Decision at Doona

by Anne McCaffrey

  Inspiration?" asked Kate, amused at his distress.

  “No, I can't remember something which might be important,” he gritted out between teeth clenched at his own density. Kate would begin to believe he had gone bonkers if he voiced his incredible notion.

  And suddenly Ken was certain that Hrrula had meant to reassure him by that curious method. He couldn't speak out because – Ken groaned inwardly this time – because Hrrula was also using a tape recorder, hidden somewhere on his person – which could be easy with such a mane of hair. Or secreted in that ornate knife handle. A race that could disappear in a flash could also have miniature recording devices. Again Ken writhed inwardly. What were the odds that the Hrrubans had bugged the colony, barn, mess hall and cabin? Very high, Reeve, very high.

  Panic flooded him as he tried to edit every gathering, every conversation that might have any derogatory comments that would prejudice the Hrrubans against them. Well, that explained Hrrula's sometimes capricious use of good Terran. Was he perhaps the Hrruban semanticist? No, he'd been in the village when Ken had made the first contact. Or had the Hrrubans already known the Terrans were in residence and prepared for it? Why do that? No, he was positive that the Terrans were as much a surprise to the Hrrubans as they to the colonists. But the aliens – no, better keep the mental tag of 'natives' he cautioned himself – the natives were far too familiar with the flora, fauna and dangers of Doona to have come after the colonists. But why the simple villages, the lack of sophisticated tools and equipment? Albeit, the Terrans had imported little automated-mechanisms; mass had been their problem in Phase III, so they had brought in only the versatile tractor sled and heat converters. What was Doona to the Hrrubans then? And was the colony still faced with a test case of the Non-Co-habitation Principle? On what count had Hrrula wished to reassure him?

  Kate was asking him something and he mumbled a meaningless agreement, relieved that it seemed to suffice. Resolutely he shoved the enigma of the Hrrubans to the back of his mind until she had left.

  But it wasn't until that night that he could return to the intricacies of the problem. Friend or foe? Christ, what had they been discussing when Hrrula doodled in the dust? Oh yeah, about the colony leaving because the planet was already inhabited. And then he'd gone on at length about the long history of the Terranic aggression and genocide. Ohhh, he groaned at the memory of such an admission reaching Hrruban ears; ears unfamiliar with the Terran language. What on earth had possessed him to talk about that phase of Terran history in the first place? What an impression to be misinterpreted!

  Oh God, and Ken rolled over, groaning with retrospective impotence. How far up the scale of civilization were these Hrrubans? Might they be powerful enough to wipe out the Terrans as unfit to spread through the galaxy? Would the Terrans suddenly become this century's Siwannah Tragedy? And why did they play at being simple souls?

  Suddenly his sense of proportion overrode this wallowing in remorse. And he was put in mind of Todd, with the ridiculous rope tail dangling aft. Todd, whom the Hrrubans cultivated assiduously; Hrrula, fascinated by horses, secretly amused, and practicing subterfuge to reassure Ken. Yes, by God, all instinct informed Ken that Hrrula had been reassuring him.

  In the restless half-doze that finally overtook him, Ken was again subjected to his personal nightmare. It was so much a part of his sleeping pattern that he could enter the dream at any point of its familiar course. Any point, that is, except the ending, which eluded him always. Tonight he involuntarily started at the beginning. There was the gray street of towers, towers looming unimaginably far above him, defying geometric axiom by touching the tips of their parallel towers so that the desired sight of the sun was denied him. Onward he would dash, to the left, to the right, backward, forward. Then the mocking towers were telescoping into themselves so that there was the tantalizing glimpse of sunlight. Frantic, he would try to climb a tower, but as soon as he found a short stack, it would shoot up and its neighbors would crouch down into their bowels. Somehow, he could choose another tower, despite the eccentricities, and doggedly climb, while on either side other towers taunted him with diminished length. And it would be difficult to get hand and foot holds on the tower wall, for the surfaces would rearrange themselves He could climb, panting, thirsty, weary, hot, desperate, climb and climb and climb. Suddenly the blessing of sunlight blinded him. Threshing he woke, trying to shake off the miasma of his dream, grateful that it was Doona's sun which had awakened him.

  A homely clatter of dishes brought him to full consciousness. He staggered to the kitchen where Pat was busy washing dishes.

  “'Morning,” he mumbled, clearing his throat before he asked, “Todd gone already?”

  “Yes, indeed, sleepy head,” Pat assured him, pouring out coffee.

  “Oh, I wanted to talk to him.”

  “You'd've had to get up very early then, dear. He was out and gone before I was awake. I let you sleep because you were so restless last night. That's the first time that old nightmare has bothered you since I got here.”

  Ken's agreement was lost against his cup. Pat laughed and combed her fingers tenderly through his hair. She massaged his neck and shoulders briefly, laughingly evading his encircling arms to return to her stove.

  "I tried out a recipe on Ilsa this morning,. It's called pancakes. The old film suggests serving them with 'butter and maple syrup.' "She laughed as she stuttered over the phrase. "I had to look that up in the dictionary. We've been getting butter from the cows, of course, but 'Syrup was made from sap drawn from the sugar maple. Ilsa thought it might be comparable to rla but I doubt it."

  Ken did too.

  “So,” Pat rambled on, “we used some of that sweetened berry sauce Mrrva sent over with Todd the other day and the pancakes are heavenly.”

  Ken listened passively, sipping the hot reviving coffee as he watched his wife moving around the kitchen area. He had never seen her move with such a bounce nor her face so open and contented.

  “Pat, you are happy?” he asked, interrupting her in midsentence.

  She stopped and stared at him a moment. her cooking utensil poised over the pan. She blinked in the fashion she had when the focus of her thoughts was shifted abruptly.

  «Yes,» she said definitely. «Yes, Ken, I am happy – just as long as I don't think beyond the immediate task, beyond the day. I had never truly realized how empty and useless I was until I got here and started 'doing' things, not just programming machines to work for me. Oh, I guess it's all right for most women.» She grinned maliciously. «Lord, one complained about the noises the machines made and having to wait days for repairmen and – all that. But here, no waiting, I do it. No noise, except what I make. No crowds. No crowding,» she added fervently. «It's freeing. It's . . .»

  ". . . burning," Ken put in drily, nodding to the stove.

  “Oh, damn,” she said, whirling to rescue the burning pancakes.

  No sooner had she started another batch than Bill Moody came racing to the door, catching himself against the post to get enough breath to gasp out his message.

  “Mr. Adjei wants you at the corral on the run. Trouble.”

  Without further explanation, he disappeared. Ken was halfway to the door before Pat's gurgling laugh reminded him he was still in pajamas. She grabbed clean coveralls from the washbasket and threw them at him. Hopping from one foot to the other, he crammed his pajama-clad legs into the coverall pants and stamped his feet into boots.

  At the barn, Ben Hrrula, Vic Solinari and McKee were already mounted as Ken swung up on Socks.

  “Something has stampeded the urfa, Ken,” Ben shouted the nature of the crisis. “They're making for the grainfields. Hrrula saw them from Saddle Ridge. The horses'll have to have that grain to live out a Doona winter. We've got to save it.”

  Infected by their riders' excitement, the horses started moving out of the stable yard at a nervous trot.

  “We'll have to head off the leaders.” With that, Ben kicked his horse into a gallop. K
en gritted his teeth as his mare, momentarily possessed of five legs took her own sweet time settling into the easier gait.

  Solinari, grim-faced, swung ahead of Ken, one hand, on his saddle horn as he, too, tried to keep in the saddle. Ken, having only a little more experience than Vic, envied Ben and McKee their hip-loose conformation to the plunging motion. Hrrula, grinning from ear to ear in sheer delight, seemed to the saddle born, clinging like a vine to the back of his mare.

  As the party passed Dautrish on the power sled, Ben shouted his warning and Ken, looking behind him, could see the botanist standing on the seat of the machine, scanning ahead of him.

  The dust cloud was rising higher and the leaders of the herd soon became visible black heads, tossing in the forefront.

  The herd was heading straight toward them, sweeping unimpeded toward the grainfields and the settlement, to the river beyond. The thunder of their hooves reached Ken's ears over the noise of the five horses. It seemed to Ken that his pulse raced to match the tempo of the onrushing menace. For the second time in his life he was frightened by events he could not control, order or ignore. So fascinated was he by the danger ahead that he narrowly missed careening into Ben's stallion as the animal was pulled to a straight-legged stop by his rider. Reining his mare ineptly around, Ken trotted back to the group as Ben explained the maneuver necessary to turn the herd.

  It was a simple matter of crowding the leading urfas so that they were forced to veer in another direction. Ben cautioned the men that the urfa had never seen horses and the sight of unfamiliar beasts alone might turn them.

  Before Ben could translate his direction to Hrrula, the Hrruban had already urged his animal onward. Considering his thoughts of the previous evening, Reeve wondered just how much Terran Hrrula understood. His friendly interest might well mask an unsuspected ulterior motive. Yet Reeve could not attribute hostility to the Hrrubans.

  Ben's simple instructions suddenly became more complicated the closer Ken got to the horn-tossing, wild-eyed, froth-covered leaders. True, the urfa had never seen horses but they were too involved in their witless stampede to spook at another menace. The horses, on the other hand, had been raised as rare specimens of practically extinct breeds in ideal, protected conditions. Raw, raging wildlife in flight was more than they could take. Not only was Ken suddenly unable to carry out Ben's simple strategy, he was barely able to cling to the saddle of his terrified mount whose sole aim was to get herself as far away from these charging beasts as possible. Had Ken been a more experienced rider like Ben or a natural horseman like Hrrula, he might have anticipated the mare's attempt to seize the initiative. He had one fleeting glimpse of Ben, Hrrula and McKee, mastering their mounts and running with the urfa leaders, before his mare headed ignominiously into the dust cloud.

  Swearing with indignation and frustration, Ken had the presence of mind to release the reins and yank back, repeating the process until he caught the mare unexpectedly and got the bit from between her teeth. Yanking furiously, he managed to turn her only halfway around. She backed obstinately away from the direction he wished to go.

  Heaving and trembling, bloody froth foaming at her mouth, she sidled nervously. Ken belted her smartly with his rope. She bucked with a startled neigh. He nearly lost the rope, grabbing for his saddle horn. Furious at his own ineptness, Ken kept swatting and kicking her, barely managing to keep his seat but gradually getting her to move forward. With a resigned sigh, the mare walked, stiffly at first, then broke into her five-legged trot until finally Ken got her into a rough canter.

  Squinting against the sun and into the haze of the dust ahead, Ken saw that the three men had managed to alter the direction of the urfa herd. Resolved that Socks must return to the scene of her cowardice, he kept whacking her forward, ignoring the raw patches of flesh at his knees and ankles, the ache across his shoulders and the abused muscles in his buttocks.

  A smaller cloud of dust, rising at the far end of the valley, near the upper woods, caught his eye. He hauled the mare to a stop. Straining to see what caused this second cloud, it flashed through Ken's mind that he was not the only novice horseman. He had not seen Solinari with the other three. He turned the mare to investigate and, as she decided she was being taken away from the things which had frightened her, she accelerated willingly.

  When Reeve got close enough to pick up the second trail, he was glad he had followed his hunch. A single horse had passed here at a frantic pace. The trail led east, at a tangent from the urfas' course, down to the end of the valley. The mare cantered easily now, her sweat soaked neck drying, her gait smoothing out to a mile-eating lope. Each collect jarred the raw patches on his knees, however, and as the trail led farther and farther away from the settlement, it occurred to Ken that meant just that much more distance on the return journey. He was sure he would have no flesh left on buttock or thigh.

  Apprehensive for Solinari's safety, he kept on. The trail he followed changed its pattern and he guessed that the other mare had dropped to a trot. Solinari must have finally got her under control. Up the slope the trail led and down into the drier plain beyond.

  Faintly on the wind was borne the sound of a scream, the like of which struck answering terror in both Ken and his mare. She came to a stiff-legged stop and began to tremble. Whinnying, she brought her head up in a painful collision with Ken's nose. Trying to control the mare and the nosebleed took all Reeve's attention for a moment. The mare danced as the scream sounded again and again and, as suddenly, died away. The mare snorted nervously and began her backward prancing again. With a determined whack on her rump, Ken urged her forward and to his surprise she complied.

  She loped forward, snorting occasionally, as Reeve tried to convince himself that the scream had been animal, not human. The runaway mare had probably been attacked by a mda, or maybe slipped in a hole and hurt herself. To lose a brood mare in foal was bad enough, but it didn't necessarily follow that Solinari had come to grief at the same time. Reeve tried to ignore the growing physical discomfort of saddle galls.

  As he rounded a rise, the plain beyond came into full view. With a scream very like the one they had heard, his mare reared pawing the air. When her front hooves touched ground, she spun around. Reeve made no effort to stop her second mad flight. He had no desire to stay in the vicinity. Only the fact that there was no sign of Solinari near the apparition that seemed to be ingesting the mare whole consoled Reeve. If Solinari had been still atop the horse when the gigantic reptile had attacked, he was already dead.

  In the interests of getting back to the settlement in one piece, Reeve gradually brought the mare down to a lope. He alternated reassurances to Socks with incriminations against the unprintable meat-heads who were supposed to have surveyed this planet. There had not been so much as a subheading or comma on reptiles possessing jaws wide enough to accommodate a full-grown mare.

  His horse, weary from more hard riding than she had endured in all her short pampered life, gradually slowed her lope to a jolting trot. Ken kept trying to prod her back into the easier lope but finally gave up and let her walk. He followed his own outgoing tracks on the way back. Looking ahead, he saw that the now placid urfa were grazing far down the valley by the river, safely beyond the fields. Sentinel-like, he saw the silhouette of one lone horseman against the bright morning sky, the horse's neck drooping forward, the rider's body in a stoop-shouldered slant. The scene reminded him of a picture he had seen as a child in a museum. Once again the feeling of terrible loss assailed him as the unreceptive center of his soul struggled with the remorseful knowledge that he must leave this grandeur, this spaciousness, this thrilling recurrence of danger.

  He pulled up sharply by Macy McKee, the lone guard.

  “Solinari?” he asked, not able to add more to the question

  "Broke his leg. The mare tossed him. Did you find her?

  “More or less,” Reeve admitted, heartily relieved that Vic had parted company with his mount long before her end.

  “What
d'you mean? More or less?”

  " 'Natives' we got, and reptiles too," and Reeve could not control the embittered emphasis on the initial word. "I wonder what other unmentioned surprises the Scouts didn't discover are going to ooze out of this world to confound us."

  “Reptiles?”

  «Big enough to ingest a mare – in one piece.»

  He left McKee to mull over this comforting information at his leisure and turned the mare toward the stable.

  The sun was at its zenith when he eased himself painfully out of the saddle at the corral. The mare farruped at him in weary recognition of home and rest.

  Ben and Hrrula came striding out of the barn, both relieved at his appearance.

  “Where did you disappear to?” Ben asked, automatically feeling the mare's chest as she greedily slurped in the water trough.

  “I thought Solinari was on a runaway,” Ken sighed, “so I took off after him.”

  “He's got a fracture,” Ben said, unclenching Ken's fist from the reins. “Didn't you see him get tossed?”

  Ken shook his head. He was so sore he was positive he'd never be able to dismount. He did not resist Ben's helping hand. His legs wouldn't straighten. The noises the mare made as she sucked in water were cool sounds. Reeve staggered to the trough and shoving her away from the tap, buried his hot face in the water. Coming up for air, he leaned against the edge, looking up at Ben, finally able to communicate his disgust.

  «You – and your 'urfa have never seen horses,'» he muttered sourly.

  “I am sorry, Ken. I am sorry,” Ben said fervently, his eyes devoid of amusement. “It never occurred to me the boot would be on the other foot.”

  "Hoof, you mean,'' Ken corrected caustically. "Oh, we got alone fine-after a while. That is," and he dragged out his syllables, watching Hrrula intently, "until the mare got wind of the snake."

  Hrrula straightened, his body alert, his ears flattening against his skull as he threw his head up to sniff the wind.

  “Snake?” Ben exclaimed, in the act of removing the sweat-crusted saddle pad, so he didn't see the Hrruban's reaction.