“That could be a long time,” objected, Frey, “and to survive the winter, we must be settled—”
“So,” said Krinata, “we must convince the Squadron we’re not among the hives, then go hide among the hives without getting near any of them.” They could do it with a triad, if only she’d whipped Desdinda, but she’d made no progress. “Can the duad lay a false trail for the Imperials?”
“We could do that,” offered Storm excitedly. “Lay a cold trail so they’d think we passed this way days ago, heading due south?”
“But it’d tell them we’re alive,” warned Terab.
“They’ll search this plain,” said Gibson, hunched over.
“We can’t settle with them looking for us,” warned Terab. “We must destroy them or send them home appeased. We can’t destroy them. So it’s got to be trickery.”
Krinata spoke, tapping the map. “Suppose we cut due east from here, follow the foot of these hills, skirting the inhabited region, then, if necessary, we can cut through hive territory way beyond where the Imperials turn back.” With one finger she described a lazy, swaybacked Z on the map. “Then we can come back to our course, southeast. Meanwhile Storm can backtrack up this valley and lay a cold trail leading north. Look,” she pled with them, “inevitably their scouts will find trace of us. Letting them think we went the other way will gain us days.”
Frey agreed but added, “It would be very slow going. The forest is thickest along this edge of the plain, and Jindigar spotted some interesting predators—”
“Yes,” said Jindigar, “changing weather patterns have shifted habitats. We’d have to move with extreme care.”
Ruff nudged Storm, and the Lehiroh conferred. Then Storm announced, “We support Krinata’s plan.”
“Now wait a minute,” said Gibson, and that started a debate. Jindigar and Frey left, as always uninterested in ephemeral politics. Krinata, impatient with the wrangling she knew would consume most of the night, followed the Dushau out into the rain.
They were pointing their lights at the lashings holding the sleds under a webbing of tarps, to form dry sleeping areas. She watched as they adjusted lines. Jindigar had been more at ease since the waterfall, though Frey had seemed withdrawn. Now, as he worked, Frey spoke in Dushauni, which Krinata had learned on sleep tapes. “I don’t see what they’re arguing about. Krinata’s plan is what we’d suggest.”
“They’ll adopt it by morning,” assured Jindigar. “But
Gibson believes himself the leader and so must convince himself it’s his plan, not an aristocrat’s decree.”
Frey shook his head, puzzled. “You’ve spent so much time studying ephemerals. You really understand them?”
“No. They’re more complex than Dushau because you can’t tell the children from the adults. I once met one who seemed near Completion.”
Frey seemed amazed but asked, “What got you interested in them? Surely you knew the dangers before you—”
“Before I met Ontarrah? No, I didn’t know they could be true friends. When I was Protector of Takora’s Oliat, I felt as you do. But after I’d Inverted Takora’s and found how people thought of me for it, I became Raichmat’s Outreach, so I had to deal with ephemerals again. They didn’t know or care what an Invert was. Then I met Ontarrah.” He tightened a line, grunting, “If people can be wrong about Inverts, maybe they’re wrong about ephemerals too?”
“I don’t see how. They don’t live long enough to become friends. When they die, they just leave you a scar to impede farfetching. They may be good people but not worth that.”
“Dushau die too. ‘To dam love behind a barrier of fear is to prevent Completion,’ or so Shoshunri used to say.”
“Love?” Frey looked at his mentor.
Jindigar leaned on a sled’s cargo. “Would it shock you if I said I loved Ontarrah?”
“Yes. I’d always thought they maligned you with that.”
“Well, I did. But I learned from it. I’ll never let that happen again, any more than I’d ever again snatch an Oliat from its Center and Invert it. Neither act Completes.”
“Then Krinata doesn’t really mean anything to—”
“You said she came up with the best plan. Are you going to throw it away because she’s bound to die soon?”
“No, but it’s nothing personal.”
“Exactly.”
Satisfied, Frey ducked into the dry area, and for a moment, as the flap opened, firelight danced over Jindigar’s features. He stared after his prot6g6, his jaunty confidence fading swiftly. Frey was right, he’s fighting a losing battle against liking me, and it terrifies him.
Long after Jindigar went inside, Krinata stood in the rain, huddled in her cloak, emotions crystallizing with understanding. She should never have followed him to the waterfall. He needed those private moments. Her job was to uproot Desdinda and free Jindigar to go his own way. As she cast herself emotionally into that future, to test it, she found a renewed joy and satisfaction. She remembered the time, as a child, when she’d found a wild bird with a broken wing. She’d mended it, and she’d loved that bird so much, she cried when it was time to loose it. But later, the keen joy of its elation in freedom had been enough.
Later, her mind replayed the overheard conversation, leaving her chasing elusive fragments of memory. Ontarrah. Jindigar had often called her that in delirium as if she were Ontarrah. Takora—another name he’d mumbled.
Sometime toward dawn she twisted and turned and fought her way free of nightmare, hands clamped over her mouth to stifle sobs as she realized she was fighting Jindigar, and she wanted to kill him. The feeling evaporated as she caught her breath, but it left behind one phrase: ‘Takora’s Oliat.”
In the morning she found that the night’s debate had yielded the decision to go with her plan, as Jindigar had predicted.
While everyone worked to free the sleds, Storm and Ruff hiked back to plant the false trail. They caught up with the group again while Frey and the two other Lehiroh eradicated every trace of their passage. Jindigar had them walk on leaves in one direction, then turn into a game trail leading east along the trough where the hill joined the forest.
The next day the trail narrowed, and they strung out single file, Frey or Jindigar always off scouting with two of the Lehiroh, leaving three sleds to be tied onto the back of other sleds. It was dangerous, but they had to keep moving.
Krinata had suffered another bad night, this time with nightmares of helplessness. As they settled for their second stop of the afternoon, she saw Jindigar, Storm, and Ruff about to leave the group, saying they’d be back before the rest break was over. On impulse she walked up to them, saying, “I’d like to go with you.” Maybe if I drive myself hard enough, I’ll get some real sleep tonight.
Frey objected, but Jindigar said, “She could carry the tripod, leaving Storm and Ruff both hands for the stunners.”
“Tripod?” asked Krinata.
Storm produced a backpack. “To the snooper. Handheld, it’ll only tell us if there’s energized equipment out there. But on the tripod it can read location too.” He held up a hand to Jindigar. “And don’t say it! I know the Oliat could do it even better without instruments.”
Ruff had the snooper pack on his back, and Storm carried energy cells for the stunners. Jindigar carried the medical supplies. She hefted the tripod. “This is nothing after hauling mat double sled.” And she slid into the harness, letting Storm adjust the shoulder straps.
As they were about to leave, Gibson came up, looked them over, and asked, “Mind if I come along?”
“This may be dangerous,” said Jindigar. “We’ve had indications of Squadron activity—”
“So it’s my job to take a look.” Gibson took a stunner.
They followed a game trail through dense undergrowth, using all they’d learned of woodcraft, though it still seemed she and Gibson made all the noise.
Finally Jindigar signaled a halt at the bottom of a rise.
“You can se
t the snooper up there,” he whispered, pointing to the bald top of the hillock. “I expect you’ll get a strong reading—but all residual.”
Krinata whispered back, “What’s out there? Troopers?”
“A hive, maybe. But—I don’t like this—” He stared off to the left of the hillock, shook himself, and got Krinata out of her backpack to help the Lehiroh rig the snooper.
Feeling useless as they all climbed the hill, Krinata let her attention wander. Off to one side she saw a smaller game trail that seemed to lead around the hill—perhaps to a view of the plain beyond. Bent over double, she followed the trail. Vicious thorns pulled at her tough clothes, but after a bit she won through to clearer going. Just as she heard Gibson notice she was gone, she came to a wall of vertical stalks.
Parting the stalks, she saw a grassland crossed by a stream that had cut itself a ditch. The ditch was choked with young trees. Not far beyond the trees a column of greasy smoke rose straight into the air.
Twisting to look behind her, she caught a flash of indigo against the rust-and-green forest. She peered out at the plain, looking for the dangers she’d learned about. It seemed peaceful enough, except for the smoke. If I let Jindigar talk me out of this, I’ll feel helpless all day as well as all night!
As Jindigar, followed by Storm, Ruff, and Gibson, arrived, she wormed through the stalks and headed for the source of the smoke. The others emerged cautiously, Jindigar kneeling to sift pebbles through his hand. Then they came after her. Jindigar caught her by the elbow as she was looking for a place to ford the stream. “It’s a hive—destroyed by energy weapons.” Intense anguish in his eyes, he warned, ‘It’s ugly, Krinata—”
“I’ve got to see. We might learn something.” Needing to defy his attempt to make decisions for her, she plunged into the gully, waded across, and scrambled up the other side. “Come on!” She pushed through the young trees and, intent only on confronting her fears, saw the hive.
It was smoking rubble, reeking of burning meat. The dome-shaped fieldstone building had been flattened as if by a blow from a giant fist. Smaller stones scattered in a splash pattern across the meadow to her feet. Some of those stones were covered with charred blood. In places the organic mortar had burned. Jindigar arrived and, hand trembling, picked up one of the bloodiest stones and stared at the ruin. Behind them, Gibson gagged, and the Lehiroh spat.
The tunnel entrance was still standing, bodies splashed about it as if they’d been trying to escape—or sally forth to attack. Few of the bodies were intact, and so it was difficult to sort them into species, but by the time Jindigar moved, Krinata had identified three main types. The smallest seemed exoskeletal like me Cassrians. Larger ones were mammalian and furred like the Holot but four-limbed. The tallest and slenderest were very humanoid but white-skinned with dark saucer eyes and tall ears on top of a bald skull.
There were many armored Imperial troopers sprawled about, their armor showing gray or charred where their force-film combat protection had failed. Some had died locked in combat with the furred defenders who wielded only wooden spears and bone or flint knives and hatchets. Had the Imperials set an explosion that killed their own men?
Jindigar rose and croaked hoarsely, “There’s someone still alive”
Storm unlimbered his stunner, knees bent, eyes roving.
Krinata scanned the armored bodies, counting four species of soldier. Which type would they have to care for? “Where?” she asked. Jindigar led them into the tunnel, careful not to step on any of the body parts.
Taking a good hold on her stomach, Krinata followed. Beyond the end of the armored bodies they came to a white form propped against the side of the tunnel, red blood trickling in a branched tree shape across his—definitely his– skull. His chest rose and fell, and another wound in his side bled. He wore only a few ornamented leather straps around his body, with loops perhaps for tools.
Jindigar slid out of his pack and knelt before the native. As he pulled out water and cleansers he said, “I don’t think he can hurt us, but be careful.”
The native started, murmured, and his dark eyes widened. He shrank back against the wall, trembling weakly. Jindigar put his hands on the native’s face and stroked downward. He did it again, then raised the native’s hands to his own face. The whimpering lessened.
He permitted Jindigar to wash and bandage his wounds. Then Jindigar said, “This happened early this morning. His internal bleeding has almost stopped. We may be able to save him, but only if we take him with us.”
“He’ll die of fright,” predicted Gibson sourly.
“He’ll starve here,” countered Krinata. “Imagine what this last day must have been like for him! If we weren’t on this planet—this never would have happened to him!”
Jindigar nodded. “The troopers panicked under the hive’s defenses. I’m amazed they held together long enough to do this much damage. They must have been drugged.”
“Which means,” said Gibson, “this has happened before. We’ve got to move fast—the Squadron will be back for its dead any minute now.” He hefted the stunner and went toward the entry. “Come on, we’ve got to tell the others.”
Krinata; said, “Jindigar, we can’t just leave him! I won’t allow it!”
He studied her. “Did you think I intended to?”
Resignedly Ruff announced, “I’ll rig a litter.” As he passed Gibson, Krinata heard him mutter, “There’s no arguing about it.” For once, Gibson seemed to take their advice. He followed Ruff, slinging his gun to give the Lehiroh a hand.
Storm asked, “Jindigar, what can we do with him?”
“When he’s recovered, he’ll take off into the woods. I
just hope he can find a home. I really don’t understand the
hives well, you know. It might be kindest to kill him.”
Storm nodded. “I know, ‘If we had an Oliat—’”+
“I don’t say it that often, do I?” asked Jindigar.*
“No,” answered Krinata, “but it’s in your eyes.” She watched the two of them prepare the native to be transported, Jindigar calming the terrified primitive with soothing noises, delicate touches, unjudgmental compassion.
When Ruff brought his litter, rigged from the bamboolike stalks with lashings of supple vine, Krinata and Jindigar carried it. The native was lighter than he looked, but though her shoulders were now strong enough for such burdens,, her feet felt painfully squashed, and her hips complained. At thirty-three she was rather old to adjust to one-third more gravity than her home world.
Outside, Gibson had taken a position behind a pile of bodies, scanning the sky to the west. As they emerged, Storm and Ruff with stunners at ready, he rose, beckoning them to hurry. They were no sooner out of the tunnel, however, when Jindigar turned, staring into the sky. Then Krinata heard it—a flyer, coming fast. She was set to run for it, but it was too late. The machine screamed to a hover overhead, the armored shield that protected the pilots drawn back, showing a Lehiroh head and the snout of a blaster. The bay door was also open, a row of armored troopers poised to leap, weapons already blazing.
Jindigar cried, “Down!” and, lowering the stretcher, he threw himself on top of the native, motioning Krinata to do likewise. As she hesitated Gibson went down with a strangled cry, his stunner discharging into the air.
Storm and Ruff loosed stunbolts at the pilots. The stunbolts traced rivers of bright blue through the air with the high-pitched, sizzling crackle of full power. The pair of Outriders fired again, despite Jindigar’s sudden shout: “No!”
Krinata wasn’t sure what happened next, it was so fast. But later Jindigar explained. The pilot had her hands on the landing controls. When the double beam hit her, her full weight came down on it, and the machine went into a power dive—barely three body lengths from the ground.
It hit and exploded in bright, leaping hot flames that seared Krinata’s skin. “Run!” yelled Storm. And he took one side of the litter from Krinata as Ruff hefted Gibson over one shoul
der. With Storm yelling “Left! Right!” to keep in step with Jindigar, they plunged across the meadow toward the brook. When the second explosion hit, they were all prone in the water at the bottom of the ditch.
Debris rained down, young trees whipping and splintering above them. Jindigar threw his body over the native’s and was pinned by a crashing branch. When Krinata’s hear-big cleared, the native was whimpering pathetically, eyes squeezed shut, arms and legs wrapped around Jindigar.
Mercifully he soon lost consciousness. When they pried the branch off Jindigar, he was able to stand. But Gibson was dead, chest burned away by the blaster. With only a brief but heartfelt groan of regret, Jindigar turned from the dead human to the living native. “He has central nervous and circulatory systems. Shock could kill him.” They hadn’t brought blankets. Picking up their packs, they doubled the pace on the way back, Jindigar and Krinata carrying the litter, the Lehiroh taking turns with Gibson’s body.
Exhausted, mud-caked clothes chafing everywhere, they threw themselves into the arms of the party Frey brought to meet them. Krinata blessed the duad that allowed Frey to apprehend what had happened and accepted cool water and cold meat while Irnils and the other two Lehiroh hoisted the native to the top of one of the sleds.
“They all died,” reported Jindigar to the gathering. “But the Squadron will send another unit after them, so we’ve got to make good time now. We did learn something. Those troopers were drugged to offset the effects of the hive’s mental broadcast. They were extremely fatigued, reaction times down. And it’s taken an unconscionable time to get their hospital corps out here. That implies they’ve taken heavy casualties—and—that flyer’s fail-safes didn’t work. They are beyond the ends of their supply lines here—no replacement parts. Soon equipment failures and personnel shortages will defeat them if the hives don’t.”
“Precious little to learn at cost of a man’s life,” said Viradel bitterly.
“Yes,” replied Jindigar. “But if he hadn’t drawn then-fire, we might all be dead. He was a hero.”
That wasn’t the way Krinata had seen it, but it was the right thing to say—and it might have been so.
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