Slow Train to Arcturus

by Eric Flint

  Lani did. And some more. Whatever it was, it loosened the tongue a bit. A little later, having eaten some of the meat without gagging too much, she said "I've been meaning to ask you…"

  "Ask. Whatever that stuff is, I don't think I should drink any more of it."

  "Why did you do this? I mean, come with us. Uh. You had everything."

  "Except a life," said Amber, pulling a face. "The old story I suppose. I broke up with my girlfriend. After five years. She works. .. worked with me. No way I could avoid seeing her every day, and nowhere else that either of us could work. Kretz came along and, well, I could get out of there. Really get out there. Right out of the whole world. I'd… I'd been thinking of taking myself out of it completely before. You can only put on a brave face for just so long." She laughed. "I suppose that whatever else comes out of this I haven't really thought about Jean for days."

  "There have to be easier cures, though."

  Amber shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. We never really did develop a cure for broken hearts. At least not a cure that leaves no scar tissue to stop the thing working properly."

  "Why isn't it simple?" asked Lani, feeling as if she was going to burst into tears.

  "Yeah. I thought we weren't going to drink any more of this stuff?" said Amber, who just had.

  Lani looked blurrily at the gourd. "I can't drink any more. I finished it. If this is what they gave Howard no wonder he's unconscious."

  "You know I read somewhere that before the Slowtrain left, before Diana, that all men regarded women as inflatable sex dolls that could cook and clean house."

  Lani blinked owlishly at her. "I had an inflatable mattress once."

  "So?" said Amber, looking almost equally owlish.

  "So they must have needed a lot of puncture repair kits," said Lani after deep cogitation. She looked at Howard. "I'd have less problems with an inflatable man."

  Amber agreed. "Or me with an inflatable woman, but they'd be less fun."

  "We could get a bulk order of puncture kits."

  "And comp-installed 'cause misery' units, so they'd feel real."

  "And buy a dishwasher."

  It seemed very funny at the time.

  Dandani judged that Chief Fripara-wa-reepal was a worried man. Too worried to be thinking too much about what his youngest daughter had said about a hunter called Dandani. "I put not one, but two arrows in him, Chief. He should be dead. But the other one may not be dead, but he's pretty sick," he explained.

  "But he's getting better," said the chief sourly. "I think we should change your name to 'hunter-who-could-not-hit-a-jaguar-from-the-inside.' I think you saw women and shot skew."

  He wasn't serious. Except maybe about the women. However, Dandani knew it was obligatory to look affronted. "I always hit what I aim at."

  "With arrows for small birds," said the chief. "Anyway, we need to talk about what we do now, not your lousy marksmanship."

  "We do what uThani always do," said he-who-talks-to-strangers. "We behave like good little ignorant savages. 'We don't understand what you say,' while we listen and learn."

  "And then we cut their throats and hope more don't come looking," said the chief. He sighed. "But maybe their throats don't cut any easier than they poison, old man. Dandani fools around with too many women, but he doesn't miss."

  He-who-talks-to-strangers shook his head. "We don't cut their throats. We don't let them go home either. We see if they can solve our other problem."

  "Hmm. It's nine warriors so far. Who are we going to send?"

  "Him." He-who-talks-to-strangers-pointed at Dandani. "And Nama-ti-spaniti-goro-y-timi."

  "Good," said the chief. "Even if they get killed, it will get him away from my youngest daughter."

  So he hadn't been that distracted, Dandani thought. But like a good uThani he misled. It was how the small tribe had survived.

  Kretz was increasingly convinced that Miran in general were better observers of behavior than humans. Maybe it came of having to survive tempers at sex-changeover. Sitting on the far side of the circle he'd noticed that the local humans took tiny sips from the gourd they passed around. By the time he tried to warn the others it was too late. Well, for the females, anyway. The little male appeared to be behaving with circumspection.

  Their spokesman came and sat down next to him. "So, demon," he said conversationally, "why does the other demon try look like people and you don't? Him better demon?"

  Transcomp had given Kretz a number of approximations on "demon." None of them had been flattering. Obviously it was one of those words that depended on your viewpoint. He thought about his reply, carefully. "If I change my appearance too much, I cannot talk across the distances to all the other demons, and they will have to come and look for us. One of us had look as we do."

  "Hmm. Teeth very small for Jaguar-demon," said the speaker.

  How did you answer that? He did recall the picture Amber had showed them. Best to head off the question with another. "How come you speak the language of hu-the women."

  The speaker pulled a face. "One man learn. In case outsiders come back. Clever. O-Mike Computer teach." He looked at the two women, lolling against each other. Giggling. "Be very sick tomorrow," he said clinically.

  Interesting. So there was some kind of live computer network, even in this primitive environment. Well, miniaturization could take computing power and robots to the microscopic. Big machines were still more efficient for doing tasks of scale, a fact the miniaturization lobby eventually learned.

  The speaker shifted his attention to the little human male. "You demon's child?" He said conversationally. "Which one your mother?"

  27

  There is a life zone around every sun. Around some suns it is huge, and lasts for billions of years. So what sort of lease do you think a settler needs? What do you think we can do if anyone breaches the agreement?

  –

  Johnson Defarge, Slowtrain Legal committee, SysGov.

  Bhangella took the automatic shotgun from the hand of the sleeping woman, before she was carried to the boats. Kretz made no move to stop him. It seemed wiser that they were all armed.

  The hollowed-log boats slid through the water, close, but never too close to the overhanging trees. Inside them Howard and the two women slept, oblivious to the brightly colored fliers that darted between the branches, or the troops of reddish furred creatures that scattered, roaring, swinging through the tree-tops. Kretz watched all this, and attempted to fathom out if there was any evil motive on the part of their hosts. He couldn't see one.

  It was a long journey, involving many portages, but eventually the locals hauled up the boats and lifted out the two women. A hundred paces away you could just see the airlock door.

  Lani woke as they put her down. She groaned, blinked, and said: "Where are we?"

  "At the airlock," explained Kretz.

  She tried to sit up, but plainly found the exercise too much. "Oh, Holy Susan, let me sleep again." She collapsed.

  Kretz waved at the departing canoes. His study of human behavior seemed to indicate that it was an innocuous gesture. Hardly a reason for the small male human to be pointing a weapon at his head. "What is wrong?" he asked puzzled and suddenly afraid.

  "You are. Put the gun down slowly."

  Kretz complied. "But what are you doing?"

  "Taking over for the Men's Liberation Army. Lie down on your stomach, freak."

  Kretz found himself being tied up and then gagged.

  "I guess I'll just deal with the scientist before I get to the cop. The bitch is lying on her gun," said the small male. "By what those savages said, they should be waking up soon."

  Moments later, Kretz heard a brief scream.

  The scream pierced Lani's uneasy sleep. She hadn't meant to sleep! Had she been poisoned? It felt like the mother of all hangovers. Never-not even after the force academy graduation-had she felt like this. She tried to get up. It was a question of whether she threw up or stood up.

  Stand
ing up won. Narrowly. But she only remained standing by holding onto the vegetation.

  The adrenaline rush that came from realizing that she had a shotgun pointed at her helped. But not even that would get across the ten yards between her and the perp. It wasn't going to be easy to draw and fire, either.

  Then she realized she wasn't even going to have that opportunity. Now he wasn't pointing the shotgun at her. He was pointing it at Howard.

  "The gun, cop," he said. "Take it out of your belt with your left hand and throw it down."

  She look at the shotgun, evaluating her chances. They weren't good and she knew it.

  "You've got to the count of three. I'll blow him away if you don't cooperate."

  She did. Alive he had a chance. Dead, none. You learned after dealing with many perps and situations just which ones were for real. Who meant it when they threatened. This one wanted the chance. The weapon landed on the floor a foot or two from Howard. His eyes were open, she noticed. She hadn't even had a chance to ask how he was doing. What the hell had happened? How had they arrived here? All she remembered was that burned dead animal and having to eat it. The thought was too much for her. She leaned over and started being sick. And then fell to her knees and did some more of the same.

  At least that stopped the perp from shooting her. He watched, grinning nastily.

  "They said you'd feel like death when you woke up," he said with malicious glee. "You drank more than ten people do normally, you and that other bitch. Come on. There is nothing left inside you now. I need you to tie her up."

  She managed to get up. She felt weak and drained but at least that muck was out of her. He pointed to where Amber lay holding her head. She wasn't just hungover. She was bleeding.

  "I need to see to that," she said.

  "Let her bleed," said the perp callously. "It's not that serious, and it's her own fault. Tie her up. Here." He tossed some cords at her. She recognized them as being from the basket of the local who shot Howard. She knelt next to Amber.

  "Do a proper job. I'll check it and it'll be worse for both of you, if you don't," said the little creep.

  So she did. And tried to follow force training: keep them talking. Talking people don't act. "What are you going to do, Perp, uh, Bhangella? The locals will kill you."

  He laughed. "Not likely. They're not getting close enough to put any arrows into me. They scare easy. This place is wide open for us. The Men's Liberation Army is gonna have a hideout that the women will never find, and anyway you can't do nothin'. We'll take this lot's women. Shoot any men that won't join us."

  "You're crazy. They'll shoot you full of those little arrows. They nearly killed Howard."

  "Yeah," said the Perp, nastily. "And now they don't believe that the poison works on us. And you better believe they know how well shotguns kill. They're good and scared, thanks to you. And we know where they live. Now shut up, or I'll blow a foot off you. You'll still be good for what I plan to use you for. Take those handcuffs from your belt and put them on your own wrists. Then throw the keys down and back off, and lie down next to the others. I'm going to tie your feet together."

  ***

  Howard's muscles still felt as if they belonged to some far smaller, weaker person. But he couldn't just lie there. John Bhangella had ignored him, assuming that he was still unable to move. Whether he was capable of wrestling the shotgun from the small man was another matter. But he definitely could move. And Lani's weapon still lay on the ground a few yards off. He'd refused to let her teach him, but he'd learned all the same, by watching. Safety catch. Squeeze the trigger…

  He pulled himself out of the stretcher, slowly. Bhangella was busy rifling through the bags. The gun lay on the ground, temporarily forgotten. He edged himself closer. He actually felt a little better once he was moving.

  After an eternity, he reached it. Felt the weight of it in his hand. He pushed the safety catch over.

  Now… could he use it? To kill a man was a sin. Yet, in inexpert hands, this was a much less deadly weapon than the one which Bhangella had in his hand. If Bhangella put it down, Howard could threaten him.

  It wasn't going to work like that.

  The small man walked over to Kretz and put the shotgun under his chin.

  "Leave him be," said Howard. "He's done nothing to you."

  Bhangella looked at Howard. "So you're back with us. You're talking a little oddly," he said matter-of-factly, swinging the shotgun to cover Howard instead.

  "My muscles aren't quite right. I feel very weak. Leave Kretz. As I said, he has done you no harm. If you want to blame anyone, blame me."

  "You? I wouldn't give you that much credit." The muzzle of the shotgun had dipped, as Bhangella realized that there was no immediate danger from his victim.

  "We've all helped to keep you alive," said Howard carefully. "Perhaps you resent the way Lani treated you…"

  "Silly bitch," said the small man disdainfully. He pointed the shotgun vaguely at her. "She let you stop her. And she didn't kill the guy who shot you. I'm gonna have fun teaching her some manners."

  Howard took a deep breath, and kept calm, resolutely. The man was baiting him, enjoying making his victim suffer. He also seemed quite serious about it all. So Howard said, calmly, "You asked me once what a man had to do, if he turned the other cheek and the offender kicked him in the teeth."

  Bhangella smiled nastily. "Yeah, I remember that, you stupid big soft dick. You never did answer it. You've got a last chance before I shoot the alien and you. I thought it over. I don't need him and I'm pretty sure I don't need you." The gun barrel was now pointed somewhere between them.

  "I've thought about turning the other cheek again," said Howard. "The Brethren believe that all people have a better nature to appeal to. But I have decided it is not always possible to reach it."

  He raised Lani's pistol and shot Bhangella.

  As Bhangella crumpled, Howard said sadly, "This is not the right answer, but it is the best one I could think of."

  The Men's Liberation Army captain lay on the ground. He was obviously dying. Howard stood up, as fast as he could, despite protesting muscles. He walked over and picked up the automatic shotgun Bhangella had dropped. "May God have mercy on your soul," he said. "And forgive me, Lord. I did what I believed I had to do."

  Howard shot him again, between the eyes. The Brethren killed livestock. They killed them as mercifully and quickly as possible. Who was he to deny even a man like this, what he'd give to a hog?

  Whether it was the right answer or not, Howard didn't know. But a man had to make decisions sometimes, and leave the final judgment of his deeds to a higher authority. He staggered across to Kretz and the bound women.

  Lani held up the cuffs. "He's got the keys on a thong around his neck." She looked at his pale face. "Do my feet and I'll get them."

  He touched her cheek, gently. She'd held his hand, talked to him through the paralysis and through the fear. "I am strong enough."

  "You're stronger than I ever guessed. And I don't just mean in muscles."

  Howard walked back to the corpse. Bhangella looked very small, now. Howard took the thong off his neck. He carefully ignored the condition of the dead man's face.

  He went back and freed Lani, and then the others. "They're still watching us," he said quietly.

  "Who? The locals?" She took the pistol he gave her. Then took out the magazine and reloaded it from the pouch on her belt. Clicked it back in-and handed it to Howard. "I think you'd better keep it."

  "No, thank you." He took a deep breath. Even that hurt. He turned to the undergrowth. "It's time for us to talk," he said loudly. "What do you want?"

  There was a silence. Then someone came out of the bushes. Just one person. Howard was certain there were others. The local held up an empty hand. "No weapon," he said.

  Howard held up his empty hands. "And no weapons in my hands, either."

  Lani looked at the local, suspiciously, with narrowed eyes. "I thought only one of you spoke
any English?"

  The local shrugged. "Others of us learn."

  "But don't tell the foreigners," said Amber, holding a gauze pad against her head wound. "He was sitting next to us when we drank that stuff, Lani."

  "You strong woman. No uThani drink half so much," he said admiringly.

  Amber cocked her head on one side. "Pretend you don't speak the language. Ply the visitors with strong, drugged liquor and listen to what they say between themselves?"

  He nodded.

  "So… what do you want?" asked Howard, sticking to the point.

  "We make sure you not go. You bring others. We take you to the opposite airlock," said the local with a disarming smile.

  "Which is actually where we wanted to go," said Amber. "So why didn't you just kill us?"

  The man pointed at Howard. "He did not die. Hunter shoot him too." He pointed at Kretz. "He did not even get sick."

  "My suit," explained Kretz, "is quite tough. I probably didn't notice. Besides I am not sure how it would affect my metabolism."

  "So… we're demons you can't kill. Accept it," said Lani.

  "We really don't want your land," said Howard calmly. "I promise."

  "But we want yours," said the uThani, smiling cheerfully. "Not enough here for us any more. Fights in subclans over place. So our chief say: follow. Find. See. Also get iron things. Knives and guns. We know about guns."

  "But… How many of you are there, here? We never saw anyone."

  "Need a lot of jungle to hunt and to gather. Comp say one hundred hectare for one. Too many persons. Food short. Now we fish a lot. But there still too many of our people. We need place. We send others to airlock. They have not come back." He pointed to the group. "You know how to go to another place."

  "So how come you are telling us this?" asked Lani.

  The uThani shrugged and smiled slightly. "Because chief could not tell me how to look through the door. And here we can still kill you. Or try."