Exodus from the Long Sun

Exodus from the Long Sun

by Gene Wolfe

Chapter 1 — Back from Death

An eerie silence overhung the ruined villa. Listening for the closing of a slug gun’s bolt, Maytera Mint heard only the groan of the wind and the irregular snapping of the flag of truce she held.

“On Phaesday they were in situ,” Patera Remora conceded. “The Ayuntamiento, eh?”

They had come abreast of a dead talus, its painted steel sides blistered by fire and blackened by smoke; she caught a whiff of fish oil, despite the wind.

“Might be repaired, eh, General?” Remora pushed back a lock of lank black hair that had fallen over his eyes. “Not like we biochemicals, hey? Still we — ah — dispatch their spirits to Mainframe. Not identical in the, um, revivified one, perhaps. Amongst the new parts.”

“Or they really haven’t any,” Maytera Mint murmured. She had stopped to wait for Remora, and was taking the opportunity to study the windows of the house that had been Blood’s.

Her remark bordered on heresy, but Remora thought it most prudent to return to his earlier topic. “If they’re not here, eh? Loris and the rest? Will, ah, Buffalo—”

“Bison.” She turned back to Remora, her face pinched and the tip of her delicate nose red with cold. “Colonel Bison.”

“Um, precisely. Will Colonel Bison,” Remora waved vaguely at the ruined wall, “and his — ah — troopers await our return back there?”

“You heard my instructions, Your Eminence.”

“But if we’re some time, eh? The front door is broken. Shattered, in fact.”

Maytera Mint, who had noted it as they passed through the ruined gateway, nodded.

“So it’s not a matter of knocking, hey? Not a mere matter of knocking at all.” Remora brightened. “Knock on the frame, eh? We could do that. Wait a bit. Polite.”

“I will go inside,” she told him firmly, “and search. I would not presume to dictate Your Eminence’s course of action. If I can get in touch with the Ayuntamiento, I’ll ask them to send for you. If I can’t, I may be able to learn where we can. As for Colonel Bison, he’s completely loyal, my best officer. My only concern is that he may send in a patrol to look for us, though I have forbidden it.”

“I, um, apprehend your position,” Remora said, rejoining her. “If one does not expect obedience, one will not, ah, be obeyed. Memorized it in schola, all of us did. Still, if he were to depart? Decamp. Our, um, withdrawal to the city could be hazardous, hey? Laborious, likewise.”

“That’s not the question.” She forgot for a moment that Remora was the second highest dignitary of the Chapter. “The question is whether the enemy’s back. There are no bodies.”

“These, ah—”

“These taluses. It would take ten yoke of oxen to drag them away, I suppose. No dead bios or chems.”

“The, ah, Army, eh? To the Calde. So I understood.”

“Some soldiers went over to him, yes. Others who hadn’t heard about him didn’t, and were fighting their comrades here.”

Remora nodded. “Unfortunate. Um, tragic.”

“When this man Blood’s bodyguards learned Calde Silk had killed him, some attacked him and his soldiers. That’s when Generalissimo Oosik and General Saba stormed the house.”

“Lovely, hum?” Remora harbored a sneaking admiration for architecture as others cherish a vice. “Even, ah, despoiled. Pity. Pity. More so, possibly. No pretensions now. No more vulgar display. Wreckage more — um — romantic? Poetic.” He favored Blood’s torn lawns with a toothy smile.

Maytera Mint drew her soiled habit more tightly about her and for the hundredth time wished for her coif. “If we were to walk a little faster, Your Eminence, we could get out of this wind, whether the Ayuntamiento’s come back or not.”

“Of course, of course.”

“And though I don’t concede that Bison—”

“Those — um — corpses, General.” Catching up, Remora strode along beside her, his lanky legs making a single step of two of hers. “You were about to, er, um, propose that we afford them an — ah — sanctified burial? It would be most inconvenient, I fear. Most inopportune!”

“Granted. But there must have been bodies, and I’d think more than a few. The Ayuntamiento’s soldiers and this man’s bodyguards would have been shooting from these windows.”

Maytera Mint paused, drawing on her recent experiences to visualize the scene. “Floaters would have rushed the gate, and Guardsmen and General Saba’s pterotroopers must have swarmed through every break in the wall. Then my troopers from the city, thousands of them. Some must have been killed, I’d think at least a hundred. Some of the bodyguards and soldiers must have been killed too. See that line of pock-marks? Buzz-gun fire. A floater’s turret gun raked the front of the house.”

“I, an—”

For once she interrupted him. “We would have taken away our dead, or I hope we would. But what about theirs? They were retreating under fire, going down into the tu

“If I may.” Remora cleared his throat. “It seems to me that you have, ah, disposed of the, um, dead yourself, though I confess that I am no great hand at matters military.”

“Nor I. I was appointed by Echidna, you must have heard of that. What little I know I’ve picked up as I went along.”

“Defeating commanders vastly more — ah — schooled. I would conjecture, leastwise, that there must be something like our schola for the officers of the, er, Calde’s Guard. As we call them now, eh, General? The Civil Guard we used to phrase it, hey? Admirable, I, um, insist.”

“I’ve lost to them, too, Your Eminence. Lost nearly as often as I’ve won.” They were passing Scylla’s fountain, now sheathed in ice.

“Though no great hand,” Remora repeated, “I offer the, um, this hypothesis. Would not well regulated troops inter their dead? The generalissimo’s men are, ah, proficient, to be sure, and we — ah — furnish a chaplain to each brigade. The, um, desiderata of that. Conduct military obsequies. Subsequently, please to follow me here, Mayt — General. Would not such, er, troopers compel the, ah, your own, though not then under, as it were, your eye—”

“Make them bury the rest? Possibly.” Maytera Mint, who was very tired, forced herself to stand straighter and square her shoulders. “More likely no compulsion was needed. If they had not thought of it themselves, seeing the Guard and Saba’s pterotroopers loading their dead to take back to the city would suggest it. But what about the enemy dead? Where are they?”

“Within this desolate, ah, mansion. I dare say. They would not have abandoned its shelter, hey? Shot through its windows. You — um — proposed it yourself.”

She pointed with the stick that held her white flag. “See where the wall’s fallen? You can look into several rooms, and there’s not a single body in any of them.”

“Yet, ah—”

“Through the doorway, too.” They had nearly reached the steps of Blood’s portico. “That door would have been defended more strongly than any other point, and I can look right into the sellaria. There’s not a one. Where are they?”

“I would, er, hazard that the victorious troops disposed of them afterward.”

She shook her head vigorously. “Troopers who’ve won are never anxious to get the bodies of those they’ve killed out of sight, Your Eminence. Never! I’ve seen that much more often than I like. They’re proud, and it’s good for their morale. Yesterday Major Skin was begging, literally begging me, not to have bodies that had lain in the streets for days carted off. If the bodies are gone, it’s because their friends came back for them. It would be interesting to see if there are graves behind the house. That’s where they’d be, I imagine. By the wall, as far as possible from the road. Do you know if there are gardens in back?”