Downtime

by Cynthia Felice

  “He might be just the right one,” Roma said. “Not bright enough to understand the implications of what he’s being asked to do.”

  “Too dumb to be relied upon to follow orders,” Mahdi said. “Not him. Now who else?”

  “Commander Calla. Anyone can see that she desperately needs elixir.”

  Mahdi glared at Roma. “She’s a genetic singularity. Elixir doesn’t work for her. Now, who else?”

  “D’Omaha . . .”

  “That’s really stupid, Roma,” he said. “As a retired decemvir, he already has an allotment of elixir. Not all of them are as anxious to recapture their youth as Frennz is.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of D’Omaha himself. I was thinking of his wife.”

  Mahdi smiled. “Not bad, Roma. Now we have two good candidates.”

  “Chief Marmion Andres Clavia asks permission to enter,” the voice modulator said.

  “Let the first candidate enter,” Mahdi said.

  Chapter 12

  “There’s been an accident,” Marmion was saying through the flatscreen. The lens revealed that the perfectionist was in a zephyr. Jason could see a blur of trees through the transparent canopy around Marmion. “A horrible misunderstanding. Calla . . .”

  “Where is she?” Jason said feeling panic rising to constrict his throat.

  “The commander is fine,” Marmion said hastily. “The imperator general must have misunderstood. We’ve been touring the Amber Forest this morning. His laser was concealed by his toga. He shot from the hip, got two danae.”

  “How the . . .”

  “Commander Calla says for you to come,” Marmion said, cutting him off. In the background Jason could see two other zephyrs among the trees. “She doesn’t know if she should finish destroying them.”

  “Tell her I said she should destroy the imperator general,” Jason said reaching for his stellerator.

  Marmion continued as if he had not heard. “She’s . . . dealing with Mahdi. I’m to wait here for you to show you where . . .”

  “I’m on my way,” Jason said. Not even bothering to log off the comm, Jason left, running all the way from his room to the lot where the zephyrs were parked. His mind was filled with questions: How could there have been any misunderstanding? The Amber Forest was under his protection; no hunting allowed. Had the imperator general flouted the law? How had he managed to shoot two when most people couldn’t even get a shot away at one? Couldn’t Calla stop him after the first shooting? Which two had he shot? The danae took little notice of humans in the Amber Forest these days; they’d become accustomed to them with their recording devices and jelly bean memories. Any of them could have been the victims.

  At full speed, the flight was no longer than five minutes. Jason spotted Marmion’s zephyr in the usual parking place in the meadow at the edge of the Amber Forest. The perfectionist was standing alongside, waiting for him. Jason landed swiftly and threw open the canopy.

  “This way,” Marmion said, stepping off in long steps to the forest.

  The wind was coming out of the forest, which had undoubtedly prevented the danae from getting a whiff of the hardware the imperator general was carrying. The walk would be a short one, Jason was sure. If they’d gotten far enough for any of the danae to be downwind, any that smelled the laser would have alerted the rest in the forest. Yes, the wounded danae were close. Jason could smell the sickening sweetness of excrement that mortally wounded danae released.

  “Over here,” Marmion said, carefully picking his way through a slender wand of hardened tree sap, first of many that would form the frame of a new kiosk.

  “Not the Builder,” Jason said, half muttering, half praying. Sunlight played on half a dozen unfinished dwellings where sap was carefully being channeled to fill in the frames. In time they’d become hollow mounds of amber, lovely to look at, clean and dry inside. Jason pushed aside a sticky frond to step inside a half-finished kiosk. Two danae lay on the pine needles and dried twigs. Neither was the Builder.

  The smaller danae was badly charred in the upper body and the abdomen was bloody from an incision made to retrieve the crystal gall. Even so, Jason recognized the natural red of Old Blue-eyes’ scales. Tonto lay alongside, burned less badly but similarly incised and, incredibly, still breathing.

  “He took the gall out of a live danae?” Jason said, incensed. He kneeled beside Tonto. The nictitating membrane of the danae’s eyes was shut, but the lids fluttered when Jason put his hand over the central heart.

  “She . . . Commander Calla wouldn’t let him finish the kill; he refused to leave without the gall. It was very small.”

  “The bastard. What kind of man . . . ?” The central heart was beating strongly. Jason moved to feel for the secondary heart; he found it beating irregularly.

  “All the danae in the forest took wing, almost like last spring when they went on the mating flight. Shock scent, I guess,” Marmion said.

  Jason shook his head. He had written about the shock scent that sent all the danae for a kilometer around flying high when one of their kind had been wounded. He had thought that they emitted a smell the others detected, though he’d been hard-pressed to know how the smell traveled so quickly. Since he’d met Arria, he was certain it was not shock scent, but psi shock that caused them to take wing.

  “Both wings are gone,” Marmion said. “The burns aren’t so bad, but . . . I can go back and get a laser from the zephyr and finish the job.”

  Jason shook his head. He didn’t believe Tonto could live; he was far more gravely wounded than the danae Arria had saved by hiding and feeding it. But he could not put down Tonto as if he were a mere animal.

  “Sir, the other one’s little heart is still beating . . . or was. The main heart’s destroyed, but . . . really, sir, it could still be in pain. I can do it if you cannot.”

  Jason looked at Blue-eyes. There were no longer any eyes to see, but Jason touched the charred flesh below where they were. Sure enough, he felt the little heart. Lower down, the big heart was silent. He sighed and reached for his medic kit.

  “I’m going to try to seal them up,” Jason said to Marmion. The perfectionist seemed aghast. “The stuff is made for humans. You could do more damage than good. And the organs inside . . . he wasn’t very careful when he took the galls.”

  “I don’t expect them to live long,” Jason said. “Just long enough. While I’m doing this, I want you to find some nymphs. Two of them. Bring them here unharmed.”

  “Sir?”

  Jason looked at the perfectionist, who was looking down as if at a mad man. “Yeah, I know how it sounds. Look, I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Marmion. It seemed safer not to tell everything I’ve learned about them, for their own protection.”

  “And perhaps to tell a few lies?” Marmion said, “like keeping your weapon in plain sight so that you could shoot faster when in reality the danae would see the gun and flee?”

  Jason wondered how many good shots Marmion had failed to take because he’d followed Jason’s instructions. Obviously enough for him to figure out the truth. “Marmion, I have some evidence that the danae are sentient. Not hard proof yet, not enough to get bans for the planet, but enough to convince me. I’ll explain it all to you later if you’re interested, but for now, just trust me. Go get those nymphs. And before you go, give me the adhesive from your medic kit. This isn’t enough.”

  Marmion shook his head, frowning, but he reached into the pocket on his stellerator and brought out another tube of sterile adhesive and gave it to Jason. “How do I catch a nymph?”

  “With a net,” Jason said. “Get help if you need it, but bring me two healthy nymphs.”

  With Marmion gone, Jason set about tending the two danae. Neither had stirred, though Tonto’s breathing was evident. Any massive bleeding had stopped, but Jason had decided he could do nothing inside the two danae. He didn’t know enough of what a normal danae abdomen looked like inside to be certain that any cleaning or trimming of what appeared to
be damaged tissue wouldn’t turn out to be a vital organ. He just dumped adhesive along the edge of the wounds and brought the ends together. That much worked; the flaps of flesh became tacky and stuck where they touched. He put burn powder on the char, which jellied as it would on a human’s wound, but he knew it would do little in the long run. The powder was nothing more than a temporary measure used until the victim could be transported to a clinic machine. These same machines that could revive a human burn victim would do nothing for danae. Even if Jason were willing to risk trying them, neither he nor anyone else on Mutare knew how to override the clinic machine’s programming, which addressed only human physiology. When he’d done what he could, he picked up Old Blue-eyes and carried him deeper into the Amber Forest to the hidden kiosk the old danae called home. He noticed that some of the danae had returned. They were wary of him, but peering curiously from upper branches. He put Blue-eyes on the floor of the kiosk. Like all the inhabited tents of amber, this one had perches that were easy for a danae to hop but difficult for a human to step around. He left Blue-eyes and went back for Tonto and found The Builder standing over the younger danae.

  The Builder stared, accusingly, Jason thought, and wouldn’t move aside. “I’m trying to help,” Jason said, trying to push past the danae. It was not very strong, but if it chose to oppose him, Jason knew that the speed with which the wings moved could burn and even cut his skin. The danae unfurled and Jason put his hands up to protect his eyes, but continued to push The Builder aside. When the way was clear, he picked up Tonto; a shred of flesh hung down from the bend of the wing. Jason gathered it into his fingers, wondered if the danae was conscious enough to feel the pain. Probably not, he decided, at least, there’d been no signs that he could recognize. Blue-eyes had certainly been beyond caring, and Tonto had made no voluntary movement, not even now when Jason was carrying him.

  Again The Builder barred his way, but this time Jason just turned and stepped through the back of the unfinished kiosk. He took Tonto to the same place he’d taken Blue-eyes and lay him gently next to his companion. Jason checked the hearts again; three out of four still beat. The Builder hopped onto a perch, watched Jason carefully. But there was nothing more to do but wait for Marmion to return with the nymphs. Jason sat down and leaned against the kiosk wall. Through the translucent amber walls he could see that the sun had moved steadily west. He hoped Marmion would not be much longer. Perhaps he should have gone himself, for he knew he’d have some in hand by now. The nymphs were not difficult to spot, though they were surprisingly swift when alarmed.

  Suddenly Tonto rolled and got one of his legs underneath him. Jason got up to restrain him, talking soothingly even though he knew the danae could not hear. The Builder, sitting quietly on his perch until then, leaped into action. The danae perched with a grasshopper leg on each of Jason’s shoulders, short forearms holding balance with fistfuls of hair. The membranous wings wrapped around Jason’s arms and torso, nearly pinning him. He struggled, not wanting to hurt The Builder in any way, but determined to get loose so that he could help Tonto. But each time he got one hand free of the wings, they shifted and cupped around him again. He couldn’t get loose. He stayed still, hoping the danae would let him go if he did not move, but the wings stayed on him, clasping him with surprising strength. Tonto was struggling out of the kiosk, hopping pathetically like a drunken bird, stumbling over the perch and flopping through the doorway. Jason winced and the wings around him tightened.

  The Builder did not loosen her grip for what seemed like an hour to Jason, and he was sure she would have kept him there longer, but Marmion finally came crashing through.

  “What the . . . ?” The perfectionist reached for a weapon that he did not carry, then seemed ready to dive for The Builder and Jason. But just as suddenly as she had struck, The Builder released Jason, and with a powerful leap from his shoulders she shot through one of the body-sized holes in the kiosk, which Jason had always thought provided ventilation. Marmion stared at Jason, confused and alarmed.

  “I don’t know what came over her,” Jason said. “She let me carry him all the way over here, then I guess she decided I was going to hurt him or something. Damn, those wings are strong.” He rubbed his arms, was surprised to discover how numb they felt.

  “The other danae is well up the tree where we can’t follow,” Marmion said, “at least, not without destroying the ladders and dwellings between here and there.”

  “Damn,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Well, we’ll see what we can do about him later. First we’ll take care of Blue-eyes.”

  “Yes, sir. How, sir?”

  “You take a healthy nymph and a dying danae and put them together. If we’re lucky and Old Blue-eyes is still alive enough to sing his death song, next spring we get a new Old Blue-eyes.”

  “You mean like the cocooning they do with the animals? I thought that was a food supply during the cocooning stage, that the nymphs fed off the host animal.”

  “I think that’s still true,” Jason said, “but that they also take on some aspects of whatever they cocoon with. When it’s a danae they feed off, it’s more than some animal cunning they get. The whole intelligence may be consumed by the nymph or passed on by the danae. I don’t know which is correct. But it works . . . I think.”

  Marmion shrugged, but then started looking around the kiosk. “We can fasten pieces of the net over the openings, that ought to keep the little bugger in here.” He looked at Jason. “I’d like to see if this works. They’re strange enough as it is, but if they can perpetuate themselves in this fashion, they’d really be unique in the known universe, wouldn’t they?”

  Jason nodded, pleased that Marmion was intrigued enough to help, even though he must know that Jason’s plan was a desperate one. Or maybe, Jason thought uncharitably, the perfectionist was humoring the ranger-governor. Whatever the reason, Jason was glad of his help. He’d get done faster and then figure out a way to help Tonto back into the kiosk.

  Outside, congregated around the netted nymphs, were half a dozen danae. They took wing like startled gamebirds when Jason appeared, and when he saw they had loosed the nymphs he dived for the two wiggling creatures. Sharp claws from six little legs dug into his skin. One nymph squeezed past his fingers, got loose and scampered for the nearest tree, which happened to be an amber-covered one. For a second Jason thought Marmion would catch the escaped nymph, for the amber was slick and gave little purchase. But it managed to get far enough to get to the first rung of the perch-ladder, and it leaped with amazing agility to the next and the next, finally disappearing into live tree branches.

  “Hold that one,” Marmion said, finally realizing that pursuit was useless. “I’ll get the nets ready.”

  The nymph was almost as long as Jason’s torso, loose fleshed so that it was difficult to hold firmly, and it continued to scratch as it writhed. He had to keep one hand on the back of its head, for though the teeth were mostly molars for chewing greens, it did have a few sharp teeth and a strong jaw. It was, he realized, about the same size as a danae’s body, but it was heavier. When Marmion had sealed off the kiosk’s openings with the nets, he signaled Jason, who threw the nymph inside.

  For a few minutes, the nymph raced around the kiosk, maddened and frightened, and then discovering it could not get out and was not in immediate danger, it stopped. It walked slowly on its short legs, carelessly stepping on the wounded danae that still lay motionless where Jason had placed it.

  “Doesn’t seem interested,” Marmion said.

  “We’ll give it some time,” Jason said. “And meanwhile, I’m going to go up and see if I can find Tonto.”

  “You’ll bring all the amber down,” Marmion said, disapprovingly. “You’re too heavy.”

  “There’s a young tree over there, not much amber on the trunk and no kiosks above or below. I’ll climb up there and see if I can spot him.”

  Unhardened sap was sticky, and even this young, almost bare tree had a lot of it. Jason’s hands
were coated before he’d gotten halfway up, but he continued climbing. When the branches became too small to hold him he stopped. Fifteen meters away the older and stronger trees glittered with amber, huge hollow globs. He could see shadowy danae, inside and out, silhouetted by the last of the sunlight. There were hundreds of them. He settled as comfortably and firmly as he could and tried to see each and every one, looking for one that did not leap lightly. The sun winked out behind him. He took out his pocket torch as the last of the crepuscular light faded. The artificial light startled the danae, causing them to turn and stare. But finally he found one that did not move. Or was it only a thick branch in that kiosk, covered with amber? No wing rolls, but he couldn’t be sure. He did catch a glimpse of a nymph cowering at the tip of a conifer branch.

  When he climbed down, Marmion was sitting at the door of the kiosk, staring through the net.

  “Nothing,” he said to Jason. “It curled up in that corner over there about ten minutes ago and hasn’t moved since. I think it’s sleeping.”

  Jason peered in. What Marmion said was true. He couldn’t tell if Blue-eyes was still breathing; it was so shallow before, and now in the poor light he could detect nothing.

  “Let’s give it some time, sir,” Marmion said. “I picked up some food and beverage when I went back for the nets. We could eat, then take another look at the situation, decide what to do.”

  Jason hesitated, then shook his head. “Couldn’t eat,” he said.

  Marmion nodded, but reached into the pocket of his stellerator and pulled out a flask. “Drink, then. You must be thirstier than I was.”

  Jason took the flask gratefully, opened it and drank deeply.

  The beverage was tart, made from a fruit or berry he didn’t recognize. He was glad that it wasn’t too sweet, for the smell of esters was strong on him, no doubt embedded in his clothes from handling the wounded danae.

  The drink should have refreshed him, but it did not. He drank more and sat down before the kiosk. He suddenly felt tired, the dispiriting events overcoming him. He glanced through the translucent amber, saw the nymph still crouched in the corner, and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said sadly. “Blue-eyes is more dead than alive, so I just don’t know if it will work. Maybe Tonto . . .” He looked back up into the trees. His head reeled.