It was all his fault. He had led them into a trap.
Why had they let him do that? What had made his fellow Racs think he was a leader? There were so many who were better qualified. They had the age. They had the experience, gained in skirmishes with the Farshorns.
But none of them had stolen a bot seed and raised a bot and worn the aura of the Remakers.
And what would the humans do when they realized what that corpse or prisoner was?
He could not sit still. The hormones that had flooded his system in preparation for battle left him restless. So did sheer anxiety.
He walked endlessly, until he blinked and yawned and staggered. He tried to rest, but hormones and worry drove him to his feet once more, and again. Shortly after dawn filled the valley with light, he reached the tunnel mouth. There were others there before him, holding powerful binoculars to their faces. One heard his steps, looked, and held out his binoculars. He did not speak.
Dotson stepped up onto the truckbed and accepted the offer. The lenses brought the ruins of Worldtree Center leaping into view, and the wall of the Great Hall, a bare floor, a grid of steel rods being welded into a large cage by human workers. Nearby, guards watched a dozen huddled prisoners.
“They flew most of them in this morning.”
One of the prisoners was bedraggled and dirty, but her pelt was a distinctive gold. She had no tail. Gray fabric dangled from her crooked arm; where it had been her cast shone white. The similar camouflage wrapped around the bandage on her thigh was intact.
Every time she goes anywhere near those humans, he thought. I should cage her myself the next time she wants to do that.
“She’s alive,” he breathed. Then he yawned, and he felt for the first time that night as if he might really be able to sleep.
“Looks like she’ll stay that way too.” The other Rac was holding out his hand for his binoculars. “For a while. There’s not much we can do.”
“But she is alive.”
* * * *
“Why are you doing this to us?” The voice was taut as wire. It sounded like burning hair smelled. It grated on the nerves.
It belonged to the military interrogation officer who had been with Dotson when their prisoner first woke up and claimed that he had not wanted to destroy the Worldtree, that he did not want to be traded for Sunglow, that he wanted to stay with the Racs. He had not believed then. He did not now.
The back of a delivery van had been converted into an interrogation room. A steel grid stretched across its center. Shackled to its bars was Marcus Aurelius Hrecker. He was naked, and his bare skin glistened repulsively. Behind him, behind the grid, stood a female Rac with a look of agony in her eyes. A bright light hung from the ceiling, angled to strike the human’s face full on.
“Why?” The interrogator held a wooden baton in one hand. He sat on a tall stool to Hrecker’s right. Dotson occupied the padded driver’s seat, swiveled to face the back of the van.
Hrecker licked his lips. “I’m not. I didn’t want this.”
“But you’re here. And she—” He lifted his muzzle to indicate the female behind the prisoner. “She lost her parents, her mate, her children, her home.”
The female reached through the grid and carefully stabbed one finger into the center of the bandage that covered Hrecker’s head wound. He gasped and whitened.
She smiled. A reedy chuckle escaped her throat.
The interrogator reached out with his baton and lifted Hrecker’s limp penis. He jabbed at his scrotum. “Want to keep that?”
The female chuckled again. Her claws dimpled Hrecker’s hip.
“Tell us.”
“They hate the Gypsies.”
“We’re not Gypsies.”
“But they made you, didn’t they?” He gasped again. The female’s claws were at his genitals now.
The interrogator tapped her wrist with his baton. “Not yet,” he said.
“They only remade us, Mark,” interrupted Dotson.
“That’s enough,” said Hrecker. “The Engineers are holy because they don’t change genes. They build machines.”
“So do we.”
“But you’re trying. Were trying. You showed us, in your lab.”
“I was still a long, long way from success.”
The interrogator poked him in the gut. He coughed painfully. “How do we destroy them?”
“You can’t. You don’t have the guns.”
“What about Sunglow?” When the human shook his head, confused, Dotson described the cage he had seen being built. “How can we get her back?”
“They probably hope you’ll try.”
The interrogator nodded as if that was a tactic he knew.
“I’d like to help—”
A chuckle from the shadows behind his head, one furry hand poking and pricking down his side, another lifting the edge of the bandage on his head.
“Tell us how to get into one of those ships.”
“You’d need explosives.”
The female was tugging the bandage from his head. The adhesive let go of his skin with ripping sounds. The smell of antiseptic flooded the van. When his wound was exposed, she began to pluck at the stitches that held it closed.
“Stop her,” said Dotson.
But it was too late. Hrecker’s eyes were shut, tears leaking from their corners, and his body was slumping on the grid.
“Enough.”
“You don’t believe him, do you?”
“I think I do,” said Dotson. “I got acquainted with him before the attack. Sunglow too. And he seemed saner than the others.”
“You know we can’t let him free among us.”
“You can’t keep him tied up all the time, either.”
The female behind the grid looked disappointed.
“We have cells. They used them in the old days.”
* * * *
As soon as Dotson Barbtail saw the cell, he understood why a truck had been used for the interrogation room. The only light came through a narrow space above the thick-planked door, there was no sign of an electrical outlet or light fixture, and there was barely room enough for one adult Rac or human to lie down on the floor.
Hrecker was awake when the electric cart stopped in the corridor and the driver got off to open the cell door. He raised one hand to touch the bandage that had been replaced while he was out. Then he said, “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I think I do, Mark,” said Dotson. He hoped his use of the other’s name would prove reassuring. “But …”
“Yeah. I know.” He peered into the dimness past the cell’s massive door. “Home, sweet home.”
Dotson helped him to his feet and gripped his shoulder while he took two tottering steps into the doorway. “One of the first things you said was, ‘Kee’ me.’ Why should we?”
Hrecker braced one hand on the frame. “Because you’re the good guys. Because I never really wanted … Because I hate the thought of what we’ve done.” He swung his gaze from one end of the cell to the other and shddered beneath Dotson’s hand. “Not even any straw. I’ll need a bucket, at least.”
“Later,” said the cart’s driver. “We’ll bring what you need.” Then, abruptly, he turned to face down the corridor the way they had come. A voice was echoing. “What’s that?”
The echo repeated, and this time it was barely understandable: “Dotson!”
“Here!” he yelled just as a figure appeared around a corner in the distance.
“They told me you were in the dungeon.”
“Gypsy Blossom!”
“Did our side get some prisoners too?”
He thumped the bot on one arm as soon as she was within reach. “What happened to you? Where were you? Why didn
’t you … ?”
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Mark. I told you about him.”
“That’s a bot!” cried Hrecker.
“Nothing else,” said Gypsy Blossom.
“I’ve only seen pictures. But that means the Gypsies are around!” He sounded fascinated, not frightened or alarmed.
“Uh-uh,” said the bot. “Only their seeds.”
“Where’d you go?” insisted Dotson. “And what’s …” He reached for the small sack the bot held in one hand, but she grinned and moved it out of his reach.
More voices down the hall distracted his attention. More Racs appeared around the corner, and Gypsy Blossom laughed. “I wouldn’t stop for them. I wouldn’t tell them anything. You first!”
“Then …”
She held the sack away and laughed again.
Senior Hightail was the first of the newcomers to reach them. “Is that … ?” He was pointing at the sack and panting. “Did you … ?”
The bot was nodding. “I hid after the fight. I buried myself in that honeysuckle thicket, and I stayed right there all day. I didn’t dare move, even when the vines showed me Sunglow being hauled off.”
“She’s in a cage now.”
“She’ll be all right,” said Hrecker, though he did not seem to believe his own words.
Someone snorted.
“I know,” said the bot. “But I couldn’t do a thing. I just waited, and the next night I managed to reach the ruins.”
“You found them.”
“Right.” This time Gypsy Blossom let Dotson take the sack from her hand.
He knelt and poured the contents of the sack onto the floor.
“They look like acorns or hickory nuts,” said Hrecker.
“Careful!”
“Wh—?” Dotson’s fingers flew over the scattered seeds. As soon as he touched the clay imitation he had substituted for Gypsy Blssom’s seed, he set another to rolling as a distraction. He then palmed the fake, praying no one would notice, and tucked it into a harness pouch without a word.
But then Senior Hightail was on his knees as well and pointing at two that showed dark cracks and pale, creamy tendrils peeking out. “Ahh,” they said together, and each Rac picked one up with a reverent touch.
“They’re already sprouting,” said the bot tenderly. “Mission accomplished.”
“What are they?” asked Hrecker.
“Bot seeds,” said Dotson. “The Gypsies left them with the plaques. We were supposed to plant them long ago. For allies, helpers.”
“We need soil,” said Senior Hightail. “Immediately!”
“We can grow them here,” said Dotson. “In the caves, under lights.”
“Not all of them,” said Gypsy Blossom. “What if the humans discover us?”
“Then elsewhere,” said Senior Hightail. “As far from here as possible. Someplace in the forests to the south. We’ll send them with runners right away.”
There was silence as he and Dotson divided the seeds into two piles. The two seeds that were already sprouting were in the same pile. “Plant these here,” said Dotson. “We can’t take any chances on their drying out.”
“How long?” asked Hrecker. “How long does it take a bot to grow up and become an ally? How long did it take you to raise that one?” He nodded at Gypsy Blossom.
Dotson Barbtail had no chance to answer before Gypsy Blossom said, “It will go faster with these. We know about the honeysuckle, and I can use that to teach them.”
“The honeysuckle?” Hrecker had known about bots. He had known they were part plant and grew from seed. But now he looked confused.
No one tried to help.
Dotson said, “We have to fight you off ourselves for now, if we can. But if the war drags on long enough, or if you come back later, we’ll have help.”
“They won’t fight you forever,” said Hrecker. “They have enough nukes to obliterate this valley and every city on the planet. And they’ll use them if they have to.”
Silence greeted that statement.
Finally, Gypsy Blossom said, “Then we should stop all resistance. Surrender totally. Pretend to be defeated utterly. Let them have the libraries and universities and factories and plaques.”
Hrecker nodded.
Senior Hightail said simply, “No.”
The other Racs all nodded. There could be no question of surrender to the Engineers. They would continue to resist, though it cost them everything.
Chapter Twenty One
The room-sized cage was a ragged, jagged thing. Its crooked, corroded bars had been salvaged from the ruins. Fragments of concrete still clung to them everywhere except where the humans had welded metal to metal. Yet despite its jury-rigged appearance, it was sturdy enough to keep what it held, too sturdy to let hope of freedom stay.
Most of the prisoners squatted in the center of the cage, as far from the bars as possible. About half of them had tails. All had been stripped of the harnesses and pouches that were their clothing, and most refused to look at the humans. Few made even the slightest attempt to groom themselves or each other. Their heads were bent, their eyes on the rock and their own scattered turds beneath their feet, their spirits quenched.
The only exception was Sunglow. She was just as naked as the others except for her cast and bandage, but she stood erect, fur bristling, one clawed hand wrapped around the rusty iron bars, and glared at Tamiko Inoue and Eric Silber and Meyer Smith and the Baron. She ignored the pair of guards on the other side of the cage.
Smith and the Baron looked uncomfortable, as if they both felt responsible for Bela B’Genda’s death, they both mourned, and neither knew what to say to the other. Silber wore a slight grin, a smirk, supercilious and arrogant, that said of course the beasts were in the cage. How else could it be?
Tamiko’s red-rimmed eyes gave her an advantage. Her glare was even fiercer than Sunglow’s. “One dead,” she growled, and both Smith and the Baron grimaced at the reminder.
“You killed more of us.” Sunglow’s voice was shrill. How could they dare to take offense at the few her people had claimed in recompense? “Thousands of us. Tens of thousands.”
Silber waved a hand dismissively and grated, “You’re not human beings.”
“Where is he?” asked Tamiko.
Sunglow added nothing at all to her glare.
“Never mind,” said Silber. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders as if he wished he could comfort her. “He doesn’t matter anymore. And besides, he’s dead.” Then he looked at the other men. “She didn’t sleep well last night, you know.”
She jerked away from his arm and rounded on him. “His body wasn’t there,” she hissed. “And this time don’t you dare tell me they wanted a sample to dissect! Every human they have ever killed has been left right where he fell.”
He made a placating gesture. She slapped his hand away. “Yes, we split. We disagreed on too much basic stuff. But don’t think you’re as good as him.”
The other men looked away. Sunglow blinked and showed her teeth.
“Look at her!” cried Silber. “She wants to tear our throats out!”
“That’s a coon’s smile,” said Tamiko. “She’s laughing at us.”
“I’m sure he’s alive,” said the coon. “And he’ll stay that way as long as …”
“As long as that Barbtail fellow knows you’re okay?”
“No.” Sunglow shook her head. “He doesn’t make such decisions. He’s no chief.”
“All of you, then? If we leave you here where they can see you? That’s why we put this cage outdoors.”
“Lyapunov wants them upstairs.” Silber sounded pleased. Dotson Barbtail would then not know his mate was safe. Hrecker would die. And he would have
no more competition, close or distant, past or present, for Tamiko’s affections.
The moments stretched while Tamiko did not answer.
“Well?”
Still staring at Sunglow, she pointed toward the other prisoners. “Pick one,” she said. “Tell him to tell Dotson you’re okay.”
“He knows that already. He can see.”
“I’ll try to keep you that way when he can’t.”
“But if we ever—” Silber began.
“Shut up.”
“You can’t trust them.”
“More than some humans,” said Meyer Smith.
“How do you know he’s even alive?” asked Silber.
“I hope he is, and that will have to do.”
“You’re upset,” he said. “Tired. Overtired. You need to go back to bed.”
When he reached for her shoulder once more, she slapped him away. “Not with you!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can get your stuff out of my quarters. Now!”
Both Meyer Smith and the Baron, despite their own loss, seemed embarrassed. They turned away.
Sunglow would have been just as embarrassed if she had seen Racs acting like that in public. Now, however, she grinned and showed her teeth and almost laughed out loud.
Eric Silber looked both astonished and annoyed.
Tamiko Inoue glared at him as fiercely as she had confronted Sunglow in her cage, and at last the tears began to flow.
Sunglow contained her laughter. If she taunted them, she thought, she would surely die. That one, the one Tamiko hated, would shoot her just to vent the anger that filled him. Then he would kill the rest, and none would escape. Silently, she backed away from the bars and laid one hand on the head of a prisoner whose back was bare skin, still black with char near one hip, brilliant red everywhere else, crusted with dried serum and pus.
He looked up at her. “I heard.”
“You need to be in a hospital.”
“There aren’t any anymore.”
“We’ve still got doctors.” She lifted her elbow to draw his eyes to her cast. “You know where to go?”
Thomas A. Easton’s GMO Future MEGAPACK® Page 146
