“How can you know such a thing?”
Kartaphilos smiled. “Let’s just say that I know. Otherwise, it makes the story longer. And you say you have not much time. So let me ask you: Have you ever heard of the Riken?”
Varian paused, almost saying no, but trying to recall the name from memory, from some old sailor’s tale, from a sea chantey perhaps; he was not sure. A ship’s name? No. A ruler’s name? Maybe.
“I’ve heard the name, I’m certain. But I can’t place it.”
Kartaphilos nodded. “I’m not surprised, on either account. It’s a First Age name.”
“First Age? Are you sure?” There was something magical, arcane, almost organically attractive about the Ancients. Something dark stirred in Varian’s blood. Kartaphilos nodded again. “Quite sure. At any rate, the Riken—a race of people from the First Age who, some say, were the most ingenious nation to have ever lived in the World. They were not a large country, but their citizens were dedicated to the betterment of the nation to a fanatical degree. Are you sure you have not heard of them?”
Varian shook his head. “No, I think I have . . . but not much. Lots of superstitious stuff. Some silly legends. They were supposed to be a race of monsters. . . .
Kartaphilos laughed. “In a way, yes. The Riken were monsters, all right, but not the way you might think. No basilisks or chimeras, just plain men. Men who lost sight of what they really wanted. It seems as if, for some reason, the Riken nation developed a true gift for the sciences. The World’s finest mathematicians, metallurgists, chemists, and physicians all received their training in Rikeh. They were men of great knowledge and even greater inventiveness. Forever and a day, the scientists were presenting their government with new wonders, better ways to do everything. These men were like magicians, but more mysterious than the sorcerers of Atagoras, more powerful than an Odonian warlock.”
“Did they have the power of the birds?” Varian rubbed his jaw pensively, admittedly entranced by the story.
“You mean flight?” Kartaphilos laughed. “All of the First Age people could fly! In great machines. Have you never seen some of the wrecks?”
“Wrecks? No, I’ve heard tales, but I’ve never seen.”
“Too far inland for you. The Manteg Depression. There are some fantastic wrecks in there. Preserved by the climate. Like they flamed-out yesterday.”
“I’d love to see one,” said Varian absently.
“I’m sure you would. Maybe you will, after you’ve heard my tale. Anyway, listen closely. The leaders of Rikeh decided to put their scientists’ knowledge to the best possible use: domination of others, of course. Expansion into neighboring nations’ territories was the first step, then attacks on the entire hemisphere, and finally a global assault. Years passed as the armies and machines of the Riken spread across the lands. Tales grew up of the atrocities and massacres committed in the name of the Riken cause, and most of the stories were later substantiated. Whole cities would be burned out with the heat of a single weapon. Millions of citizens carbonized in an instant. But that was the merciful death. The Riken machine columns and its armies would cut through a city like a shortsword, methodically eliminating everyone, using the remains to supply nucleotide vats, agricultural chemicals, food substitutes. . . .”
“What are nucleotide vats?”
“A process which produced living tissue. A form of biology used the vats for purposes which I doubt you would understand.” Kartaphilos did not smile.
“How do you know such things?”
“I am an old man. I have traveled much. I listen. I observe. I keep my mouth shut.”
“You’re running it plenty now.”
“I’ll stop, if you’d like.” Kartaphilos grinned.
“You would not dare.”
“No, I would not. Now where was I? Yes, the methodical elimination of enemy populations. . . . It was a dreadful practice which stands unmatched in the history of mankind. There was only one nation in the World which could possibly stop the onslaught of Rikeh—the Republic of Genon.”
“Where is Genon? I’ve never heard—”
The old man gestured with his hand, cutting him off. “It is gone, now. Covered over in the shifting sand of centuries. Even I don’t know how long ago, or where its exact location had been.”
“How long ago? You don’t know? How long did the war last?” Varian settled back against the gunwale, reached absently for his pipe and pouch, began stuffing a pinch of bac into the wide bowl.
“How long to make the Slaglands? The Ironfields? I do not know, honestly. No one knows when the First Age truly came to an end, or even how. We can only stumble over the broken, twisted pieces of the past. . . .”
“What happened then? Do you know? Genon? Rikeh?” Varian struck a match against weathered wood. The match flared, a cloud of blue surrounded his head and pipe.
“Genon was a peace-loving republic. No imperialism, free commerce, a thriving technology, the usual bureaucratic corruption, but a basically happy populace with few wants. Naturally, Genon was unwilling to interfere with Rikeh’s early territorial skirmishes, but once the thermonukes started, Genon had no choice. The two nations locked horns like stag cragars. Defenses and counterdefenses deadlocked them for uncounted years. Genon instituted the practice of arming each human settlement, village, or city with a Guardian. A large central computer with robot servos, anthropomorphic usually, which interfaced with the citizens. It personalized the computer which was entrusted with the welfare of the people. The Guardian machines were equipped with the best defensive systems in the world, and were quite adept at keeping helpless citizens safe from the atrocities of the Riken armies. It was this final tactic which finally broke the back of the Riken, forcing them off their territorial expansions and into a final Ragnarok with the Genonese.”
“Ragnarok?”
Kartaphilos shrugged. “You know . . . the ‘Final War’ . . . the ‘Armageddon’ which fills all the legends. It seems that man is
