Battlefield Earth Part 30

"Exactly," said Jonnie. "Can we go down there now?"

Chapter 11.

There had never been so many together within memory, Robert the Fox said.

Over a thousand Scots, with a few English and some Nors.e.m.e.n, crowded the broad meadow. They had brought some food and drink. They had brought arms- just in case. And they had brought their pipers. The panorama was of colored kilts, ponies, shifting groups of men, and smoke from fires, and over all lay the skirling whine and shriek of bagpipes.

There was a momentary surge back when the plane landed on the little knoll overlooking the meadow. But on Jonnie's instructions the Chiefs had briefed their people well. And when the huge Terl took his position within the open plane door, there was no unseemly panic. The men left a wide distance between the plane and themselves, however. The obvious fear Terl saw on some of the faces confirmed for him that the animal had been right: he was needed there to overawe them.

Jonnie kept one eye on Terl. He could not be sure that Terl's sadism would not cause some sort of incident.

Over five hundred young men were part of the throng. Their Chiefs had already talked to them and they gathered now in a central group below Jonnie.

Jonnie sat on a horse lent him by Chief Glencannon so he could be seen by all. He sat the mount easily even though it had a saddle and bridle, things Jonnie had never seen before and that he considered effete for one who never had trouble with horses.

The Chiefs and heads of groups stood with their young men. Outside these groups and at the edge of the crowd stood pipers. A few women, some young, some old, and older men sat on the gra.s.s where a knoll side overlooked the scene. A few children raced about, running into legs.

Jonnie began. He already knew they had been briefed. His job was made much easier by a high literacy level among these people. They had not lost the art of reading and writing and they knew a lot of history, mainly their own myths and legends.

"You all know why I am here. I want fifty young men who are able, courageous, and strong, to go on a crusade to rid the world of the demon up there who does not speak or understand our language. When I ask you to look at him and shrink back in fear, please do so."

"I amna afeered ofnaething!" said one young man.

"Just act so when I ask you to. I will not for a moment believe, and neither will your friends, that you are afraid. All right?"

The young man said it was.

"I feel it is necessary to tell you the character of this demon so you can help me. He is treacherous, vicious, s.a.d.i.s.tic, and devious. He lies from choice even when the truth will serve. When I point now, cower back and look terrified."

Jonnie pointed. The crowd, on cue, looked up at Terl in the plane door and cowered back.

Terl grinned behind his face mask. This was more like it.

"The mining company that conquered this planet in ages past has equipment and technology beyond those of man. Planes in the air, machines to drill the earth, gases and guns that can slaughter whole cities. Man has been deprived of his planet by these creatures. The men who volunteer to come with me will learn to use those tools, fly those planes, man those guns!

"Our chances are not in our favor. Many of us may die before this is through.

"Our race is growing fewer in numbers. In coming years we may be gone forever. But even though the odds are against us, at least let it be said that we took this small last chance and tried tried."

The crowd went into a raving, excited roar of enthusiasm. The pipes took it up and screamed. Drums pounded.

In to the din, Jonnie shouted, "I want fifty volunteers!"

All volunteered instantly. Not just the five hundred young men but the whole thousand in the meadow.

When he could again be heard above the shrilling pipes and shouting voices, Jonnie announced a series of tests he would give during the afternoon. The Chiefs turned to their people to organize it and Jonnie dropped down from the horse.

"Mon, MacTyler," cried the grizzled old man who had first captured Jonnie, "ye are a true Scot!"

And Jonnie found, as he a.s.sisted in straightening out the turmoil for the tests, that his name had indeed changed to MacTyler. There were even some arguments as to which clan his people had originally belonged to, but it was at length decided that the MacTylers had been distributed evenly among all the clans before they went to America.

The only problem with the tests was in trying to disqualify someone. Jonnie had the young men, one after another, walk a straight line with closed eyes to make sure their sense of balance was good; he made them run a distance to be certain their wind was excellent; he made them look at letters at a distance to make sure their sight was pa.s.sing. Only a couple of the Nors.e.m.e.n were as tall as Jonnie, but the scattering of black beards and blond beards was about equal. Jonnie a.s.sumed that refugees from Scandinavia or the lower countries and even from Ireland had changed their blood over the centuries, but it certainly had not changed the hard-core ethnology of the Highlands, which had held out now against all corners and defeats for thousands of years.

The men got tired of just being examined. Some fights broke out from complaints of losers. And the Chiefs organized compet.i.tions to settle things.

The selections went well into darkness and were finally completed by firelight.

But Jonnie did not wind up with fifty. He finished with eighty-three. For diplomacy, Jonnie requested the Chiefs to select an older man as their representative, one in whom they felt confidence; they chose Robert the Fox as a veteran of many raids and very learned. So that made fifty-one.

Apparently it would be unseemly not to have pipers, so two of those were chosen, and these claimed they needed a drummer so one of those was selected. This made fifty-four.

Then some old women elbowed themselves to the front and demanded to know who was going to mend torn kilts, sc.r.a.pe hides, dry fish, care for wounded, and cook? and Jonnie found himself with new arguments and elections and five old widows of indeterminate age but universally attested skills. This made fifty-nine.

Since the Chiefs had been told there was a lot of study involved, Jonnie found himself confronting a small but determined schoolmaster who claimed it took an iron rod to make young men, who had appet.i.tes only for hunting and women, study. And the Chiefs said he must go too: number sixty.

But the question of death had stirred up a row from three parsons. Who would care for the souls of these young men? And also keep them respectful? There was a further quarrel as to which of the three it would be, and the lucky one drew the long straw. This made sixty-one.

Jonnie had his own plan to take care of. All of those chosen were bright. But he had to have three very bright ones who also came somewhere near his height and build, who could learn Psychlo quickly, and who could at a distance or over poor radio connections look and sound vaguely like him. He found about a dozen and asked the Chiefs, schoolmaster, and parson which of these were quick studies. They named the three. And that made sixty-four.

A scholarly old fellow showed up who lamented the fact that no one would be writing the history that would become legend. It turned out he was the dean of literature of a sort of underground university that had been eking along for centuries, and on the argument that he had two capable replacements for himself in the school and- due to his age and poor health-was expendable anyway, he could not be left behind by the MacTyler. Robert the Fox thought that very necessary, so that made sixty-five.

Eighteen outright, uncontestable ties had shown up in the contests the Chiefs had arranged, and when it looked like blood would be spilled over it, Jonnie gave in. And that made eighty-three.

He woke up Terl, who had been hitting the kerbango pretty heavily since sunset and was lying like a mountain across the plane seats.

"We have eighty-three," said Jonnie. "The plane takes fifty Psychlos, and eighty-three humans won't occupy that s.p.a.ce or make up that weight. I want to make sure you do not object to eighty-three."

Terl was foggy and sleepy. "The casualty rate of such a project is high. We have to make it appear that they are just training all winter when they are operating, so the extra numbers are fine. Why'd you wake me up for a silly question like that, animal?" And he went back to sleep. Jonnie had culled another piece of Terl's project from this. Up to now he hadn't any real hard data on Terl's plans. Praise all for kerbango, thought Jonnie as he went off.

He had the historian draw up a roster of the Anguses and Duncans and all their parade of names, and sent them off in the night to hasten pell-mell to their homes and get heavy and light clothing and sleeping blankets, personal gear, and a few days' worth of food to tide them over until he could round up cattle. They must be back at dawn, and those who didn't have them borrowed horses, for in some cases it was a long ride both ways.

Jonnie had a final meeting with the Chiefs. "We have caused quite a row up here in the Highlands, and although the local minesite is five hundred miles away, it would be a good thing now for your people to be quiet and undemonstrative for the coming year."

The English lord thought that was a very good idea. The Chiefs agreed to it.

"There is a distinct possibility," said Jonnie, "that we will fail. And that I will never see you again and the group will be killed."

They brushed this off. Brave men always risked death, didn't they? And they'd not blame MacTyler. The bad thing would be not to try. That would be what couldn't be forgiven.

In the midnight chill, Jonnie talked to those who had not been chosen, thinking he would leave disappointment there. But he found the Chiefs had already told them that when the mission succeeded they would be a recovery corps in charge of policing and reorganizing England, Scandinavia, Russia, Africa, and China, and they were already scheduling study, training, and organizing to do that at the end of a year. And the non-chosens were wild with enthusiasm.

Fearghus was spokesman as he calmly outlined it to Jonnie. It worked on a clan system, of course.

My G.o.d, gaped Jonnie, these Scots thought big!

"Don't fret, MacTyler. We're behind ye."

Jonnie, exhausted, stretched out under the fuselage of the freighter, wrapped in a woolen blanket handwoven in the tartan of Clanfearghus, and fell into a hopeful sleep. For the first time since the death of his father, he did not feel alone.

- Part VII -

Chapter 1.

The first trouble came from Terl. He had a hangover after his solo binge, and he had been irritated close to anger at the comings and goings and delays.

At first light, Jonnie began to load them as they arrived singly and in groups from their errands to their homes. The people in the meadow had not left but had slept on the ground around fires- no one was going to miss the departure. More Scots, having missed the gathering of the clans due to distance or infirmity, had come in, and the number had doubled.

Jonnie began showing them how to tie down their gear in the military supply locks of the personnel freighter, and how to fasten themselves into the seats, two to a seat, and adjust the belts. He had gotten about six fully settled when two of them promptly got out of their seats again and started showing newcomers where to stow their gear and how to handle the belts.

Some apologized for seeming to bring so little but times had been hard, they said. It was no longer safe to raid in the lowlands. Some thought perhaps they were bringing too much, but one never knew, did one?

Some were a bit late and streamed in a breathless rush, the historian worriedly checking off their names.

The old women came in a clatter of kettles. The parson arrived rolling a keg- in case someone became ill. Jonnie strapped it down tightly, curious: he had never seen whiskey before.

The sun was getting higher. Terl roared from the cab, "Get these filthy animals loaded!" People became very quiet; Jonnie winked at them and they relaxed and got loading going once more.

Finally, they were all there. All eighty-three of them.

Jonnie said: "This flight will take several hours. We will go very high. It will be very cold and the air will be thin. Endure it somehow. If you feel lightheaded it will be from lack of air, so make an effort to breathe more often. Keep yourselves tightly strapped in. This plane can turn in all directions and even upside-down. I am now going to the forward cab to help fly this thing. Remember that one day soon many of you will also be able to fly machines, so observe things closely. Robert the Fox is in charge here. Questions?"

There wasn't one. He had made them more confident in their new environment. They seemed cheerful, not afraid.

"Take it up, MacTyler!" said Robert the Fox.

Jonnie waved at the crowd out of the side door and they roared back. He slammed and locked the door.

He settled himself in the copilot seat, wound the security belt around himself twice, put on his air mask, and got out the map. Terl was looking sourly at the crowd.

With vicious sudden gestures, Terl recompressed the cab with breathe-gas and ripped off his mask. And Jonnie saw his amber eyes were shot with green. Terl had been going heavy on the kerbango. There was an evil twist to his mouthbones.

He was rumbling something about "late" and "having no leverage on these blasted animals" and "teach a lesson."

Jonnie stiffened in alarm.

The plane vaulted skyward at a speed enough to crush him into his seat. It was at three thousand feet in the wink of an eye. Jonnie's map and hands were pressed painfully downward into the copilot control panel.

Terl's talons snapped at some more b.u.t.tons. The ship started over on its side.

"What are you doing?" shouted Jonnie.

"I'm going to set an example!" roared Terl. "We've got to show them what will happen if they disobey."

The thick mob in the meadow was a small dot below them as the plane turned downward. Suddenly Jonnie knew that Terl was going to blast them.

The ground came screaming up, the crowd getting large.

No! screamed Jonnie.

Terl's talons were reaching out for the fire b.u.t.tons.

Jonnie heaved the map.

Open, it pinned itself against Terl's face, cutting off his vision.

The ground was coming up with speed.

Jonnie hit his own controls with staccato fingers.

Two hundred feet up, the plane abruptly changed course to level. It s inertia sucked it down to only yards above the crowd's heads.

Like a javelin it shot forward. Ahead of them, the trees leaping larger, was the mountainside. Jonnie's fingers stabbed keys.

Branches. .h.i.t the underbody. The plane rocketed up the mountainside only feet from the ground.

It shot into the clear as they pa.s.sed the mountain crest. Jonnie leveled it and stabbed it at the distant beaches.

He reversed the tape that had taken them on the incoming voyage and fed it into the autopilot.

The sea sped by only yards below them. They were in the clear, undetectable by any minesite observation post, heading for home.

Jonnie, bathed in sweat, sat back.

He looked at Terl. The monster had gotten the map off his face. Flames were flickering in his green-shot eyes.

"You almost killed us," said Terl.

"You would have spoiled everything," said Jonnie.

"I've got no leverage on these animals," snapped Terl. He looked over his shoulder to beyond the cab rear wall. "How," he added with nasty sarcasm, "do you intend to keep them obedient? With little baby toys?"

"They've been obedient enough so far, haven't they?" said Jonnie.