C. M. Kornbluth & Judith Merril - Gunner Cade.pdf

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Gunner Cade
C.M. Kornbluth & Judith
Merril
CHAPTER 1
Far below the sleeping loft, in ancient cellars of reinforced concrete, a relay closed in perfect silent
automaton adjustment; up through the Chapter House, the tiny noises multiplied and increased. The soft
whir of machinery in the walls; the gurgle of condensing fluid in conditioners; the thumping of cookers,
where giant ladles stirred the breakfast mash; the beat of pistons pumping water to the top.
Gunner Cade, consecrate Brother in the Order of Armsmen, compliant student of the Klin Philosophy,
and loyal citizen of the Realm of Man, stirred in his sleepbag on the scrubbed plastic floor. He half-heard
the rising sounds of the machinery of the House, and recognized the almost imperceptible change in the
rhythm of the air blowers. Not quite awake, he listened for the final sound of morning, the scraping noise
of the bars at windows and gates, as they drew back reluctantly into the stone walls.
It is fitting that the Emperor rules.
It is fitting that the Armsmen serve the Emperor through the Power Master and our particular Stars.
While this is so, all will be well, to the end of time.
The words came to his mind without effort, before he opened his eyes. He had not fumbled for them
since his sixth year, when, between his parents and himself, it had been somehow settled that he would
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become a Brother of the Order. For at least the six thousandth time, his day began with the conscious
affirmation of Klin.
The bars grated in their grooves, and at the instant, the first light struck through the slits of windows
overhead. Cade shivered inside the scanty insulation of his bag and came fully awake, at once aware of
the meaning of the chill. This was a Battle Morn.
The air blew steadily stronger and colder from the conditioners, tingling against his skin as Cade slipped
from his sleepbag and folded it, deflated, into the precise small package that would fit the pocket of his
cloak. Timing each action by the habits of thirteen years, he unbuckled his gunbelt, removed the gun, and
closed away the belt and sleepbag in the locker that held his neatly folded uniform. It was by now
reflexive action to open the gun and check the charge, then close the waterproof seal.
BattleMorn! With mounting elation, Cade performed each meticulous detail of the morning routine, his
body operating like the smooth machine it was, while his mind woke gradually to the new day. He
thought vaguely of commoners lolling late in bed, mumbling a morning thought of the Emperor, and
breaking their fast at a grossly laden table. He thought vaguely of Klin teachers waking with subtle and
elaborate propositions that proved what any Gunner feels in his bones. He thought vaguely of his own
Star of France, doubtless haggard this morning after a night vigil of meditation on the fitting course.
He thought, too, of the Emperor—the Given Healer, the Given Teacher, the Given Ruler—but, like a
gun’s blast came the thought: That is not fitting.
Guiltily he brought his attention back to the bare room, and saw with dismay that Gunner Harrow still lay
in his bag, yawning and stretching.
The indecent gaping was infectious; Cade’s mouth opened first with amazement, then to say sharply:
“Battle Morn, Brother!”
“How does it find you?”Harrow replied courteously, unashamed.
“Awake,” Cade answered coolly, “and ready for a good death if that is fitting—or a decorous life if I am
spared today.”
The Marsman seemed to miss the reprimand entirely, but he climbed out of his bag and began to deflate
it. What kind of Chapter House did they have on Mars?
“How long till shower?” he asked, unconcerned.
“Seconds,” was Cade’s contemptuous answer. “Perhaps twenty or thirty:”
The Marsman sprang to life with a speed that would have done him credit under other circumstances.
Cade watched with disgust as the other Gunner rushed for the wall cabinet and stuffed away his
sleepbag, still unfolded, not yet fully drained of last night’s air. The gunbelt was thrown in on top, and the
cabinet door slammed shut, with only an instant left to seal the waterclosures of the gun. Then the ceiling
vents opened, and the needle spray showered down and around the room. A cool invigorating stream of
water splattered against the naked bodies of the men, cascaded down the three walls of the roam, and
drained out through the floor vent, leaving just enough dampness for the scouring by novices when the
Gunners had left the room.
Cade took his eyes from the Marsman and tried to tear away his thoughts as well. He watched devoutly
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while the swirling waters struck each wall in turn, touching his gun to his lips, For the Teacher, at the first
impact; to his chest, For the Healer, at the next; and at the last, the long wall, to his brow, with awe, For
the Ruler, the Emperor.
He tried not to think ofHarrow in the room beside him, saluting the cleansing waters with an unchecked
charge in his gun. It was true, then, what they said about conditions on Mars. Laxity at any time was bad
enough, but to let the peril of sloth pass from the previous day through the purifying waters of a Battle
Morn was more than Cade could understand. A novice might meet the shower unprepared; an armiger
might fail to check his charge beforehand; but how didHarrow ever rise to the rank of Gunner? And why
was such a one sent to Cade on the eve of battle? Even now, his own Battle Morn meditations were
disturbed.
Anger is a peril at all times. And anger is acutely unfitting on Battle Morn before the Klin teacher’s
lesson. Cade refused to think of it further. The water vents closed, and he dressed without regard for the
Marsman.
Each garment had its thought, soothing and enfolding: they brought peace.
UNDERSUIT: Like this the Order embraces the Realm.
SHIRT: The Order protects the Power Master, slave of the brain, loyal heart of the Realm.
HOSE: Armsmen are sturdy pillars; without them the
Realm cannot stand, but without the Realm the Order can not live.
BOOTS: Gunners march where the Emperor wills; that is their glory.
HELMET: The Order protects the Emperor—the Given Teacher, the Given Healer, the Given
Ruler—the brain and life of the Realm.
CLOAK: Like this the Order wraps the Realm and shields it.
Again he touched his gun to his lips, For the Teacher; to his chest, For the Healer, to his brow, with
awe, For the Ruler, the Emperor.
Briskly he released the waterclosures and dropped the gun into the belt on his hip. A gong sounded in
the wall, and Cade went to a cabinet for two steaming bowls of concentrate, freshly prepared in the giant
mash cookers far below. “Brother?”Harrow called across the open door.
Silence at this time was customary but not mandatory, Cade reminded himself—andHarrow was new
to this Chapter.
“Yes, Brother,” he said.
“Are there other Marsmen among us?”
“I know no others,” Cade said, and congratulated himself on that fact. “How would it concern you?”
“It would please me,”Harrow said formally. “A man likes to be among his own people in time of
battle.”
Cade could not answer him at first. What sort of talk was this? One didn’t call himself a man in the
Order. There were novices, armigers, Gunners, the Gunners Superior, and Arle himself, the Gunner
Supreme. They were your brothers, elder or younger.
“You are among your own people,” he said gently, refusing to allow himself to be tempted into the
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peril of anger. “We are your brothers all.”
“But I am new among you,” the other said. “My brothers here are strangers to me.”
That was more reasonable. Cade could still remember his first battle for the Star of France, after he
left the Denver Chapter, where he spent his youth. “Your brothers will soon be beside you in battle,” he
reminded the newcomer. “An Armsman who has fought by your side is no stranger.”
“That will be tomorrow.” Harrow smiled. “And if I live through today, I shall not be here long after.”
“Where, then?”
“Back to Mars!”
“How can that be?” Cade demanded. “Mars-born Gunners fight for Earthly Stars. Earth-born
Gunners fight for the Star of Mars. That’s fitting.”
“Perhaps so, Brother; perhaps so. But a letter from my father at home says our Star has petitioned the
Emperor to allow him all Mars-born Armsmen, and I would be one of them.”
“Your Star is the Star of France,” said Cade sharply. He himself had received Harrow’s assignment
yesterday, sealed by the Power Master, and counter sealed by the Gunner Supreme. He was silent a
moment, then could contain himself no longer. “By all that’s fitting,” he asked, “what sort of talk is this?
Why does an Armsman speak of himself as a man? And how can you think of your ‘own people,’ other
than your brothers in arms?”
The Mars-born Gunner hesitated. “It’s newer on Mars. Six hundred years isn’t a long time. We have
a proverb—‘Earth is changeless, but Mars is young.’ Families—I am descended from Erik Hogness and
Mary Lara, who mapped the Northern Hemisphere long ago. I know my cousins because of that. We all
are descended from Erik Hogness and Mary Lara, who mapped the Northern Hemisphere. I don’t
suppose you know anything about your eight-times great-grandfather or what he may have done?”
“I presume,” said Cade stiffly, “that he did what was fitting to his station, as I will do what is fitting to
mine.”
“Exactly,” said Harrow, and fell silent—disconcertingly resembling a man who had wrung an
admission from an opponent and won an argument by it.
Cade went stiffly to the door and opened it, leaving the empty bowls for Harrow to return. The line of
Armsmen came in sight down the corridor, and they waited at attention to take their place among the
Gunners, marching in silence and with downcast eyes along the route of procession to the lectory.
Seated on the front row of benches, with twenty rows apiece of armigers and novices behind, Cade
was grateful that the Klin teacher had not yet arrived. It left time for him to dispel the perilous mood of
irritation and suspicion. By the time the man did appear, Cade’s troubled spirits had resolved into the
proper quiet glow of appreciation.
It was fitting to be a Gunner; it was fitting to be a Klin teacher; they were almost brothers in their
dedication. The glow nearly vanished when the man began to speak.
Cade had heard many teachers who’d been worse; it made not a particle of difference in the Klin
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Philosophy whether it was expounded by a subtle, able teacher or a half-trained younger son of a Star,
as this fellow appeared to be; what was fitting was fitting and would be until the end of time. But on a
Battle Morn, Cade thought, a senior teacher might have been a reasonable tribute. The peril of pride,
came a thought like a gun’s blast, and he recoiled. In contrition he listened carefully, marking the
youngster’s words.
“Since the creation of the worlds ten thousand years ago the Order of Armsmen has existed and
served the Emperor through the Power Master and the Stars. Klin says of armed men: They must be
poor, because riches make men fear to lose them, and fear is unfitting in an Armsman. They must be
chaste, because love of woman makes men love their rulers—the word rulers here means, as always,
with Klin, the Emperor—less. They must be obedient, because the consequence of disobedience is to
make men refuse even the most gloriously profitable death. These are the words of Klin, set down ten
thousand years ago at the creation of the worlds.”
It was wonderful, thought Cade, wonderful how it had all occurred together: the creation of the
worlds, the Emperor to rule them, the Order to serve him, and the Klin Philosophy to teach them how to
serve. The fitness and beautiful economy of it never failed to awe him. He wondered if this creation was
somehow The Fitness, the original of which all others were reflections.
The teacher leaned forward, speaking directly to those in the front row. “You Gunners are envied, but
you do not envy. Klin says of you Gunners: ‘They must be always occupied with fiddling details’—I
should perhaps explain that a fiddle was a musical instrument; fiddling hence means harmonious, or
proper. Another possibility is that fiddling is an error for fitting, but our earliest copies fail to bear this
out—‘with fiddling details so they will have no time to think. Let armed men think, and the fat’s in the
fire.’ “
Good old Klin! thought Cade affectionately. He liked the occasional earthy metaphors met within the
Reflections on Government. Stars and their courts sometimes diverted themselves for a day or two by
playing at commoners’ life; the same playfulness appeared in Klin when he took an image from the
kitchen or the factory. The teacher was explaining the way Klin’s usage of think as applied to anybody
below the rank of a Star was equated with the peril of pride, and how the homely kitchen metaphor
meant nothing less than universal ruin. “For Klin, as usual, softens the blow.”
Irresistibly Cade’s thoughts wandered to a subject he loved. As the young teacher earnestly
expounded, the Gunner thought of the grandeur of the Klin Philosophy: how copies of the Reflections
were cherished in all the Chapter Houses of the Order, in al! the cities of all the Stars of Earth, on
sparsely settled Venus, the cold moons of the monster outer planets, on three manmade planetoids, and
on Mars. What could be wrong with Harrow? How could he have gone awry with the Klin Philosophy to
guide him? Was it possible that the teachers on Mars failed to explain Klin adequately? Even commoners
on Earth heard teachers expound the suitable portion of the Philosophy. But Cade was warmly aware
that the Armsmen’s study of Klin was more profound and pure than the commoners’.
“...so I come to a subject which causes me some pain.” Cade brought his mind back sharply to the
words of the teacher. This was the crucial part, the thing he had been waiting to hear. “It is not easy to
contemplate willful wickedness, but I must tell you that unfit deeds fill the heart of the Star of Muscovy.
Through certain sources our Star of France has learned that pride and greed possess his brother to the
north. With sorrow he discovered that the Star of Muscovy intends to occupy Alsace-Lorraine with his
Gunners. With sorrow he ordered your Superior to make ready for whatever countermeasures may be
fit, and it has been done. As you know, this is Battle Morn.”
Cade’s heart thumped with rage at the proud and greedy Star of Muscovy.
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