The Integral Trees t-1

by Larry Niven

  Jinny plunged through a last screen of foliage, into the sky.

  Minya kept running. The supervisors (Haryet and Dloris, hardfaced jungle giants of indeterminate age) had reached the edge. Dloris swung a weighted line round her head, twice and out. Haryet waited her turn, then swung her own line while Dloris pulled. The line resisted as she pulled it in, then gave abruptly. Dioris reeled back, off balance.

  Minya reached the edge in time to see the stone at the end of Haryet's line spin round Jinny. Dionis threw her line while Jinny was still fighting Haryet's. Jinny thrashed, then went limp.

  Haryet pulled her in.

  Jinny huddled on her side, face buried in her arms and knees. By now they were surrounded by copsiks. While Dlonis gestured them away, Haryet rolled Jinny on her back, groped for hen chin, and pulled her face out of the protection of her arms. Jinny's eyes stayed clenched like fists

  Minya said, "Madam Supervisor, a moment of your attention."

  Dionis looked around, surprised at the snap in Minya's voice. "Later," she said.

  Jinny began to sob. The sobs shook her like Dalton-Quinn Tree had shaken the day it came apart. Haryet watched for a time, impassively.

  Then she spread a second poncho oven the girl and sat down to watch hen.

  Dionis turned to Minya. 'What is it?"

  "If Jinny tries this again and succeeds, would it reflect badly on you?"

  "It might. Well?"

  "Jinny's twin sister is with the women who carry guests. Jinny has to see her."

  "That's forbidden," the jungle giantess said wearily.

  When citizens talked like that, Minya had learned to ignore them.

  "These girls are twins. They've been together all their lives. They should be given some hours to talk."

  "I told you, it's forbidden."

  "That would be your problem."

  Dlonis glared in exasperation. "Go join the garbage detail. No, wait.

  First talk to this Jinny, if she'll talk."

  "Yes, Supervisor. And I'd like to be checked for pregnancy, at your convenience."

  "Later."

  Minya bent to speak directly into Jinny's ear. "Jinny, it's Minya. I've talked to Dlonis. She'll try to get you together with Jayan."

  Jinny was clenched like a knot.

  "Jinny. The Grad made it. He's at the Citadel, where the Scientist lives."

  Nothing.

  "Just hang on, will you? Hang on. Something will happen. Talk to

  Jayan. See if she's learned anything." Treefodder, there must be something she could say…"Find out where the pregnant women are kept. See if the Grad even comes down to examine them. He might. Tell him we're hanging on. Waiting."

  Jinny didn't move. Hen voice was muffled. "All right, I'm listening. But I can't stand it. I can't."

  "You're tougher than you think."

  "If another man picks me, I'll kill him."

  Some of them like women who fight, Minya thought. She said instead,

  "Wait. Wait till we can kill them all."

  After a long time, Jinny uncurled and stood up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rumblings of Mutiny

  GAVVING WOKE TO A TOUCH ON HIS SHOULDER. HE LOOKED about him without moving.

  There were three tiers of hammocks, and Gavving's was in the top layer. The daylit doorway made a black silhouette of a supervisor. He seemed to have fallen asleep standing up: easy enough in London Tree's gentle tide. In the dimness of the barracks, Alfin clung to Gavving's haimmock-post. He spoke in a whisper that wanted to shout in jubilation.

  "They've put me to work at the treemouth!"

  "I thought only women did that," Gavving said without moving at all. Jorg snored directly below him-a "gentled" man, pudgy and sad, and too stupid to spy on anyone. But the hammocks were close-packed.

  "I saw the farm when they took us for showers. There's a lot they're doing wrong. I talked to a supervisor about it. He let me talk to the woman who runs the farm. Kor's her name, and she listens. I'm a consultant."

  "Good."

  "Give me a couple of hundred days and I might get you in on it too. I want to show what I can do first."

  "Did you get a chance to speak to Minya? Or Jinny?"

  "Don't even think it. They'd go berserk if wq tried to talk to the women."

  To be a treemouth tender again…seeing Minya, but not allowed to speak to hen. Meanwhile, maybe AliIn could carry messages, if he could be talked into taking the risk. Gavving put it out of his mind. "I learned something today. The tree does move, and it's the carm, the flying box, that moves it. They've settled other trees—"

  "What does that do for us?"

  "I don't know yet."

  Alfin moved away to his hammock.

  Patience came hard to Gavving. In the beginning he had thought of nothing but escape. At night he could drive himself mad with worry over Minya…or he could sleep, and work, and wait, and learn.

  The supervisors wouldn't answer questions. What did he know, what had he learned? The women farmed the treemouth and cooked; pregnant women lived elsewhere. Men tended machinery and wonked with wood, here in the upper reaches of the tuft. The copsiks talked of rescue, but never of revolt.

  They wouldn't revolt now anyway, with the Holidays eight sleeps away. Afterward, maybe; but wouldn't the Navy know that from experience? They'd be ready. The supervisors were never without their truncheons, sticks of hardwood half a meter long. Horse said the women supervisors carried them too. During an insurrection the Navy might be given those instead of swords…or not.

  What else? Bicycle works wore out. Damaging them-damaging anything made of starstuff-would hurt London Tree, but not soon. Here was where the elevators could be sabotaged, but the Navy could still put down a revolt by using the carm.

  The carm did everything. It lived at the tree's midpoint, where the Scientist kept his laboratory. Was the Grad there? Was he planning something? He'd seemed determined to escape, even before they reached London Tree.

  Was any of that worth anything? If we were together! We could plan something. He had learned that he might spend the rest of his life moving an elevator on pumping water up the trunk. He had not had an allergy attack since his capture. It was not a bad life, and he was dangerously close to becoming used to it. In eight sleeps he would be allowed to see his own wife.

  Carther States was setting fires halfway around the biggest flower in the universe.

  Clave flapped his blanket at the coals. His arms were plunged elbowdeep in the foliage to anchor him. His toes clutched the edge of the blanket. He undulated his legs and torso to move the blanket in waves, exerting himself just enough to keep the coals red.

  Eighty meters away, a huge silver petal gradually shifted position, turning to catch the sun at a sharper angle.

  A fire would die in its own smoke, without a breeze, and breezes were rare in the jungle. The day was calm and bright. Clave took it as a chance to exercise his legs.

  There was a knot as big as a boy's fist where the break had been on his thighbone. His fingers could feel the hard lump beneath the muscles; his body felt it when he moved. Merril had told him it couldn't be seen.

  Would she lie to spare him? He was disinclined to ask anyone else.

  He was disfigured. But the bone was healing; it hurt less every day. The scar was an impressive pink ridge. He exercised, and waited for war.

  There had been tens of days of sleep merging into pain. He'd seen spindly, impossibly tall near-human forms flitting about him at all angles, green shapes fading like ghosts into a dark green background, quiet voices blurred in the eternal whisper of the foliage. He had thought he was still dreaming.

  But Merril was real. Homely, legless Merril was entirely familiRr, entirely real, and mad as hell. The copsik runners bad taken everyone. "Everyone but us. They left us. I'll make them sorry for that!"

  He had taken little notice, in the pain of a healing bone and the sharperacheofhisfailure. Ahuntleaderwhobadlost histeam, a Cha
irman who had lost his tribe. Quinn Tribe was dead. He told himself that depression always followed a serious wound. He stayed where he was, deep in the dark interior of the jungle, for fear that fluff might grow in the wound; and he slept. He slept a great deal. He didn't have the will to do more.

  Merril tried to talk to him. Things weren't that bad. The Grad had impressed the Carthers. Merril and Clave were welcome in the tribe though as copsiks.

  Once he woke to find Merril jubilant. "They'll let me fight!" she said, and Clave learned that the Carthers were planning war against London Tree.

  Over the following days he grew to know tjie jungle people. Of around two hundred Carthers, half were copsiks. It didn't seem to carry any onus. Copsiks here lacked for nothing save a voice in the council.

  He saw many children and many pregnancies and no starvation. The jungle people were healthy and happy…and better armed than Quinn Tribe had been.

  He was questioned at a gathering of the tribe. Carther States' Commons was a mere widening in a tunnel, perhaps twelve meters across and twice that long. Surprisingly, the space held everyone. Men and women and children, copsiks and citizens, all clung to the cylinder wall, covering it with an inner layer of heads, while Comlink or the Sharman spoke from one end.

  "How can you even reach London Tree?" he had asked, but only once. That information was "classified"; spies would not be tolerated. But he could watch the preparations. He was sure these fires were part of it.

  He had been flapping wind at the coals for half a day now. His leg was holding up. Soon he would have to shift position.

  Kara the Sharman came skimming toward him. She dipped her grapnd into the foliage and stopped herself next to Clave. "How are you doing?"

  "You tell me. Does the fire look right?"

  She looked. "Keep it that way. Feed it another branch a few hundred breaths from now. How's the leg?"

  "Fine. Can we talk?"

  "I've other fires to check."

  The Sharman was Carther States' equivalent to the Scientist. Maybe the word had meant Chair,nan once. She seemed to have more power than the political boss, the Comlink, who spent most of his time finding out what everybody else wanted. Getting her attention was worth a try. Clave said, "Sharman, I'm a tree dweller. We're going to attack a tree. Shouldn't you be using what I know?"

  She considered that. "What can you tell me?"

  "Tides. You're not used to tides. I am, and so are these copsik runners. If you—"

  Her smile was twisted. 'Put you in charge of our own warriors?"

  "Not what I meant. Attack the middle of the tree. Make them come to us there. I saw them fighting in free-fall, and you're better."

  "We thought of that—" She saw his grimace. "No, don't stop. I'm glad you agree. We've watched London Tree for decades now, and two of us did escape once. We know that the copsiks live in the inner tuft, but the carrier is kept at the center of the tree. Should we go after that first?"

  Science at the level of the carrier, the flying box, made Clave uneasy. He tried to set the feeling aside…"I saw how they use that thing.

  They put their own warriors where they want them and leave yours floundering in air. Yes. Get the carrier first, even if you can't fly it."

  "All right."

  "Sharman, I don't know how you plan to attack. If you'll tell me more, I can give you better answers." He'd said it before. It was like talking to the tree.

  Kara freed her grapnel with a snap of the snag line. She was moving on. Theefodder! Clave added, "One thing. If I know the Grad, he knows how to fly the carrier by now, if be's had any kind of a chance at it. Or

  Gavving might have seen something and told the Grad."

  "There's no way we'll learn that."

  Clave shrugged.

  "We'll go for the carrier and try for the Grad."

  Clave pushed a dead spine branch into the coals and resumed flapping his blanket.

  Kara said, "You call yourself Sharman…Chairman of a destroyed people. I trust you know how to be a leader. If you learn things thatshouldnotbeknown toourenemies…if you rideto warinthe first gust of warriors…what would you tell my citizens, if you were me?"

  That was clear enough. "Clave must not live to be captured and questioned.' Sharman, I have little to lose. If I can't rescue my people, I'll kill copsik runners!"

  "Merril?"

  "She'll fight with me. Not under tides, though. And…don't tell her anything. I won't kill Merril if she's captured."

  "Fair enough. You called the funnel a 'treemouth'—"

  "I was wrong, wasn't I? The jungle can't feed itself that way. There's not enough wind. What is it?"

  "It's what makes the jungle move. The petals are part of it too. Whatever side of the jungle is most dry, there the funnel wants to face. The petals reflect sunlight to swing the jungle round in that direction."

  "You talk like the jungle is a whole creature, that thinks."

  She smiled. "It's not very smart. We're fooling it now. The fires are to make the jungle dry on one side."

  "There are tens of life forms in the jungle. One of them is a kind of spine for the whole thing. Its life is deep down, and it lives off the dead stuff that drifts toward the center. Everything in the jungle contributes something. The foliage is various plants that root in what the jungle-heart collects, but they rot and feed the jungle-heart and shield the jungle-heart if something big hits the jungle. We do our part too. We transport fertilizer down — dead leaves and garbage and our own dead-and we kill burrowing parasites."

  "How does a jungle move? The Grad didn't know."

  "The silver petals turn the jungle to put the funnel where the jungle is most dry. If everything gets too dry, then the funnel spits hot steam."

  "Clave, it's time to put the fires out. I must tell the others. I'll be back."

  Minya followed Dloris through twisting, branching tunnels. Minya's grip on Jinny's arm was relaxed; it would tighten if Jinny tried anything foolish. But the treemouth, and any chance to leap into the sky, were farther away with every step.

  The way the tunnels twisted, Minya wasn't sure where she was. Near the midbranch, she thought; and the tuft would be narrowing toward the fin. She couldn't see solid wood, but from the way the spine branches pointed, the branch was below and to her left. Earlier she had passed a branching tunnel and heard children's laughter and the shouting of frustrated adults: the schools. She could find this place again.

  The mouth of a woven hut showed ahead. Dloris stopped. "Minya. If anyone asks…you and Jinny both think you're pregnant. So the Scientist's Apprentice will examine you both. Jinny, I'll take you to your sister, and what happens then is none of my business."

  They had reached the hut. Dloris shooed them in. Two men waited inside, one in Navy blue, the other—"Who are you?" Dioris demanded.

  "Madam Supervisor? I'm Jeffer, the Scientist's Apprentice…other apprentice. Lawri is otherwise engaged."

  To meet both Minya and Jinny was more than the Grad had hoped for.

  He introduced his Navy escort to the women; Ordon was clearly interested. Ordon and Dloris stayed while the Grad questioned Jinny. She couldn't be pregnant, the timing was wrong, and he told her so. She and Dloris nodded as if they'd expected that and departed the hut through the back.

  He asked Minya the appropriate questions. She hadn't menstruated since a dozen sleeps before Dalton-Quinn Tree caine apart. He told the Navy man, "I'm going to have to examine her."

  Ordon took the hint. "I'll be right outside."

  The Grad explained what was needed. Minya stepped out of her poncho's lower loop, lifted it and lay down on the table. The Grad palped her abdomen and her breasts. He tested the secretions of her vagina in plant juices Kiance had shown him how to use. He'd practiced such an examination in Quinn Tuft, with the Scientist supervising, as part of his training. Once.

  "No problem. A normal pregnancy," he said. "It's anyone's guess when it happened."

  Minya sighed. "All right. Dioris s
aid so too. At least it gives me a chance to see you. Could it be Gavving's?"

  "The timing's right, but…you've been available to the citizens, haven't you?"

  "Minya, shall I tell Gavving it's his?"

  "Let me think." Minya ran faces past her memory. Some were blurs, and she liked it that way. Did they resemble Gavving at all? But the arrogant dwarf had claimed two of her sleeptimes—"No. What's the truth? You don't know?"

  "That's right."

  "Tell him that. We'll just have to see what the child looks like."

  "All right."

  Jinny and Dloris had gone down to the pregnant women's complex, a good, safe distance away. Luckily the Grad's guard was male. A woman might not have given them privacy during the examination. With her poncho hiked up and her legs apart, Minya said, "Stay where you are in case Ordon peeks in. Grad, is there any chance of getting us out of here?"

  Keeping his head clear wasn't easy under the circumstances, but he made the effort. "Don't move without me. I mean it. We can't do anything unless we can stop them using the carm."

  "I wasn't sure you were still with us."

  "With you?" He was startled…though he had had doubts. There was so much to learn here! But what was it like for the others, for Gavving or Minya? "Of course I want to break us free! But no matter what we do, they can stop us while they've got the carm. And have you seen a dwarf around?" Like Harp, he thought, but Minya hadn't known Harp.

  "I know him. Mark. Acts like he's three meters tall, but he's less than two. Thick-bodied, lots of muscles, likes to show them off." Bruises healing on her arms helped her to remember.

  "He's important. He's the only one who can use the old armor."

  "We'd like him to meet with an accident?"

  "If it's convenient. Don't do anything till we're ready to move."

  She laughed suddenly. "I admire your coolness."

  "Really? Look down."

  She looked, and blushed and covered her mouth. "How long-?"

  "Ever since you pulled up your poncho. I'm going to have a serious case of lover's plaint."

  "When I first met you I thought…no, don't move. Remember the guard."