Gérard Klein: The Overlords of War

“We’ll send the message to Aergistal, marked ‘to be called for.’ ” He had once explained to Selma the system of military postal zones which had been in use in his own time, and the poste restante mail ships which waited for their particular squadrons for a year, two, ten, sometimes through all eternity. Under robot control they made for a prearranged point and there remained as long as was necessary until their contents were collected. She had found the idea both absurd and comical. He had almost become angry. Then he had realized that to her the idea of waiting for news must be a totally foreign concept. Every day she received news from a time when she would be long dead.

Then he would turn to Cid.

“Are you sure that throwing Veran’s camp into confusion will be enough? Are you sure the citizens of Uria can cope with the soldiers and their pegasones?”

“Absolutely,” Cid would say. “Apart from Veran none of those soldiers has the makings of a leader. As soon as he is out of the way the rest will put up little resistance.”

“Collectively, perhaps not. Individually, I’m not so sure. They’re used to fighting under very bad conditions.”

“They won’t be inclined to fight after what you’ll have dumped on them. And don’t underestimate the people of Uria. They may not be war veterans, but I’m not certain Veran would have gotten the better of them even without your plan. There would have been a fearful number of casualties, which is what we want to avoid, but in the end Veran would have been brought to his knees. In any case, though, that’s for us to worry about.”

The prospect of this confrontation filled Corson with anxiety. He knew that Veran’s men would be disoriented by the probable breakdown of the strict combat discipline they were used to. But they did possess formidable weapons, and knew how to use them.

“I’d very much like to be there,” Corson would wind up.

“No. You’ll have other tasks to attend to. You might be hurt or even killed. That would lead to a major timequake.”

Since the start Cid had insisted that Corson stay clear of the eventual battlefield. He had agreed without understanding why. He could not get to grips with the idea that this battle had already taken place and in one sense had already been won.

One evening Cid did not launch into his customary thesis. He simply said, “I hope you’ve finished your preparations, friend. Time is wasting. You must be on your way tomorrow.”

Corson gave a thoughtful nod.

That evening he took Antonella to a distant part of the beach. She turned out to be quite passive. He had retained a different memory of her. Now she was neither afraid nor eager, simply compliant, whereas on the same beach three hundred years earlier she had displayed great passion. He was sure of one thing: this was not her first time. But that was of no importance to him. What he did wonder was how many men she would meet before he found her again. Then he dozed off, cuddling her against him.

Next morning he harnessed the pegasone. He had found little time to attend to the beast, but it did not need much looking after. He had thought of trying to contact Aergistal, but he had not put the idea into effect. He preferred not to make inquiries of Those of Aergistal unless he was forced to. When he thought back to the crystal voice he had heard under that purple welkin he felt ill.

Cid was alone on the beach. He approached just as Corson was ready to mount.

“Good luck, friend,” he called.

Corson hesitated. He did not want to make a long speech at this parting, but on the other hand he did not want to leave without saying a word to anyone. When he had wakened Antonella had gone, perhaps to spare him a painful goodbye.

Simply to say thank you doesn’t feel like enough. He licked his dry lips. So many questions still to ask, so many things left unsaid…

“May you live here to the end of eternity,” he said at last. ‘To meditate your fill, as you said the evening of my arrival… Do you do it only so that you can administer these centuries?”

“No. That’s not even the most important aspect of it. We are preparing, as you know, to master time, and this”—Cid gestured to indicate the beach, the sea, the sky—“is our laboratory.”

“In order to travel into the future?”

“Not just that. Time travel is almost an incidental. We are trying to get used to the idea of living in a new way. We’ve coined the name ‘hyperlife’ for it. How shall I explain that? Perhaps I could say that what we want is to live in several possibilities at once, maybe in all possibilities. To coexist with ourselves on many probability lines. To be several people at once yet remain our unique selves. To be multidimensional. And think what it will mean when every being can introduce its own changes into history. The changes will combine with each other, they’ll set up interference patterns like ripples meeting on a pond, and some will be favorable and some will be harmful. No human mind could attain hyperlife and still be sane! Everyone is part of another’s possibility. You would have to know somebody incredibly well before risking a change in his destiny and your own. That’s what we are preparing ourselves for, Selma, Ana, and I. It’s a long road we’ve set out on—a long road.”

“You will become like Those of Aergistal,” Corson said.

Cid shook his head. “They’re different, genuinely transformed by evolution… No, that’s not the right term. No concept of ours even comes close. They will no longer be human, or avian, or saurian, or descendants of any species you can dream of. They will be all of them at once, or rather they will have been. Really we know nothing of Aergistal, Corson. All we know of it is what we see, not because it’s all we’re allowed to see but because it’s all we are capable of seeing. Almost nothing. We interpret it in the only way we can, and what we see there is ourselves. Those of Aergistal will conquer something which makes us afraid.”

“Death?” Corson said.

“No, death holds no terrors for those who have caught a glimpse of hyperlife. To die once is no great matter if an infinity of other parallel existences remain to you. But there is something we call hyperdeath. That consists in being relegated to mere potential, in being eliminated from all probability lines by a timequake. To be sure of escaping that, one must control every creode in the universe. One must make one’s own possibilities congruent with those of the continuum. Those of Aergistal have succeeded in doing so.”

Corson said slowly, “Is that why they are afraid of the Outside, and have girdled their domain with a moat of wars?”

“Perhaps,” answered Cid. “I’ve never been there. But you must not let what I say upset you. Come back here when you have done what you have to do.”

“I’ll come back,” Corson said. “I hope very much to see you again.” Cid gave an equivocal smile. “Don’t hope for too much, my friend. But return as quickly as you can. There is a seat waiting for you on the Council of Uria. Good luck again.”

“Goodbye!” Corson cried, and the pegasone took off.

He made a preliminary time jump to obtain two space suits. It would be best to organize the getaway in two stages. He decided to step in one minute before the moment of the actual escape. That would allow him to spy out the defenses and sow the confusion essential to the second phase. He had little trouble in slipping into one of the maintenance tents, but, as he had expected, night had brought no relaxation in the vigilance of Veran’s camp. He hardly had time to seize two suit packs and remount before the alleys were loud with alarms. The tent he had just raided was in a sector of the camp almost diametrically opposite where Corson and Antonella were imprisoned. The first movement of the guards would be to converge on the site of the robbery. They would have no time to rush back the other way.