Glory Planet Page 4

  So that was the ending of a beautiful friendship. Oh well—easy come, easy go. All the same, it was galling to pass her on deck, to be greeted by her with no more than a cold, official salutation.

  Meanwhile, the days slid by—gray days and golden days, silver days and blue nights—and port after port received us briefly, and the steam calliope blared out its strident hymns, and Adelie queened it on the stage of her Show Boat, whipping up enthusiasm for the inevitable clash with Albany. Not that I attended any more of the Gospel Shows.

  But there was one Show that I should have to attend—the one at Wyndham's Landing. The service would be held ashore and would be of an official character, all officers and crew being present in their best uniforms and with their faces washed. After all—

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  whether one believed or not, Wyndham's Landing was a link with the past. The first landing place of men.

  It was a gray morning as we steamed up to the Landing. Tall and white towered the slender stone obelisk that represented the Ship—the long, needle shape with the four wide vanes, the mast beside it with the fluttering blue flag. A mile up river from the flat plain of the Landing towered the Dam, the great lock gates that had been built by the first colonists, that, luckily, had not been destroyed in the Year One, the Year of the Purge. Beyond the Locks lay Sheen and Richmond, Kingston and Kew, Teddington, Mandalay, Weybridge and Shepperton.

  In those days there was a wharf at the Landing and we went alongside there, mooring to the stumps of cabbage trees that served as bollards. As soon as the gangway was down the Saint and the Preacher marched ashore, preceded by the trumpeters, followed by the singers. They were received by the Saint-in-Residence—an old, white-bearded man—and his staff. Then came the ship's company and, lastly, our passengers.

  At the base of the huge, stone rocket stood Adelie, her Singers behind her. Facing them we—the ship's people and passengers—stood. Around the flag staff were grouped the Saint-in-Residence with his white robed acolytes. To one side were a hundred or so people from the small village of Wyndham's Landing.

  Adelie raised her arms. The muted buzz of conversation died.

  "People of the Salvation," she cried. "It is meet that I, a Saint high in the councils of Beulah Land, lead you all in the giving of thanks for our deliverance from the burning, fiery furnace that is Earth, from the hell that our sinful ancestors prepared for themselves.

  "It is meet that we remember Wyndham, the first Bishop, and the first man to set foot on the shores of Beulah Land—Wyndham, who used the Devil's fire to drive him and his ark across the fathomless seas of Space, who looked on Beulah Land and saw that it was good, who elected to stay here, never returning to his mother world, to prepare a home for all those who would follow in the years of grace left before the Burning.

  "People of the Salvation—let us give thanks and let us stand in remembrance, and let us look into our hearts and ask ourselves, in all humbleness and sincerity: Are we worthy followers of Wyndham and the Pioneers? Is there not evil in our hearts? Is there not evil walking aboard at noonday, naked and unashamed? Has not the Devil who destroyed Man on Earth followed him to the Glory Shore?

  "I tell you—the old errors are creeping back, the Machine is once again rearing its ugly head, the Servant would, as on Earth in the Last Days, become Master. The Terror that flies by night is spreading, is testing, its new, untried wings.

  "There are men down the river, in Albany, who are reviving the old heresies, who are dabbling in the old, lost, black arts. From the early days we have tolerated them, have believed that the machine need not, of necessity, be all evil. We have seen the need for the power of steam and steel on the river, have seen that oars and canvas never could maintain the flow of commerce and ideas that is our civilization. In our foolish weakness we allowed the foolish, evil men of Albany to play with their toys, their futile weapons such as steam cannon and rockets. And now they have gone too far."

  She paused.

  "They are flying."

  She half turned, threw out her arms as though to embrace the great column of the rocket, of Wyndham's Ark.

  "These were the last flying ships of man, the Arks of the Salvation. Should the need ever again arise they will be built again—but the need will not arise should we heed the Law, should we see to it that others heed the Law. I say to you that the skies of Beulah Land shall not be fouled by clanking, man-made wings, that our cities shall not be destroyed by the vile droppings of mechanical birds. The time has come to call a halt.

  "You here, the people of Wyndham's Landing, are only a small community. Yet—you have power. Should the warships of Duke John come roaring up the river, as they will do, soon, you can stop them from turning their guns and rockets on the cities above the Locks. You are the Lock Keepers. Should the need arise, you will be the lock breakers. When the banner of the Fiery Cross is raised, you and you alone, will be the Keepers of the Upper Reaches.

  "And now we will sing, all of us, in thankfulness for the Salvation, in memory of the First Landing."

  Strategy and tactics, I thought, strategy and tactics. The Keepers of the Upper Reaches. And tell me, my dear, just who is going to build new locks if this

  bunch of peasants, acting on your instructions, bursts the gates? And that may stop the Duke's warships, but it won't stop his airships . . .

  The trumpeters raised their golden instruments, sent the long, golden notes rolling down the smooth water of the river. Adelie raised her arms, faced her choir. The old, familiar words came, with a meaning, a sincerity, usually lacking.

  "Oh Beulah Land, sweet Beulah Land, "While thunders rolled on every hand, "I looked to thee, across the sea, "Where mansions were prepared for me, "And viewed the shining, glory shore— "My Heaven, my Home, for ever more . . ."

  She's heating them up, I thought sardonically. Here're the trumpets again.

  "When the trumpet of the Lord did sound, and nations were no more, "And the morning dawned eternal, bright and fair, "And the saved of Earth were gathered, over on the other shore,

  "And the roll was called up yonder, I was there!

  "When the roll was called up yonder, "When the roll was called up yonder, "When the roll was called up yonder— "When the roll was called up yonder I was there!"

  Sweet and golden the trumpets, with brazen overtones, and the long, golden notes rolling across the

  water, and the high, clear echoes drifting back from the cliffs of the opposite bank . . .

  "Yes, we gathered at the river, "At the beautiful, the beautiful, river, "Yes, we gathered at the river "That flows by the throne of God!"

  Beulah Land again, and the trumpets high and clear above the singers, and an hysterical woman crying, "Glory Shore! Oh, Glory Shore!" and the long roll of drums, and the blue flag of the legendary United Nations fluttering jerkily down from the masthead, and the blood-red cross on the black ground of Beulah Land hoisted slowly to the truck— "Glory Shore! Oh, Glory Shore!"—and the trumpets and the drums, and Adelie crying, "Are you for the Salvation? Are you with me? Are you for the Salvation?"

  The Old Man grasped my elbow.

  "Whitley! What's that light in the sky?"

  Bright blue, it was, and painful to look at, and then there was a second one—and faintly, yet growing louder and louder, came a high-pitched whistle, a scream, a screaming roar. Open-mouthed, we stood and stared. And there was heat beating down from the sky in great waves, and a growing, gusty turbulence of the air.

  "To the ship!" shouted Captain Beynon. "To the ship!"

  He strode to Adelie's side, caught her arm, gestured towards the river and Richmond Queen and the Show Boat.

  The people from the village were breaking, were running for the huddle of houses on the brow of the low hill. Swiftly, competently, Adelie was marshalling her Singers, sending them marching down to the river. Hastily I snapped orders to the crew, detailed men to act as a gang for unmooring, told the others to get aboard and to their stations without delay.


  "It's not the Duke's flying ships," the Old Man was saying to the Bishop's daughter. "It can't be. The thing that I saw in the sky over Albany was nothing like these, and it was silent."

  "What are they, then?"

  "I don't know. But it'll not be healthy around here when they land—the air's like a furnace already!"

  I shielded my eyes with my hand, looked up again, saw a suggestion of spindle shapes, of vanes.

  "Rockets," I said. "Spaceships." I

  "Impossible," said the Captain.

  "I'm not so sure," said Adelie. "According to the records there were two other colonies at the time of the Burning—one on the Moon, one on Mars. When the Final War happened, there might have been ships at the colonies—and the colonists have revived the dead knowledge, the forbidden knowledge, and got them working again."

  "We shall soon find out—if we aren't roasted. Come on—down to the ship! Start singling up as soon as you get there, Whitley."

  We ran down to Richmond Queen, scrambled aboard over the low bulwarks aft. I started the crowd to getting in the lines. Luckily the engineer left on board during the service had maintained a good head of steam, there was no delay while we waited for power. We let go for'ard, then, and our bows remained in contact with the wharf just long enough for the mooring gang to scramble aboard. I heard the signal bells ring for Full Astern, watched the widening gap between ship and shore.

  Then I looked up to the sky again. The two rockets were low now, and the incandescence of their exhausts was already licking the ground, starting a flaring fire in the grass and the trembleweed, flickering blue and unbearably brilliant around the base of the Monument, making the white, glowing stone flake and crumble.

  They were big—at least half as big again as the stone obelisk that now, seen in comparison with the real thing, looked absurdly heavy and clumsy.

  They grounded, then, rocking slightly as their weight adjusted itself on the big vanes.

  We didn't see the warship until she was abeam of us, so engrossed were we with the two rockets. She was Duke of Albany, the big stern wheeler we had last seen down river. Her decks were crowded with troops, and all her armament was fully manned.

  "Richmond Queen! Richmond Queen!" came the hail from her bridge. "What goes on?"

  "We don't know," I heard the Old Man shout in reply. "We are waiting to see what happens."

  "Carry on with your voyage, Richmond Queen! We shall deal with the situation!"

  "You will not!" Adelie's voice rang indignantly across the water. "This is Beulah Land, not Albany!"

  "You may be glad of our weapons, Your Holiness!"

  "Perhaps. But you will not fire a gun or rocket except at my request."

  "I shall fire as I see fit, in self defence, Your Holiness!"

  I was called up to the bridge, then, found the Old Man and Adelie pointedly ignoring Duke of Albany, staring ahead and to port at the two spaceships.

  ". . . marines," I heard Adelie say, "to seize and hold the locks. If the spaceships hadn't come, it would have been war. As it is—we may be glad of the Duke's cannon and rockets yet . . ."

  "Don't you think they're friendly?"

  "We don't know, Paul. We don't know. For generations we've lived apart—they on Mars—or the Moon —and we were in Beulah Land. Anyhow—I'm the senior representative of my father on the spot, and it's time that my first report was on the way."

  "Mr. Whitley," said the Old Man, "get a pigeon off, with this message, for New Orleans."

  As I got the bird away I saw Duke of Albany, which vessel had fallen astern of us, suddenly increase speed and surge past us to port. From her afterdeck jetted a spurt of white steam, followed almost immediately by a dull, flat report. A few feet ahead of our stem there was a burst of muddy spray. The Old Man's hand went, automatically, to the signal bell cord; Adelie caught hold of his arm before he could call for reduced speed or stern power.

  "They're bluffing," she said. "They wouldn't dare."

  "What about the expedition to seize the Locks? Was that bluff?"

  "Things are changed. Until we meet the people from the rockets, find out who they are, and what they want, there's a truce."

  "I hope Duke of Albany's captain knows about it."

  But he held his course and speed, ignored the angry shouts from the bridge of the other ship as, dangerously close, we crept past.

  "Yah! Hah! Holy Joes!" came the roar from Duke of Albany. And some wit shouted, "It's missionaries in the rockets—come to save your souls!"

  Adelie's face was white with rage.

  "If only we had guns, Paul! We'd teach those insolent swine a lesson! Oh for half a company of the Mounted Archers!"

  "Get down on the foredeck, Whitley," snapped the Old Man. "Take half a dozen men. Jump ashore as soon as I lay her alongside."

  "I'll come with you," said Adelie.

  "No," said the Captain.

  "Yes," she said firmly. "Somebody has to deal with whoever's in charge of the rockets—and I'd sooner it were I."

  "As you please," replied Captain Beynon stiffly. To me he said, "Remember, Whitley, you're responsible. I'll hold you responsible if any harm comes to Her Holiness."

  "I'm not a child, Paul," flared Adelie.

  We ran down the ladders to the main deck. I got hold of the Bosun, told him to muster six of the toughest seamen. He called for volunteers, and of these there was no shortage. That shout of "Holy Joes!" still rankled. I told the half dozen who were coming ashore to arm themselves—they were already wearing sheath knives and supplemented these with short, handy lengths of timber snatched from the bunkers.

  The wharf was close now. I jumped up on to the port bulwarks, leaped ashore while we were still a few feet off. The men followed me. Adelie waited until the bow was alongside; her white robes were not designed for athletics. As I helped her down I saw Duke of Albany surging in astern of Richmond Queen, heard the crash as, careless of damage, she touched, saw the uniformed marines pouring down the bow ramp. There was shouting and confusion as Richmond Queen went astern. I thought at first that the purpose of this maneuver was to inconvenience the Albany forces—as, indeed, it did—then realized that it was essential, if Captain Beynon were to save his stern wheel from damage as the current swept his vessel down upon the longer warship. As it was, the ships came into none too gentle contact, and Duke of Albany's ramp wTas buckled and splintered as it dragged along the timbers of the wharf, and to the clamour of bells and whistles both steamers drifted to mid stream.

  "Hardly according to the drill book," said a low, pleasant voice.

  I turned sharply, saw that it was the officer in charge of the detachment of Marines who was addressing me. He was a small, dark man, slight, yet with an air of extreme capability. The short sword at his belt was, I felt, for use rather than ornament, and the crossbow slung at his shoulder, although beautifully kept, showed signs of hard usage.

  "Lieutenant Bean," he introduced himself, "of the

  Albany Marines. You'll be the Mate of Richmond Queen? He saluted Adelie smartly. "We all know of you, Your Holiness."

  She nodded grudgingly. "What are your orders, Mr. Bean?"

  "To establish contact," he said. "To obtain information."

  "You have no right ashore here," she told him.

  He looked at his own men, standing stiffly in line, each man with his sword and bow. He looked at my sailors—six of them against the twenty marines— grouped carelessly and untidily.

  He said, "Swords and bows against knives and clubs, Madam. Twenty men against six. Besides—you may yet be glad of our skill and our numbers and our weapons."

  She frowned. "Swords and crossbows against— those?"

  "Why not, Madam? We have the old books in Albany, and some of us have read them. Have you never heard of Mass Ratio? No? Well—it means this —the weight those things can carry is limited. Their people'll have themselves, and their water and their foodstuffs and whatever they use for fuel—but not much else."


  "All right, then," said Adelie suddenly, a brief smile breaking the sullenness of her face. "We're in this together, Beulah Land and Albany, until we find out more about what we're up against. After all— we're all Venusians . . ."

  Her voice trailed off as she watched a door opening high on the side of one of the spaceships. From recesses in the smooth hull slid the rungs of a ladder, and from the circular port the flaring nozzle of what could have been a weapon of some kind. I heard the sharp clicks as the marines cocked their bows, heard Bean snap an order. There was movement in the open door, two figures, human in appearance, standing behind the thing that looked like a strange, misshapen cannon.

  But it was noise that came from it—not flame, not a stream of projectiles, but noise. It was a voice, louder than was natural.

  It said, "The leaders of the party from the ships will lay their arms on the ground and board the flagship of the expedition. We come in peace. We come in peace. Lay your arms on the ground, I say, and board the flagship. We come in peace/'

  "Sergeant," said Bean to one of his men, "I'm going to board the rocket. Get word back to Captain Armstrong. Has James got his semaphore flags with him? Good. Have him call the ship now."

  "Ask your Captain to tell Captain Beynon that Mr. Whitley and I are going aboard too," said Adelie.

  Together we started to walk over the charred grass.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Before we reached the foot of the ladder the voice from the spaceship blared out again—"Calling the woman and the two men. Have you laid your arms on the ground?"

  "Have you?'1 Bean asked me, raising his eyebrows. He unslung his crossbow, set it carefully on the scorched earth, drew his sword from its sheath and laid it beside the other weapon. All that I had was my knife, but I followed Bean's lead. Adelie had no weapons.

  We continued our advance, until we stood directly beneath the gleaming metal tower that was the rocket. It looked a long way up to the little round door just beneath the pointed nose of the thing.

  "I will go first," said Adelie.

  She brought the back of her robe forward between

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  her legs, tucked it somehow into her wide sash. She started to climb. Bean and I jostled for position, but I managed to get a grip on the lower rungs before he did, pulled myself up after the Bishop's daughter. The Marine followed me.