The Iron Breed

by Andre Norton

  “Rutee?” her name was a hissed whisper. Somehow he could not force his dry lips to make that any louder. He wanted Rutee! He must find her!

  Blundering blindly on, Jony tunneled away through brush, twice coming up against growth which resisted his passage. He staggered along beside it until he could find some way to get through. His head was whirling and he could not think; he only knew that he must find Rutee!

  The cage had arched through the air when the alien had thrown it. Rutee had had a moment or two of panic. Then she was shaken and bruised as her prison landed on a wall of brush, its weight bearing down the vegetation that acted as a brake for its descent. The smashing fall she had expected was eased by so much. Perhaps that had saved her life—for now.

  She lay on the floor, broken branches spearing at her through the heavy wire mesh, threatening her. Both hands were pressed to her belly. Pain—the child—it must be coming. She was trapped in here . . .

  She had a few moments to endure that fresh terror before the world went mad with sound. Then came a blast of wind. Only because she was lying on her side facing in the right direction did she see the rise of the ship which had been her prison. And that only briefly, for with the fantastic speed of the alien ships it vanished.

  Jony—she had seen him run down the ramp; he had reached the outer world. “Jony,” she whispered his name feebly, moaning as pain bore down upon her again relentlessly with an agony which filled the whole world for an endless moment.

  When the thrust subsided Rutee moved, sat up. She crawled to the door of the cage, working her hands through the mesh to try to reach the latch, though she knew of old such action was useless. She was trapped as securely here as she had been in the lab. Only that stubborn will to live which had possessed her ever since her capture kept her fumbling away as best she could.

  At length the pain hit again. She groveled and wept, hating herself for her own weakness. Jony—where was Jony? It was getting much darker; clouds were gathering. Now rain began, and the chill of those pelting drops set her shivering.

  Summoning all her strength as the pain ebbed again, Rutee screamed aloud into the storm:

  “Jony!”

  Her only answer was another gust of cold rain beating in upon her. She was so cold . . . cold . . . Never before could she remember being so cold. There should be clothing to put on, heat—protection against this cold. There had been once—when, where? Rutee wept. Her head hurt when she tried to remember. She was cold and she hurt—she needed to get to where it was warm, she must because . . . because . . . She could not remember the reason for that either, as pain came again to fill every inch of her with torment.

  But Jony had heard that scream, even through the fury of the storm. He began to think again, stopped just running mindlessly seeking without a guide. Purposefully he turned, breaking a way to the right, refusing to accept the brush and the soaking vegetation as a barrier.

  Rutee was ahead, somewhere. He must find Rutee. He concentrated on that one thought with the same intensity of purpose which had made the Big One do what he wished and not throw Rutee into the dump place. Mud plastered him almost knee high and his shivering never stopped. This was the first time in his life he had ever been Outside. But he did not even look around him with faint curiosity. All his will was directed toward one end: finding Rutee. She needed him. The wave of her need was so strong that it was like a pain, though he could not have put it into words; he could only feel it.

  Twice he stopped short, his hands flying to his head, as they had by instinct tried to close his ears to the blast of the ship's lifting. There were—thoughts—feelings . . . Only these had nothing to do with Rutee. They were as strange as those he sometimes touched when the Big Ones gathered. At first he crept into the brush again, almost sure that one of the enemy hunted. But there was a difference . . . No, no Big One had come after him; the ship was safely gone.

  The next time, and the next, that Jony felt the touch which he could not explain, he doggedly refused to think about it. He must hold Rutee in his mind, or he would never find her in this wild place.

  Jony staggered, his bruised hand out to a tree trunk in support.

  Rutee! She was near and she hurt! She hurt so bad, Jony wanted to double up, as his nerves made instant sympathetic response. He had to wait for what seemed a long time, crying a little, his breath coming in harsh gasps which he felt but could not hear. Her pain had eased; he could go on.

  He came to where even through the darkness of the storm he could see the bulk of the cage. It was not quite at ground level, being held up by a mass of crushed foliage and branches. Rutee was only a pale, small huddle within it. Jony knew he could open the lock—if he could reach it. Only that was well above his head, for as he neared the place he realized that the bottom of the cage itself was above him.

  Somehow he would have to climb up over all the brush and the wire netting.

  Twice he jumped, caught branches, teetered on rain-wet footing, and was spilled painfully, when they gave under his weight, slight as it was. But his determination never faltered; he only tried again. There was a deep, bleeding furrow down his leg where a splintered branch had gouged. And his arms and shoulders ached with the strain he put on them as he strove to pull up higher.

  At last he worked his way up until he could catch at the wire. There he clung, speechless, caught in a spasm of the pain which radiated from Rutee, hanging on desperately because he must, until he dared move again. Too, as he climbed toward the locking device, his weight pulled the cage forward. That it might crash forward to crush him beneath it was not in Jony's thoughts now; he had only room for one thing: the belief that he must reach the lock—get Rutee out.

  He heard her cries, and then his hand closed on the fastening, which she had been unable to touch. It went this way . . . One-handed, Jony held to his perch, flattened against the wire as the cage trembled. Yes—now this way!

  Through the storm's sounds he could not hear the faint click of the released device. However, his weight against the door caused it to swing open and out. Jony dangled by one hand for a heart-thumping instant. Then his toes, his feet found anchorage on the wires; his two arms wrapped in and around it. Only the cage was tipping more and more in his direction.

  Fear froze him where he was, aware at last that all might crash down. Rutee was moving, crawling to the very edge of the doorway on her hands and knees.

  She had been only half-aware of Jony's coming. But, after her last pain had ebbed, she knew at once his danger. He had paid no attention to her orders to get down and away, perhaps he never even heard them. Now he clung as if plastered to the door, suspended over a dark drop she did not know the extent of. She had now, not only to escape herself, but perhaps save Jony.

  Cautiously she lowered her clumsy body half over the edge of the tilting cage, groping with her legs, her feet, for some means of support. Twice she kicked against the branches, but these gave too easily to pressure; she dared not trust her weight to such. A third time her right foot scraped painfully along something horizontal and then thumped home, with a jar that brought an agonized moan from her, on a surface which did not slip away or sway as she dared exert more pressure.

  She must move now. The cage was certainly going to slide forward, and, if she remained where she was, it might mean that both she and Jony would be crushed. There was a lull in the rising of the wind, though the rain was still steady. Her first attempt at speech was a hoarse croak, but she tried again.

  “Move, Jony, to the left.” It was so hard to think. Her mind seemed all fuzzy as it had when the aliens had experimented with her that first time. And she dared not linger where she was to see if Jony heard and obeyed. Her weight and his, both at the forepart of the cage, was pulling it out and down.

  Now she had both her feet on that firm support; and she allowed her grasp on the cage itself to loosen, as she dropped one hand and the other to the unseen sturdy point she had found. When her grip on that was sure, she dared to
look up.

  Jony moved! He had dropped down to the bottom edge of the cage door, was feeling for footholds below. She wondered if she could reach him, but was sure she could not. Not when, as her pains hit once more, she could only cling with a death-tight grip to her own hold.

  The cage was going; Jony knew it. He allowed his hold on the wire to loosen and, as he slipped, grabbed desperately. A slime of mashed leaves made the handfuls he grasped slippery and treacherous. Finally he thudded into a mass which swayed but did not spill him over. The cage fell, and Jony had all he could do to keep his small hold from being torn away by the resulting flailing of the broken brush.

  He was shaking so hard now, not only from the chill of the beating rain, but also from the narrow margin of his escape, that he dared not move. But he screamed as something closed tightly about his ankle.

  Just before he kicked out wildly and disastrously to free himself he heard Rutee: “Jony!”

  With a cry he lowered himself, felt her chill flesh against his as she held him tightly to her. They were closer than they had been for a long time. Close—and safe! He said her name over and over, burrowing his head against her shoulder.

  But Rutee was not the same—she was hurt. Even as he clung to her, her body jerked and she cried out. He could again feel her pain.

  “Rutee!” Fear was so strong in Jony it was as if he could taste it, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Rutee, you are hurt!”

  “I—I must find a place, Jony—a safe place.” Her voice came in small spurts of words. “Soon—Jony—please—soon . . .”

  But it was dark. And where were there any safe places in this Outside? Jony knew about the Outside, but only because Rutee had told him before the Big Ones had pulled him away from her long ago and put him in a cage by himself. The strangeness of Outside itself began to impress him as it had not when he had been so intent on finding Rutee.

  “Jony—” Rutee's arm about his shoulders was so convulsively tight it hurt, but he did not fight against her hold. “You—you will have to help—help me—”

  “Yes. We have to climb down, Rutee. It's hard . . .”

  Jony could never remember the details of that descent. That they made it at all, he realized long afterwards, was a wonder. Even when they stood together on the muddy ground they were not safe. It was so dark that any distance away there were only thick shadows. Also they had to go slowly because Rutee hurt so. When those pains came, she was forced to stop and wait. The second time that happened Jony held her hand between his two.

  “Rutee—let me go over there. You wait here. Maybe I can find a safe place . . .”

  “No . . .”

  However, Jony broke her attempt to hold him and ran across a small open space to the shadow he had chosen. He did not know just why he had picked that particular direction, but it seemed of utmost importance.

  In the dusk he blundered into a dry pocket. Sometime in the far past a very giant among trees had fallen here. Its upended mass of roots towered skyward; and the cavity which held those was a deep hollow over which vines had crawled and intertwined to enmesh some nearby saplings, forming a roof, which, while not entirely waterproof, kept the worst of the wind and rain away. Drifted into the hollow was a mat of leaves, deep with numerous years of accumulation. Jony's feet sank almost ankle deep in their softness, as he explored swiftly with both hand and eye.

  Rutee could come here; he would bring her. And . . . he was already running back to where she stood as a pale figure in the dusk, to catch her hand.

  “Come, Rutee—come . . .” He led, half-supported her with all the wiry strength of his small body, toward the rude nest he had found.

  TWO

  Rutee lay moaning on the leaves. Jony had tried to heap them up over her body, to keep her warmer. But she shoved them off, her swollen body twisting with each new pain. Jony crouched beside her, not knowing what he could do. Rutee—Rutee was hurting! He needed to help her, only he did not know how.

  Twice he crawled to the edge of their poor shelter, gazed out into the dusk and the rain. There was no help to be found there. Only Rutee was hurting—bad! He could sense her pain in his own self.

  Rutee was caught up in that world of agony. She no longer was aware of Jony, of where she lay, of anything but the pain which filled her tormented body.

  Jony began to cry a little. He wanted to strike out—to hurt someone—something—as Rutee hurt. The Big Ones—they had done this! A small, cold seed of hatred lodged deep in him and took root in that moment of despair. Let the Big Ones come hunting them—just let them! Jony's hand closed upon a large stone, his fingers curled about it as he jerked it free from the leaves and the earth. He clutched the crude weapon to him, in his mind seeing the stone fly from his hand, strike full into the ugly face of a Big One—smash—smash—smash!

  Yet that trick of mind which had set him apart from the other young, the mind-controlled, also told him that he would fail in any such attempt. A Big One could crush him between wriggling fingers so there was nothing left at all.

  “Rutee!” He leaned closer to her, called pleadingly, “Please, Rutee—”

  A moan was his only answer. He had to do something—he had to! Jony crawled out into the open, unable to listen any more, his arm crooked over his eyes as if so he could erase the sight of Rutee which was burned into his mind.

  He turned his face up into the rain and the wind, knowing in one part of him there was no one there to listen, to help, but saying because he had to: “Please . . . help Rutee . . . please!”

  Awareness—Jony spun around. In the dark he could not see, but he knew. Knew that someone, something, was back there in the shadows, watching—listening. But the mind he sensed was not that of a Big One. No, Jony scowled in perplexity for he could not understand the thought he had touched. This was as if something had flashed across his sight for a single instant and then was gone. He was certain of only one thing: whatever witnessed his misery did not mean him harm.

  Drawing a deep breath, Jony made himself take one step and then two toward that gathering of shadows.

  “You—please—can you help?” he spoke his plea aloud. For a moment or two he thought that the watcher was gone, had melted back into the unknown, for he could no longer pick up the sensation of a presence.

  Then there was movement as a shape shambled forward. Though the light was poor Jony could see it was big (not as large as one of the Big Ones but still perhaps twice his own size). He caught his lower lip between his teeth and stood his ground. It—first it had wondered about him, he knew that, and now it was coming because it wanted to . . .

  It wanted to help!

  Jony was as sure of that as he was of his own misery or Rutee's pain.

  “Please,” he said uncertainly—perhaps it could not hear him, nor understand his words if it did. There was a sense of good will which enveloped him as it moved to stand—or hunker—directly before him.

  No, this was not a Big One. In no way did the creature resemble those hated enemies. It had a roundish body covered with thick fur, the color marbled with strange patches of light and dark, so that Jony had to watch very carefully or it simply faded back to become a part of the brush again. The four limbs were thick and sturdy. The stranger squatted on the back two, the front ones dangling over its rounded belly. Those forefeet ended in paws which were oddly handlike in outline, though the hairless skin on them was very dark. A round head crowned wide shoulders, with a short, thick neck between. The face was a muzzle, ending in a button of a nose. But the eyes above that were very large and luminous in the dark as they now regarded Jony.

  He ventured to move, reaching out one of his own hands to touch the stranger on the forearm. The fur beneath his fingers was damp but very soft. Jony had no fear now; rather a feeling that help had come. He closed his hold on that limb, though his small hand could not span it. But he could feel the muscles strong and hard under the furred skin.

  “Rutee?” he said.

  There was a q
ueer whining noise from the other—not words—but the sound did carry a message into Jony's mind. Yes, this was help! He turned back to the hollow. The strange creature arose on its hind legs and shuffled along, towering well above the boy. One of the dark-skinned hands rested on Jony's shoulder. And he found the weight vastly comforting.

  But there was so little room within the poor shelter Jony had found he had to edge against the rotting roots at the far end so that the stranger could crowd in. The round head swung low, the muzzle nearly touching Rutee, as the creature moved its nose slowly along the woman's contorted body.

  “Jony?” Rutee lay with her eyes wide open, but she did not even try to see the boy. Nor when her gaze met that of the sniffing stranger, did she show any surprise. Her arm flailed out. Jony caught her wrist, held tightly, quivering himself as her pain fed into his own body.

  The beast was doing something with its black paw-hands, Jony was not sure what. His faith in its help was blind but continued. Rutee shrieked, the sound she made tearing at his head, his mind. He cried out in turn and closed his eyes. He would have put his hands over his ears, but her hold had turned to meet his and was merciless.

  Then came another sound—a weak, wailing cry! Jony, astounded, dared to look again. The black paw-hands held the struggling thing which was making that noise. Round head dropped, the nose sniffed carefully along what the creature held as if it needed scent, more than sight, for this matter of importance. Then it held out to Jony the squirming thing. Rutee's hand had dropped away. She lay breathing in long hard gasps.

  Against his will Jony took the baby. The stranger had turned back swiftly to Rutee, was again sniffing. Again Rutee screamed weakly, her body jerking.

  For the second time the paw-hands held another baby, and the nose sniffed. But this time a long tongue came out between strong teeth. Jony was jolted—it was going to eat—! Before his protest formed in full, he saw that the tongue was washing the baby, thoroughly, from head to foot. Another sniffing examination followed before the child the stranger held was placed gently down on the leaves beside Rutee.