by Fanpro
"Dêdêdê! Dêdêdê! Dêdêdê!" he chattered to the unseen listeners. He turned back to the party. "Your friends have killed one of my others. They are very afraid. They do not know what to do. This is very bad. I have told them to run away. I hope they will." The Tetatae wrung his hands as he talked. "This is very bad. It is ka ka da."
"Can we get the body back?" asked Holland. She could see the pinched expression on the face of the Tetatae, could almost feel the pain in his eyes. "It's important, isn't it?" she asked, putting her hand on the arm of the alien.
"They have gone to try. But I not think it will work."
Another fusillade of pistol shots echoed through the forest. The patrol crouched instinctively against the surrounding trees. The soft snick of safeties being thumbed into the ready position was the only sound they made. More shots. Knyte reached up to pull the alien down to safety. He grasped the figure by the sloping shoulder and felt warm stickiness under his hand. Dakodo crumpled at his feet.
Knyte dragged the alien toward the sanctuary of the tree he was using for cover. Dakodo was conscious and tried to crawl in the direction Knyte was dragging. Holland pushed from behind, exposing her own body to the occasional random shots that still snapped above them. The long, thin legs that were so admirably made for moving through the forest were not as useful when it came to crawling. Obviously this was not a mode of travel for which the aliens were designed. Holland muttered something about this under her breath. The efforts of all three eventually got Dakodo under cover of the thick trunk of the tree.
Panting from the effort, the two humans and the wounded alien huddled together. The only sound from the forest was the soft plopping. The sounds of the other Tetatae had vanished. Even the soft hum of the insects and the bubbling from the swamp had become still. Holland glanced back to where she had left Horg squatting at the ready with his laser rifle. He was so well camouflaged that it was several moments before she could discern his motionless figure. Then the sounds of cheering broke the stillness. The mercenaries were headed back toward the camp with their prize. Holland hoped that it was only one prize. "Let's get going," she whispered. "We've got to get him to camp as soon as possible."
Knyte looked into the eyes of the Tetatae. "Can you travel all right?" he asked.
10
Another ripple of shots crackled through the trees. "I've had it," snarled Knyte. He snapped the boom mike down on his helmet. "Cease firing, you idiots," he shouted into the communicator. "You're shooting at us. The only dangerous thing in the forest is you. Cease fire!"
"Bull," came the answer over the headset, along with the continued popping of the merc's slug pistols. There're a bunch of bastards all around us," continued the speaker. "We got one and the others tried to attack us. They're clever little devils. But we chased them off. I think I winged a couple."
"They're not dangerous," said Holland into her own mike. "They're friendly. Now you've scared them away. They were only trying to be friendly."
"Says you. They tried to attack us. What's the matter? You going soft? What's your boss going to say when he hears that kind of talk?" They all recognized the voice of Collis Brank, one of the 'Mech pilots. He would be sure to let everyone know that the DEST members were getting soft. Holland flushed at the thought. Her fingers closed tight on the hand grip of her laser rifle.
"We can be as hard as you like," said Knyte into his mike. "If you want a demonstration of our abilities, we could always stalk you right now. If you really want to know how good we are, just take a couple of more shots. We can deal with that."
There was a momentary silence while the threat sank in. Even the mercenaries had some brains. They knew enough to understand that they were raw meat against highly trained soldiers in the woods. "Oh, get off your high and mighty talk. We promise not to scare you guys anymore." There was soft laughter from within the shrouding foliage, then silence. A little later they heard the mercs moving off through the underbrush.
Knyte and Holland did what they could for the wounded alien. All DEST team members carried a personal medical pouch that contained a pain suppressant, bandages, clotting agent, and a kit that could seal puncture wounds and slashes up to fifty millimeters long. They applied the bandage to the graze on Dakodo's back, but they didn't use either the pain suppressant or the clotting agent. His blood was a clear yellow, and they were afraid of causing an unfortunate reaction.
While the two team members were working on the Tetatae, he closed his eyes and remained still. Holland took the opportunity to examine him more closely. The downy hair that covered most of his body was rich and softly iridescent. The colors changed as she watched, undertones of green and purple flowing beneath the down of the hair as though the roots were changing color rather than the strand itself. The color did not seem to be controlled by the light in the forest or how she moved. Instead it fluctuated based on the movement of her hands as well as what Knyte did with the bandages. She was careful not to press too hard, and once when Dakodo seemed to wince at her pressure, she was quick to back off.
As the ministration continued, Holland was aware that Horg had crept closer to the three. He was silent and alert, his infrared scanner trained on the woods around the patrol. "I think we should take them out," he said when close enough for his whisper to be heard.
"That might still be an overreaction," said Knyte, intent on his bandaging. "There is no death penalty for being slightly stupid."
"Dakodo is my friend," said Horg in a tone so matter-of-fact that the meaning was crystal clear.
Knyte saw a vendetta coming and moved to avert it. "They are mercenaries. They had no business shooting, but they just don't know any better. They were only doing what they do naturally. You can't really blame them for their actions. They are not thinking people when they are in the woods. They would do much better if they were in their machines. It'll be all right, Horg." It was the best he could think of at the time.
"He is my friend." Loyalty had been Horg's byword since he first had a philosophy of life, and that sense of loyalty had only been reinforced during his training with the Draconis Elite Strike Team. DEST training stressed loyalty to the section and to the team, and from there to the Draconis Combine as well. There was no greater trait than loyalty to one's comrades. It meant that they could count on you and you on them. When you ran into trouble, your DEST comrades would be there to get you out. They would sacrifice themselves for you, and you would do the same for them. That was how it worked. Dakodo had joined the section because Horg had talked to him. Now Dakodo was wounded, and Horg felt responsible. There was a debt to pay. Knyte saw what that debt would mean.
Dakodo staggered to his feet. He swayed slightly, and his ovoid body hung lower between the leg joints. He steadied himself, his hand on Holland's shoulder. She felt the warmth of his hand come through her battle vest. Knyte looked into the alien's eyes. "We'd better get going," he said. "Night's coming on, and I want to get back before it's so dark that someone could make a mistake. There's no telling what the others have said about what happened and how dangerous these people are. I wouldn't want to be mistaken for a hostile alien presence in the gloom."
It was slower going. The forest lost the light long before the grassy places. Now that Dakodo was injured, he was no longer able to move as fast. Knyte led, moving cautiously. The sun was almost at the level of the far trees when the patrol broke the cover of the forest. In all this time Dakodo had not said a word, obviously concentrating on staying awake and mobile. He was staggering severely by the time they reached the grass.
The camp was in an uproar as they approached. The mercenaries and the ship crew members were gathered around the open personnel door of the DropShip, and Knyte could hear their loud talk and laughter. The DEST members were completely hidden in their fighting positions, and he knew they had been spotted by someone. He heard the soft click of warning from the mastoid speaker inside his helmet. He also heard the all-clear as they were recognized. No one rose from a fightin
g position to welcome them, and they moved directly toward where the command had been constructed. Sho-sa Takuda came to meet them.
Takuda saw the bandages on the alien's back as the group approached. He issued a sharp order, which brought Saitan Yura hurrying forward with the team medical kit. The Tetatae, meanwhile, had collapsed between the two groups. Yura dropped to his knees, quickly ripping off the bandages that Knyte had applied so he could get a look at the wound. "Slug weapon," he said to no one in particular. "Not one of ours." He glanced toward the cluster of rowdy mercenaries.
"Stray bullet," said Knyte. He looked directly at Horg. "It wasn't intentional." The leader continued with his report of the patrol.
Takuda listened carefully and then turned to Horg. "You did not shoot" It was both a statement and a question. The sho-sa looked at his soldier and awaited an answer.
"It didn't seem right," said Horg. The go-cho stood looking into the eyes of his commander. "He was not going to hurt me or run away. It wasn't right."
"You did well, Go-cho Swalen Horg. You did well.
You were to make contact with the aliens if it were possible, and killing one of them would have done little except provide us with a specimen to examine. Now we have a real live one. You did well."
"I don't know what to do for this one," interrupted Yura. "I've tried the clotting agent on a bit of the wound, but it hasn't seemed to work. I think we're going to lose him."
In the falling light, Holland could see that the iridescence had gone from beneath the down-like hair. The brown color had lost its sheen as well and had taken on an ashen hue. Looking down at the curiously shrunken shape, she felt a slight choking in her throat and a feeling of rage that must have been how Horg had felt. Perhaps he was right; the mercs needed to be taught a lesson. Vost and Brank would be good candidates. She looked beyond her command group at the celebrating mercenaries.
"Give him a shot from this," said Takuda. He opened the medipack on his left thigh, took out the twelve stimulant syringes, and handed them to Yura. "We have more of them if necessary. Give him one, and if he doesn't respond, give him another. Keep doing it until they're gone or he's awake."
"You can't do that, sir," protested Bustoe. "Use of emergency medical equipment on non-Combine personnel is prohibited."
The five other DEST members who were clustered around the fallen Tetatae looked at Bustoe. What he said was absolutely correct, but his words suddenly brought home the truth of their situation. They would never again have to answer to anyone at Military Headquarters. "I will deal with it at the appropriate time," said Takuda. "But you are quite correct to raise the question, Gun-so Bustoe. Quite correct." Takuda nodded to Yura. "Proceed."
Bustoe was ready to give in. "The medicine is designed for human use only," he continued. "If we give it to this ... thing ... there will be none for us. It will be a terrible waste."
Yura broke open the packet of syringes and jabbed one directly into the wound. There was no response from the unconscious figure. He applied another, still no response. Another syringe was drained, and then another. It was only after Yura had forced the seventh one into the alien's prone body that the creature showed a slight quivering. A wave of iridescence swept outward from the point of the needle's insertion. On the eighth application the alien opened his eyes. "Têodê," he muttered.
Holland bent close to the beak to listen to what he said. "Tell us what to do," she implored. "What should we do?" Dakodo murmured something. "The purple," said Holland, looking up at the others gathered around. "It has to do with the purple."
Horg rummaged through his pack until he found the foul-smelling plant he'd been given at the swamp. "What do I do?" he asked.
"Break it open, Horg," said Holland. "Break it open and rub it on the wound."
Horg followed her instructions. The odor from the fruit nearly made him gag, and the others in the group turned away at the stench, but he persisted. An evil gray juice dripped from the putrid flesh of the innards, oozing down into the wound. The reaction was almost immediate. The fluid flowed along the crease left by the pistol slug. As it did, the wound changed color from the rawness of exposed flesh to a creamy, semi-liquid state. "Da," Dakodo said. "Dada."
The feeling of relief among them was palpable. Horg was especially glad; the alien would live, and he was happy for the first time since the friendly fire incident in the woods. He even smiled as Kendall Pesht made his way toward the command group. The mercenary pilot looked down at the recumbent Tetatae. "You got one too," he said. "They're not bad. You should try one.
Tastes a bit like chicken." He turned away from the DEST team and moved back toward his own.
Later that night Horg sat contemplating the unfamiliar stars. Gun-so Ariake Sanae sat beside him. Horg often went to her with his problems, and now he confided his feelings about the mercenaries. The two sat in silence. Finally Sanae turned to her friend, placing a hand gently his shoulder. "Perhaps you're right, Swalen Horg. You do have cause enough for a vendetta. You have cause, but be careful. The time is not yet."
11
The ent fronds of the broad cephatus leaves that formed the roofs of the Tetatae homes reflected the soft starlight filtering through the treetops. No sign of life moved over the beaten ground between the log buildings, for the entire tribe was gathered in the long nesting house, as they did whenever a momentous decision was required. Apart from the birthing season, the place was usually empty except for meetings of this kind.
The central council sat in a circle, with Hetman Totito and Dokaepi, the shaman and spiritual leader of the tribe, in the center. There were only eleven members of the council; one space was left vacant for the missing member. The long interior of the house was filled with the sounds of soft muttering as the tribe settled down to what would be a lengthy meeting.
Whenever a Tetatae tribe faced an important decision, all the members gathered to hear the discussion. The subject would be announced by the hetman, or leader of the tribe, and then each member of the council would have a chance to speak in turn. The order of the speakers was ordained by a tradition that extended back as far as any living member could remember. The newest member of the council spoke first, for he would also be the youngest member. The twelve Tetatae represented the twelve oldest members of the tribe, be they male or female, and when there was a vacancy, the oldest member not of the council automatically filled that space. That was the situation now, and the tribe waited for the hetman to announce the vacancy.
Vacancies occurred only on the death of a member of the council. Under normal circumstances that death would have been witnessed by the entire tribe. When a Tetatae felt the cold fingers of his own passing, he would announce it to the tribe. They would then take him to the nesting house, where he would be comforted by the tribe. The dying member would accept water but no food until he quietly passed away. Then they would carry his remains to a special place, where the individual was buried among flowers, herbs, and some items of his or her own making. Because there was little private property among the Tetatae, the graves did not contain much. There the body would rest for eternity.
The Tetatae's religious system was a loose one. They knew or felt the existence of a power greater than themselves, and they were sure that it resembled their own form. But they weren't quite sure of its might or how it would deal with the Tetatae after death. They believed in an existence after death, but seemed mostly uninterested in the details. Life would be an extension of the present, and that was good enough. They also had a concept that doing good while in this existence was a requirement for the good life beyond, which made it important for a Tetatae to serve the tribe in some way. Sitting on the council was considered a good thing, especially if the member conducted himself with the dignity deserving of the office.
Now the tribe gathered in the nesting house, the most important building in the tribal compound, to hear what the advisors would say. This meeting was all the more important because one of the council members was missing
. The fact that the member had departed without the traditional notification was unusual; such an event had not occurred within the memory of any but the oldest of the council. With the average Tetatae life expectancy something like two hundred years, that was a long memory. But even the oldest members could not recall a time when any member of the council had died without the benefit of a proper burial.
As the last of the tribe settled into their assigned places, Totito rose from his position in the center of the circle and began to speak. He looked around the entire circle of elders, his eyes passing over the vacant place. "Councilor Dakodo," he said in a firm voice, "Please answer the call of the council." He waited for a moment and then made the call again. He repeated the call twelve times as was the tradition of the tribe. Twelve was an important number in the life of the Tetatae, for it had roots in their religion, the birth process, the government, and their own physical structure.
There was no response from the missing member, nor had anyone in the room expected there to be. Everyone knew that Dakodo had vanished into the tribe of humans. It was also known that the humans had taken a young Tetatae who would never return. It was a time of some confusion for the members.
Twelve times Totito scanned the circle of elders. Twelve times he called for Dakodo to take his place within the circle. Then he made the announcement, "The missing member of the tribe makes no response, and so shall we consign Dakodo to the past. Let the present continue."
"I will take the place of my missing brother," came a voice from among the assembly. "May I serve as well as the missing Dakodo, as he served in the place of Teka, as she served in the place of Tatadi, as he served ..." The tradition of the place on the council was defined by those who had held it, and the newest member of the council repeated the names of all those who had gone before. The list was more than twenty names long, and the other members of the council waited until the recitation had finished.
