Farfetch tdt-2

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “How can they be having such a hard time,” asked Terab, “with all their tech backup, when we’ve been living off the land and have only been hurt by accidents?”

  Frey answered, “We know enough not to steal the last eggs of the bluesnake hive or not to sit on feathergrass because it grows over stingbug hives. We’re learning the manners of this world; they don’t believe they need manners. The world is teaching them, anyway.”

  “Very well put,” agreed Jindigar. His pride in Frey’s brilliance had grown with each day. “But it only leaves us with a moral dilemma. How much damage can we allow the Squadron to do to this” world in our name?”

  “You sayin’ we gotta surrender?” asked Viradel.

  “No,” said Jindigar, and rose to get the caravan moving.

  After the burial that night, while they were all sitting around the cook fire and Jindigar was off tending the native, Adina tried to drag Krinata into the controversy. “Compassion is all very fine, but why didn’t you stop Jindigar from picking up that native? You wouldn’t have been caught by the Imperials then!”

  Krinata retorted, “I suppose you could have just left him there?” But something about the whole thing bothered her. Even though she’d have bullied Jindigar and Gibson to take the native back with them, she seethed at Jindigar for not even thinking to consult her or anyone before deciding.

  “I don’t know what else you could have done,” Terab put in, “but I wish you’d thought of it. It’s too late now, though. Anyone want to vote to abandon the waif?” She glanced around, listening to the mumbled negatives.

  Shorwh said, “No, but he scares me.”

  “You probably scare him too,” said Irnils.

  “Actually,” said Jindigar, joining them, “Shorwh would seem more familiar to him than I do. Could I convince you to take a turn nursing him?”

  Shorwh looked at Jindigar, stunned. Then, in perfect imitation of Terab’s manner, he said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Jindigar took a bowl of stew and sat beside Krinata. Before he ate, though, he surveyed them all. Silence grew as they realized he’d heard Terab’s question about voting to abandon the native. “I want you all to realize that if you vote to abandon Chinchee, you’ll go on without me.”

  Into sudden, strained silence Krinata said, “And without me.” Storm and his co-husbands added themselves, then Shorwh, Irnils, and Terab joined in.

  Viradel bowed her head, but Krinata saw the sullen fire in her eyes. To change the subject, she asked, “Chinchee? You’ve given him a name?”

  “No. He told me his name.”

  “Might have known Jindigar would start to talk to him!” said Storm. “Jindigar can talk to a babbling brook and understand the answer!”

  They all chuckled, and that broke the tension, so when Fenwick said, “We oughta elect a new leader. Charlie would want it that way,” it didn’t seem like an attack on Jindigar.

  Immediately Shorwh piped up, “I nominate Krinata!”

  “I decline,” said Krinata quickly, but already there was a murmur of agreement among the Holot and the Lehiroh.

  “You’d make a good leader!” protested Terab.

  “So would you!” retorted Krinata. “I nominate Terab.”

  The usual furious debate erupted, and before long, Krinata noticed that the Dushau had left. When it was all over, Terab was elected and issued her first order. “Remind me every once in a while, I’m not the Captain here.”

  Later, Krinata went to volunteer to sit up with the patient and found Jindigar giving a language lesson to the children. Shorwh immediately stood up and volunteered for the same job. Jindigar accepted, asking, “Shorwh, why don’t you take the first watch, and then Krinata can relieve you?”

  “Agreed,” said Shorwh, and climbed onto the sled where Frey was with the native.

  Krinata watched him going to confront his fears, wondering what it was about Jindigar that triggered her fears. It wasn’t just how he acted without asking, it was the way his “striking” made her feel helpless. That night the nightmares were worse, and she relieved Shorwh early.

  The next morning, they were off with the sunrise. Jindigar led the group forward while Frey and the other two Lehiroh explored. Then Jindigar took off with Storm and Ruff while Frey led. During the rests Krinata tended their patient together with whichever Dushau was present. They had a time getting him down to let him eliminate—he wouldn’t use a bedpan—and then he fainted and had to be raised by the two Lehiroh and Frey using the litter and a rope.

  The next day, the piols befriended the native, bringing him small fish from a nearby brook. At that, the two young Cassrians overcame their fear of Chinchee to ride with him, for he was awake more now, though still weak. He took to the Cassrians as Jindigar had predicted, seeming to understand that they were children and as frightened as he, though he had a harder time grasping that the piols were pets. Soon, however, he was sleeping amid the pile of four small bodies.

  Two more days they headed east along the ridge, spotting no energy usage. They almost believed themselves clear of the Imperial penetration zone when Jindigar returned from one foray with the news. “The Squadron is on our trail.”

  Alarm rippled up and down the line, the mood alternating between panic and despair. “How sure are you?” asked Terab when they’d gathered everyone.

  “There’s a slight chance we could be mistaken,” Jindigar allowed, looking at Frey.

  “We have nothing to lose,” said Krinata. “Let’s turn southeast, across the hive territory, as planned.”

  They stirred and objected, but in the end the motion carried. Jindigar went scouting as Frey turned them along a streambed. They hiked in the dim shallows, avoiding the water creatures with stingers and poisonous bites, taking care not to disturb the hives of the creatures that were all teeth and stomach. But Krinata, depressed, wondered why they bothered to run. All the harrowing chances, miraculous escapes, and satisfying triumphs that had begun when she rescued Jindigar were about to come to nothing.

  At nightfall they broke out of the edge of the woods and made camp. Frey and Jindigar, conferring, added to their map. “We saw troopers here, here, and here,” Jindigar said, marking the paper. “We’ve got to go this way, but there’s a large hive here. We don’t think they have any nocturnal hunters, like some of the other hives, but the duad can’t be certain.” He looked around grimly. “Do we try to pass them at night? We can’t use lightsticks—but there’s a moon tonight.”

  As they discussed it Krinata saw Chinchee peering over the edge of the sled where he rode with the children. He moved more freely now. Krinata was amazed at his swift recovery, for they’d had no real medication for him. She watched his saucer eyes scan them as they argued and finally voted to press on that night.

  Jindigar set their course wide of the hive’s position, and he and Frey stayed with the caravan to pull the sleds faster. The pace picked up until Krinata’s legs ached miserably, and she was sipping from her canteen too often because her throat was dry from panting. Their lives might depend on being well clear of the hive’s ground by dawn.

  The moon set way off to their right over the grassland. The plain here was composed of long, lazy swells. The rises and the hip-high grass hid all but the top of the hive and a curl of rising smoke. She was falling into the stupor of long-haul endurance when Jindigar called, “Down!”

  Out of nowhere a low-flying skimmer screamed by over the distant hive and disappeared over the horizon. There was no place to hide. “It was a remote,” called Jindigar, “but they’ll send troops if the telemetry reported us.”

  They moved on, hoping to keep their fight clear of the hive. But they were about even with the bulbous crown of the huge structure when Chinchee scrambled down from the sled and, despite his injuries, ran to Jindigar at the lead sled.

  At first Krinata thought the native was offering to help pull the sled faster, scared out of his wits by the flyer. But then she saw him talking to Jindigar, pulling t
he harness ropes aside toward the hive. Jindigar resisted, straining for a few phrases in the new language.

  Finally he called to Terab, “He’s offering us refuge in that hive, though I don’t know on what authority. I don’t think he understands that we’ve been spotted—but he does connect the flyer with the troopers who destroyed his hive.”

  “Maybe he thinks the bigger hive is stronger!”

  “Maybe,” said Jindigar. “Well, do we go?”

  “What if the hive attacks us?” asked Viradel.

  Krinata answered, “Chinchee understands that the troopers are our enemies. Maybe he can make this hive understand that too. Terab, it’s got to be your decision.”

  Viradel craned her neck to look around her sled at Krinata. Terab said, “Try it.”

  Krinata curved her course to follow where Chinchee had pulled Jindigar’s sled. Success depended on two things: the hive’s friendliness and the flyer’s either missing them entirely or blaming the recording of sleds on equipment failure when their search of the plain turned up no sleds. With the Inverted triad they could have messed up that recording, and that wouldn’t have been attacking the world’s biosphere, making it lash back at them.

  Resolutely she focused her mind on the hive ahead of them. Chinchee had run confidently up to the tunnel entrance, and Jindigar was only a few paces behind him.

  SIX

  Hive Refuge

  As each of the refugees arrived they straggled to halt the sleds in a semicircle behind Chinchee, who was half swallowed by the dark shadow of the tunnel entry. Moonlight glanced off something within—a door?—and the pale skin of a native. Chinchee was dancing about, gesticulating with both arms and legs, howling and clicking at the dark entry.

  Jindigar hunkered down, motioning the others to join him. “To sit is less threatening,” he advised, adding, “I think I understand now. Chinchee is an interhive herald, a news bringer, an itinerant diplomat. He doesn’t belong to this hive—or any hive—but to the community of hives.” Delighted, he added, “This is a very sophisticated society!”

  Frey observed, “Perhaps it was fortunate you found him.”

  “If they turn us away,” grumbled Viradel, “you won’t say so. We’ll a’lost our chance to get away.”

  “They’re closing the door!” exclaimed Krinata, jumping up, one arm raised, poised to dash ahead and plead.

  But Chinchee danced back toward them, unmistakable joy in his steps, though one hand held his wounded side, and as he got closer, she could see that he was panting heavily. He dropped down beside Jindigar and began petting the Dushau, crooning much as Jindigar had reassured him when they’d first met.

  Krinata suppressed a semihysterical laugh and watched as Jindigar embraced the scrawny native, then pushed him away and hesitantly made sounds. Frey leaned closer, attentive. The three seemed to recede from the presence of the group, enclosed in a bubble of intense privacy.

  In a few moments Jindigar stood and announced, “I think he says they’re considering the problem. Chinchee told them we’re– enemies of their enemy. They heard the overflight and know the threat. Chinchee is optimistic, even confident.”

  Krinata settled to wait and was immediately buried under two furry piols and two young Cassrians who didn’t know how hard their shells felt. She endured, trying to comfort them, as she watched Jindigar concentrating on the hive, frequently shaking his head as if to dismiss a phantasm.

  “What is it?” asked Frey eventually.

  “Nothing,” replied Jindigar as Krinata felt the solid stone wall image intensify, protecting the duad, “but did you notice that?”

  Frey followed his elder’s gesture to the top of the hive. In the glancing rays of the moon, smoke was visible rising from short chimneys—so the natives used fire. Then Krinata saw the rustlebird hive hung from a frame at the top of the dome. Jindigar pulled Frey to his feet, muttering as he pointed out the arc of bare ground surrounding the hive. Frey scooped up a handful of dirt. “I don’t believe it! Domesticated rustlebirds?”

  “Not domesticated—interhive symbiosis. They use the birds for hunting! This is certainly new!” They studied the situation for a while, then questioned Chinchee, who seemed proud to be a host returning an obligation. Despite his demonstrative body language, Chinchee had a mature dignity. On reflection Krinata decided the natives were nothing like the Rashions Jindigar had compared them to. They were far more intelligent. But what would they be like, kidnapped and forced to live as individuals?

  She knew the debilitating effects loss of culture had on social beings. Such individuals could be easily brainwashed, easily enslaved. Raichmat’s Oliat had probably been right about this world—any Duke who got his hands on it would have used these natives or exterminated them.

  Her sour cynicism was interrupted by the opening of the door to the tunnel. A delegation emerged, and she got her first look at the other hive species. Alive, the small, carapaced ones did resemble miniature Cassrians. They walked on two limbs, using the other two as arms, though then-hands weren’t as dextrous as a Cassrian’s. They moved in quick bursts and then froze to observe.

  The medium-size furred ones went on all fours, but as they straightened, she saw each forearm branched into a hand, carried curled under the body, and a paw with retractable claws. As these swarmed from the mouth of the. hive she detected a well-drilled order among them and was unsurprised to see that they all held spears and hatchets in their hands.

  Among a complement of the white-skins like Chinchee she saw a new species. Broad but not as tall as the whites, these seemed to be clothed in thin plates, glittering like fish scales but loose like feathers, yet rustling as they moved. Perhaps they were evolved from the rustlebirds?

  They seemed to be approaching in full ceremony, so she climbed to her feet as Chinchee rushed out to do push-ups on the ground before the rustlebirdmen.

  Jindigar promptly took two running steps and fell down to do push-ups beside Chinchee. Frey motioned everyone else to do the same in place. You’re kidding! thought Krinata, but she followed suit as the others did. Her form was rotten and did not improve when the children, intimidated by the aliens, climbed onto her back. When the ceremony was over, Shorwh offered to take one of his brothers, but the child clung-to Krinata. So she hefted him onto her shoulder and hoped this wouldn’t take long.

  It didn’t. After a brief exchange the tallest rustlebirdman surveyed their trail-weary group and then came right to Krinata. Her breath caught in her throat until she realized that he was after the children. Then her fatigue vanished in a burst of protectiveness.

  Her body must have shown it, for the rustleman stopped at a distance and said something. Chinchee came forward and called to the children in Cassrian whistleclicks. The older of the two children held out his arms to the native herald, and Shorwh said, “No!” and whistled piercingly.

  Frey came over and hunkered down beside Shorwh. “Don’t be afraid. They’re friendly—and curious.”

  With Shorwh calmed down, Krinata let the youngster go to Chinchee, who presented him to the rustleman. After holding him and petting him, the rustleman seemed puzzled—as if an expectation were not fulfilled. He was showing a tinge of hostility when Jindigar made broad semaphoring motions and danced about, humming. Chinchee repeated that with more grace and style, adding polychromatic tones to the song.

  After some negotiation the rustleman handed Jindigar the child and turned to lead them inside. Chinchee hooted and danced around proudly, then sat down suddenly, one hand on his side. Jindigar stooped to examine him and then had the Lehiroh help the native back onto the top of a sled.

  Krinata didn’t think the sleds would fit through the door without unloading the top course of crates. But the Lehiroh examined the door and approved it while the furred ones spread out behind them to herd them into the hive.

  One at a time, Frey pulling the lead sled, they squeezed into the tunnel, which was much larger inside where the floor dropped a step. A few sled lengt
hs into darkness Frey called sharply, “Halt!”

  Krinata, adept with the controls now, came to a stop at the lip of a ramp leading steeply down into a hole. The planking that normally covered the hole was drawn aside.

  Light, possibly from an open fire below, silhouetted Prey’s sled, which was stuck.

  Jindigar came up from the rear to survey the problem while natives chittered and danced about. As they pondered, a team of furred warriors attacked the sled, pushing it down the ramp, ignoring the loud scraping of the top against an overhead beam and the shower of dirt that resulted.

  Krinata squelched all thought of being buried alive and hauled her sled onto the ramp. Its cargo, being more dense, wasn’t quite as high and didn’t scrape.

  The tunnel led down into a dimly lit chamber from which other tunnels opened, but they were too small for the sleds. They grouped the sleds on the beaten earth floor covered with rushes. The air was fetid, hot enough to make Krinata sweat, and ripe enough to choke on.

  A few rustlemen examined the visitors and the sleds with the bright-eyed air of university scholars presented with confirmation of a hypothesis. Only a few furred and chitined ones stayed with them, while the white-skins played host, though their manners weren’t exactly interstellar standard. Their first priority seemed to be to undress their visitors.

  Jindigar and Frey complied unhesitatingly. The scholars examined their unmarred chests and lack of visible genitalia with approval, or perhaps recognition. Jindigar reciprocated, running his hands through the rustleman’s scale-feathers, then petting them back into place. The rustleman petted Jindigar in return, then eyed Krinata.

  “Oh, no!”

  “Calmly,” admonished Jindigar. “They see us as a hive-swarm made of different creatures than theirs. As long as they understand us as a variant on the familiar, they won’t hurt us. Only—” He looked at the Cassrian children. “They’re disappointed our group mind didn’t embrace theirs in ceremony. And—there’s something odd—”