Piers Anthony - Steppe

" Noyan to my ship," Uga said on the screen as the fleet achieved speed. Alp wondered why the chief continued to insist on this personal contact despite inconvenience, when the screens were quite adequate for communication. It was the usual nomad way, true—but this astonishing flight through reaches Alp had not before imagined had demonstrated clearly that the usual nomad ways were no longer applicable. This was not the natural Steppe; it was the Game.

But a Uigur did not answer in such a situation, he obeyed. Alp was a noyan , a member of the Steppe aristocracy, both in life and here.

He set the reins for rendezvous and gave his horse its mechanical head. The machine-creature made the maneuver and docked, sealing one of its airlocks to one of Uga's steed. Each horse had three such locks, so it was possible for up to four to unite in a cluster during flight. Or more, if it wasn't necessary for each to face into a common chamber. In this way no one horse was overburdened, though overall maneuverability suffered.

Pei-li docked next. The two visitors stuck their heads through the locks into Uga's ship, turning off their screens. Their dialogue was thus assured of privacy.

Pei-li's head suggested a large brutish body, that one should not draw sword against unless one intended to slay. His mouth was taciturn, his eyes watchful.

"Ko-lo is dubious about this mission," Uga said to Pei-li. "What is your sentiment?"

"A fool's errand," Pei-li growled. "We shall die in China."

"Is that your view?" Uga asked Alp.

"I do not know more than I have told you about this matter," Alp said. "You will return alive, unsuccessful, and the Khagan will blame you for failure. Many of your men will die, and you may have to recruit from dissident Chinese horsemen on your return trip. The rest—we shall discover."

"How can you know this?" Pei-li demanded, obviously jealous of the seeming confidence Uga placed in Alp. "Do you seek to exterminate me before the fact?"

"You will also survive," Alp said, keeping his face straight.

"This is Ko-lo's talent," Uga explained. "To foresee history." He rotated his head to face Alp again. "Why should I recruit Chinese, when you say I will hate them?"

Alp had to think about that. "Perhaps it is the T'ang empire you will hate, not the Chinese themselves. Perhaps you will only claim to hate them. I do not know your mind, only your actions—and those only vaguely."

"The Khagan knows no more than that," Uga said meaningfully. Then he got down to business: "In the T'ang dominions—distrust the screen. Always respond affirmatively."

Alp was puzzled again. "What if you ask for information? Something that can't be answered yes or no?"

Uga smiled, and so did Pei-li, feeling superior. "Then answer as pleases you," Uga said, "so long as you stay wide of the truth."

Then Alp understood how the communications screens differed from direct speech. Others could eavesdrop on screen dialogue, so it was not to be trusted in any critical situation. This information, too, was available in his new memory; it had merely been hidden behind the more technical complexities of Galactic intercourse. So much of this demon universe was like that—concealed not so much by any veil of secrecy, but by unclear implications of its superior technology. All Galactic swords were many-edged.

The ships disengaged and resumed formation. Alp found it challenging to correlate the vast steppe and desert he had ridden in life, to the vaster volume of space he now traversed. Very soon they left the entire system that included the planet Earth behind, accelerating to a velocity his mind was not equipped to conceive. They galloped between the myriad candles of the galaxy. Their course was set for the populous center; Uga's post had been near the fringe. The entire steppe Alp had known was a mere patch on that fringe-world. It was an exercise in perspective!

China in the world was southeast of the Uigur dominions. China in the galaxy was toward the interior of the bulging disk. In each case there were mountains, rivers, bandits, deserts and other natural hazards. A desert, in Game terms, was a region of space almost devoid of planet-bearing stars, so that there was no place to stop for rest and resupply except scattered oases. Mountains were ridges of stars whose interacting gravitational wells interfered with the course of the fleet. At sublight velocity that hardly mattered—but these horses traveled a hundred light years for every kilometer a real horse might, and faster in proportion. Alp had no real concept of the length of a light year, except that it was an extremely far piece. A hundred light years amounted to about a thousandth of the distance across the galaxy. Of course the distance to China was only a fraction of the galactic diameter, but again it illustrated the proportions.

Cruising speed of the ships was actually about ten thousand light years per hour—and what horse could run a hundred kilometers in an hour? But at that velocity the space horses quickly became winded, and it was necessary to change to new steeds every hour—or to allow the old ones to walk for a period. That high speed could not be maintained in the mountain region, regardless, for a cluster of stars, each one or two light years apart, was a serious navigational hazard. The stars themselves were nothing; it was almost impossible to hit one at that speed no matter how hard one tried—and if a ship did , it would pass right through it at speed, unharmed. But their gravitational fields extended over significant volumes of space.

Alp shook his head. It all made sense to born Galactics, but to him it was foreign. Easier to view the dust-nebula as rivers, even if they didn't have normal currents.

At ten thousand light years per hour, the journey to the Chinese court would require two Hours, or one month historically—just as it always had. Time enough to take some rest from the sleep-helmet, except that Alp had a recent but strong aversion to such devices. So he set out to absorb some more comic-history background.

Cimmerian had a son named Scythian, and Scyth was now growing into aggressive gianthood. He was younger and stronger than his father and had little proper respect for parentage. Some dwarves openly doubted the filial relation, for parentage was always dubious among giants. At any rate, Scyth began to move into Cimmerian's territory and to shove him around. This naturally made the old giant furious—but it was far too late to undertake the disciplinary measures he should have invoked when Scyth was but a lad. So Cim had to give way.

In fact, it may have been this developing quarrel among the giants of Steppe that drove Cim down into the fringe of the territories of Greek and Hittite, with the consequent significance for the world.

Cim, however, was no giant to take that sort of bruising from an upstart youth for long. By and by he stood up and fought Scyth directly, son or no son. The two charged each other on their great horses, fired volleys of arrows, and finally dismounted to hack it with their swords.

The battle was earth-shattering (did that account for the gorge? Alp wondered facetiously), but slowly Scyth prevailed. Finally he opened his huge mouth and took a bite of Cim. Cim howled angrily, but bit by bit and bite by bite Scyth ate him, and at last swallowed him whole.

This, the cartoon narration assured the viewer, was the way giants were. Since any living thing that wasn't consumed remained a functioning entity on its own, there was no sense leaving any part of a vanquished enemy unconsumed.

For a Year or more—three or four centuries, historically—Scyth dominated the western steppe, making just about as much trouble for the civilized dwarves of the south as his progenitor had. Some wondered whether the original giant had really changed in nature at all, or merely altered his name. There was no way to be sure, since when one giant consumed another he tended to assume the attributes of the repast.