Visitors by Orson Scott Card
“And just as importantly,” said Param, “Umbo is King-in-the-Tent. The soldiers need to see him with them. They love him and respect him, as a man, in ways they can’t respect me, a woman.”
Umbo glanced at her for a moment, then back down at the map. She could not read anything into his glance.
Silence around the table.
“It seems to me,” Param finally said, “that every possible battleground has drawbacks and advantages. Every possible battleground has ways of turning into disaster or triumph. Is that true?”
Olivenko was quick—too quick?—to agree. But after only a few moments, Loaf, Ramex, Ram, Rigg, and Square concurred.
She almost said, Then we could cast clay and choose our battleground by chance alone. But she stopped herself, because another possibility came to mind.
“It seems to me,” she said again, “that all our plans are essentially defensive in nature. Appear here, and fortify as we await their attack. Or appear there. Or there. Or in Aressa Sessamo. Or . . . is our army so bad that we can’t use it to attack them where they are?”
“Our troops are well trained,” said Loaf, “but training isn’t battle.”
“We don’t know what they’ll do, when men start to bleed,” said Rigg. “Our army isn’t composed of men who love battle. Only of men who hated Hagia’s and Haddamander’s rule, or who wanted to move their families out of danger. Not soldiers by choice or temperament.”
“But we do have a force of extraordinary fighters,” said Square.
“Are there enough of you to make a difference?” asked Ramex.
“You’re the one with the magnificent electronic brain,” said Square. “Work it out and advise us.”
“It is not possible to predict the outcome of battles with certainty,” said Ramex.
“So let’s have the first battle and see how things work out,” said Square. “And let’s have Rigg or Umbo take all my Vadeshfolders back to meet ourselves, so we can double our strength. And then quadruple it.”
“No more copying people,” said Rigg. “It’s a terrible thing and you shouldn’t put anyone else through it.”
“We won’t do it anymore after we win,” said Square. “You do what you must to win the war.”
“And what if all your facemasks come through alive?” asked Rigg. “Which ones are married to their wives? Which are now single men, who remember having wives and children, but have them no longer?”
“Let’s see how our first time through turns out,” said Loaf, “before we go copying anybody.”
“I think Queen Param’s proposal is a—”
“It wasn’t a proposal,” said Param quickly. “It was merely a question about the defensive versus the offensive.”
“I think Queen Param’s question is one whose answer we’ve taken for granted,” said Olivenko. “We should use our untrained troops on the defensive. But this may be a gross mistake. On the defensive, it is vital that the troops stand firm, give ground slowly, retreat in good order when necessary. Loaf and his sergeants have trained them wonderfully well, but when comrades fall beside you, war becomes a different thing—according to all the histories. And it’s easier to get ignorant green troops to charge than to stand against a charge.”
“There’s no doubt that we could achieve tactical surprise,” said Square.
“We can’t bring the whole army through at once,” said Rigg. “Not unless we have them all in one compact body, so they can all hold hands.”
“Bring everybody through in as many groups as you need,” said Square. “Just bring them all to the same moment.”
“That means Umbo would have to do it all,” said Rigg. “I can do that moving into the past, but only he has precision moving into the future.”
Everyone looked at Umbo.
“I assume you meant to say King Umbo,” said Param gently.
“He doesn’t have to call me that,” said Umbo softly.
“He must do it above all others,” said Param, “because he is as much heir to the Tent of Light as I am, and there are those who would prefer his claim. He must speak of King Umbo by his title and with all authority, so no one has any doubt that Rigg supports his claim and mine.”
Umbo shook his head. “Let’s not get off the topic again.”
“Olivenko,” said Loaf, “are you advocating that we make a new plan, to appear in the midst of their camp and slaughter them in their sleep?”
“Not in their sleep!” cried Param.
“Queen Param,” said Olivenko. “The goal is a victory so decisive the enemy can’t recover from it. If we can kill one man in five before he even gets his weapon, the battle is nearly won.”
“Except,” said Loaf, “if we appear throughout their camp, then what happens to the organization of our army?”
“A mess,” said Square. “Nobody knows which way to face. It becomes a melee, till the enemy forms a line somewhere.”
“Haddamander entrenches and walls up wherever he camps,” said Olivenko. “Attacking from the outside would be brutal.”
“And attacking from the inside would reduce us to chaos immediately,” said Loaf.
“And we’re back to every plan having risks and benefits.”
“Can’t we make a plan to organize and avoid chaos?” asked Param.
“Every soldier would have to know the whole plan,” said Loaf. “Never a good idea.”
“Why isn’t it a good idea?” said Umbo quietly.
Loaf shook his head. “The less the footsoldiers know of the plans of the commanders, the better.”
“Isn’t that so they can’t betray our plans to the enemy?” asked Rigg. “But if we appear all at once, in the midst of their camp, with every soldier knowing exactly what’s expected of him and where to form up as soon as his assignment is complete—there’s no time for any of our soldiers to be taken and spill our plans.”
Loaf nodded. “I can see that. I’ve had it ingrained in me that footsoldiers can never know more than their immediate assignment, but . . .”
“That’s all we’ll tell them anyway,” said Square. “How to cause maximum terror and destruction for about five minutes, then form back into a coherent unit before going off in pursuit of fleeing enemies.”
“You were actually paying attention when I lectured to you,” said Loaf approvingly.
“Now and then,” said Square, “when you’re saying something sensible.”
It was time, Param realized. “Now I will not ask a question. Now I’m making a decision. Let’s take a few days, a week, whatever you think we need, to train the men to engage in a surprise attack, then form back into units for the pursuit and destruction of the enemy.”
“And how to divide out small units to guard the prisoners. The ones who surrender.” Rigg looked around, as if daring anyone to contradict him. “Many of them will throw down their weapons and our goal is not slaughter, it’s destruction of the army. Capture is better than slaughter.”
“Unless it takes too many of our men to guard them.”
“I’ll be there,” said Rigg. “To take them into the past, without their weapons. King Umbo, too. We’ll push them so far into the past there’ll be no place for them to hide, no farmers or villagers to help them.”
“No one can hide from a pathfinder anyway,” said Square.
“I think it’s a decent plan,” said Olivenko. “Worth trying, to see what goes wrong.”
“And there you’ll be,” said Loaf. “Rigg and Umbo, separated from each other and surrounded by enemies. Just one arrow or javelin away from stranding our army far from their wives and children, unable to come back and fix things if things go wrong.”
“King Umbo can send them from a distance,” said Rigg. “He doesn’t have to be touching them.”
“Then I’ll do all the sending,” said Umbo.
“Till they know the drill,” said Loaf. “It’s not as if we have a deadline at this point in time. It’s the arrival that has to be exact.”
“I wish,” said Rigg softly, “that there were some way for Noxon to send us a message when he completes his mission.”
“There is,” said Square. “The world isn’t destroyed. Message received.”
“Maybe I’ll go forward in time while you’re all preparing,” said Rigg.
“Nothing’s changed,” said Umbo.
Silence again.
“I check every morning,” said Umbo. “Nothing’s changed yet.”
Param thought of what that meant. Umbo leaping forward in time to see if the world was still destroyed on schedule, and returning because the destruction was inevitable.
Why bother doing all this, if relieving the people of the brutal regime of Hagia and Haddamander only bettered their lives for a couple of years, and then the world ended anyway?
As if he knew what she was thinking, Rigg said, “We have to fight and plan as if we had a future. In case we actually get one.”
“Decided,” said Param. “This command goes forth from the Tent of Light: So let it be done.”
She hadn’t learned the old rituals of command from her mother. She had found them in books. At first she thought it was ridiculous hocum. Now she understood that someone had to end the council by declaring specifically what had been decided and what must happen next. Without absolute clarity, people would go off and dither, especially if they had doubts about the decision.
Param knew what she had done. Upended all their plans, taken them from defense to attack, and because of her, enemy soldiers would be speared or javelined or sabered in their sleep, or in the moment when they staggered up from their beds, searching for weapons.
Unless Haddamander had anticipated exactly this strategy.
But he couldn’t really know all their capabilities, because his soldiers had only faced Param’s soldiers a couple of times, in minor skirmishes and in Captain Toad’s last raid, which had seemed to Haddamander to be the first.
When Param spoke her decision, everyone left the Tent of Light. Except Umbo.
“There’s always another choice,” said Umbo.
“We’re not assassinating them,” said Param.
“They deserve no better, and it would save the lives of their men.”
“It wouldn’t,” said Param. “Assassination would only invite new warlords to rise up and replace them. Their army must be whipped and know that it was whipped.”
“Because that’s what Olivenko—”
“That’s what history says,” Param answered.
He nodded, but looked a bit dejected.
“Umbo, murder isn’t in you.”
“It’s in Rigg,” said Umbo.
“It was in Rigg. Once. And it damaged him. Murder damages people.”
“Or maybe it’s that damaged people murder,” said Umbo.
“Or both,” said Param. “But we’re not going to find out. We won’t succeed at taking the Tent of Light only because I was willing to have my mother murdered for ambition’s sake.”
“You know they wouldn’t hesitate to do it to us, if they thought they could,” said Umbo.
“I know they already tried, before we first passed through the Wall,” said Param. “I know we held hands and saved each other. But if we attempt to win by way of murder, then it no longer matters who wins this war—there’ll be a murderer and oathbreaker in the Tent of Light either way.”
“There’s no moral equivalency,” said Umbo.
“Rigg killed Ram Odin once in self-defense—and he couldn’t live with it.”
“That was Rigg,” said Umbo.
“And you’re a more ruthless killer?” asked Param.
“I might be,” said Umbo.
“Let’s see how this battle goes,” said Param.
“You’re right,” said Umbo. “Maybe your mother and Haddamander will be the first to die in their tents on the battlefield.”
Param shook her head. “You say all these things much too easily.”
“I want to avoid the deaths of the obedient soldiers on both sides,” said Umbo.
“I want to, too,” said Param. “But it’s not enough for us just to win. The enemy’s army has to experience real, terrifying loss.”
“I remember when Olivenko first said that exact phrase,” said Umbo.
“He’s a counselor,” said Param. “A wise queen listens to wise counsel.”
Umbo fell silent.
“The way I listened to you,” said Param. “When you told us that the world still ends on schedule. Even though you had never told me you checked every day.”
Umbo fell silent. In embarrassment?
“I listen to you more than anyone,” said Param.
“Since nobody listens to me at all,” said Umbo, smiling at her, “that’s not hard to achieve.”
“I meant that I listen to you more than I listen to anyone else,” said Param. “And not because you’re my husband, and I love you. Though you are, and I do.”
He showed no reaction.
“I listen to you because you speak rarely, but when you do, it always matters and you’re always wise.”
“Or if I’m not,” said Umbo, “I can always go back and clean up the mess.”
“Tidiness in a man is a worthy trait,” said Param.
He kissed her. A brief kiss. More than brotherly, but far from passionate.
She kissed him in reply, with all the passion she wished he would bring to his kisses.
“Do you think this is the right time for that?” he asked softly, when they broke from the second kiss.
“Tell me when you start believing that I’m truly your wife,” said Param.
“When that happens,” said Umbo, “I won’t have to tell you. You’ll know.”
CHAPTER 27
Retrieving the Mice
Because Noxon could see his and Ram’s paths—and the paths of the mice inside the box—he was able to return only a few seconds after he and Ram had left them buried.
They had explained the mice to Deborah and Anthropologist Wheaton, including all the disobedience and attempted betrayals. “Why don’t you just leave them there?” asked Wheaton.
“Because I promised I’d come back and let them out,” said Noxon.
“It’s one of his better traits,” said Ram. “But it’s also a serious weakness. And the mice really are dangerous and tricky.”
“Are we in danger from them?” asked Wheaton. Noxon could see that it was Deborah he was worried about.
“Yes,” said Noxon. “But only in the sense that the entire human race is in danger. Or that, if they were to kill me, the rest of you would be stranded in ancient Peru, thousands of years before any humans come to the Americas.”
“I suppose that means no internet,” said Deborah.
It took Noxon a moment even to remember what she was talking about. “Oh, yes, I forget how connected everyone is in your time,” said Noxon.
“We never even carried mobiles,” said Ram. “Didn’t get into that mind-set.”
“It’s time to open the box, then close it and rebury it before Ram and I come back.”
“You come back? Another time?” asked Deborah.
“We ran some errands,” said Ram. “And left the starship where it would be buried in ice. Then we came back and talked about letting the mice out.”
“But you didn’t,” said Deborah.
“And we didn’t check to see if they were still in the box,” said Noxon. “In case they weren’t. Because that would mean we came back here and liberated them. As we’re doing.”
“If we knew,” said Noxon, “we’d make guesses about why we came back and that might change our behavior. Which might erase whatever future had previously ensued. Or might duplicate us.”
“You have to be very careful,” Deborah observed.
“Everything has unforeseen consequences,” said Noxon. “And every attempt to make some things better is likely to make other things worse.”
“Saving me?” asked Deborah.
“So far,” said Noxon, “that’s working out pretty well. But duplicating the professor, here? I’m not sure he’s thrilled about the philologist version of himself.”
Wheaton shrugged. “It’s like finding out what I’d be like if I had never grown up.”
“I liked him,” said Deborah.
“How ironic,” said Wheaton, “since it’s clearly you that made me different from him.”
“I have much to answer for,” said Deborah.
“Should I open the box?” asked Ram.
“They can hear us already,” said Noxon. “So here are the rules. The mice will all come out of the box and stay in a group, approaching nobody. Ram will close the box and rebury it.”
“I have to do all the manual labor?”
“You’re the trained pilot,” said Noxon. “I have no skills.”
Ram grinned.
“If the mice deviate from these instructions,” said Noxon, “I’ll kill them all.”
Deborah looked skeptical. “Have you ever tried to catch mice?” she asked.
“In my previous life as a cat, yes,” said Noxon.
“The facemask makes him very, very quick,” said Ram.
“And I could go back and kill them in the past,” said Noxon. “They understand that.”
Ram opened the lid.
The mice swarmed out and formed a writhing heap on the bare dirt in front of the box.
“They look perfectly ordinary.”
“Look again,” said Noxon. “Their heads are quite large, for mice, and their bones and musculature are sturdier in order to bear the added brain weight. Also, they have tiny electrical connectors at the tip of each toe. Or finger. Or whatever. They can stick their paws into computer sockets and link up directly to their brains.”