I think of a race whose eye color we will never know, and it motivates me to tackle Maoul. But first I must settle one question.
“Maoul, how does it happen that you are eating this large fish? Kamir gave me the idea that you do not kill, except the brainless little butterfish, and even those reluctantly?”
He becomes grave. “It was perhaps very wrong of us, ‘Om Jhared,” he admits. “But this fellow here was also eating our butterfish. And he began tearing our nets. All over the reef. He harassed us until Pamir hit him too hard on the snout. We call him omnar—and legend has it that omnars are very good to eat. And so it’s proving!” He laughs—that universal Mnerrin laugh that seems to express the purest of happiness.
“Well, that makes my task easier. For I must explain that you have encountered another omnar—a land omnar, who will not stop with your nets, but will kill and perhaps eat everything, including you.”
“You mean… the goldskins?” he asks dubiously.
“Yes, I do. The point is this. You and your people are very different from the great majority of races. In my life of traveling and learning of travels, I have never encountered a race who so hated killing. You have not even the words for what is the daily occupation of many peoples—war, aggression, fighting, invasion, attack. Here, let me show you.” And I sent out horrible images, to him and the other men who were leaning to hear. I saw their faces change.
“How unspeakable!” Maoul exclaims with loathing. The others joined him. “Why do you show us such things?”
“Because you are in danger. I, too, hate what I have just shown, and so do most of my race. I thought I had come to the happiest world in the Galaxy when I found you. But now we must face the fact that you are not alone, that there is another people here, cruel and aggressive, who have found you. And they won’t stop until they have attacked you and taken over your nesting site here.”
“But there is plenty of room in the world. Why should they come here?”
“Yes. But people like that do not see it so. They want all. And maybe they want slaves—people to carry their burdens when they travel on land, or to paddle their canoes in the sea. Or they may want you who go in the sea to catch fish for them.”
Maoul laughs. “If they make us go in the sea, we will leave.”
“Not if they hold your children. Oh, they have terrible ways of forcing you to do their will.”
“Hmm… You seem to know much about this.” Maoul eyes me with a trace of dubiety.
“Yes, unfortunately. I told you, you are the only people I have met in a lifetime of traveling who are free of aggression.”
Maoul ponders. “Well, it seems we must leave here and find another nesting place. But our women still live, yet are too weak to travel.”
“Would you just give up your home to these intruders?”
“What else can we do?”
“You can fight. I can show you how. It means changing your way of life for a time, but that has been changed anyway. Wherever you flee to, these predatory goldskins will find you again.”
“How can we—what did you call it—fight?”
“What did they attack with? Spears—which are long sharp staves—or perhaps arrows shot from a bow? Like this?” I mimic shooting.
He shakes his head. “The, ah, spears, I think. And—” He lowers his eyes as if to shut out some vision too sickening to look at. “They came also with fire, Elia says.” Maoul’s voice drops to a whisper. “They burned huts—some with babies still in them.”
“Oh gods. My friend, I am so sorry this evil thing has come to you. I believed I had found a world of peace, the most beautiful thing in the universe.”
“What is peace?”
“What you have. How you live. No fighting. No killing. Harmony… When I leave, Pm going to petition the Federation to save you, to exterminate these gold-skinned aggressors.”
“Oh no. That would be evil. This is their world, too.”
“But they are destroying this world… Maoul, when these gold-skins come, you people will be like helpless infants before them. And they will come before you depart—they might be on us tonight, and you don’t even have watchers out. Will you let me train the men in some self-defense so they may at least protect their women and children? And will you let me organize a watch? We have a word for such a leader and trainer of armed men: a ‘general.’ Will you let me be your general for this purpose alone?”
Maoul’s blue eyes bore into mine, I can feel his mind searching me. And tendrils of mind-search come from the other men. I open to them, show them all I am. They must be right about this, sure of their choice.
“Very well, ‘Om Jhared,” Maoul says after a busy silence. “You have convinced me that we do face some trouble.” The others nod. “We will call a council and you will show them such images as you showed me, and be our general.”
“Gladly,” I say, wondering at the same time what I have let myself in for. To transform a profoundly pacific people into a defense force in a few days? Obviously it can’t be done. But anything would be better than their present helplessness. I must try.
Maoul is pointing to my wrist. “Now there is another matter.” He smiles. “Kamir.”
She has been beside us, listening intently.
“We see you have, against all hope, found a mate,” Maoul continues. “Our congratulations.” He puts an arm around her, kisses her cheek. She smiles radiantly—my little mermaid bride.
“And you, ‘Om Jhared, strangely are the father; father-from-the-skies. But Agna says you know nothing of caring for young babies.”
“I did not think there could be young. We are so different—”
Maoul is laughing wholeheartedly. He places both hands along Kamir’s belly so I can see. And I can no longer delude myself—it is the belly of a pregnant woman.
“Oh gods! Have I done something evil?”
“I helped you,” says Kamir smugly.
“No,” says Maoul, suddenly grave. “How can babies be evil? They are the consummation we all long for. But how will you care for them? What will you do? I fear Kamir will not be much help.”
Agna speaks up from where he had been sitting beside an invalid woman. “I have been thinking of this, Maoul. They can of course have my hut and birthing-place—I will replace its roof, tomorrow. And I will help him feed them until we start on the Long Swim. Then maybe Donnia here—” He turns to a plump young Mnerrin who has been standing by us, his attention divided between Agna and me. “Donnia is also our egg-fellow,” he tells me, meaning, brother to himself and Kamir.
“Yes,” says Donnia. “Brother and sister, I will help. My mate”—he bows his head briefly—“has already gone. And you can see that I am far from drained.”
“His babies did not live,” Kamir whispers to me.
“Your sorrow is my sorrow,” I say formally. “I—we thank you deeply for your help. As I said, I had not believed that two such different people could have young. And I don’t know what may come; the results may be bad. But surely we need your help.”
“Good, then it is settled,” says Maoul. “Tell us, ‘Om Jhared, why did you come to our world?”
“To rest,” I tell them. “I was very tired after a long task, and your world looked so beautiful.”
“And now you have another task,” the old man smiled.
“Two tasks,” I remind him. “Tomorrow I start teaching you how to defend yourselves against these goldskins. For tonight I will just say this: Remember, the eruption of these people is going to change all your lives, for a time at least. And you are going to have to prepare yourselves to hurt, to harm, to kill, other Human beings, who seek to kill you. Think on that.”
Looking and searching about, I see that my speech evoked mainly puzzlement. Gods, what have I undertaken? I must plan…
At Maoul’s council the next day, I see that the children and many of the teenagers are absent. Maoul says that he thought such plans were not for children.
“To t
he contrary, it is important that they learn. They will have parts to play, and this problem may be with them all their lives.” So they are brought, down to the smallest, who stare at me with huge blue eyes, so much like plump little Human kids, despite their straight-up small fins.
I start by repeating what I had told Maoul, and showing them images of war and of the goldskin’s probable attack. They respond, as I’d expected, with horror and the suggestion that they at once go someplace else. I try to convince them that mere flight is useless, that the goldskins will pursue them, and that they may well attack before they are prepared to move.
“You would be simply laying this upon your children, and upon your children’s children, if you fail to solve it now.”
The mention of children turns their minds. These people are amazingly tied to their young—all of them, even the young boys, place great value upon babies, I find. Perhaps because, I have noticed, they have relatively few compared with the other hominid races I know. I make a mental note to find out if the goldskin people are faster breeders.
I then outline my plan.
“When the goldskins attack us here, they will have learned from their last attack that you will seek to escape to the sea. So they will make sure to seize the beaches quickly, maybe even sending a separate party around the shore. If you attempt to flee that way, they will catch you easily. But tell me, that river”—I point to the line of papyrus plants marking the main stream to the estuary—“does it have a deep channel in the center all the way to the sea? Yes? Good. Then instead of going to the beach, you will make for the river. The problem is to defend yourselves and the women and children until you can all get there. One way is for the men to form a circle, with shields and spears on the outside, in which the children and weak ones can shelter. The goldskins will think you are making a final stand, and indeed, you can hold them off until all are assembled. But then you head for the river here, all in a group. That way you will fare much better than if you break and run individually; those who try that would be easily run down and killed.” I show them an image.
The idea appeals to them, perhaps because of its symmetry.
“But the circle is no good unless we have shields and spears, and also warning of the goldskins’ approach. So the first things we must do are make weapons, and set out a guard. The seasoned wood in these unused huts will do for spears. Every man shall make his own—I will show you how—and his shield. I have a spear-proof cloth, my tarpaulin, which we can cut up for shield covers. For the watch, I need volunteers among the boys with the best mind-hearing, four for the shore and four for the beach. And an older boy who will supervise them.”
So I proceed to organize a watch, and a weapons sergeant. When I ask for something that would make a tremendous noise, they produce conch shells for the watchers to blow. And then I ask for a volunteer or two to go down the coast and keep watch on the goldskins’ encampment at the lost village of the Souls of Aeyor.
A man named Falca speaks up. “It is my misfortune that I cannot mind-speak well. But I hear well. So I will go and watch and listen. And maybe my young friend Kimra, who swims so fast, will come with me to bring word back if need be?”
Kimra, a relatively slender lad, jumps up with shining eyes.
“Oh yes, Falca! Let us start now!”
I see that my message has been far more keenly received by the younger Mnerrin. So their pacifism is not some innate predisposition, but a matter of culture, of training. What carefully wrought beauty I am destroying!
But I push the thought aside and proceed to set out our first watch shift, telling their sergeant to be sure to check on them at random, unpredictable times. And then I tear out suitable wood from a storm-wrecked hut, and give a demonstration of spear-making. Strong knives are the bottleneck; their shell knives are too frail. I ransack my gear for extra knives and end by using my laser to prepare a supply of rough staves. As the first spears shape up in the hands of my future “warriors,” I find another problem: I must dissuade them from weakening the spears by making handsome slim places for hand-holds, and wasting time on ornament and polish.
“I see that being a general is complicated,” Maoul observes with a smile.
“Oh, it’s an old, sad story… But I have never met a people who were so far from war. I greatly fear for you.”
That night about third moon I waken in Kamir’s embrace and go as stealthily as I can to surprise our lookouts. I find, as I expected, two of them fast asleep. I rouse them roughly and give them a lecture on the sacredness of guard duty. The younger boy is nearly crying, but I ignore it—with difficulty. His eyes are so much like Kamir’s. During the early morning I get the sergeant of the watch to repeat the same trick on the next shift.
The next day I vary the menu by arranging a drill. I get all the boys and girls to impersonate goldskins, and have them come down the coast onto the lookouts, who respond enthusiastically with horrific conch-blasts. The men come out of their huts and uncertainly form a loose circle near the riverside, into which the women, carrying babies, feebly come, and the smaller children. I see that some of my least-promising “warriors” will have to be spared to help the women take shelter, and sort them out.
My remaining corps of potential fighters, while overweight, looks more promising. Like many fat men, they are light on their feet and supple, and like all Mnerrin, very strong. I explain how we will use the shields, held alternately high and low, and briefly impersonate a gold-skin—whom I have as yet never seen—in coming at them. They tremble and make way, and I harangue them like a drill sergeant on the need to hold their places and protect the children behind. After I have harassed them into tightening to a respectable defense, we practice moving all together to the river and forming a corridor to protect the women and children going in the water. The idea of protection is, I find, the best spur.
Then we turn to shield-making; a wicker frame covered with a piece of my best tarp held on with spacer’s glue makes a pretty spear-proof defense, even if—which I can’t find out—the goldskins have metal spear points. Against mere firehardened wood it is impressive, and gives my warriors confidence. They are not cowardly, but merely totally unused to the idea of war itself, of hurting and being hurt.
This becomes clear when we go on to practice actual combat. I sacrifice one of my two canvas ditty bags, stuff it with sand and moss, and hang it up to give them a target to thrust at. It is very hard to get them even to pierce the “skin.” When I tell them to hit me, to make me fall down, their blows are mere taps. In desperation I pretend to fall; my assailant looks horrified, though I jump up and congratulate him.
But then comes assistance of a dreadful kind.
Young Kimra, who had been spying on the goldskins with Falca, comes swimming in one afternoon, broadcasting for attention. We gather round him as he wades ashore.
“The goldmen are definitely preparing for something,” he tells us. “They have been holding conferences. Falca told me to tell you that. And—” he pauses. “We have seen several of the men they took prisoner.
The golds have cut off their crests. Shaved them bald.” He sends us the images.
“Now they can never escape,” Maoul groans. But that did not seem to be all; Kimra is looking at the ground and biting his lip.
“What more?” I ask.
“And—I cannot say it. The children…”
“Yes, what about the children? What have they done to them?”
“They—they are eating them!”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes.” The boy’s lips tremble. “Yes… One night we swam in close—and saw. A child’s body was hung up by their fire, hung up like, like meat!”
Maoul looks at me. “Is this possible?”
“I fear it is. You see, they do not regard you as people. And they lost their flock of some kind of animals.”
“This must be stopped!”
Around us I can hear the report being whispered from man to man.
“
We must go there!” Maoul declares.
“No,” I tell him. “You could not equal them in fighting. You would only be killed. And then they would come here for your children.”
“Can you stop it, ‘Om Jhared?”
I have been thinking hard. “I can try. Tell me, is there an island nearby which is on the route of your Long Swim?”
“Yes. The Island of the Green Coral. It is small, but with good food.”
“Then here is what we can do: there is one time when their camp will be little defended. That is when they start to come here. Find me a good swimmer, a boy too light to fight well. I will take him in my boat at top speed down to their camp. When the men leave to come here, I will go ashore with my fire-weapon and free the children and any other captives they have, including the mutilated men. Your boy can lead them all to the Island of Green Coral to wait for you. I will return here at speed and be with you when they attack.”
“Can that be done? Let us question Elia closely on the distances by water and land.”
“Spoken like a general.”
As we go up to Elia’s hut, I see a man attacking the canvas dummy with his spear. He runs it right through. The horrible news has wrought a change.
Elia tells us that the plan is feasible. To get here by land, the gold-skins must go around a range of foothills; it might take them as much as two days.
As we come away, the sergeant of the watch comes to tell us that his boys have sensed minds nearby in the dawn. But the trace faded soon.
“That will be their spies,” I tell Maoul. “They will go back and report on this village, how many we are, and the lay of the land. Thank fate they didn’t see our weapons; they will think we are just like the village they crushed.”
So I must wait at least two days before trying my rescue raid. Young Kimra goes back to watch with Falca.
* We spend the days improving our drill and solving last-minute problems. Such as, what if the goldskins attack the circle with fire? Torches? I set out big containers of water, with a delegate to keep them filled. But the prospect of torches is too daunting. In desperation, I give the fire-control sergeant my can of extinguisher and explain its use. But in future they will have to depend on water alone.
Meet Me at Infinity Page 16
