to the suspension ropes with both hands, and set down his saber before helping Antonella to her feet.
“Whoever’s side you’re on,” he said to the stranger, “I’m glad we ran into you. My name is Corson, and I belong to the crew of the . . ."
The words tailed away. How ridiculous to speak here of the Archimedes, a battle cruiser involved in the interstellar war between Earth and Uria! Now he really was a soldier with neither an army nor a cause to fight for, a soldier lost. And if it had not been for the enormous battlefield of Aergistal, he might well have forgotten that he was a soldier.
“My name is Touray,” said the black. “I’m a Zouave. Provost marshal and pro tem balloonist with a communications regiment. Originally this balloon of mine was supposed to be captive, but a lucky shot—or maybe an unlucky one—turned it loose.” With a wry smile. “Also I’m a qualified medical orderly, and . .
He hesitated. “And—?” Corson prompted.
“Your uniforms made me remember something. I wasn’t always a balloonist. I was an engineer. And a helicopter pilot. That’s why they wished this balloon on me.”
He started to laugh. “You see, I told them I knew a bit about flying. It seemed better to be above the battle than mixed up in the middle of it. . . And what about you? What war do you hail from?” It was Corson’s turn to hesitate.
“From a war between planets,” he said after a moment. “But I didn’t come direct from there to here.”
“A war between planets,” Touray said thoughtfully. “So you must come from a much later period than me. In my day we were just getting interested in space travel. I can still recall the day the first man landed on Mars. Quite an event!”
He jerked his thumb toward Antonella.
“What about her? Is she from the same war as you?”
Corson shook his head. “No, she comes from . . . from a period of peace.”
The black face froze. “Then she ought not to be here!”
“Why do you say that?”
“In this world there’s nobody but soldiers, warriors, people who for one reason or another have been declared war criminals. Me, I fired rockets at a village where there were only civilians, somewhere in Europe, on an island that I still remember was called Sicily. I won’t say I realized what I was doing, but I can’t claim that I didn’t know, either. That’s war for you, I’m afraid.”
A question sprang to Corson’s mind.
“You’re talking Pangal. I thought that wasn’t developed until after the invention of star travel.”
“Oh, it isn’t my mother tongue. I learned it here. Everyone at Aergistal speaks Pangal, with some local differences. Dialects, I suppose you’d call them.”
“So what was your mother tongue?”
“It was a language called French.”
“I see,” Corson said. But he didn’t; the word meant nothing to him.
His mind was swarming with insoluble mysteries. Those, though, would have to wait for an answer. So far the balloon had been drifting along the shoreline, but it was showing a disturbing tendency to wander out to sea, and that level ocean seemed to reach to infinity.
CHAPTER 18
They floated over a group of galleys that were madly trying to ram each other but were hindered by the slackness of the wind and only making progress by the use of slow oars. A little farther on, they spotted some honeycomb-shaped structures that a crowd of spiderlike creatures were fighting for. There were not only humans at Aergistal, then, although in the region they had so far explored humans appeared to be in the majority. Once or twice they discerned great shadows beneath the sea.
The balloon moved farther and farther from the coast, but remained in sight of it.
“Well, it’s no good starving, is it?” Touray said, and turned to open a wicker basket that took up part of the space within the gondola.
Automatically Corson felt on his shoulder for the sling of his ration bag. It wasn’t there. He must have dropped it during
“Whoever’s side you’re on,” he said to the stranger, “I’m glad we ran into you. My name is Corson, and I belong to the crew of the . . ."
The words tailed away. How ridiculous to speak here of the Archimedes, a battle cruiser involved in the interstellar war between Earth and Uria! Now he really was a soldier with neither an army nor a cause to fight for, a soldier lost. And if it had not been for the enormous battlefield of Aergistal, he might well have forgotten that he was a soldier.
“My name is Touray,” said the black. “I’m a Zouave. Provost marshal and pro tem balloonist with a communications regiment. Originally this balloon of mine was supposed to be captive, but a lucky shot—or maybe an unlucky one—turned it loose.” With a wry smile. “Also I’m a qualified medical orderly, and . .
He hesitated. “And—?” Corson prompted.
“Your uniforms made me remember something. I wasn’t always a balloonist. I was an engineer. And a helicopter pilot. That’s why they wished this balloon on me.”
He started to laugh. “You see, I told them I knew a bit about flying. It seemed better to be above the battle than mixed up in the middle of it. . . And what about you? What war do you hail from?” It was Corson’s turn to hesitate.
“From a war between planets,” he said after a moment. “But I didn’t come direct from there to here.”
“A war between planets,” Touray said thoughtfully. “So you must come from a much later period than me. In my day we were just getting interested in space travel. I can still recall the day the first man landed on Mars. Quite an event!”
He jerked his thumb toward Antonella.
“What about her? Is she from the same war as you?”
Corson shook his head. “No, she comes from . . . from a period of peace.”
The black face froze. “Then she ought not to be here!”
“Why do you say that?”
“In this world there’s nobody but soldiers, warriors, people who for one reason or another have been declared war criminals. Me, I fired rockets at a village where there were only civilians, somewhere in Europe, on an island that I still remember was called Sicily. I won’t say I realized what I was doing, but I can’t claim that I didn’t know, either. That’s war for you, I’m afraid.”
A question sprang to Corson’s mind.
“You’re talking Pangal. I thought that wasn’t developed until after the invention of star travel.”
“Oh, it isn’t my mother tongue. I learned it here. Everyone at Aergistal speaks Pangal, with some local differences. Dialects, I suppose you’d call them.”
“So what was your mother tongue?”
“It was a language called French.”
“I see,” Corson said. But he didn’t; the word meant nothing to him.
His mind was swarming with insoluble mysteries. Those, though, would have to wait for an answer. So far the balloon had been drifting along the shoreline, but it was showing a disturbing tendency to wander out to sea, and that level ocean seemed to reach to infinity.
CHAPTER 18
They floated over a group of galleys that were madly trying to ram each other but were hindered by the slackness of the wind and only making progress by the use of slow oars. A little farther on, they spotted some honeycomb-shaped structures that a crowd of spiderlike creatures were fighting for. There were not only humans at Aergistal, then, although in the region they had so far explored humans appeared to be in the majority. Once or twice they discerned great shadows beneath the sea.
The balloon moved farther and farther from the coast, but remained in sight of it.
“Well, it’s no good starving, is it?” Touray said, and turned to open a wicker basket that took up part of the space within the gondola.
Automatically Corson felt on his shoulder for the sling of his ration bag. It wasn’t there. He must have dropped it during
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