Jim Baen's Universe-Vol 2 Num 1

by Eric Flint

  "Shrick!" Wesel's voice was grave. "We must return at once to the People. We must warn the People. The Giants are making a sorcery to bring the End."

  "The great, hot light?"

  "No. But wait! First I must tell you of what I learned. Otherwise, you would not believe. I have learned what we are, what the world is. And it is strange and wonderful beyond all our beliefs.

  "What is Outside?" She did not wait for his answer, read it in his mind before his lips could frame the words. "The world is but a bubble of emptiness in the midst of a vast piece of metal, greater than the mind can imagine. But it is not so! Outside the metal that lies outside the Outside there is nothing. Nothing! There is no air."

  "But there must be air, at least."

  "No, I tell you. There is nothing.

  "And the world— how can I find words? Their name for the world is— ship, and it seems to mean something big going from one place to another place. And all of us —Giants and People— are inside the ship. The Giants made the ship."

  "Then it is not alive?"

  "I cannot say. They seem to think that it is a female. It must have some kind of life that is not life. And it is going from one world to another world."

  "And these other worlds?"

  "I caught glimpses of them. They are dreadful, dreadful. We find the open space of the Inside frightening— but these other worlds are all open space except for one side."

  "But what are we?" In spite of himself, Shrick at least half believed Wesel's fantastic story. Perhaps she possessed, to some slight degree, the power of projecting her own thoughts into the mind of another with whom she was intimate. "What are we?"

  She was silent for the space of many heartbeats. Then: " Their name for us is— mutants. The picture was " not clear at all. It means that we —the People— have changed. And yet their picture of the People before the change was like the Different Ones before we slew them all.

  "Long and long ago —many hands of feedings— the first People, our parents' parents' parents, came into the world. They came from that greater world— the world of dreadful, open spaces. They came with the food in the great Cave-of-Food— and that is being carried to another world.

  "Now, in the horrid, empty space outside the Outside there is— light that is not light. And this light— changes persons. No, not the grown person or the child, but the child before the birth. Like the dead and gone chiefs of the People, the Giants fear change in themselves. So they have kept the light that is not light from the Inside.

  "And this is how. Between the Barrier and the Far Outside they filled the space with the stuff in which we have made our caves and tunnels. The first People left the great Cave-of-Food, they tunneled through the Barrier and into the stuff Outside. It was their nature. And some of them mated in the Far Outside caves. Their children were— Different."

  "That is true," said Shrick slowly. "It has always been thought that children born in the Far Outside were never like their parents, and that those born close to the Barrier were— "

  "Yes.

  "Now, the Giants always knew that the People were here, but they did not fear them. They did not know our numbers, and they regarded us as beings much lower than themselves. They were content to keep us down with their traps and the food-that-kills. Somehow, they found that we had changed. Like the dead chiefs they feared us then— and like the dead chiefs they will try to kill us all before we conquer them."

  "And the End?"

  "Yes, the End." She was silent again, her big eyes looking past Shrick at something infinitely terrible. "Yes," she said again, "the End. They will make it, and They will escape it. They will put on artificial skins that will cover Their whole bodies, even Their heads, and They will open huge doors in the " skin of the ship, and all the air will rush out into the terrible empty space outside the Outside. And all the People will die."

  "I must go," said Shrick. "I must kill the Giants before this comes to pass."

  "No! There was one hand of Giants— now that you have killed Fat-Belly there are four of them left. And they know, now, that they can be killed. They will be watching for you.

  "Do you remember when we buried the People with the sickness? That is what we must do to all the People. And then when the Giants fill the world with air again from their store we can come out."

  Shrick was silent awhile. He had to admit that she was right. One unsuspecting Giant had fallen to his blade— but four of them, aroused, angry and watchful, he could not handle. In any case there was no way of knowing when the Giants would let the air from the world. The People must be warned— and fast.

  Together in the Place-of-Meeting, Shrick and Wesel faced the People. They had told their stories, only to be met with blank incredulity. True, there were some who, seeing the fine, shining blade that Shrick had brought from the Inside, were inclined to believe. But they were shouted down by the majority. It was when he tried to get them to immure themselves against the End that he met with serious opposition. The fact that he had so treated those suffering from the sickness still bulked big in the mob memory.

  It was Short-Tail who precipitated the crisis.

  "He wants the world to himself!" he shouted. "He has killed Big-Tusk and No-Tail, he has killed all the Different Ones, and Big-Ears he slew because he would have been chief. He and his ugly, barren mate want the world to themselves!"

  Shrick tried to argue, but Big-Ears' following shouted him down. He squealed with rage and, raising his blade with both hands, rushed upon the rebel. Short-Tail scurried back out of reach. Shrick found himself alone in a suddenly cleared space. From somewhere a long way off he heard Wesel screaming his name. Dazedly, he shook his head, and then the red mist cleared from in front of his eyes.

  All around him were the spear throwers, their slender weapons poised. He had trained them himself, had brought their specialized art of war into being. And now—

  "Shrick!" Wesel was saying, "don't fight! They will kill you, and I shall be alone. I shall have the world to myself. Let them do as they will with us, and we shall live through the End."

  At her words a tittering laugh rippled through the mob.

  " They will live through the End! They will die as Big-Ears and his friends died!"

  "I want your blade," said Short-Tail.

  "Give it to him," cried Wesel. "You will get it back after the End!"

  Shrick hesitated. The other made a sign. One of the throwing spears buried itself in the fleshy part of his arm. Had it not been for Wesel's voice, pleading, insistent, he would have charged his tormentors and met his end in less than a single heartbeat. Reluctantly, he released his hold upon the weapon. Slowly —as though loath to leave its true owner— it floated away from him. And then the People were all around him, almost suffocating him with the pressure of their bodies.

  The cave into which Shrick and Wesel were forced was their own dwelling place. They were in pitiable state when the mob retreated to the entrance— Wesel's wounds had reopened and Shrick's arm was bleeding freely. Somebody had wrenched out the spear— but the head had broken off.

  Outside, Short-Tail was laying about him with the keen blade he had taken from his chief. Under its strokes great masses of the spongy stuff of the Outside were coming free, and many willing hands were stuffing this tight into the cave entrance.

  "We will let you out after the End!" called somebody. There was a hoot of derision. Then: "I wonder which will eat the other first?"

  "Never mind," said Wesel softly. "We shall laugh last."

  "Perhaps. But " the People. My People. And you are barren. The Giants have won— "

  Wesel was silent. Then he heard her voice again. She was whimpering to herself in the darkness. Shrick could guess her thoughts. All their grandiose dreams of world dominion had come to this— a tiny, cramped space in which there was barely room for either of them to stir a finger.

  And now they could no longer hear the voices of the People outside their prison. Shrick wondered if the Gi
ants had already struck, then reassured himself with the memory of how the voices of those suffering from the sickness had grown fainter and fainter and then, at the finish, ceased altogether. And he wondered how he and Wesel would know when the End had come, and how they would know when it was safe to dig themselves out. It would be a long, slow task with only their teeth and claws with which to work.

  But he had a tool.

  The fingers of the hand of his uninjured arm went to the spearhead still buried in the other. He knew that by far the best way of extracting it would be one, quick pull— but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Slowly, painfully, he worked away at the sharp fragment of metal.

  "Let me do it for you."

  "No." His voice was rough. "Besides, there is no haste."

  Slowly, patiently, he worried at the wound. He was groaning a little, although he was not conscious of doing so. And then, suddenly, Wesel screamed. The sound was so unexpected, so dreadful in that confined space, that Shrick started violently. His hand jerked away from his upper arm, bringing with it the spearhead.

  His first thought was that Wesel, telepathic as she was, had chosen this way to help him. But he felt no gratitude, only a dull resentment.

  "What did you do that for?" he demanded angrily.

  She didn't answer his question. She was oblivious of his presence.

  "The People "" she whispered. "The People " I can feel their thoughts " I can feel what they are feeling. And they are gasping for air " they are gasping and dying " and the cave of Long-Fur the spearmaker " but they are dying, and the blood is coming out of their mouths and noses and ears " I can't bear it " I can't— "

  And then a terrifying thing happened. The sides of the cave pressed in upon them. Throughout the world, throughout the ship, the air cells in the spongy insulation were expanding as the air pressure dropped to zero. It was this alone that saved Shrick and Wesel, although they never knew it. The rough plug sealing their cave that, otherwise, would have blown out swelled to meet the expanding walls of the entrance, making a near perfect air-tight joint.

  But the prisoners were in no state to appreciate this, even had they been in possession of the necessary knowledge. Panic seized them both. Claustrophobia was unknown among the People— but walls that closed upon them were outside their experience.

  * * *

  Perhaps Wesel was the more level-headed of the pair. It was she who tried to restrain her mate as he clawed and bit savagely, madly, at the distended, bulging walls. He no longer knew what lay outside the cave, had he known it would have made no difference. His one desire was to get out.

  At first he made little headway, then he bethought himself of the little blade still grasped in his hand. With it he attacked the pulpy mass. The walls of the cells were stretched thin, almost to bursting, and under his onslaught they put up no more resistance than so many soap bubbles. A space was cleared, and Shrick was able to work with even greater vigor.

  "Stop! Stop, I tell you! There is only the choking death outside the cave. And you will kill us both!"

  But Shrick paid no heed, went on stabbing and hacking. It was only slowly, now that he was able to enlarge upon the original impression he had made. As the swollen surfaces burst and withered beneath his blade, so they bulged and bellied in fresh places.

  "Stop!" cried Wesel again.

  With her arms, her useless legs trailing behind her, she pulled herself towards her mate. And she grappled with him, desperation lending her strength. So for many heartbeats they fought— silent, savage, forgetful of all that each owed to the other. And yet, perhaps, Wesel never quite forgot. For all her blind, frantic will to survive her telepathic powers were at no time entirely in abeyance. In spite of herself she, as always, shared the other's mind. And this psychological factor gave her an advantage that offset the paralysis of the lower half of her body— and at the same time inhibited her from pressing that advantage home to its logical conclusion.

  But it did not save her when her fingers, inadvertently, dug into the wound in Shrick's arm. His ear-splitting scream was compounded of pain and fury, and he drew upon reserves of strength that the other never even guessed that he possessed. And the hand gripping the blade came around with irresistible force.

  For Wesel there was a heartbeat of pain, of sorrow for herself and Shrick, of blind anger against the Giants who, indirectly, had brought this thing to pass.

  And then the beating of her heart was stilled forever.

  * * *

  With the death of Wesel Shrick's frenzy left him.

  There, in the darkness, he ran his sensitive fingers over the lifeless form, hopelessly hoping for the faintest sign of life. He called her name, he shook her roughly. But at last the knowledge that she was dead crept into his brain— and stayed there. In his short life he had known many times this sense of loss, but never with such poignancy.

  And worst of all was the knowledge that he had killed her.

  He tried to shift the burden of blame. He told himself that she would have died, in any case, of the wounds received at the hands of the Giants. He tried to convince himself that, wounds or no wounds, the Giants were directly responsible for her death. And he knew that he was Wesel's murderer, just as he knew that all that remained for him in life was to bring the slayers of his People to a reckoning.

  This made him cautious.

  For many heartbeats he lay there in the thick darkness, not daring to renew his assault on the walls of his prison. He told himself that, somehow, he would know when the Giants let the air back into the world. How he would know he could not say, but the conviction persisted.

  And when at last, with returning pressure, the insulation resumed its normal consistency, Shrick took this as a sign that it was safe for him to get out. He started to hack at the spongy material, then stopped. He went back to the body of Wesel. Just once he whispered her name, and ran his hands over the stiff, silent form in a last caress.

  He did not return.

  And when, at last, the dim light of the Place-of-Meeting broke through she was buried deep in the debris that he had thrown behind him as he worked.

  The air tasted good after the many times breathed atmosphere of the cave. For a few heartbeats Shrick was dizzy with the abrupt increase of pressure, for much of the air in his prison had escaped before the plug expanded to seal the entrance. It is probable that had it not been for the air liberated from the burst cells of the insulation he would long since have asphyxiated.

  But this he was not to know— and if he had known it would not have worried him overmuch. He was alive, and Wesel and all the People were dead. When the mist cleared from in front of his eyes he could see them, their bodies twisted in the tortuous attitudes of their last agony, mute evidence of the awful powers of the Giants.

  And now that he saw them he did not feel the overwhelming sorrow that he knew he should have done. He felt instead a kind of anger. By their refusal to heed his warning they had robbed him of his kingdom. None now could dispute his mastery of the Outside— but with no subjects, willing or unwilling, the vast territory under his sway was worthless.

  With Wesel alive it would have been different.

  What was it that she had said— ? . . . and the cave of Long-Fur the spear maker . . .

  He would hear her voice as she said it . . . and the cave of Long-Fur the spear maker.

  Perhaps— But there was only one way to make sure.

  He found the cave, saw that its entrance had been walled up. He felt a wild upsurge of hope. Frantically, with tooth and claw, he tore at the insulation. The fine blade that he had won from the Inside gleamed dully not a dozen handsbreadths from where he was working, but such was his blind, unreasoning haste that he ignored the tool that would have made his task immeasurably shorter. At last the entrance was cleared. A feeble cry greeted the influx of air and light. For a while Shrick could not see who was within, and then could have screamed in his disappointment.

  For here were no tough fighting males,
no sturdy, fertile females, but two hands or so of weakly squirming infants. Their mothers must have realized, barely in time, that he and Wesel had been right, that there was only one way to ward off the choking death. Themselves they had not been able to save.

  But they will grow up, Shrick told himself. It won't be long before they are able to carry a spear for the Lord of the Outside, before the females are able to bear his children.

  Conquering his repugnance, he dragged them out. There was a hand of female infants, all living, and a hand of males. Three of these were dead. But here, he knew, was the nucleus of the army with which he would re-establish his rule over the world, Inside as well as Outside.

  But first, they had to be fed.

  He saw, now, his fine blade, and seizing it he began to cut up the three lifeless children. The scent of their blood made him realize that he was hungry. But it was not until the children, now quieted, were all munching happily that he cut a portion for himself.