In Trinarvil’s hands Eithlarin’s worn, aged, and spotted dome of uninspired gray blocks became a wondrous miracle whose beauty flashed directly to the soul’s very core, like the Aliom lightning. To experience that immanent beauty directly, not filtered by life’s accumulated emotional barriers, was more than the younger officers could bear.
//Protector!// called Jindigar, breathless with excruciating joy, //We’re not ready—not ready for this!// Have to extend that dome over the ships!
But Trinarvil was lost in rapt contemplation of the glory of existence and the adoration of home life. Jindigar sensed that she was carried into it by a Renewal hormone surge set off when she finally touched Phanphihy and found it welcoming her. Knowing that her mature ability to find every faint hint of shaleiliu was what his Oliat had lacked, that Trinarvil could have been to his Oliat as Lelwatha had been to Kamminth’s– Jindigar still had to stop it.
He had to fight the seductive lure of her vision—for that was what life should always be. Three times he tried to bring himself to act. Finally, knowing that he simply could not match Trinarvil’s mature strength, he resorted to slamming the Pro-lector’s link down to a narrow band.
Everyone protested the sudden loss of the ineffable.
//What?// asked Trinarvil, bewildered. Then, //Oh, sorry. I guess I’m out of practice.// The dome image solidified over the colony, a lovely thing, freshly scrubbed and sound enough to last a generation, but no longer divine, and not yet covering the ships.
Suddenly lightning flashes of human vision pounded into the Oliat consciousness like shards of broken mirror rammed through the choked-down Outreach link.
A lone Native warrior leapt high into the air before Dar. He snarled his battle cry. Two hands gripped the neck of Lelwatha’s whule. Two muscle-knotted arms held it cocked at full backswing. The heavy sounding chamber swung directly at Dar’s head.
Dar’s face froze in horror.
The whule hurtled toward her eyes. The Oliat watched it through Krinata’s human eyes, the antique urwood glittering in the first rosy light of dawn. The linkages carried Dar’s view of her own face reflected in the distorting roundness of the wood, looming larger, paralyzed with fright.
Jindigar saw that the impact would come before the warrior even touched ground again.
And there was no Outrider on station to guard his Formulator, his mate. On a wave of explosive primitive rage Jindigar leapt to deflect the blow.
The massive whule glanced off his open hands, sending paralyzing pain up his arms. The strings rang discordantly. Then the whule smacked into the side of Dar’s head, sending flint shards of pain through the Oliat. She hit the ground in a third burst of shocking pain that propagated through the linkages.
Zannesu Received their pain. Llistyien Emulated pain. Venlagar, as Inreach, was unable to reset the linkages alone. He could only hold them wide so the pain bounced back and forth, redoubling with each circuit. //Jindigar!//
Jindigar felt his knees buckle but didn’t feel the sharp gravel under his hands because of the smarting pain growing ever louder as it seared up his arms again and again, amplified and echoed by the Oliat. His head hit the ground in one last numbing shock, adding to the pain of the blow Darllanyu had taken. Wildly growing pulses of pain shot through his skull. Only Krinata remained on her feet.
Dimly Jindigar sensed Dushau struggling toward them across the stream of retreating warriors—Dushau Outriders. Another Dushau hurtled through the air, tackling the warrior who had stolen Lelwatha’s whule. The Dushau landed asprawl in front of Jindigar, scrabbling desperately for the whule. Jindigar saw a dark turban worn with a deep purple shut and trousers. Threntisn!
The warrior rolled over supine and clubbed Threntisn with the whule. Then he used the instrument as a staff to climb to his feet. He gave a bloodcurdling yell and charged through the approaching wall of Dushau, sweeping the whule before him in vicious arcs. Two large piols that had joined the chasing around as if it were a mating dance got into the warrior’s way.
He stumbled, jabbed at the animals with the whule, and elbowed a Dushau out of his way.
The last thing Jindigar saw before vision failed was Krinata taking off after the warrior at a dead run. Her voice rose in an ululating shriek of predatory fury that barely reached them through the constricted Outreach linkage.
Ever-increasing pain drowned Jindigar, and he knew it would not stop until the energy was grounded. With his last strength he reached for the link to Trinarvil.
//Protector!// he called.
//Center!// she gasped.
//Inreach!//
//Center,// replied Venlagar weakly.
Jindigar finished the roll call, announcing, //On my signal each of you must channel all the pain to me.//
The pain was transformed kinetic energy—the blows from the whule, and their falling to the ground. Trapped and amplified by the magnification function he had set into the linkages to enlarge the dome, the energy now made it impossible for
Jindigar to reset and damp it out. And it grew with no theoretical limit, for it drew now, not just on their physical bodies, but also on the shaleiliu hum.
This would not just Dissolve the Oliat, as when he drew on the hum deliberately, but it would soon topple the Oliat into an Inversion. They would be set to affect the environment, not just Observe it. The Inverted Oliat would remanifest the energy in kinetic form. But the energy had been so vastly amplified, it would explode out from the Oliat like a bomb and would kill hundreds as well as the Oliat, Threntisn, and the Archive.
Jindigar set himself to prevent that. He had seen this done only once, in a demonstration. He told himself it was possible, therefore he could do it. Theoretically any energy could be grounded into a planet core.
Without considering what a slight error might do to his nervous system, he summoned a visual memory of the inside of the Temple and the inlaid Oliat symbol, which was all that was left of the worldcircle.
Theoretically a skilled Priest should never need to step into a worldcircle to contact the life matrix of the planetary energies. Once ignited, a circle always existed, at least in potential. He sought for it, and the very instant when he thought he felt it, he called in the energies. //To Center!//
A flooding rush of unendurable agony cascaded through his nerves, and he was sure he couldn’t do it. Despair weakened ‘ him, magnifying the pain. He had no choice. Feebly at first, then with increasing will, he grounded the raw energy into the very soil of the planet, into the mantle, and down into the molten core where it would be stored and used to produce life, not death. He sank in molten liquid, churned by magnetic energy. His soul shrank, compressed to a dimensionless point. But the pain was gone.
Outside his body, apart from all physical concerns, he melted into the heart of/ the planet, falling inward to a point that encompassed the universe, encompassed Dushaun. The vibration of home called to the elemental stuff of his soul, gathering the scattered wisps together into the colorful, complex identity that was a Jindigar.
Welcome. Bright, comfortable light. Beauty—constant beauty. And there–right there, beckoning, was The Jindigar—a few short steps and he’d be Complete, able to join The Jindigar. It was all his now—he had only—
But what will happen to my Oliat if I leave now?
It had been drilled into him for centuries: Centers cannot die Complete without Dissolving; Observing Priests cannot die Complete without Observing their personal truths to transmit them to others; Seniors cannot die Complete without forsaking Completion; and the Complete cannot die Complete without initiating the cycle.
He had never understood it before, but he knew now that no stage could be skipped. There was no easy way, no single feat, to earn Completion.
Gathering himself from the ends of the universe, he shrouded himself in the soothing energies of Dushaun. How can I leave this? Clinging to the precious feeling of home, he nevertheless forged his way back to the center of Phanphihy and struck upward toward his O
liat, like a diver surfacing from the depths of the ocean into sparkling sunshine.
Whiteness spewed upward around him into a fountain that erupted skyward and sent him tumbling, falling, falling faster and faster, until he landed back in his body with a shock that forced a grunt from his lungs.
He sat up.
He was among his Oliat. Morning sunshine spilled over the nearby roofs to warm his toes while his head was still in the shadow of the Aliom Temple. The greensward around them was churned into raw muck. Some of the young trees had been pulled over despite their mooring lines, and young piols were swarming over them curiously.
All the warriors were gone j and so were most of the Dushau. Black smoke rose from several buildings where fires were being put out. Underlying that was the Oliat’s global awareness of the immediate surroundings dominated by the brilliant plume of the re-ignited worldcircle within the Temple.
But that plume of white energy was different. There were definite overtones of Dushaun among the distinctive patterns of Phanphihy. This time it wasn’t just a fading tinge but strong pulses that formed the character of the circle.
Alarmed that the new circle might attract the Natives again, Jindigar drew the Oliat attention outward, searching for the hive-dwellers.
They were digging a circular trench around the spaceships. Already a circular mound of dirt guarded the ground they claimed as their own. Unlike animal hives where specialization reigned, the Natives had turned out all hands to erect their defense line. Warriors labored beside the intellectual rustlemen while the tall, white-skinned species that were the craftsmen and heralds directed the efforts. The tiny, exoskeletal hivebinders were grouped in the middle of the array of ships telepathically weaving the shattered remnants of then– hivemind back into a cohesive whole. Already that hivemind was able to send waves of psychotic horror at the colony.
As the Oliat’s attention swept the hive some Natives glanced south, toward the Aliom Temple, shrinking from the pluming energies and the impulses it evoked, determined not to make the same mistake again. The hivemind was fighting a last-ditch battle for survival, confused that the huge hive-dome they had found was not openly welcoming.
Jindigar was astonished that the dome illusion had held.
The hive, however, seemed to consider it just another part of this alien place where they’d had to claim ground. The hive had scoured their new home clean of all invaders—the lab technicians in one of the ships had been slaughtered, leaving equipment running—and the hive would not—could not– flee again. Too many had died. The rest were wounded or too exhausted to go any farther. And still the colonists grouped around the symbolic bulwark of the hive’s trench. The fields were littered with dead Natives, killed by the openly hostile colonists.
Why hasn’t the hive unleashed its psychic weapon?
Sluggishly the Oliat responded to the Center’s curiosity, following the connections to the plain above the cliff where a few scattered Natives lay dying, and a few of the badly wounded still dragged themselves toward the cliff edge, knowing they could never make it down.
Ignoring the wounded Natives, the hive-bleeders that had driven the Natives across the plain were now bunched for an all-out assault on the Gifter hive. The Gifters were so small, the hive-bleeders did not just suck them dry—they ate them whole. The Gifter hive, however, had not yet been breached.
A troop of Holot in scarred Imperial body armor advanced against the flank of the hive-bleeders. All the able-bodied Gifters were in the air, diving at the hive-bleeders, harassing them and occasionally killing one. But they were losing against the voracious predators who could swipe one of the winged creatures out of the air, crush it, and eat it before other Gifters could rally to its defense.
As the Oliat watched, the armored Holot opened fire with flamers—probably the last of the weapons still functional. The stench of scorched hive-bleeder flesh rose to mingle with the wood smoke from the Dushau compound, and the thready screams of the hive-bleeders came to the Oliat’s ears.
Fatigued, the Oliat only shuddered, recoiling from the scene, too weary for the suffering to penetrate. But the Native hivemind, aware through its dying members up on the plain, glowed with satisfaction, feeling safer by the moment—not because .hive-bleeders were dying, but because their new neighbors could vanquish such a deadly threat and were willing to do so for neighboring hives.
Only let one colonist’s hand be lifted against the Natives, the Oliat knew, and the hive would lash out with their final weapon. The ex-Imperials would go mad.
Jindigar groped for his Outreach, needing to tell the colony how precarious the truce was.
Krinata’s eyes showed him the outer court of the compound and the Outrider barracks. In the yard they’d set up a rough field hospital consisting of upended crates for tables and blankets spread on the ground for beds.
On one pallet a Dushau lay with his forearm across his chest, bleeding darkly where rough bone ends jutted through the flesh. Storm was stripping a crate down to make splints while two other Dushau prepared a litter. Beyond them, a Cassrian was bandaging a human’s ankle. Two Lehiroh women were tending each other’s burned hands while a Holot Jindigar recognized as the new herbalist was laying a fire on the stone hearth that formed the center of the yard, preparing to brew up some remedies in quantity.
Krinata sat cross-legged on one of the blankets near Storm. Cyrus blotted a cut over her eye. She stared into the distance, oblivious to his ministrations. The moment the link opened, she gazed around, amazed. Cyrus sat back on his heels, a look of exquisite relief on his face.
//Krinata, are you all right?// asked Jindigar, having no idea how much of the pain the Oliat had suffered had gotten through to her, or what such pain might to do a human mind.
//Jindigar?//
//Yes, of course. Can you speak for us?//
She blinked, and the scene before her penetrated, the Oliat’s global awareness carrying a sense of urgency. //I—I guess so. Jindigar—I hit him, but I lost it.//
//What?// he asked, not following her thought.
//The whule.//
He felt tears sting her eyes and trace dirty streaks down her
face. She caught back her breath and stifled the reaction. Jindigar remembered seeing her take off after the warrior. Krinata
hit that warrior? The Oliat hadn’t even felt it through all the
test. If they had– //Krinata, you mustn’t ever do anything like that again.// If she was ever Dushau, there’s certainly little trace of it left! Those warriors are at least three times her size!
//I won’t. I promise. It was awful. And he got Lelwatha’s whule!//
// No time for that now. We must report.//
She took a deep breath and placed herself at his disposal, “//Cy, we have a message for Terab.//”
“Storm!” called Cyrus. “The Oliat! It’s not Dissolved! She’s not in Dissolution shock after all!”
“What? Krinata? I mean, Jindigar?’ Storm handed the splints to one of the Dushau building the litter and came to kneel beside Krinata. “You’re alive? From the way Krinata was—”
“//Please listen.//” Jindigar drew on all his officers to describe the Native hive’s condition and stance. He tried to make it a crisp, professional report despite the fatigue overtaking them all. Llistyien was unable to stand, and Dar was leaning against her Outrider, one hand over the bloody lump on the side of her head.
“//Have you got all that?//” finished Jindigar.
The human and Lehiroh nodded simultaneously, then Storm commanded cryptically, “Cy, go get him. Jindigar, I think there’s more to this hive turning up here than just the hive-bleeders chasing them.”
Prompted by the Oliat’s weariness, Krinata raised one hand to forestall Storm’s enthusiasm. Jindigar noted, as the hand came into her field of vision, that the fingers were shaking. Storm noted it, too, and apologized. “I wouldn’t hold you here except that it’s very important.”
Just then a door cl
attered. Krinata’s hearing picked up softly padding bare feet on wooden stairs. With supreme effort Krinata turned and saw one of the stark-white, incredibly tall humanoid Natives coming toward them. The scarred ears on top of his skull seemed peculiarly familiar. His crossed harnesses—the only clothing he wore—marked him as a Herald. One arm was in a sling, but he carried a hivebinder on his other shoulder—something the Oliat knew was very unusual.
As he came out of the shadow of the wall, Krinata and the Oliat recognized him at the same time. “//Chinchee!//”
This was the Herald they had found wounded and dying in a Native hive smashed by the Imperial troops who were searching for them. Nursed back to health, he had refused to leave them. When more Imperial troops had been closing in on Jindigar’s party, Chinchee had led them to refuge inside another Native hive. The Imperials had located them, anyway, and had attacked the hive. In the ensuing action many had died, and the hive, sorely wounded, had expelled Jindigar’s party and two other offworld prisoners, Darllanyu and Cyrus.
Later Chinchee and his stray hivebinder had been taken prisoner by Imperial troops, who also attacked the colony and captured Jindigar, Krinata, and many other settlers. When all the hives of the plain had attacked the troopers, Chinchee had helped the colonists form the psychic union that created the image of the hive-dome over the settlement and convinced the massed hives of Phanphihy that the settlement—and the Imperials—were just another hive.
Now the Herald had brought them some new neighbors. Dangerous neighbors.
At last recognizing Krinata, Chinchee loosed a barrage of Cassrian whistles and clicks. Through the Native’s accent and Krinata’s human hearing Jindigar barely distinguished the morphemes for friend and welcome.
But the Cassrian female medic set aside her bandages and came toward them excitedly. “Was he only parroting like an animal, or did he really expect us to believe that was a peaceful and friendly approach?”
Her voice was well schooled to the single-toned interspecies language, so Jindigar had no trouble understanding her, but there was no time to explain the Herald’s talent and function. //Llistyien—//
Outreach tdt-3 Page 17
