Aubry slammed his hand against the gate. "Damn! What is this? Are they worried you might contaminate them, or what?''
All of the life and joy suddenly drained out of her face. Promise folded, sitting heavily in the middle of the road. "I knew that it hurt her, but I . . ."
She looked up at him. "I'm not sure anymore, Aubry. If they declared me dead ..."
"Just for leaving? I don't get it. Most parents are glad when their brats leave."
"Be quiet. Please. Just let me think."
"Think, my butt." Aubry pulled his toolbox from the rack of the car and extracted a thick-handled, scissorlike device. The chain sealing the gate was half-inch tempered steel, but no match for the jaws of the Scavenger bolt cutters.
"You can't do that," Promise said miserably, but there was no real warning in her voice, only a meld of fear and hope.
"It's harder to say 'no' when you're staring in someone's eyes."
Promise stretched out a hand, and Aubry pulled her lightly from the ground. "That may not be the best idea you've ever had."
Aubry swung the gate open and back, and scanned the road. "No alarm, nothing. Let's go."
They climbed back into the hovercar. Aubry gave Promise one hard glance, then lifted the car from the ground and continued on.
The road beyond the gate was narrower, hemmed in on all sides by the magnificent rise of trees and vines, the riot of color. The young sun played peek-a-boo behind them, and Aubry tensed.
The road made a lazy L-turn ahead. As Aubry cleared it, he saw a red, rubber-tired truck slewed sideways across the road. His tensed muscles barely responded in time. To either side was a steep ditch. There was no way to go around it.
Aubry's nerve endings itched. "Ambush," he muttered. "What now?"
"Prayer might be appropriate." Promise pushed herself from the car, and out onto the road. "Hello?"
She called it hopefully, and raised her hands into the air. "Promise. Egg mother Ariane brood six. Regardless of what the computer says, I am alive. I request sanctuary."
There was a long pause, and then three women appeared from the woods to either side. Two of them carried rifles at port arms.
The third caught Aubry's attention. Her dark red hair was as short as a boy's. She carried no weapon in her hands, and yet radiated a kind of assurance that Aubry recognized instantly. Her feet moved in hypnotically fluid flat-footed shuffles.
Despite the situation, Aubry smiled.
"Let me do the talking," Promise whispered.
"You were denied entrance," the redhead said tersely. "You are now ordered to leave. This is private land."
The unarmed woman faced Promise. Aubry was startled by their similarities. Her skin was much paler than Promise's light chocolate, but they were the same height, and had a similar Eurasian cast to the eyes. The basic bone structure was almost identical, although there was more fat padding on Promise's body.
'Jenna . . . ?" Promise said uncertainly. She stared into the redhead's face, searching, recognizing. The woman's face didn't flicker.
"You will leave. You have sixty seconds, after which time we will eject you physically."
"Jenna ..." It was a whisper this time. "You're brood seven. I'm brood six. The rules couldn't have changed so much. I'm your elder sister. I need sanctuary. I am a woman of the People. I was born here, and I have returned. When I left I took nothing of value. I violated no stricture. Whatever has changed since I left, I did no wrong." Promise's voice was haggard, reminding Aubry of another, more desperate, woman he had known three years before. "Turning me away is the same as condemning me to death. Are you willing to take that responsibility? Because if you are, what is the difference between you and them?"
Jenna's eyes moved from Promise to Aubry and back again. "And this. This is yours?" - "Yes."
'Even if we extended it to you, we would owe no man sanctuary." She turned to Aubry again. "He's a big one. True. But we have enough strong backs."
Promise gripped Aubry's arm. "I love him. We love each other." Jenna's face remained impassive. Promise's voice became desperate. "He was the father of my child."
At last, a flicker of interest lit that face. "Was?"
"The child died in my womb."
"Weak seed," Jenna sniffed.
Aubry tensed, anger beginning to boil, an anger swiftly squelched by thousands of hours of disciplined practice.
Promise displayed no change of emotion. "It was the result of a bullet wound. He was fighting for my life."
For the first time, Jenna spoke directly to Aubry. "You are a fighter?"
"The best you've ever seen," Aubry said simply. For the first time, the corners of Jenna's mouth curled up in a smile. A speculative smile, he noted.
"If you are a lost daughter, what gifts do you bring?"
Promise scurried back to the hovercar, pulled two boxes from the back. "I have gifts for the Matriarch. We bring skills. I have learned the dances of the outer world, and can teach. We can offer favorable trade with the Scavengers."
"The Scavengers? What is your connection with them?"
Promise touched Aubry's shoulder. "He is Warrick."
Jenna's smile broadened. "More interesting all the time. Well, brood sister. I'm going to give you an opportunity to present your own case. You will ride in the truck. I will sit with Warrick."
Jenna raised her arm, and two more women emerged from the trees. Aubry cursed himself. He hadn't seen them, hadn't even suspected that they might be there. The forest was disorienting.
Aubry shrugged, and climbed into the passenger side.
Promise looked at him once, skittishly, then followed the other women into the red truck.
Jenna flowed into the seat next to him.
Aubry switched on the turbines, lifting it from the ground.
"Just hover? Does it float?"
"Old model," Aubry said.
"Should have known." The truck ahead of them began to move.
"Warrick," Jenna repeated. "Or Aubry Knight."
"You've heard of me?"
"The way your name has been up and down the coast? Don't kid yourself. No decent pictures, though. They didn't get the beard." She gave a tight little laugh. "You really put a bug in DeLacourte's basket. That wins you a few points right there."
The truck ahead of them began to accelerate. Jenna waited until they hit a wider part of the road, and then said, "Go ahead and pass them." Aubry wove expertly, pacing and then passing.
"They say you're very dangerous, Knight—armed or unarmed. What form did you study?"
"Nullboxing. Streetfighting."
"Nonclassical, then."
Aubry watched her from the corner of his eye. There was strength in her. Her body fat content was low: her breasts were small, the muscles of her neck wiry. Her ringers lay quietly in her lap. They were long and square-tipped, and had weapon-nature. There was no callus on the palms or abrasion of the knuckles. No thickened skin along the side of the hands. A slight bruise above her eyebrow. She sat erect but relaxed in her seat, as if upended by a string from above.
"Aikido?" he asked. "At least three-dan. And you studied some form of boxing. Pa-kua?"
"Hsing-i," she said happily. "You're good. Fourth-dan Aikido. Mistress of Durga."
"Durga?" He searched his memory, and could find nothing that matched the word, not a flicker of an image.
I've never heard of it."
"Don't worry. You wouldn't have. If you're allowed to stay, though ..."
"I'd like that," he said, curiosity piqued.
"I'm here with you for a reason," she said finally. "I don't know why Promise ran away. I don't know why she returned. I don't know why the Matriarch declared her dead. My duty is to protect the Sisterhood, and I'm stretching my authority to bring you in."
"I could say 'thank you,' but I get the feeling that's not what you're looking for."
"You can screw it up for the both of you," Jenna said bluntly. "Make a right here." She pointed her thumb down
a small road.
Aubry made the turn sharply, pleased with the way the vintage car handled the unpaved road. "Screw things up. All right. How?"
Jenna's eyes flashed, and for a moment she was nothing like the slight, pleasant woman who sat on the seat an instant before. "You're not welcome here. Don't forget that. Now. Ever. If you are allowed to stay, it will be purely for Promise's sake. If she is allowed to stay it will be purely an act of charity."
"What did she do that was so bad? She just wanted to peek around outside. What's everyone so scared of?"
Jenna was quiet as they bumped along. Now they began to pass more people, all of them women. They were
"How good is it?"
"You can't take me. I guarantee it."
Aubry hunched over the wheel, grinning. "I can hardly wait."
As they came closer to the center of the camp, there were more dwellings. They were wooden, and looked sturdy, lovingly crafted, and handmade. It suddenly hit Aubry that he had seen no machines.
"It's a chance to start over," Jenna explained simply. "Like I said, a lot of these women had been brutalized by the outside world. They had accepted the roles given them by men, and only rejected it when it became threatening to their lives or spirits. Working with nature, living with nature, helps them get back to their original selves."
"I . . . don't know much about that."
"What do you know about, Aubry Knight?"
Some of the women stopped their work and gazed curiously at the car as it passed. If they saw Aubry first, their faces tensed until they saw Jenna. If they saw Jenna first, their attitude toward Aubry was very nearly one of contempt.
The women filled a Ml spectrum of physical types, except that none seemed cosmetically beautiful. There were strong, healthy bodies and good strong features. Bronzed limbs glistened in the morning light as they hefted and carried. Voices lifted in song and laughter as women helped each other, pausing in their labors for a moment to watch the car cruise past.
Once again, Aubry was the outsider, unneeded and unwanted here.
There, for a moment, he saw a man's face. A man and a woman struggled together to lift a piece of furniture. It looked handmade, and newly painted or stained. The man was stripped to the waist, sweating, his belly protruding over his belt by inches. His heavy dark beard was smeared with dust. The woman on the other end of the couch was also heavy, but moved more lightly and freely. She was easily stronger than the man.
They pulled into an oval arrangement of buildings. This appeared to be the center of the camp. Here there were more vehicles parked and more citizens in evidence.
"First left," Jenna said, directing him to turn between two large buildings, one of which was still half-bare wooden arches.
The dormitories didn't intrude, didn't impose themselves on their surroundings. They fit in, the trees and the flower beds an organic part of the entire rather than something stuck in like cloves in a ham.
It was pleasing, soothing, and Aubry felt his relaxation deepen. No. Wait . . . this was no time to relax. He was not among friends. To relax now could well be fatal.
Jenna pointed, and Aubry brought the hovercar in to a landing in front of a very plain, rectangular wooden building. There were places for cars here, though, and charging posts. He nosed the vehicle up to the post, and engaged it, happy to see the LCD flicker as the charge began to run.
If they had to leave, at least they would be able to go on a full charge. That meant something.
The windows of the building were stained-glass madonnas, the same basic theme reproduced in a dozen races and cultural milieus.
A group of laughing, joyously dusty children darted by, playing some swarming variation of tag. One of them, a freckled blond about six years old, stuck out his (her? It was difficult to tell. There was no obvious gender identification.) tongue at Jenna, and then dashed away giggling.
Aubry stepped out of the car, waiting as the truck pulled up sideways. Promise exited stiffly.
Jenna placed her hand on Promise's shoulder, and for a moment the two women formed mirror-images of each other.
Jenna was the wirier of the two, built almost like a bodybuilder. She probably outweighed Promise by twenty pounds.
One obvious conclusion was that Promise and Jenna shared the same basic bone structure. The difference: Promise had built her body for appearance. Jenna, for function.
Function.
That was one of the things had had niggled at him since first entering the camp. Very little of what he saw seemed to be there for raw appearance. There was no makeup worn by any of the women, their clothing was strictly functional.
In a way it was surprising, but then again in that aspect they resembled Scavengers. Although he was used to the Scavenger women, some small part of him, rather petulantly perhaps, wished that these women could have been a bit more, well, decorative.
He gave a mental shrug and embraced Promise.
She seemed dazed, disoriented.
"It hasn't changed," she said quietly. "New buildings on the perimeter. And three new camps to the north. But aside from that, I feel like a decade just dissolved."
Aubry felt the first bare bones of adjustment. Survival in the city meant growing solid, dense, armor-plated. But in order to thrive here he would have to expand, to encompass and interact with the natural forces around him.
At the moment, Promise seemed to be having more problem than he was. Her shoulders were hunched, her fingers knitted together tightly.
An overalled work party passed them, heartily singing a song whose lyrics he couldn't quite catch, although there was something in one of the verses about "... they'll find a rapist slaughtered in the morning ..."
He heard them before they saw him, and when they did they quieted. One of them spat into the dust near his feet, and another turned away, eyes suddenly frozen with fear.
Jenna called to them, and they stopped. She walked over, and whispered a few words, her arms wrapped around their shoulders. They all laughed together, and the work party continued on its way.
"What did you say to them?" Aubry asked curiously.
"Oh, I just said that if you got out of line you'd be singing contralto. Nothing much."
"Nice lady."
"I get the job done. Two of those women were rape victims. One of them was mute with psychotic shock when she came here." Her eyes were suddenly very hard, and Aubry felt blistered by the intensity. "It's a hell of a world you made out there, mister."
"Me? I didn't make it."
"You're a part of it. You're a part of the process. If you're not part of the answer, you're part of the problem.
And for too many women here, the only answer is being totally away from anyone like you."
Promise huddled closer to him, and they entered the low-ceilinged administration building.
The halls were decorated with paintings, most of them simple, delicately executed nature studies. Several were pictures of animals protecting or nursing their children. The tones tended to be earth tones, golds and browns and greens.
There were smaller offices along the hallway, each with a small clutch of women working, filing, operating a few computer stations. In a play area at a corner of the office, several small children wrestled, built a cathedral from magnetic blocks, or read.
The level of technology was very low. He noticed solar cell flags out the windows, and reckoned that little of the camp's power came in from the outside.
A door at the end of the hallway opened as they reached it, and a woman in a neat, dark suit greeted them. Her eyes flickered over Aubry quickly. As they did, her expression resembled that of a woman discovering a dead cat beneath her floorboards. She moved on to Promise.
The woman was apparently in her early forties, with an unlined and unpainted, somewhat severe face. "You are Promise?"
Promise nodded shyly.
"I am Dasha. We'll need to get your fingerprints. You've been declared dead for almost ten years."
&nbs
p; Promise nodded. Her fingers were inked, and transferred to clear plastic slides.
Aubry felt like he'd stepped into a time machine. Everything was so unbelievably primitive!
Dasha compared Promise's prints to those in a card file, hawing over the results.
"Can I . . . may I see my mother?"
"No," Dasha said bluntly. "She has already said that she does not wish to see you, or speak to you. Your prints match."
She glared at Aubry again, and her shoulders tightened.
"You and ... he may stay for two meals, and may spend the night in one of the peripheral barracks. We will help you make contacts if you need them. You must leave in the morning."
"I . . . why?" Her voice was a painful whisper. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Dasha's eyes were cold. "You know why. You broke your mother's heart when you left. No word. No communication. You were to take the role Jenna now holds."
"I'm not a warrior," she said meekly.
"You are your mother's child, you were trained in our mysteries, and you abandoned them," Dasha said coldly. "And you ran away with that man."
"Jamie," she said numbly. "I was in love. I had to run. 1 would never have gotten council approval."
"And for good reason," Dasha said haughtily. "Tell me—how did it work out? I assume that this Jamie was different from the others. Tell me how wonderful everything was."
Promise lowered her head. "I was eighteen. I was in love. I did something foolish. I'm back, and I want to present my mate to the council."
"No," Dasha said. "You may eat, and use our research facilities, and you may leave in the morning. And that is all." She rustled the release form, and held it out. "Now. If you will sign here ..."
Choking back her tears, Promise did. Jenna stood, not watching, hands clasped behind her back.
Out of the corner of her eye Dasha caught Aubry's glance, and she smiled with mock kindness. "On the other hand, if you would care to renounce this . . . man, perhaps your suit would be considered more favorably."
Promise broke the tip of the pen, tearing the paper. She pushed the paper back across the desk.
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