Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: The Ties That Bind by Miller Walter M Freas Kelly Illustrator
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page
Ebook has 334 lines and 13452 words, and 7 pages
Illustrator: Kelly Freas
THE TIES THAT BIND
Illustrated by Kelly Freas
--ANONYMOUS
The Horde of sleek ships arose in the west at twilight--gleaming slivers that reflected the dying sun as they lanced across the darkling heavens. A majestic fleet of squadrons in double-vees, groups in staggered echelon, they crossed the sky like gleaming geese, and the children of Earth came out of their whispering gardens to gape at the splendor that marched above them.
The myriad voices of the planet, they cried, or whispered, or chattered in awed voices under the elms....
The piping whine of a senile hag: "The ancient gods! The day of the judging! Repent, repent...."
The panting gasp of a frightened fat man: "The alien! We're lost, we're lost! We've got to run for the hills!"
The voice of the child: "See the pretty birdlights? See? See?"
And a voice of wisdom in the councils of the clans: "The sons of men--they've come home from the Star Exodus. Our brothers."
The slivers of light, wave upon wave, crept into the eclipse shadow as the twilight deepened and the stars stung through the blackening shell of sky. When the moon rose, the people watched again as the silhouette of a black double-vee of darts slipped across the lunar disk.
Beneath the ground, in response to the return of the ships, ancient mechanisms whirred to life, and the tech guilds hurried to tend them. On Earth, there was a suspenseful night, pregnant with the dissimilar twins of hope and fear, laden with awe, hushed with the expectancy of twenty thousand years. The stargoers--they had come home.
"I heard you the first time, Meikl," the officer snapped. "Watch your tongue and your tone!"
A brief hush in the cabin as hostility flowed between them. There was only the hiss of air from the ventilators, and the low whine of the flagship's drive units somewhere below.
The erect and elderly gentleman who sat behind the desk cleared his throat politely. "Have you any further clarifications to make, Meikl?" he asked.
The two wingsmen bristled slightly at the edge of contempt in the analyst's voice. The elderly gentlemen behind the desk remained impassive, expressionless.
The wingsman darkened. His fist exploded on the desktop. "Meikl, you're in contempt! Restrict yourself to answering questions!"
"Yes, sir."
"There will be no further breaches of military etiquette during the continuance of this conference," the elderly gentleman announced icily, thus seizing the situation.
After a moment's silence, he turned to the analyst again. "We've got to refuel," he said flatly. "In order to refuel, we must land."
"Yes, sir. But why not on Mars? We can develop our own facilities for producing fuel. Why must it be Earth?"
The analyst lowered his eyes, shook his head wearily. "I'm thinking of a billion earthlings. Aren't they worth considering, sir?"
"I've got to consider the men in my command, Meikl. They've been through hell. We all have."
"The hell was our own making, baron."
"Sorry, sir."
"Only in laboratory cultures, sir," sighed the analyst. "Under rigid control to make certain there's no restimulant. In practice, in a planet-wide society, there's constant accidental restimulation, unconsciously occuring. A determinant gets restimulated, pops back to original intensity, and gets passed on. In practice, a kult'laenger linkage never really dies out--although, it can stay recessive and unconscious."
"That's too bad," a wingsman growled sourly. "We'll wake it up, won't we?"
"Let's not be callous," the other wingsman grunted in sarcasm. "Analyst Meikl has sensitivities."
"You discussed the danger to earthlings."
"Yes, sir."
"I meant 'danger' to the personnel of this fleet--to their esprit, their indoctrination, their group-efficiency. I take it you see none."
"On the contrary, I see several," said the analyst, coming slowly to his feet, eyes flashing and darting among them. "Where were you born, Wingman?" he asked the officer at the opposite end of the desk.
"Lichter Six, Satellite," the officer grunted after a moment of irritable silence.
"And you?"
"Omega Thrush," said the other wingsman.
All knew without asking that the baron was born in space, his birthplace one of the planetoid city-states of the Michea Dwarf. Meikl looked around at them, then ripped up his own sleeve, unsheathed his rank-dagger, and pricked his forearm with the needle point. A red droplet appeared, and he wiped at it with a forefinger.
"It's common stuff, gentlemen. We've shed a lot of it. And each of us is a walking sackful of it." He paused, then turned to touch the point of his dagger to the viewer, where it left a tiny red trace on the glass, on the bright crescent of Earth, mist-shrouded, chastely wheeling her nights into days.
"It came from there," he hissed. "She's your womb, gentlemen. Are you going back?"
"Are you an analyst or a dramatist, Meikl?" the baron asked sharply, hoping to relieve the sudden chill in the room. "This becomes silly."
"If you land on her," Meikl promised ominously, "you'll go away with a fleet full of hate."
Meikl's arm dropped to his side. He sheathed his dagger. "Is my presence at this meeting still imperative, sir?" he asked the baron.
"Have you anything else to say?"
"That's a repetition. No further reasons?--in terms of danger to ourselves?"
The analyst paused. "I can think of nothing worse that could happen to us," he said slowly, "than just being what we already are."
He snapped his heels formally, bowed to the baron, and stalked out of the cabin.
"I suggest," said a wingsman, "that we speak to Frewek about tightening up the discipline in the Intelligence section. That man was in open contempt, Baron."
"But he was also probably right," sighed the graying officer and nobleman.
"Don't worry, Wingsman, there's nothing else to do. We'll have to land. Make preparations, both of you--and try to make contact with surface. I'll dictate the message."
When the wingsmen left, it was settled. The baron arose with a sigh and went to peer morosely at the view of Earth below. Very delicately, he wiped the tiny trace of blood from the glass. She was a beautiful world, this Earth. She had spawned them all, as Meikl said--but for this, the baron could feel only bitterness toward her.
But what of her inhabitants? I'm past feeling anything for them, he thought, past feeling for any of the life-scum that creeps across the surface of a world, any world. We'll go down quickly, and take what we need quickly, and leave quickly. We'll try not to infect them, but they've already got it in them, the dormant disease, and any infection will be only a recurrence.
Nevertheless, he summoned a priest to his quarters. And, before going to the command deck, he bathed sacramentally as if in preparation for battle.
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page