Barrington Bayley - Collision with Chronos

Limnich finally put down his gun. “How could we invade it?” he asked, his eyes bulging behind his round lenses. “I understand it lies some light-years away.”

“Not only that, it’s removed in time as well. But you have rocket-driven spaceships, do you not? They’ll suffice. I’ll show your technicians how to make space-time drives for them – I am,” he added incidentally, “a fully trained engineer. With perhaps thirty or forty such ships, carrying a few thousand well-armed men, the city could be taken.”

The Planetary Leader became deeply thoughtful, considering this remarkable offer from all angles. A feeling of excitement grew in him as he realised the vast benefits that could accrue.

Hueh Su-Mueng’s enormous treachery didn’t surprise him in the least. The creature was a Chink, following his natural tendencies. Also, Rond Heshke’s report on the dev city confirmed his claims.

“Very well, it’s agreed,” he said abruptly. “You’ll have what you ask for – provided things go as you promise.”

A look of triumph came suddenly over the dev’s face, quickly to be followed by his usual blandness.

“Now that matters have reached this stage, perhaps I might add one more condition?” he said. “Rond Heshke, whom I’ve come to look upon as a good man, is saddened by the plight of two friends of his who are being held in Bupolbloc: Sobrie Oblomot and Layella Frauk. Instead of having them put to death, allow them to live on the reservation as he hopes for them.”

“What? You dare to make petty conditions?” Limnich glowered to find himself being dictated to by this subhuman. “Do you think we depend on your goodwill? More of this and I’ll simply torture cooperation out of you.” And the ugly look on his face showed that he meant what he said.

“Remember, we are not as you are,” Su-Mueng said coldly. “Perhaps I can withstand torture. And have you not asked yourself why I’m doing all this? I alone of all my people seem to know the meaning of strong human relationships. That’s why I feel for the man and the girl in Bupolbloc – they have such a relationship. Such a bond. There was a bond between my father and myself, and he was put to death for it. That is why I’m doing this – because I am a son to my father. You can understand that, can’t you? Your people aren’t strangers to these feelings.”

Limnich didn’t answer immediately. But for the first time the hint of a smile, even of amicability, came to his features.

“Yes,” he said sardonically, “I can understand that.”

“There’s one other small problem,” Su-Mueng said with a frown, a few days later.

“And what’s that?” Limnich leaned back, strangely at ease. In spite of the physical revulsion he still felt for the Chink (at first he’d been obliged to stifle an impulse to vomit), alongside with that revulsion he found that he derived a perverse pleasure from their dealings together. It was spicy, like having truck with the devil.

“The ship that brought us here is still in orbit around Earth. It would certainly spot our armada.”

“Can’t we destroy it?”

“Possibly, but it’s doubtful. And if we failed, it would return immediately to warn Retort City. By the time we got there, we’d find them prepared.”

“Then we need to get it out of the way. I suggest you contact the ship and tell it to return to base forthwith.”

“They wouldn’t go without either myself or Rond Heshke. That would be against all protocol.” For once Su-Mueng was at a loss.

“So? Send Heshke,” said Limnich impatiently. He didn’t like to be upset by such details.

“Apparently he doesn’t want to go either.”

“Hmm.” Limnich pondered. “Can he contact this ship?”

“He could if I gave him my communicator.”

“Good. Then I’ll make him want to go. You asked for some friends of his to be sent to a dev reservation, didn’t you? Well, they will be – and he can join them.”

“I don’t understand.”

The Planetary Leader gave a humourless smile. “The dev reservations are to be closed down within the next few weeks, their inmates liquidated. I’ll see that he gets an advance warning. That should send him screaming for your orbiting spaceship.”

Su-Mueng was uneasy. “I don’t like using him as a pawn.…”

“All men are pawns,” Limnich purred. “When he leaves for the reservation, give him your communicator. Urge him to call the ship to take him off, so he can make a report to your city on his mission. But no hint of what we’re really about, mind.” He eyed Su-Mueng speculatively. “Maybe you Chinks aren’t so clever after all.”

The sun was setting on a dusty yellowish landscape broken only by bare, bone-like trees and scattered houses of brick or mud. Rond Heshke, sitting on a verandah backed by a neat bungalow of red brick, looked upon the scene with an unexpected feeling of calm and peace.

Herrick, the Amhrak who owned the bungalow in which Heshke, Sobrie and Layella were staying, came walking toward the building with easy strides, his body swinging characteristically, and Heshke found that even the sudden sight of a full-blooded dev didn’t upset his contentment.

At first it had been a tremendous shock to him. He’d been angry and bewildered that he, a respectable citizen with a certificate of racial purity, could be summarily packed off to a dev reservation. His protests had been ignored and he’d gathered that it was because of his friendship with the Oblomot family. After all, Sobrie was being banished too, simply because of his association with Layella. Yes, it had been shocking, at first, to be thrown in with the Amhraks. Had not his experiences with the Chinks already prepared him to some degree, he was sure he might have gone insane.

But now… Herrick mounted the steps of the verandah. He was wholly, unstintingly Amhrak. He had the red skin, the compact, round head, the round eyes and the foreign, big-lobed ears. His body, too, had all the disturbing oddness of proportion and of lank, too-easy movement. And it didn’t bother Heshke at all. It seemed entirely natural for him to accept Herrick as a charming member of a charming people – all the more so, perhaps, because they represented a now dying culture.

“Hello, Rond,” Herrick said with a heavy Amhrak accent. “Is Sobrie in?”

Heshke nodded and Herrick swept inside without the usual pleasantries. Heshke continued looking at the receding sun, reflecting on how well the surviving Amhraks had adapted to their circumstances. There were three million of them on this reserve, which measured about two hundred miles across (and yet they had once populated two continents). Most of the land was as Heshke saw it now, arid and useless for cultivation, but the Amhraks had solved that by turning to hydroponics. They had organised themselves into a comprehensive little community, with several small-to-middling towns, and had resurrected a modest amount of industry – all small-scale, just enough for their needs. They were all very much aware that their existence was contingent upon the whim of their conquerors.

While Heshke had known that the Amhraks were technically advanced, he’d always thought this to be due to their copying the inventions of True Man, and it had surprised him, while staying with Herrick, to discover how inventive they were in their own right. Herrick often reminisced about the Amhrak war, when he’d been a young scientist working for the Amhrak’s last attempt at defence. He’d been involved, typically, in a project that never reached fruition – a force screen to ward off nuclear warheads.

“The reason why you Whites were able to win,” he’d told Heshke (Whites being the Amhrak term for True Man), “is that you have such a capacity for submitting to a central authority, which makes you able to organise yourselves all in one direction. Our social organisation was too loose to be able to stand up to you. Even at the end our energies were being dissipated in countless uncoordinated projects.”