“Aren’t his great teeth enough to kill the cattle he eats?” she asked. “What enemies can he have, to need those terrible horns and claws?”
“His own kind. And us. Our boys will hunt him here, here on this planet, and become men. Our men will hunt him here, to heal their souls.”
“You love him, don’t you? Did you know you were a poet?” She could not take her eyes off the screen. “He is beautiful, fierce and terrible, not what women call beauty.”
“He’s the planet-shaker, he is! It takes four perfect shots to bring him down,” Craig said. “He jumps and roars like the world ending—oh, Midori, I’ll have my day!”
“But you might be killed.”
“The finest kind of death. In our lost colony days our old fathers fought him with bow and arrow,” Craig said. “Even now, sometimes, we form a sworn band and fight him to the death with spears and arrows.”
“I’ve read of sworn bands. I suppose you can’t help how you feel.”
“I don’t want to help it! A sworn band is the greatest honor that can come to a man,” he said. “But thanks for trying to understand.”
“I want to understand. I want to, Roy. Is it that you can’t believe in your own courage until you face Great Russel?”
“That’s just what women can’t ever understand.” He faced the question in her eyes. “Girls can’t help turning into women, but a man has to make himself,” he said. “It’s like I don’t have my man’s courage until I get it from Great Russel. There’s chants and stuff with salt and fire … afterwards the boy eats pieces of the heart and … I shouldn’t talk about that. You’ll laugh.”
“I feel more like crying.” She kept her strange eyes on his. “There are different kinds of courage, Roy. You have more courage than you know. You must find your true courage in your own heart, not in Great Russel’s.”
“I can’t.” He looked away from her eyes. “I’m nothing inside me, until I face Great Russel.”
“Take me home, Roy. I’m afraid I’m going to cry.” She dropped her face to her folded hands. “I don’t have much courage,” she said.
They flew to Base Camp in silence. When Craig helped her down from the flyer, she was really crying. She bowed her head momentarily against his chest and the spicy phyto smell rose from her hair.
“Goodbye, Roy,” she said.
He could barely hear her. Then she turned and ran.
Craig did not see her again. Wilde’s crew spent all its time in the field, blowing ringwalls and planting translocator seed. Craig was glad to be away. The atmosphere of Base Camp had turned from glum to morose. Everywhere across North Continent new phyto growth in silver, green and scarlet spotted the dark green Thanasis areas. Other ringwall crews reported the same of South and Main Continents. Wilde’s temper became savage; Cobb cursed bitterly at trifles; even happy-go-lucky Jordan stopped joking. Half asleep one night in field camp, Craig heard Wilde shouting incredulous questions at the communicator inside the flyer. He came out cursing to rouse the camp.
“Phytos are on Base Island! Stems popping up everywhere!”
“Great Russel in the sky!” Jordan jerked full awake. “How come?”
“Belconti bastards planted ‘em, that’s how!” Wilde said. “Barim’s got ’em all arrested under camp law.”
Cobb began cursing in a steady, monotonous voice.
“That … cracks … the gunflint!” Jordan said.
“We’ll kill ’em by hand,” Wilde said grimly. “We’ll sow the rest of our seed broadcast and go in to help.”
Craig felt numb and unbelieving. Shortly after noon he grounded the flyer at Base Camp, in the foul area beyond the emergency rocket launching frame. Wilde cleaned up at once and went to see Barim, while his crew decontaminated the flyer. When they came through the irradiation tunnel in clean denims, Wilde was waiting.
“Blanky, come with me!” he barked.
Craig followed him into the gray stone building at the field edge. Wilde pushed him roughly through a door, said, “Here he is, Huntsman,” and closed the door again.
Rifles, bows and arrows decorated the stone walls. The burly Chief Huntsman, cold-eyed under his roached gray hair and the four red dots, sat facing the door from behind a wooden desk. He motioned Craig to sit down in one of the row of wooden chairs along the inner wall. Craig sat stiffly in the one nearest the door. His mouth was dry.
“Roy Craig, you are on your trial for life and honor under camp law,” Barim said sternly. “Swear now to speak truth in the blood of Great Russel.”
“I swear to speak truth in the blood of Great Russel.”
Craig’s voice sounded false to him. He began to sweat.
“What would you say of someone who deliberately betrayed our project to destroy the phytos?” Barim asked.
“He would be guilty of hunt treason, sir. An outlaw.”
“Very well.” Barim clasped his hands and leaned forward, his gray eyes hard on Craig’s eyes. “What did you tell Bork Wilde was in those cases you flew from Burton Island to Base Island?”
Craig’s stomach knotted. “Slides, specimens, science stuff, sir.”
Barim questioned him closely about the cases. Craig tried desperately to speak truth without naming Midori. Barim forced her name from him, then questioned him on her attitudes. A terrible fear grew in Roy Craig. He kept his eyes on Barim’s eyes and spoke a tortured kind of truth, but he would not attaint Midori. Finally Barim broke their locked gazes and slapped his desk.
“Are you in love with Midori Blake, boy?” he roared.
Craig dropped his glance. “I don’t know, sir,” he said. He thought miserably: How do you know when you’re in love? “Well … I like to be around her … I never thought … I know we’re good friends.” He gulped. “I don’t think so, sir,” he said finally.
“Phyto seeds are loose on Base Island,” Barim said. “Who planted them?”
“They can walk and plant themselves, sir.” Craig’s mouth was dry as powder. He avoided Barim’s glance.
“Would Midori Blake be morally capable of bringing them here and releasing them?”
Craig’s face twisted. “Morally … I’m not clear on the word, sir … .” Sweat dripped on his hands.
“I mean, would she have the guts to want to do it and to do it?”
Ice clamped Craig’s heart. He looked Barim in the eye. “No, sir!” he said. “I won’t never believe that about Midori!”
Barim smiled grimly and slapped his desk again. “Wilde!” he shouted. “Bring them in!”
Midori, in white blouse and black skirt, came in first. Her face was pale but composed, and she smiled faintly at Craig. Mildred Ames followed, slender and thin-faced in white, then Wilde, scowling blackly. Wilde sat between Craig and Miss Ames, Midori on the end.
“Miss Blake, young Craig has clearly been your dupe, as you insist he has,” Barim said. “Your confession ends your trial except for sentencing. Once more I beg of you to say why you have done this.”
“You would not understand,” Midori said. “Be content with what you know.”
Her voice was low but firm. Craig felt sick with dismay.
“I can understand without condoning,” Barim said. “For your own sake, I must know your motive. You may be insane.”
“You know I’m sane. You know that.”
“Yes.” Barim’s wide shoulders sagged. “Invent a motive, then.” He seemed almost to plead. “Say you hate Mordin. Say you hate me.”
“I hate no one. I’m sorry for you all.”
“I’ll give you a reason!” Miss Ames jumped to her feet, thin face flaming. “Your reckless, irresponsible use of translocation endangers us all! Accept defeat and go home!”
She helped Barim recover his composure. He smiled.
“Please sit down, Miss Ames,” he said calmly. “In three months your relief ship will come to take you to safety. But we neither accept defeat nor fear death. We will require no tears of anyone.”
Miss Ames sat d
own, her whole posture shouting defiance. Barim swung his eyes back to Midori. His face turned to iron.
“Miss Blake, you are guilty of hunt treason. You have betrayed your own kind in a fight with an alien life form,” he said. “Unless you admit to some recognizably human motive, I must conclude that you abjure your own humanity.”
Midori said nothing. Craig stole a glance at her. She sat, erect but undefiant, small feet together, small hands folded in her lap. Barim slapped his desk and stood up.
“Very well. Under camp law I sentence you, Midori Blake, to outlawry from your kind. You are a woman and not of Mordin; therefore I will remit the full severity. You will be set down, lacking everything made with hands, on Russel Island. There you may still be nourished by the roots and berries of the Earth-type life you have willfully betrayed. If you survive until the Belconti relief ship comes, you will be sent home on it.” He burned his glance at her. “Have you anything to say before I cause your sentence to be executed?”
The four red dots blazed against the sudden pallor of the Huntsman’s forehead. Something snapped in Craig. He leaped up, shouting into the hush.
“You can’t do it, sir! She’s little and weak! She doesn’t know our ways—”
“Down! Shut up, you whimpering fool!” Wilde slapped and wrestled Craig to his seat again. “Silence!” Barim thundered. Wilde sat down, breathing hard. The room was hushed again.
“I understand your ways too well,” Midori said. “Spare me your mercy. Put me down on Burton Island.”
“Midori, no!” Miss Ames turned to her. “You’ll starve. Thanasis will kill you!”
“You can’t understand either, Mildred,” Midori said. “Mr. Barim, will you grant my request?”
Barim leaned forward, resting on his hands. “It is so ordered,” he said huskily. “Midori Blake, almost you make me know again the taste of fear.” He straightened and turned to Wilde, his voice suddenly flat and impersonal. “Carry out the sentence, Wilde.”
Wilde stood up and pulled Craig to his feet. “Get the crew to the flyer. Wear pro suits,” he ordered. “Run, boy.”
Craig stumbled out into the twilight.
Craig drove the flyer northwest from Base Camp at full throttle, overtaking the sun, making it day again. Silence ached in the main cabin behind him. He leaned away from it, as if to push the flyer forward with his muscles. He was refusing to think at all. He knew it had to be and still he could not bear it. After an anguished forever he grounded the flyer roughly beside the deserted buildings on Burton Island. They got out, the men in black pro suits, Midori still in blouse and skirt. She stood apart quietly and looked toward her little house on the cliff edge. Thanasis thrust up dark green and knee-high along all the paths.
“Break out ringwall kits. Blow all the buildings,” Wilde ordered. “Blanky, you come with me.”
At Midori’s house Wilde ordered Craig to sink explosive pellets every three feet along the foundations. A single pellet would have been enough. Craig found his voice.
“The Huntsman didn’t say do this, Mr. Wilde. Can’t we at least leave her this house?”
“She won’t need it. Thanasis will kill her before morning.”
“Let her have it to die in, then. She loved this little house.”
Wilde grinned without mirth, baring his big horse teeth.
“She’s outlaw, Blanky. You know the law: nothing made with hands.”
Craig bowed his head, teeth clamped. Wilde whistled tunelessly as Craig set the pellets. They returned to the flyer and Jordan reported the other buildings ready to blow. His round, jolly face was grim. Midori had not moved. Craig wanted to speak to her, say goodbye. He knew if he tried he would find no words but a howl. Her strange little smile seemed already to remove her to another world a million light-years from Roy Craig and his kind. Cobb looked at Midori. His rat-face was eager.
“We’ll detonate from the air,” Wilde said. “The blast will kill anyone standing here.”
“We’re supposed to take off all her clothes first,” Cobb said. “You know the law, Bork: nothing made with hands.”
“That’s right,” Wilde said.
Midori took off her blouse. She looked straight at Wilde. Red mist clouded Craig’s vision.
“Load the kits,” Wilde said abruptly. “Into the flyer, all hands! Jump, you dogs!”
From his side window by the controls Craig saw Midori start down the gorge path. She walked as carelessly relaxed as if she were going down to paint. Thanasis brushed her bare legs and he thought he saw the angry red spring out. Craig felt the pain in his own skin. He lifted the flyer with a lurching roar and he did not look out when Wilde blew up the buildings.
Away from the sun, southwest toward Base Camp, wrapped in his own thought-vacant hell, Roy Craig raced to meet the night.
With flame, chemicals and grub hoes, the Mordinmen fought their losing battle for Base Island. Craig worked himself groggy with fatigue, to keep from thinking. The phytos stems radiated underground with incredible growth energy. They thrust up redoubly each new day like hydra heads. Newly budded phytos the size of thumbnails tinted the air of Base Island in gaily dancing swirls. Once Craig saw Joe Breen, the squat lab man, cursing and hopping like a frog while he slashed at dancing phytos with an axe. It seemed to express the situation.
Barim made his grim decisions to move camp to Russel Island and seed the home island with Thanasis. Craig was helping erect the new camp when he collapsed. He awoke in bed in a small, bare infirmary room at Base Camp. The Mordin doctor took blood samples and questioned him. Craig admitted to joint pains and nausea for several days past.
“I been half crazy, sir,” he defended himself. “I didn’t know I was sick.”
“I’ve got twenty more do know it,” the doctor grunted.
He went out, frowning. Craig slept, to flee to dream-terror from a woman’s eyes. He half woke at intervals for medication and clinical tests, to sleep again and face repeatedly a Great Russel dinothere. It looked at him with a woman’s inscrutable eyes. He roused into the morning of the second day to find another bed squeezed into the small room, by the window. Papa Toyama was in it. He smiled at Craig.
“Good morning, Roy,” he said. “I would be happier to meet you in another place.”
Many were down and at least ten had died, he told Craig. The Belconti staff was back in the labs, working frantically to identify agent and vector. Craig felt hollow and his head ached. He did not much care. Dimly he saw Miss Ames in a white lab smock come around the foot of his bed to stand between him and Papa Toyama. She took the old man’s hand.
“George, old friend, we’ve found it,” she said.
“You do not smile, Mildred.”
“I don’t smile. All night I’ve been running a phase analysis of diffraction patterns,” she said. “It’s what we’ve feared—a spread of two full Ris units.”
“So. Planet Froy again.” Papa Toyama’s voice was calm. “I would like to be with Helen again, for the little time we have.”
“Surely,” Miss Ames said. “I’ll see to it.”
Quick, heavy footsteps sounded outside. A voice broke in.
“Ah. Here you are, Miss Ames.”
Barim, in leather hunting clothes, bulked in the door. Miss Ames turned to face him across Craig’s bed.
“I’m told you found the virus,” Barim said.
“Yes.” Miss Ames smiled thinly.
“Well, what countermeasures? Twelve are dead. What can I do?”
“You might shoot at it with a rifle. It is a Thanasis free-system that has gotten two degrees of temporal freedom. Does that mean anything to you?”
His heavy jaw set like a trap. “No, but your manner does. It’s the plague, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “No suit can screen it. No cure is possible. We are all infected.”
Barim chewed his lip and looked at her in silence. “For your sake now, I wish we’d never come here,” he said at last. “I’ll put our emergency rocket in orbi
t to broadcast a warning message. That will save your relief ship, when it comes, and Belconti can warn the sector.” A half-smile softened his bluff, grim features. “Why don’t you rub my nose in it? Say you told me so?”
“Need I?” Her chin came up. “I pity you Mordinmen. You must all die now without dignity, crying out for water and your mothers. How you will loathe that!”
“Does that console you?” Barim still smiled. “Not so, Miss Ames. All night I thought it might come to this. Even now men are forging arrow points. We’ll form a sworn band and all die fighting Great Russel.” His voice deepened and his eyes blazed. “We’ll stagger who can, crawl who must, carry our helpless, and all die fighting like men!”
“Like savages! No! No!” Her hands flew up in shocked protest. “Forgive me for taunting you, Mr. Barim. I need your help, all of your men and transport, truly I do. Some of us may live, if we fight hard enough.”
“How?” He growled it. “I thought on Planet Froy—”
“Our people on Planet Froy had only human resources. But here, I’m certain that somewhere already the phytos have synthesized the plague immunizer that seems forever impossible to human science.” Her voice shook. “Please help us, Mr. Barim. If we can find it, isolate enough to learn its structure—”
“No.” He cut her off bluntly. “Too long a gamble. One doesn’t run squealing away from death, Miss Ames. My way is decent and sure.”
Her chin came up and her voice sharpened. “How dare you condemn your own men unconsulted? They might prefer a fight for life.”
“Hah! You don’t know them!” Barim bent to shake Craig’s shoulder with rough affection. “You, lad,” he said. “You’ll get up and walk with a sworn band, won’t you?”
“No,” Craig said.
He struggled off the pillow, propped shakily on his arms. Miss Ames smiled and patted his cheek.
“You’ll stay and help us fight to live, won’t you?” she said.
“No,” Craig said.
“Think what you say, lad!” Barim said tautly. “Great Russel can die of plague, too. We owe him a clean death.”
Worldmakers Page 16
