Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places)

by Harry Turtledove

  “Now that this helo’s here, do we need to go on?” asked Impac vez Potos, the Eye and Ear with Peggol.

  “You’d best believe it, freeman.” Radnal recounted the story of the lost tourist who’d stayed lost. “No matter how many helos search, they’ll be covering a big area and trying to find people who don’t want to be found. We stay in the hunt till it’s over. By the way the Krepalgans fooled us all, they won’t make things easy.”

  “Shall we keep resting, or head out now?” Peggol asked.

  Radnal chewed on that for a few heartbeats. If the helo was here, that meant the people at Tarteshem knew from its radiophone how bad things were. And that meant helos would swarm here as fast as they could take off, which meant his group would probably be able to get supplies. But he didn’t want to lose people to heatstroke, either, a risk that came with exertion in the desert.

  “We’ll give it another tenth of a daytenth,” he said at last.

  He was first up when the rest ended. The other six rose with enough groans and creaking joints for an army of invalids. “We’ll loosen up as we get going,” Fer vez Canthal said hopefully.

  A little later, panic ran through Radnal when he lost the trail. He waved for Peggol and Horken vez Sofana. They scoured the ground on hands and knees, but found nothing. Rock-hard dirt stretched in all directions for a couple of hundred cubits. “If they pulled up a bush and swept away their tracks, we’ll have a night demons’ time picking them up again,” Horken said.

  “We won’t try,” Radnal declared. The rest of the searchers looked at him in surprise. He went on, “We’re wasting time here, right?” No one disagreed. “So here is the last place we want to stay. We’ll do a search spiral. Zosel vez, you stand here to mark this spot. Sooner or later, we’ll find the trail again.”

  “You hope,” Peggol said quietly.

  “Yes, I do. If you have a better plan, I’ll be grateful to hear it.” The Eye and Ear shook his head and, a moment later, dropped his eyes.

  While Zosel stood in place, the other searchers tramped in a widening spiral. After a hundred heartbeats, Impac vez Potos shouted: “I’ve found it!”

  Radnal and Horken hurried to see what he’d come across. “Where?” Radnal asked. Impac pointed to a patch of ground softer than most in the area. Sure enough, it held marks. The more experienced men squatted to take a better look. They glanced up together; their eyes met. Radnal said, “Freeman vez Potos, those are the tracks of a bladetooth. If you look carefully, you can see where it dragged its tail in the dirt. Donkeys never do that.”

  “Oh,” Impac said in a small, sad voice.

  Radnal sighed. He hadn’t bothered mentioning that the tracks were too small for donkeys’ and didn’t look like them, either. “Let’s try once more,” he said. The spiral resumed.

  When Impac yelled again, Radnal wished he hadn’t tried to salve his feelings. If he stopped them every hundred heartbeats, they’d never find anything. This time, Horken stayed where he was. Radnal stalked over to Impac. “Show me,” he growled.

  Impac pointed once more. Radnal filled his lungs to curse him for wasting their time. The curse remained unspoken. There at his feet lay the unmistakable tracks of three donkeys. “By the gods,” he said.

  “They are right this time?” Impac asked anxiously.

  “Yes. Thank you, freeman.” Radnal shouted to the other searchers. The seven headed southwest, following the recovered trail. Fer vez Canthal went up to Impac and slapped him on the back. Impac beamed as if he’d performed bravely in front of the Hereditary Tyrant. Considering the service he’d just done Tartesh, he’d earned the right.

  He was also lucky, Radnal thought. But he’d needed courage to call out a second time after being ignominiously wrong the first, and sharp eyes to spot both sets of tracks, even if he couldn’t tell what they were once he’d found them. So more than luck was involved. Radnal slapped Impac’s back, too.

  Sweat poured off Radnal. As it evaporated from his robes, it cooled him a little, but not enough. Like a machine taking on fuel, he drank again and again from the bladder on his back.

  Now the sun was in his face. He tugged his cap over his eyes, kept his head down, and tramped on. When the Krepalgans tried doubling back, he spotted the ruse instead of following the wrong trail and wasting hundreds of precious heartbeats.

  By then, the western sky was full of helos. They roared about in all directions, sometimes low enough to kick up dust. Radnal wanted to strangle the pilots who flew that way; they might blow away the trail, too. He yelled into the radiophone. The low-flying helos moved higher.

  A big transport helo set down a few hundred cubits in front of the walkers. A door in its side slid open. A squadron of soldiers jumped down and hurried west.

  “Are they close or desperate?” Radnal wondered.

  “Desperate, certainly,” Peggol said. “As for close, we can hope. We haven’t drowned yet. On the other hand”-he always thought of the other hand-“we haven’t caught your two sluts, either.”

  “They weren’t mine,” Radnal said feebly. But he remembered their flesh sliding against his, the way their breath had caught, the sweat-salty taste of their skin.

  Peggol read his face. “Aye, they used you, Radnal vez, and they fooled you. If it makes you feel better, they fooled me, too; I thought they kept their brains in their twats. They outsmarted me with the fornication books in their gear and the skin they showed. They used our prudishness against us — how could anyone who acts that way be dangerous? It’s a ploy that won’t work again.”

  “Once may have been plenty.” Radnal wasn’t ready to stop feeling guilty.

  “If it was, you’ll pay full atonement,” Peggol said.

  Radnal shook his head. Dying when the Bottomlands flooded wasn’t atonement enough, not when that flood would ruin his nation and might start an exchange of starbombs that would wreck the world.

  The ground shivered under his feet. Despite the furnace heat of the desert floor, his sweat went cold. “Please, gods, make it stop,” he said, his first prayer in years.

  It stopped. He breathed again. It was just a little quake; he would have laughed at tourists for fretting over it. At any other time, he would have ignored it. Now it nearly scared him to death.

  A koprit bird cocked its head, peered down at him from a thornbush that held its larder.

  Hig-hig-hig! it said, and fluttered to the ground. Radnal wondered if it could fly fast enough or far enough to escape a flood.

  The radiophone let out a burst of static. Radnal thumbed it to let himself transmit: “Vez Krobir here.”

  “This is Combat Group Leader Turand vez Nital. I wish to report that we have encountered the Krepalgan spies. Both are deceased.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Radnal relayed the news. His companions raised a weary cheer. Then he remembered again his nights with Evillia and Lofosa. And then he realized Combat Group Leader vez Nital hadn’t sounded as overjoyed and relieved as he should have. Slowly, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “When encountered, the Krepalgans were moving eastward.”

  “Eastw — Oh!”

  “You see the predicament?” Turand said. “They appear to have completed their work and to have been attempting to escape. Now they are beyond questioning. Please keep your transmission active so a helo can home on you and bring you here. You look to be Tartesh’s best hope of locating the bomb before its ignition. I repeat, please maintain transmission.”

  Radnal obeyed. He looked at the Barrier Mountains. They seemed taller now than they had when he set out. How long would they keep standing tall? The sun was sliding down toward them, too. How was he supposed to search after dark? He feared tomorrow morning would be too late.

  He passed on to his comrades what the officer had said. Horken vez Sofana made swimming motions. Radnal stooped for a pebble, threw it at him.

  A helo soon landed beside the seven walkers. Someone inside opened the sliding door. “Come on!” he bawled.


  “Move it, move it!”

  Moving it as fast as they could, Radnal and the rest scrambled into the helo. It went airborne before the fellow at the door had it fully closed. A couple of hundred heartbeats later, the helo touched down hard enough to rattle the tour guide’s teeth. The crewman at the door undogged it and slid it open. “Out!” he yelled.

  Out Radnal jumped. The others followed. A few cubits away stood a man in a uniform robe similar but not identical to the one the militia wore. “Who’s freeman vez Krobir?” he said. “I’m Turand vez Nital.”

  “I’m vez Krobir. I-” Radnal broke off. Two bodies lay behind the Tarteshan soldier. Radnal gulped. He’d seen corpses on their funeral pyres, but never before sprawled out like animals waiting to be butchered. He said the first thing that popped into his head: “They don’t look like you shot them.”

  “We didn’t,” the officer said. “When they saw they couldn’t escape, they took poison.”

  “They were professionals,” Peggol murmured.

  “As may be,” Turand growled. “This one”-he pointed at Evillia-“wasn’t gone when we got to her. She said, ‘You’re too late,’ and then died, may night demons gnaw her ghost forever.”

  “We’d better find that cursed bomb fast, then,” Radnal said. “Can you take us to where the Krepalgans were cornered?”

  “This very heartbeat,” Turand said. “Come with me. It’s only three or four hundred cubits from here.” He moved at a trot that left the worn walkers gasping in his wake. At last he stopped and waited impatiently for them to catch up. “This is where we found them.”

  “And they were coming east, you said?” Radnal asked.

  “That’s right, though I don’t know for how long,” the officer answered. “Somewhere out there is the accursed starbomb. We’re scouring the desert, but this is your park. Maybe, your eye will fall on something they’d miss. If not-”

  “You needn’t go on,” Radnal said. “I almost fouled my robe when we had that little tremor a while ago. I thought I’d wash ashore on the Krepalgan border, ten million cubits from here.”

  “If you’re standing on a starbomb when it goes off, you needn’t fear the flood afterwards,” Turand said.

  “Gak.” Radnal hadn’t thought of that. It would be quick, anyhow.

  “Enough chatter,” Horken vez Sofana said. “If we’re to search, let us search.”

  “Search, and may the gods lend your sight wings,” Turand said.

  The seven walkers trudged west again. Radnal did his best to follow the donkey’s trail, but the soldiers’ footprints often obscured them. “How are we supposed to track in this confusion?” he cried. “They might as well have turned a herd of humpless camels loose here.”

  “It’s not quite so bad as that,” Horken said. Stooping low, he pointed to the ground. “Look, here’s a track. Here’s another, a few paces on. We can do it. We have to do it.”

  Radnal knew the senior trooper was right; he felt ashamed of his own outburst. He found the next hoofprint himself, and the one after that. Those two lay on opposite sides of a fault-line crack; when he saw that, he knew the starbomb couldn’t rest too far away. But he felt time pressing hard on his shoulders.

  “Maybe the soldiers will have found the starbomb by now,” Fer vez Canthal said.

  “We can’t count on it. Look how long it took them to find the Krepalgans. We have to figure it’s up to us.” Radnal realized the weight on him wasn’t just time. It was also responsibility. If he died now, he’d die knowing he’d failed.

  And yet, while the searchers stirred through Trench Park, the animals of the Bottomlands kept living their usual lives; they could not know they might perish in the next heartbeat. A koprit bird skittered across the sand a few paces in front of Radnal. A clawed foot stabbed down.

  “It’s caught a shoveler skink,” he said, as if the hot, worn men with him were members of his group.

  The lizard thrashed, trying to get away. Sand flew every which way. But the koprit bird held on with its claws, tore at the skink with its beak, and smashed it against the ground until its writhing ceased. Then it flew to a nearby thornbush with its victim.

  It impaled the skink on a long, stout thorn. The lizard was the latest addition to its larder, which also included two grasshoppers, a baby snake, and a jerboa. And, as koprit birds often did, this one used the thornbush’s spikes to display bright objects it had found. A yellow flower, now very dry, must have hung there since the last rains. And not far from the lizard, the koprit bird had draped a couple of red-orange strings over a thorn.

  Radnal’s eyes came to them, passed by, snapped back. They weren’t strings. He pointed. “Aren’t those the necklaces Evillia and Lofosa wore yesterday?” he asked hoarsely.

  “They are.” Peggol and Horken said it together. They both had to notice and remember small details. They sounded positive.

  When Peggol tried to take the necklaces off their thorn, the koprit bird furiously screeched hig-hig! Claws outstretched, it flew at his face. He staggered backwards, flailing his arms.

  Radnal waved his cap as he walked up to the thornbush. That intimidated the bird enough to keep it from diving on him, though it kept shrieking. He grabbed the necklaces and got away from the larder as fast as he could.

  The necklaces were heavier than he’d expected, too heavy for the cheap plastic he’d thought them to be. He turned one so he could look at it end-on. “It’s got a copper core,” he said, startled.

  “Let me see that.” Again Peggol and Horken spoke together. They snatched a necklace apiece. Then Peggol broke the silence alone: “Detonator wire.”

  “Absolutely,” Horken agreed. “Never seen it with red insulator, though. Usually it would be brown or green for camouflage. This time, it was camouflaged as jewelry.”

  Radnal stared from Horken to Peggol. “You mean, these wires would be hooked to the cell that would send the charge to the starbomb when the timer went off?”

  “That’s just what we mean,” Peggol said. Horken vez Sofana solemnly nodded.

  “But they can’t now, because they’re here, not there.” Fumbling for words, Radnal went on, “And they’re here because the koprit bird thought they were pretty, or maybe it thought they were food — they’re about the color of a shoveler skink’s lure — and pulled them loose and flew away with them.” Realization hit then: “That koprit bird just saved Tartesh!”

  “The ugly thing almost put my eye out,” Peggol grumbled. The rest of the group ignored him. One or two of them cheered. More, like Radnal, stood quietly, too tired and dry and stunned to show their joy.

  The tour guide needed several heartbeats to remember he carried a radiophone. He clicked it on, waited for Turand vez Nital. “What do you have?” the officer barked. Radnal could hear his tension. He’d felt it too, till moments before.

  “The detonation wires are off the starbomb,” he said, giving the good news first. “I don’t know where that is, but it won’t go off without them.”

  After static-punctuated silence, Turand said slowly, “Are you daft? How can you have the wires without the starbomb?”

  “There was this koprit bird-”

  “What?” Turand’s roar made the radiophone vibrate in Radnal’s hand. As best he could, he explained. More silence followed. At last, the soldier said, “You’re certain this is detonator wire?”

  “An Eye and Ear and the Trench Park circumstances man both say it is. If they don’t recognize the stuff, who would?”

  “You’re right.” Another pause from Turand, then: “A koprit bird, you say? Do you know that I never heard of koprit birds until just now?” His voice held wonder. But suddenly he sounded worried again, saying, “Can you be sure the wire wasn’t left there to fool us one last time?”

  “No.” Fear knotted Radnal’s gut again. Had he and his comrades come so far, done so much, only to fall for a final deception?

  Horken let out a roar louder than Turand’s had been. “I’ve found it!” he sc
reamed from beside a spurge about twenty cubits away. Radnal hurried over. Horken said, “It couldn’t have been far, because koprit birds have territories. So I kept searching, and-” He pointed down.

  At the base of the spurge lay a small timer hooked to an electrical cell. The timer was upside down; the koprit bird must have had quite a fight tearing loose the wires it prized. Radnal stooped, turned the timer over. He almost dropped it — the needle that counted off the daytenths and heartbeats lay against the zero knob.

  “Will you look at that?” he said softly. Impac vez Potos peered over his shoulder. The junior Eye and Ear clicked his tongue between his teeth.

  “A koprit bird,” Horken said. He got down on hands and knees, poked around under every plant and stone within a couple of cubits of the spurge. Before a hundred heartbeats went by, he let out a sharp, wordless exclamation.

  Radnal got down beside him. Horken had tipped over a chunk of sandstone about as big as his head. Under it was a crack in the earth that ran out to either side. From the crack protruded two drab brown wires.

  “A koprit bird,” Horken repeated. The helos and men would have been too late. But the koprit bird, hungry or out to draw females into its territory, had spotted something colorful, so-

  Radnal took out the radiophone. “We’ve found the timer. It is separated from the wires which, we presume, lead to the starbomb. The koprit bird took away the wires the Krepalgans used to attach the timer.”

  “A koprit bird.” Now Turand vez Nital said it. He sounded as dazed as any of the rest of them, but quickly pulled himself together again: “That’s excellent news, as I needn’t tell you. I’ll send a crew to your location directly, to begin excavating the starbomb. Out.”

  Peggol vez Menk had been examining the timer, too. His gaze kept returning to the green needle bisecting the zero symbol. He said, “How deep do you suppose the bomb is buried?”

  “It would have to be pretty deep, to trigger the fault,” Radnal answered. “I couldn’t say how deep; I’m no savant of geology. But if Turand vez Nital thinks his crew will dig it up before nightfall, he’ll have to think again.”