"May I present the Grand Master Redactor and Farsensor Elizabeth Orme," Aiken said. "She is an honorary member of my High Table and serves as de facto dirigent of Pliocene Earth."
Hagen and Cloud responded formally. The King bade everyone be seated and served them tea and biscuits with his own royal hands while asking brief questions about this or that aspect of the project. The young Remillards replied with terse competence. They expressedhope that the geological expedition would be successful in tracking down the critical ores.
"The aircraft should rendezvous with the land party tomorrow," said the King. "Now those prospectors can comb Fennoscandia properly, from the air, without having to constantlykeep on the lookout for trolls and Yotunag."
"Well, they'd better get a move on," Hagen said. "We've managed to cannibalize the niobium we need from other devices, but there's no way we'll get the rare-earth metal exceptthrough ores. Half the damn gazebo cables have cores woven of niobium-dysprosium wire."
"Once you have the wire, how long might it take to complete the device?" Elizabeth asked.
Hagen gave her a penetrating look. "Thinking of joining the exodus, Grand Master?"
Elizabeth flushed. She said levelly, "I had considered it, yes."
Hagen chuckled. "Then I hope you use your good offices to stave off Marc—or I'm afraid our chances of reentering the Milieu are rather slim."
She looked at him in silence for a moment. "I'd forgotten you were born there ... But the others of the younger generation are all Pliocene natives?"
"And all at least three years younger than Hagen and I," said Cloud. She gave her brother a reproving frown. "To answer your question, it might take us a month or more to complete the device, given the core wire. We have the most talented scientists in the Many-Colored Land at work here, with manufacturing equipment of every description. It's incredible what some time-travelers thought to bring to the Pliocene! And, of course, we ransacked Papa's store of matériel before we left Ocala—"
Hagen interrupted her. "The Grand Master knows that, Cloudie. She knows all about us."
There was a pregnant pause. Hagen faced Elizabeth defiantly. "Would the Milieu let us in—knowing who we are?"
"Yes," said Elizabeth.
"Knowing what we helped Felice to do?" the young man added softly.
"If you hope to be embraced by the Unity, you'll have to pay your debt. The circumstances were extraordinary, but your act was still a crime."
"Not against free human beings," Hagen said. "Against exotic oppressors and their corrupt minions!"
"Nearly fifty thousand people perished in the Gibraltar Flood," Elizabeth said. "Many of them were entirely innocent."
"We only intended to kill the exotics. It's not as though they were human beings—"
"Both Tanu and Firvulag will contribute to the Homo sapiens stem," Elizabeth said. "I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that remnants of both groups persisted on Earth almost into historic times, mating with human stock just as they have mated with time-travelers here in the Pliocene. Our myths and legends and the other heritage ofthe collective unconscious confirm it."
"But that's impossible!" Cloud cried. "There are no fossils, no other concrete evidence—"
Elizabeth was unperturbed by the shocked reaction of the Remillards. She noted that Aiken seemed similarly equable. "Have you any idea," she asked them, "how scanty the fossilevidence is for the supposedly well known races of early hominids? For Ramapithecus? For Homo erectus? For the Neanderthaler race of sapiens?...A pathetic handful of fragments for the first. Only scattered skulls and broken bones for the second. And fewer than eightyspecimens of Neanderthal Man left of the millions who must have walked Pleistocene Earth!"
"You'd think at least one specimen of Tanu or Firvulag would have turned up," Hagen protested.
"Anomalies have been found," Elizabeth told him. "Many of them. And not only skeletal remains. King Aiken-Lugonn's computer library has admirable references that I've been able to consult over the past few months. But since the atypical finds didn't fit in with more acceptable data, they were dismissed. Other explanations were put forth to account for the anomalies, so as not to discompose the scientific establishment." A mischievous expression came over her face. "It's one of the more tempting motives one could have for returning to the Milieu. To watch the cat among the paleontological pigeons."
Cloud was somber as she returned to the serious matter at hand. "But we would be punished for helping Felice."
"The world you wish to enter is very different from the one Marc and his Rebels left. There's still crime and there's still punishment. But for those who are genuinely sorry, the atonement consists largely of reeducation and public service."
The brother and sister looked at Elizabeth dubiously. Aiken said, "No statute of limitations? Extenuating circumstances? Non compos mentis?"
"It would be up to the forensic redactors to determine individual culpability," Elizabeth said.
"And they'd know?" asked Hagen.
"Oh, yes," the Grand Master replied.
"But after we—atoned," Cloud said. "Then they'd accept us into the Unity?"
"I'm certain of it," said Elizabeth.
"There you are, kids!" Aiken vouchsafed the pair a bright smile. "If we take our licks, we get to join the grownups. Still think it would be worth it?"
Hagen was bland. "Do you, High King?"
"Who knows what I'll do?" Aiken replied airily. "You haven't built the time-gate yet, and Night may not fall."
"And Papa may still figure out some way to use that brain-roasting CE rig of his to blast us all to kingdom come," Hagen said.
Elizabeth's concern embraced the three of them. "That's why I came here tonight to speak to you. Marc's d-jump faculty now includes the ability to transport significant quantities of matter in a field generated outside of his cerebroenergetic enhancer. He's transported a living man without harming him, and before too long he'll be able to do considerably better than that." Hagen barked a bitter obscenity and she held up a monitory hand. "You know that Marc has always maintained his love for you children. He also professes no malice toward Aiken. He's asked me to act as his emissary and mediator, so that we can resolve the present crisis peaceably. He'd like you to meet with him in my chalet on Black Crag."
"Not on your life!" Hagen exclaimed. "We told him once before—he can farspeak any deal he has in mind. I'm not getting within three air kloms or a twenty-power sigma of dear Papa. No more coercing!"
"He gives his solemn word that he won't try it," Elizabeth said. "And he let me probe him, so I know he spoke the truth. In any case, if the King attends the meeting, his coercive ability would be entirely sufficient to neutralize Marc's."
"I can believe that," Hagen muttered.
Cloud said, "But nothing has really changed. Papa and his confederates will never agree to our opening the time-gate."
Elizabeth said, "Marc asked me to tell you that he has something completely new to discuss with you. He said—and I confess I have no idea what he means—he said it concerned the answer to your old question about your genetic heritage."
"God—he said that?" Hagen's voice was hoarse. His mind engaged that of his sister on the intimate mode and both Elizabeth and the King perceived the agitation of the exchange. Hagen and Cloud were desperately afraid—and at the same time, fascinated.
"Elizabeth," the King asked, "do you know whether or not Marc can use that CE device on more than one metafaculty at a time?"
"I can answer that!" Hagen exclaimed. "God—can I! Papa instructed me thoroughly enough in the damn thing's operation. He was ready to chain me to a backup suit of armor he had all ready when we escaped from Ocala—"
"Pull yourself together." The King's barely leashed coercion hovered about the young man. "This is important!"
Hagen swallowed. "The rig can enhance only one metafunction at a time. For instance, when Marc performs a d-jump, the rig is locked onto his upsilon-field-generating faculty.
When he was doing the star-search, it enhanced his farsight."
"And when the bunch of you got together with Felice to zap Gibraltar," Aiken interposed, "he was augmenting his creativity?"
"That's it," Hagen agreed. "When he's phased into the thing—when the needle-electrodes are in his brain and it goes white-hot—he has only a single preprogrammed superfaculty. The others are in peripheral mode. They're there, but only in his usual harebrained order of magnitude. He'd have to jump back to the directive computer if he wanted to switch."
"That's all right then," Aiken said, considerably relieved. "I was afraid he could use the rig to mind-zorch us in Black Crag."
"Not possible." A twisted smile spread over Hagen's face. "He won't be able to pull that off until he's capable of teleporting the whole CE setup around with him—power supply, auxiliaries, and all. Ten tons of junk."
"Then we've got time," Aiken said. "I say we go see what Marc has to say. If he's harebrained, I'll take a chance."
"Could you burn him?" Hagen asked quietly.
"No!" cried Cloud.
Elizabeth said, "All of you must give me your solemn word to keep the peace—and let me probe you redactively now and at Black Crag to be sure you mean it."
"Agreed," said Cloud at once.
Hagen took a bit longer, but finally he nodded his head.
Elizabeth looked inquiringly at Aiken. He screwed up his brow in a mock attitude of deep thought. "If I did mind-zorch Marc—just supposing I could beat him in barebrain combat—it would save all of us a lot of potential grief."
"I want your word," Elizabeth insisted. "And an open mind."
The shoebutton eyes sparkled wickedly. "I could promise. I could believe it, so your redactive ream showed I told you true. And I could change my mind. You just never know about Me!"
"Oh, yes I do," Elizabeth said.
The little man shrugged his golden shoulders. "When shall we leave for Black Crag? Tomorrow? You can tell Minanonn he'll have to carry us all. I'm not flying that far on my own steam. I haven't been well."
***
Across Pliocene France in the Montagne Noire, where the latest storm was still many hours away, Marc and Brother Anatoly sat on the chalet balcony under the stars, drinking upthe last of the Martell cognac and discussing the theological aspects of imputability andunconscious motivation. They were deeply engrossed and Marc only excused himself once, todo a rapid farscan of Kyllikki, to be sure she was bearing well to the north of the new depression menacing the west coast of Armorica. When he saw that the schooner was safe, following the course he had given Walter Saastamoinen, he took up once again the fascinating topic of his own damnation. It was piquant to serve as Devil's Advocate to one's self.
2
THE FIRVULAG KING and his nominal vassal Sugoll rode out unattended to the Field of Gold to await the arrival of Betularn with the treasure. The day was gloriously sunny and hot.
Side by side, the two white chalikos trotted onto the new Rainbow Bridge over the River Nonol. The former rickety suspension structure had been replaced by a fine cantileveredarch engineered by the Low-life adoptees of Nionel. The bridge was colored like its namesake, topped with ornate bronze railings and lamp standards, and wide enough to accommodate twenty chalikos abreast.
"Magnificent structure," Sharn commented heartily. The Lord of the Howlers accepted the praise with his usual equanimity, bowing his handsome, bald-pated head. Sugoll wore a flowing silver-tissue caftan over an illusory body that may or may not have been humanoid. Sharn was dressed in kidskin riding breeches of Lincoln green, jackboots with bejeweled high heels and spurs, and a balloon-sleeved shirt of fawn-colored georgette, open to the navel to show off the regal chest-pelt and ventilate the regal armpits.
When the two rulers reached the center of the span, they paused to pay tribute to the view. Behind them was Nionel, a vision of El Dorado in the shimmering heat. Below rolled the broad river, its right bank bordered by gargantuan ash trees and spicy thickets of cinnamon, sour-orange, and willow. Ahead of them lay the flowering steppe where the Grand Tourney would be held, with its grandstands and fair buildings and other structures now almost completely refurbished by the industrious goblin émigrés. The Field itself was a brilliant green, powdered with buttercups.
"I'm surprised to see the place looking so verdant," Sharn said, "since the countryside hereabouts has escaped the storms plaguing more southerly regions."
"The woodlands are indeed overdry," Sugoll said. "But we have taken pains to conjure asprinkle every third night so that the Tourney grounds will be kept in good condition forthe festivities. By game time the entire flat will be blanketed with sun-daisies, and golden rockroses will adorn the marge and the campgrounds back among the tall trees."
"Conjure a sprinkle—?" Sharn was clearly nonplussed. "You mean, make it rain?"
The mutant nodded innocently. "It's a small matter to herd together suitable clouds if all the people put their minds to it under proper leadership. Or haven't you found it so?"
"Uh," said Sharn.
"We would be remiss hosts indeed if a parched Field were all we could offer for this first Grand Tourney."
Sharn was trying to suppress his astonishment. "Cousin, do your people then make it their frequent custom to mesh minds? To act in what the Lowlives would call metaconcert?"
Sugoll considered. "I don't suppose we do it any more frequently than other folks. It does take organizing, after all. We do weather modification when it's necessary, and certain large construction projects like the bridge and the polishing of the city domes when we first moved in ... and back in Meadow Mountain, there was a certain amount of blasting. But that never involved more than fifty or so of the folk at once, and they didn't require my direction."
"When you direct their minds—do they accept your leadership without question?"
Sugoll was puzzled. "Most certainly. Don't your people?"
Sharn sighed gustily. "Cousin, we must speak of this later, at some length. In your long isolation from the mainstream of our Firvulag race, you have suffered certain deprivations. But the merciful Goddess has also blessed you with an extraordinary recompense!"
"Well," said Sugoll modestly, "she did make us rich."
Sharn ground his teeth. "That, too. But I was really speaking of your facility for mental teamwork. I must confess that my nonmutant subjects have only recently begun to forsake their independent bloody-mindedness in favor of cooperative effort."
"You're fighters," Sugoll said bluntly. "We're not. We've had to cooperate in order tosurvive."
Sharn spoke eagerly. "And now I invite you to cooperate with the rest of us ... in themost noble enterprise in the history of the Many-Colored Land! This inspection trip of mine was only an excuse to come and tell you about it, to enlist you and your people in thegreat venture!" With a sudden dramatic gesture, he pointed up the river. "Look there! Here comes Betularn, as I promised, and you'll never in a million years guess what he's bringing—courtesy of the Shining Jackanapes of Goriah!"
The Howler lord smiled in a noncommittal fashion. "While we await the hero's arrival, perhaps you would care to take a closer look at some of our renovations."
Together they rode off the bridge and along a broad, yellow-sanded way to the enormoustwin grandstands of carved limestone. These had nearly fallen to ruin during the forty years of disuse. Now mutant workers were everywhere, tuckpointing and painting and redecorating. The structures were freshly decked out in many shades of green, with honey-colored pillars and balustrades. Later there would be straw-filled amber cushions for the spectators, and green-and-yellow striped awnings shading the stands. The central royal enclosures had green serpentine columns, staircases painted a vivid gamboge that led down to stages at the sidelines, and quaintly peaked roofs with golden tiles and effigy-topped spires. The crest adorning the Firvulag loge combined King Sham's crystal scorpion with Queen Ayfa's horned moon. The Tanu spire bore a gilt representation of Aiken's impudent finger.
Reminiscence mellowed the Firvulag monarch. "I'd forgotten how nice and sturdy the structures were on our Field of Gold. Much more impressive than the flimsy pavilions the Tanu used to set up on the White Silver Plain—and a hell of a lot cooler, too. You've done a spiffing job of renovation, Cousin. What're those barricade things down around the award presentation stages?"
Sugoll explained some of the more novel games that would be featured at the Tourney, and the safety precautions that the new spirit of good-fellowship called for.
Sharn grinned, showing lustrous pointed teeth. "We'll get in a few licks against the Foe just the same. The jousting and the steeplechase events have great possibilities for mayhem. And the hurling, of course. Imagine the Foe resurrecting that old romp! My father told me of hurley being played on Duat, and with enemy heads."
"The Tanu call it shinty," Sugoll said. "We'll use a large white ball with black spotsas a substitute for the skull." He glanced toward the river. "The great hero Betularn is about to arrive. Shall we meet him?"
They rode down to the water's edge, where bleachers for the boat races were still under construction. At the docks were eighteen large inflatable craft, jammed to the gunwaleswith armored regulars and crated cargo. White Hand, caparisoned in full obsidian harness and carrying a purple-leather box nearly as long as he was tall, leaped from the lead boat and strode up to Sharn. He dropped to one knee before the mounted Firvulag King, proffering the great case. His visor was open and tears streamed from his pouched eyes.