The Adversary - 4 (45 page)

Ayfa's face assumed an expression of cynical solicitude. "Are you quite sure you feel up to flying all the way from Goriah with that heavy Sword? We wouldn't want you to strain yourself, dear."

"Your concern is touching," Aiken replied earnestly. "But I guess if I can sustain an astral projection through a klom and a half of solid rock, I'll be able to muddle through on the flit. See you all at the Grand Tourney." The golden figure began to shimmer, then abruptly resolidified, strode over to young SharnAdor, and tapped him briefly on each pauldron with the flat of the Sword. "Almost forgot. I hereby dub thee an honorary Tanu knight. Stride boldly, Lord Ador the Wart-Biter! Come and see me sometime, kid-and happy Nameday."

With that, the Tanu King disappeared.

The assembly of Firvulag all began to shout at once, some in triumph, some in indignation at the brazen behaviour of the regal Foe. The child in armour turned to his parents with a shining face.

"Father! Mums! Did you see what he did?"

Ayfa and Sharn's eyes met above their son's head. "We saw," said the King bleakly. He knelt down, grasped the child, and exclaimed: "You will repudiate the base accolade! Aiken Drum is the Foe, destined to fall before my sacred Sword in the Nightfall War, and you are a warrior youth, not to be distracted from our glorious Way by idle gestures! Do you understand?

Say that you repudiate him!"

"I do," cried the child. "I do." And he turned and ran from the dais with his visor down to hide his woe.

VEIKKO: Walter! Walter!

WALTER: ... Oh, son. Are you all right? I tried to farspeak you earlier but there was no reply, and I was so worried.

VEIKKO: We had a lot going on around here to keep us busy.

The Famorel Firvulag attacked Camp Bettaforca around 1900 hours. Another bunch of them ambushed the climbing team this morning. One of the climbers was killed but the others are all right. They've rendezvoused with Basil in Camp 1 and plan to start out for the summit at first light.

WALTER: Never mind them! How are you and Irena? Your thoughts are so weakVEIKKO: Well, it's nearly dawn here and Old Sol is starting to hash me out. But I'm fine and so is Rena.

WALTER: Thank God. Tell me about it.

VEIKKO: [Event replay.] It was only bad at the start of their attack, when they were using the tight metaconcert to shield themselves and direct the psychoenergetic blasts. The elite golds and the Tanu knights got the worst of that. Four humans and one exotic killed. But then the spooks let mental discipline slip and went one on one. Our people mowed them down like sawgrass in a hurricane with the heavy blasters once they let the multiple mind-screen slip. None of us kids was even singed. The action was over at least two hours ago, but I was feeling a bit rocky-reacting to the violence, I guess. It's taken me this long to pull myself together so I could bespeak you.

I'm sorry you were worried.

WALTER: It's all right. Just so you're safe.

VEIKKO: We must have killed 60 or 70 Firvulag. The rest just ran away.

WALTER: Any chance of further attacks?

VEIKKO: Our Tanu leader, Ochal, says the Firvulag won't fight now that their Truce has began. We'll be safe from here on in, I think.

WALTER: Wonderful.

VEIKKO: ... Daddy? Did you do it?

WALTER: Yes. Alex Manion and I wrecked every one. We took Boom-Boom's cutting torch from the shop and burned the EM pulsars to slag. Melted down the spare parts, too. You can tell the Little King that he won't have to worry about being attacked with X-lasers. I just wish we could have got the rest of the weapons. But they're stored too near the CE rig's hold. Too many sensors about.

VEIKKO: Did-did Marc find out yet?

WALTER: Don't worry about it, son. I broke Kyllikki's autopilot after we finished the job on the zappers. There's a whole chain of storms brewing along our path. Marc's not about to kill me and chance having the ship sink. Not with the CE rig's powerplant on board.

VEIKKO: Marc could do worse than kill you. I still remember how he turned Hagen into a fish and played him!

WALTER: He didn't really.

VEIKKO: So it was an illusion. But Hag still has the scar on his mouth from the barb. Psychosomatic. That's even worse.

WALTER: You said that the climbing party is ready to leave Camp 1. How long before they can reach the aircraft?

VEIKKO: If everything goes well, about three days. I'll keep you posted. Now ... tell the others the great news ... when I think of the risk ... worry ... how you ...

WALTER: You're skipping out, son. Catch you later. I'm gone.

Walter Saastamoinen let his eyes come back into focus and flick momentarily to the wind-trend readout, then to the marine scanner. Ominous high cirrus clouds streaked the northern horizon, but otherwise it was a beautiful sunny morning on the North Atlantic.

"Congratulations on the survival of your son," Marc said.

Walter nodded. "I don't suppose you happened to d-jump in on that little scene and help the kids out?"

"The base camp was adequately defended. They didn't require my assistance. Earlier, I did help to precipitate an avalanche down around the ears of the other Firvulag force-the one menacing the climbing party."

"That was kind of you. I wonder why you bother, though?"

"It takes guts to tackle that mountain. I have a certain admiration for those with unmitigated gall."

Walter smiled, watching the sea. "Is that why you let me live?"

Marc did not reply.

"But you made an example of me, nonetheless. I'm curious.

Is there a reason why you chose ... this particular form of discipline?"

"We're on shipboard," Marc said, "and I was reminded somehow of the tale of the Little Mermaid. She insisted upon abandoning her own kind and paid a severe price for it-as you have. The mermaid wanted legs rather than her fish's tail, and her wish was granted. But whenever she walked, it seemed to her that she trod upon invisible knives."

The bridge door opened and Steve Vanier came in. "Eight bells and all's well! I relieve you at the helm, skipper. How're you, Marc? Ready to take one of us along with you on the jump?"

"Not quiet yet, Steve. I want to minimize the risk factor."

Vanier was studying the instrumentation. He frowned. "I see George is down again."

Walter said, "I'm afraid so, Steve. Just maintain course on manual."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Marc said, "Would you like me to give you a hand to your cabin, Walter?"

"Appreciate it," Kyllikki's master said. Leaning heavily on Marc, he limped toward the door. He was wearing only heavy woollen socks on his feet, and he left a trail of dark stains on the deck behind him.

At Vanier's horrified exclamation, he grinned and said, "Bit by a goddam mermaid. Wake me if the wind tops thirty knots, and don't bother asking Arne-Rolf to try fixing the autopilot.

When I break a thing, it stays broken.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Another storm struck Monte Rosa on the third day of the principal assault. Fortunately, the climbers had been given ample warning of its approach by Elizabeth, who tracked them almost constantly with her farsight. Led by Basil, the seven-man party pushed off from Camp 2 before dawn and moved up the spur of Middle Tine in deceptively perfect weather. Aside from the altitude sickness that had begun to afflict both Tanu, the trek was uneventful. The climbers traversed the upper Bettaforca Glacier as awesome cumulonimbus clouds reared above the alabaster Breithorn to the west. Static electricity charged the air, making the scalp crawl and the torc sing odd, buzzing melodies as a counterpoint to the tympanic rumbles of the approaching storm.

No sooner had they settled into the two decamole huts of Camp 3 than a titanic lightning bolt, pink in the gathering murk, blasted Monte Rosa's summit. The polycell structure of the decamole was an excellent insulator-a fact they gave thanks for during the next hour or so, when a pyrotechnic display of stunning violence seemed to shake the massif to its roots. Then hail rattled down, followed by thick snow, and the wind howled up a hurricane.

But Camp 3 was nestled snugly in the lee of a rock cleaver at 7039 metres, and the seven people inside were safe and warm.

Farspoken reassurances from Ochal the Harper at base camp told them that Taffy Evans and Magnus had finally brought Stan and Phronsie to safety. The reduction in altitude had eased Stan's edema, and Magnus seemed confident that the former starfleet officer would recover in time to pilot a flyer back to Goriah. Phronsie's frostbitten feet were responding to treatment. Dr. Thongsa's body had been retrieved and interred in a rock cairn. The assault party was encouraged to proceed with all dispatch, since even the pickled slugs were running low in Camp Bettaforca's commissary.

Late that night, when the storm had nearly blown itself out, Elizabeth bespoke Bleyn the Champion in Camp 3.

ELIZABETH: Do you hear, Bleyn?

BLEYN: Yes, Elizabeth. I was not asleep, nor is Aronn. But the humans fill the second hut with their snores so as to drown out even the roar of the tempest.

ELIZABETH: [Mind-smile.] They are well, then?

BLEYN: Basil is a prodigy of strength. Ookpik, Bengt, and Nazir are weary but fit. The one called Mr. Betsy complains vociferously at every opportunity but seems second only to Basil in stamina.

ELIZABETH: And you Tanu?

BLEYN: [Malaise.] Both Aronn and I suffer greatly from headache, shortness of breath, and muscle weakness. Basil thinks our large exotic bodies have not acclimatized to the high altitude as readily as those of the humans. We are trying to consume additional fluids and redact one another through the night.

ELIZABETH: [Concern.] Wouldn't sleep be more therapeutic?

BLEYN: You know that we Tanu naturally require less sleep than your race. We are far more comfortable awake, when we can maintain our respiration at a higher rate and alleviate the effects of anoxia.

ELIZABETH: Well ... be careful. I understand that mountain sickness can afflict the strong as well as the less rugged among humans. This is doubtless true among Tanu as well.

BLEYN: Tomorrow we reach the high point of our journey. We will endure ... Do you have the route selected for us? I have the chart ready to mark.

ELIZABETH: [Image.] It seems that the snowy ridge above Camp 3 still provides your best access to the Col. After the storm the snow will be deeper and you can expect soft and slow going. Tell Basil there are dangerous cornices that have formed within the saddle of the Col, so he can no longer count upon using that route. You'll have to traverse the hardfrozen snowfield at the foot of Rosa's West Face. It means an additional climb, I'm afraid, but only about 400 metres total gain.

BLEYN: to 8210! Goddess sustain us. The breath burns in my lungs at the very thought.

ELIZABETH: But from then on, it's downhill all the way-and in good weather. You should have clear blue skies for at least three days.

BLEYN: Tana willing, there is a good chance we may even reach the aircraft tomorrow. Did the storms bury them?

ELIZABETH: They're still quite visible. Only slightly hidden in drifts.

BLEYN: Something hidden. Go and find it. Something lost behind the Ranges ... [laughter].

ELIZABETH: [Anxiety.] BLEYN: No-it's only a silly poem that Basil quoted to us, a human glorification of adventures such as this one. I find the poem, and the attitude it celebrates, incomprehensible. Yet of the five humans in our party, only Mr. Betsy has the good sense to despise and abominate our travels through this terrible place. The others are thrilled at the prospect of the mountain's conquest! ... Tell me, Elizabeth. Is it true that in your future world, humans climb peaks such as this purely for sport?

ELIZABETH: Quite true.

BLEYN: How will we ever understand your race!

ELIZABETH: If I told you, you would never believe it.

In the morning, Bleyn and Aronn felt better. Basil decided to revert to their original climbing configuration of two parties.

He, Betsy, and Bleyn led the way, with Ookpik, Bengt, Nazir, and Aronn following some fifteen minutes behind. The snow on the ridge was knee-deep, and very soft after the early morning sun went to work on it. Basil's team ploughed ahead breaking trail for three tedious hours; then Ookpik's group had their turn. In some places, the humans floundered nearly waist-deep, but it was the long-legged Tanu who seemed most depleted by the effort. Aronn, especially, had gone ashen-faced and sluggish.

He seemed confused by Ookpik's simplest orders and found it difficult to keep up with the modest pace set by the humans in the team.

By noon the climbers had nearly attained the elevation of the West Col. Basil decreed a lunch halt in a sheltered snow hollow.

"Do you see that foggy glitter ahead?" He pointed up the slope. "It's wind, blowing through the Col, and it means the end of this beastly soft stuff. However, I'm afraid we'll have to-er-lean into it a bit crossing the snowfield on the upper slope. The traverse will be short, but possibly rather grim, until we get down onto the northern flank and out of the venturieffect wind. What we need now is good hot food, and plenty to drink. Soup and sweet tea. Dehydration is one of our deadliest enemies now. It aggravates the fatigue and hypothermia and mountain sickness and other stresses on our bodies."

"The worst stress I suffer is when I look into a mirror," Mr.

Betsy complained. "My poor nose and cheeks are sunburned to a frazzle!"

Ookpik thrust a portable stove and a large decamole pot at him. "Go melt snow and spare us the bitching and I'll let you have some of my rhinoceros lard. It's only a little rancid."

"Ugh!" cried Betsy and flounced off.

Basil beckoned to Bleyn and led him apart from the others.

"I'm quite worried about Aronn. His condition seems to be deteriorating."

"I have noted it." The Champion's eyes turned to his Guild Brother, who sat apathetically in front of an infrared heating unit, holding an untasted chocolate bar in one mittened hand.

"We'll have to go roped on the slope," Basil said. "There may be some steep pitches of ice and the wind will be severe.