And Prince Leddravohr himself changed.
In the beginning he had accepted the responsibility for the Overland migration almost solely because of loyalty to his father, offsetting his private reservations against the opportunity to conduct an all-out war against Chamteth. Throughout all his preparation for the building of the fleet of skyships he had nourished deep within him the belief that the unappealing venture would never come to fruition, that some less radical solution to Kolcorron’s problems would be found, one which was more in keeping with the established patterns of human history.
But above all else he was a realist, a man who understood the vital importance of balancing ambition and ability, and when he foresaw the inevitable outcome of the war against the ptertha he shifted his ground.
The migration to Overland was now part of his personal future and those about him, sensing his new attitude, understood that nothing would be allowed to stand in its way.
Chapter 14
“But today of all days!” Colonel Kartkang said forcibly. “I suppose you realise your take-off is scheduled for the tenth hour?”
He was lightly-built for a member of the military caste, with a round face and a mouth so wide that there was a visible gap between each of his smallish teeth. A talent for administration and an unfailing eye for detail had brought him his appointment as head of Skyship Experimental Squadron, and he clearly disliked the idea of permitting a test pilot to leave the base shortly before the most important proving flight in his programme.
“I’ll be back long before that time, sir,” Toller said. “You know I wouldn’t take the slightest risk in this matter.”
“Yes, but… Do you know that Prince Leddravohr plans to watch the ascent in person?”
“All the more reason for me to be back in good time, sir. I don’t want to risk high treason.”
Kartkang, still not easy in his mind, squared a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Was Lord Glo important to you?”
“I was prepared to risk my life in his service.”
“In that case I suppose you had better pay your last respects,” Kartgang said. “But keep it in mind about the prince.”
“Thank you, sir.” Toller saluted and left the office, his mind a battleground for incompatible emotions. It seemed cruelly ironic, almost proof of the existence of a malign deity, that Glo was to be buried on the very day that a skyship was setting out to prove the feasibility of flying to Overland. The project had been conceived in Glo’s brain and had brought him ridicule and disgrace at first, followed by ignominious retirement, and just as he was about to receive personal vindication his beleaguered body had failed him. There would be no plump-bellied statue in the grounds of the Great Palace, and it was doubtful if Glo’s name would even be remembered by the nation he had helped to establish on another world. Everything should have been very different.
Visions of the migration fleet touching down on Overland brought a resurgence of the icy excitement which Toller had been living with for days. He had been in the grip of his monomania for so long, working with total commitment towards selection for the first interplanetary mission, that he had somehow lost sight of its astonishing realities. His impatience had slowed the passage of time so much that he had unconsciously begun to believe his goal would forever remain ahead of him, flickering beyond reach like a mirage, and now — with shocking suddenness — the present had collided with the future.
The time of the great voyage was at hand, and during it many things would be learned, not all of them to do with the technicalities of interplanetary flight.
Toller left the S.E.S. administration complex and climbed a wooden stair to the surface of the plain which extended north of Ro-Atabri as far as the foothills of the Slaskitan Mountains. He requisitioned a bluehorn from the stablemaster and set off on the two-mile ride to Greenmount. The varnished linen of the tunnel-like covered way glowed in the foreday sunlight, surrounding him with a yellowish directionless light, and the trapped air was muggy, heavy with the smell of animal droppings. Most of the traffic was heading out from the city, flatbed carts laden with gondola sections and jet cylinders of brakka.
Toller made good time to the eastern junction, entered the tube leading towards Greenmount and soon reached an area protected by the older open-mesh screens of the Ro-Atabri suburbs. He rode through a moraine of abandoned dwellings on the exposed flank of the hill, eventually reaching the small private cemetery adjoining the colonnaded west wing of Greenmount Peel.
Several groups of mourners were already in attendance, and among them he saw his brother and the slender grey-clad figure of Gesalla Maraquine. It was the first time he had seen her since the night she had been abused by Leddravohr, more than a year earlier, and his heart jolted uncomfortably as he realised he was at a loss as to how to conduct himself with her.
He dismounted, straightened the embroidered blue jupon of his skycaptain’s uniform and walked towards his brother and his wife, still feeling oddly nervous and self-conscious. On seeing him approach Lain gave him the calm half-smile, indicative of family pride tinged with incredulity, which he had used of late when they met at technical briefings. Toller took pleasure in having surprised and impressed his older brother with his single-minded assault on every obstacle, including reading difficulties, on his way to becoming a skyship pilot.
“This is a sad day,” he said to Lain.
Gesalla, who had not been aware of his approach, spun round, one hand flying to her throat. He nodded courteously to her and withheld a verbal greeting, leaving it to her to accept or decline the conversational initiative. She returned his nod, silently but with no visible evidence of her old antipathy and he felt slightly reassured. In his memory her face had been pared by pregnancy sickness, but now her cheeks were more fully curved and touched with pink. She actually looked younger than before and the sight of her filled his eyes.
He became aware of the pressure of Lain’s gaze and said, “Why couldn’t Glo have had more time?”
Lain shrugged, an unexpectedly casual gesture for one who had been so close to the Lord Philosopher. “Have you had confirmation about the ascent?”
“Yes. It’s at the tenth hour.”
“I know that. I mean, are you definitely going?”
“Of course!” Toller glanced up at the netted sky and the nacreous morning crescent of Overland. “I’m all set to tackle Glo’s invisible mountains.”
Gesalla looked amused and interested. “What does that mean?”
“We know the atmosphere thins out between the two worlds,” Toller said. “The rate of attenuation has been roughly measured by sending up gas balloons and observing their expansion through calibrated telescopes. It is something which has to be verified by the proving flight, of course, but we believe the air is plenteous enough to sustain life, even at the midpoint.”
“Listen to the newly-fledged expert,” Lain said.
“I’ve had the best teachers,” Toller replied, unoffended, turning his attention back to Gesalla. “Lord Glo said the flight was comparable to climbing to the peak of one invisible mountain and descending from another.”
“I never gave him credit for being a poet,” Gesalla said.
“There are many things for which he will never receive credit.”
“Yes — like taking in that gradewife of yours when you went off to play soldiers,” Lain put in. “Whatever became of her, anyway?”