by Larry Niven
It was a nice bonus. He welcomed it, because he was about to lose Rather Citizen. A dozen Navy crew in the fisheye view, unknown numbers out of camera range—
Jeffer bellowed, “Rather! What’s going on?”
“Wayne Mickl came back. Can’t talk.”
Kendy sent, “Get outside if you can, Rather. Mickl’s jets aren’t fueled.”
“I’ve got the whole treefeeding Navy here!” They were hesitating, but they wouldn’t for long. “They’ll swarm all over me like honey hornets—Hey!” Rather’s hands came in view holding a bag; ripped it open and flung it. The corridor became vague and golden.
Wayne Mickl could pull the cable! Was he still in the Library? CARM #2 had a hundred years of records to go…a solid block of data was running now, data that must have been beamed long ago by Discipline itself. Kendy knew he wouldn’t want to read that in full, not if it was records of the mutiny. He’d spot-check.
The other pressure suit emerged from the Library and jumped to join the fight. Good!
Rather’s camera view shot down the corridor, through dust and bodies. Navy crew grabbed at him, clung…and let go. It began to look as if he might make it.
What was running through Discipline’s receivers was a message from the State, from Earth.
Nothing in his own memory matched. Kendy pulled it and ran it. It was brief.
Rather jumped down the corridor, arms raised to block the men who blocked his path. Impacts slowed him. A burst from the jets compensated. Somebody was riding him, legs around his hips…a man impacted heavily against his helmet, slid across his chest, and was gone.
The silver man jumped him. The man who clung to Rather took the force of impact. They tumbled. Rather reached the door, kicked, swung himself around the jamb and was out in the sky. A burst of jets took him clear.
He paused then.
The silver man emerged and, twenty meters away and receding, stopped to put on his wings. Navy crew emerged behind him. Two flailed; they had no wings at all. The third couldn’t get his on. Fringe spores must have reached their brains.
That left only the silver man.
Rather grinned. He put on his own wings and kicked away strongly. “Kendy? Jeffer? Are you watching?”
“Jeffer here. I can’t get Kendy. He may be out of range.”
“Well, watch. This is going to be good.”
Mickl was catching up.
Rather’s radio sounded calm and a bit supercilious. “Rather Citizen, you can’t escape. Your wings are the right color, but they’re not Navy wings. You know I don’t want to hurt you. I had the chance to kill you and I didn’t. But the crossbow is all I have, and it will penetrate—make holes in a Navy pressure suit. There’s a hole in one of our suits because one of our Guardians turned mutineer once.”
“Don’t answer,” Jeffer said. “He’s guessing. Don’t give him a chance to test it.”
Mickl was meters behind him, but the drugged Navy crew were nearly out of sight. Rather pulled his wings loose, pointed his feet at the silver man, and fired his jets.
He was head-down to the Dark. Mickl was kicking hard, falling rapidly behind. A scream of shock or frustration burst in Rather’s ears; he found the volume control and turned it down fast.
The Dark was around him. He couldn’t see the other silver man, he couldn’t see the Market.
Jeffer spoke in his helmet: a tiny squeak until Rather turned the volume back up. “…due to rendezvous. I’ve got a ship moving north out of the Dark. Stand by…There’s a dark blob bigger than the cabin—”
“That’s Logbearer. They’ve got their mud.”
“Turn seventy degrees clockwise from where you were pointed and, oh, ten degrees north. Make your burn.”
Rather obeyed. Jeffer counted off twenty seconds: seven breaths. The Dark thinned.
“We’ve got to get rid of the silver suit,” Jeffer said.
“No.” I’m the Silver Man!
“I don’t mean feed it to the tree! I mean don’t have it when Logbearer gets home.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, and Kendy isn’t answering. I don’t even know what course he’s on now.”
“What if I don’t go back? You can pick me up with the carm.”
“Sure, and what does Wayne Mickl say to the Serjents? You’ve got to face him and lie.”
Rather could see the Market far behind him. Was he in view of Navy instruments? But they’d have to find him, and he’d changed direction.
The deep voice of Wayne Mickl was small and full of the chattering sound of distance. “Rather Citizen, I will wait for you at Serjent House.”
“I heard that,” Jeffer said. “I’ve spotted you. Can you see Voy? Sixty-five degrees east, burn for five seconds. Zero north, there’s no point in getting higher. You’ll both be back in the Dark before you meet.”
“Jeffer? Why don’t you come get the silver suit?”
“…Stet. Here I come.”
Rather himself had spotted Logbearer now, above the plane of the Dark, foreshortened and trailing steam.
Jeffer said, “I’m on my way, but it’ll take me nearly a day. If you just ditch the suit it’ll fall back into the Dark.”
“It’s doing that now. You’ll have to find it somehow. I’ve got an idea.”
Rather flew through the Dark. He was using wings. There couldn’t be much left of his fuel.
He glimpsed a man-shape through the murk.
Carlot. When he opened his helmet she kissed him breathlessly. “I thought I’d never see you again! Did you do it?”
“Yeah. All of it, but the Captain-Guardian knows, or thinks he does.”
She talked while she helped him out of the suit. “Raym got too much of the fringe. He’s in the cabin getting through the hangover. Debby’s with him. She’ll keep him quiet. We’ve got our mud and four tons of walnut-cushion. Two Dark sharks tried to open us up. Debby took them. Rather, I’d hate to have her mad at me. We’ve got the meat, and I’ll show you tooth scars on the wood—”
“I hope they were big. I’m hungry.” He was out. He closed up the suit, leaving the helmet open. “Jeffer?”
“Here. I’m above your position.”
“I’m doing it.” He closed the helmet. He turned the pressure dial high and the temperature low. The suit grew rigid. “Now I want to start a fire.”
“In the Dark that won’t be easy.”
“Help me. That…fisher jungle, I guess it was.” He indicated a mass of dry brush with white things taking root in it. “Help me push the legs in.”
They pushed the suit into the decaying fisher jungle. The branches still had some strength. Rather got a good grip, then closed a jet key with his toe. Flame blasted through the rotting fisher jungle; the suit tried to escape. He let the jet run for several breaths before he turned it off.
“Jeffer should find that okay,” he said. He was guessing and he knew it.
“Then tell me! What happened?”
He told her some of it while they searched out Logbearer. The rest would wait. Clave and Debby would have to wait to hear the tale, since Raym could not be allowed to. And Rather would have his chance to eat and sleep. He was exhausted.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE SILVER SUIT
from the Library cassettes, year 200 SM:
Citizens may never enter the Library Room. Citizens will be given access to the Library only through officers, and then only on certain dates…On these days the Library will remain available, with a Programmer on duty, until all citizens have had opportunity to ask their questions; though some questions will certainly be unanswerable…
They stopped twice: once at the Market, to let Raym off with half his pay in hand, and once at a pond, to refuel.
Belmy’s log was very slowly turning end-for-end. A thread of steam poured from above the tuft. As Carlot made her final burn to bring Logbearer to rest near the midpoint, Woodsman cast loose and moved toward them.
Serjent House was just visible to anti
spinward: west. Rather tried not to think about the dot visible alongside it. He welcomed the delay.
Debby said, “I’d like to get this over with—”
Clave shook her by the ankle. “Wrong! We went into the Dark for mud, and we’re back to get rid of it. We don’t know of anything urgent. We’re in no hurry at all.”
Carlot shouted from where she and Rather worked the rocket. “Stet! Treefodder, they always make us wait!”
They had it all figured out. But copter plants were launching their seeds in Rather’s belly.
Woodsman eased alongside. Hilar and Raff Belmy flew toward Logbearer. “You’ll like Raff,” Carlot whispered. “Act like you like Raff.”
“It’s all right. I’d make babies with him if it’d make you happy…or get me away from the Navy.”
Hilar introduced his son. (Treefodder, but they were big!) Raff smiled much and said little. He was shy for an adult, Rather thought. He stared at the tree dwellers, but his eyes seemed to slide aside from Rather’s.
The teapot passed. Carlot asked, “How are you doing with the log?”
Hilar shrugged. “No burl yet.” The others laughed. “Give it time. We have some spin. I don’t think we want to overdo it. We’ve splashed a pond against the trunk; that gives us a water flow. How are you planning to deliver the mud?”
“I…hadn’t thought past just bringing it here.”
“Raff and I talked it over—”
Raff spoke. “Dad always says keep it simple. We’ll just impact it against the tree, lee side, two, three klomters above the tuft. There’s already water running down to the treemouth. Let it carry the mud too. Easy, steady delivery system.”
He can talk when it’s about something real, Rather thought. “Have you done a lot of logging?”
Raffs head bobbed. “I spend more than half my life in the outer sky. Sometimes I wondered what living in a tree would be like.”
They were getting used to that question. Clave said, “I miss it myself. Well, you grow up shorter and stronger. Cooking’s easier. Hunting’s different: the wind throws the prey at you…”
Rather tuned it out. The dot next to Serjent House must be a Navy ship. He felt their long-sight devices on him. What the Navy saw must look puzzling. Let them wonder: he had an explanation both interesting and innocent.
His attention snapped back when Hilar said, “Booce has been making deals. I expect he’ll pay back the loan well before crossyear.”
Carlot asked, “Has the Navy bought the metal yet?”
“No. In fact, something’s upsetting the Navy. I haven’t heard a rumor I can believe, but…stay alert, Carlot. You know you’ve got visitors?”
“We can see them. Hilar, Raff, it’s time to deliver our cargo.”
It took a day and a fraction and was entirely straightforward. Logbearer burned toward the turning tree. Her crew dismounted the spokes that braced the web that supported the mud. Mud and lines and wooden spokes smacked the trunk hard enough to stick. Water flow was already carving a runnel in the mud as Logbearer accelerated away. They’d be back to collect the beams and lines after they were washed clean.
Gyrfalcon was not moored; it floated free a hundred meters from Serjent House. Two men working on the hull did not return Clave’s cheerful wave. Rather recognized one as Petty Wheeler. They watched fixedly while Logbearer’s crew swarmed out and set about the business of mooring their ship.
Rather looked around the common room while they tethered their wings. One fast look and then he’d have to react:
No teapot. Not a social occasion. Booce Serjent looked angry and unhappy. Bosun Sectry Murphy started to jump toward Rather, then pulled herself back. Three long-limbed Navy men were stationed around the walls, and a fourth: silver suit, helmet thrown back, bearded dwarf-face within. Wayne Mickl.
Rather let himself break into a delighted grin. It was surprisingly easy. He wanted to reassure Sectry; he was glad to see her. He let his eyes flick from Sectry to Wayne Mickl to Sectry again. He blurted, “Am I in?”
Sectry flashed from unhappy to angry. Wayne Mickl broke into delighted laughter. “Very good! But, Rather, there just aren’t enough dwarves to make it work. Take him.”
Two of the Navy crew were on him. They pulled him loose from his handhold, set him spinning in the air. He caught glimpses of them rebounding from walls. Then one had wrapped his arms and legs around Rather’s lower ribs from behind, and the other had a foot in Rather’s crotch and Rather’s two ankles in his hands, stretching his legs straight.
There was a wrestling trick. Jill had shown him, in the brief period when she was stronger than he was. You wrapped your arms or legs around your opponent’s short ribs and tightened them. Your opponent couldn’t inhale. Presently he would faint.
Rather had used it on others afterward, and been punished for it. Most of the children were smaller than he was. Jilly wasn’t, but she didn’t have the strength of a dwarf after they both got older. Rather had been taught not to fight. He still got angry sometimes, but he learned to control it. Sometimes he wrestled with adults. He generally lost.
The man behind him (call him Navy #1) was letting him breathe, but shallowly. The other (Navy #2) wasn’t kicking Rather’s seeds into his belly; but he could. Rather held the red rage in check. “Booce?”
Booce answered the implied question. “You tell me. Where have you been?”
“The Dark. We’ve delivered Hilar’s mud. We’ve got some walnut-cushion and—”
“The Navy went through this house like a whirlwind. I told them about the sporing fringe in the concrete. I was about to show them a hiding place I made in the door. I think they’d rather chop my house apart, and I get the distinct impression that it’s all your fault—”
“Shut it, Booce,” Mickl said. “Rather, what did you think you were coming home to?”
Anger made his thoughts murky, but he’d rehearsed this part in his mind. “I thought…I saw Sectry and I saw you. I thought the Captain-Guardian had come personally to tell me I was in. The Navy. You know. But—”
“You must know that an officer wouldn’t care that much about a new inductee.”
“Well, you’re here and…someone told me you’re very eager to put another dwarf in the Guardian slot. What are you doing here, Captain-Guardian?”
“It’s a mistake!” Sectry burst out.
Mickl didn’t shout; he projected his voice over hers. The walls shivered to it. “Let me tell you something about mistakes. There’s—”
“No, allow me.” Rather reached for the foot in his crotch with both hands. He had it before the leg could snap straight, and he twisted. His rib cage closed. He stopped breathing and kept twisting. The leg buckled; Navy #2 was pulled close; he loosed Rather’s ankle and Rather kicked him twice under the jaw. Now his hands were free to pull the constricting arms apart and over his head and down. Torsion pulled the legs free too, and he could breathe.
Navy #2 kicked at Rather with his good leg. Rather caught it on his foot. Reaction separated them: Navy #2 was headed toward a wall. There was blood on his mouth. Rather pulled the other’s arms around behind him. They came, not easily, and Rather kept pulling until he had pulled Navy #l’s shoulder from its socket.
Clave had a riblock on the third man.
Rather pushed Navy #1 away. The man turned in the air, moaning, his arm at a crooked angle.
Navy #2 had reached the wall. He jumped. They traded blows: Rather put his heel in the other’s midsection, but a fist smacked solidly into the side of Rather’s neck. Short arms and legs had cost Rather more than one match.
Again the blows had thrown them apart. Rather’s ears buzzed; lights flared in his eyes. He was too far from the walls. He waited…but Navy #2 was curled in a tight ball. When a wall touched him he stayed there, winded, resting.
Wayne Mickl was pointing a crossbow at Rather. “Cut it. I’ll shoot you someplace nonlethal. You too, Jonthan. Stay there. You, the tree man, let go of Doheen!”
Clave released Navy #3. Doheen was unconscious.
Panting, elated, Rather said, “Stet. But mistakes are something…somebody pays for, and that’s what…the word is for. Or am I going too fast for you?”
“Yes. Pause a minute. J—What is it now?”
The men in the doorway both looked surprised. One was a Navy crewman. He had Raym Wilby in a riblock. “Captain-Guardian, this one flew up like he was coming to the house. Then he saw the ship and turned around and flew away. The Petty and me chased him down.”
“Who are you?” Mickl demanded.
Raym only gaped. Carlot said, “It’s Raym Wilby. He guided us into the Dark.”
“Wilby, what were you flying from?”
“I…I just don’t like N-Navy.”
“Stet. Jonthan, wipe your face, then take Wilby into the storage room. Ask him about the trip. Be polite.”
Doheen blinked; his eyes opened. The man from the ship took charge of Navy #1, the man with the dislocated arm. Rather heard him yell as his shoulder popped into place. Jonthan (Navy #2) wiped blood from his mouth with a cloth, then took Raym Wilby by the elbow and towed him away. Rather noticed for the first time that Sectry had a crossbow too. It was pointed at Clave.
Mickl ignored it all. “Now, Rather, tell me about a pressure suit that looks like mine. Don’t forget the crossbow.”
Rather was still panting a little. He took a moment more than he needed. “Pressure suit? Booce told me. You’ve got three. Nine crew to use them, but you’re short of dwarves.” Which ought to be a pun, he thought; but he’d irritated Mickl enough without that.
“A fourth pressure suit invaded Headquarters fifteen days ago. You were in it.”
Rather stared. “No, I wasn’t. Fifteen days? I was in the Dark getting mud. Is that what this is about?”
“Rather, it’s your bad luck that I’m interested in dwarves. I know where every dwarf in the Admiralty is right now. There are twelve. Ten are in the Navy. One is eighteen years old. He’ll be a Petty soon. Sectry already is. The rest are Guardians. There’s a Dark diver’s boy, but his brain was thick with spores before he could grow a beard. And there’s you.”
