Cities in Flight (53 page)

"Mark, you once tried to explain to me how a musician plays the beginning and the end of a piece a little bit faster than normal so that he can play the middle section a little bit slower. Is that the way it goes?"

"Yes, that's tempo rubato—literally, 'robbed time.' "

"What I want to do is introduce something like that into the motion of this rock pile as we go across the solar system without any loss in total transit time. Any ideas?"

There was a moment's silence. "Nothing occurs to me, boss. Controlling that kind of thing is almost purely intuitional. You could probably do it better by personal control than O'Brian could set it up in the piloting section."

"Okay. Thanks."

Another dud. Personal control was out of the question at this speed, for no human pilot, not even Amalfi, had reflexes fast enough to handle Hern VI directly. It was precisely because he wanted to be able to handle the planet directly for a second or so of its flight that he wanted the trepidation introduced; and even then he would be none too sure of his ability to make the one critical, razor-edged alteration in her course which he knew he would need.

"Carrel? Come up here, will you?"

The boy arrived almost instantly. On the balcony, he watched the hurtling passage of stars with what Amalfi suspected was sternly repressed alarm.

"Carrel, you began with us as an interpreter, didn't you? You must have had frequent occasion to use a voice-writer, then."

"Yes, sir, I did."

"Good. Then you'll remember what happens when the carriage of the machine returns and spaces for another line. It brakes a little in the middle of the return, so it won't deform the carriage stop by constantly slamming into it; isn't that right? Well, what I want to know is: How is that done?"

"On a small machine, the return cable is on a cam instead of a pulley," Carrel said, frowning. "But the big multiplex machines "that we use at conclaves are electronically controlled by something called a klystron; how that works, I've no idea." .

"Find out," Amalfi said. "Thanks, Carrel, that's just what I was looking for. I want such an apparatus cut into our present piloting circuit, so as to give us the maximum braking effect as we cross Earth's solar system that's compatible with our arriving at the cloud on time. Can it be done?"

"Yes, sir, that sounds fairly easy." He went below without being dismissed; a second later, a swollen and spotted red giant sun skimmed the city, seemingly by inches.

The phone buzzed. "Mr. Mayor-O'Brian here. The cities are coming up on Earth. Shall I put you through?"

Amalfi started. Already? The city was still megaparsecs away from the rendezvous; it was literally impossible to conceive of any speed which would make arrival on time possible. The mayor suddenly began to find the subway-pillar flashing of the stars reassuring.

"Yes, O'Brian, hook up the big helmet and stand by. Give me full Dirac on all circuits, and have our alternate course ready to plug in. Has Mr. Carrel gotten in touch with you yet?"

"No, sir," the pilot said. "But there's been some activity from the City Fathers in the piloting banks which I assumed was by your orders or one of the city manager's. Apparently we're to be out of computer control at opposition."

"That's right. Okay, O'Brian, put me through." Amalfi donned the big helmet...

... and was back in the jungle.

The entire pack of cities, decelerating heavily now, was entering the "local group"—an arbitrary sphere with a radius of fifty light years, with Earth's sun at its center. This was the galaxy's center of population still, despite the . outward movement which had taken place for the past centuries, and the challenges which were now ringing around the heads of the Okies were like voices from history: 40 Eridani, Procyon, Kruger 60, Sirius, 61 Cygni, Altair, RD-4°4048, Wolf 359, Alpha Centauri ... to hear occasionally from Earth itself was no novelty, but these challenges were almost like being hailed by ancient Greece or the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

The jungle King had succeeded by now in drumming the hobo cities into a roughly military formation: a huge cone, eighteen million miles along its axis. The cone was pointed by smaller towns unlikely to possess more than purely defensive armament. Just behind the point, which was actually rounded into a paraboloid like the head of a comet, the largest cities rode in the body of the cone. These included the King's own town, but did not include the "newcomer," which, despite its size, was flying far behind, roughly on the rim of the cone—it was this positioning which made it possible for Amalfi's drone to see almost the entire cone in the first place, for O'Brian's orders were to keep the big sphere in view regardless of how much of the jungle he had to sacrifice.

The main wall of the cone was made up mostly of medium-sized heavy-duty cities, again unlikely to be heavily armed, but having the advantage of mounting spindizzy equipment which could be polarized to virtual opacity to any attack but that of a battleship.

All in all, Amalfi thought, a sensible organization of the materials at hand. It suggested power in reserve, plus considerable defensive ability, without at the same time advertising any immediate intention to attack.

He settled the heavy viewing helmet more comfortably on his shoulders and laid one hand on the balcony railing near the space stick. Simultaneously, a voice rang in his ears.

"Earth Security Center calling the Cities," the voice said heavily. "You are ordered to kill your velocity and remain where you are pending an official investigation of your claims."

"Not bloody likely," the King's voice said, "You are further warned that current Rulings in Council forbid any Okie city to approach Earth more closely than ten light years. Current Rulings also forbid gatherings of Okie cities in any numbers greater than four. However, we are empowered to tell you that this latter Ruling will be set aside for the duration of the investigation, provided that the approach limit is not crossed."

"We're crossing it," the King said. "You're going to take a good look at us. We're not going to form another jungle out here-we didn't come this far for nothing."

"Under such circumstances," the speaker at Earth Security continued, with the implacable indifference of the desperate bureaucrat operating by the book, "the law prescribes that participating cities be broken up. The full penalty will be applied in this case as in all cases."

"No it won't, either, any more than it is in ninety-four cases out of a hundred. We're not a raiding force and we aren't threatening Earth with anything but a couple of good loud beefs. We're here because we couldn't hope for a fair deal any other way. All we want is justice."

"You've been warned."

"So have you. You can't attack us. You don't dare to. We're citizens, not crooks. We want justice done us, and we're coming on in to see that it gets done."

There was a sudden click as the City Fathers' Dirac scanner picked up a new frequency. The new voice said: "Attention Police Command Thirty-two, Command HQ speaking for Vice Admiral MacMillan. Blue alert; blue alert. Acknowledge."

Another click, this time to the frequency the King used to communicate with the jungle.

"Pull up, you guys," the King said. "Hold formation, but figure to make camp fifteen degrees north of the ecliptic, in the orbit of Saturn but about ten degrees ahead of the planet. I'll give you the exact coordinates later. If they won't dicker with us there, we'll move on to Mars and really throw a scare into them. But we'll give them a fair chance."

"How do you know they'll give us a fair chance?" someone asked petulantly.

"Go back to the Acolytes if you can't take it here. Damned if I care."

Click.

"Hello Command HQ. Command Thirty-two acknowledging blue alert, for Commander Eisenstein. Command Thirty-two blue alert."

Click.

"Hey, you guys at the base of the cone, pull up! You're piling up on us."

"Not in our tanks, Buda-Pesht."

"Look again, dammit. I'm getting a heavy mass-gain here-—"

Click.

"Attention Police Command Eighty-three, Command

HQ speaking for Vice Admiral MacMillan. Blue alert, blue alert. Acknowledge. Attention Police Command Thirty-two, red alert, red alert. Acknowledge."

"Eisenstein, Command Thirty-two, red alert acknowledged."

Click.

"Calling Earth; Proserpine Two station calling Earth Security. We are picking up some of the cities. Instructions?"

("Where the hell is Prosperine?" Amalfi asked the City Fathers.)

("PROSERPINE IS A GAS GIANT, ELEVEN THOUSAND MILES IN DIAMETER, OUTSIDE THE ORBIT OF PLUTO AT A DISTANCE OF—")

("All right. Shut up.")

"Earth Security. Keep your nose clean, Prosperine Two. Command HQ is handling this situation. Take no action."

Click.

"Hello Commands HQ. Command Eighty-three acknowledging blue alert; for Lieutenant Commander Fiorelli. Command Eighty-three blue alert."

Click.

"Buda-Pesht, they're bracketing us!"

"I know it. Make camp like I said. They don't dare lay a finger on us until we commit an actual aggression, and they know it. Don't let a show of cops bluff you now."

Click.

"Pluto station. We're picking up the vanguard of the cities."

"Sit tight, Pluto."

"You won't get them again until they've made camp- we're in opposition with Prosperine, but Neptune and Uranus are out of the line of flight entirely—"

"Sit tight."

Earth's sun grew gradually in Amalfi's view, growing only with the velocity of the drone, which was the velocity of the jungle. Earth's sun was still invisible from the city itself. In the helmet it was a yellow spark, without detectable disc, like a carbon arc through a lens-system set at infinity.

But it was, inarguably, the home sun. There was a curious thickness in Amalfi's throat as he looked at it. At this moment, Hern VI was screeching across the center of the galaxy, that center where there was no condensation of stars, such as other galaxies possessed, visible from Earth because of the masking interstellar dust clouds; the hurtling planet had just left behind it a black nebula in which every sun was an apparition, and every escape from those a miracle. Ahead was the opposite limb of the Milky Way, filled with new wonder.

Amalfi could not understand why the tiny, undistinguished yellow spark floating in front of him in the helmet made his eyes sting and water so intolerably.

The jungle was almost at a halt now, already down to interplanetary speeds, and still decelerating. In another ten minutes, the cities were at rest with reference to the sun; and from the drone, Amalfi could see, not very far away as he was accustomed to think of spatial distance, something else he had seen only once before: the planet Saturn.

No Earthly amateur astronomer with a new, uncertain, badly adjusted home reflector ever could have seen the ringed giant with fresher eyes. Amalfi was momentarily stupefied. What he saw was not only incredibly beautiful, but obviously impossible. A gas giant with rigid rings! Why had he ever left the Sol system at all, with a world so anomalous in his very back yard? And the giant had another planet circling it, too—a planet more than 3,000 miles through—in addition to the usual family of satellites of Hern VI's order of size.

Click.

"Make camp," the King was saying. "We'll be here for a while. Dammit, you guys at the base are still creeping on us a little. We're going to have to stop here-can't I pound that into your heads?"

"We're decelerating in good order, Buda-Pesht. It's the new city, the big job, that's creeping. He's in some kind of trouble, looks like."

From the drone, the diagnosis seemed accurate. The enormous spherical object had separated markedly from the main body of the jungle, and was now well ahead of the trailing edge of the cone. The whole sphere was wobbling a little as it moved, and every so often it would go dim as if under unexpected and uncontrollable polarization.

"Call him and ask if he needs help. The rest of you, take up orbits."

Amalfi barked, "O'Brian-time!"

"Course time, sir."

"How do I know when this space stick comes alive again?"

"It's alive now, Mr. Mayor," the pilot said. "The City Fathers cut out as soon as you touch it. You'll get a warning buzzer five seconds before our deceleration starts into the deep part of its curve, and then a beep every half second after that to the second inflection point. At the last beep, it's all yours, for about the next two and a half seconds. Then the stick will go dead and the City Fathers will be back in control."

Click.

"Admiral MacMillan, what action do you plan to take now—if any?"

Amalfi took an instant dislike to the new voice on the Dirac. It was flat, twangy, and as devoid as a vodeur of emotion, except perhaps for a certain self-righteousness tinged with Angst. Amalfi decided at once that in a face-to-face meeting the speaker would always look somewhere else than into the face of the man to whom he was speaking. The owner of that voice could not possibly be anywhere on the surface of the Earth, looking aloft for besiegers or going doggedly about his business; he was instead almost surely crouched in some subcellar.