"Anderson, Poul - Fire Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Poul)

Sparling alone chuckled. Maybe, Larreka thought, her English-language remark referred to something on Earth, where the engineer had been bom and spent his earlier youth. Did she notice how his gaze, having gone to her, kept drifting back?

"Let's save the jokes for later." the mayor urged. "Maybe this evening we can have a poker game." Larreka hoped so. Over the octads he'd become ferociously good at it, and kept in practice by introducing it to his officers. Then he saw Jill gleefully rub her hands and remembered how she'd played slapdash chess but precocious poker. How tough had she become since?

They sobered when Hanshaw continued, "Commandant, you're here on unpleasant business. And I'm afraid we've got worse news for you."

Larreka tensed on the mattress where he couched, took a long gulp of beer, and said: "Unleash."

"Port Rua sent word the other day. Tarhanna has fallen."

Larreka had kept too much Haelener in him to yelp or swear. He sought what--comfort he could find in the smoke-bite of tobacco before saying flatly, "Details?"

"Not a hell of a tot. Apparently the natives-the barbarians, I mean, not the few civilized Valenneners you've got-apparently they made a surprise attack, took the town, threw everybody out, and told the legionary chief as he was leaving that they weren't there for loot, they intended to garrison it."

"Bad," Larreka said after a while. "Bad, bad, and bad."

Jill leaned forward to touch his mane. Disturbed, a few of the seleks therein leaped out from among the leaves, then scurried back down to the proper business of such small entomoids, keeping it free of vermin and dead matter. "A shock, huh?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

"Why? i mean, as I understand the case, Tarhanna is ... was the Gathering's main outpost in the interior of Valennen, "way upriver from Port Rua.' Right? But what purpose had it except trade? And you always knew trade'll go to pot as conditions deteriorate."

"It was a military base, too," Larreka reminded her. "Thence we could strike at robbers, uppity households, whatever. Now-" He smoked for a second before he proceeded. "Maybe this hits me hardest as a sign. You see, the Zera's still in good shape. Tarhanna should've been able to throw back every landlouper the whole inhabited end of the continent could raise against it. Or, anyhow, hang on till Port Rua sent a relief expedition. Only it didn't. Also, the enemy feels he can keep it. Therefore, he's got himself an outfit. Not a bunch of raiders: an organized outfit. Maybe even a confederation."

He appealed: "Do you see what that means? Final proof of what I'd decided had to be the case. The bandits and pirates were growing too bloody bold, too successful, to be the kind we'd routinely coped with. And of course we were getting a little military intelligence from the outback-and now this-

"Somebody's been uniting the barbarians at last. Probably he's finished, and ready to put the crunch on us. To cast the Gathering out of Valennen altogether.

"Except that's a bare start for him. It has to be. In the past, the Rover drove desperate people south. They fell on civilization and helped tear it apart. This time around, it looked like civilization had a chance to pull through. Only somebody has organized the Valenneners to match us. He can't have but one long-range purpose-to invade the south, kill, enslave, kick us out of our lands, and take over the ruins.

"That's what I've traveled for. To tell the assembly we can't withdraw 'temporarily' from Valennen, we've got to hold fast at every cost; to get reinforcements, a second legion at a minimum, up there. But first I want to ask what help you in Primavera can give. It may not be exactly your war. But you're here to learn about Ishtar. If civilization falls, you'll have a thin time carrying on,"

That was as long a speech as he had ever made, even addressing the Zera on a high occasion. He turned half wildly to his pipe and beer.

Sparling's voice yanked him back: "Larreka, this hurts like a third-degree bum to say, but I'm not sure what help we can give you. You see, we've been stuck with a war of our own."



FOUR



SEEN FROM SPACE, all planets are beautiful; but those where humans can breathe have for them a special poignancy. As his flagship maneuvered toward parking orbit, Yuri Dejerine watched Ishtar through the least haze of tears.

Its globe was radiant blue swirled with white and marked with darker hues of continents. The unlikenesses to Earth gave it the kind of glamour that a foreign woman may bear. There were no polar caps and fewer clouds, despite a somewhat larger ocean cover. The browns of soil had no greens blent in, but shades tawny and ruddy. No great scarred Luna swung widely around, only two close-in midget moons; he glimpsed one, flickering as it tumbled, like a firefly against starful blackness.

And the light was eldritch. Most came from Ishtar's own Bel, slightly less intense than Sol on Earth but the familiar yellow-white. Anu, however, was now so close that it evoked roses and blood in the clouds and tinged the seas purple.

Stopped down to preserve his eyesight, a vision of both suns stood in the viewscreen before him. They appeared nearly the same size, a trick played by their distances. Bel was haloed in a glory of corona. Anu had no clear disc. At the middle was a furnace red where seethed monstrous spots; this dimmed and thinned outward until at last it writhed in a hazy intricacy of flame, tendrils which made Dejerine think of the Kraken.