The Deep Beyond: Cuckoo's Egg / Serpent's Reach

by C. J. Cherryh

  DAW Titles by C.J. CHERRYH

  THE FOREIGNER UNIVERSE

  FOREIGNER

  INVADER

  INHERITOR

  PRECURSOR

  DEFENDER

  EXPLORER

  DESTROYER

  PRETENDER

  DELIVERER

  CONSPIRATOR

  DECEIVER

  BETRAYER

  INTRUDER

  PROTECTOR

  PEACEMAKER

  TRACKER

  VISITOR

  CONVERGENCE

  THE ALLIANCE-UNION UNIVERSE

  REGENESIS

  DOWNBELOW STATION

  THE DEEP BEYOND:

  Serpent’s Reach |Cuckoo’s Egg

  ALLIANCE SPACE:

  Merchanter’s Luck | 40,000 in Gehenna

  THE FADED SUN:

  Kesrith | Shon’jir | Kutath

  The Chanur Novels

  The Pride Of Chanur | Chanur’s Venture | The Kif Strike Back

  Chanur’s Homecoming | Chanur’s Legacy

  THE MORGAINE SAGA

  Gate of Ivrel | Well of Shiuan | Fires of Azeroth | Exile’s Gate

  OTHER WORKS

  THE DREAMING TREE Omnibus:

  The Tree of Swords and Jewels | The Dreamstone

  ALTERNATE REALITIES Omnibus:

  Port Eternity | Wave Without a Shore | Voyager in Night

  THE COLLECTED SHORT FICTION OF CJ CHERRYH

  CUCKOO’S EGG

  Copyright © 1985 by C. J. Cherryh

  SERPENT’S REACH

  Copyright © 1980 by C. J. Cherryh

  THE DEEP BEYOND

  Copyright © 2005 by C. J. Cherryh

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Michael Whelan.

  DAW Book Collectors No. 336.

  Published by DAW Books, Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  The uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

  U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

  —MARCA REGISTRADA.

  HECHO EN U.S.A.

  PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Also by C.J. CHERRYH

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Cuckoo’s Egg I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  Serpent’s Reach BOOK ONE

  BOOK TWO

  BOOK THREE

  BOOK FOUR

  BOOK FIVE

  BOOK SIX

  BOOK SEVEN

  BOOK EIGHT

  BOOK NINE

  BOOK TEN

  Rules for Sej

  Cuckoo’s Egg

  I

  He sat in a room, the sand of which was synthetic and shining with opal tints, fine and light beneath his bare feet. The windows held no cityview, but a continuously rotating panorama of the Khogghut plain: a lie. Traffic noise came through.

  His name was Duun. It was Dana Duun Shtoni no Lughn. But Duun was enough for day-to-day. They called him other things. Sey: general. Mingi: lord. Or something very like. Hatani: that was another thing. But Duun was enough now. There was only one. Shonunin the world over knew that, and knew him; and when the door chimed and they came to bring the alien to him, whose who carried it would not look him in the eyes, not alone for the scars that a shonun could see, the pale smooth marks traced through the fur of half his face like the limbs of a lightning-blasted tree, the marks that twisted his right ear and left his mouth quirked in permanent irony and one eye staring out of ruin.

  He was Duun, of Shanoen. He reached out hands one of which was marred, like his face, and took the closed carrier that they gave him, marking how their ears slanted back and how they turned their heads from his for horror— not of what they saw: they were meds, and had seen deformity. It was the force in him: like a great wind, like a great heat in their faces.

  But his hands were gentle when he took the carrier from them.

  They went away, appalled and forgetting courtesies.

  He waved the door shut and set the carrier on the table-rise, opened it and gathered the small bundled thing from it.

  • • •

  Shonunin were naked when they were born, but downed in silver that quickly went to dapples and last of all to gray body coat and black on limbs and ears and crest. Duun held the creature on its discarded wrapping, on his knees; and its downless skin was naked and pink as something lately skinned, except for a thatch of nondescript hair atop its skull. It waved soft limbs in helpless twitches. Its eyes were shut, in a face flat and not unlike a shonun; between its legs an outsized organ of curious form and various (they said) function. Its mouth worked restlessly, distorting the small face. And Duun touched it with the sensitive pads of his fingers, with the four fingers of his left hand and the two of his maimed right, exploring the hot, smooth feel of the bandage-patched belly, the chest, the limbs. With the merest tip of a claw he drew down its soft lip to inspect its mouth— nothing but toothless gums, for it was mammalian. With the claw he lifted the lid of a sleeping eye; he saw it white and milky, centered with blue, restless in natural shiftings. He touched the convolutions of the stiff, small ears; explored the visible organ and discovered reaction: so it was sensitive. That was of interest. He examined the fat, clawless feet, all one pad as far as the toes. Unfurled a five-fingered hand with the careful touch of a single clawed finger, and the tiny fist clenched again, stubbornly. It waved its limbs. Fluid shot from the organ and fouled Duun’s clothes.

  Any shonun would have flinched seeing that. But Duun gathered up the wrap about the infant and mopped at himself patiently, with infinite patience. So. Likewise shonun infants performed such obscenities, if more discreetly. It let out cries, soft and weak and meaningless as all infant cries. It struggled with less strength than his own infants had shown.

  He knew what it would be, grown. He knew its face. He knew every aspect of its body. He gathered it against his breast in the stinking blanket and rose, went to the package they had brought him that morning and left on the riser by the bed. He held the softly crying creature in the crook of his left arm, for he was still more able with the right hand, two-fingered as it was. He managed to open the case and to warm the milk— not milk of shonunin; by synthesis the meds provided, of their own ingenuity.

  There was data, which had come days ago; he had memorized it. The creature wailed; so shonunin wailed, exercising infant lungs. And it breathed the air shonunin breathed: and perhaps its gut would take the meat shonunin ate one day. The meds thought that this was the case. The teeth that would grow would, some of them, be pointed like the major teeth of a shonun. “Hush, hush,” he to
ld it, joggling it against his chest. He drew the warmed bottle from the case and thrust the nipple into the soft mouth that quested among the blankets. It suckled noisily and quieted, and he crossed the sand to the riser he had left, sat down cross-legged, rocking it, whispering to it.

  “Be still, be still.”

  Its eyes closed in contentment; it slept again, fed and held. It could not, like a shonun, be taken for granted. He was delicate with it. He laid it finally in the bowl of his own bed and sat beside it, watching its small movements, the regular heaving of its tiny round belly; and when the view in the windows changed and became the nightbound sea, he still watched.

  He would not soon tire of watching. He did not bathe. He was fastidious, but he inhaled the smell of it and the soiled blanket, the smells of its food and its person, and did not flinch, having schooled himself against disgust.

  • • •

  They were dismayed when they came, the meds— to deal with him, to examine the infant and to take it back to the facility down the hall to weigh it and monitor its condition. He stalked after them as they carried it in its closed case; he offended their nostrils with his stink.

  And never once in all this dealing would they meet his eyes, preferring even the face of the alien to the chance of looking up into the stark cold stare he gave to them and all their business.

  They weighed the infant, they listened to its breathing and its heart, they asked quietly (never glancing quite at him) whether there had been difficulty.

  “Duun-hatani, you might rest,” the chief of medicine said the second day that they came for the infant. “This is all routine. There’s no need. You might take the chance to—”

  “No,” Duun said.

  “There—”

  “No.”

  There was uncomfortable silence. For days Duun had looked at them without answer; now the chief cast a searching, worried glance full into his eyes, and immediately afterward found something else to occupy herself.

  Duun smiled for the first time in those days, and it was a smile to match the stare.

  • • •

  “You dismay them, Duun,” the division chief said.

  Duun walked away from the desk on which Ellud sat, gazed at the false windows, which showed snowfall. Ice formed on the branches of a tree above a hot spring. The sun danced in jeweled branches and the steam rose and curled. Duun looked back again, the thumb of his maimed hand hooked behind him to that of the whole one, and discovered another man who preferred to study something just a little behind his shoulder. The false sunlight, it might be. Anything would have served. “It’s in very good health,” Duun said.

  “Duun, the staff—”

  “The staff does its job.” Never once had the eyes focused on him, quite. Duun drew a deep breath. “I want Sheon.”

  “Duun—”

  “Sheon belongs to Duun, doesn’t it? I tell you that it does.”

  “Security at Sheon—”

  “I stink. I smell. Notice it, Ellud?”

  Long pause. “The estate—”

  “You offered me anything. Wasn’t that what you said? Any cooperation? Would any shonun in the world prevent me anything— if I want a woman; if I want a man; if I want money or your next of kin, Ellud— if I want the president turned out naked and the treasury to walk in—”

  “You’re hatani. You wouldn’t.”

  Duun looked again at the false spring bubbling up in its wintry vapors. “Gods! but you do trust me.”

  “You’re hatani.”

  He looked back with the first clear-eyed stare he had used in years. But not even that could hold Ellud’s gaze to his. “I’m begging you, Ellud. Do I have to beg? Give me Sheon.”

  “Settlers have moved there. Their title’s valid by now.”

  “Move them out. I want the house. The hills. Privacy. Come on, Ellud . . . you want me to camp in your office?”

  Ellud did not. They had been friends. Once. Now Duun saw the guarded lowering of the ears. Like shame. Like a man taking a chance he wanted. Badly. At any cost.

  “You’ll get it,” Ellud said. Never looking at him. Ellud’s claws extended slightly, raked papers aside as he looked distractedly at the desk about him. “I’ll do something. I’ll see to it.”

  “Thanks.”

  That got the eyes up. A wounded look. Appalled like the rest. The agony of friendship.

  Of wounded loyalties.

  “Give it up,” Ellud asked, against self-interest; against all interests. The loyalty jolted, belated as it was.

  “No.” For a moment then, eye to eye, no flinching from either side. He remembered Ellud under fire. A calm, cool man. But the gaze finally shifted and something broke.

  The last thing.

  Duun walked out, freer, because there was nothing left. Not even Ellud. Just pain. And he wrapped that solitude about him, finding it appropriate.

  • • •

  He came to Sheon’s hills in the morning, in a true morning with the sun coming up rose and gold over the ridge; and the wind that blew at him on this grassy flat was the wind of his childhood, whipping at his cloak, at the gray cloak of the hatani, which he wrapped about him and the infant. Ellud’s aide showed distress, there on the dusty road that led toward the hills, in the momentary stillness of the craft which had brought them there, over in the meadow. The aide’s ears lay flat in the wind, which blew his neatly trimmed crest and disarranged the careful folds of his kilt. The wind was cold for a citydweller, for a softhands like him. “It’s all right,” Duun said. “I told you. There’s no way up but this. You don’t have to wait here.”

  The aide turned his face slightly toward the countryfolk who gathered out of the range of hearing, who gathered in knots, families together, uncaring of the cold. The aide looked back again, walked toward the gathered crowd waving his arms. “Go away, go away, the mingi has no need of you. Fools,” he said then, turning back, for they gave only a little ground. He stooped and gathered up from the roadside the little baggage there was, slung the sack from his shoulder. His ears still lay back in distress. “Hatani, I will walk up with you myself.”

  It was a wonder. The aide met his eyes with staunch frankness. Ellud chose such young folk, still knowing the best, the most honest. Duun felt for a moment as if the sun had shone on him full; or perhaps it was the smell of true wind, with the grass-scent and the cleanness. He felt a motion of his heart toward this young man and it ached.

  But he grinned, old soldier that he was, and glanced at the uphill road, for this time he was the one to flinch, from the youth’s innocence and worship. “Give me the sack,” he said, and stripped the carry-strap from the young man’s shoulder and took it to his own, his right. The infant occupied his left arm, warm and moving there, nuzzling wormlike among its swaddlings beneath his cloak.

  “But, hatani—”

  “You’re not going. I don’t need you.”

  He walked away.

  “Hatani—”

  He did not look back. Did not look at the mountainfolk who lined the road near the copter. Some of them were the displaced, he was sure. Some of them had held Sheon, having gotten it since he was renunciate. Now they were abruptly dispossessed. He felt their eyes, heard their whispers, nothing definite.

  “Hatani,” he heard. And: “Alien.” Whisper they need not. He felt their eyes trying to penetrate his cloak. They came to wonder what he was as much as they wondered about what he brought. “Hatani.” There was respect in that. “What happened to his face?” a child asked.

  “Hush,” an adult said. And there was a sudden, embarrassed hush. It was a child. It had not learned what scars were. It was only honesty.

  Duun did not look at them. Did not care. He was hatani, renunciate. His weapons were at his side beneath the cloak. He asked one thing of the world. These hills. This place.

 
A little peace.

  That a hatani dispossessed them— The countryfolk living at Sheon had surely thought their title secure. The land was fallow; the house vacant; ten years renunciate and it was theirs by law.

  But it was what he had told Ellud: there was nothing he could not ask and obtain, nothing in all the world

  He felt their eyes. Perhaps they expected him to speak. Perhaps they expected him to care, to offer words to reassure them.

  But he only walked past them up the road, the dusty road to the heights and the house made of native stone, deep within the hills.

  He heard the copter lift. It beat away with small thumps like heartbeats echoing off the mountainside. It had come and gone often here yestereve and three days before, with other craft, seeing to provisions, to special equipment, to all such things as satisfied Ellud and Ellud’s ilk.

  Nuisance, all of it.

  • • •

  He prepared himself. He knew that Sheon would have changed. He gathered up his resolve in this as in other things. He needed virtue. He sought it in abnegation. He sought it in lack of caring, when he came, in full noon, to the mountain heights, and discovered the things countryfolk had done to Sheon, which he expected: a sprawl of new rubble-stone building, which destroyed the beauty Sheon had once been, a creation of smooth artistry indistinguishable from the living rock of the mountain wall that flanked it. The house sprawled now, artless and utilitarian, the yard about it cleared and dusty. He was not dismayed.

  Only when he came inside and discovered what Ellud and his crews had done— that, that afflicted him. Instead of the country untidiness he had expected (different from the time of his childhood, of stones carefully polished, of spacious halls and a sand-garden where the wind made patterns), the government had worked sterility, lacquered the stone walls, sanded the floors in white, not red, installed a new kitchen, new furnishings, all at great expense; and the smell of it was new and pungent with fixatives and paint and new-baked sand.

  He stood there, in this clean, sterile, unremembered place, with its abundant stores, its furniture new from the city—