by H M Major
"The Council?" he wondered.
"Are you insane?" Bird's normally soothing voice was ragged with emotion.
Cord let himself receive her impressions and found them full of incredulity and horror. "What's the matter?"
"Have you forgotten that you killed back there?" She pronounced the word as though it were an indelicacy, which it was. "Oh, Cord…"
He experienced her misery and pity in all their vividness. Ancestors, she was right. He had destroyed four living beings without a second thought-with hardly a first thought. And here he sat as calmly as if he had spent the day weeding a garden, with the sweat of decent labor on him.
"When you killed, you didn't feel anything, did you?" she accused.
"Of course I did," he retorted. But it didn't stop him from killing again and again. The enormity of his actions finally began to dawn on him. Bird could feel his revulsion.
Neither of them had anything else to say. She had spoken the truth, and sooner or later it must be faced.
Their heading, he saw, was south. Ahead was the Yellow Desert. He remembered going there once with his parents. Not on vacation, of course. No one went into the desert for fun. Someone they'd been hunting took refuge there. When they found him, he'd been dead four days. The body was well on its way to mummification where it had not been gnawed away by the few creatures who inhabited the waste.
"Why not land in the desert?" he asked. "We both need rest and peace, and we'll get it there. In the morning we can decide what's best."
"There's no 'best' anymore." But she guided the craft toward the heart of the drylands.
"The mountains, then," Cord said.
"What mountains?" snapped Bird irritably.
"The Spine of Arzet-it's easy to get lost in them, and camouflaged, the aircar will be indistinguishable from the boulders. But you're right, it's only a ridge of rock-a kind of spine running east and west."
Beneath, the marshland had turned to dry flats covered with coarser growth than that found near the port. Then the vegetation below grew sparse and the dusty ground took on a dun cast. Eventually they could see sand.
They flew on as the shadows were lengthening.
"If we don't come to Arzet shortly, we'd better set down. The light will soon be gone." Cord wished his memories of the Yellow Desert's geography were less vague. His only visit was several years past, and they'd approached from a different direction.
"There!"
The line of tumbled rock was a more welcome sight than any Cord had seen. He did not know what geologic upheaval had raised the stony mass above the sand, but its dull-black sides, cut with cracks and scattered with huge blocks broken off the main body, promised shelter.
Bird banked the aircar to begin the descent. She made a neat landing, paralleling the ridge, then taxied in close to a pile of rock.
"I suppose these won't come down on us?"
"No reason to think so," Cord assured her. "They've been here hundreds of years."
"As long as they stay put for another day. What do we do now?"
"I'll unload my gear and do a little more to hide the car. Come on out-you'll find it more bearable in the shade. And once the sun goes down, it will get much cooler."
She crouched by the rocks while Cord took his case from the aircar. He removed the camouflage-field generator and placed it on top of the vehicle. From the air, it would resemble another pile of rock. Unless the Council sent another Catcher after them, they were quite safe.
At least as far as other people were concerned. There was still the matter of survival here in the desert. Cord thought they would need a fire, but except for a few weeds growing among the rocks, for practical purposes there was nothing to burn. His kit contained a small tent which would become warm with their body heat. He hoped it would be sufficient: the nighttime temperature in the desert fell abruptly.
At the moment it was still warm; while the light lasted he had a more urgent task. Cord took a large, impermeable sheet meant to keep supplies and equipment dry in the field, and set it aside. Then he improvised a digging tool and began to excavate a hole.
He dug it waist-deep and twice as wide. To his surprise, when he was finished he found that Bird had gathered the rocks he would need.
"You described this technique to me once," she explained. "It helps to have something to do."
He gave her a quick hug to show his appreciation, before fetching a storage container for the bottom of the pit. Bird helped him spread the tarpaulin over the hole and weight it with the stones. Finally Cord placed a handful of pebbles in the center so that the sheet sagged over the container.
"There will be water in the morning," he said. "Not much, maybe, but enough. By then…"
"By then we'll have decided what to do," Bird finished.
Together they unpacked the tent. The frame went up in moments. Then Cord slipped the cover over the skeleton and tightened it. Bird and he carried it to a sheltered place among the boulders as the last light was fading along the horizon.
They had shelter and a source of water; they would not even go hungry, thanks to the supply of emergency rations in the equipment chest. They crouched outside the tent and Cord handed Bird a cake of the dense, chewy stuff. She unwrapped it and nibbled at a corner.
"Cord," she said slowly, with evident reluctance, "what will you do? You can't go back now."
Their people would never forgive him, even if he escaped execution. Perhaps the Council would agree he was justified in killing the humans in view of Bird's imprisonment and the humans' hostile action. Nevertheless he would be tainted, far more than he had been as a Catcher. Most would regard his actions as murder, different from the work of a Catcher operating against a criminal on Council orders. Most likely, the Council would have him killed as a potential danger-a Catcher gone mad, liable to run berserk at any provocation.
"I don't know yet what I'm going to do except get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow I'll petition my ancestors for guidance," Cord said. "Maybe they'll tell me."
"Oh," Bird murmured doubtfully.
People often spoke to their ancestors, though one did not expect a verbal reply or physical aid. But the ancestors could give advice or instruction if it was needed enough. History was full of stories of those who had obeyed the spirits' injunctions and been saved in spite of dreadful odds. There were also tales of those who petitioned and failed to take the offered advice. Their endings were never good. Most never had cause to ask their ancestral spirits for real help, because it was something done only for the gravest cause. And of those who asked, few were answered. Tradition said that if you could help yourself, your ancestors would not.
Bird's response did not surprise Cord at all. What he proposed was a very serious matter. Considering his recent activities, neither of them would be astonished if his ancestors struck him blind or paralyzed him for his presumption.
"Well," she said after a long pause, "I guess you haven't much choice. I hope the spirits will aid you." Her forlorn voice matched her listless aura, but Cord felt both resigned and committed. There was nowhere to go but onward. He was more worried about Bird than about himself.
"Bird, are you going to be all right?"
She was so slow in answering that Cord wondered if she had heard. At last she spoke.
"For a while, I wasn't sure-but now I believe I'll get over it. It may take a few visits to a mind healer to erase some of the memories or at least to make them less vivid. It was worse than feeling someone die, Cord. The first time I thought I was dying myself. The other times, I hoped I was or that I'd go mad. You don't understand," she concluded sadly.
"I'm sorry. I knew you were suffering, but I still don't know what happened to you. I can't imagine anything that would make you despair." She was the one who always believed things would work out for the best, the one who was so sure the world was constituted as it ought to be.
"The humans have a machine… it makes you believe a dream is reality. And they control the dream-or nig
htmare," she corrected. "They'd start the machine again and again and I would find myself living through another horror. Burning alive, perhaps, feeling my skin crisping and my eyes melting-" She broke off, face an unhealthy yellow. "But I still wouldn't confess-I couldn't tell the humans what they wanted to hear."
"Put your head down. There, now, don't think about it. Don't think about anything." Cord poured out sympathy and love. It was the best he could do under the circumstances.
"I'll be all right now, Cord, I promise. For a second it all came back to me."
"Julia told me the humans wanted your confession. It seemed ridiculous to me. Even allowing for their ignorance about us, I don't see how they could think you did it. You wouldn't have had the opportunity."
Bird laughed a little, shakily.
"Always the Catcher. All the same, I might have confessed so they would stop. Your friend Julia gave me strength and courage; her serenity was like cool water damping the fires of hatred. The other woman-my torturer-wanted me to confess and yet she wanted me not to, so she could go on hurting me. Probably I imagined this, because I was so hurt and terrified, but it was as though the room were filled with something black and hungry. Something that was feeding. The humans are beasts. Except for Julia. She was kind."
Bird's description made Cord shiver. "It's getting chilly. Maybe we'd better get into the tent and sleep."
Bird wriggled into the tent-meant for one person rather than two, but they'd be warmer that way-and Cord followed, closing the entrance against anything which might prowl the night.
With the thin emergency cover over them, they were pleasantly snug. Bird curled close beside him, apparently content. Cord tried to relax and sleep.
Bird had other plans. She slid one arm across him and began to caress his chest, working tantalizingly downward. Her need washed over him, sparking an answering flame in his own loins.
Bird rolled on top of him, fully clothed. The tip of her tail boldly explored inner recesses, but was thwarted in its exploration. If he had worn his usual clothing, he would have had her at once. With Bird astride him, he could not reach the fastening of the alien trousers. Fitting as they did, his organ could not even emerge from its pouch. The stimulation and its frustration fed his lust.
Bird guessed the difficulty and shifted her weight. Cord tore the closure open and felt his tool swell and blossom in record time. Then his hands sought Bird's hips as she settled onto him with a moan of delight.
It was good, of course. Bird was a sensitive and practiced partner who prolonged the pleasure until there was nothing for either of them beyond their own sweat-slick bodies. Yet Cord found himself imagining other women: how they would smell and how they would feel as he entered them. And he wanted Julia again.
Then Bird's hands and thighs and moist warmth brought him back to the present: she was losing control; her muscles sucked at Cord, drawing him in farther and farther, as deep as he could go. He came in a gush, still thinking of Julia.
Bird slipped off. She had shielded her mind, but not quickly enough to conceal from Cord her lack of fulfillment. He wouldn't leave her like that.
"Not so fast," he murmured, embracing her from the hack. It was only a question of summoning the reserves to do her again as she ought to be done. But with his tail still tapped in the Terran pants, he'd have to be more inventive.
He remembered a conversation he'd heard between his father and another Catcher:
"Working with your family, you don't get the opportunisms we loners do, Fyrrell. Of course, you got a woman already, but for the rest of us, we take it where we can get it. And sometimes the taking is pretty good. That poisoner last year-now, she was good. I caught her in six days, brought her back in nine. Must of had her eighteen different ways. I think she thought I'd let her go if she performed right…"
Fyrrell had been contemptuous of the other, Cord knew.
But the thought of catching a woman and lying with her was intriguing. Inflaming…
Cord pushed Bird's tail aside. His organ was at the ready' once again. As he slid it in, he felt the stickiness on the insides of Bird's thighs. There would be another load of his seed in her tonight-but not too soon.
She was surprised to feel him again. Pleased, too. Her buttocks tightened against his belly.
This time he did not finish until she was sated. Afterward, she turned over and kissed him lingeringly, before cuddling beside him. He felt conscious thought fall away from her almost at once. Smiling, he closed his eyes and floated into darkness.
***
He came awake fast, a survival trait for one of his trade. The increasing light outside the tent was not what awakened him. It was Bird's stirring.
"What's the matter?"
Bird, extricating herself from the cover, laughed softly.
"Everything is fine, Cord. I'm getting up to look for the privy."
Cord laughed, too.
"I'll stand guard for you. There are no large predators here, but…"
"But you leave nothing to chance."
"No. Anyway, the sun is coming up, and I'd like to get started."
At dawn the desert was lovely: golden sand touched with pink and rose and mauve. The sky was dull blue. It might be a good day for many endeavors. Cord took their morning ration from the chest. It occurred to him that possibly he ought to fast-an idea he rejected as contrary to common sense. The old stories did not speak of fasting as a requirement, though in some tales the petitioners had done so. In this situation, Cord decided it would be foolish and perhaps dangerous. If he was going to climb the Spine of Arzet he had better be in top form. A fall from those rocks would be fatal.
They ate their ration cakes and watched the sun rise. Bird was calm, confident, and lighthearted. It was only when he brought up the subject of his climb that he saw the change in her.
"Bird, if something happens to me this morning-if I break my neck or… well, whatever-promise you won't do anything silly, like trying to bring my body back for cremation. You get in the aircar and go. Tell the Council anything you like about me. They will probably be glad to be rid of me, the way things are."
He expected her to try to convince him that nothing would happen to him, that the ancestors would aid him, that they'd leave together or not at all. Instead she replied, "Very well. What shall I do with your box?"
"Whatever you wish. If you need money, you could sell it to the Council. There's some useful equipment in it. I won't need it, if I'm dead."
"I have sources of income. I won't need to sell it. I thought if you had some intention for its disposal, I ought to know."
Of course: it constituted his and his parents' whole estate, the only thing of value-besides their lives-that they owned.
"My father's family is all dead. My mother's family would be more likely to feel insulted than flattered if I left it to them."
"I will do as seems best, then, if you don't come back," said Bird.
Cord hugged her, and felt her arms press him in return.
"I expect to be back, Bird. This isn't goodbye."
"I know. But I have to be realistic about it, Cord. I knew my father was going to die someday of old age, an honored member of the Upper Council. I was going to follow the same career. Now that's all gone. I can't make any assumptions or build on anything that may turn to dust."
"Maybe you should try asking your ancestors' help, too."
"Things are bad, but I'm not that desperate yet. You go °n, Cord. I'll enjoy the sun and sand down here."
He left her the anesthetic gun for defense-most likely unnecessary-and strode to the base of the ridge. The climb did not look too complicated, Cord reflected. The mass of stone was broken and weathered and by no means vertical. Anyone with four limbs and a tail and in reasonably good health should be able to scramble up. He found a ramp of stone and began to climb.
CHAPTER 13
A handful of pebbles rattled down the slope. Cord paused. His reach for the next handhold had dislodged them, but
the rock face seemed stable otherwise. He began to move again, carefully. Halfway up, he wedged one foot in a crack. For a moment he faced the prospect of a slow death by thirst and heat prostration. Still he had remained calm and worked the limb free. So near his goal he must not fail.
The ridge rose at a sixty-degree angle. But for the broken, crumbling stone it would scarcely be a challenge. At last he pulled himself up onto the top of the ridge.
The platform of rock was not wide-not as wide as a street-but not so narrow as to be worrisome. And he could see in all directions-an ocean of yellow sand. After the exertion of the climb, the wind felt cold on his skin.
He stood in the cooling wind and tried to compose his mind. Alone with sand, rock, and sky he felt very small-beneath the notice of the Mehiran ancestral spirits, surely.
"Ancestors," he said, the word sounding loud in his ears. "Ancestors, I am Cord, son of Fyrrell and Neteel, who have joined you." He added the names of both sets of grandparents and those of his paternal great-grandparents as well.
"I ask your help." What should he say? He found himself describing the events at the spaceport-though whether the ancestors would understand, if they were listening at all, he did not know.
"I have killed and cut myself off from my people and I don't know what to do. Please help me.
"I know that what I did was wrong," he continued. "Everyone would say so. But what else could I have done?"
The sibilance of wind in his ears rose to a roar-though its force seemed no stronger. Then the rushing resolved itself into the whisper of many voices.
"Being what you are," they said, "you could have done nothing else."
Everyone knew the ancestors spoke sometimes, yet Cord wondered whether the words were of his own imagining. He shook his head to clear it. Why complicate things more? They had spoken, if only to utter a reproach.
