Nor Crystal Tears

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "It looks like rain," he whispered in amazement. "I re­member studying it briefly, long ago. During Learning Time."

  "I've seen recordings of clith myself," Wuu said in grim fascination, "but never thought to see in person. It is rain. Perfectly ordinary, everyday rain such as falls every morn­ing in Ciccikalk. Except this is frozen."

  "Frozen," Ryo echoed, not savoring the modulation of the strange term.

  Little white flakes continued to beat and smear them­selves against the module window, reminding Ryo of noth­ing so much as white blood falling from a cracked and bleeding sky. Cracked wide open like the body of an un­wary traveler such as himself, much as he might be if he were trapped outside in such a region for more than a few minutes.

  The frozen rain continued to fall. Once the immediate novelty wore off, Wuu rushed to dictate into his recorder, to record several lines that he intended to incorporate into a long narrative poem of delicious horror, to be completed and refined after their return to Willow wane.

  The climb leveled off and soon they were descending. As they did so the frozen rain thinned and blue sky showed through not the familiar pale blue of home or Ciccikalk or even Daret, but a sharp, terrifyingly brilliant blue that seemed only one step removed from the blackness of empty space.

  Oddly enough, Ryo was more afraid of such Deep Cold here, on the surface of the mother world, than he'd been while traveling from Willow wane to Hivehom. Deep Space was supposed to be deadly. But to see rain ordinary, friendly lung moistening rain falling in hard little chunks on the surface of the center of the Thranx race was far more horrifying than the cold of interstellar space ever could be.

  The scraper trees continued to grow tall but not quite as thickly as they had on the other side of the hills; under­growth was dense and dark. Clinging to branches and accu­mulating in mounds and drifts was the omnipresent white, frozen rain.

  Ryo stood back from the window. Surely, he thought, even if the rumors are true, even if there is something to the tale of alien monstrosities being held at Sed Clee, noth­ing could be more alien or frightening than this awful, sterile, white land.

  Chapter Eight

  The fourth hive in the chain of six was well behind them and they soon hummed through the fifth. Then they were alone save for a couple of passen­gers in the single small module ahead of them.

  Eventually, with the frozen rain still falling slowly from the sky, the module mercifully dipped underground again. Ryo was unreasonably thankful for the familiar warmth of confining earth. Lights soon intensified around them and they pulled into the dirtiest terminal he'd ever seen.

  Every carrier station he'd ever passed through had cen­tered on a switching circle, a nexus of repulsion rails that fanned out in different directions. Not in Sed Clee. The track simply curved up against an unloading platform be­fore arcing back the way they'd come.

  End of the rail, Ryo thought. No travel, no transport beyond this point. Nothing lay beyond Sed Clee. He helped Wuu with their bulky baggage, whose contents he fervently hoped would never have to be unpacked. They ambled out of the module into the chill but reasonably comfortable air of the station.

  The two who'd occupied the module ahead of them could be seen talking with several other citizens. Other than that the terminal was largely devoid of activity.

  As Wuu and Ryo walked past the small module ­servicing section Ryo overheard terms and words as unfa­miliar as ancient Thranx hieroglyphs. The locals displayed a slowness of movement and an irritability that bordered on the discourteous. That was probably understandable in light of the harsh life they had here. He wondered at the reason for establishing such a hive.

  "Experimental perhaps," he suggested to Wuu. "Surely a formal hive isn't required simply to aid in support of the military base."

  "I did some research prior to our departure, my boy. A small chromite mine lies nearby, and some cobalt as well. The ore bodies lie directly beneath the town, of course. Both minerals are sufficiently important to justify the es­tablishment of a small hive. Ah, there, you see?" He pointed to his left.

  So small was the terminal that the passenger and :freight lines ended in the same chamber. Ryo noted the huge hopper modules, some already loaded with ore. Machines could be heard, working behind the modules, though it was hard for Ryo to imagine operators who could function effi­ciently under such isolated and depressing conditions.

  With considerable effort and much grace they managed to wangle the location of the hive's two small hotels from a passing terminal worker. The one they selected was hardly appealing, but at least they didn't have to worry about attracting attention by choosing accommodations too luxuri­ous none such were to be had.

  The hotel was located on the sixth of the hive's twelve levels. Actually it was the eleventh level because there were five "zero" levels above the first, a phenomenon neither Wuu nor Ryo had ever encountered before. The five were of the same dimensions and were filled not with homes and work areas but with insulation, to help shield the comfort­able climate below from the heat sucking surface.

  Upon inquiring, out of morbid curiosity Ryo thought, Wuu was informed that the surface temperature was cur­rently 5° C and that even in midseason summer it rarely rose above 15°.

  To Ryo, zero degrees, the solidifying point of water, seemed cold enough to freeze the blood in his body. The idea of being somewhere where the temperature was ac­tually below that was like visiting hell itself.

  They settled in, taking the evening meal at the hotel's own small restaurant. The fare was simple, devoid of dress­ings or gravies. The meat was pungent and tough, but edi­ble. The following morning they started to explore the hive and ask questions.

  Seeing no reason to conceal it, Wuu announced himself to be the well known colonial poet, but was disgusted to learn that none of the citizens they questioned had ever heard of him. "We don't have much time for poetry or any other kind of entertainment here," one informed them. He was a middle aged male whose body looked like it had been run through the ore crusher a few times. "I'm afraid what few pleasures we have are of the less refined variety."

  Ryo had never thought of poetry as being particularly refined. It was just something any moderately aware intelligence paid homage and attention to. But the princi­pal recreation in Sed Clee appeared to consist of various forms of strenuous physical activity, surprising in light of the hard work required in the two mines.

  Several days' indirect questioning failed to elicit the loca­tion of the military complex entrance, so they decided to chance asking one of the citizens directly, rather than risk a formal information terminal.

  "The base?" The stunted, old female did not appear sus­picious of the question. "It's sixty kilometers north of town, of course."

  "Sixty north? ..." Ryo was momentarily confused. "But the transport line ends here in town at least, the one we came in on did. Is there a separate, special spur that runs from here to the base?"

  The old lady responded with a gesture of second degree negativity. "No, there's no other transport rail, youth. All traffic to the base moves on the surface, in individual vehi­cles."

  Like my dependable old A24 crawler back home, Ryo thought, but something much tougher. "Isn't there any kind of general transport?"

  "The workers and soldiers from the base come into town often enough," she told them. She didn't have to. Both Ryo and Wuu had seen military personnel, circles and stars shining from their shoulders, wandering around the hive since their arrival.

  "But they come on military transport at regular inter­vals. Very few hivefolk ever go out to the base. No one wants to."

  "Who does travel out there?" Ryo inquired.

  "A few do special work and have permits and special clearance. They use the same military transportation. I don't know why you're so anxious to go out there. You don't look like fools. But if you're determined to try, I can help you a little." She gestured past them, back down the corridor.

  "Third cube, second level
, is where the information of­fice is located. Go and speak to them. Perhaps someone at the base will be in the mood to indulge idiots. Perhaps you'll be lucky and they'll turn down your request." She cocked her head to one side. "Tell me, why do you want to subject yourselves to such a journey?"

  "I'm a poet," Wuu said, not bothering to give his name. "I'm doing a long spiral poem on the military."

  "Well, I don't think you'll raise much material out there, if you get that far," she replied. "They're an uncommuni­cative bunch. Can't say as how I blame 'em. I can't imag­ine a worse place in the civilized worlds to be stationed. I'd leave here myself if I could, but I've two unmated daugh­ters working in the mines and they're all the family I've got.

  Having always been surrounded by family and clan­mates, Ryo found her confession particularly touching. "I am sorry."

  "We all have our place," she said philosophically.

  "So all nonmilitary visitors have to be cleared through this information station?"

  "I would think so." She preened at a badly damaged left antenna where some of the feathers were missing, then glanced around and whistled softly. "If you're as deter­mined as you are crazy, however, you might have a flagon of juice in the first level public eatery and ask for an indi­vidual name of Torplublasmet."

  "Why could he help us?" Ryo asked eagerly.

  "He could if anyone could."

  Wuu made a gesture of wariness mixed with lack of comprehension. "I don't understand. Even if this person were capable of doing so, why should he?"

  The ancient one let out a delighted, wheezing whistle. "Because he's crazy too!" And she turned and waddled off down the corridor.

  "What do you think?" Ryo asked Wuu as soon as she was out of sight.

  The poet considered. "I made up that story about seek­ing material for a poem to allay any suspicions she might have had and to answer her question as to our purpose, but why should we not continue with that? My credentials can be verified. We are traveling outside official channels be­cause such interference would inhibit artistic inspiration."

  Ryo gestured hesitant concurrence. "I accept that, but will the authorities at the base?"

  "A poet's palate can accomplish miracles, my boy. And perhaps our friend Torplublasmet "

  "He's not our friend yet."

  " will have a suggestion or two."

  They ambled off uplevel and located the eatery, but two days passed before the enigmatic Torplublasmet chose to show himself. As soon as he did, Ryo found ample reason to agree with the old matriarch's assessment of him.

  Tor was a solitary trapper, one of the few Thranx coura­geous or foolhardy enough to brave the howling, arctic wilderness above ground. He wore the skins of dead animals instead of proper clothes, and it was some time before Ryo could face him without experiencing nausea.

  Wuu, on the other hand, seemed to find something kindred in this bucolic spirit, and by promising the chance to see something "no one else even suspects may exist," he succeeded in convincing the trapper to convey them to the distant base.

  A faintly voiced hope turned out to have substance when the resourceful Tor did indeed propose a reasonable excuse for their presence. They would be fellow trappers, visitors from far off trapping grounds, come to sound out the opportunities for peddling some merchandise among the iso­lated citizens of the base.

  Days of wandering on the hunter's loosp cart through frozen forest eventually brought them to a place where the last tree shrank to a stunted embarrassment and the land stretched into the windswept horizon, white and completely barren.

  It looked like a moonscape to Ryo. He'd never been any­where plants didn't flourish the year 'round. To find such a blasted landscape here, atop the mother world itself, was shocking.

  Before long they could see the familiar silhouettes of ventilators ahead, misty in the cold fog. A fence seemed to spring from the ground before them. It was three meters high and ran to east and west as far as the eye could see. No signs hung from the fence, no identification.

  Ryo forgot the cold, the dry, and the desolation as he struggled to recall the cover story that Tor had tried to drill into them during the frigid days of travel from Sed Clee.

  I am a hunter trapper, he told himself slowly: I've marched over from the western bulge of the Jezra Jerg to visit my old friend Torplublasmet. My old associate and I usually sell bur pelts and rare meats in Levqumu because it lies in warmer territory than Sed Clee.

  We have a few exceptionally fine mossmel skins with us and we might sell them at the base. Our old friend Tor is escorting us over so we can check out the prospects our­selves, as is only right and proper.

  Such was the tale that Tor strove to impress on the hapless guard who emerged with great reluctance from the angular entryway. Moist, warm air roared from the open­ing like the breath of a gleast. After more than a quarter month of dry cold, Ryo nearly swooned when the blast reached him. He was careful, however, to control his reac­tions lest the guard notice something not in character for a back country trapper.

  After some polite exchanges and minor formalities be­tween Tor and the guard, they were waved inward. "Enough talk of this miserable weather, friends," the guard said disgustedly as they strolled in. "Come inside and mois­ten your spicules."

  As they entered, the door closed quickly behind them, the three triangular sections meeting tightly in the center. The whisper of the outside vanished.

  Following Tor's example, Ryo kept his furs on but un­strapped the belly latches and shoved the hollowed out skull and clith goggles back off his head. He wiggled his newly erect antennae gratefully, glad to faz and smell once again.

  The hunter led them down a winding ramp. Before long they exited into a modest, busy avenue. Not far above them lay the frozen, clith coated wastes of Hivehom's hostile arc­tic. For the moment, though, it was as if they were back in Daret.

  Military personnel scurried everywhere, emerald and crimson, insignia sparkling from shoulders and foreheads. Only rarely did they espy, a civil worker. The three oddly garbed strangers drew only occasional stares, testament to Tor's frequent visits.

  Their guide knew precisely where they were headed. From time to time he stopped to chat briefly with pas­sersby he knew. Soon they stopped for a drink at a conces­sion. From his observation of the crowd and the size of the corridors they'd already traversed, Ryo guessed that the base was much larger than Sed Clee itself.

  Later they strolled down a corridor that paralleled an immense artificial cavern filled with hybrid aircraft and military shuttles. The latter, part of the planetary defense network, were narrow, round winged craft armed with mis­siles and energy weapons. To Ryo's amateur eye they looked almost new, and, indeed, none had been flown on anything more strenuous than training flights.

  Having lived through an off world attack, Ryo felt a, surge of confidence at the sight of the deadly craft, hiber­nating peacefully beneath the clith but ready to leap space­ward in defense of the mother world. Everything required to mount such a defense was here, safely underground, ex­cept for the ventilators and the forest of electronic recep­tors that doubtless lay camouflaged somewhere above.

  If only we'd had two or three of these warcraft when the AAnn attacked, he thought. Those broken plated invaders would have received a lot more than a simple diplomatic reprimand!

  Dwelling on the past was useless, he reminded himself. There was nothing constructive in retained bitterness. He forced the incident from his thoughts, concentrated on ad­miring the ranks of gleaming ships. Then they'd passed be­yond the hangar and were once more making their way through the warren.

  They'd been walking for some time and Ryo's feet were beginning to hurt around the single footpad and trimmed claw, for his feet were still swathed in the fur shoes Tor insisted they wear to complete their hunter's garb. He moved next to Tor. "I know we must be headed some­where but where? If this is a tour, I've seen enough."

  "It's no tour. Our roundabout course is intentio
nal. So is our walking instead of taking an internal module. Walking can't be traced.

  "There are only two sections of this place I've never been into. Three, actually, but one of them is the battle command center and we're not likely to find our answers there. No one's ever told me what goes on inside the other two and I never bothered to go there and inquire for my­self. That's what we're going to try today. Surely the best place to hide something that doesn't exist is in a section where no one's allowed to go.”

  "You say no one's told you what takes place in these two sections," Ryo said. "Does that mean that you've asked?"

  "Of course. Even on this visit and I mentioned the pos­sibility of alien monsters this time. Either my friends are not as friendly as I thought, or their ignorance is genuine. Not one of them professes to know anything about what goes on in the two maximum security areas. Even officers at the level of Burrow Marshal aren't allowed inside with­out special permission.

  "As to the possibility they harbor captured aliens, the thought was met with derision and laughter."

  "Then how are we going to learn anything?" Ryo mut­tered concernedly.

  "Let us find the sections first, my impatient friend," the hunter advised him, "and proceed from there."

  Gradually foot traffic thinned around them and they came to a turn where the corridor was blocked. No side branches here, only the single dead end.

  It was very impressive, in its understated fashion. Bold and effervescent as ever, Tor sauntered unhesitatingly up to the low barrier that blocked the tunnel. A gate was cut into the left side, near the tunnel wall. A single officer was seated behind the barrier. Two emerald stars shone on her shoulder.

  There were also two guards, one before the gate, the other behind. They were not resting in saddles but stood stiffly at the ready. To Ryo's amazement, each was armed with a large lethal looking energy rifle held in firing posi­tion, tight in both foothands with a truhand on the trigger stud.