The Integral Trees - Omnibus

by Larry Niven

  Green-clad warriors clustered round the carrier. Some were crawling into the doors. Men in blue floated about it with the looseness of dead men. Live copsik runners had retreated around the curve of the trunk to wait for reinforcements.

  It looked like the war of the carrier was over. But other copsik runners were coming too near. Clave had made a lucky shot: there were five now, plus the silver man.

  Ordon died with a bolt peeking through his chest. The Grad saw his face through the window…but even if Ordon could have heard him, there was nothing left to say. He turned back to the yellow display.

  He had five floating rectangles in the bow window: aft view, dorsal, ventral, and both sides. He caught glimpses of men in blue, men and women in green; impossible to tell who was winning.

  Three Navy men moved into the cover of the drive motors. The Grad touched blue dashes. Flames burst near them. They yelled, threw themselves clear, floundered to orient themselves…and one had a bolt through his hip.

  Lawri screamed, “Murderer!”

  “Some of us don’t like being copsiks,” the Grad said. “Some of us don’t even like copsik runners.”

  “Klance and I never treated you with anything but kindness!”

  “That’s true enough. What have you done for the rest of Quinn Tribe? Did you forget that I had a tribe?”

  “Your tribe is dead! Your tree is torn apart! We could have been your tribe, you treefeeding mutineer you!”

  The Grad had no particular urge to stop her mouth. Lawri’s accusations only echoed those in his own mind. He had made his decisions.

  So he spoke without heat. “Do you know what’s been happening to our women? Gavving might have had permission to visit his wife thirty-odd days from now, but any male citizen had rights to her any time he liked. Now she’s pregnant. She doesn’t know who the father is, and I don’t either.”

  Lawri said, “They’ll kill you. Shall I tell you what the penalty is for mutiny?”

  “Feel free, but I notice the line of argument has shifted.”

  She told him anyway. It sounded dreadful enough: good reason to keep the doors closed.

  He had found the infrared display. It showed him red dots in along the trunk. He cut the infrared out and recognized Clave and Merril, and Navy chasing them…including what had to be a dwarf in a pressure suit.

  Clave and Merril! Then the Carthers were actually on his side. He had wondered.

  The green-clad warriors rushed the carm. When the Navy retreated he was able to wrap one in flame, not as a casual killing but as a signal to the Carthers. I’m with you! For it was Carthers who now swarmed the carm, and Navy who retreated around the trunk.

  The Grad opened two yellow lines with his fingertips. He turned to greet the tall, bloody jungle giants.

  Gavving was on his feet, held upright by two men, before he even started to wake up. He said, “What?”

  “We need pedalers,” someone said.

  Four Navy men helped three sleepy copsiks out of the barracks and up through the tuft. Gavving held his temper and Horse took it with typical docility, but Alfin was still protesting as they broke through into sunlight. “I’m the treemouth tender’s assistant! Not a treefeeding pair of legs—”

  “Listen, you. We’re sending men up to the Citadel as fast as we can. We’ve worked the regular team half to death. You’ll take your place and pedal with the rest!”

  “And carry out my regular duties too? I’ll be half-dead! What do I tell the Supervisor?”

  “You board that bicycle or you’ll be telling your Supervisor where your testes went. Just before the Holidays too!”

  The copsiks on the platform were sheathed in sweat, it drifted in droplets from their hair; they panted like dying men. The Navy men helped three of them down, wincing at the soggy touch. Other Navy men were boarding the elevator.

  Half the sky was textured green.

  The jungle! The jungle had come to London Tree!

  Only three Navy men remained. One was an officer; Gavving recognized him, and he carried a piece of old science, a talking box. The rest had entered the elevator. Gavving was lifted into the saddle. He started pedaling. The elevator rose.

  The jungle had attacked London Tree. The jungle was mobile. Who would have guessed? The green cloud was awesomely close…and receding.

  He should be doing something! But what? Armed men were watching.

  The elevator was tens of klomters above him now, and Gavving was gasping. He felt the change before he saw it. Suddenly it was easier to pedal. The grating whine of the bicycle gears rose half an octave. He looked up.

  The elevator box was turning, falling. Blue shapes spilled out and made for the trunk. One was too slow. When he reached the trunk he was moving too fast; he bounced away, spinning like a broken thing, and continued to fall. But the box was falling faster.

  “Stop pedaling. Hold your places,” the officer ordered.

  The invaders had cut the cable. Now what? In takes you east. The box wouldn’t hit here; it would strike farther east along the branch, but where? Gavving pictured the massive wooden structure smashing through diffuse cottony foliage. “Officer? Suppose that thing hits the pregnant women’s complex?”

  “It’s under the branch,” the man said. “Mmm…it could hit somebody, though. Damn, there’s the school complex! Karal! Move east along the top of the branch and get everyone underneath. Don’t miss the examination hut. Docking section too. Then get under yourself, if you’re fast enough.”

  “Sir.” A Navy man—wounded, with one arm bound across his chest—darted awkwardly away. Two left.

  The officer spoke to his talking box. “Squad Leader Patry here. The enemy has cut our elevator cables. What’s your status?”

  The answer was almost unintelligible with static. Gavving let his chin droop and his eyes half close (poor exhausted copsik, clearly too tired to think of mutiny) and listened hard. He heard, “Elevators running. We…ing troops. Enemy numbers forgarble repeat, forty to fifty. Garble outnumbered. They’re gentling us. They garble the carm, but even…can’t use…tethered.”

  “I see two dark masses west of here.”

  “Forget them…trouble enough. We are sending more men to the Citadel.”

  “Patry out.”

  The Grad recognized the long-limbed woman, Debby, by her long, straight brown hair. The two men with her were strangers. The crossbows aimed at him didn’t bother him as much as their fear. They didn’t like the carm at all.

  He spread open hands to the sides. “I’m the Quinn Tribe Scientist, the only one who can fly this thing. Good to see you, Debby—”

  Lawri broke in with, “Feed it to the tree, mutineer! You’d lose us in the sky or smear us all over the trunk.”

  “—and this is Lawri, the copsik runner.”

  One snapped out of it. “I’m Anthon. This is Prez. Debby told us about you, Grad. Can we leave immediately? Pile all our warriors on the nets and go? The silver man is coming.”

  The Grad said, “We’re tied to the tree. Cut those lines and we’re free to go. But I don’t leave without Clave and Merril, and I think there’s time to get one more thing.”

  He pointed into the dorsal window display. Anthon and Debby very gingerly moved up behind him. All this scientific stuff must be daunting.

  “That hut is the Lab. Debby, you’ll find some cassettes and the reader inside, on the walls. You remember what they look like?”

  Debby nodded.

  “Go get them. Anthon, get some warriors to cut the carm loose.” He looked into the displays. Clave was towing Merril as he jumped along the bark, his legs serving both while she fired bolts at their pursuers. One Navy man was dropping back, hurt. The silver man came on. The Grad said, “See if you can give them some covering fire.”

  Anthon said quietly, “You’re not the leader here, Scientist.”

  “Here, I am. And I have had enough of being a copsik!”

  “Debby, go get that treefodder for the Scientist
. Take a team. Prez, get those cables chopped.” Anthon waited until they were through the doors before he spoke again. He wanted no witnesses to this discussion.

  “Grad, have you fought in war?”

  “I captured the carm.”

  “You? I cap—” He trailed off. “Never mind.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Forty or less, now. We won’t fit inside, but we can hang on to the nets.”

  “I want to set the rest of Quinn Tribe free. They’re in the in tuft, and I can find them. The carm’s got plenty of what makes it go. We’ve got the small motors for spraying fire. It should be easy.”

  Anthon was in no hurry to make a decision. Into the silence Lawri said, “He can’t fly the carm. I can. I’m the Scientist’s Apprentice.”

  “Why haven’t you killed this one?” Anthon demanded.

  “Hold it! She’s what she says…and I did have to kill the Scientist himself. Lawri has a great deal to teach us, if she can be talked into it. She’s harmless as long as she’s tied up.”

  Anthon nodded. “She lives, then. But I lead Carther States.”

  “I captain the carm.”

  Anthon stepped into the doors and began to shout orders. He’d let the word pass. Captain. He who violated the Grad’s orders aboard the carm would be a mutineer!

  Carthers chopped at the lines that tethered the carm. Crossbow bolts flew among the blue men who followed Clave and Merril. Those dove for cover on the bark. The silver man came on alone. He wasn’t using jet pods. There must be something on the pressure suit itself.

  The carm was drifting free.

  Lawri spoke in an angry whisper. “They’d kill me, wouldn’t they?”

  “They don’t have my reasons for liking you,” the Grad said without overt sarcasm. “Keep your opinions to yourself for a while, if you can. Did you really think a jungle warrior would let you at the controls?”

  Clave and Merril and Debby entered like a storm. Debby was gashed and bleeding along the ribs. Merril flew into the Grad and hugged him.

  “Grad! I mean Scientist. Good work. I mean, glorious! Can you run this thing?”

  The Grad felt huge relief. Let Clave play these dominance games with Anthon! The Grad would captain the carm and hope Lawri was wrong…“I can fly it.”

  Clave asked, “Can you find the rest of us?”

  “They’re all in the in tuft. Gavving’s at the top, where we can get at him. Jayan and Minya are with the pregnant women. Jinny and Alfin should be in the Commons. We may have to leave the carm to get to them.”

  “Then, it’s going to work. I can’t believe it.”

  The Grad grinned. “So why’d you come? Never mind. Debby—”

  “I got these. We had to fight for them.” Seven cassettes. “We couldn’t find the reader.”

  “Maybe Klance had it…it doesn’t matter. Get into a chair. You too, Clave, Merril, strap down!” He looked into the displays. “In a few breaths we can…”

  “What?” Clave saw the displays floating in the bow window. “This place is too strange for me. Those pictures make my eyes cross! I…Grad, have you got anything to take out the silver man?”

  “Not unless he crawls into a motor. That’s a starman’s pressure suit.”

  “Well, he’s killing all our allies.”

  “That spitgun only puts you to sleep and makes you feel wonderful. Doesn’t matter to us, though. They’re still out of action. Anthon, good timing. Get into a chair.”

  Anthon was panting; his crossbow was on line with the Grad’s eyes. “You waited too long! That goddam silver—”

  “Get into a chair and strap down! And tell me how many we’ve got left.” The Grad was trying to watch all the displays at once. Carthers were disappearing over the trunk’s horizon. Too many floated limp; some were being towed by others who hadn’t been hit. The man in the pressure suit was hovering over the carm, firing darts.

  The glazed look left Anthon’s eyes. He worked himself into a chair. “We can’t hurt him. I was the only one who even got to the carrier. The rest won’t come anyway. They’re afraid of it.”

  “We can’t leave them.”

  The silver man darted down at the doors. The Grad pinched his fingers together. The silver man shied back as the doors closed in his face, then moved back into view in the dorsal display. Now he was gripping the nets on the hull.

  “He’s on the carm,” said the Grad.

  “Take off,” said Anthon.

  “Leave?”

  “We can leave my citizens if we take the silver man with us. I’ve got spare jet pods coming.”

  “Good enough.” The Grad’s fingers tapped. The silver man was still hanging on the nets when the carm backed away from the trunk and started down.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE SILVER MAN

  The laundry vat was a tall glass cylinder. It hung from the underside of the branch, from lines pounded into the black bark over Minya’s head. Around it ran an extensive wickerwork platform woven from live spine branches. A layer of rocks beneath the vat supported a bed of coals. A pipe ran all the way from the treemouth reservoir to supply the water: an impressive achievement, had Minya not been too tired to appreciate it.

  Minya and Ilsa stirred dirty clothing in a matrix of foaming water with a paddle two meters long. It took skill and fine attention. Left to itself, the laundry-soup would have foamed right out of the vat, clothing and all. The supervisor Haryet kept popping out to see how they were doing.

  Minya wasn’t feeling awkward yet, but there was the sense of a guest building inside her. Ilsa’s pregnancy looked ludicrous, a bulge on a straight-edge. Like the others, she seemed to have adjusted to her new status with little difficulty. Once she had told Minya, “We know all our lives that the copsik runners might come for us. Well, they came.”

  A chain of huts ran along the underside of the branch. Most of the women preferred to stay inside. They weren’t all pregnant. Some were nursing their erstwhile guests. They all had work: knitting, sewing, preparation of food to be cooked at the treemouth.

  The quiet was broken by a hurried rustling.

  Then four people burst from the tunnel that led down from the examination hut: Jayan and Jinny, the supervisor Dloris, and a Navy man with his arm in a sling. Karal spotted her, ran to her, gripped her arm. She shied from his wildness.

  “You’re all right.” He was gasping. “Good. Minya. Stay under the branch. Don’t let anyone…anyone else go wandering.”

  “We don’t tend to. We’re too awkward. I thought men weren’t allowed…?”

  “I’m not staying. Minya, it’s both elevators and at least one man, they’re falling from thirty klomters up, and we don’t know just where they’ll hit. I’ve got to warn the children in the school complex.” He pointed a finger at the tip of her nose. “Stay here!” And he sprinted for the tunnel, wobbling, chest heaving.

  If something happens, the Grad had said. Something was happening all right, but what? Would Dloris know?

  Minya guessed where the supervisor would be. She moved down the line of huts and entered the last one as Dloris came through with Haryet. “We’ve been counting,” Dloris said. “Gwen’s missing. Have you seen her? Three meters tall and pale as a ghost, with a year-old guest?”

  “Not lately. What’s happening?”

  “Get those clothes out and drying and then put the fire out. Do you have lines? Good. Keep them handy.” The two supervisors moved on.

  Minya turned to Jayan and Jinny. “Give us a hand. Jinny, we’re lucky you were around. We’re all together now. Do you know what’s happening?”

  “No. Karal looked scared stiff.”

  “Is it war?”

  “Better stick to our task till we’re sure,” Ilsa said.

  They pulled the clothing from the vat in a gelid mass, manipulating it with poles. Some water remained. They inverted the vat and moved back while the water-glob flowed sluggishly out onto the fire. Live steam didn’t rise fast enough i
n London Tree’s feeble tide. It tended to expand in an invisible globe, scalding hot.

  Minya had never seen that fire go out. Dloris must be expecting something drastic!

  They continued to work. They set the laundry in the press and cranked two great wooden slabs together. Water squeezed out around the edges of the wad of clothing, then began to slide downward.

  Something smashed through foliage, somewhere nearby.

  They froze. Then Minya plunged into the branchlets with Jinny and Ilsa behind. They made their way toward the sound. Minya angled above where she thought it had stopped.

  There, a trail of broken branchlets. She followed it down to the broken and twisted remains of what had been a Navy officer. The corpse wore a sword, scabbarded, and a quiver that was still full, though the bow was missing.

  “Now it’s war,” Minya said.

  “We’ll have to kill the supervisors,” Ilsa said.

  Minya jumped. “What?” It was as if a stone had spoken. “Never mind, you’re right. I thought you were…I thought you’d given up.”

  Ilsa only shook her head.

  West takes you in. In takes you east. At first the Grad held the bow window pointed straight down. They dropped smoothly…faster…he swung the carm to point west and fired aft jets to correct as it drifted away from the trunk.

  His passengers were rigid with terror, save for Lawri, who was rigid with fury.

  They still had a passenger on the hull.

  Anthon’s voice wanted to stutter. He wouldn’t let it. “I want to point out that we could go back to Carther States now. We’ve got the silver man and the carm. These copsik runners don’t own anything they value more. We can trade for your copsiks.”

  That actually sounded sensible. The Grad said, “Clave?”

  “Feed it to the tree.”

  Anthon said, “You want to kill some copsik runners. All right, I can underst—”

  “I want to rescue them myself! I am the Quinn Tribe Chairman. They are entitled to my protection.” Clave spat the word: “Trade! They attacked us, we attacked them. We’ve got the carm and we’ll have our people too. All right, Grad—Scientist—have you got an opinion?”