by David Brin
The glyph z’schutan cautiously approached the slumbering human. It settled down, and Athaclena saw it metaphorically as a globe of liquid metal. It touched Prathachulthorn’s psi-shield and slid in golden rivulets over it, swiftly coating it under a fine sheen.
Athaclena breathed a little easier. Her hand slipped into her pocket and withdrew a glassy ampule. She stepped closer and carefully knelt next to the cot. As she brought the vial of anesthetic gas near the sleeping man’s face, her fingers tensed.
“I wouldn’t,” he said, casually.
Athaclena gasped. Before she could move his hands darted out, catching her wrists! In the dim light all she could see were the whites of his eyes. Although he was awake his psi-shield remained undisturbed, still radiating waves of slumber. She realized that it had been a phantasm all along, a carefully fabricated trap!
“You Eatees just have to keep on underrating us, don’t you? Even you smarty-pants Tymbrimi never seem to get it.”
Gheer hormones surged. Athaclena heaved and pulled to get free, but it was like trying to escape a metal vice. Her clawed nails scratched, but he nimbly kept her fingers out of reach of his callused hands. When she tried to roll aside and kick he deftly applied slight pressure to her arms, using them as levers to keep her on her knees. The force made her groan aloud. The gas pellet tumbled from her limp hand.
“You see,” Prathachulthorn said in an amiable voice, “there are some of us who think it’s a mistake to compromise at all. What can we accomplish by trying to turn ourselves into good Galactic citizens?” he sneered. “Even if it worked, we’d only become horrors, awful things totally divorced from what it means to be human. Anyway, that option isn’t even open. They won’t let us become citizens. The deck is stacked. The dice are loaded. We both know that, don’t we?”
Athaclena’s breath came in ragged gasps. Long after it was clearly useless, the gheer flux kept her jerking and fighting againt the human’s incredible strength. Agility and quickness were to no avail against his reflexes and training.
“We have our secrets, you know,” Prathachulthorn confided. “Things we do not tell our Tymbrimi friends, or even most of our own people. Would you like to know what they are? Would you?”
Athaclena could not find the breath to answer. Prathachulthorn’s eyes held something feral, almost animally fierce.
“Well, if I told you some of them it would be your death sentence,” he said… “And I’m not ready to decide that quite yet. So I’ll tell you one fact some of your people already know.”
In an instant he had transferred both of her wrists to one hand. The other sought and found her throat.
“You see, we Marines are also taught how to disable, and even kill, members of an allied Eatee race. Would you like to know how long it will take me to render you unconscious, miss? Tell you what. Why don’t you start counting?”
Athaclena heaved and bucked, but it was useless. A painful pressure closed in around her throat. Air started getting thick. Distantly, she heard Prathachulthorn mutter to himself.
“This universe is a goddam awful place.”
She would never have imagined it could get blacker, but an even deeper darkness started closing in. Athaclena wondered if she would ever awaken again. I’m sorry, father. She expected those to be her last thoughts.
Continued consciousness came as something of a surprise then. The pressure on her throat, still painful, eased ever so slightly. She sucked a narrow stream of air and tried to figure out what was happening. Prathachulthorn’s arms were quivering. She could tell he was bearing down hard, but somehow the force wasn’t arriving!
Her overheated corona was no help. It was in total ignorance and amazement — when Prathachulthorn’s grip loosened — that she dropped limply to the floor.
The human was breathing hard, now. There were grunts of exertion, and then a crash as the cot toppled over. A water pitcher shattered and there was a sound like that a datawell would make, getting smashed.
Athaclena felt something under her hand. The ampule, she realized. But what had happened to Prathachulthorn?
Fighting enzyme exhaustion, she crawled in a random direction until her hand came down upon the broken datawell. By accident her fingers brushed the power switch, and the rugged machine’s screen spilled forth a dim luminescence.
In that glow, Athaclena saw a stark tableau… the human mel straining — his powerful muscles bulged and sinewy — against two long brown arms that held him from behind.
Prathachulthorn bucked and hissed. He threw his weight left and right. But every effort to get free was to no avail. Athaclena saw a pair of brown eyes over the man’s shoulder. She hesitated for only a moment, then hurried forward with the ampule.
Now Prathachulthorn had no psi-shield. His hatred was open for all to kenn if they had the power. He heaved desperately as she brought forward the little cylinder and broke it under his nose.
“He’s holdin’ his breath,” the neo-chimpanzee muttered as the cloud of blue vapor hovered around the man’s nostrils, then slowly fell groundward.
“That is all right,” Athaclena answered. From her pocket she drew forth ten more.
When he saw them, Prathachulthorn let out a faint sigh. He redoubled his efforts to get away, but all it served was to bring closer the moment when he would finally have to breathe. The man was stubborn. It took five minutes, and even then Athaclena suspected he had fainted of anoxia before he ever felt the drug.
“Some guy,” Fiben said when he finally let go. “Goodall, they make them Marines strong.” He shuddered and collapsed next to the unconscious man.
Athaclena sat limply across from him.
“Thank you, Fiben,” she said quietly.
He shrugged. “Hell, what’s treason an’ assault on a patron? All in a day’s work.”
She indicated his sling, where his left arm had rested ever since the evening of his escape from Port Helenia. “Oh, this?” Fiben grinned. “Well, I guess I have been milking the sympathy a bit. Please don’t tell anybody, okay?”
Then, in a more serious mood, he looked down at Prathachulthorn. “I may not be any expert. But I’ll bet I didn’t win any points with th’ old Uplift Board, tonight.”
He glanced up at Athaclena, then smiled faintly. In spite of everything she had been through, she found she could not help but find everything suddenly hilarious.
She found herself laughing — quietly, but with her father’s rich tones. Somehow, that did not surprise her at all.
The job wasn’t over. Wearily, Athaclena had to follow as Fiben carried the unconscious human through the dim tunnels. As they tiptoed past Prathachulthorn’s dozing corporal, Athaclena reached out with her tender, almost limp tendrils and soothed the Marine’s slumber. He mumbled and rolled over on his cot. Especially wary now, Athaclena made doubly sure the man’s psi-shield was no ruse, that he actually slept soundly.
Fiben puffed, his lips curled back in a grimace as she led him over a tumbled slope of debris from an ancient landslide and into a side passage that was almost certainly unknown to the Marines. At least it wasn’t on the. cave map she had accessed earlier today from the rebel database.
Fiben’s aura was pungent each time he stubbed his toes in the dim, twisting climb. No doubt he wanted to mutter imprecations over Prathachulthorn’s dense weight. But he kept his comments within until they emerged at last into the humid, silent night.
“Sports an’ mutations!” he sighed as he laid his burden down. “At least Prathachulthorn isn’t one of th’ tall ones. I couldn’t’ve managed with his hands and feet dragging in the dust all the way.”
He sniffed the air. There was no moon, but a fog spilled over the nearby cliffs like a vaporous flood, and it gave off a faint lambience. Fiben glanced back at Athaclena. “So? Now what, chief? There’s gonna be a liornet’s nest here in a few hours, especially after Robert and that Lieutenant McCue get back. Do you want I should go get Tycho and haul away this bad example to Earthling clients fo
r you? It’ll mean deserting, but what the hell, I guess I was never a very good soldier.”
Athaclena shook her head. She sought with her corona and found the traces she was looking for. “No, Fiben. I could not ask that of you. Besides, you have another task. You escaped from Port Helenia in order to warn us of the Gubru offer. Now you must return there and face your destiny.”
Fiben frowned. “Are you sure? You don’t need me?”
Athaclena brought her hands over her mouth. She trilled the soft call of a night bird. From the darkness downslope there came a faint reply. She turned back to Fiben. “Of course I do. We all need you. But where you can do the most good is down there, near the sea. I also sense that you want to go back.”
Fiben pulled at his thumbs. “Gotta be crazy, I guess.”
She smiled. “No. It is only one more indicator that the Suzerain of Propriety knew its business in choosing you… even though it might prefer that you showed a little more respect to your patrons.”
Fiben tensed. Then he seemed to sense some of her irony. He smiled. There was the soft clattering of horses’ hooves on the trail below. “All right,” he said as he bent over to pick up the limp form of Major Prathachulthorn. “Come on, papa. This time I’ll be as gentle as I would with my own maiden aunt.” He smacked his lips against the Marine’s shadowed cheek and looked up at Athaclena.
“Better, ma’am?”
Something she had borrowed from her father made her tired tendrils fizz. “Yes, Fiben.” She laughed. “That’s much better.”
Lydia and Robert had their suspicions when they returned by the dawn’s light to find their legal commander missing. The remaining Terragens Marines glared at Athaclena in open distrust. A small band of chims had gone through Prathachulthorn’s room, cleaning away all signs of struggle before any humans got there, but they couldn’t hide the fact that Prathachulthorn had gone without a note or any trace.
Robert even ordered Athaclena restricted to her chamber, with a Marine at the door, while they investigated. His relief over a likely delay in the planned attack was momentarily suppressed under an outraged sense of duty. In comparison, Lieutenant McCue was an eddy of calm. Outwardly, she seemed unconcerned, as if the major had merely stepped out. Only Athaclena could sense the Earth woman’s underlying confusion and conflict.
In any event, there was nothing they could do about it. Search parties were sent out. They caught up with a party of Athaclena’s chims returning on horseback to the gorilla refuge. But by that time Prathachulthorn was no longer with them. He was high in the trees, being passed from one forest giant to another, by now conscious and fuming, but helpless and trussed up like a mummy.
It was a case of humans paying the penalty for their “liberalism.” They had brought up their clients to be individualists and citizens, so it was possible for chims to rationalize imprisoning one man for the good of all. In his own way Prathachulthorn had helped to bring this about, with his patronizing, deprecating attitudes. Nevertheless, Athaclena was certain the Marine would be delicately, carefully treated.
That evening, Robert chaired a new council of war. Athaclena’s vague status of house arrest was modified so she could attend. Fiben and the chim brevet lieutenants were present, as well as the Marine noncommissioned officers.
Neither Lydia nor Robert brought up going ahead with Prathachulthorn’s plan. It was tacitly assumed that the major wouldn’t want it put under way without him.
“Maybe he went off on a personal scouting trip, or a snap inspection of some outpost. He might return tonight or tomorrow,” Elayne Soo suggested in complete innocence.
“Maybe. We’d best assume the worst, though,” Robert said. He avoided looking at Athaclena. “Just in case, we’d better send word to the refuge. I suppose it’ll take ten days or so to get new orders from the Council, and for them to send a replacement.”
He obviously assumed that Megan Oneagle would never leave him in charge.
“Well, I want to go back to Port Helenia,” Fiben said simply. “I’m in a position to get close to the center of things. And anyway, Gailet needs me.”
“What makes you think the Gubru will take you back, after running away?” Lydia McCue asked. “Why won’t they simply shoot you?”
Fiben shrugged. “If I meet up with the wrong Gubru, that’s what they’ll probably do.”
There was a long silence. When Robert asked for other suggestions, the humans and remaining chims remained silent. At least when Prathachulthorn had been here, dominating the discourse and the mood, there had been his overbearing confidence to override their doubts. Now their situation came home to them again. They were a tiny army with only limited options. And the enemy was about to set into motion things and events they could not even understand, let alone prevent.
Athaclena waited until the atmosphere was thick with gloom. Then she said four words. “We need my father.”
To her surprise, both Robert and Lydia nodded. Even when orders finally arrived from the Council-in-Exile, those instructions would likely be as confused and contradictory as ever. It was obvious that they could use good advice, especially with matters of Galactic diplomacy at stake.
At least the McCue woman does not share Prathachulthorn’s xenophobia, Athaclena thought. She found herself forced to admit that she approved of what she kenned of the Earthling female’s aura.
“Robert told me you were sure your father was alive.” Lydia said. “That’s fine. But where is he? How can we find him?”
Athaclena leaned forward. She kept her corona still. “I know where he is.”
“You do?” Robert blinked. “But …” His voice trailed off as he reached out to touch her with his inner sense, for the first time since yesterday. Athaclena recalled how she felt then, seeing him holding Lydia’s hand. She momentarily resisted his efforts. Then, feeling foolish, she let go.
Robert sat back heavily and exhaled. He blinked several times. “Oh.” That was all he said.
Now Lydia looked back and forth, from Robert to Athaclena and back again. Briefly, she shone with something faintly like envy.
I, too, have him in a way that you cannot, Athaclena mused. But mostly, she shared the moment with Robert.
“. . . N’tah’hoo, Uthacalthing,” he said in GalSeven. “We had better do something, and fast.”
77
Fiben and Sylvie
She awaited him as he led Tycho up the trad emerging out of the Valley of Caves. She sat patiently next to an overhanging fip pine, just beyond a switchback, and only spoke when he drew even. “Thought you’d just sneak out without saying goodbye, did you?” Sylvie asked. She wore a long skirt and kept her arms wrapped around her knees.
He tied the horse’s tether to a tree limb and sat down next to her. “Nah,” Fiben said. “I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky.”
She glanced at him sidelong and saw that he was grinning. Sylvie sniffed and looked back into the canyon, where the early mists were slowly evaporating into a morning that promised to be clear and cloudless. “I figured you’d be heading back.”
“I have to, Sylvie. It’s—”
She cut him off. “I know. Responsibility. You have to get back to Gailet. She needs you, Fiben.”
He nodded. Fiben didn’t have to be reminded that he still had a duty to Sylvie as well. “Um. Dr. Soo came by, while I was packing. I…”
“You filled the bottle she gave you. I know.” Sylvie bowed her head. “Thank you. I consider myself well paid.”
Fiben looked down. He felt awkward, talking around the edges of the topic like this. “When will you—”
“Tonight, I guess. I’m ready. Can’t you tell?”
Sylvie’s parka and long skirt certainly hid any outward signs. Still, she was right. Her scent was undisguised. “I sincerely hope you get what you want, Sylvie.”
She nodded again. They sat there awkwardly. Fiben tried to think of something to say. But he felt thick headed, stupid. .Whatever he tried, he knew, would surely turn out a
ll wrong.
Suddenly there was a small rustle of motion down below, where the switchbacks diverged into paths leading in several directions. A tall human form emerged around a rocky bend, jogging tirelessly. Robert Oneagle ran toward a junction in the narrow trails, carrying only his bow and a light backpack.
He glanced upward, and on spotting the two chims he slowed. Robert grinned in response as Fiben waved, but on reaching the fork he turned southward, along a little-used track. Soon he had disappeared into the wild forest.
“What’s he doing?” Sylvie asked.
“Looked like he was running.”
She slapped his shoulder. “I could see that. Where is he going?”
“He’s gonna try to make it through the passes before it snows.
“Through the passes? But—”
“Since Major Prathachulthorn disappeared, and since time is so short, Lieutenant McCue and th’ other Marines agreed they’d go along with the alternative plan Robert and Athaclena have cooked up.”
“But he’s running south,” Sylvie said. Robert had taken the little-used trail that led deeper into^the Mulun range.
Fiben nodded. “He’s going looking for somebody. He’s the only one who can do the job.” It was obvious to Sylvie from his tone that that was all he would say about the matter.
They sat there for a little while longer in silence. At least Robert’s brief passage had brought a welcome break in the tension. This is silly, Fiben thought. He liked Sylvie, a lot. They had never had much chance to talk, and this might be their last opportunity!
“You never… you never did tell me about your first baby,” he said in a rush, wondering, as the words came out, if it was any of his business to ask.
Of course it was obvious that Sylvie had given birth before, and nursed. Stretch marks were signs of attractiveness in a race a quarter of whose females never bred at all. But there is pain there as well, he knew.
“It was five years ago. I was very young.” Her voice was level, controlled. “His name was — we called him Sichi. He was tested by the Board, as usual, but he was found… ‘anomalous.’ ”