Farfetch tdt-2

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  ‘Terab,” said Gibson, shoulders hunched more than usual. “Aristocrats ruined the Allegiancy—” He looked at Krinata, who was almost as highborn as Jindigar, spat, and left.

  They fell in for the afternoon haul, and she returned to ruminating on her feelings for Jindigar. He’d won her respect as he had Terab’s. She’d never seen him do a mean or dishonest deed. But she didn’t understand his motives, so every once in a while, he failed to do what she expected of him. That hardly seemed cause for a repressed hatred.

  Jindigar, knowing they were all getting into condition, lengthened the time between breaks, so Krinata had no more energy for her thoughts until they emerged from an open wood into magenta sunlight at the lip of a valley.

  Erect dead trees, truncated limbs jutting in every direction, filled the valley, surrounded by glittering black-and-gray soil. But it was not a bleak sight, for from every limb hung bright translucent globes of rainbow hues.

  Flying creatures with handsome wings covered with transparent shell-like flakes the same colors as the suspended hives flocked around their homes. Wings folded, they resembled beetles—flat, multilegged. Alone or in swarms, they darted info the woods that bordered the valley.

  Jindigar called a break, climbing up to bring the two younger children down, twittering to them as he pointed at the valley. It elicited the first response since their mother had died. As the Lehiroh spread a canopy over the circled sleds, Jindigar warned everyone to stay under cover, explaining, “Those creatures made a forest like this into that. Then– body waste kills trees and animals. If we do nothing to anger them when they fly over us, they may provide us our dinner.” When he’d translated for the children, they both climbed into his lap and fell asleep with their heads on his shoulders. Shorwh embraced Jindigar around the neck. “Now they know they’re not alone and don’t have to die too.”

  Squirming selfconsciously, Jindigar returned Shorwh’s hug. Krinata watched, remembering how in moments of extreme distress Jindigar would turn to the young. Dushau cared for the young only during Renewal, the period of a century every thousand years when they took a mate and regained youth. Jindigar had insisted it would be another fifty years until he entered Renewal, but he admitted that he could allow it to happen anytime. He’d passed up an offer of a mating to bring them here, for in Renewal, the Oliat functions could not be practiced. Who could hate such a person?

  Krinata’s thoughts were interrupted as a flock of the colorful flyers crackled and rustled overhead, raining deadly excrement on their tarp. Moments later Jindigar said, “Come on, Frey, let’s see if we can collect some dinner.”

  By the time they’d re-formed their caravan, Frey and Jindigar had returned from the forest with several dead animals strung on a stout branch. She shuddered and wondered if she could eat from the animals killed by bird excrement, a thought that never occurred to the Dushau, for they were evolved scavengers. But, roasted, the birds were quite good.

  Krinata went to bed dwelling on the Loop, searching for its root inside her mind. She slept badly, waking with nothing to show for her effort but a fuzzy headache.

  The next day, the Dushau and Storm went foraging and returned with a basketful of eggs. “We found a hive destroyed by an onnoolloo,” explained Jindigar happily. “These eggs would’ve rotted before they could hatch.”

  Terab, the Holot female who’d been a space captain and shopkeeper but never a colonist asked, “Where did you get the fine basketwork? I could make a profit on those!”

  “Made them,” answered Storm. “Jindigar found the reeds in the top of a tree.” That discovery alone, reflected Krinata, might save the group from extinction. Civilization couldn’t be constructed without cheap, light containers. The next morning. Jindigar admonished them, “Your canteens hold the last of our water. We haven’t made such good time as

  I’d anticipated, so we’ll make a dry camp tonight if we don’t push today.”

  Jindigar’s initial pace didn’t slacken until noon, when they tackled a ridge of bare rock that almost forced the Lehiroh to break out their rigging equipment again. But they made it, and at the top of the ridge, they found themselves facing a cleft in a blank wall of rock. They rested, the sleds gathered in a double line on the strip of flat ground.

  As Jindigar and the Lehiroh strode tirelessly back and forth, checking everything, Krinata snuggled into a puddle of sunlight nestled among boulders. Imp and Rita scampered headfirst down the side of her sled and licked Krinata’s hands, snuffling in her pockets for crumbs. She tilted her face to the sun, almost falling asleep right there. Sleepless or nightmare-haunted nights were wearing on her, but that could be a good sign. If she stirred up her nonconscious mind enough, perhaps it would reveal where the Loop was rooted.

  As she relaxed she noticed a roughness to the stone she was leaning against. Overcoming lethargy, she sat up to look. There, carved deep into the living rock, was a regular pattern of lines—rustlebird hives, onnoolloo, and small game they’d roasted. “Jindigar! Jindigar!”

  Jindigar came on the run, followed by the four Lehiroh and Frey. She pointed, croaking. Jindigar climbed up to examine her find as people dragged themselves from their rest to see what had happened. Jindigar touched the carving and frowned at Frey. Krinata felt the duad coalescing, their unsteady, tenuous contact making a flutter in the pit of her stomach. She held her breath against it until Jindigar nodded. “We won’t be bothered by rustlebirds and onnoolloo in the valley. But there’s quicksand downstream, and prey and predators come here for water. Their life readings will mask ours if the Squadron—”

  “Jindigar!” complained Krinata. “That—that was carved! You’re reading it!”

  “Yes.” He frowned at Frey, whose eyes were closed.

  “Who—or what—carved it?” demanded Krinata.

  “The natives,” he admitted gravely.

  A murmur went up all around. Gibson spoke for everyone. “There are laws against colonizing a planet with intelligent natives, and with good reason.”

  “Of course,” agreed Jindigar. He looked about at the weary, trail-stained band. Then, hunkering down, he gathered them around a thin patch of soil and drew with a stick.

  “When I was here with Raichmat’s Oliat, the highest evolved natives were proto-sentients at about the level of a Rashion. They were beginning to use chipped stone tools and to trade among hives. They had no agriculture and lived at the mercy of the elements, protected only by their hives.”

  He’d drawn a large domed structure, crosshatched with circles, entered by a tunnel. “They build their hives out of fieldstone mortared with a body-excrement that dissolves on exposure to onnoolloo urine. They’re very thinly scattered, so we can avoid them. Their population was receding under attack of natural enemies and a changing climate. Either they’ll rely more on intelligence or they’ll become extinct.

  “Raichmat’s predicted they’d become victims of the Allegiancy’s galactic expansion. This world has no exportables and isn’t well located for trade. The ecology will fight offworld invasion ferociously.” He looked to Krinata. “The Allegiancy would have grabbed this world for living space, destroyed the ecology, and created a world-city that depended on imports. You all know many such places.”

  They assented, and he continued, “The natives would have been either exterminated by the shifting ecology or exploited mercilessly by the local Duke.”

  Through the murmur of assent Terab asked, “An Oliat can foresee two millennia of politics?”

  “Not an Oliat,” corrected Jindigar. “A Historian. It was as clear to her as the sound of that waterfall is to us.”

  Only then did she notice the distant roar. “That must be a terrible talent, foreknowledge.”

  Jindigar nodded, contemplating his drawing. “Raichmat’s wanted to protect the natives by founding a Dushau-dominant multicolony here under the laws of our King, not the local Duke. When we presented the plan to Dushaun, it was rejected. And there the matter has rested until now, when we
need refuge.” He looked up at them. “We must, of course, avoid all contact with the natives. If we find any more of these”—he indicated the carving—“we may have to alter our course to settle where there are no natives.”

  Krinata shivered in the shadow that had crept over her while Jindigar spoke. He’d told her the same story, only he’d left out the natives. What else wasn’t he bothering to mention? And why?

  Jindigar announced, rising, “We must make camp before dark. The moon won’t rise until very late.”

  They broke up, arguing among themselves, but going about the business of starting the caravan moving. The two piols could not, however, be coaxed back onto the sled with the children. They frisked about, running ahead and dashing back to nip at heels, and then run ahead again, made eager by the smell of water. But, as thirsty as she was, all Krinata could think of as she trudged through the long, narrow gap, the sides of her sled scraping the walls, was whether she’d have come with Jindigar if she’d known of the natives.

  She’d decided before she saw how Emperor Zinzik exploited the Rashions, helpless telepathic proto-sentients. She probably would not have come with Jindigar. He’d have put her off on some planet, and later she’d have been hunted down by the Emperor’s Rashions and would have known in the moment of her death that she’d made a mistake. But was Jindigar manipulating me? Or is it that he only answers exactly the question asked? Is he like that among Dushau, or is that how he deals with ephemerals?

  She felt her old distrust of Jindigar aroused. She’d agreed with Terab’s description of Jindigar, yet how easy it was for her to look at him as a monster in disguise. Was this the rooting, place the Loop had found in her psyche? Her ruminations were interrupted when they came out into a slanting sunset light, at the head of a moraine. It took until dark to negotiate the sleds down the loose rock and shale, though the piols scampered ahead without difficulty. But then they were on a beautiful valley floor.

  To their left a high waterfall plunged into a series of three cascades, which widened into a network of ponds draining into a wide river that bisected the valley. Tall trees laden with fruits clustered around the river. The valley walls were sheer and deeply undercut, providing shelter for their sleds from orbital snoops. A herd of four-legged grazers were watering on the other side of the river.

  They shied away when people went to bathe, wash clothes, and fill canteens. By the time camp was set, fires were going, and fish the piols had caught were grilling, Krinata was too exhausted to think. They had come twice the usual distance that day, surmounting two hard climbs and a treacherous descent. Even Jindigar and Frey sat unmoving at their fire, waiting for their clothes to dry. The firelight glistened on their bare chests, highlighting their lack of vestigial breasts. They hardly talked to each other.

  Revived by the good meal, people began to stir. The discontented tone Jindigar had cut off at the carving was back, though Frey and Jindigar seemed oblivious. Prey’s eyes were closed, though he sat upright, tremors shaking him, a symptom she’d seen in Jindigar only when he was frightened. Compelled, she went to their fire, wanting to reach Frey.

  Jindigar motioned her to sit beside him but whispered, “I shouldn’t have asked Frey to read the plaque.”

  “Did he know about the natives?” He nodded, and she said, “Then it’s Desdinda. If we have to risk trying to deal with that—I might be able to now. I don’t know—”

  “No!” said Frey hoarsely. “I’ll be all right. Really.”

  “You will,” assured Jindigar, saying to Krinata, “This is no worse than normal subform expansion throes. Quietude and sleep will heal. I’ve already given him a sedative. Have you discovered the contact point of the Loop?”

  “Maybe. It seems embarrassingly trivial—ridiculous– but—” And she told him how she’d felt about the natives.

  When she stopped, he let out a breath that could have been a smothered cry of despair and put an arm around her shoulders to hug her as he often did the Cassrian children. “I didn’t mention the natives because there weren’t any in this area before. There are other hopes I’ve not mentioned because as an Oliat officer I’ve learned to speak only clear certainties to ephemerals. But, Krinata, I do believe you have every hope for a good Me here.”

  “You’re asking me to take you on faith.”

  “No. I don’t know how things will .work out. I get clues that a singleton, or duad, can’t interpret.” His arm about her shoulder felt warm, trustworthy. “But there’s cause for hope, and when I know—I’ll say.”

  At that moment the Lehiroh called Ruff, the least talkative but strongest of them, came into the firelight and squatted before Jindigar, who kept his arm unselfconsciously around Krinata. “Jindigar, it was my fault. I should never have opened my mouth—but—when they accused you of lying, it just came out.”

  Jindigar put his other hand on the Lehiroh’s shoulder and looked up at Storm, who was behind Ruff. Storm said, “About Krinata working the triad with you—the whole story from the escape from the Emperor—Desdinda—Inversion, the whole thing. Ruff broke confidence, Jindigar—but we all accept the guilt—it was unprofessional—”

  Jindigar started, “It’s all right, Ruff—”

  But Gibson and the other humans pushed into the circle, Gibson saying, “So we’re finally getting to the bottom of things.” He turned to the Holot, who were crowding up too. “Did you know Prince Jindigar and Lady Zavaronne were over here deciding—without consulting any of us peasants—what to do about the natives?” He turned on the Lehiroh. “They don’t consult you, either. Did you ever think about that? Isn’t it time we found out if we have a trained duad to rely on, or some crazy, unnatural triad?”

  For the first time Terab seemed less than friendly to Krinata. “You could have told us what the problem was. Withholding vital information—”

  At first Krinata was offended, and then she suddenly saw

  that she’d done just what she distrusted Jindigar for—not

  mentioning uncertainties to people with a lot on their minds.

  “I never saw any point—”,

  “Of course, she wouldn’t see any point in telling you!” Gibson declared sarcastically. “She and Jindigar are the natural leaders here. Why should they consult us? Aren’t you sick of this? Don’t you all think it’s time to demand an accounting? The Allegiancy is dead—we’ve got to build something new, and it’s got to start here. Are you with me?”

  There was a silence. He’d landed a telling blow. Jindigar withdrew his arm from Krinata’s shoulders and rose. Frey tried to get up, too, but Jindigar motioned him down, throwing a thermal cloak to him as he gathered up his shirt. “Go to sleep.” He led the group toward the main watch fire.

  Gibson paced Jindigar, saying, “And what about Frey? Is he sick or something?”

  “He’s recovering from injuries sustained in the crash,” said Jindigar truthfully.

  Krinata stepped out to confront Gibson. “If you must fix blame, blame me. Jindigar knew from the moment the Emperor’s ship blew up that I’d never again be able to work in triad. Since you’d never known I’d done it, you didn’t have to know I’d been invalided. But I was too stubborn to admit defeat. I invaded the duad, accidentally hurting Frey and Jindigar. I’ll make up for that, even if it costs my life!”

  “Spoken like a true aristocrat,” mocked Gibson.

  “I’m sorry,” said Krinata sincerely. Ever since Emperor Zinzik had reinstituted aristocratic privilege, she’d loathed the system that had titled her at birth. She couldn’t fight Gibson’s attitude. Shaking, she gathered her thermal cloak and went off into the darkness.

  She came to the latrine pit they’d dug at the very edge of the firelight—a hole with two branches across it to squat against. It stank of the mixed excrement of several species plus the degradant they poured over the mess. Upwind of it, she leaned against a rough boulder, trying to sort her emotions out. Behind her, voices mixed in urgent argument, shreds of Jindigar’s tones cuttin
g through the rush of the waterfall. “… was not born a Prince… father appointed King when we joined the Allegiancy… not interested in status… our situation… vote and let us know what we’ll do tomorrow…”

  All she could think about was how she’d edited the problem with the triad to avoid explaining the Desdinda Loop. Could it be shame at being*possessed? Or contempt for their intelligence? Or a desire to keep secrets from enemies? She couldn’t relate to any of those ideas.

  A bulging shadow whispered through the perimeter of the camp, disappearing into the dark. Jindigar! She’d almost lost sight of him before she knew she had to follow. She hurried around the circle of sleds to the point where he’d left, then struck out along the line he’d taken. She could barely make out the bushes, knee-high grass, and occasional tree. But as her eyes adjusted she caught flickers of movement ahead of her. Then they disappeared.

  “Jindigar!” she called. “Jindigar?”

  “Over here!” echoed a voice. “Krinata? What—?” He appeared again and she saw he’d gone into a side canyon. Seeing her, he came back to meet her, taking her hand. “Careful, lot of rocks here. What’s happened?”

  “Nothing, I just—” He was carrying something. “What’s that?”

  “Lelwatha’s whule.” He held up a long-necked, bulbous instrument gleaming even in the barely moonlit dark. Lelwatha had been zunre to Jindigar. She’d heard Jindigar play only once, while grieving over Lelwatha’s death. “I shouldn’t have come,” she said, knowing how he occasionally craved seclusion, and not wanting to invade a private moment.

  “It’s all right. They don’t want you back there, either. Come, look what I’ve found!”

  There was a trickle of waterfall at the end of the small canyon. Jindigar built a fire in a rocky space just before its catch basin. The firelight danced in the ethereal spray. “Won’t the dampness ruin the whule?”

  He laughed. “Krinata, this instrument hasn’t survived all these millennia by being sensitive to the weather!”