim nodded. He had all he could do merely to nod. "Good guerrilla

country. Lots of cover, most never mapped, and you can live off the land."

"You have been there!" Vadász set the bottle down and stared.

"Pretty often, while in the Navy. It was a favorite spot to put in for overhaul and planet

leave. And then I spent four months in a stretch on New Europe by myself, recovering from this."

Heim touched the mark on his forehead.

Vadász peered close through the dappled moonlight. "Did the Aleriona do that to you?"

"No. This was over twenty years ago. I bought it while we were putting down the Hindu-

German trouble on Lilith, which .you're probably too young to remember. The skirmishes with

Alerion didn't begin till later." Heim spoke absently. For this moment the drive and ferocity in

him were overlaid by-

Red roofs and steep narrow streets of Bonne Chance, winding down along the River Carsac

to the Bale des Pecheurs, which lay purple and silver to the world's edge. Lazy days, drinking

Pernod in a sidewalk cafe and lapping up the ruddy sunshine as a cat laps milk. When he got

better, hunting trips into the highlands with Jacques Boussard and Toto Astier ... good bucks,

open of heart and hand, a little crazy as young men ought to be. Madelon-

He shook himself and asked roughly, "Do you know who is, or was, in charge?"

"A Colonel de Vigny of the planetary constabulary. He assumed command after the mairie

was bombed, and organized the evacuation."

"Not old Robert de Vigny? My God! I knew him." Heim's fist clenched on the concrete.

"Yes, in that case the war is still going on."

"It cannot last," Vadász mumbled. "Given time, the Aleriona will hunt everyone down."

"I know the Aleriona too," Heim said. He drew a long breath and looked at the stars. Not

toward the sun Aurore. Across a hundred and fifty light-years, it would be lost to his eyes; and it

lay in the Phoenix anyway, walled off from him by the heavy curve of Earth. But he could not

look straight at the minstrel while he asked, "Did you meet one Madelon Dubois? That'd be her

maiden name. I expect she's long married."

"No." Vadász's drink-slurred voice became instantly clear and gentle. "I am sorry, but I did

not."

"Well-" Heim forced a shrug. "The chances were way against it There's supposed to be half a

million people on New Europe. Were the ... the casualties heavy?"

"I heard that Coeur d'Yvonne, down in Pays d'Or, was struck by a hydrogen missile.

Otherwise-no, I do not believe so. The fighting was mostly in space, when the Aleriona fleet

disposed of the few Federation Navy ships that happened to be near. Afterward they landed in

force, but in uninhabited, areas at first, so that except for a couple of raids with nothing worse

than lasers and chemical bombs, the other towns had time to evacuate. They had been called on to

surrender, of course, but de Vigny refused and so many went off with him that the rest came too."

Damn it, 1 have got to keep this impersonal. At least till I know more. "How did you escape?

The newscasts that mentioned you when you first arrived were vague about it. Deliberately, I

suppose."

Vadász made the bottle gurgle. "I was there when the attack came," he said, thickly again.

"The French commandeered a merchant vessel and sent it after help, but it was destroyed when

scarcely above the atmosphere. There was also a miner in from Naqsa." He got the non-human

pronunciation nearly right "You may know that lately there has been an agreement, the Naqsans

may dig in Terre du Sud for a royalty. So far off, they had seen nothing, knew nothing, and cloud

cover above Garance would keep them ignorant After a radio discussion, the Aleriona

commander let them go, I daresay not wanting to antagonize two races at once. Of course, the

ship was not allowed to take passengers. But I had earlier flitted down for a visit and won the

captain's fancy-that a human should be interested in his songs, and even learn a few-so he

smuggled me aboard and kept me hidden from the Aleriona inspectors. De Vigny thought I could

carry his message-hee, hee!" Vadász's laugh was close to hysteria. Fresh tears ran out of his eyes.

"From Naqsa I had to, what you call, bum my way. It took time. And was all, all for nothing."

He laid the guitar across his knees, strummed, and sang low:

" 'Adieu, ma mie, adieu, man coeur,

Adieu, ma mie, adieu, man coeur,

Adieu, man espirance-"

Heim took the bottle, then abruptly set it down so hard that it clanked. He jumped to his feet

and began pacing. His shadow wove back and forth across the minstrel, his cloak fluttered against

the moonlight on the water.

"Nej, ved fanden!" he exploded.

"Eh?" Vadász bunked up at him.

"Look, do you say you have proof?"

"Yes. I have offered to testify under drugs. And de Vigny gave me letters, photographs, a

whole microfilm packet with every bit of information he could scrape together. But no one on

Earth will admit it is genuine. Few will even look at it."

"I will," Heim said. The blood roared in his ears.

"Good. Good. Right here, the package is." Vadász fumbled in his soiled tunic.

"No, wait till later. I'll take your word for now. It fits in with every other scrap of fact I've

come across."

"So I have convinced one man," Vadász said bitterly.

"More than that." Heim drew a long breath. "Look, friend, with due respect for you-and I

respect anyone who's had the guts to go out and make his own kind of life-I'm not a raggedy-ass

self-appointed troubadour. I'm boss and chief owner of Heimdal."

"The nuclear motor makers?" Vadász shook his head, muzzily. "No. Non. Nein. Nyet. You

would never be here. I have seen your motors as far from home as the Rigel Domain."

"Uh-huh. Damn good motors, aren't they? When I decided to settle on Earth, I studied the

possibilities. Navy officers who've resigned their commissions and don't want to go into the

merchant fleet have much too good a chance of ending down among the unemployables. But I

saw that whoever was first to introduce the two-phase control system the Aleriona invented

would lock gravs on the human market and half the non-human ones. And ... I'd been there when

Tech Intelligence dissected an Aleriona ship we captured in the set-to off Achemar. My father-in-

law was willing to stake me. So today I'm-oh, not one of the financial giants. But I have ample

money.

"Also, I've kept in touch with my Academy classmates. Some of them are admirals by now.

They'll pay attention to my ideas. And I'm a pretty good contributor to the Libertarian Party,

which means that Twyman will listen to me too. He'd better!"

"No." The dark tousled head moved from side to side, still drooping. "This cannot be. I

cannot have found someone."

"Brother, you have." Heim slammed a fist into his palm with a revolver noise. A part of him

wondered, briefly, at his own joy. Was it kindled by this confirmation that they were not dead on

New Europe? Or the chance that he, Gunnar Heim, might personally short-circuit Alerion the

damned? Or simply and suddenly a purpose, after five years without Connie? He realized now the

emptiness of those years. No matter. The glory mounted and mounted. He bent down, scooped up

the bottle with one hand and Vadász with the other. "Skål!" he shouted to Orion the Hunter, and

drank a draught that made the smaller man gape. "Whoo-oo! Come along, Endre. I know places

where, we can celebrate this as noisily as we damn please. We shall sing songs and tell tales and

drink the moon down and the sun up and then shall go to work. Right?"

"Y-yes-" Still dazed, Vadász tucked his guitar under an arm and wobbled in Heim's wake.

The bottle was not quite empty when Heim began "The Blue Landsknechts," a song as full of

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THESTARFOXPoulAndersonContentsPartOneMARQUEANDREPRISALIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXPartTwoARSENALPORTIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIPartThreeADMIRALTYIIIIIIVVIVIIVIIIIXXPartOneMARQUEANDREPRISAL"Leroiafaitbattretambour,Leroiafaitbattretambour-"GunnarHeimhaltedinmidstride.Hestoodawhile,turninghisheadinsearchofthevoicethathad...

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