The Worshippers and the Way coaaod-9 Page 21

"But I haven't slept!"

  Thus protested Hatch, and in perfect sincerity.

  Thanks to his Combat College training, Hatch was capable of maintaining a studied tortoise-faced inscrutability under interrogation, and of telling undetectable deadpan lies during such interrogation. But there was nothing inscrutable about Hatch right now. He was emotionally open, revealed, exposed. Under such circumstances, Paraban Senk could read Hatch to a nicety, and knew Hatch to be telling the truth.

  Hatch had not slept.

  So Senk believed, and so likewise did Lupus Lon Oliver, for that was what Hatch himself believed. In the heat of the moment, Asodo Hatch had entirely forgotten the fact that he had laid himself down to sleep in his empty house in the afternoon just gone, and had not been roused until early in the night.

  For his part, Lupus Lon Oliver certainly had not slept. In the morning, he had been courting the statuesque Penelope Flute, and his subsequent embroilment in the alarums of the afternoon had made sleep impossible.

  "We are warriors," said Lupus stoutly. "We need no sleep. At least, I don't. But if Asodo Hatch is too old for the rigors of war, why then, let him withdraw from this competition."

  "Hatch," said Senk. "Do you choose to signify your withdrawal?"

  "Why," said Hatch, growing cagey as he remembered that he had in fact got some sleep, "I, uh… I wouldn't want to disappoint young Lupus. But, Senk, this is no time for games. Our city's awash with blood and burning. We should be organizing the defense of our city, not playing at games."

  "This is not a game!" said Senk.

  There was an entirely human anger in Senk's proclamation.

  Under the lash of that anger, Hatch felt that he finally had the answer to the question of whether Senk had fully human attributes.

  Senk's mission, Senk's reason to live, was to train Startroopers for the Stormforce of the Nexus. Compared to that, what was Dalar ken Halvar to Paraban Senk?

  "You should disqualify him," said Lupus. "He's not fit to be the instructor! He places his city ahead of the Nexus!"

  "Well, Hatch?" said Senk.

  To his surprise and dismay, Hatch saw that Senk was treating Lupus Lon Oliver's suggestion seriously.

  "Senk," said Hatch, "the instructor's prime task is to liaise between the city and the Combat College. The instructor can hardly do that if the city has ceased to exist. Under the circumstances, I think both Lupus and myself should be devoting our best energies to preserving the city. I suggest that you order all Combat College students to place themselves under a joint command headed by Lupus and myself. Then we'll do what we can. But if the city ceases to exist – well, what chance of recruiting a fresh class of Combat College?"

  There was a substantial pause while Paraban Senk meditated on this. Senk's eyes were closed, or so it seemed from the features displayed on Forum Three's communications screen, though of course in point of fact the unembodied Paraban Senk did not possess any such organs as literal "eyes".

  Senk's eyes opened.

  "It is my belief," said Senk, "that Asodo Hatch and Lupus Lon Oliver lack the ability to resolve the crisis in Dalar ken Halvar, either individually or acting in concert. The present crisis must take its course. Thanks to the limited data at my disposal and the complexity of the social forces at work, I cannot predict the ultimate outcome of the crisis. However, I believe that whatever forces ultimately hold power in Dalar ken Halvar will treat with me and mine on an equitable basis, just as the Silver Emperor did."

  "Did?" said Hatch. "Do you believe the emperor dead?"

  "I have it on your own authority that the emperor is not available," said Senk, giving Hatch the impression that some matter of either fact or rumor was being concealed. "It may well be that the emperor will remain unavailable. If that is the case, will you treat with the city's new ruling powers on my behalf if you become the instructor?"

  "Without any hesitation," said Hatch.

  "And I likewise," said Lupus.

  "Then," said Senk, "I find you both fit to hold the instructorship, and rule that you must fight for the position this very night. Are you both agreeable to this proposition?"

  "I am," said Lupus promptly.

  "And I," said Hatch, forcing himself to an imitation of an equal readiness.

  In truth, there were all kinds of further protests, caveats and reservations that Hatch wanted to make known. But he restrained himself. Without a doubt, he had angered Senk once already. Any repetition of that angering might see Senk disqualify him from contention for the instructorship.

  As for Dalar ken Halvar's fate -

  What could Hatch do on his own?

  Less, surely, that he could do if he won the instructorship.

  If he could win quickly, then he might persuade Senk to order the Combat College's student body to place itself under his command, and then he might be able to do something to restore order in the city.

  "Good," said Senk, on hearing the prompt replies from Lupus and Hatch. "The pair of you will prove your worth as warriors by fighting against a background of war."

  As Senk was so saying, Hatch heard a scuffle behind him, but paid it no heed, until he heard Shona say:

  "What's monkey got?"

  "Let me go!" said an anguished voice.

  The voice was that of Dog Java, the Combat Cadet who had so recently tried to knife down Hatch. At that voice, Hatch turned sharply, and saw Dog Java trying to break free from Shona. Shona had come up behind Dog Java, and had seized Dog's arm in a grip a vice would have envied, and had got a lock on Dog's wrist.

  As the human vice-rivaler exerted herself further, Dog was forced to drop the knife he had been holding. Then he cried out, for, rather than releasing her grip, Shona tightened it. Paraban Senk watched from the screen but made no move to intervene.

  "Shona," said Hatch.

  "Yes, Hatch my darling?" said Shona. "Shall I break his wrist? I'll do it for free. Just say the word."

  "If he'll give you his and agree to keep the peace in the Combat College," said Hatch, "then you can let him go free."

  "Well, Dog?" said Shona. "What do you say?"

  When Dog Java made no immediate reply, Shona bit his ear.

  Hard. Drawing blood. At which Dog cried out anew. As if in answer, cries were heard from outside Forum Three, and then a knot of Combat College students burst into that lecture theater. Amongst them was Scorpio Fax, his face a mask of blood, his scalp lacerated. Hatch pushed toward Fax, and was in time to catch him just before he collapsed.

  Then someone else entered Forum Three.

  It was Lupus Lon Oliver's father: the formidable Manfred Gan Oliver, head of the Free Corps. And Hatch, as he lowered Fax to the ground, heard someone cry out in astonishment:

  "It's Gan Oliver! But what's he doing here!?"

  A legitimate question, for Manfred Gan Oliver had been forcibly ejected from the Combat College when he graduated from that institution at the age of 27, and had been denied entry to the precincts of the College for the last 30 years.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Manfred Gan Oliver: "Manfred, the strength of the family Oliver." An orphan who, at the behest of his uncle, sat the entrance examination for admission into the Combat College at age 11, demonstrated the necessary aptitudes, and thereafter lived as a Combat Cadet.

  Gan Oliver's uncle died when he was 13, after which he did not leave the precincts of the Combat College until he graduated and was forcibly ejected at age 27, a citizen of the Nexus now forever exiled from the world which had once been his home.

  Doomed to live out his days in Dalar ken Halvar, Gan Oliver vowed that his son would succeed where he had failed, and would win an instructor's appointment in the College. Gan Oliver is now aged 57. His son, Lupus Lon Oliver, is aged 27 years and some days.

  If as light at dawn is resurrected -

  If likewise thus the flesh -

  Why is it that these unstrung bones

  Find purpose unrefreshed by sleep -

  This sky so surely
good as air

  Though far from home and alien.

  There was no big mystery about the presence of Manfred Gan Oliver. Guests were allowed to enter the Combat College to observe the gladiatorial combat of those who were fighting for the instructorship. Lupus Lon Oliver had earlier given Paraban Senk a list of his guests, and so, when Senk had despatched messengers to summon Lupus and Hatch for combat, Senk had sent messengers likewise to summon the invited guests.

  On entering Forum Three, Manfred Gan Oliver looked around with a positively seigniorial eye.

  Then said to Shona:

  "Startrooper Shona! What are you doing with that Combat Cadet?"

  "I haven't quite decided," said Shona, keeping a tight grip on the delinquent Dog Java. "But if he doesn't agree to keep the peace then I'm going to break his wrist."

  "Agreed!" said Dog, who was sweating hot agony.

  "What's agreed?" said Shona. "That you behave yourself? Or that you get something broken?"

  "I'll be good," wailed Dog, his last reserves of courage and dignity broken.

  "Yes, well," said Shona, giving Dog a little shake, and almost breaking his neck in the process. "I hope so. Because I'll be watching you."

  Then she let him go, so suddenly that he went sprawling to the floor. Shona stooped, secured Dog's knife, then went to help Hatch, who was administering first aid to Scorpio Fax. Meantime, Manfred Gan Oliver moved to join his son, and father and son embraced.

  "What's wrong with him?" said Shona, as Hatch checked out Scorpio Fax.

  "He's been beaten badly," said Hatch, stating the obvious.

  "Other than that, I can't say. Help me move him, and we'll shift him to the clinic."

  Half a dozen people, Shona included, helped shift Fax to the Combat College cure-all clinic. It was small, a six-berth unit, hence easily overloaded if general disaster saw too many smashed and maimed bodies brought gasping to its rescue. But for the moment it was clean, bright and empty. Several Combat College students had undergone running repairs in that clinic that night, but for the moment it was unoccupied apart from Fax.

  And so the cure-all clinic claimed Scorpio Fax, lulling his pain to a dark nothing with the balm of an extinguishing anaesthetic, needling for his veins then pumping into those veins an artificial substitute for the lost blood.

  When the cure-call clinic was close at hand, so much that was murder elsewhere was of little ultimate consequence. So smashed fists so broken bones so eyes gone missing so bloodloss – all fixable, all granted remedy. Thus like the heroes of the animated cartoons of the Eye of Delusions, the combatants rucked and mauled by the most outrageous brawls could be patched up to the point of perfection, could lie back grinning in perfect confidence of the reliable mercy of the supporting machinery. Like any entertainment hero, they too would live to fight another day.

  But Fax was not grinning, for he was too full of pain. And even after the cure-all clinic had punched him full of peace, he had nothing spare for bravado.

  "You'll come out as good as new," said Hatch, unsure whether the anaesthetized Fax could hear him. It mattered not: his words were, after all, more to reassure himself than to reassure Fax.

  The body could be mended, so physical injuries could in theory be lightly dismissed, but the shock of having one's fellow citizens turn animal-ape was not so easily sidestepped. Hatch presumed that Fax had been caught by a hostile mob of the Unreal, the Yara, the underclass of Dalar ken Halvar, and systematically beaten.

  As Hatch watched, tubes sprouted from the wall and crawled into Fax's nose to feed him oxygen. A surgeon descended from the ceiling and hung just above Fax's face, suspended by a thick and flexible hose of fluorescent orange. The surgeon was a globular machine which sprouted scalpels and suction tubes, and it got to work on Scorpio Fax right away, cutting and slicing, sucking and dicing, squirting out flesh-paste and moulding it into position.

  "I've seen enough," said Shona. "Come away."

  Hatch lingered just a moment longer, then began making his way back to Forum Three in Shona's wake.

  "Well, Hatch," said Manfred Gan Oliver, as Hatch entered Forum Three. "Are you ready to die?"

  "Die?" said Hatch, startled and confused. "Did you come here to murder?"

  "I came here for the pleasures of the Season," said Gan Oliver.

  "This is no Season," said Hatch. "This is but – "

  "I spoke as a poet," said Gan Oliver. "A poet of blood, though I have no words to my name. As for what this is or is not – don't lecture me, Hatch. Here I trained. Here I grew from boyhood to manhood. I know this place as well as you or better. My son will see you dead in this Season of ours."

  "The illusion tanks – "

  "I'm not talking illusion!" said Gan Oliver. "Once you leave this place, you're marked for death. The Free Corps is going to put an end to the Frangoni, Hatch."

  "The emperor – "

  "The emperor is gone, Hatch. Missing or dead. We've overthrown him."

  Hatch was fast losing track of what had actually happened in Dalar ken Halvar, or what was claimed to have happened.

  "You might have grabbed the palace for the moment," said Hatch, presuming from Gan Oliver's lordly attitude that the man had reason to think himself the master of the city, "at least in the night's confusion, but tomorrow – "

  "Hatch, you fool," said Gan Oliver. "The Free Corps has been planning its coup for the better part of a generation. We were waiting for the moment, that's all. This revolution, so called, it gave us our moment. Make it easy for yourself, Hatch. Find yourself a sword, then fall on it."

  This was almost too much for Hatch to absorb at once. What was happening here? Had the Free Corps truly seized effective control in Dalar ken Halvar? And did the Free Corps think it could hold the city permanently? Would Gan Oliver really have Hatch murdered once he left the protection of the Combat College, or was that threat merely an exercise in psychological warfare?

  "You're pirates," said Hatch, hoping to push Gan Oliver into self-revelation. "And pirates tainted with treachery at that."

  "We are the bringers of a new age," said Gan Oliver, with what sounded like level-headed sincerity.

  "Not while I have anything to do with it," said Hatch.

  "You don't have anything to do with it," said Gan Oliver.

  "You don't and you won't. My son Lupus will kill you in battle in the world of illusions. Then you will leave the Combat College.

  Then I will kill you for real. Our swords are waiting in the kinema, Hatch. Once you step outside the lockway, you're dead."

  "Kill me you may," said Hatch, giving way to his inborn love of rhetoric. "But the blood that lives will seek vengeance."

  "Who will revenge you, Hatch?" said Gan Oliver, sneering at this sally. "Your sister? Your brother? They're doomed to the same fate, Hatch. Once the Free Corps has won Dalar ken Halvar, we will cleanse Cap Uba and have done with the Frangoni."

  "You would not dare!" said Hatch, hoping that Gan Oliver would not dare, and hoping that this twice-repeated threat of genocide was sheer bluff. "We have a Treaty."

  Here Hatch spoke of course of the Treaty between the Silver Emperor and the Frangoni people. That Treaty made all Frangoni males in Dalar ken Halvar the slaves of the Silver Emperor, but also safeguarded the rights of the Frangoni to enjoy peace and safety on their own rock on the western side of the city.

  "You had a Treaty," said Gan Oliver, emphasizing the past tense. "But your Treaty was with the Silver Emperor, who is missing, believed dead."

  "We had a Treaty, yes," said Hatch, "and have a treaty now."

  "And I," said Manfred Gan Oliver, "have a fist."

  Gan Oliver's easy confidence was as inscrutable as anything else Hatch had ever had to deal with. It was impossible to know whether the man was serious. Hatch needed information, lots of it, and fast. How many men had the Free Corps rallied? How many officers of the Imperial Guard had thrown in their lot with the Free Corps? Where were the revolutionary leaders? What exactly h
ad happened at the silver mines?

  "Well, Hatch?" said Gan Oliver, as Hatch counted his question marks. "What do you say to that?"

  "Asodo Hatch has no time left for argument," said Paraban Senk, intruding on this debate. "The arc is half-gone and combat begins at the end of the arc. Combatants should now proceed to the initiation seats. Asodo Hatch. Lon Oliver. Proceed to the combat bays." – Half an arc?

  – Time enough.

  So thought Hatch.

  But he knew he would have to hurry.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Free Corps: an association of Startroopers and would-be Startroopers who think of themselves as citizens of the Nexus stranded for a lifetime amidst the barbarians of Dalar ken Halvar.

  These people typically speak the Code Seven Commonspeak of the Nexus and dream of the Day of Days when the Chasm Gates will be resurrected, and the local universe will once more be linked to the multiverse of the Nexus.

  So sharpening his sword – a hero.

  Then cut himself, and in that taste – He found his throat split open, split to bleed And red poured rust to waste – on desert sands – Hastening from Forum Three, Hatch took himself off to the Combat College's cure-all clinic, and was shortly bending over the patched-up body of Scorpio Fax, and endeavoring to rouse Fax to wakefulness.

  "Can you hear me?" said Hatch, uncertain whether Scorpio Fax was resting, sleeping or sunk in a coma.

  Fax's eyes flickered, opened.

  "Grief," said Fax. "That dorgi."

  "Give you a hard time, did it?" said Hatch.

  He recalled that the dorgi had been sulking in its lair when he had last entered the Combat College. After such sulks, it often challenged people with a ferocity just short of the homicidal.

  "A hard time?" said Fax. "Did it ever! I came through the lockway, I was – I was cut up bad and it – you can imagine."

  "I can imagine," affirmed Hatch.

  The dorgi was a constant cause for worry. These sentrymachines were deliberately designed to be slightly erratic, marginally unpredictable and most definitely stupid. The random elements in their behavior were (in theory) supposed to make it difficult for any intruder to plan a path past them with confidence.