Bob Shaw - The Fugitive Worlds

This is more comfortable than I had expected, Divivvidiv told them. I may be able to sleep and dream during the fall—but what will happen if I have difficulty in getting out of the bag when it is time to use the parachutes?

“Put your mind at ease,” Toller called into the neck of the bag. “We will not allow you to bounce.”

The scarf covering most of his face was already stiff with frozen exhalations and in spite of the protection of his skysuit he was beginning to shiver. He separated from the alien and struggled into his own fallbag, a job he accomplished slowly because of the awkward presence of his sword. He began to feel oddly guilty as he realized he was in a way looking forward to a spell in the bag’s snug and undemanding warmth.

As soon as he had cocooned himself he closed his eyes and prepared to doze. He was falling towards the planet, but it was going to be quite some time before his speed built up enough to produce slipstream sounds. For the present all was quiet, and he was very tired, and nothing was required of him…

Toller awoke an indeterminate time later and knew at once that there was darkness outside. Dussarra’s shadow had swung round to encompass the three specks of life which, having surrendered themselves to the planet’s gravity, were making the long pilgrimage from the fringes of space. Suddenly curious about how the alien world would look at night, Toller roused himself, opened the neck of the fallbag and peered out.

He could see the featureless shapes representing Steenameert and Divivvidiv close by, outlined against the silver blazes of the universe, but his gaze was captured and held by the spectacle of the enigmatic planet laid out below him. The visible hemisphere was mostly in darkness, with only a slim line of blue-white radiance adorning its eastern edge. Toller had seen Land and Overland in similar conditions many times, but there the areas where night held sway had always been dominated by a slumberous blackness which was only relieved by astronomical reflection. He was unprepared for his first glimpse of the nightside of a world which was the home of an advanced technical civilization.

The major land masses, which had appeared insignificant in daytime, were glittering networks of yellow light. Islands appeared brighter in contrast to the surrounding darkness, but even the oceans were plentifully speckled with points of brilliance which conjured in Toller’s mind visions of gargantuan ships, as large as cities, engaged in global commerce. The planet might have been a vast metal sphere pierced in a million places to emit light from an interior source.

Toller gazed down at it for a long time and then, feeling subdued and chastened, pulled the neck of the fallbag up over his head and closed it to shut out the intrusive cold.

He knew he had been deceived and trapped the instant his feet touched the ground.

The three parachutes had opened almost in unison above a night-black landscape in which the only sign of habitation was a thin line of lights, several miles away to the west. There had been no wind to complicate the touchdown for the inexperienced Divivvidiv, and Toller had felt a resurgence of his old optimism as the trio sank into a starlit expanse of grassland. He had prepared himself for a gentle impact, the sensation of his boots going into yielding turf, the feel and smell of grass…

All visual indicators had remained unchanged. As far as the evidence of his eyes was concerned, Toller had touched down in what could have been the rolling savannahs of his home world. Steenameert and Divivvidiv were not far away to his left. They too were standing in grass—and yet Toller could feel flat masonry beneath his feet. He and his two companions were alone in an open stretch of empty pasture—and yet he could hear movement all around, sense the pressure of minds.

“Defend yourself, Baten,” he shouted, drawing his sword. “We are betrayed!”

He turned towards Divivvidiv, snorting in his rage, but the swaddled figure of the alien was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had ceased to exist.

Put the weapon down, Toller Maraquine. Divivvidiv’s tone was both kindly and contemptuous. You are surrounded by more than a thousand stability officers — many of them armed—and any hostile action on your part will most surely result in your death.

Toller shook his head and spoke in a growl. “I can take many of them with me.”

Possibly, but if that were the way of it you would never see your female again. She is only a few miles from here and within a matter of minutes you could be in her company. Alive you might, possibly, be of some comfort or service to her; but if you are dead…

Toller allowed his sword to fall, heard it ringing on stone pavement, and his eyes filled with tears of frustration.

It was not until Toller and Steenameert had submitted to the pressure of many hands, and to having their wrists bound together behind their backs, that the alien scales were lifted from their eyes. Retinal communications were permitted to pass to the brain, unaffected by external forces, and suddenly the two Kolcorronians could see normally again.

Night still reigned, but the perceived starlit meadows had been replaced by a complex diorama of dimly lit buildings in the middle distance and ranks of shadowy Dussarran figures in the foreground. Toller guessed he was near the center of an enormous plaza. The surrounding buildings were delineated by gentle curves, in contrast to the rectangular architecture of his home world, and their outlines were punctuated by slim trees which swayed continuously although the humid night air was perfectly still. The only familiar element Toller could find was the face of Steenameert, turned towards him above a sea of industrious, seething, black-clad alien figures.

“It seems that you have won,” Toller said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Sorcery prevails over strength.”

Divivvidiv moved a little closer through the crush of odorous bodies. For your own good, Toller Maraquine, put behind you all your primitive ideas about sorcery. There are no unfair advantages in nature. What is commonplace to my people seems magical to yours, but that is simply because we are more advanced in every branch of learning.

“It is as good as magic when men are deceived by their own eyes.”

That was simply done. When I was close enough to the ground I was able to enlist the telepathic aid of some of my fellow Dussarrans. As soon as you and your companion were sufficiently outnumbered we were able to dictate what you could see, in the same way that a crowd can drown out a single voice. Nothing magical about it!

“But you cannot deny that luck was on your side,” Toller grumbled, feeling himself being pushed towards a vehicle which had arrived in the vicinity. “For us to land where we did—so close to a city, in the midst of your lackeys… That had to be magic or blind luck.”

Neither! Divivvidiv and Toller were losing sight of each other in the press of bodies, but the alien’s silent words were clear. As soon as I had given warning of what was happening my people took control of the local wind cells and guided us to this spot. I told you at the outset, Toller Maraquine — your mission had NO chance of succeeding.

I am now returning to my post, so it is unlikely that we will ever see each other again, but you have no need to fear for your life. Unlike you Primitives, we Dussarrans do not…

Uncharacteristically for Divivvidiv, the incisive quality of his thought processes faded. There was a moment of woolliness, shadings of what Toller half-identified as guilt, and then the psychic contact was broken. The concept of telepathy was so new to Toller that he felt a dull amazement at even being able to think in such terms, but he was left with the conviction that the alien had suffered an unexpected crisis of conscience, perhaps triggered by the stresses of the fall from the edge of space.