The Bannk was wearing thin. Karrxlyn drilled lines of recruits on the plateau at Massarat. Material, often imported from the north, was being fashioned into bows and catapults. Karrxlyn watched the Fringemen become more and more proficient with their weapons. Targets were more frequently pierced through their bull’s-eyes; fewer bolts were lost over the edge or shattered on the rocks. Long bows were not the favored weapons; the wind, now on the uptake again, played havoc with their flight. Instead, crossbows, which could wreak destruction as well as any gun in the hands of a good marksman, were substituted. Barbed tips were fashioned from odd pieces of metal lying about the caves themselves and in the old mines. Shields were difficult. Bamboo-tree wood was in short supply at Massarat, and material had to be imported from the more temperate north via the stala or constructed from the few plants found along the coast.
The coast at Liddlefur had, a teclad ago, been visited for the first time this Bannk. The expedition came back hot, almost dead, but with a good catch of fish. However, the loss of life, nearly half the party, had been enough to convince Pike that the Killer Bannk was impossible below the mountains and that food should, along with almost everything else, be imported from the north.
Karrxlyn watched the first catapult hurl its payload over the edge as the huge lever jerked to a halt against the crosspiece and the machine rebounded in a cloud of dust. After the first dozen or two engines had been completed, Karrxlyn was becoming satisfied, or restless, and went to find the Commander.
Pike was in council with Effrulyn on his right, holding the Angles, and Fara-Ny on his left. Karrxlyn bowed slightly as he entered the chamber, scowled at the newfangled clock, which he could not understand, and sat down with the others.
A diagram of Triesk, which had been delivered by one of the reconnaissance missions, was spread across the table. Pike was pacing the room, slowly, evenly, without agitation.
Am I interrupting?
Karrxlyn asked.
No. You have leave to say what you have to say.
The Bannk is more than half done. Long ago it
turned the corner in the sky. The recruits are ready, and it is my
suggestion that we attack as soon as possible. Remember, we must now
prepare not only for the invasion but for the coming Patra as well. And
that Patra—
—is only a semi-infinite time away,
Effrulyn finished. Applied, details,
quibblers. Arrgh. Why do I get involved with things of such nature? What
can be done about it?
Pike smiled and waved the mathematician silent. Yes, I
have been considering our position. My former and now vanished companion
brought the news that Triesk contains more than twenty thousand
inhabitants. This is troublesome. It exceeded your estimations. How many
are we now?
Five thousand, with more coming all the time,
Commander.
That is not enough. Look at these sketches. Triesk
sits on top of a tall, steep hill. It has the advantage for defense. It
also has four times the people we have—
—including children and the aged.
Nonetheless, we are still outnumbered by perhaps two
to one. And, as you rightly inform me, the Bannk is retreating. There is
still much light left, but will we have enough to start? That is what I
have been considering.
Do you come to any conclusions?
I suggest that we need something else?
Such as, Commander?
Surprise.
Karrxlyn laughed, Effrulyn fondled his Angles absently, and Fara-Ny’s staff dropped to the floor with a wooden clatter.
Surprise in the middle of the Bannk, when it takes
beclads to assemble the forces via the stala and your ships? That sounds
unlikely, Commander.
Then why not attack at dawn?
Pike asked.
Normally, Karrxlyn would have bellowed at the idiocy of such a
suggestion. However, even the regal Karrxlyn had to admit that Pike’s
stance, sword hanging from his side and head defiant, already anticipating
such a response, and Karrxlyn’s bellow was stillborn. I assume you have a plan in mind, Commander.
Yes, I have a plan.
But attacking at dawn assumes we are there during
the Patra.
Exactly.
Light? Heat? Food? Shelter? Where are they going
to come from?
My shuttles will provide the shelter while the camp is
built—
One cannot build during the Patra.
I think that men can do many things when pressed. We
will work in short shifts, use heated quazzats if necessary. We will have
to start getting the necessary materials immediately.
There is still the problem of light.
My shuttles have search beams. We will make fires. On
my planet we have spots that get very cold, too. Men can work there. It can
be done.
Does it get as cold as the Patra?
We will see, won’t we? You asked for my Command. Now I
have given it to you. Do you object? If not, I suggest we prepare for the
coming darkness.
Fara-Ny nodded silently. Effrulyn looked about. I
can’t see what difference it can possibly make; you seem to have nothing
better to do for amusement.
Karrxlyn shook a fist at the blond-haired boy. Put
a sword in this one’s hand and I’ll show him what I’d like to do.
Enough,
Pike interposed. Go
tell the recruits of the delay. They will be housed here during the
Patra—
Karrxlyn opened his mouth.
We will make the room,
Pike continued, and this ends the discussion, by my Command.
Karrxlyn rose brusquely, helped Fara-Ny to his feet, and together they left the council chamber. Effrulyn stood up but Pike silently, wearily, waved him down.
Yes, Commander?
Sit, just sit with me.
The young man sat down, puzzled, not realizing that Pike hardly noticed anything now but the slow ticking of the giant clock. To Effrulyn, the clock was as always, monotonous and annoying. To Pike, the arm of the pendulum was fluid, stretching and arching as the long swing began trudging from the right, creeping faster and faster toward the middle of the endless trek.
Hurry! Hurry!
he called. Go
faster! Do you hear me?
But the pendulum merely slowed down again as it struggled back up to its second maximum, fated only to fall backward into the depths once more.
Faster! Do you think my life can wait for you?
The only response was another clack as the mechanism of the clock advanced one increment.
Answer me!
Clack clack clack. And again: Clack clack clack.
Stop!
he screamed. But had the scream been heard?
Had the mathematician flinched?
Effrulyn had heard nothing at all. He was aware only of the Commander’s turning toward him with hands pressed tightly against his ears and with his agonized face drawn into deep convolutions that hid old scars in shadow. For a moment, then, he saw Pike’s eyes grow clear and lucid.
Yes, Effrulyn,
Pike said so softly that the young
man strained to hear, nothing
better to do…Tell me, Mathematician, you to whom people are, at most,
annoying inconveniences…you whose life is spent scribbled on pieces of
paper, whose life will be summed up in a handful of pages incomprehensible
to the rest of mankind…tell me, you whose life is washed clean of details,
whose existence shall be of no interest to anyone, but whose thoughts will,
in the end, be responsible for everything the rest of us take for
granted…tell me, what of the rest of us? The politicians, the great
conquerors, the daring entrepreneurs and marauders whose epitaphs we assume
will be written across the galaxy by our own hands? Tell me, Mathematician,
is it truly because we have nothing better to do, because we can do no
better?
No! Don’t answer!
The young man remained sitting quietly. He had not heard this cry.
Clack clack clack. But the clock had heard and offered its unhesitating reply.
Effrulyn saw the eyes lose their color then and the older man, older now by belbannks, lift himself to his feet, staggering under the weight of his new age the constant clack clack clack of the pendulum clock.
Effrulyn never forgot the look Pike offered him in the next moment with those now fogged, unseeing eyes. It was a moment stripped to the bone; the figure standing in front of him was a bare skeleton picked raw. The young man had never seen anything so helpless or terrified. The terror was not directed at any outer menace but at some inner, hidden demon that he, Effrulyn, was not permitted to see. During that moment the Commander opened his mouth to speak. But the words were never articulated; their silence struck the stone floor with his retreating footfalls, leaving only the clack clack clack of the great clock to keep Effrulyn in company.
Taljen could always expect to see Alhane doing something when she visited, as she often did, but this time she did not like what met her eyes.
Ah!
Alhane cried as he swept his apparatus off
the table. It crashed to the floor, pieces of broken glass caught up in the
tangle of wires.
Taljen stepped fully into the room. Alhane! What’s
wrong?
Alhane sighed and looked skyward. Who knows what’s
wrong?
Then he bent to pick up the coil of wire that he had knocked
away. Look at this,
he said gruffly as he
reconnected it.
Taljen walked up to the workbench and passed her fingers over the coil,
glowing dull red. It was warm—warmer than the hot, surrounding air. And how did you do this, my favorite Time Keeper?
I just connected one of my windmill dynamos to this
wire. But, you see, the heat is feeble and will not be of any real
value.
Alhane switched off the current and wiped the profuse sweat from
his brow. We had better concentrate on
insulation. Use graskwool, of course. I’ve also found that the burned-out
charcoal is an excellent insulator. We should grind it up and line the
outer walls with it. But as for providing a new fuel, I am at a loss. It
will be a cold Short Patra, this one coming. And I am afraid it will be our
last.
The silver-haired man sat down at the bench and put his head in
his hands.
Time Keeper,
Taljen said, coming up behind him
and massaging his neck, you need a rest.
It’s only this hot wind. It stifles my
imagination.
It isn’t the wind, truly. You’ve been working not
only on the fuel problem but on the astronomy as well—
That! It ties my mind up in knots. First I try this
and that, then I pretend I am standing on the Runaway and looking at
Patra-Bannk, then the other way around, then from the sun as well—
Why don’t you take a rest?
And the orbits aren’t circles. Not the Runaway’s, at
least. Patra-Bannk’s, maybe. Not the Runaway’s. I am wracking my brain. The
observations make no sense. And what Stringer said about the stars moving
constantly…naturally I assumed the same for the planets. But is that the
case? Nothing is coming out right.
Alhane, you must take a break from this work.
It may as well be Mid-Patra, for all I am able to
see. My soul is in the dark. It is a long night, I can feel that.
Time Keeper!
Taljen shouted, shaking Alhane by
the shoulders. I have never seen anyone so depressed
in my life. Is that like a Tjenen?
I don’t know, is it? Am I depressed?
You most certainly are. I’ve never seen anything
like it.
I’m lost; the work is at a dead end. There is no
place to go.
You have to take a rest,
Taljen repeated, more
softly this time. The Bannk is waning and the
teclads are rapidly shortening. Some have begun dancing below, where it is
cooler. You can join them. It might clear your mind, don’t you think?
You know I don’t dance.
I don’t see why you shouldn’t. You’re more clever
than the rest of us put together. I think you should be able to figure out
how to dance.
Alhane shook his head. That’s not it, Taljen. You
know dancing doesn’t interest me. It takes too much time away from what
needs to be done—
But you aren’t getting anything done.
You like to dance; I like to work. Or, at least, I
need to work.
Taljen sighed and her shoulders drooped. I am
beginning to see this Bannk, Time Keeper, that your life isn’t as I had
always viewed it. I used to see you as always happy and having fun with
what you did. But now I wonder, Alhane, where is the fun in your life?
Ah, my Carefree Taljen, you are the best dancer in
all of Ta-tjenen, I’d not be surprised. Sometimes I envy you.
You envy me, Alhane?
In my work, I am riding a grask that I cannot
stop. The work sweeps me along. I love it as much of the time as I can, but
there is so little choice in the matter. You, I envy you your choice. You
could go south with Stringer. I never could; my work forbids it. I look
around at the rest of Ta-tjenen and sometimes wonder how I was so unlucky
to get stuck with being Time Keeper. If I had my life to live over, I would
do something useful, perhaps become a grask tender.
But, Alhane, who else could be Time Keeper? You have
so much more intelligence than the rest of us.
Alhane laughed his squeaky laugh. We aren’t talking
about intelligence, though I’ll certainly not deny there is such a thing,
and present in some more than in others. I may not have any more natural
intelligence than you or any number of Tjenens, that I don’t know.
He
cocked his head for a moment. I think, in my own
defense, I might—no pun intended—have a different time sense than you. To
an average Tjenen, the Bannks are short and fly quickly. So it is with me
also. But when I am hard at work, the time seems to expand and the clads
double or triple in length, allowing me to get more done. I will work on
pages of observations and look up and the clock will have hardly moved a
notch. There is that.…And there were my parents. You never met them, did
you?
No, that was before I was old enough to
remember.
Oh, how I hated them both. They were always telling
me what an idiot I was and at the same time pushing me to do this and
that. In one breath I was brilliant and in the next I was worthless. I ask
you, where is the reason in that? Well, I’ve long since given up wasting my
time hating them for it, but I’ve always wished I were a member of a
nestrexa instead.
You’ve never told me that before, Alhane. I always
got along very well with all of my parents, maybe because they would only
have to put up with me for a Parlztlu.
I wish I could claim that, but, alas, I can’t. I
wouldn’t go through a family again even for gravity.…And there’s always the
libido, for lack of a better word. Nervous energy. It can’t all be
dissipated on my wife. And now that she’s gone, I’m even more restless and
need to occupy myself.
You could get another for the next Parlztlu.
Alhane smiled and frowned at the same time. I am
afraid that a Time Keeper can never enter into the Parlztluzan. Not that I
would know who to pick at this point. You’re too young, my Taljen. Besides,
I ask you, would you want to go through it? I drove my wife crazy with my
habits. Do you think it is worth it to be the wife of a Time Keeper?
Although I can’t say, never having been a husband to a Time Keeper, I would
doubt it. But I might tell you, since you brought up the matter, that you
should consider getting someone else. You will have to next Bannk,
anyway.
Taljen turned away. Oh, Alhane…you’re the only one
who talks to me any more. I might as well be an Alien myself.
Are you sure no one will talk to you? Many have
asked me about you. They come to me all the time and wonder what you are
doing. They say,
We’ve just come from Taljen’s house and she says she
isn’t feeling well,
or they say, Taljen says her shift is just
beginning and she doesn’t have time.
Admittedly, people don’t talk much
in the Bannk; there is too much to be done for the Patra. But is it they
who aren’t talking? I wonder, Taljen, if I am the only one who is
depressed.
Taljen sat down cross-legged on the cluttered floor; her hair prevented
Alhane from seeing her lowered face. I don’t
know. Everything is so different now that I’m back, so mixed up. How can I
talk to them? I have nothing to say. How can I pick a nesta after having
spent so long with one person only—an Alien, for that matter? No one trusts
me after having been with him. It isn’t the same now. I don’t know how else
to put it.
You have never spoken to me about what happened on
the journey.
If I could tell you what happened on that journey,
then I would know myself. But I don’t.
Her words ended with an abrupt
change in intonation.
You are bitter. Was Stringer so terrible to you?
Have I misjudged him so completely?
Taljen suddenly jumped to her feet and ran from the room. He lied to me all the time. I hate him!