Swords and Saddles

by Jack Campbell

  “It’s going to be a long afternoon,” Singh observed. “Tell us something about the Izkop,” he asked the civilian researchers.

  Scorse grimaced. “I’m a planetary geologist. I never cared about them.”

  Juni shrugged. “I’m a planetary ecologist. I don’t study one species, I study the whole system. I received my doctorate at Old Harvard under Professor Haddleton, you know. I know how everything contributes to the whole.”

  “Wow,” Adowa commented in a non-committal tone.

  That left Ariana, who gave Scorse and Juni cross looks before speaking. “I’m not an expert on them. I study mythic structures.”

  “That probably makes you the biggest living expert,” Burgos grumbled.

  Ariana winced as Singh and Johansen both pinned Burgos with glares. “That’s true. What do you want to know about the Izkop?”

  “We know they’re farmers and herders. That was in the predrop brief.” Singh gestured outward. “Tell us something about how they think. You said something about heroes before. Meeting death with smiles. What kind of heroes have the Izkop got?”

  Ariana hesitated. “There’s one hero they call the pass-holder. Their greatest hero. I call him Horatio, after an ancient human hero who held a bridge. The Izkop Horatio held a pass against demons who were trying to wipe out the ancestors of the Izkop. He died holding the pass. I haven’t been able to figure out whether they revere him for saving their ancestors, or for dying while holding the pass. I have a feeling their admiration has at least partly to do with the fact that he died, and would be the same even if he hadn’t succeeded. I mean, presumably there wouldn’t be any Izkop if he’d failed, but what mattered was that he died. Or was willing to die. I think.”

  “Hmmm.” Singh blew out a long breath, his eyes still on the outside. “This Horatio was one of the founders of their race?”

  “No. He was something separate. That mattered, too. He wasn’t of them but he died saving them. Does that make sense?”

  “It does to me,” Goldera commented. “The whole Jesus thing, right?”

  “Well, yes, but Horatio wasn’t the son of their God. The Izkop don’t have one God. They have many gods, and each of those gods is many things. The theology is incredibly complex,” Ariana continued, warming to her talk. “Each god can look like anybody or anything. Disguise, concealment, is very big in the Izkop myths and legends. Disguised gods and demons are everywhere, either looking for Izkop to reward for their deeds or trying to corrupt the Izkop with temptations.”

  “Like the Prometheus guy you told me about?” Johansen said.

  “Prometheus.” Ariana shook her head. “He’s very hard to figure out. I use the name Prometheus for him because he steals the gifts of the gods and tries to give them to the Izkop, like ancient Greek myths say the Titan Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans.”

  “What did the other gods do to Prometheus for stealing their secrets?” Johansen asked. “In the Greek myths didn’t Prometheus get chained to a mountain?”

  “Yes!” Ariana gave Johansen a happy look, clearly pleased to have found a kindred spirit. “He was chained to a mountain and a vulture ate his liver every day. Since he was immortal the liver regrew every night. But the Izkop Prometheus, if I understand it right, hasn’t been punished because the gods can’t catch him.”

  “Because he can look like anybody and anything?” Goldera asked.

  “Exactly, only Prometheus, and the other gods and demons, aren’t really ‘he.’ Each one is ‘they’ because they’re simultaneously different sexes and no sex.”

  Goldera squinted at her for a moment. “This isn’t a Garden of Eden type thing?”

  “No, for a couple of reasons. Prometheus is always trying to give the gods’ secrets to the Izkop. It’s an ongoing crime or temptation, rather than some ancient act. And also because the gods can’t catch and punish Prometheus. Only the Izkop can identify Prometheus. From what I’ve seen in their mythology, with its emphasis on disguises, the Izkop put a great deal of importance on actions, not appearance.”

  “Kind of the opposite of humans?” Adowa remarked dryly.

  “In a way, yes. Even though humans don’t look the same as them, the Izkop didn’t seem bothered by that when we landed. I think it’s because the Izkop always cared more about what we did than they do about our appearance. It’s possible,” Ariana continued in a cautious voice, “that the Izkop have as much trouble seeing emotions in each others’ expressions as humans do trying to see feelings in an Izkop. We’re not sure. The emphasis on actions over looks might be the result of them all naturally having what we’d call poker faces.”

  Nassar shook his head. “What’d the people in the valley do, then? Are you saying the Izkop are reacting to something the humans did?”

  Scorse had fixed a burning gaze on Ariana, who pretended to ignore it. “I think something must have happened which made the Izkop believe that we had done something.”

  “They blew up everything,” Archer said. “That tells us something, right? Did they think all of the human equipment had come from this Prometheus guy?”

  “They couldn’t have! We didn’t give them anything. That was a firm rule.”

  “You said people showed them stuff,” Adowa noted.

  “Well…yes,” Ariana conceded. “But there were rules. Let them see things, so they could understand they were just tools, nothing magic or accursed. And the Izkop have gradually shown more interest in our equipment. They know some human words, and the most common ones we hear are probably ‘show us use it.’ So we show them how we use something. They’ve been asking that more, from what I understand, and why would they be doing that if they thought our equipment was the property of the gods?”

  “It’s natural curiosity,” Juni said in a low voice. “Universal survival behaviors linked to integrated conceptualization of their environment. Not superstition.”

  Ariana sighed. “If the Izkop thought our equipment was something stolen by Prometheus from the gods, if they thought we humans were working for or with Prometheus, why would they keep showing interest in the equipment? And if showing interest in the equipment is okay for them, how could that have triggered a massacre?”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Singh agreed.

  “It doesn’t make sense to us,” Johansen said.

  Burgos spoke in a flat voice. “They’re going to kill us, and they’ve already killed a lot of people. Who cares why? All we can do is kill as many of them as we can.”

  Annoyed at how Burgos had dismissed Ariana, Johansen shook his head. “I’d like to know why someone or something wants to kill me, and if I can understand that maybe I can figure out how to stay alive.”

  “Right,” Singh said. “We need every advantage we can get. It’s too bad we don’t know more about the Izkop.”

  Juni flushed and stood up abruptly, as if the comment had somehow been aimed at him. “I’m going to milk the cow. It needs it, and we need the milk.”

  “Juni?” Ariana stared at him. “After that attack? You’re not serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious.” He pointed toward the back room. “We need the milk. And it’s obvious that the Izkop won’t stop me. They haven’t stopped me any other time.”

  “Juni –“

  “Why would they hurt me? I’m not a threat to them. I’m not posturing as a threat. I’ve always gotten along with them. I’m an ecologist! They’re close to the land. They understand living in harmony, in balance. I don’t disrupt the balance.” Juni held up the milk bucket, his face pale but determined. “I’m going out. It’ll take fifteen minutes. I’ll be fine.”

  Ariana cast a pleading look at Singh, who shook his head. “Sir, I think you’ll die if you go out there.”

  Juni kept addressing Ariana. “The Izkop need to see some normal, routine behaviors. Something which indicates that we understand how things are interconnected. I’ll show them that we are working to get the environmental imperative back in ba
lance. That always works. Analyze the system and take corrective active. Right now they’re reacting to the presence of these soldiers, this disruptive factor in the eco-system, so everything’s out of balance.”

  “Sir,” Singh said carefully, “there weren’t any soldiers around when the Izkop wiped out everyone in the valley.”

  “And we have only your word for that, don’t we? How long has the military really been here and what did they do? We had no problems here until soldiers came!”

  Adowa had the look of someone who couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What we did was come here to try to save your butts and lost a lot of friends. No problems here? What happened to your friends and their truck? What happened to your emergency equipment?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling us,” Juni insisted, “or more likely something you don’t know. I’ve supervised assistants. You’re just…workers. No disrespect, but you have very limited perspectives. I know the big picture, and I can fit in the details. I understand what’s happening. And that’s why I know I need to stop acting as an au pair and get to work as an expert in ecological synergism!”

  “By risking your life to milk a cow?” Ariana asked in despair. “Juni, there’s plenty of room for guilt in the misjudgments we all must have made, but blaming others and throwing your life away won’t make up for any errors that led to this mess.” She looked toward Scorse for support, but he just glowered at the floor.

  Juni flushed again. “It sounds like you’re judging me already. If my projections and assessments were sub-optimal, it was due to independently functioning variables whose impact on the planetary organism could not be forecast.”

  “Sergeant, can’t you stop him?” Ariana asked.

  “No, ma’am. I have no place to lock him up, no one to spare to guard him, and if I did lock him up or tie him up that’d just mean he died helpless when the Izkop overran the place.” Singh looked at Juni. “Sir, I advise against this in the strongest possible terms.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Juni said.

  “If you’re determined to go out there then Goldera will go with you to the side door and bar it behind you. He’ll open it only when he hears you call from the other side and confirms that there’s no Izkop with you. Understand?”

  “If that’s required to satisfy you. I’ll be back pretty quickly, and then you’ll see how the Izkop react to proper non-confrontational stimuli.”

  #

  An hour passed, Goldera calling out occasionally to reassure them that he was okay but that Juni had not returned. Ariana sat huddled together, her face a mask of resignation and despair, until the children raised a fuss and she had to go in to deal with them. Scorse might have been made of stone, staring silently across the room.

  Finally, Singh gave Johansen permission to look for Juni. “Don’t leave the building. Just do a visual recce of the yard.”

  Taking Adowa along, Johansen led the way to the side entry still barred shut and guarded by Goldera. “Still nothing?”

  “Not a sound. Haven’t heard anything except that cow mooing every once in a while.”

  “Okay. We open it quick and I look out. Hopefully if any Izkop are waiting we’ll surprise them. If they rush us, get that door sealed even if I’m stuck on the other side. Got it?” Adowa and Goldera nodded.

  Johansen took up position near the door, his weapon held at shoulder height, ready to fire. Adowa and Goldera, working together, yanked open the bars and pulled the door open fast without regard for the noise, then Johansen stepped into the opening, quivering with tension.

  The yard lay silent in the afternoon light. From here, none of the Izkop bodies littering the front of the compound were visible. About a hundred meters distant in the barn, the cow stood looking back at him blankly. After carefully studying everything he could see for signs of Izkop, Johansen focused on the figure sprawled several meters from the door.

  Juni’s body lay face up, his abdomen torn open and entrails spread to either side, his mouth still open in a silent cry, his expression locked into incomprehension.

  Adowa edged to the door and took a look. “From the way he bled, they killed him fast and quiet, then tore him open.”

  “How?” Goldera gasped. “I was listening. I didn’t hear anything!”

  Johansen pointed toward the milk bucket lying in the dirt, the soil around it wet with spilled milk. “They let him milk the cow before they killed him. They really seem to care about that animal.”

  “Sure wish I was that cow,” Adowa muttered.

  “Yeah.” Stepping back inside, Johansen gestured to the others. “Seal it.”

  “We going to leave him out there?”

  Johansen hesitated. “There’s no place to put him in here. We’ll bury him proper if we get the chance later.”

  “More likely we’ll be lying out here with him,” Adowa said. “I sure hope I’m dead when they cut me open.” She gave Johansen a sharp look. “Neither of you guys are going to make any comments about Old Harvard?”

  Johansen looked at the dead man and shook his head. “Nah. Overkill.”

  “Yeah,” Goldera agreed.

  Ariana took the news with a sad nod.

  Scorse finally spoke once more. “I’ll use one of those spears next time they attack. I’ll stay here and fight.”

  All Ariana did was nod again. “Sergeant, I’d appreciate help with getting the meal.”

  “Johansen. You and Archer. Eat while you’re helping so you can stand watch while the rest of us eat.”

  #

  The Izkop came in the night this time, their numbers undiminished, filling the yard as the soldiers emptied their rifles and pulled out their pistols, the piles of dead Izkop forming ramps in front of the windows so that some Izkop came running and hurling themselves inside while others smashed through the front entry. The soldiers’ weapons had little muzzle flash, providing just enough light to see the masses of Izkop as the soldiers fired, then the last pistol was empty and they fought in the dark, stabbing with knife and spear at smaller figures, Johansen being forced backwards toward the rear of the room and praying that he wouldn’t accidentally spit either Archer or Goldera. He could hear Scorse over by Stein, the civilian yelling obscenities as he fought with an Izkop spear. Burgos also shouted from her post near the door until her voice fell silent.

  Pain burned as a spear went into his thigh. Johansen thrust back, despairing as the bodies pushed forward shouting in the Izkop language, then as he made another stab Johansen realized the pressure had lessened, that the movement of the enemy had changed. The area in front of him held only a couple of Izkop, then none as the aliens fell back through the door and windows again, leaving the humans alone in the building.

  There was a moment of strange almost-silence then, the only noises the harsh breathing of the soldiers trying to catch their breath and the faint sounds of the mass of Izkop fading into the night. Sergeant Singh spoke first. “I’m moving to the door. I’m there. All the Izkop here seem dead. Burgos is on the threshold. She’s got a dozen spears in her. No pulse. Everybody else report.”

  “Johansen here,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Got a bad wound in one thigh. Everything else seems minor.”

  “Adowa. Got one or two deep cuts in my right arm and lots of minor stuff.”

  “Nassar. Just small stuff. I’ll live.”

  “Goldera. Small cuts. Except I think maybe I lost a finger. Oh, man, I lost two.”

  After a pause, Singh called out. “Stein. You still with us?”

  The answer came from Nassar. “Here he is by the window. Oh, hell. Stein’s dead, Sarge. So’s that civ, Scorse.”

  “Damn. Archer? Archer?”

  No answer.

  “We need to find Archer, people,” Singh ordered. “Adowa, Johansen, Goldera, you three patch each other up enough to stop major bleeding. Nassar, look for Archer now unless the other three need first aid help. I’ll keep an eye on the outside.”

 
They fumbled in the darkness, cursing, until Singh told them to use hand lights. “The Izkop know we’re here. Use enough light to take care of bad wounds and find Archer. She must be buried under some of the dead Izkop. And make sure all of those Izkop in here are dead.”

  #

  Half an hour later, med patches melding into their skin to seal off the worst injuries and stop bleeding, the five remaining soldiers halted their search of the building. “She’s gone, Sarge,” Nassar said. “Archer’s not here. They took her.”

  “The comm unit is gone, too,” Adowa reported. “Why’d they take Archer?”

  Goldera replied in a bone-weary voice. “Why not ask why they stopped and left? We were all dead in another minute or two. Why’d they stop?”

  No one tried to answer that. Johansen sagged against a table, looking out into the darkness, feeling no hope, no curiosity, just tiredness and a resigned sort of fear.

  An inside door opened, spilling pale radiance across the front room littered with dead. Ariana stood in the doorway, her breath catching at the sight of them still standing. “The children are scared. They heard all the fighting. What do I tell them?”

  “Damned if I know, ma’am,” Singh said. “I guess all you can tell them is that we’re still here.”

  “That’s a lot,” she finally replied. “They still believe in heroes.”

  Johansen felt himself straightening up at her words, standing a little taller despite his weariness and injuries, and noticed the others doing the same.

  After Ariana had closed the door again, Nassar gusted a single soft and sardonic laugh. “If we got to die anyway, it’s nice to know someone appreciates it.”

  Sergeant Singh nodded, his expression impossible to make out in the dark. “We got one more fight left in us. Two-hour sentry duty, one soldier on at a time so the others can rest.”