our Tulans. She’s had them build a swanky hospital. She’s training a handful of them, or, rather, letting them train themselves.” He chuckled sourly. “She has a knack for picking the best looking physical specimens to become her male nurses cum interns. Old Leonid must be blind. At any rate, she’s introduced antibiotics and so forth. Actually, her glamour boys learn fast. She’s letting them get into the
Natalie said thoughtfully, “I’ve got to get more basic medical books into print.”
He kissed her again. “Zen take this fling, Polack. Let those cloddies in the lounge talk shop. How about us?”
“How do you mean, Barry?”
“Just that. It’s been ten years, Polack. Are we going to let it be another ten?”
She frowned at him, lacking understanding. “But you’re on Texcoco and I’m on Genoa, Barry. What can we do?”
He was impatient. “Look, let’s not be a couple of flats. You have access to your team’s space lighter, I have access to ours. Fine. Let’s make a date. I’ll tell old Plekhanov I’ve got to check up on the differences between the Theban and Macedonian phalanxes, and why it was the Romans were able to take the Macedonians a couple of hundred years after Alexander. Meanwhile, you can tell Amschel that there’s a new epidemic or something, and you have to come up here for a few day’s study.”
“A few days?”
“Sure. We’ll have a real party. There’s still lots of Earth-side liquor on board and…”
She was shaking her head, hard. “No. Oh, no, Barry. That’s not what we want!”
He scowled at her. “Ten years is a long time, Natalie. I’m a man, not a robot. It’s what
She turned from him abruptly and ran back toward the lounge.
“Hey!” he called. “Don’t be drivel happy.”
Natt Roberts entered the library. He looked back over his shoulder at the retreating Natalie. “What’s the matter?” he said.
Barry Watson swore under his breath. “Nothing,” he said.
Roberts shrugged. “The team’s getting ready to leave,” he said. “Plekhanov wants to know where you are.”
“I’m coming,” Watson snarled.
Later, in the space lighter heading back for Genoa, Amschel Mayer said speculatively, “Did you notice anything about Leonid Plekhanov?”
Jerry Kennedy was piloting. He said, “He seems the same irascible old bird he’s always been.”
Natalie’s mind was on other things. “A bit tired,” she said. “But we’re all that. Both teams.”
But the group leader wasn’t to be put off. “It seems to me he’s become a touch power mad. Could the pressures he’s under cause his mind to slip? Obviously, all isn’t peaches and cream in that attempt of his to achieve world government on Texcoco.”
“Well,” Kennedy muttered, “all isn’t peaches and cream with us, either. The barons are far from licked, especially in the west.” He changed the subject. “By the way, that banking deal went through in Pola. I was able to get control.”
“Fine,” Mayer chuckled. “You must be quite the richest man in the city. There is a certain stimulation in this financial game, Jerry, isn’t there?”
“Uh huh,” Jerry told him. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt to have a marked deck.”
“Marked deck?” Natalie said, frowning.
“That’s right. It’s handy that gold is the medium of exchange on Genoa,” Jerry said. “Especially in view of the fact that we have a machine on the ship capable of changing metals.”
VI
Leonid Plekhanov, Joseph Chessman, Barry Watson, Khan Reif and several of the Tulan army staff stood on a knoll overlooking a valley of several square miles. A valley dominated on all sides but the sea by steep mountain ranges.
Reif and the three Earthlings were bent over a folding table which held a large military map of the area. Barry Watson traced with his finger.
“There are only two major passes into this valley. We have this one; they dominate that.” He turned and pointed at the sea. “We can anchor our left flank on the sea. The heavy cavalry, armed with the muskets. They’ll have no trouble holding there. If the action gets hot enough, they can even wade out into the surf.” He went back to the map and traced again with his finger, thinking it out as he went.
“The phalanx will extend here, about a mile or so. Across the flat plain. The terrain is ideal. At the right flank, light cavalry and auxiliary troops. They’re our weakest element, but they can skirmish up into these hills indefinitely. The terrain is such that the enemy will have a hard time utilizing his cavalry.”
Leonid Plekhanov was scowling, out of his element and knowing it. “How many men has Mynor been able to get together?”
Barry Watson avoided looking into the older man’s face. “Approximately half a million, according to Dick Hawkins’ estimate. He flew over them this morning.” Barry jabbed at the map again. “They’re coming down here, by these two roads. Their line of march extends…”
“Half a million!” Plekhanov blurted. There was almost an element of accusation in his voice.
Barry said, “Including the nomads, of course.”
Joe Chessman growled. “The nomads fight more like a mob than an army.”
Plekhanov was shaking his massive head. “Most of them will melt away if we continue to avoid battle as we have been doing. They can’t feed that many men on the countryside. The nomads, in particular, will return home if they don’t get a fight soon.”
Watson hid his impatience. “That’s the point, sir. If we don’t break their power now, in a decisive defeat, we’ll have them to fight again, later. And already they’ve got iron swords, the crossbow and even a few muskets. Given time and they’ll all be so armed. Then the fat’ll be in the fire. There’s another element, too. Our strength is in our infantry; they dominate the countryside with their cavalry. The cities and towns that have come over to us are hard to protect with our limited number of men. They’re wavering in their loyalty. We’ve got to be able to protect them.”
“He’s right,” Chessman said sourly.
The Khan, Reif, nodded his head as did his general officers. “We must finish them now,” he said. “If we can. The task will be twice as great next year.”
Plekhanov grumbled in irritation. “Half a million of them, and something like forty thousand of our Tulans, most of them armed with nothing more than overgrown spears. Why, they could trample that number of men to death.”
Reif corrected him. “Some thirty thousand Tulans, all infantrymen.” He added, “And eight thousand allied cavalry, only some of whom can be trusted.” Reif’s ten year old son came up next to him and peered down at the map.
“What’s that child doing here?” Plekhanov snapped in continued irritation.
The boy looked up at him calmly, then at his father. There was a strength in the lad’s face, strength and calm, duplicating his father.
Reif looked into the Earthling’s face. “This is Taller Second, my son. You from First Earth have never bothered to study our customs. One of them is that a Khan’s son participates in all battles his father does. It is his training. One day, without doubt, he will lead the armies of the People.”
Plekhanov snorted ungraciously.
Barry Watson had turned back to the map, and was demonstrating again, his finger touching here, there. “They are coming down through here as fast as they can. They probably figure that at last they’ve got us at bay.
