by Phil Geusz
machines again."
"And the swimming pool as well, with your permission?" Li asked. "Human children have an innate biological need to play in a physical manner. Deprived of the outlet, they grow overly-boisterous and ill-mannered."
"Another similarity between our kinds," Rapput noted. "Of course they should get their exercise as well. Though I expect them to pass a primary-first level academic examination by the end of next week." He met Li's eyes. "Including proper social interaction skills."
"They'll be fine," Li assured our master. He looked at us and winked. "After all, they've the very best bloodline our kind has to offer!"
11
Swimming in a pool instead of a beaver pond for once was sort of nice. The water was a lot warmer and clearer, plus there weren’t sharp rocks to cut your feet on. I also learned that you're supposed to wait after eating before getting into the water, which neither Tim nor I ever knew before. Mr. Li laughed and splashed with us for a time, then we all did a few slow laps together. After that he dived off the high board for us, slipping headfirst into the water as slick as a bulked-up arrow. Then right before we finished, everyone got into a big splash-fight together. It was fun, even if there were Artemesians and human hotel workers staring at us the whole time, wondering who in the world such crazy people were and what we were doing there.
The teaching-machine session went better too, probably because after swimming we were all in a better mood for that sort of thing. "Do you remember how we couldn't figure out the hands-on-head thing?" Li asked with a smile. "Well, I've employed the highest, deepest, and most profound learning technique known to mankind, and as a direct result I now understand."
"You asked Rapput?" Tim guessed.
"Precisely," he answered with a short bow. "It's all about relative social status."
"The higher status Artemu put their hands on the heads of the lower?" I guessed.
"Exactly. It's symbolic of the social pecking order, to remind everyone continually of who stands where in line." He tilted his head to the left. "According to Rapput, it makes their kind feel warm and happy inside. Or perhaps 'secure' is a better word—the effect is supposedly extra-powerful for kits, and that's why they do it to you a lot more often than anyone else, even in public. If someone has their hand on your head, it means you can count on them for protection and leadership. If you have your hands on theirs, in turn you can count on loyalty and subservience. It's sort of like being hugged by your parents, but more complicated."
"I thought they always lined up in the same order," I said. "Remember?"
"You did," Li agreed with one of his bows. "But they all looked so much alike that we couldn't tell for sure." Then he smiled again. "Do you happen to know which of you is the elder?"
"I am," Tim replied. "By seven minutes."
I frowned. It was true but hadn't ever mattered before.
"Then you're the senior," Li explained. "And from now on whenever the pups in the classroom line up, you two are to do the same. With the elder's hand on the younger's head."
"I don't need protection!" I complained.
"Of course not," our teacher agreed. "And yet . . . I suspect there's more going on here than we currently understand. Do you know what a pack alpha is? As in a wolf-pack, though other species behave similarly."
"There're wolves on the ranch," Tim answered. "So yeah, Dad taught us how to pick him out."
"Good!" Li replied. "This is just my personal theory so far, but I think the hands-on-the-head thing is like wolf-pack behavior, and the Artemu may be very, very wolf-like in some ways. So much so that I think it's a biological imperative for them. They need their heads held every now and again in order to be happy. Have you noticed how Rapput holds yours whenever he thinks you might be especially upset or frightened?"
Tim and I looked at each other. "Wow!" I said for us both.
"Wow, indeed. But like it or not, you two are adopted Artemu, and I'm an Artemu slave in all but my lack of fur. We therefore must learn not only to accept this as a well-meant gesture, but also in time to hold the heads of others in such a way that they gain reassurance and pleasure from the contact. It's terribly important that you understand this."
"Yeah," Tim finally agreed. "I can see it now, I think."
"Good," Li replied. "Then from now on, we're all three of us going to pretend we're Artemu, in this one way at least. Whenever the class holds each other’s heads, we shall line up and do the same. I consider this an important lesson. So . . ." He smiled and held out his hands just like Rapput. "Come and be rewarded!"
We were rewarded half a dozen more times before the session ended, a short school day due to our impending flight off-world. It still felt pretty weird to both Tim and I, especially for me all the way down at the bottom end because I had to kneel to my brother instead of having someone of my own to comfort. Yet I could see that Li was right. In fact this was likely going to be among the least important changes we'd be making in our behaviors. I just hoped we still remembered how to be human when all was said and done!
Giril and Tim's assistant were already in the process of clearing out my room when we got back from 'school'; he'd left an assortment of fresh, clean clothes out for me to choose from, but I explained that humans often wore the same outfit all day long. He looked uncertain for a moment, and then fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, Robertherman. I shall not err in this matter again."
I smiled. "It's okay, Giril. We both have a lot to learn about each other. This is just a start. Besides, sometimes we do change clothes in the middle of the day, so it's going to take a long time to figure it all out. There's no way to rush it along." But he didn't get up, and after a long moment passed I finally worked up enough nerve to reach out and place my hand atop his head.
"Oooh!" he responded, still on his knees. Then he raised his eyes. "More pressure right in the center."
“Thank you,” I replied. Sure enough there was a strange little bump right on the very top of his head, though it was so small that one had feel around for it. The raised spot gave a little when firmly pressed. I remembered Rapput’s finger pushing extra-hard there on my own skull and imitated his action as best I could.
His eyes rolled and his face brightened. "Thank you, esteemed master," he replied, standing with a bow. "And now, if you don't—"
"Please," I requested. "Tell me something about yourself, Giril. If you have a moment to spare, that is. It seems that we may be together for a long time."
He smiled. "I'm short on moments, as it happens. Yet that's not a problem because there's so little tell. I am Giril of the Quenth clan, bottom-most of all Artemu. We're domestic servants and the lowest sorts of laborers, for this is what our bloodline best excels at. Yet we're pleased with our lot, for our role is honorable and our place respected. Thus glory is shared." His smile widened. "I expect that someday, when Rapput's Great Plan is completed, we'll be serving at least some human-masters as well. In this I'm honored to be a pioneer."
My mouth opened, but I didn't know what to say. Giril had been born to be a servant and was happy about that?
"Oh yes!" Giril continued. "Someday you Anglics shall rank among the greatest of clans. Even I can see this already. And we shall be here to serve you and play our own humble part in the Conquest. The Empire grows and grows." Then he bowed again and left.
My head was still spinning when Mr. Li arrived with Tim already in tow. I started to tell them what'd just happened, but there wasn't enough time before we met up with Rapput. "Later, Robert," Li urged, cutting me off. Then he nodded at Rapput, who seemed to be waiting for something. Both my brother and I knew what; we each walked to our appointed places and fell to our knees as the big Artemesian paws landed on our heads.
"Well done!" Rapput declared with a smile in his voice, and somehow his dominant approval seemed so complete that just maybe I did feel a thrill of happiness at the touch. "You're both doing well, and I'm proud of you," He gave us an extra press before withdrawing his hands. "
This speaks well for you, Li."
He bowed formally. "I was given an assignment."
Rapput merely smiled, and then gestured toward the elevator. Another Artemu—of the honorably-serving Quenth Clan, I now knew—pressed a button . . .
. . . and nothing happened. Frowning, he pressed it again.
"It's been like this all day, sir," an Artemesian I'd not been introduced to offered. He was carrying a large and very humanlike briefcase. "Sometimes the elevators function and sometimes they don't. The humans have a repair crew working in the lobby."
"The other one works, sir!" the servant declared as its door opened with a pleasant chime. He reached in to hold it for us just as any human flunky might've.
"Hmph!" Rapput declared, though he said no more about what he might or might not've though of human technology. He stepped ponderously inside, followed by Li and Tim and I. "Only inner family members are allowed together in crowded conveyances. Your teacher counts, but only because he's so closely associated with you. Once you’re grown, he'll be expected to wait for the next cab with everyone else. You might wish to file that away."
"Yes, sir," I said for us both. Somehow it was getting easier to talk to Rapput now that we understood more about him. Perhaps he felt the same way. At any rate, the floor sank and our eyes rose to count off the floors. Five, four, three, two, one . . .
. . . but the cab kept right on moving!
"Li!" Rapput declared. "Have you any—"
He didn't get any further, however. Because just as the "B" for "Basement" indicator began to flicker, the floor dropped out from under us and we fell free like abird with clipped wings.
12
The elevator was already pretty low in the building, so we didn't have all that far left to drop. There was just the basement, then a parking level below it. Tim and I landed on top of each other, while Mr. Li rolled with the impact and instantly rose to his feet, ready for anything. It was a neat trick, and I wanted to ask him how he did it. But instead Rapput said something in his native tongue, using words I hadn't learned yet. He must've been cursing; three different bones were sticking out of his left arm, which he held cradled in his right, and he was bleeding all over his robe.
Li scowled, torn between standing ready and going to Rapput's aid. Before he could make up his mind the cab's doors opened three or four inches, emitting a terrible screech in the process. "Hello in there!" a human voice cried out in a strong American accent.
"Hello," Li replied, shifting subtly into a more aggressive stance.
"There's five armed men out here," the American continued. "We've got shotguns, rifles, and grenades. We want to take you alive and promise the boys won't be harmed."
"Dropping the elevator they're riding in a floor and a half isn't exactly the best way not to harm children," Li countered.
"Granted," the voice replied. "We promise not to harm them any more, then, if it makes you feel better. Now, stand aside or we'll be forced against our will to get nasty."
Li scowled and eased himself behind the door, so as to take whoever entered from behind. But Rapput shook his head. "These are my brother's sons," he said, though pain slurred every word. "I've sworn both to him and their natural parents to protect them. As, I suspect, have you."
Li's eyes glistened like black agates for a microsecond, and then he nodded and stepped to the back wall. "Come on in," he replied.
Two crowbars snaked into sight, then the door was wrenched further open. Now we could see that there were indeed armed men on the other side, all wearing nylon stockings over their heads.
"Hands up!" a new voice ordered. This one sounded more Canadian. "No tricks, eh?"
"No tricks," Li promised. "Just don't hurt the boys." He nodded to Rapput. "Have you got a first-aid kit?"
"Let the bastard bleed!" the American declared, half-hidden features twisted in disgust. "My son died at Kansas City." Then his eyes moved to Li. "I'm not inclined to offer goddamn collaborators much in the way of favors, either."
"Understood," our teacher replied, voice calm. "Just don't hurt the boys."
The American nodded and turned his attention to us. "Step on out, kids." He gestured with the shortest-barreled shotgun I'd ever seen. Meanwhile, shots began to ring out, seemingly from every direction and all at once. "This way, into the van."
I looked at Mr. Li, who nodded and forced a smile. Then Tim nodded at me too, and we took off running. "Get in!" a woman ordered; her voice seemed familiar, so I looked up and saw despite the disguise that it was Linda, the hotel manager who'd supposedly been arrested because of what I'd told her.
"I . . . Uh . . ." I must've been gaping like a fish of water; she reached down and, none too gently, dragged me through the van's sliding door. "Sit in the far back. You're going to be fine now. We're taking you to a safe place where they'll never find you."
"We're taking the others as well," the Canadian declared. "Plan B is in effect."
"Right," the American agreed. "You, traitor. Help the fleabag up onto his feet."
I frowned. Dad had taught us that it was as wrong to call an Artemesian a fleabag as it was to call an Asian man like Mr. Li a slant. In fact, there wasn't anything much worse.
"I require no assistance, Li," Rapput declared. Then he rose, his shattered arm cradled in the other. Along the way a single groan left his lips. "Though I'm sure you'd have been willing."
"Fleabag first," the American continued, raising his voice as the background firing increased. "Then you, traitor."
Our companions obeyed their orders. Rapput eased himself down onto the bare steel floor that would normally have anchored a middle row of seats—apparently they'd been removed for this trip. They searched his robes thoroughly, and our teacher as well. Then Mr. Li tried to lower himself down alongside the alien . . .
. . . and the Canadian kicked him in the knee just when he was at his most vulnerable. "Don't you even think about trying anything," he hissed from between clenched teeth. "I recognized that stance—I'm a black belt myself."
Li merely nodded and smiled despite what must've been terrible pain. "Of course."
"Of course!" the Canadian snorted, clearly seeking cause to be offended and finding none. Then he climbed into the passenger seat as the American and Linda squeezed in on each side of Tim and me. It was a tight fit. "Execute phase two!" the northerner cried out into the ever-increasing gunfire. "Now! Now! Now!"
The driver started the motor and threw the van into gear. We went surging across the parking garage until . . . we were surrounded by white vans! A dozen or more. Never stopping for a moment we all jostled and juggled for places in a single-file line as we headed for the exit together.
"Looking good," Linda offered.
"Not home yet," the American muttered.
Then the motor roared and we emerged into daylight, the firefight now so intense that it sounded like strings of firecrackers going off in every direction. Another disguised man carrying some sort of military rifle reeled into our lane. His face was all bloody, so maybe he didn't know what he was doing. Anyway, another van knocked him flat onto the pavement directly in front of us. Our brakes squealed, but the Canadian man shouted. "No! There's no time! Run him over!" And we did exactly that. Ka-thump, ka-thump! It was awful; I swear I heard his bones crunch.
Then we were out on the main roads, circling blocks and changing lanes and going in and of garages until no one could possibly know which white van was which.
"All right!" the American finally declared, once we were out all by our lonesome riding down a country road without any signs of pursuit. "I think we've actually pulled this off!" And the Plan B version at that!"
"Honor compels me to inform you," Rapput began, "that you are in gross violation of the Treaty of—"
"Shut up," Linda interrupted. "I'm so damned sick of your kind giving orders to decent human-type folks!" Then, aiming carefully, she kicked his wounded arm.
"Aaaah!" he cried out, h
unching over and cradling his arm in agony. "Aaaaaaah!" Then he passed out altogether.
"He's still bleeding," Li observed, staring submissively at the floor. "Worse than ever, in fact. He's worth a lot more to you alive than dead, I'd guess. Or don't you know who he is?"
"We know," the Canadian replied from the front seat. "Oh, how well we know!" He hesitated a moment, then turned around in his seat. "Do you know how to take care of him, traitor?"
"I can make a good guess."
"Then do so, if you wish." He passed a first-aid kit over the seat to Linda, who in turn handed it to Li. "You're right. We can always make him dead later. That's never any problem at all."
13
We changed vehicles twice on that long trip. Once we switched to a bright red minivan parked inside an abandoned gas station covered in so much dust that no one must have been inside in years, and the second time a couple hundred yards up a rural driveway that snaked around through the underbrush on a long journey to nowhere. The kidnappers let Tim and I go to the bathroom at both places and even had warm pizza and ice-cold soda waiting for us at the gas station. But they didn't offer Mr. Li anything, nor so much as checked the odd-looking splint he'd made for Rapput. When we came back from the bathroom, however, Rapput's arm bones weren't sticking out anymore and Mr. Li's face was all pale and sweaty. I was glad—it didn't seem right to leave the bones sticking out like that.
Our final vehicle was a Land Rover, which not long after dawn jounced us along what might optimistically have been called a logging road for perhaps an hour until we came to a wide river with a squat, tough-looking boat on it. We had to walk across a plank to get aboard and that was scary; the water was absolutely racing past underneath our sneakers, and it was probably awfully cold since it was still spring and we were so far north. But everyone made it okay except the driver, who was left behind. Again, no one helped Mr. Li with Rapput—they didn't even offer. Our uncle moaned once and blinked; it was still pretty dark, and we learned Artemu eyes reflect light just like a cat's. But he didn't hold out long, not with the pain being so bad and him having lost so much blood.
Normally Tim and I would've enjoyed the boat ride. We'd never been aboard anything that floated except an aircraft carrier before, and that was so big I didn't think it really counted. The American, who we’d learned was named Sam, noticed right away how impressed we were and explained that it was a jet boat and didn’t have a propeller. I didn't really understand what that was all about, except that it quit being so scary when we hit rocks after he told us the hull was designed for exactly that.
The boat was equipped with several thermoses full of hot coffee, and Linda seemed genuinely sorry that no one had considered how unlikely it was that either Tim or I would care for the stuff. "It's okay,"