by Andre Norton
Only, to cross, they must go along that narrow and slippery way, under not only the beating of the wind and rain, but perhaps also the threat of the flying thing. He thought he could do it—the People were surefooted. But Ku-La—
The other might be reading his thought. “What lies there?” His throaty voice was near a growl.
“The lair where my people hold.”
“Safety of a kind then. Well, we can do no less than try to reach it.”
“You are willing to try?” Surely the other could see his danger. But if he chose to go, then Furtig would do what he could to aid him.
He pulled out that cord which had served them so well, was preparing to loop them together belt to belt. But the other pushed his hands aside.
“No! I shall take the way four-footed. And do not link us—better one fall than both, the second without cause.”
“Go you first then,” Furtig replied. He did not know what he might be able to do if the other, unlinked, did slip. But he felt that if he could keep Ku-La before his eyes during that crossing he might be able to help in some fashion. And four-footed was surely the best way for them both.
Not only would it make them more sure-footed, but it would also make them less distinguishable to the flying thing. If they were unlucky enough to have that return.
The rain hit them like a blow, and Ku-La moved under its pounding very slowly. While Furtig wanted nothing so much as to be free to leap over that creeping shape before him and run with all possible speed to the promised safety of the far doorway. Yet he crawled behind Ku-La, the bag of record tapes slung about him, the water soaking his fur and trickling from his whiskers. He did not even raise his head far enough to see the doorway; rather he concentrated on Ku-La.
Twice the other halted, went flat as if his last strength had oozed away with the water pouring on him. But each time, just as Furtig reached forth a hand to try to rouse him, he levered up to struggle on.
They had passed the halfway point, though neither of them was aware of that in the agony of that slow advance, when the sound came. It was warning enough to flatten them both to the bridge, striving to give no sign of life as the thing drew closer.
It did not scream as one of the preying flying things, nor give voice in any way Furtig recognized. This sound was a continuous beat-beat. First to the left as if it hung in open space viewing them, then overhead. Furtig's nerve almost crumbled then. He could somehow see in his mind giant claws reaching out—coming closer—ready to sink into his body, bear him away.
So intent was he on that fearful mental picture that he was not even aware that the beat-beat was growing fainter, not until it had vanished. He lay on the bridge, unharmed, able to move. And the thing was gone! Had—had it taken Ku-La then, without his knowing it in the depths of his fear?
But when Furtig raised his head the other was there, stirring to life, creeping—
If they had time now before the thing returned—! For somehow Furtig could not believe that it was going to let them go so easily. There was a menace in it which he had sensed. And that sense he trusted, for it was one of the built-in protections of his kind and had saved lives many times over. The flying thing was to be feared, perhaps as much, if not more, than anything he had ever in his life faced before.
* * *
Tan ran a finger approvingly along the edge of the recorder. Got a good taping there. Tan's luck again. He smiled. Tan's luck was something which once or twice had made a real impression on the trainees back on Elhorn. He had managed so many times, usually through no reason he was aware of, to be at just the right place at the right moment, or to make the right move, even when he had no idea whether it was right or wrong.
So—with all those faint life-readings he had picked up in this pile but nothing in the open where he could get a visual record, it was his luck to catch that thing—or things (in that poor visibility they had looked like blobs as far as he was concerned)—right out in the open. They might have posed to order so he could get a good tape.
Blobs—certainly they did not look like men. He had sighted them edging out on the bridge and they had wriggled along there, almost as if they were crossing on their bellies. Nothing about them to suggest they were of his species at all. Tan tried to picture men crawling on hands and knees. Would the blobs resemble those? Could be. Except they were smaller than men—children?
But what would children be doing out alone in such a storm as this, crawling from one building to the next? No, easier to believe that they were something else, not human at all.
Tan was no longer smiling. After all, they had never discovered what had sent the First Ship people to Elhorn. It had been a very strong motive, not only to force them to take the perilous trip across space, but to leave them so intent thereafter on suppressing all they could of the world of their origin and the reason for colonizing another.
Tan had picked up some dim life-readings here, but not, oddly enough, in the buildings which had shown the greatest wealth of lights at night. No—they were widely scattered. And the readings varied. Enough that Ayana ought to be able to make something out of the variance. Such would not show up so plainly just because the pickup carried over unequal distances. It was more as if the life forms themselves varied. At least he had a reading and a picture of the blobs to turn in and that would give them a beginning reference.
And—there was not a single one of these life-readings which touched the proper coordinate for man on the measuring scale. That was what had made him buzz lower and lower, hang between the towers in a reckless fashion, trying to pick up as many registrations on the tapes as he could.
Men had built this place. Tan knew enough from his race's own fragmented records to recognize the form of architecture of his ancestors. But if there were no readings for “man” here—what did live within these walls?
The enemy of which they had no records? Only surmises presented by their imaginations? If the former, then the enemy was those blobs, and the quicker they were identified the better. Tan turned the flitter, swept out and away from the structures, heading for the ship with the small scraps of knowledge his first scouting flight had gained.
* * *
There was no beat-beat now—none at all. Ku-La scrambled ahead with a burst of speed Furtig hoped would not hurl him off that narrow way. But—in the doorway ahead was movement!
Rattons? Barkers? Furtig had the Demon weapon. The past hours had conditioned him to expect the worst, even in the People's lairs. Then he made out a furred head—They were coming forward to aid Ku-La—his own kind at last!
Gammage was at ease on the wide bed place. His tail curled across his thighs, and only the tip of it, twitching now and then, betrayed his excitement at Furtig's report.
The tapes had been carried off by the In-born trained to evaluate them. And a picked group, led by Foskatt, had set out to salvage the rest of Furtig's haul from where he had left it in the ducts.
Ku-La was in the room of healing, and Furtig was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open, his mind alert to answer the Ancestor's questions. But he discovered to his amazement that Gammage was not startled by the flying thing.
That a Demon sky-ship had landed was already known to the lair People. Its coming had been foretold by certain watchers who were not of flesh and blood, but servants of metal. When those gave the alert, the People had first been baffled, then made guesses as to the cause for alarm. And, hiding out, scouts had witnessed the actual landing of the ship.
Every device which could be put to defense or used to gain knowledge of the invaders had been trained on that ship. Without, it was hoped, having yet aroused the suspicions of the old masters of the lairs.
“They are indeed Demons,” Gammage said. “Drink this, clan son, it will warm you. It is made of leaves and is refreshing to our spirits.”
He waited while Furtig sipped from the bowl Liliha brought him. She did not leave, but settled on the other end of Gammage's divan as one who had a rightfu
l part in this conference. Furtig was aware she watched him unblinkingly. He wondered if she did so to weigh within her own mind the truth of his tale.
The odor of the hot liquid was enticing, so much so that just to sniff its vapor raised his spirits, gave him courage, and renewed his energy. The taste was as good as the scent. The feeling of warmth that spread through him made him even more drowsy than he had been. But two full swallows were all that he took, holding the cup from him lest his pleasure in its contents cloak his mind to what must be firmly faced.
“We viewed them through those glasses which bring the far close,” Gammage continued. “They brought many things from their ship and put together a flying thing. By that time it was night, and they went again into the ship and closed it, as if they believed they might be in danger. Four of them only, though there may be more inside we did not see.
“With the morning, in spite of the storm, one came forth and entered the flying thing. He raised it into the air and flew back and forth, in and out, among the buildings. He did not try to land, but hovered above. As if the Demon sought something. But we cannot guess what he sought, nor the manner of his seeking. With Demons—who can know?”
“He found us on the bridge,” Furtig returned. “But he did not attack, only stayed above us for a space and then flew away.”
“Returning,” Liliha said, “to the ship. It could be that when he hung above you he marked who—or what—you were.”
Gammage chewed reflectively on a claw tip. “What you found, with the aid of Ku-La, is a treasure of knowledge. But whether we shall be given time to use it is another matter. If these Demons plan to reclaim the lairs I am not sure we can defeat their purpose.”
“You can withdraw—to the caves—as our forefathers did when the Demons hunted them before,” Furtig suggested.
“That is the last resort. The lairs are very large and, as you proved, clan son, there are ways we smaller people can travel in secret. The Demons cannot force their greater bodies into such passages.”
“Perhaps we shall be both Demon-hunted and Ratton-attacked in the end.” Furtig saw the gloomiest of futures.
“There are also the Barkers—” Gammage chewed again on his claw.
For the moment Furtig was content enough to sit and let his fur dry in the warmth of the chamber, sniff at the odor of his good drink, and now and then sip it. But he longed for sleep; even if the Demons were to tramp these corridors soon, a warrior had to sleep.
He fought his eyes' closing by drinking the last of the liquid. Gammage spoke again:
“The Barkers are not ones to take kindly to the trapping of their scout. Unlike our people, they are happiest in the pack rubbing shoulders to the next. And they will move as a pack to avenge their kind.”
What the Ancestor said was no more than all knew. You killed or took a Barker prisoner, and you had to face his fellows in force. It was one of the things that made the Barkers so feared.
“They hunt by scent.” Still the Ancestor recited common knowledge. “Therefore they will trail in here, and find the trap of the Rattons. The Rattons will take to inner ways, and in doing so, they may escape the Barkers. But—if the Barkers invade they can well pick up our scent—
“Ku-La, when he is healed, will go to his people and invite them to join us. As he has told me, those know about the Demons, and the lairs—of how we must labor to save what we have learned. If we take to the wilds, it will need many backs and hands to help carry what we must. Therefore, as Ku-La goes to his tribe, so must you and Foskatt go to the caves. There you must tell them of the coming evil and that they must send their warriors—or bring hither all the People—”
“Do you think they will listen to me, Ancestor? I am not an Elder, I am one who failed in the Trials, and went forth from the caves. Will they heed my words? You know our clans and that they are slow to believe in new things.”
“You speak as a youngling, clan son. From here you will carry certain things to impress the Elders. And you do not go alone—”
“Yes, Foskatt, too.” But privately Furtig thought Foskatt, for all his longer time in the lairs, would have little more weight than he had himself.
Gammage had been a long time away from the caves, he had forgotten the hold of custom on those living there.
“Besides Foskatt,” Gammage said, “Liliha goes, also, by her own choice. And she, as well as you, shall take weapons such as those of the caves have no knowledge of. These are gifts, and you shall promise more if your people come to us.
“This,” he continued, “will be easily done—”
Furtig did not agree with that statement in the least, but he had no chance to protest, as the Ancestor swept on—
“The Barker must be found. If he still lives, he must be freed and returned to his People. That will give us for the first time a small chance of holding a truce talk with them. Otherwise they will storm into the lairs, perhaps causing a disaster at the time when we must unite against Demons, not war among ourselves. Now we have a common cause with even Barkers.”
So they were back to Gammage's wish, that all the peoples, even those hereditary enemies, make a common cause against the greater menace. Listening to him, sometimes one could almost believe that would work. But—perhaps he would even suggest sending a truce flag to the Rattons—!
Apparently Gammage was not prepared to go that far. He was nodding a little, his tail tip beating back and forth.
“To the Barkers we shall suggest a truce. The Rattons—no—we cannot deal with them in any way! They are as accursed as the Demons and always have been. We must warn whom we can to stand together. Liliha, see to the clan son. I think he sleeps now, even though his eyes are open!”
Furtig heard that as a distant murmur. There was a touch on his arm. Somehow he blundered to his feet and wavered off, that light touch steering him this way and that, until he had come to his own bed place and stretched out there.
Demon—Ratton—Barker—sleep won out over all.
12
“Animals!” But even as Ayana spoke she knew that was not true. Yes, those bodies were furred. And they had tails. But neither could it be denied that they wore belts around their waists, and attached to the belt of one was a laser! The thing was armed with a weapon much like the most potent in the ship's locker.
She studied the scene on the record reader into which Tan had fed his tape. The light was admittedly poor, but the longer she looked the more new details she could see. Animal, no, but neither was it like her norm for “man.”
However it had a haunting familiarity. And it carried a lumpy burden—the rear one of the two, that is—on its back. Animals were used so. What of the gorks on Elhorn—ungainly, half-feathered, half-scaled, of avian descent but lacking their ancestors' wings? For an instant or two she remembered gorks with a homesick nostalgia.
No, the bundle did not mean that the creatures on the bridge were servants of men—not as the gorks served. Not when one of them also wore a laser. Still—she was teased by a wisp of memory.
“Animal—you are sure?” Jacel roused her from that search.
“No, it is armed and wearing the belt—how can we be sure?”
“It is matched with this life-reading.” Massa consulted the dial. “And there are similar life-readings here, here, and here.” The computer had produced a sketch map earlier and Massa's pointer tapped that. “Now here, and here are two other readings of a different type, one differing from the other—three kinds in all.” She made checks now on the map surface with yellow for the first, red for the second, blue for the last.
Yellow marked the building towards which the two on the bridge headed, red lay behind them.
“Those blue—they are near the outer rim.” Tan surveyed the results with satisfaction. He had brought back enough to keep the computer busy. Catching those two in the open had been the crowning bit of luck—Tan's luck.
“The creature to the fore,”—Ayana moved closer, “it has been hurt.” Her medic
-trained eyes were not deceived by the effects of rain and wet fur. Was she watching part of a drama such as one had on a story tape—perhaps the rescue of a wounded comrade from the enemy?
“Fighting?” Tan sounded excited. “Two species at war?”
She looked up from the screen, startled by that note in his voice. His eyes were shining. It took a certain temperament to produce a scout. Tan had tested high in all the attributes the commanders believed necessary. But there had followed rigid training. And the Tan who had survived that training, winning over all others to gain his place with this crew, was not exactly the same Tan to whom she had been drawn.
Ayana knew that her own place in the ship depended not only on her ability to do her own job, but also on the fact that she was a complement to Tan, supplying what he lacked. It was the same with Jacel and Massa. They had to complement one another or they would not have been put together to form a crew, necessarily living closely during the voyage; their personalities were so related as to assure the least possible friction.
But now there was something in Tan Ayana shrank from, refused to face. The Tan who had come out of the grueling training had a hardness which she secretly feared. He could look upon that wounded body dragging painfully along, and what he thought of was the struggle which had caused those hurts. It was as if he actually wanted to watch such a battle. And that Tan—no, she would not believe that that Tan was the ruler of the mind and body she loved.
“But there is not”—Massa, frowning, paid no attention to Tan's comment “a single life-reading for our own kind! Yet this is a city built by man. We have landed on a site such as our fathers made on Elhorn, save that they did not ring it about there with a city—a city so vast that Tan's record”—she shook her head—“is more than we expected—”