Captives of the Flame by Samuel R. Delany (beach read TXT) 📕

will come late this afternoon with no time for me to reply properly."

The other man shook his head. "He's a proud man. But you can bring him to his place. Next time he mentions his daughter, ask him about his son, and watch the shame storm into his face."

"He may be proud," said the other, "but I am not cruel. Why should I move to hurt him? Time takes care of her own. This coming war will see."

"Perhaps," said the other merchant. "Perhaps."

Once over the island city of Toron, capital of Toromon, the transit ribbon breaks from its even course and bends among the towers, weaves among the elevated highways, till finally it crosses near a wide splash of bare concrete, edged with block-long aircraft hangars. Several airships had just arrived, and at one of the passenger gates the people waiting for arrivals crowded closely to the metal fence.

Among them was one young man in military uniform. A brush of red hair, eyes that seemed doubly dark in his pale face, along with a squat, taurine power in his legs and shoulders; these were what struck you in the swift glance. A close look brought you the incongruity of the major's insignia and his obvious youth.

He watched the passengers coming through the gate with more than military interest.

Someone called, "Tomar!"

And he turned, a grin leaping to his face.

"Tomar," she called again. "I'm over here."

A little too bumptiously, he rammed through the crowd until at last he almost collided with her. Then he stopped, looking bewildered and happy.

"Gee, I'm glad you came," she said. "Come on. You can walk me back to father's." Her black hair fell close to broad, nearly oriental cheekbones. Then the smile on her first strangely, then attractively pale mouth fell.

Tomar shook his head, as they turned now, arm in arm, among the people wandering over the field.

"No?" she asked. "Why not?"

"I don't have time, Clea," he answered. "I had to sneak an hour off just to get here. I'm supposed to be back at the Military Ministry in forty minutes. Hey, do you have any bags I can carry?"

Clea held up a slide rule and a notebook. "I'm traveling light. In a week I'll be back at the university for summer courses, so I didn't bring any clothes. Wait a minute. You're not going to be too busy to get to the party Dad's giving me tonight, are you?"

Tomar shrugged.

Clea began a word, but pushed her tongue hard against the roof of her mouth. "Tomar?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes?" He had a rough voice, which, when he was sad, took on the undertones of a bear's growl.

"What's happening about the war? Will there really be one?"

Again he shrugged. "More soldiers, more planes, and at the Ministry there's more and more work to do. I was up before dawn this morning getting a fleet of survey planes off for a scouting trip to the mainland over the radiation barrier. If they come back this evening, I'll be busy all night with the reports and I won't be able to make the party.

"Oh," said Clea. "Tomar?"

"Yes, Clea Koshar?"

"Oh, don't be formal with me, please. You've been in the City long enough and known me long enough. Tomar, if the war comes, do you think they'll draft prisoners from the tetron mines into the army?"

"They talk about it."

"Because my brother...."

"I know," said Tomar.

"And if a prisoner from the mines distinguished himself as a soldier, would he be freed at the end of the war? They wouldn't send him back to the mines, would they?"

"The war hasn't even begun yet," said Tomar. "No one knows how it will end."

"You're right," she said, "as usual." They reached the gate. "Look, Tomar, I don't want to keep you if you're busy. But you've got to promise to come see me and spend at least an afternoon before I go back to school."

"If the war starts, you won't be going back to school."

"Why not?"

"You already have your degree in theoretical physics. Now you're only doing advanced work. Not only will they conscript prisoners from the mines, but all scientists, engineers, and mathematicians will have to lend their efforts to the cause as well."

"I was afraid of that," Clea said. "You believe the war will actually come, don't you, Tomar?"

"They get ready for it night and day," Tomar said. "What is there to stop it? When I was a boy on my father's farm on the mainland, there was too much work, and no food. I was a strong boy, with a strong boy's stomach. I came to the City and I took my strength to the army. Now I have work that I like. I'm not hungry. With the war, there will be work for a lot more people. Your father will be richer. Your brother may come back to you, and even the thieves and beggars in the Devil's Pot will have a chance to do some honest work."

"Perhaps," said Clea. "Look, like I said, I don't want to keep you—I mean I do, but. Well, when will you have some time?"

"Probably tomorrow afternoon."

"Fine," said Clea. "We'll have a picnic then, all right?"

Tomar grinned. "Yes," he said. "Yes." He took both her hands, and she smiled back at him. Then he turned away, and was gone through the crowd.

Clea watched a moment, and then turned toward the taxi stand. The sun was beginning to warm the air as she pushed into the shadow of the great transit ribbon that soared above her between the towers.

Buildings dropped bands of shadow across the ribbon, as it wound through the city, although occasional streaks of light from an eastward street still made silver half-rings around it. At the center of the city it raised a final two hundred feet and entered the window of the laboratory tower in the west wing of the royal palace of Toron.

The room in which the transit ribbon ended was deserted. At the end of the metal band was a transparent crystal sphere, fifteen feet in diameter which hovered above the receiving platform. A dozen small tetron units of varying sizes sat around the room. The viewing screens were dead gray. On a control panel by one ornate window, a bank of forty-nine scarlet-knobbed switches pointed to off. The metal catwalks that ran over the receiving platform were empty.

In another room of the palace, however, someone was screaming.

"Tetron!"

"... if your Highness would only wait a moment to hear the report," began the aged minister, "I believe...."

"Tetron!"

"... you would understand the necessity," he continued in an amazingly calm voice, "of disturbing you at such an ungodly hour ..."

"I never want to hear the word tetron again!"

"... of the morning."

"Go away, Chargill; I'm sleeping!" King Uske, who had just turned twenty-one though he had been the official ruler of Toromon since the age of seven, jammed his pale blond head beneath three over-stuffed pillows that lay about the purple silken sheets of his bed. With one too-slender hand he sought feebly around for the covers to hide himself completely.

The old minister quietly picked up the edge of the ermine-rimmed coverlet and held it out of reach. After several half-hearted swipes, the pale head emerged once more and asked in a coldly quiet voice, "Chargill, why is it that roads have been built, prisoners have been reprieved, and traitors have been disemboweled at every hour of the afternoon and evening without anyone expressing the least concern for what I thought? Now, suddenly, at—" Uske peered at the jewel-crusted chronometer by his bed in which a shimmering gold light fixed the hour, "—my God, ten o'clock in the morning! Why must I suddenly be consulted at every little twist and turn of empire?"

"First," explained Chargill, "you are now of age. Secondly, we are about to enter a war, and in times of stress, responsibility is passed to the top, and you, sir, are in the unfortunate position."

"Why can't we have a war and get it over with?" said Uske, rolling over to face Chargill and becoming a trifle more amenable. "I'm tired of all this idiocy. You don't think I'm a very good king, do you?" The young man sat up and planted his slender feet as firmly as possible on the three-inch thick fur rug. "Well, if we had a war," he continued, scratching his stomach through his pink sateen pajama top, "I'd ride in the first line of fire, in the most splendid uniform imaginable, and lead my soldiers to a sweeping victory." At the word sweeping, he threw himself under the covers.

"Commendable sentiment," stated Chargill dryly. "And seeing that there may just be a war before the afternoon arrives, why don't you listen to the report, which merely says that another scouting flight of planes has been crippled trying to observe the enemy just beyond the tetron mines over the radiation barrier."

"Let me continue it for you. No one knows how the planes have been crippled, but the efficacy of their methods has lead the council to suggest that we consider the possibility of open war even more strongly. Isn't this more or less what the reports have been for weeks?"

"It is," replied Chargill.

"Then why bother me. Incidentally, must we really go to that imbecilic party for that stupid fish-peddler's daughter this evening? And talk about tetron as little as possible, please."

"I need not remind you," went on the patient Chargill, "that this stupid fish-peddler has amassed a fortune nearly as large as that in the royal treasury—though I doubt if he is aware of the comparison—through the proper exploitation of the unmentionable metal. If there is a war, and we should need to borrow funds, it should be done with as much good will as possible. Therefore, you will attend his party to which he has so kindly invited you."

"Listen a minute, Chargill," said Uske. "And I'm being serious now. This war business is completely ridiculous, and if you expect me to take it seriously, then the council is going to have to take it seriously. How can we have a war with whatever is behind the radiation barrier? We don't know anything about it. Is it a country? Is it a city? Is it an empire? We don't even know if it's got a name. We don't know how they've crippled our scouting planes. We can't monitor any radio communication. Of course we couldn't do that anyway with the radiation barrier. We don't even know if it's people. One of our silly planes gets its tetron (Pardon me. If you can't say it, I shouldn't say it either.) device knocked out and a missile hurled at it. Bango! The council says war. Well, I refuse to take it seriously. Why do we keep on wasting planes anyway? Why not send a few people through the transit ribbon to do some spying?"

Chargill looked amazed.

"Before we instituted the penal mines, and just after we annexed the forest people, the transit ribbon was built. Correct? Now, where does it go?"

"Into the dead city of Telphar," answered Chargill.

"Exactly. And Telphar was not at all dead when we built it, sixty years ago. The radiation hadn't progressed that far. Well, why not send spies into Telphar and from there, across the barrier and into enemy territory. Then they can come back and tell us everything." Uske smiled.

"Of course your Majesty is joking." Chargill smiled. "May I remind your Majesty that the radiation level in Telphar today is fatal to human beings. Completely fatal. The enemy seems to be well beyond the barrier. Only recently, with the great amount of tetron—eh, excuse me—coming from the mines have we been able to develop planes that can perhaps go over it. And that, when and if we can do it, is the only way."

Uske had started out smiling. It turned to a giggle. Then to a laugh. Suddenly he cried out and threw himself down on the bed. "Nobody listens to me! Nobody takes any of my suggestions!" He moaned and stuck his head under the pillows. "No one does anything but contradict me. Go away. Get out. Let me sleep."

Chargill sighed and withdrew from the royal bedchamber.

CHAPTER II

It had been silent for sixty years. Then, above the receiving stage in the laboratory tower of the royal place of Toromon, the great transparent crystal sphere glowed.

On the stage a blue haze shimmered. Red flame shot through the mist, a net of scarlet, contracting, pulsing, outlining the recognizable patterning of veins and arteries. Among the running fires, the shadow of bones formed a human skeleton in the blue, till suddenly the shape was laced with sudden silver, the net of nerves that held the body imprisoned in sensation. The blue became opaque. Then the black-haired man, barefooted,