The Light-Years Beneath My Feet

by Alan Dean Foster

  “As a matter of fact,” he shot back, “I do have some experience in hand-to-hand combat, though probably not the kind you’re thinking of.”

  “I pleased hear this. You will be equipped with authorized weaponry.” She studied his build, which was far stockier than that of the stoutest Niyyuu. “Armor may be a problem. Perhaps by linking several pieces together . . .” She broke off. “Not to worry. It will be managed.”

  “Won’t matter,” he told her, “with Braouk accompanying us.”

  But it developed that Braouk was not interested in accompanying them.

  “I say firmly, no interest have I, in fighting,” the Tuuqalian replied when Walker explained the situation to him that night.

  “It’s highly unlikely you’ll have to.” Pacing the dining area, unable to eat, Walker worked to cajole the big alien. “The sight of you in armor alone ought to be enough to send even the most intrepid Niyyuu fleeing. Hell, it even makes me quake a little, and you’re my friend.”

  Avoiding Walker’s gaze, both eyes hovered close together above the Tuuqalian’s massive plate of food, their stalks nearly touching. “But if they did not flee, I would have to defend myself. You know what, my temper can be, once roused. I do not want to get involved in the interregional disputes of our hosts, and I most certainly do not want to hurt anybody. I’m not going with you, Marc.”

  “Fine. Stay here, then.” He turned to Sque.

  The K’eremu had swollen to half again her normal size, and her flexible, tubular mouth was emitting bubbles like crazy. This uncontrolled laughter was sufficient to prevent Walker from even asking her if she would be willing to accompany him. Thinking he already knew the answer to his final appeal but nonetheless feeling compelled to make it, he turned to George, only to be surprised yet again by another of the dog’s unpredictable responses.

  “Sure, I’ll go up with you,” his small friend declared around mouthfuls of food. “Be a chance to see something new. If there’s an attack on the place while we’re up there, it ought to be quite a show.”

  Walker hardly knew what to say. “I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t want to get involved in any fighting.”

  The dog looked up from his meal. “Who said anything about getting involved in fighting? If your whippet of a girlfriend—”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Walker snapped irritably.

  “—says they’re going to try their best to sneak us in, then I think it’s worth a shot. Besides, we’ll be crossing part of a battlefield.” He smiled, showing small but sharp canines. “There’s likely to be bones.”

  “The Niyyuu might not take kindly to the thought of an alien visitor nibbling on the remains of their kind.”

  Lips pulled back, the smile remained. “I hope I get the chance to find out.” Sticking his face back into the server before him, he returned to his feeding.

  Both Sque’s laughter and body swelling having settled down, the K’eremu eyed her human companion shrewdly. “I know you too well by now, Marcus Walker. You have not accepted this invitation out of a desire simply to play tourist. Especially not with a chance of real danger, however minimized, involved. You have another rationale in mind.”

  He turned defensive. “Maybe.”

  She waved a pair of tendrils at him. “Would you care to share it with us poor unenlightened ones?”

  “I’m still considering possibilities,” he told her honestly. He took a deep breath. “It just occurred to me that since we’re not making any headway in our efforts to engage the Niyyuuan scientific community in our efforts to progress homeward, it might prove useful to make a friend or two among the military.”

  “Planning to lead a revolt and take over the pound?” George challenged him.

  “I don’t believe the Niyyuu think like that,” Walker replied.

  “How do they think about such things, then?” Sque inquired thoughtfully.

  Round brown eyes locked with silvery horizontal orbs. “That’s one of the things I’m going to try and find out,” he told her.

  The transport that conveyed them through the bustling, modern, smoothly running city and up into the foothills of the surrounding mountain range stopped well short of the line of demarcation.

  “From here we walk,” Viyv-pym informed Walker and George. “As you been informed, only minor contemporary technology is allowed inside areas designated for traditional combat. Not even communicators. Communication from within is carried out by courier, in old-time manner.”

  What a polite method of killing one another these people have devised, Walker reflected as he exited the transport. Employing strictly defined rules and limitations, slaughter and slaying could be conducted enthusiastically, with every individual and government firmly bound by the results. Certainly it was a better way than reducing entire territories to ruin and whole populaces to penury. Pity it would never work for humankind.

  As George trotted to and fro, sniffing hopefully at the corkscrewing ground cover and bizarrely shaped bushes that clung to the slight slope, Walker decided that their hostess looked even better in sword and armor than she did in her usual daily administrative attire. Tinted a dark golden hue, almost bronze, the armor covered her in linked engraved piecework from neck to feet. Her helmet sported holes to allow her tall ears to protrude easily and a ruler-sized slab to protect the flattened, narrow nasal crest while leaving the rest of her face and her enormous eyes free to scan her surroundings in as many unobstructed directions as possible.

  For the ascent, they were accompanied by half a dozen similarly clad soldiers. Though all were well trained in the use of modern wave and projectile weapons, inside the restricted zone none carried anything more lethal than a rapier or throwing blade. A couple hefted loaded weapons that resembled small crossbows. In deference to the Niyyuuan’s slender builds, none of the devices weighed very much.

  Despite Viyv-pym’s earlier assurances, it developed that none of the armor available could be made to fit Walker. He was three times as broad across the chest as the stoutest Niyyuu, and fifty pounds heavier. The “heavy broadsword” they gave him would have been hard-pressed to qualify back home as a saber in a fencing competition. Which did not matter, since what little he knew about swords, fencing, and armor was derived entirely from watching old movies on television. He could only hope that in the event of actual conflict, his natural athleticism would carry him through.

  “Should not be any trouble,” Viyv-pym reassured him as she adjusted her shoulder braces. “We make access from south. Toroud-eed prefer frontal attack on fortress, also careful to watch access road from west to prevent reinforcements from relieving Jalar-aad-biidh garrison. East and south are open. And forest here will provide cover.”

  Nodding, he followed her as the small contingent continued to climb.

  He was not certain exactly when or where they crossed the line of demarcation. Only that while he struggled uphill, George was having entirely too good a time, dashing from each new growth to the next fresh smell. Walker had always done well in the sprints—but long runs defeated him. And he had never been required to run wind sprints uphill. In college, running the stadium seats was an activity that had thankfully been reserved for backs and receivers, safeties and corners.

  Evening was settling in damply around them when the first soldier died. The bolt, or short arrow, caught him in the throat, in the vulnerable opening above the chest armor and below his helmet. Shouts erupted all around Walker as the air was filled with alien exclamations unimaginably harsh in tone. Giving loud and threatening lie to Viyv-pym’s earlier assurances, armed Niyyuu burst from the cover of the stunted trees on both sides of the ascending party. The attackers wielded an amazing assortment of weapons, from blades that curled back upon themselves to almost form circles, to pikelike devices that terminated in barbed tips seemingly more suited to catching fish than hand-to-hand combat. They were designed, he realized quickly, for successfully striking at quarry that was nimble and fast but not especially mus
cular. Though tall, the ultraslim Niyyuu made difficult targets for thrusting spears and swords.

  He had just enough time to also note that the attackers’ armor was steel-gray instead of golden-bronze before he found himself wildly swinging his own sword in an attempt to ward off a pair of onrushing assailants.

  His ferocious but histrionic swings did nothing to slow the attack, but his appearance certainly did. Expecting to confront only others of their kind, the two hard-charging Toroud-eed warriors pulled up short, clearly taken aback at the unexpectedly alien aspect of their intended target. Assailants and quarry stared at one another. One of the Toroud-eed finally took a hesitant step toward the unwieldy apparition, who after all was holding a Kojn-umm sword. A moment later his companion let out a startled yelp and turned to see a small furry alien quadruped hanging by its jaws onto his lower right leg.

  A bewildering confrontation with one alien being was unsettling enough. Finding themselves attacked from the rear by a second completely different in size, shape, and appearance from the first, whose teeth for all they knew might contain enough poison to kill a dozen soldiers, the pair turned and fled as fast as their long, lean legs could carry them. Taking note of their retreat, George relaxed his grip, shook his head, spat, and trotted back to rejoin his friend. Sword dangling from one hand, a stunned Walker gaped down at him.

  “I didn’t know if those two were going to . . . Thanks, George. You made up their minds for them.”

  The dog looked around warily. Though they were standing off from where most of the fighting was taking place, he was not about to let down his guard. He’d been ambushed and attacked in too many alleys, on too many back city streets, to relax while combat raged around him.

  “Too bad Braouk isn’t here,” he growled conversationally. “If those two were spooked by the sight of you, the appearance of our Tuuqalian friend would probably have dropped them in their tracks.” He looked up, tail wagging. “You okay?” His breathing steadying, Walker nodded slowly.

  “Good. Hate to lose my human.” He indicated the small-scale but intense battle that was playing out nearby. “Our friends the Niyyuu don’t look so civilized right now, do they?”

  You’d think an individual on the verge of having their throat cut or their torso run through by a sword would break with tradition and pull out a gun, even a small gun, if only to save their own life, Walker mused as he watched the fighting. But nothing of the sort happened. Despite the ready presence of advanced weapons in the city and on the ship that had brought him and his companions from Seremathenn to Niyu, not one of the combatants raging through the forest produced so much as a canister of pepper spray in their own desperate defense.

  The Kojn-umm did not kill all of the attackers, but they slew or disabled enough of them to compel the survivors to beat a frustrated retreat. A moment later Viyv-pym was at his side, the two fingers of her left hand wrapping around his arm, urging him upward.

  “Quickly now, friend Marc! Those who took flight may have others station nearby. Surprise at yous’ presence will not stop them kill or capture you if they come back.”

  Badly winded, he was immensely grateful to discover that they were not all that far from the top of the ridge. The forest had hidden the inward-sloping outer walls of Jalar-aad-biidh from the climbers’ sight. Moments later, anxious Kojn-umm fighters from within the fortress were escorting the survivors of the ambush into the safety of the sturdy ramparts.

  Though exhausted, Walker had suffered damage only to his pride. Stunned by the swiftness of the unexpected attack, after the first confusing moments he had pretty much stood by while Viyv-pym and her comrades had fought off the assault. Safe and secure now, he had time to reflect more systematically on the events that had taken place and on his reaction to them. Or rather, his nonreaction. Though Viyv-pym and her comrades had expected nothing of him, he peered inward and found himself wanting. Hell, even George had drawn blood.

  When he offered apologies for his lack of assistance, neither Viyv-pym nor any of her fellow soldiers appeared upset at his lack of participation. “After all,” she told him without a hint of insincerity, “it our job protect you, not other way around. You not trained in our ways of fighting.” She caressed his arm. “You cook.”

  It was the most hurtful thing anyone had said to him since the day he had been abducted by the Vilenjji.

  He determined then and there to rectify at the first opportunity his ignorance of swordsmanship and Niyyuuan military training. Such schooling would have to come later, he knew. He had not been escorted to Jalar-aad-biidh to learn swordplay. Also, his own private reason for agreeing to make the dangerous visit in the first place came back to him. He had not made the trip to learn better how to survive on Niyu, but to seek possible assistance in getting off it.

  While Walker’s escort exchanged excited banter with the defenders of the fortress who had swarmed out to greet them, Viyv-pym escorted him and George deeper into the complex. Though constructed of humble native stone and other simple, natural materials, the rock walls appeared solid and inviolate. As far as he could tell, they did not make use of steel rebars or any high-tech galactic-standard reinforcing materials. To have done so would have constituted a violation of accepted Niyyuu standards for traditional combat, which extended to the construction and maintenance of physical defenses as well as individual weaponry.

  “A bit more excitement than I thought we would see.” Striding fluidly alongside him, her armor scratched and dented by the blows of the enemy, it was hard for Walker to see Viyv-pym as the same graceful, sophisticated governmental delegate he had first encountered at the elegant reception on Seremathenn. “I glad yous both unharmed.”

  “We’s both glad, too,” declared George genially as he trotted along beside Walker. “I only like to play at being dead, thanks.”

  Negotiating the twists and turns of the inner fortress, it was hard to believe that just outside and beyond the ridgetop redoubt lay a sprawling modern city steeped in technology sufficiently advanced to make any place on Earth look like a mud-wattle village in comparison. The dissimilarity was startling, but not absolute. The inhabitants of the fortress did not stumble about in rags and primitive attire, and the prohibition against the use of modern technology apparently extended only to those elements that could be utilized in warfare. There was ample evidence that modern methods of dealing with hygiene were in use, while the media broadcasters who relayed scenes of the fighting around the planet did so with all the advanced gear that could be put at their disposal. Walker queried Viyv-pym on the seeming latter inconsistency.

  “What’s to prevent one of these reporters,” he asked as a pair of them, draped in the electronic elements of their profession, strode past, “from relaying on-the-spot information to a local commander in the field?”

  “Is true such temptation is great,” Viyv-pym admitted. “Especially when one side losing badly. But detection not difficult. If what you say attempted and found out, penalties are very severe. Individuals involved sacrifice their position and never find such work again. Are banned for life from such work anywhere on all of Niyu. Also, big communications company responsible lose its right to broadcast all future conflicts. Ratings—” (yet again Walker found himself praising the efficacy of the Vilenjji implant, which could even convey the meaning of local colloquialisms) “—too important to big companies to risk breaking of regulations for temporary gain—even to save lives of soldiers. Everyone on Niyu follows and watches such conflicts. Much in politics is decided by these traditional battles, yet only volunteer military suffers injury. Rest of world goes about daily business in peace and security.”

  War as politics, and both as entertainment. Was it all so very dissimilar from home? he found himself wondering. Or were the basics the same and only the rules different? He envisioned an imaginary Niyyuuan newspaper, divided into the usual sections: World, Local, Business. The only question was, would you allot war its own section, or file it under Entertainment? Or
possibly, Sports? Perhaps the National Hockey League. Rome under the Caesars would have known how to handle and classify it.

  He did not remember his previous meeting with General Saluu-hir-lek. During that first outrageous, frenetic night when he had performed for local luminaries, he had been introduced to a veritable blizzard of alien faces. George did not remember Kojn-umm’s most prominent military personality either. The only faces the dog recalled were those he had been placed in close proximity to, during those moments when he had been picked up and cuddled by enchanted locals. Neither man nor dog knew what to expect.

  As it turned out, neither the general nor the room into which they found themselves ushered matched their preconceptions. Despite the alienesque medieval surroundings, there was no throne, and certainly no throne room. Saluu-hir-lek operated out of an office that was quiet, unadorned, and businesslike. Charts and maps, all of them appropriately primitive and two-dimensional, filled the walls and covered several desks. None of the fortress commander’s subordinates paused in their work when the trio was admitted, though a few did glance up to steal a quick look. Walker wondered if these were directed at him, George, or their striking female escort.

  Rising from behind his desk, Saluu-hir-lek picked up the external translator he had ordered and made sure it was functioning. In response to Walker’s question, Viyv-pym explained, “The device has no indigenous military application and is therefore permitted.”

  “Like flush toilets,” George pointed out tactlessly.

  Still fiddling with the device, though it was largely automatic, Saluu-hir-lek greeted them effusively, reserving particular acclaim for Walker.