Ben Bova - Orion 4 - Orion and the Conqueror.pdf

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Ben Bova
Orion and the Conqueror
To Michael, Michelle, Michael, Lindsey and Hayley
CONTENTS
PART ONE
continued
PART TWO
PART THREE
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.
Prologue
In the timeless city beneath the golden energy dome, Anya healed me of my
wounds, both physical and spiritual. The other Creators left us alone in that
empty mausoleum of a city, alone among the temples and monuments that the
Creators had built for themselves.
My burns healed quickly. The gulf between us caused by her seeming betrayal,
less so. I realized that Anya had had to make me think she had abandoned me;
otherwise Set would have seen her trap when he probed my mind. Yet the pain
was still there, the awful memory of feeling deserted. As the days quietly
passed and the nights, the love we felt for each other slowly began to bridge
even that gap.
Anya and I stood on the outskirts of the city before the massive bulk of the
enormous Pyramid of Khufu, its dazzling white coat of polished limestone
gleaming gloriously in the morning light, the great Eye of Amon just starting
to form as the sun moved across the sky toward the position that created the
shadow-sculpture.
I felt restless. Even though we had the entire empty city to ourselves I could
not overcome the uncomfortable feeling that we were not truly alone. The other
Creators might be scattered across the universes, striving to maintain the
spacetime continuum that they themselves had unwittingly unravelled, yet I had
the prickly sensation in the back of my neck that told me we were being
watched.
"You are not happy here," Anya said as we walked unhurriedly around the base
of the huge, massive pyramid. I had to admit she was right.
"It was better when we were back in the forest of Paradise."
"Yes," she agreed. "I liked it there, too, even though I didn't appreciate it
at the time."
"We could go back there."
She smiled at me. "Is that what you wish?"
Before I could answer a shimmering sphere of glowing gold appeared before us,
hovering a few inches above the polished stone slabs that made up the walkway
around the pyramid's base. The globe touched lightly on the paving, then
contracted to form the human shape of Aten, dressed in a splendid military
tunic of metallic gold with a high choker collar and epaulets bearing a
sunburst insignia.
"Surely you're not thinking of retiring, Orion," he said, his tone just a
shade less mocking than usual, his smile radiating more scorn than warmth.
Turning to Anya, he added, "And you, dearest companion, have responsibilities
that cannot be avoided."
Anya moved closer to me. "I am not your 'dearest companion,' Aten. And if
Orion and I want to spend some time alone in a different era, what is that to
you?"
"There is work to be done," he said, the smile fading, his tone more serious.
He was jealous of me, I realized. Jealous of the love that Anya and I shared.
Then the old smug cynicism came back into his face. He cocked a golden eyebrow
at me. "Jealous?" He read my thoughts. "How can a god be jealous of a
creature? Don't be ridiculous, Orion."
"Haven't I done enough for you?" I growled. "Haven't I earned a rest?"
"No. And no. My fellow Creators tell me that you have grown much like us in
your powers and wisdom. They congratulate me on producing such a useful...
creature."
He was going to say "toy" until he noticed my fists clenching.
"Well, Orion," he went on, "if you are going to assume godlike powers then you
must be prepared to shoulder godlike responsibilities, just like the rest of
us."
"You told me that I was your creature, a tool to be used as you see fit."
He shrugged, glancing at Anya. "It comes out to the same thing. Either you
bear responsibilities like the rest of us or you obey my commands. Take your
choice."
Anya put her hand on my shoulder. "You have the right to refuse him, my love.
You have earned that right."
Smirking, Aten replied, "Perhaps so. But you, goddess, cannot evade your
responsibilities. No more than I can."
"The continuum can struggle along without me for a while," she said, almost as
haughty as Aten himself.
"No, it can't." Suddenly he was utterly serious. "The crisis is real and
urgent. The conflict has spread across the stars and threatens the entire
galaxy now."
Anya paled. She turned her fathomless silver-gray eyes to me, and I saw real
pain in them.
I knew that we could escape to Paradise if we wanted to. To those who can
control time, what matter days or years or even centuries spent in one era or
another? We could always return to this exact point in spacetime, this
individual nexus in the continuum. The crisis that Aten feared would still be
waiting for us.
Yet how could we be happy, knowing that our time in Paradise was limited? Even
if we remained there for a thousand years, the task awaiting us would loom in
our minds like the edge of a cliff, like a sword hanging over our heads.
Before Anya could reply I said, "Paradise will have to wait, won't it?"
She nodded sadly. "Yes, my love. Paradise will have to wait."
BOOK I - MERCENARY
War therefore is an act of violence
intended to compel our opponent
to fulfil our will.... War is a mere
continuation of policy by other means.
Chapter 1
Their tread was like the pacing of a giant, some ten thousand men marching in
perfect unison, making the air quiver and the ground shake with the weight of
each booted step.
They were coming straight toward us, the heavy long sarissas of their front
ranks pointed at our eyes, those in the rear still held upright. It looked
like a forest of spears advancing upon us.
"Steady," yelled our phalanx commander. "Let them tire themselves out marching
toward us. Hold your places."
We stood at the crest of a modest rise in the stony, bare ground. Hardly a
blade of grass was growing here. The morning sun was already hot, the sky so
bright it almost hurt to look at it. On the other side of the rocky hills
before us stood the besieged city of Perinthos; we were here to lift the
siege.
I was in the tenth rank of our twelve-deep phalanx, on the right end of the
row, with no man's shield to protect my right side. The officers were up
front, of course, except for the quarter-file and end-file commanders, who had
stationed themselves on the left ends of their ranks. I was bigger than most
of the other hoplites and could handle a twelve-foot spear easily. But the
army we faced had those sixteen-foot-long sarissas and a reputation for
winning their battles.
Their right wing was the heavy one, as usual. At least sixteen ranks deep; it
was hard to tell because they were kicking up a fair amount of dust as they
advanced across the open ground toward us. Behind them and to our left, off by
the scrawny trees that dotted the hillside, I could see their cavalry
shuffling nervously, waiting for the order to strike. We had no cavalry, and I
feared that once the fighting began the Perinthians' own hoplites would
quickly turn tail, leaving us to be butchered. They were civilians, after all,
citizens of the city we had been hired to help protect. I doubted that they
could stand up before the professional army advancing upon us.
"Steady," our commander repeated. He was a tough old vulture, his bronze
breastplate and shield dulled and dented from many a battle, his arms covered
with white puckered scars. Diopeithes, the leader of our mercenary band, was
mounted on a lovely white steed well to the rear, ready to run all the way
back to Athens if the going got bad. He was more of an opportunist than a
soldier; I doubted that he had ever led his men against trained professional
troops.
I worked a finger through the chin strap of my helmet. I was sweating, and not
merely from the hot morning sun. We were professional soldiers, mercenaries,
but we were badly outnumbered and forced to fight at a time and place of the
enemy's choosing. The politicians of Perinthos may have known how to govern
their city, but they made poor generals. Their biggest mistake was to expect
that Athens would fight for them. The Athenians had not even paid Diopeithes;
or so he told us. We were forced to live off the land, which hardly pleased
the Perinthians we were supposed to be defending.
The distance between our spear points and theirs was shrinking steadily. Our
commander stepped out in front of the phalanx and bellowed, "On my word-
forward!"

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