Anthony Villiers 02 - The Thurb Revolution by Alexei Panshin

Author:Alexei Panshin [Panshin, Alexei]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi & Fantasy
Publisher: Ace Books
Published: 1968-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

7

Earth mediates, air questions, water dreams. Fire lives, and fire rules the night.

Earth mulls deep brown thoughts of time past, while fire dances.

Air touches the world with pale wondering fingers, and fire dances.

Water sings of freedom’s illusion, but fire dances.

Fire brief. Fire bright. Fire brilliant. Fire inspires, and fire rules the night.

* * *

An ordinary man might have accepted the fact that whatever immoralities Villiers was engaged in were beyond his power to affect. An ordinary man might have accepted the fact that his nephew had no intention. An ordinary man might have gone home.

Feeling extraordinary, Admiral Beagle made his way up a forest gully near Villiers’ camp. The night was dark and he wished he had night glasses. He demanded nothing of others that he did not demand of himself and tomorrow he would mark a demerit down in his notebook. Lack of foresight, Mr. Beagle. A good officer is prepared for all contingencies.

He wasn’t altogether sure what he meant to do, but he couldn’t leave without a reconnoiter. He’d been taught while young that when in doubt the best thing was to have a recce, and he had assimilated the principle so thoroughly that now, some fifty years later, he found himself sneaking up a hillside for a long secret look at the enemy.

As he sneaked, he mumbled over a phrase in his mind like a dog seeking the sweetest grip on a bone. He had served himself a demerit for his lame exit speech to Villiers. As a connoisseur of the pithy, he felt he should have departed only on delivery of an apt and witty capping blow. If another occasion should be presented, he meant to make the most of it. A simile had occurred to him—that Villiers seemed as ripe with evil as a veined cheese (all of which he loathed, from blue to Bagnasco)—but so far the best refinement he had produced was, “You are as corrupt as Gorgonzola,” and that wasn’t much, not even a metaphor.

From the top of the gully, he could see a fire flicker. In the afternoon he had noted a rock tumble on the north side of the camp. He honored himself with the removal of a demerit when he reached those rocks. He felt supremely woodwise. He could see figures moving and hear the sound but not the substance of conversation. A light suddenly flashed at him from the camp and he ducked. After a few seconds the light went out. He lay quietly and panted, and flattered himself for his quickness.

The rocks continued even into the camp, where several had been pressed into service as chairs and tables. By degrees, the Admiral worked his way down among them until he could hear those about the fire—and see them, too, when he dared to look.

The first words he heard he found disquieting. They were talk of metaphor, the very subject that had been in his mind, and he briefly considered giving himself a demerit for making trouble. The coincidence was a bad omen.

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