Free The Rebel of Rhada by Robert Cham Gilman Page B

stood for a moment looking back at the darkness where the Imperials rested around their fires.
    “Well, it worked the way he said it would,” the old warrior said. “At least so far. Is it time, priest?”
    “As nearly as can be figured without the stars to see,” Kalin said.
    Nevus regarded him unsmilingly but not unkindly. “Anxious, boy?”
    Kalin was about to reply with some unctuous remark from the dogma but thought better of it. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t know if I am good enough, General.”
    “He thinks you are,” Nevus replied. “The Rhad don’t fail.”
    Kalin nodded, lips compressed. He was thinking of the darkness and the search through the rainy air for the spire. But the ship’s own glow would give some light. His mind abandoned anxiety, and he concerned himself with the technical problems of pilotage involved. He drew a deep breath and tried to look soldierly. If Kier thinks I can do it, he thought, then I must. “We will start now,” he said.
    Kalin entered the sacred part of the starship, stepped swiftly over the coaming into the control room, and made a perfunctory sign of the Star in the air. The two novices already at their posts before the banks of ancient instrument panels looked up, acknowledged the priest-Navigator’s blessing, and stood by for orders.
    Their faces were pale under the cowls. Kalin felt a sudden decisive confidence invade his spirit. He wondered briefly if it was the shade of his beatified ancestor Emeric coming to aid him in his moment of trial. If so, he was well served. It was said that no finer pilot of starships had ever lived than Emeric of Rhada.
    “Brother John,” Kalin said. “Close the valve.”
    “Yes, First Pilot,” the novice replied respectfully, using the holy title that was never used in the hearing of unconsecrated persons.
    “Brother Yakob, start the power sequence.”
    The two novices, their confidence increased by having something familiar and important to do, bent to their Sacred tasks.
    In this holiest part of the ship, the mysterious force “electricity” still lived. Kalin took his position in the pilot’s couch and touched the switches that activated the transparent cone covering the control room. As his hands moved in the prescribed passes over the panel, he automatically recited the appropriate prayers. “Great is the power of Almighty God who lives between the stars and gives us the power to see.” The walls seemed to dissolve, and the control room became an island floating in space above the rubbled landing ground at the south end of the great Tel-Manhat. Through the rain, in the middle distance, Kalin could see the shadowy shapes of the Imperials moving across the fires. The ground around the ship reflected a growing radiance as the power sequence progressed, and surely now the Vegans were discovering that the starship was preparing to depart.
    “Energy Level One, blessed be the Name,” Brother Yakob intoned.
    “Starship in all respects ready for flight, First Pilot,” Brother John reported.
    “Energy Two,” Kalin ordered.
    “Energy Two sequence begun,” Brother Yakob said.
    The light around the ship grew brighter, the air ionizing so that the falling raindrops seemed bits of molten violet. Through the aurora Kalin could see signal torches being waved in the Imperial ranks. Already a squadron of mounted Vegans was plunging across the uneven ground toward the starship, but they could only mill about in mingled anger and fear, for the ship was sealed and no power their world knew could open it.
    “Energy Two, First Pilot,” said Brother Yakob.
    “Maneuver sequence, hallowed be the Spirit,” Kalin commanded.
    “Begun, for the glory of the Lord,” Brother John responded.
    Kalin could feel the great starship coming to life beneath him, all around him. For the young priest, this was the holiest and most exalting of moments, as the eternal power of the most sacred objects in the universe responded to his touch. There was