by Phil Geusz
resume our hunter's silence."
"Of course," Li replied, though I could tell he was dying to hear more. We humans still knew practically nothing of the outside universe, much less Artemu history. And for the moment, it seemed, we weren't to find out anything more.
Three hours later, I was more certain than ever that we were done for. By then we'd scaled perhaps the lowest and easiest third of what I'd privately named Mount Pain, and that should've been a good beginning. Even Rapput, true to his word, was climbing on his own and doing surprisingly well. But that was the essence of the problem—it wasn't just the beginning. It was well after dark now, and we were climbing solely by the light of a full moon. The air was cold, cold, cold, and my sneakers were all squishy again. This time, I knew, the wetting fluid in question was blood. My feet were fiery balls of pain; the only parts that weren't in agony were my toes, which were numb from the cold. Our pursuers were closing on us; Rapput had long since sniffed them out. Worst of all I'd collapsed a few hundred yards back and blacked out; my cheeks still burned with the shame of it. As a direct result Li had found us an indentation in the mountainside that sheltered us from the worst of the wind, where we all sat clustered around Rapput trying to warm ourselves at his expense. He had my brother clutched tight to his chest. Timmy'd passed out about ten minutes after I had and still hadn't come back around yet.
"The boys are finished," Rapput observed in a whisper. "They've been brave and come far. At least as far as an immature Artemu could've, and without complaint. But they can go no further. They've given all."
Li nodded. "We're not as resistant to cold as your kind."
"Anatomy is anatomy—there are plusses and minuses both ways. And you, Li? How do you fare?"
"I . . . Begin to be affected. But of all of us, I remain by far in the best shape." There was a long pause. "You should allow me to carry you."
Rapput shook his huge head. "If I must die, I'll do so standing on my own two legs." Then he looked out at the mountainside. "This niche is fairly defensible, no?"
Li's brow furrowed. "Yes. With proper preparation."
"The boys can go no further," Rapput repeated. "Not without a good long break, at least. And as you've admitted that the cold has begun to affect you, I'll in turn acknowledge that I can walk only so much further myself." He looked up and down the slope again, considering. "This, I think, is a good place to die. Or at least the best we're liable to find under the circumstances."
Li scowled again. "Forgive me, respected sir. But I was trained by experts to find ways to keep on living and complete my mission, not places to die nobly."
"Hah!" Rapput laughed, reaching to slap Li on the shoulder. "Brave, brave words, and so very human in sentiment!" Then his features sobered. "What do you have in mind?"
Li pondered the lay of the land, and then pointed. "They'll attack from that stand of scrub over there, right? Once they locate us, I mean. And, if I were doing it, they’d be supported by long-range suppressive fire from those rocks. The crossfire would pin us down and render us totally helpless. Then I'd charge with grenades if I had them. Just plain rifles if I didn't."
Rapput nodded. "Primitive, but effective. Probably best for ill-trained troops."
Li smiled. "We have several points of advantage. One is that first they must find us in the darkness. Conditions are far from ideal—they may never accomplish even that much. The second is that we can predict where and how they'll deploy and make preparations accordingly. A third is that you're far more physiologically suited to night-fighting than we humans are. That always catches us by surprise the first time, esteemed sir."
Rapput nodded. "As your suicidal determination and tenacity in defense always caught us off-guard." He frowned and drew the .45. "This doesn't fit my hand well. I'll never be proficient, but it will suffice."
"It's highly effective at short range," Li assured him. "You have seven rounds." He paused. "I can set up a couple booby traps, and perhaps we'll come up with some other twists as well . . . if we have long enough."
"It's a workable plan," Rapput agreed. "The boys will benefit from some rest before the battle is joined—I estimate we have at least an hour. With their help and our expertise, this position can be held most of the night."
"But they’re . . . I don’t think . . ."
"They're warrior-youths of the Clan of Gonther now," Rapput explained, as if to a child. "Honorable bearers of arms. While allowance must be made for their physical weakness, they've earned by their past actions a place in the line of battle." He tilted his head. "Do you forget who freed whom from captivity and thereby made this entire adventure possible?"
Li frowned. "No, of course not. But—"
"But nothing," Rapput declared. "In this issue I choose to 'pull rank', as you humans put it. The boys and I shall defend this position with our lives. We three should be enough. Set us a few traps about fifty yards out, then come back and report where they are so we don't stumble on them by accident. Meanwhile, my nephews and I will reshuffle a few rocks and make this niche more secure. When all is in readiness, you can climb the mountain and make your signal. Return with overwhelming force as soon as it becomes available. As your superior, I command it!"
21
"As your superior I command it!" I felt my own mouth shaping Rapput's words over and over again after Li nodded and obediently slithered into the night. "As your superior, I command it!" And just that easily, Li—competent, powerful, and most of all grown-up—had done as he was told without the slightest argument. Was this what it meant to be an Artemesian, I asked myself in the chill darkness as my feet throbbed and the biting wind swirled. Rapput hugged Tim tight in the hope of warming him enough to regain consciousness. Was this what it meant to be part of a clan where status and rank not only counted for everything but were also unquestionably obeyed?
Was this what it was going to be like to be a Gonther? And if so, would it really be so bad?
Then Tim finally moaned and coughed, and Rapput released a breath he probably hadn't realized he'd been holding. Tim had been out a long, long time. "Hush, brave nephew," the alien whispered, cupping the top of my brother's skull reassuringly. "There shall be no more climbing now. Only fighting, at which I'm certain you shall excel."
Tim blinked and looked to me.
"We've holed up," I explained. "This is a sort of cave-thingie. Li's gone to climb to the top alone, and we're going to fight it out here."
He closed his eyes, and for just an instant he looked like a terrified little boy. Then he reached for his shotgun. "Right."
Rapput smiled and invited me into the huddle with his good arm. "Come and warm up as well, Robert. We have time to talk for few more minutes."
I accepted his invitation and snugged myself in tight next to Tim, but for a long moment our uncle didn't speak. "Battle," he said finally, "is for an Artemesian the ultimate experience in life. Even the very meaning of life. It's the culmination of all of our experiences, and the highest art form we can ever know." His face grew stern. "As Gonthers, you shall be expected to win victory after victory after victory. While setbacks are acceptable and at times even unavoidable, the purpose of our clan is ultimately to win and win and win, showering ourselves in glory along the way." He met each of our eyes. "Do you understand this?"
I nodded.
"Yes, Uncle," Tim replied.
I blinked—it was the first time I'd ever heard him use the term.
"Good. Then let us begin your formal warrior training," Rapput said. "Of all the weapons you’ve seen employed since we were kidnapped, which do you think the most deadly?"
"Li's gun, Uncle," I replied without hesitation. "It's fully automatic."
"Yeah," Tim agreed. "Either that or this one." He held up his sawed-off shotgun, which made me frown. As usual, he'd gotten the best weapon. His was a pump-action, while mine was a mere double-barrel.
"Hrrrm," Rapput replied, tilting his head first to the left and then the right in a display of deep thought. "Bot
h are good choices. And yet . . . What about Li's snares? The ones that delayed our enemy enough to give us a head start after the boat arrived?"
"They were pretty good too," I admitted after thinking about it. "But . . . do they count as weapons?"
Rapput smiled, and I knew that I'd given exactly the answer he desired. "I don't know. What is a weapon?"
Tim and I looked at each other, but neither of us had a good answer ready.
"Something you can use to hurt someone?" I offered, going for the simplest definition I could think of.
"Hrrrm." He looked mock-thoughtful again. "How about 'Anything you can use to hurt someone?’"
My mouth opened to object; calling someone a name could hurt someone, but was an insult a weapon? Then I thought things all the way through. Taunts could cause enemies to make stupid mistakes, or so Dad claimed. "Wow!" I said at last.
Rapput gave an approving smile. "Projectiles, blades, beams, poisons, vehicles . . . even rude gestures. And the list grows from there, as the implications of 'hurt' are explored more and more thoroughly. A financial contract can definitely be a weapon—your kind has perfected the art, in fact. There's no limit—even a mere concept, carefully chosen, can serve as a fine weapon indeed."
My head began to hurt. A concept as a weapon?
"To an Artemu," he continued, "life is almost nothing but a long series of battles of varying degrees of intensity and