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DEMON

SEVENTEEN

“Then those who survive will always cherish those who fall,” Virginal said.
Cirocco moved among them, kissing each one. Then she sent them on their way. She had thought she had all the crying done, back at the Junction, but found, when they were gone, there were some tears left.
It was some time before she could summon the Generals.
When they were seated around the command table, Cirocco looked from one to the other, and felt ashamed at her conceit in always thinking of them by the numbers of the divisions they commanded. The impulse had sprung from her distaste for things military. But these were comrades now. They had stood beside her, and she had an odd surprise to give them, and she knew she must end, now and forever, this number game.
She looked at each in turn, fixing them in memory.
Park Suk Chee: a small, fiftyish Korean, in command of the Second Division.
Nadaba Shalom: in her forties, light-skinned, impassive, and the backbone of the Eighth.
Daegal Kurosawa: a racial mix of Japanese, Swedish, and Swazi, who commanded the One Hundred First.
All had been in the military on Earth, but none had advanced beyond the rank of Lieutenant. There were troops under their command who had ranked higher . . . but no former Generals. There had been a time, in Bellinzona, when the discovery of an ex-General had been the occasion for a rare celebration. People would get together and burn the fellow at the stake. General-burning had been Bellinzona‘s only indigenous sport.
There had been no lynchings for some time before Cirocco took power. Nevertheless, it had been difficult at first to get anyone to accept the title, and for a time the Generals had been called “Caesars.” But common usage gradually took over, as people grew used to the fact that these Generals had no nuclear weapons to play with.
“Park. Shalom. Kurosawa.” She nodded at each of them, and they nodded back, warily.
“First . . . we won’t be building siege towers.”
They were surprised, but did their best not to show it. Not long ago, one of them would have asked if she planned a frontal assault over the bridges, and another would have asked about starving them out. Not now. They simply listened.
“What is going to happen here will be a little like a big parade. It’ll be something like a carnival, and something like a wide-screen spectacular. It’ll be a monster movie. It’ll be like one of those big outdoor performances of the 1812 Overture, complete with cannons. It’ll be the Fourth of July and Cinco de Mayo. What it won’t be, my friends, is a war.”
There was a silence for a while. At last Kurosawa spoke.
“Then what will it be?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. First . . . if what I’m going to describe to you goes wrong, I will be dead. You’ll have to carry on without me. I won’t be so stupid as to try to give you orders from beyond the grave. You’ll have to make the decisions.” She pointed to Park. “You’ll be in command, overall. I can do that much, and hereby promote you to Two-Star General. According to the Bellinzona laws, that makes you answerable to the Mayor, when a new one is elected, but it gives you almost total authority in field decisions.”
She looked from one to the other. Their thoughts were veiled, but she had a pretty good idea how they were going. Three divisions in the field, one in Bellinzona. If Park wanted to march home and take over, nobody was likely to stop him. She had chosen him as the least likely to have ambitions toward martial law. But she knew she had created a potential monster in the army itself. If there had only been another way . . .
But Gaea had wanted a war, and she had to have at least the illusion of one. She had to have her attention diverted, and nothing short of an army would be enough.
“Before we get to the orders of the day, I’ll give you the benefit of my thinking about the situation you’ll face if I am killed. You can do with it what you will.
“I advise you to retreat.”
She waited for a comment, and got none.
“You might successfully breach the wall. I think you could. Inside, you‘re more than a match for her people. But you’re outnumbered. You’d take heavy losses . . . and you’d lose in the end. If Gaea decides to pursue you . . . it’ll be a nightmare such as you’ve never imagined. She would rampage through your troops. She never sleeps, never gets tired. She might only kill a few of you at first. But as your troops get tired she’ll kill more. Maybe a Legion a day, until you’re wiped out. That’s why, if I’m killed, you should start your pull-out immediately. Once you get to Oceanus, you’ll be safe, for a while, because I don’t think she’ll go in there.”
She saw she had managed to frighten at least two of them. Park had merely narrowed his eyes, and Cirocco had no idea what was going on behind them.
“If she lives . . . ” Park began. His eyes got even narrower. “She will eventually come to Bellinzona.”
“I think it’s inevitable.”
“What do we do then?” Shalom asked.
Cirocco shrugged.
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Maybe you can whip up a weapon that can kill her. I hope you can.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the unseen walls of Pandemonium. “Maybe your best course is to knuckle down to her like those poor souls in there. Bow down to her and tell her how great she is, and how much you liked her last picture. Go to her movies three times a day like a dutiful slave, and be thankful you’re alive. I don’t know if it’s better to die on your feet than live on your knees.”
“I, personally,” Park said, quietly, “would rather die. But this is beside the point. I appreciate your evaluation of this hypothetical situation. Could you tell us now, what we do today?”
That extra star sure emboldens one, Cirocco thought. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table, earnest as could be. She felt like a three-card-Monte dealer about to go into her spiel.
“Have any of you ever heard of a bullfight?”

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DEMON

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SEVENTEEN

The final encampment was only ten kilometers away from Pandemonium. An easy march. And in Gaea, of course, a General didn’t have to worry about what time of day to attack.
There were two things to be done.
She called Nova, Virginal, Conal, Rocky, Robin, Serpent, Valiha, and Hornpipe together in the big command tent. No one else was present. Even the guards outside had been told to stay fifty meters away.
She stood before them, looking at each one in turn. She was more than pleased at what she saw, disgusted at what she had to say.
“Robin,” she began. “I haven’t lied to you. But I haven’t told you the whole truth. Nasu has maybe a one in a thousand chance of beating Gaea.”
Robin looked away, then nodded slowly.
“I guess I knew that.”
“Even if she did kill this Gaea . . . and I’m talking about this giant monstrosity in Pandemonium now, not the real Gaea, who Nasu could never beat—it wouldn’t do any good. In fact, I’m counting on Gaea killing her.”
“Nasu’s not my demon anymore, Captain,” Robin said. She looked back at Cirocco, and there were tears in her eyes. “I mean, I really can’t carry her around in a gunny sack, can I?”
“No. But I can still call her back. We might get along without her.”
Robin shook her head, and stood straighter.
“You do what you think is right, Cirocco.”
It was Cirocco’s turn to look away.
“I wish I could. But I don‘t always know.” She looked at the rest of them. “I’ve told you people more than anyone else. I’m telling you more now. I’m not telling you all, even this late—and I don’t even know all of it myself. But there is only one chance, and I’m taking it. Nova.”
The young witch inhaled quickly, surprised. Cirocco smiled tiredly at her.
“No, I don’t have any big surprises for you. But I’m leveling with everyone, and you’re the only one who saw Calvin. Remember him?”
Nova nodded.
“He’s dying. What he has might be curable by Titanide healers—we don’t really know, because he won’t let us examine him. He used to be a doctor, so maybe he knows it’s incurable. At any rate, he wants to do something for us, and it will kill him. That’s why I took you to visit him that day, to see if he was willing. He was.”
“The day I got drunk,” Nova said, with a wistful smile.
“Conal. You saw Gene. You must have some idea of what he’s capable of. What Gaby told him to do . . . he probably won’t do it right. He probably won’t survive it. Gaby and I knew that.”
Conal looked at his boots for a moment, then met Cirocco’s eyes.
“I never saw anybody more ready to die than he is. I think it would be a blessing if he died . . . and I think he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Cirocco was grateful. Conal always seemed to come through. She took a deep breath, fought off her own tears.
“Virginal. Valiha. Serpent. Horn—”
Hornpipe stepped forward and put his hand gently on Cirocco’s shoulder.
“Captain, since it is the time for truth-telling, I should tell you that we have already figured out that—”
“No,” Cirocco said, pushing his hand away. “I have to say this. You all knew Chris might die in this encounter. I told you that saving Adam was my number one objective. That was a lie. Saving him is my second objective. It is more important to me than I can say . . . but if this ends with me, Adam, and Gaea dead, I’ll count it a victory.”
Hornpipe said nothing. Valiha stepped forward.
“We have discussed this,” she said. “We obeyed your security rules and did not spread it through the race, so we four are making this decision, and will bear the weight of it. We feel the race would agree with us. There comes a time when all must be risked that a great evil be eliminated.”
Cirocco shook her head.
“I hope you’re right. There . . . is the strong possibility that even if Gaea and Adam and I are killed, the wonderful Titanide race—who, I swear to you, I love more than my own race—will survive. But if Adam and I are killed, and Gaea survives, you are doomed. And this is my first priority: that the thing called Gaea be erased from the universe.”
“We are with you in this endeavor,” Hornpipe said. “The responsibility for saving Adam will rest with us . . . .” He gestured to include the whole group. “ . . . with us seven, from two races, but bound by love. This is as it should be.”
“This is as it should be,” the Titanides sang.
“Adam’s life is in our hands now. You should put it from your mind. You have told us what we must do, and we will do these things to the best of our ability. You should now forget about it, trust us . . . and do what you must do.”
“You will always be our Wizard,” Serpent said, and then sang it, ringing and defiant. The other Titanides joined him.
Cirocco felt she must cry, but managed to hold it back. She faced them again.
“This may be the last time we meet,” she said.
“Then those who survive will always cherish those who fall,” Virginal said.
Cirocco moved among them, kissing each one. Then she sent them on their way. She had thought she had all the crying done, back at the Junction, but found, when they were gone, there were some tears left.
It was some time before she could summon the Generals.
When they were seated around the command table, Cirocco looked from one to the other, and felt ashamed at her conceit in always thinking of them by the numbers of the divisions they commanded. The impulse had sprung from her distaste for things military. But these were comrades now. They had stood beside her, and she had an odd surprise to give them, and she knew she must end, now and forever, this number game.
She looked at each in turn, fixing them in memory.
Park Suk Chee: a small, fiftyish Korean, in command of the Second Division.
Nadaba Shalom: in her forties, light-skinned, impassive, and the backbone of the Eighth.
Daegal Kurosawa: a racial mix of Japanese, Swedish, and Swazi, who commanded the One Hundred First.
All had been in the military on Earth, but none had advanced beyond the rank of Lieutenant. There were troops under their command who had ranked higher . . . but no former Generals. There had been a time, in Bellinzona, when the discovery of an ex-General had been the occasion for a rare celebration. People would get together and burn the fellow at the stake. General-burning had been Bellinzona‘s only indigenous sport.
There had been no lynchings for some time before Cirocco took power. Nevertheless, it had been difficult at first to get anyone to accept the title, and for a time the Generals had been called “Caesars.” But common usage gradually took over, as people grew used to the fact that these Generals had no nuclear weapons to play with.
“Park. Shalom. Kurosawa.” She nodded at each of them, and they nodded back, warily.
“First . . . we won’t be building siege towers.”
They were surprised, but did their best not to show it. Not long ago, one of them would have asked if she planned a frontal assault over the bridges, and another would have asked about starving them out. Not now. They simply listened.
“What is going to happen here will be a little like a big parade. It’ll be something like a carnival, and something like a wide-screen spectacular. It’ll be a monster movie. It’ll be like one of those big outdoor performances of the 1812 Overture, complete with cannons. It’ll be the Fourth of July and Cinco de Mayo. What it won’t be, my friends, is a war.”
There was a silence for a while. At last Kurosawa spoke.
“Then what will it be?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. First . . . if what I’m going to describe to you goes wrong, I will be dead. You’ll have to carry on without me. I won’t be so stupid as to try to give you orders from beyond the grave. You’ll have to make the decisions.” She pointed to Park. “You’ll be in command, overall. I can do that much, and hereby promote you to Two-Star General. According to the Bellinzona laws, that makes you answerable to the Mayor, when a new one is elected, but it gives you almost total authority in field decisions.”
She looked from one to the other. Their thoughts were veiled, but she had a pretty good idea how they were going. Three divisions in the field, one in Bellinzona. If Park wanted to march home and take over, nobody was likely to stop him. She had chosen him as the least likely to have ambitions toward martial law. But she knew she had created a potential monster in the army itself. If there had only been another way . . .
But Gaea had wanted a war, and she had to have at least the illusion of one. She had to have her attention diverted, and nothing short of an army would be enough.
“Before we get to the orders of the day, I’ll give you the benefit of my thinking about the situation you’ll face if I am killed. You can do with it what you will.
“I advise you to retreat.”
She waited for a comment, and got none.
“You might successfully breach the wall. I think you could. Inside, you‘re more than a match for her people. But you’re outnumbered. You’d take heavy losses . . . and you’d lose in the end. If Gaea decides to pursue you . . . it’ll be a nightmare such as you’ve never imagined. She would rampage through your troops. She never sleeps, never gets tired. She might only kill a few of you at first. But as your troops get tired she’ll kill more. Maybe a Legion a day, until you’re wiped out. That’s why, if I’m killed, you should start your pull-out immediately. Once you get to Oceanus, you’ll be safe, for a while, because I don’t think she’ll go in there.”
She saw she had managed to frighten at least two of them. Park had merely narrowed his eyes, and Cirocco had no idea what was going on behind them.
“If she lives . . . ” Park began. His eyes got even narrower. “She will eventually come to Bellinzona.”
“I think it’s inevitable.”
“What do we do then?” Shalom asked.
Cirocco shrugged.
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Maybe you can whip up a weapon that can kill her. I hope you can.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the unseen walls of Pandemonium. “Maybe your best course is to knuckle down to her like those poor souls in there. Bow down to her and tell her how great she is, and how much you liked her last picture. Go to her movies three times a day like a dutiful slave, and be thankful you’re alive. I don’t know if it’s better to die on your feet than live on your knees.”
“I, personally,” Park said, quietly, “would rather die. But this is beside the point. I appreciate your evaluation of this hypothetical situation. Could you tell us now, what we do today?”
That extra star sure emboldens one, Cirocco thought. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table, earnest as could be. She felt like a three-card-Monte dealer about to go into her spiel.
“Have any of you ever heard of a bullfight?”

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