by David Brin
“Hey,” he whispered amiably. “Cheer up! You should be glad I saw through this stunt. It just means our kid’ll be all the more clever a little bastard. He’ll probably find a way to blow up his kindergarten.”
Sylvie blinked. Hesitantly, she smiled. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess that’s right.”
Fiben let his knife hand drop away and released Sylvie’s throat. He stood up. This was the moment of truth. All she probably had to do was let out a shout and the followers of the Suzerain of Cost and Caution would be on them in moments.
Instead, though, she pulled off her ring watch and handed it to Fiben. The tracer.
He nodded and offered her his hand to help her rise. She stumbled at first, still trembling from reaction. But he kept his arm around her as he led her back one block and a little south.
Now, if only this idea works, he thought.
The dovecote was where he remembered it, behind an ill-kempt group house in the neighborhood bordering the harbor. Everyone was asleep apparently. But Fiben nevertheless kept quiet as possible as he cut a few wires and crept into the coop.
It was dank and smelled uncomfortably of bird. The pigeons’ soft cooing reminded Fiben of Kwackoo.
“Come on, kids,” he whispered to them. “You’re gonna help me fool your cousins, tonight.”
He had recalled this place from one of his walks. The proximity was more than convenient, it was probably essential. He and Sylvie dared not leave the harbor area until they had disposed of the tracer.
The pigeons edged away from him. While Sylvie kept watch, Fiben cornered and seized a fat, strong-looking bird. With a piece of string he bound the ring watch to its foot. “Nice night for a long flight, don’t ya think?” he whispered, and threw the pigeon into the air. He repeated the process with his own watch, for good measure.
He left the door open. If the birds returned early, the Gubru might follow the tracer signal here. But their typically noisy arrival would send the whole flock flapping off again, starting another wild goose chase.
Fiben congratulated himself on his cleverness as he and Sylvie ran eastward, away from the harbor. Soon they were in a dilapidated industrial area. Fiben knew where he was. He had been here before, leading the placid horse, Tycho, on his first foray into town after the invasion. Sometime before they reached the wall, he signaled for a stop. He had to catch his breath, though Sylvie seemed hardly winded at all.
Well, she’s a dancer, of course, he thought.
“Okay, now we strip,” he told her.
To her credit, Sylvie did not even bat an eye. The logic was inescapable. Her watch might not have been the only tracer planted on their person. She hurried through the disrobing and was finished before him. When everything lay in a pile, Fiben spared her a brief, appreciative whistle. Sylvie blushed. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now we go for the fence,” he answered.
“The fence? But Fiben—”
“C’mon. I’ve wanted to look at the thing close up for some time anyway.”
It was only a few hundred yards farther before they reached the broad strip of ground the aliens had leveled all the way around Port Helenia. Sylvie shivered as they approached the tall barrier, which glistened damply under the light of bright watch globes placed at wide intervals along its length.
“Fiben,” Sylvie said as he stepped out onto the strip. “We can’t go out there.”
“Why not?” he asked. Still, he stopped and turned to look back at her. “Do you know anyone who has?”
She shook her head. “Why would anybody? It’s obviously crazy! Those watch globes …”
“Yeah,” Fiben said contemplatively. “I was just wondering how many of ’em it took to line a fence around the whole city. Ten thousand? Twenty? Thirty?”
He was remembering the guardian drones that had lined the much smaller and much more sensitive perimeter around the former Tymbrimi Embassy, that day when the chancery building exploded and Fiben had had his lesson in ET humor. Those devices had turned out to be pretty unimpressive compared with “Rover,” or the typical battle robot the Gubru Talon Soldiers took into battle.
I wonder about these, he thought, and took another step forward.
“Fiben!” Sylvie sounded close to panic. “Let’s try the gate. We can tell the guards … we can tell them we were robbed. We were hicks from the farms, visiting town, and somebody stole our clothes and ID cards. If we act dumb enough, maybe they’ll just let us through!”
Yeah, sure. Fiben stepped closer still. Now he stood no more than half a dozen meters from the barrier. He saw that it comprised a series of narrow slats connected by wire at the top and bottom. He had chosen a point between two of the glowing globes, as far from each as possible. Still, as he approached he felt a powerful sensation that they were watching him.
The certainty filled Fiben with resignation. By now, of course, Gubru soldiery were on their way here. They would arrive any minute now. His best course was to turn around. To run. Now!
He glanced back at Sylvie. She stood where he had left her. It was easy to tell that she would rather be almost anywhere else in the world than here. He wasn’t at all sure why she had remained.
Fiben grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. His pulse was fast and thready and his mouth felt dry as sand. Trembling, he made an effort of will and took another step toward the fence.
An almost palpable dread seemed to close in all around him, as he had felt when he heard poor Simon Levin’s death wail, during that useless, futile battle out in space. He felt a dark foreboding of imminent doom. Mortality pressed in — a sense of the futility of life.
Fiben turned around, slowly, to look at Sylvie.
He grinned.
“Cheap chickenshit birds!” he grunted. “They aren’t watch globes at all! They’re stupid psi radiatorsl”
Sylvie blinked. Her mouth opened. Closed. “Are you sure?” she asked unbelievingly.
“Come on out and see,” he urged. “Right there you’ll suddenly be sure you’re being watched. Then you’ll think every Talon Soldier in space is coming after you!”
Sylvie swallowed. She clenched her fists and moved out onto the empty strip. Step by step, Fiben watched her. He had to give Sylvie credit. A lesser chimmie would have cut and run, screaming, long before she reached his position.
Beads of perspiration popped out on her brow, joining the intermittent raindrops.
Part of him, distant from the adrenaline roar, appreciated her naked form. It helped to distract his mind. So, she really has nursed. The faint stretch marks of childbearing and lactation were often faked by some dummies, in order to make themselves look more attractive, but in this case it was clear that Sylvie had borne a child. I wonder what her story is.
When she stood next to him, eyes closed tightly, she whispered. “What… what’s happening to me right now?”
Fiben listened to his own feelings. He thought of Gailet and her long mourning for her friend and protector, the giant chim Max. He thought of the chims he had seen blown apart by the enemy’s overpowering weaponry.
He remembered Simon.
“You feel like your best friend in all the world just died,” he told her gently, and took her hand. Her answering grip was hard, but across her face there swept a look of relief.
“Psi emitters. That’s… that’s all?” She opened her eyes. “Why… why those cheap, chickenshit birds!”
Fiben guffawed. Sylvie slowly smiled. With her free hand she covered her mouth.
They laughed, standing there in the rain in the midst of a riverbed of sorrow. They laughed, and when their tears finally slowed they walked together the rest of the way to the fence, still holding hands.
“Now when I say push, push!”
“I’m ready, Fiben.” Sylvie crouched beneath him, feet set, shoulder braced against one of the tall slats, arms gripping the part of the wall next to it.
Standing over her, Fiben took a similar stance and planted his feet i
n the mud. He took several deep breaths.
“Okay, push!”
Together they heaved. The slats were already a few centimeters apart. As he and Sylvie strained, he could feel the space begin to widen. Evolution is never wasted, Fiben thought as he heaved with all his might.
A million years ago humans were going through all the pangs of self-uplift, evolving what the Galactics said could only be given — sapiency — the ability to think and to covet the stars.
Meanwhile, though, Fiben’s ancestors had not been idle. We were getting strong! Fiben concentrated on that thought while sweat popped out on his brow and the plastisheath slats groaned. He grunted and could feel Sylvie’s own desperate struggle as her back quivered against his leg.
“Ah!” Sylvie lost her footing in the mud and her legs flew out, throwing her backward hard. Recoil spun Fiben about, and the springy slats bounced back, tossing him on top of her.
For a minute or two they just lay there, breathing in shuddering gasps. Finally though, Sylvie spoke.
“Please, honey… not tonight. I gotta headache.”
Fiben laughed. He rolled off of her and onto his back, coughing. They needed humor. It was their best defense against the constant hammering of the psi globes. Panic was -incipient, ever creeping on the verge of their minds. Laughter kept it at bay.
They helped each other up and inspected what they had accomplished. The gap was noticeably larger, perhaps ten centimeters, now. But it was still far from wide enough. And Fiben knew they were running out of time. They would need at least three hours to have any hope of reaching the foothills before daybreak.
At least if they made it through they would have the storm on their side. Another sheet of rain swept across them as he and Sylvie settled in again, bracing themselves. The lightning had drawn closer over the last half hour. Thunder rolled, shaking trees and rattling shutters.
It’s a mixed blessing, Fiben thought. For while it no doubt hampered Gubru scanners, the rain also made it hard to get a good grip on the slippery fence material. The mud was a curse.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Sure, if you can manage to keep that thing of yours out of my face,” Sylvie said, looking up at him. “It’s distracting, you know.”
“It’s what you told Gailet you wanted to share, honey. Besides, you’ve seen it all before, back at the Thunder Mound.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “But it didn’t look quite the same.”
“Oh, shut up and push,” Fiben growled. Together they heaved again, putting all their strength into the effort.
Give! Give way! He heard Sylvie gasp, and his own muscles threatened to cramp as the fence material creaked, budged ever so slightly, and creaked again.
This time it was Fiben who slipped, letting the springy material bounce back. Once more they collapsed together in the mud, panting.
The rain was steady now, Fiben wiped a rivulet out of his eyes and looked at the gap again. Maybe twelve centimeters . Ifni! That’s not anywhere near enough.
He could feel the captivating power of the psi globes broadcasting their gloom into his skull. The message was sapping his strength, he knew, pushing him and Sylvie toward resignation. He felt terribly heavy as he slowly stood up and leaned against the obdurate fence.
Hell, we tried. We’ll get credit for that much. Almost made it, too. If only…
“No!” he shouted suddenly. “No! I won’t let you!” He hurled himself at the gap, tried to pry his body through, wriggled and writhed against the recalcitrant opening. Lightning struck, somewhere in the dark realm just beyond, illuminating an open countryside of fields and forests and, beyond them, the beckoning foothills of the Mulun range.
Thunder pealed, setting the fence rocking. The slats squeezed Fiben between them, .and he howled in agony. When they let go he fell, half-numbed with pain, to the ground near Sylvie. But he was on his feet again in an instant. Another electric ladder lit the glowering clouds. He screamed back at the sky. He beat the ground. Mud and pebbles flew up as he threw handful into the air. More thunder drove the stones back, pelting them into his face.
There was no longer any such thing as speech. No words. The part of him that knew such things reeled in shock, and in reaction other older, sturdier portions took control.
Now there was only the storm. The wind and rain. The lightning and thunder. He beat his breast, lips curled back, baring his teeth to the stinging rain. The storm sang to Fiben, reverberating in the ground and the throbbing air. He answered with a howl.
This music was no prissy, human thing. It was not poetical, like the whale dream phantoms of the dolphins. No, this was music he could feel clear down to his bones. It rocked him. It rolled him. It lifted Fiben like a rag doll and tossed him down into the mud. He came back up, spitting and hooting.
He could feel Sylvie’s gaze upon him. She was slapping the ground, watching him, wide-eyed, excited. That only made him beat his breast harder and shriek louder. He knew he was not drooping now! Throwing pebbles into the air he cried defiance to the storm, calling out for the lightning to come and get him!
Obligingly, it came. Brilliance filled space, charging it, sending his hair bristling outward, sparking. The soundless bellow blew him backward, like a giant’s hand come down to slap him straight against the wall.
Fiben screamed as he struck the slats. Before he blacked out, he distinctly smelled the aroma of burning fur.
66
Gailet
In the darkness, with the sound of rain pelting against the roof tiles, she suddenly opened her eyes. Alone, she stood up with the blanket wrapped around her and went to the window.
’ Outside, a storm blew across Port Helenia, announcing the full arrival of autumn. The caliginous clouds rumbled angrily, threateningly.
There was no view to the east, but Gailet let her cheek rest against the cool glass and faced that way anyway.
The room was comfortably warm. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and shivered against a sudden chill.
67
Fiben
Eyes… eyes… eyes were everywhere. They whirled and danced, glowing in the darkness, taunting him.
An elephant appeared — crashing through the jungle, trumpeting with red irises aflame. He tried to flee but it caught him, picked him up in its trunk, and carried him off bouncing, jouncing him, cracking his ribs.
He wanted to tell the beast to go ahead and eat him already, or ^rample him… only to get it over with! After a while, though, he grew used to it. The pain dulled to a throbbing ache, and the journey settled into a steady rhythm. …
The first thing he realized, on awakening, was that the rain was somehow missing his face.
He lay on his back, on what felt like grass. All around him the sounds of the storm rolled on, scarcely diminished. He could feel the wet showers on his legs and torso. And yet, none of the raindrops fell onto his nose or mouth.
Fiben opened his eyes to look and see why… and, incidentally, to find out how he happened to be alive.
A silhouette blocked out the dim underglow of the clouds. A lightning stroke, not far away, briefly illuminated a face above his own. Sylvie looked down in concern, holding his head in her lap.
Fiben tried to speak. “Where…” but the word came out as a croak. Most of his voice seemed to be gone. Fiben dimly recalled an episode of screaming, howling at the sky… That had to be why his throat hurt so.
“We’re outside,” Sylvie said, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. Fiben blinked. Outside?
Wincing, he lifted his head just enough to look around.
Against the stormy backdrop it was hard to see anything at all. But he was able to make out the dim shapes of trees and low, rolling hills. He turned to his left. The outline of Port Helenia was unmistakable, especially the curving trail of tiny lights that followed the course of the Gubru fence.
“But… but how did we get here?”
“I carried you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You weren’t
in much shape for walking after you tore down that wall.”
“Tore down…?”
She nodded. There appeared to be a shining light in Sylvie’s eyes. “I thought I’d seen thunder dances before, Fiben Bolger. But that was one to beat all others on record. I swear it. If I live to ninety, and have a hundred respectful grandchildren, I don’t imagine I’ll ever be able to tell it so I’ll be believed.”
Dimly, it sort of came back to him now. He recalled the anger, the outrage over having come so close, and yet so far from freedom. It shamed him to remember giving in that way to frustration, to the animal within him.
Some white card. Fiben snorted, knowing how stupid the Suzerain of Propriety had to be to have chosen a chim like him for such a role.
“I must’ve lost my grip for a while.”
Sylvie touched his left shoulder. He winced and looked down to see a nasty burn there. Oddly, it did not seem to hurt as badly as a score of lesser aches and bruises.
“You taunted the storm, Fiben,” she said in a hushed voice. “You dared it to come down after you. And when it came… you made it do your bidding.”
Fiben closed his eyes. Oh, Goodatt. Of all the siUy, superstitious nonsense.
And yet, there was a part of him, deep down, that felt warmly satisfied. It was as if that portion actually believed that there had been cause and effect, that he had done exactly what Sylvie described!
Fiben shuddered. “Help me sit up, okay?”
There was a disorienting moment or two as the horizon tilted and vision swam. At last, though, when she had him seated so the world no longer wavered all around him, he gestured for her to help him stand.
“You should rest, Fiben.”
“When we reach the Mulun,” he told her. “Dawn can’t be far off. And the storm won’t last forever. Come on, I’ll lean on you.”
She took his good arm over her shoulder, bracing him. Somehow, they managed to get him onto his feet.
“Y’know,” he said. “You’re a strong lil” chimmie. Hmph. Carried me all the way up here, did you?”