The Iron Breed

by Andre Norton

  Both Gorni and Otik eyed Jony now. He could guess that what they said had to do with him. At last Otik came to the sapling, loosed that knot and gave a jerk, to signal Jony to follow. A call from behind made Otik turn his head.

  Wugi, leaves wrapped about her fingers so she did not touch the bare metal of the staff, had taken up Jony's find. She carried the weapon with the attitude of one disposing of a loathsome thing and held it out to Otik. Plainly this was not to be left behind.

  If Wugi did not care to touch the weapon-tool, Otik had no such scruples. He lacked a staff. Perhaps, in spite of clan opinion, he had a lurking desire to keep this one. At any length he readily took it into his hand. Then, with another jerk, but no signed command (as if Jony now lacked the intelligence to understand such a thing), the clansman pushed out of their small brush camp, heading back upslope of the ridge.

  The rain was slacking, though periodic gusts struck them in the open, driven by a new wind. At least the sky was lighter. Jony could see the position of the ship and the flyer nearby in clearer detail than he had earlier. Also the ramp was run out once more, and there was a cluster of figures gathered on the lower edge of it. The spacemen now wore coverings over their heads which made them look unnatural, as if they were in truth a race as alien as the Big Ones. But the smaller figure with them—even at this distance Jony recognized Maba!

  As far as he could determine she was under no restraint, but mingled freely with the off-worlders. As he caught plain sight of her, she flung out one arm in a typical exaggerated Maba gesture, the fingers of that hand pointing north. Telling them of the stone place?

  But why was Maba free? Mind-controlled? Memory supplied that as a very probable answer. Jony's anger against circumstances, and now against these intruders, flared higher. Maba, to be so controlled! What Rutee had always feared for any of her children had happened.

  Because of that anger Jony sent a sudden probe, striving to find out just how much they had taken over the girl. Was her normal mind totally blank so that she was only animated by the wishes of the space people, after the fashion of those blank-eyed captives of the Big Ones who walked blindly through what life their owners allowed them to retain?

  His probe met no barrier, no hint of mind-control! Jony's shaft of Esper power had sharpened to meet the resistance he expected, but instead went straight into Maba's own thought-stream.

  “Maba!” Aware that the worst had not happened, Jony was excited. Could he plant a thought of escape—of aid—now?

  He watched that small figure eagerly. Her arm had dropped limply to her side, she swayed, and perhaps would have fallen to the ground, had not one of the spacemen caught and steadied her. Jony had put too much force in that contact. He retreated at once, aware of the danger of his move as caution returned too late.

  The invader who supported Maba gathered the girl up in one swift movement, turned and ran back up the ramp into the ship. However, his two companions did not follow. Instead they headed for the flyer, throwing themselves through an opening which appeared in its bubble top, as if they sought safety from attack.

  Jony guessed that they were aware of his attempt to contact Maba, that now they would again be on search for him. He turned to Otik. Let the clansman understand that Jony's presence was what would draw trouble straight to the People. He signed with all the authority he could bring to the matter:

  “Those know I am here—they will hunt—they can track—”

  Otik gave that small turn of the head which signified indifference.

  “No one can find when People are warned,” he returned.

  “They can,” Jony had kept part attention on the flyer. The bubble was closed, the machine rising steadily into the air. “They have a way—”

  Was he getting Otik to really listen? If the clansman would not, the People were probably doomed to the same fate as had already swallowed Voak, Yaa and the rest.

  “Show—You go—that way—”

  To Jony's momentary relief, Otik dropped the leash before he pointed with the metal staff along the ridge, away from that section where the clan had gone to cover.

  Jony began to run, scrambling down under the roofing of the brush, indeed leading any chase away from the others. He had not the slightest hope that the People could match the weapons of the strangers. But he had once mind-befuddled a Big One, and he might just have a chance to do the same with these new invaders. If he could escape detection, and was sure he had, he would head back to the stone place, arm himself with the most potent weapon he could find there. Unless, with Maba's help, the strangers got there first.

  Why was Maba helping these invaders if she was not mind-controlled? The question haunted him, but Jony could give no real time to such a problem now. He must use all his wits to try and escape that flyer whose buzzing grew ever louder.

  The leash dangling behind him caught once on a bush with a backward jerk which nearly swept him off his feet and brought the collar constrictingly tight against his throat. Jony tore the cord loose and then made a tight roll of the end about his waist, unable to take the time to pick the knot on the collar. Here ground was rough and the rain had slicked clay into greasy slides, so that twice he lost his footing and tumbled down.

  He kept to cover with all the skill he had learned when in vor bird country. Only that buzz overhead was continuous; they were apparently able to follow him with the same ease as if they saw with their own eyes every movement he made, every dodge and evasion he tried. Then—

  Jony stumbled forward on feet which suddenly refused to support him. A sense of weakness, of floating, made him feel as if he were no longer trying to run, but rather rested on air which was moving . . . He made one last desperate attempt to hold on to his consciousness—and lost.

  * * *

  His head hurt. That was the next thing of which he was truly aware: a headache so strong, so vast, that it filled not only his skull but his whole body. At the same time a sour nausea moved him into retching. When that shaking passed, he endeavored to lie very quiet. For a little then the pain seemed to lessen.

  He opened his eyes. Then shut them quickly as light (a glaring light which had nothing of the sun's glow in it) stabbed deeply, adding to the pain in his skull. Sounds—

  Jony tried to concentrate on the sounds. Those of wind in the grass and across brush? No. Here was a murmur of a voice, but he could not make the effort to try to understand what words came so faintly.

  Scent—smells . . .

  Jony's body went rigid with the old fear. Once, long ago, he had been used to such smells. In the lab of the Big Ones. He was back—back there! The horror of it left him trembling.

  See—he must see! He forced his eyes open; endured the pain that glaring light caused. There was a smooth expanse over him—not the sky. He must be in the flyer—or even the ship!

  His old hatred of the cage came back full force. As he forced his head to turn slowly, his eyes to remain open, he discovered he was lying full length on some support he could not see. Facing him were the furnishings of a lab—NO!

  Maybe he uttered some sound aloud, for a body moved into his limited range of vision. Someone stood within touching distance. And that face bending above so that the stranger could observe him was not that of a Big One. Or even of a mind-controlled. There was too much intelligence in those eyes, the expression on the dark face too alert and knowing. That this was one of the spacemen Jony now had no doubt.

  “How do you feel?”

  Jony blinked. He understood the words, save that they were accented differently from the speech Rutee had taught him, which he used with the twins. Rutee's people?

  Making what seemed to him to be an exhausting effort, Jony asked slowly in return:

  “Who . . . are . . . you . . . ?”

  The stranger nodded as if the fact that Jony could speak at all was encouraging.

  “I am Jarat, the medic.”

  “I am in the ship—” Jony did not quite make that a question, he was alread
y sure of the answer.

  “In sick bay, yes.”

  “Maba . . . Geogee . . .” he hesitated then and licked his lips unsure whether he dared ask his final question. Would it awaken the suspicion of this—this—medic (whatever that could mean)? “The People . . . ?”

  “Maba and Geogee are safe with us,” Jarat replied.

  But he said nothing about Voak, Yaa, the others. Were they—dead?

  “How is he?” Another had moved up beside Jarat, to stare down at Jony. “Can he answer any questions yet?”

  “Let him get orientated first, Pator. You know what a stunner can do—”

  The one Jarat had addressed was plainly impatient, Jony thought. Ask him questions, about what—the People? The place of stones? In that moment he made up his mind, he intended to answer nothing until he knew what had become of the People, if he were now a prisoner in this place which reminded him so much of the old captivity.

  He closed his mouth tightly, his return stare nearly a glare of defiance. Whether the spacemen understood his attitude or not, Jony could not guess, but the second did step back out of the range of Jony's sight, leaving Jarat there alone.

  The medic held something in his hand which he touched to Jony's upper arm. There was no pain from that contact; instead there followed a soothing of the ache in his head, then throughout his body. Unconsciously he relaxed against the pad on which he lay.

  “That better?” Jarat did not wait for any answer. “Take this now—”

  He put a tube to Jony's mouth, and, without wanting to in the least, Jony allowed it between his lips.

  “Give a good hard suck,” Jarat ordered.

  Jony obeyed. Warm liquid was the result, and he swallowed. That, too, seemed to have not only a good taste but a pleasant reaction on his body.

  “Take a nap,” Jarat was smiling. “When you join us again you'll find yourself a lot better.”

  He was as authoritative as if Jony were mind-controlled after all. The boy's eyes did close, and he was almost instantly asleep. This time sleep without dreams.

  When Jony roused, there was no change in the light about him. But the pain in his head was gone, he felt rested, relaxed as he had not in a long time. Levering himself up on his elbows, he looked carefully around.

  The place in which he lay had some of the same equipment he remembered from the lab, but all made to a much smaller scale. And there were no cages. As he made sure of that, Jony gave a gusty sigh of relief. He had half-expected to see the People shut up so, awaiting what torments their captors would devise, as his kind had suffered with the Big Ones.

  His head felt light and he was a little dizzy, as he might have been had he not eaten for too long a time. But he was able to sit up, swing his scratched and bruised legs over the edge of the narrow shelf-like place on which he had been lying.

  They had taken his kilt away and—his hands suddenly went to his throat. The collar! That was gone also. Naked, he stood beside the shelf, steadying himself with one hand as he looked around. There were many boxes, shelves with things on them—all objects he could not name. But as far as he could see there was no one about.

  Jony tried a few steps, still holding on to the shelf. He was stronger, able to manage. Letting go his anchorage, he began a tour of the cabin, eager to find the door. He had no idea if he could get out of the ship unnoticed. But no one could be sure of anything until an attempt was made.

  Just as he reached the one wall which was bare of shelving, though it had no opening in it that he could mark, there came a small sound. That sought-for door appeared, directly before him, with a suddenness which held him immobile through sheer amazement.

  The spaceman who had named himself Jarat stood there. For a second or two his astonishment seemed equal to Jony's. Then he smiled and stepped in quickly, the open slit closing firmly behind him, though he did nothing to make it do so.

  “So—you are not only awake, but ready to begin living again, Jony?”

  “How did you know my name?” Somehow Jony resented slightly this greeting. The assurance of it made him feel young, small, on an equality with the twins in an odd way he could not define.

  “Maba—Geogee. Did you forget they joined us?”

  Jony edged back until he felt the shelf against the small of his spine.

  “They did not join you,” he said. “You captured them. As the Big Ones used to take their prisoners. What will you do with us?”

  “Take you home,” Jarat said.

  “This is home.” For Jony, for the twins it was. He had been so long on the Big Ones' ship he could not remember any other Outside except this one.

  “You are human, you know,” Jarat still had that note of one reassuring a cub as he spoke. “From what the children have told us you escaped from a Zhalan slave ship, you and your mother. They were born here, but it is not your world.”

  He slid a bundle of cloth off his arm, dropped in on the shelf near Jony.

  “Brought you a ship suit. Ought to be close to your size—try it on. Captain Trefrew wants to speak to you as soon as he can.”

  Jony drew the bundle to him. If he put that on, he would be one with these ship people. And what of Yaa and Voak? Perhaps if he seemed willing to obey orders, he could not only discover what had happened to the clansmen, but also be able to help them.

  Jarat had to show him how to seal the front of the one-piece garment which so entirely covered the body that it also included soft-soled pieces for the feet. Jony felt queerly stifled, too well enfolded, when he had it fastened up properly.

  The medic looked him over critically. “Not too bad. That mop of hair would never fit inside a helmet. But, for the rest, you'll do.”

  Do for what, Jony wondered? He asked no questions now, hoping that he could discover what he needed to know about the ship without anyone guessing his purpose. Though this spaceman had claimed him as one of his own kind, Jony felt no kinship with him.

  There were men and there were animals. Rutee had told him that her people had once used, almost uncaringly, animals as tools. Then they had become in turn the “animals,” tools of the Big Ones. The People must have been animals as long as those of the place of stone had ruled, and afterwards . . .

  His hand went to his throat again, still feeling that he should encounter the collar there. The clan had made him an “animal” for their purposes as a warning and a punishment.

  “Strange to you, eh?” Jarat said. “Ask any questions you want—I know you have a lot to catch up on.”

  Jony shook his head. What the medic said was true, but not in the way Jarat meant it. He had not tried any mind-contact since he had awakened here, being cautious about that. Could he, if he wished, control Jarat? Make the other lead him to the People, free them all, as he had done with the Big One to arrange Rutee's escape? He did not know and, as yet, he was too wary to try.

  But Jony used his eyes as they went; tried memorizing their path through this wilderness of the ship as he would have searched for landmarks Outside. There was no sign of either Maba or Geogee, nor did Jony ask for them yet. Better simply obey orders and wait until he could learn more by himself.

  He was aware, however, that his companion glanced at him intently now and again as if expecting more from him. Not that Jony paid too much notice; the ship itself held most of his full attention.

  They went down a short way and came to a center well up which climbed a series of steps. The medic swung onto this; Jony followed. His feet, covered for the first time in his life, felt clumsy, and he went carefully.

  Twice they passed other sections of the ship above, coming to a third. This time the medic swung off once more into a second short passage. Before him the wall opened to let Jarat through. Jony followed, hiding, as he hoped, his growing sense of being trapped.

  This must be the captain. The man was seated at his ease. When he gestured, the medic went to the wall and snapped down two other seats, one of which he took, motioning Jony to the other.

 
Jony occupied only the very edge of that. In the first place to be seated so far above the ground felt unnatural to him, secondly he was too tense inside to relax much.

  “So you escaped a Zhalan ship,” the captain began abruptly. “And that years back. You have no idea of your home world?” His words came impatiently, as if Jony presented a problem he could have done without.

  “Rutee said,” Jony broke silence for the first time, “that it was a new colony. She and Bron had chosen to go. Then the Big Ones came . . . Bron could not be mind-controlled and he fought in the lab. They killed him.” It was a story which had never meant too much to him though Rutee had hurt when she spoke of it. He always sensed that hurt when she told it.

  “And you?”

  “I was very small. They left me with Rutee in the cage. I don't remember back beyond the cages.”

  “This Rutee—your mother—she was mind-controlled?”

  “No!” Jony scowled at the captain. “Some of us they could not use so. Most they dumped. Rutee thought they wanted her to find out why. They used their machines on her many times . . .”

  He shivered, hating this man for making him remember how Rutee had been dragged from the cage, how they would bring her back later. Sometimes seeming as if she were dead, at others moaning and holding her head, crying out if even he came close to her for a while.

  “And you—?”

  “They could not control me either. But they did not try much. Rutee thought they were keeping me until they got to their own world—wherever that was. She did not know why.”

  “And the twins?”

  Jony's inner anger grew. Just as he had known and felt all Rutee's pain, so he had known her shame and despair. But this was the truth so he would tell it. Let these spacemen know what the Big Ones could do to the helpless.

  “They put me in another cage, then they gave her to a mind-controlled male,” he said starkly.

  There was silence in the cabin. Jony did not look at either of the spacemen.

  He heard the captain say a word he did not understand, sharply and bitterly. But the memory of Rutee had fired Jony into what might be recklessness. He arose abruptly from his seat to face the spaceman. Keeping his voice as even as he could, fighting down impatience and fear, he demanded: