Lyra's remarks suggested that they were working together to assist him. Perhaps, his success in winning the sympathy of three young people had extended to a larger population.
"Hello, Clovin," said Swift. "Hello, Dorsa. Hello, Lema."
Each of them greeted him in return. It did his heart good to receive friendly welcomes from members of the same species that had done so much damage to him and his teammates.
He thought that if he wasn't careful, he might start liking the Vox people after all.
Smacking her hand against the wall, Lyra chattered loudly to the crowd. It must have been a signal, for everyone intensified their wild behavior.
"Swift help," she shouted, pointing at him. "Help open."
Then, she joined the others in frantic abandon, hopping and howling at him with apparent mean-spirited glee.
Rising, Swift paced along the gallery window, staring out at the unruly crowd as he collected his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he glanced at the guards in the corridor; their backs were turned and they seemed oblivious to his conversation with Lyra.
Rubbing his hands together, Swift took a deep breath and began his performance.
"Hey!" he hollered at the Vox outside the window-wall. "Get outta' here! Leave me alone!"
The shrieking and chattering on the other side reached record levels…but since it was all contributing to his escape, it didn't bother him so much. He had a hunch that his headache would feel a lot better once he got out of the cell.
"I said leave me alone!" he shouted, pounding on the polymer gallery window with his fists. "I'm a star cruiser captain! You can't treat me like this!"
Lyra and her companions played along perfectly, boosting the level of noise and activity with each of his outcries. When he pounded his fists on the wall, every Vox in the crowd within reach battered the polymer with their own fists and feet.
"Shut up!" Swift howled, notching up his level of agitation. When a Vox on the other side made a face and hooted at him, Swift turned to favor his injured side and threw his shoulder into the wall. "Go away!"
Stalking across the window, he focused on another noisy Vox and smacked his palms against the polymer in front of it. "Leave me alone! I'm a star cruiser captain!"
In response, the Vox and its nearest neighbors screeched and flung themselves against the wall, knocking Swift back with the impact.
"Damn aliens!" roared Swift, letting loose a reaction that was not entirely born of play-acting. In truth, it was not all that difficult for him to find the motivation to lash out abusively at the people of Vox; though this particular group was not to blame, it was still easy to channel his resentment and hostility into a realistically unrestrained performance.
"Get away from me!" he screamed, crossing the gallery window to single out another Vox. "Leave me alone!" he bellowed, kicking the wall solidly, then slamming his shoulder into it again.
"Get away from me!" chanted the crowd, mimicking him as other Vox had done earlier. "Leave me alone!"
"Shut up!" said Swift, spinning away from them as if he couldn't stand it anymore…though he was really just sneaking a look at the guards. Finally, the three of them had turned to watch the show in the cell, and they had company; guards from other posts along the corridor had clustered around his sealed door, chattering and pointing as the scene unfolded.
"What are you looking at?" Swift shouted at them. "Why don't you mind your own business?"
"Why don't you mind your own business?" howled the crowd in the street.
Satisfied that the guards were paying attention, Swift whirled around to face the jeering gallery. "I said shut up!" he hollered.
"I said shut up!" repeated the crowd.
Swift chose that moment to explode. Lunging forward, he attacked the window-wall, bashing it with rapid-fire blows and kicks. "Shut up shut up shut up!" he shouted…and then his words gave way to an incoherent cry. It burst out at the top of his lungs, and for a moment it was the loudest sound in the cell…an echoing howl of rage and frustration after a day of intolerable misfortune.
Even as it left him, he was surprised at how much force was behind it…and how good it felt. He did it again.
On the other side of the wall, the crowd got wilder than ever, leaping and screaming and heaving fruit and bodies at the transparent panel. The Vox climbed over each other to get to Swift, piling up in a writhing mass of fur, fangs, and claws.
Swift unleashed another storm of blows on the polymer, expecting the wall to move aside at any moment…but nothing happened. For now, the guards seemed content to watch his tantrum and leave the audience out on the street to antagonize him.
Swift didn't have all the time in the world to let this drag on, so he decided to switch tactics. Abandoning the gallery window, he charged across the cell and threw himself against the wall facing the corridor, right in front of the watching guards.
"Make them go away!" he said, smacking the wall with his palms. "Make them leave me alone!"
He was leaning his forehead against the transparent pane when one of the guards thumped it with his fist, knocking him back. The rest of the guards chattered and laughed uproariously, as did prisoners in nearby cells.
"You think that's funny?" said Swift…and then he let himself fly out of control.
"That's…not…funny!" he screamed, driving his fists and feet and elbows against the polymer surface in an overblown fit of rage. Whipping his head from side to side, he released another inarticulate cry, drawing more laughter and comments from the guards and a surge in the noise level from the gallery window behind him.
He kept at it, unleashing more cries and berserk behavior, assaulting the wall like a lunatic. Eventually, the guards started shouting at him and cracking clubs against the polymer panel, trying to get him to stop.
Instead of settling down, Swift intensified his efforts. The guards shouted louder and cracked the wall harder, but he ignored them; the day's accumulated rage and tension rushed out of him in a torrent, fueling his determination not to let up until they opened the gallery window.
He was so immersed in his performance that he kept going longer than he had to. When he finally heard the swish of the wall sliding aside and felt the rush of cool air from outside, he continued shouting and pounding…not entirely for effect.
Then, Lyra's gang was upon him.
They flooded into the cell in a wave of claws and fur, screeching like banshees. As they pounced on him, throwing him back against the wall, he felt a surge of fear…and not without good reason. The memory of the first time the guards had opened the wall was still fresh; though these attackers were supposedly allies, this moment was much like the first.
As it turned out, this attack was even more like the earlier one than he had expected. As if he hadn't taken enough punishment already, the new group slashed and clawed him as energetically as the first. He screamed in pain as one of the Vox drove its fangs into his shoulder while another rammed a fist into the vicinity of his broken rib.
As they battered and tore at him, he searched for a friendly face – Lyra's or Altis' or Uvo's – but found only strangers.
And he began to wonder.
The Vox passed him around, taking turns pummeling and cutting him. Shrieking madly, they drove him to the floor, then hauled him up and hurt him some more.
And he began to wonder how much of it was for the guards' benefit. Naturally, they would have to make it look good to sustain the ruse…but Swift wondered if that was the object of the beating at all.
When he finally spotted Altis, his concerns became concrete. The Vox's familiar features were twisted in a savage snarl; there seemed to be no recognition or compassion in his eyes as he lunged at Swift with gleaming claws extended.
Maybe, Swift had been the target of the ruse all along. Lyra and her friends had seemed so sincere and sympathetic…but maybe they had manipulated him from the start. He had been so desperate for hope, he had clung to their promises, overlooking the possibility of du
plicity.
And now, as the Vox engulfed him, he started to wonder if he and Zeke would leave the cell alive.
*****
Chapter Twenty-Two
By far, Oric and Giza had the most elaborate markings of any Vox that Mariko had yet seen. As Folcrum introduced them, Mariko found it impossible to look away from the ornate tracery that decorated their fur coats.
Typically, Vox sported the painted designs on their scalps, backs, and abdomens…but Oric and Giza were covered in them. Every conceivable shape appeared on their bodies, covering every inch of fur, creating an impression at first of great chaos and then of great artistry the longer she looked.
As Folcrum led her into the gazebo in the heart of the Garden of Yesterday, Oric was the first to step forward and offer his hand. "Welcome," he said as she shook it. "Thank you for coming."
Staring at the crowd of symbols on his black fur, Mariko wondered if there was a written language on Vox after all. Swirls and stars and intersecting rays were painted in silver on the black fur of his chest. Intricate characters ran along his arms and legs, etched in multiple delicate brushstrokes. Interlocking diamonds and loops encircled his waist in a chain, and a beautifully detailed burst like a bouquet of flowers bloomed in gold and turquoise on his belly.
Giza stepped forward next, his bright blonde fur a sharp contrast to Oric's dark coat. Deep red whorls and curlicues twined around his head and down his throat like interlaced vines. Dark green characters scrolled in double diagonal streams from his left shoulder to his right hip. His arms were crosshatched in violet on one side, stippled in umber and aqua on the other. A blossom of overlaid figure eights graced his every joint, from his elbows and knees to the knuckles on his hands.
"I am honored to meet you," he said with a bow, and then he gestured toward a simple stone bench. "Have a seat if you like."
Mariko waited until the others had arranged themselves on benches before she accepted the offer. As soon as she sat down, one of the furry butterfly creatures fluttered into the gazebo and lighted on her knee; she jerked involuntarily, but the beautiful lifeform remained in place, its luminescent wings slowly fanning.
"It won't hurt you," said Folcrum. "It's a kava. It's good luck."
The creature was much larger than butterflies back home, and its wings were about as big as Mariko's hands…but it seemed to weigh nothing at all. As it looked up at her with frosted, prismatic eyes, a yellow tongue zipped out and flickered in the air.
She couldn't take her eyes off the kava…partly because it was so lovely and strange and partly because she wasn't sure what it would do next. Giza may have realized this, because he came over and gently lifted the creature from her knee, then placed it on his own shoulder.
"I could use some luck too if you don't mind," he said, and then he made a sound like a chuckle. "We all could. Maybe we better pass this around."
Mariko appreciated his courtesy and sense of humor, but she was determined to reserve judgment on all of them since Folcrum had let her down. As far as she was concerned, everyone with a cause was suspect, however just one cause might seem relative to another. When it came down to it, the Lexicons and Free Speakers had one important thing in common: they both wanted to use her.
As Giza returned to his seat, the kava perched on his shoulder, Oric coughed loudly. Watching him, Mariko decided that he was in ill health; though it was hard to judge, she guessed that he and Giza were each at least as old as Folcrum, probably much older.
"Mariko," said Oric. "I wish that we could hear your voice. Unfortunately, silencing voices is one thing that our leaders do well."
Mariko winced. For a while, she had been distracted and hadn't paid much attention to the gag…but at the mere mention of her condition, she realized how much it still hurt. She felt as if her lips and facial muscles were clamped in a vise that was being ratcheted ever tighter, pinching and twisting them further with each turn of the crank.
"I want you to meet someone," said Oric. He nodded at Folcrum, who got up and left the gazebo. A moment later, he returned with another Vox in tow…copper-furred and scrawny, carrying a garden hoe.
Apparently, this was one of the many Vox whom Mariko had seen tending the Garden of Yesterday…but that was of secondary interest to Mariko. The first thing to catch her attention was what was covering the Vox's mouth.
It was the same kind of gag that was locked in place over Mariko's own lips.
"This is Yama," said Oric. "Six years ago, the Vox spoken language underwent a major revision. It was decided that the revision was too extensive for the existing lexicons to be reeducated.
"So they were silenced," Oric said solemnly. "Yama and many like her." Rising from his stone bench, he went to Yama and took her hand in his own. "She hasn't spoken a word in six years. She has only been able to eat by inhaling a nutrient-rich mist.
"Some of us escaped," said Oric. "Like Giza, Folcrum, and myself. But Yama was not so lucky. She did not make it to the Garden before the damage was done." Raising her hand, he kissed it gently, then released it. "But her suffering is nothing compared to what will happen tomorrow."
"A revision conference is set for tomorrow," said Giza, stroking the fur of the kava perched on his shoulder. "Every lexicon in the world will gather in one place, in the capital city above us, for reeducation. They are supposed to learn of the changes being made to the Vox languages by our government.
"Instead, they will be massacred by the Free Speakers," said Giza. "This so the Speakers will be able to replace current languages with a forbidden tongue."
"Their own version of it, anyway," said Folcrum. "One that will pave the way for their ultimate goal."
"Revolution," said Giza. "Ending with power in their hands."
Oric bowed to Yama, and she left the gazebo. "Who is in power makes no difference to us," he said, turning to Mariko. "We do not concern ourselves with such matters.
"But we will not stand by while lexicons are slaughtered. Even if it means that we must sacrifice our own lives in the process."
Giza chuckled. "Not that we expect the same sacrifice from you, Mariko," he said, still stroking the kava. "Don't worry."
Mariko worried anyway. Though she liked the lexicons better than the Speakers, and their cause was the one she would have supported even under less desperate circumstances, she wondered if they were suggesting that their plans included a suicidal component.
"Your being here with us has already hurt the Free Speakers," said Oric. "You were to be the figurehead around which everyone would rally.
"Nevertheless, one thing is certain. They will go on without you."
"And we will stop them," Giza said firmly.
Mariko wanted to ask them how they planned to accomplish that and what role she would be expected to play…but she couldn't speak through the gag. She couldn't even write in the dirt, because the Vox wouldn't understand.
After thinking for a moment, she reached into the right hip pocket of her uniform and drew out the handgun she had taken from the Free Speakers' camp. Lifting the weapon, she aimed it away from everyone and pretended to fire it several times, jerking the barrel up as if there was a recoil after each shot. Then, she pointed a finger at the gun and shrugged, raising her free hand with palm up in a questioning gesture.
"Guns?" said Oric. "No guns."
"We won't use them," said Giza. "We won't need them."
Mariko was surprised. Though she had seen no sign of weapons so far in the lexicons' cavern, she had assumed there was an armory somewhere and they would dig into it before confronting the Free Speakers.
Frowning, she waved the handgun and pointed over her shoulder, indicating the direction from which she had come…and by extension, the Speakers.
The Vox didn't seem to catch on right away, so she did it again. This time, Folcrum spoke, perhaps because he had seen her acquire the weapon in the first place.
"We know the Free Speakers are armed," he said. "Don't worry. We have a plan to st
op them without firing a shot."
Remembering the huge stockpile of weapons in the Speakers' hideaway, Mariko wondered what exactly the lexicons planned to do. She found it hard to believe that they could counteract such firepower without matching it.
Lowering the handgun, she replaced it in her pocket. The Vox could go unarmed if they liked, but she had no intention of relinquishing her weapons until she was safely back onboard the Exogenesis…if she ever got there.
Raising her hands, she again shrugged questioningly, hoping that the three Vox would divulge more details of their plan. They either didn't understand what she wanted or chose to ignore her curiosity.
"You must excuse me," said Oric. "I have much to do to prepare for tomorrow."
"As do I," said Giza, rising from his bench. As he stood, the kava drifted from his shoulder, fluttering past Mariko and out of the gazebo. "We leave soon."
"In the meantime," said Folcrum, "perhaps you'll try the nutrient mists that sustain Yama. This has been a long day for you, and you'll need your strength tomorrow."
Though she was reluctant to ingest anything on Vox that she hadn't had the opportunity to analyze, Mariko nodded. Because of the planet's light gravity, she had felt lightheaded since stepping out of the podcraft…but she was convinced that the more extreme lightheadedness she now felt was due to a combination of exhaustion and hunger. She hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast onboard Exogenesis, which seemed like an eternity ago.
As Oric and Giza headed off into the garden, Folcrum led her down a path between rows of tall, scarlet cacti draped in winking green and gold blossoms. The air smelled like cedar and lilac and baking bread all at once…then tobacco and pepper and coconut.
As they walked, Folcrum looked back at her, then slowed and fell into step alongside her. "I hope you're not too worried," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Everything will work out, I promise."
Mariko nodded and tried to look confident, though she was anything but.
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