But if on Earth mankind had died,
Satan lived there still,
Like Onan cast his seed beside that sea
as dragon’s teeth, and up there sprang orcs.
Nursed on battered breasts to monsters grew,
their arrogance, swollen with sadism, sustained by screams, restored through
massacre.
In such a universe how can I live?
And yet unhumaned do not die, memories like maggots crawling
through my damaged brain.
From EARTH, by Chandra Queiros
There was defeat in Dov’s face, in his voice and his
manner, although his back was still straight. All slaves would
remain in the City except skilled seamen to work the sheets and
lines. Orcs themselves would row.
The exodus began early the morning following the agreement.
Beta hovered within sight of those below, shifting now and
then. All day formations of orcs marched to the harbor, boarded
galleys and left. The team watching from the pinnace was impressed
with their order, the sharp rectangularity of their units.
And there was no sign of cheating, no hint that slaves were
being smuggled in orc garb. None among the marchers lacked the
ramrod spine, the erect head, the quick strong in-step stride of an
orc. Or the sword. Without exception all were orcs, remarkably
rehabilitated after all their defeats.
Nor had any slaves been smuggled to the harbor in the night; the
IR scanner vouched for that. Besides, the galleys were open,
undecked except for forecastle and poop; there was little room for
concealment.
Apparently the threat of embargo and starvation had set deep
hooks in the orc chief’s mind, and he probably knew of the
monitoring ability which the pinnaces had.
By nightfall only a few hulls remained in the harbor. The rest
were strung out over many kilometers of sea, running near the shore
and working southward. By morning many would be passing the wooded
coast of what once had been Bulgaria. The Beta’s
crew stood solitary introspective watches through the night. With
the sun the same few hulls were still empty beside the docks.
“That’s right, Captain,” Mikhail said into the
radio. “Apparently they’re either excess or not
seaworthy. I suspect it’s the latter; the orcs seemed pretty
crowded on those they sailed in.
“No, we’re all pretty sure they didn’t take
any slaves with them except for about six per ship as agreed on. We
used a magnification that gave us a good look at them: typical
lovable orcs, arrogant in spite of all. Pretty remarkable,
considering. We got a good count, too; about seventy-three hundred
in perfect military order. Just about as many as we calculated
there should be.”
They exchanged a few listless comments then and broke
communication. Beta hung tiresomely at three kilometers
through the long sunny morning and past midday, watching. The city
below seemed dead. They were not sure whether their vigil was over
or there was more to watch for. Mikhail considered suggesting they
ask the Northmen to land a patrol, but decided to wait.
Charles stared narrowly at the screen.
“Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something fishy down there.”
“I know. The Black Sea.”
Charles glanced at him with irritation. “Why don’t
we see any slaves?”
Mikhail didn’t answer, but his expression changed.
“There out to be thousands of them moving around down
there,” Charles went on. “Celebrating or something. I
haven’t seen more than a handful.”
They looked at one another, the thought shaping itself in both
their minds. Mikhail reached for the controls and the pinnace began
to drop; all of them were alert now. Briefly they circled the
palace at a hundred meters, then settled toward the rubble-heaped
square.
“Me and Ivan,” Charles said, “if it’s
all right with him.”
Ivan nodded, patting the grenade-filled pocket that bulged on
his right thigh.
“Okay,” said Mikhail, “but be careful.
We’ll try to cover you if there’s any need.”
The snorkel sucked it in as they lowered farther, and they
smelled it strongly when they opened the door. Charles and Ivan,
pistols in hand, started toward the nearest building, and the
Beta rose to ten meters, ready. The two disappeared
through a doorway, emerged two minutes later and did not call to
the pinnace. They checked two more buildings before stopping in an
intersection and signaling. The Beta landed again.
“They left ’em behind, all right.”
Charles’ face was an improbable gray. “The ones we saw
moving around must have found hiding places and come out
afterwards. Massacre must have been night before last; the maggots
have hatched already.”
“Are you going to tell Ram?” Ivan asked quietly.
“I’ll have to,” Mikhail replied.
“Can he take it?”
“I hope so. He’s had a better grip on himself
lately—the last few days.”
Ivan continued to look at him, his eyes sober. Mikhail reached
for the radio switch. “Wish me luck.”
But if on Earth mankind had died,
Satan lived there still,
Like Onan cast his seed beside that sea
as dragon’s teeth, and up there sprang orcs.
Nursed on battered breasts to monsters grew,
their arrogance, swollen with sadism, sustained by screams, restored through
massacre.
In such a universe how can I live?
And yet unhumaned do not die, memories like maggots crawling
through my damaged brain.
From EARTH, by Chandra Queiros
There was defeat in Dov’s face, in his voice and his
manner, although his back was still straight. All slaves would
remain in the City except skilled seamen to work the sheets and
lines. Orcs themselves would row.
The exodus began early the morning following the agreement.
Beta hovered within sight of those below, shifting now and
then. All day formations of orcs marched to the harbor, boarded
galleys and left. The team watching from the pinnace was impressed
with their order, the sharp rectangularity of their units.
And there was no sign of cheating, no hint that slaves were
being smuggled in orc garb. None among the marchers lacked the
ramrod spine, the erect head, the quick strong in-step stride of an
orc. Or the sword. Without exception all were orcs, remarkably
rehabilitated after all their defeats.
Nor had any slaves been smuggled to the harbor in the night; the
IR scanner vouched for that. Besides, the galleys were open,
undecked except for forecastle and poop; there was little room for
concealment.
Apparently the threat of embargo and starvation had set deep
hooks in the orc chief’s mind, and he probably knew of the
monitoring ability which the pinnaces had.
By nightfall only a few hulls remained in the harbor. The rest
were strung out over many kilometers of sea, running near the shore
and working southward. By morning many would be passing the wooded
coast of what once had been Bulgaria. The Beta’s
crew stood solitary introspective watches through the night. With
the sun the same few hulls were still empty beside the docks.
“That’s right, Captain,” Mikhail said into the
radio. “Apparently they’re either excess or not
seaworthy. I suspect it’s the latter; the orcs seemed pretty
crowded on those they sailed in.
“No, we’re all pretty sure they didn’t take
any slaves with them except for about six per ship as agreed on. We
used a magnification that gave us a good look at them: typical
lovable orcs, arrogant in spite of all. Pretty remarkable,
considering. We got a good count, too; about seventy-three hundred
in perfect military order. Just about as many as we calculated
there should be.”
They exchanged a few listless comments then and broke
communication. Beta hung tiresomely at three kilometers
through the long sunny morning and past midday, watching. The city
below seemed dead. They were not sure whether their vigil was over
or there was more to watch for. Mikhail considered suggesting they
ask the Northmen to land a patrol, but decided to wait.
Charles stared narrowly at the screen.
“Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something fishy down there.”
“I know. The Black Sea.”
Charles glanced at him with irritation. “Why don’t
we see any slaves?”
Mikhail didn’t answer, but his expression changed.
“There out to be thousands of them moving around down
there,” Charles went on. “Celebrating or something. I
haven’t seen more than a handful.”
They looked at one another, the thought shaping itself in both
their minds. Mikhail reached for the controls and the pinnace began
to drop; all of them were alert now. Briefly they circled the
palace at a hundred meters, then settled toward the rubble-heaped
square.
“Me and Ivan,” Charles said, “if it’s
all right with him.”
Ivan nodded, patting the grenade-filled pocket that bulged on
his right thigh.
“Okay,” said Mikhail, “but be careful.
We’ll try to cover you if there’s any need.”
The snorkel sucked it in as they lowered farther, and they
smelled it strongly when they opened the door. Charles and Ivan,
pistols in hand, started toward the nearest building, and the
Beta rose to ten meters, ready. The two disappeared
through a doorway, emerged two minutes later and did not call to
the pinnace. They checked two more buildings before stopping in an
intersection and signaling. The Beta landed again.
“They left ’em behind, all right.”
Charles’ face was an improbable gray. “The ones we saw
moving around must have found hiding places and come out
afterwards. Massacre must have been night before last; the maggots
have hatched already.”
“Are you going to tell Ram?” Ivan asked quietly.
“I’ll have to,” Mikhail replied.
“Can he take it?”
“I hope so. He’s had a better grip on himself
lately—the last few days.”
Ivan continued to look at him, his eyes sober. Mikhail reached
for the radio switch. “Wish me luck.”