CROSSFIRE

by Nancy Kress

  They made it up, of course. Their passion was still so new, still at the stage where it could override anything else. By mutual tacit agreement they didn't talk again about what George took to calling "the Petri Dish Theory." They talked about Mira City, they gossiped about the people they knew, they laughed and teased and made love. It was all right.

  But Jake was aware that now there were two things they couldn't discuss.

  "Jake, we have a problem," Gail said a few weeks later.

  At least it wouldn't be a Furs problem. Gail continued to think that the entire Fur situation was irrelevant. "What's the problem?" Jake said, and saw from her face that it was serious.

  He ran through the list of current problems he was aware of: a breakdown in the pipe-laying equipment, which Ben Goldman was having trouble repairing. The ravages done to the experimental genemod wheat crop by a handsome, voracious creature vaguely like a beetle. The maiming of a young Quaker in an industrial accident. The damage to several inflatables from a recent storm. The arbitration dispute—already!—between two people over some allegedly abused equipment on loan from one family to another. This last was Jake's domain.

  He had set up the legal system on Greentrees to provide justice with as little expense in time and effort and money as possible. The model was the United Atlantic Federation penal code, but most disputes came under binding arbitration, not jury trial. Legal software was employed whenever feasible. Everyone on Greentrees except the Cheyenne had signed contracts holding them to this system, without appeal. Rudy Scherer was prepared to enforce it, if necessary. But almost all of the colonists, including the New Quakers and Gail's ecologically minded family and Faisal's benevolent dictatorship and the Chinese group, were peaceful people, not inclined to crime. The ethnic communities largely lived separately within Mira City, but each was also under the kind of close, constant community scrutiny that established strong cultural controls over behavior.

  "What's the problem, Gail?" he repeated when she didn't answer. They sat in the Mira Corp office, almost as crowded as it had been on the Ariel, despite being so much larger. Everything not in actual use somehow ended up dumped here: bedrolls and recorders and rock samples and broken equipment and reports that someone was someday going to file somewhere.

  Still Gail didn't answer. Jake looked more closely, and now he saw the stunned horror on her face. His chest tightened.

  She said, "It's Nan Frayne. She killed a Cheyenne brave and Larry Smith insists she be punished by the tribal council. They'll probably put her to death."

  10

  William Shipley sat in the airborne skimmer with his face blank and his hands clasped so tightly together that the fingers were bloodless.

  They hadn't wanted him to come. In fact, Jake and Gail weren't going to tell him about the trip to the Cheyenne. He wouldn't have even known what Naomi had done, or what might be done to her, if she hadn't comlinked him herself.

  It had been right after Meeting for Worship. Shipley had emerged feeling the Light within, even though nothing remarkable had been said in the meeting. But the silence, the harmony, the meeting worshipping together, the presence of Shipley's children and their families and the rest of the congregation humbly waiting for Light—all this had lent its grace, and peace filled Shipley's mind and heart.

  "Dad? It's Nan."

  He'd stopped dead in the middle of one of Mira City's newly paved paths. Two more plants had been approved by the bio group for transplant, and the path was bordered on one side by a thin, bright line of flowers, purple and deep red, with alien-looking petals.

  "I only have a minute before they notice," Nan said breathlessly. "I'm supposed to be in isolation but this old Cheyenne woman thought I should at least get to contact my family and she brought me a comlink. They're going to kill me, I think. I killed a man, a bastard who actually deserved it, no question, but Larry Waterfoot or whatever he's calling himself—"

  The comlink cut off.

  Shipley stood holding his link, paralyzed. Then he set off at a clumsy, puffing run for Mira Corp's office. Jake and Gail were both there, and the second that Shipley saw their faces, he knew that they knew what had happened.

  "Doctor," Gail said, moving swiftly to pull out a chair. "Sit down. You're all red."

  "I—" He couldn't go on.

  Jake said, "We know. Larry Smith just linked. Dr. Shipley—"

  Gail said, "Did Nan call you? How?"

  "Yes," Shipley got out. "I don't know how. She said an old woman thought she should contact her family—what happened? Do you know? Oh, please tell me!"

  "Easy, Doctor," Jake said. "Yes, we know. Larry Smith comlinked us. We're leaving for there as soon as Lieutenant Halberg refuels a skimmer."

  "But ... but what happened?" He heard his own pitiful wail and tried to pull himself together. It would not help Naomi if he gave way to grief.

  Gail and Jake exchanged looks. Jake, always better at handling people, nodded. He leaned toward Shipley.

  "Doctor, it's still a bit unclear. The good news is that Larry comlinked us at all. That means he hasn't really made any firm decision about Nan or he'd just carry it out. There's every reason to hope that when we talk to him in person, the situation—"

  Gail said, "Oh, cut the soft positives and tell the man what happened," and Shipley was grateful for her bluntness.

  Jake said, "Nan was apparently living with the Furs. She—"

  "With the Furs?" Shipley said. "Those aggressive ones in the Cheyenne territory? How did she—"

  "We don't know," Gail said. "Somehow she got them to accept her. She didn't have a comlink with her or, it seems, anything else. The Furs have been making night raids on the Cheyenne, small skirmishes at the edges of the camps. The Cheyenne were ready for them, posting guards and so forth, and then each time the Furs ran away. So far nobody else has been killed, although two braves were injured. But apparently some young braves decided to carry these war games into enemy territory. They attacked a Fur village.

  It happened to be the one Nan was staying at. Five Furs were killed, and Nan somehow killed a brave. The Cheyenne then wiped out the entire village with a laser gun."

  Jake said somberly, "They weren't supposed to have any laser guns, according to tribal law and their Mira Corporation contract. That should give us a negotiating edge with Larry."

  Shipley was too distraught to see how. "And Naomi—"

  "The braves brought her back with them and turned her over to the tribal council."

  A sense of unreality was settling over Shipley like stone dust. Tribal council, night raid, braves ... Naomi. It was like something out of a bad vid about the nineteenth century.

  "Do you know," he heard himself saying, "that the frontier Quakers in what was then America could frequently visit Indians safely even when the tribes were at war with the whites? It's true. Nonviolence..." He stopped.

  Gail said kindly, "Doctor, this is a shock. Of course it is. Just sit quietly for a minute."

  He said, "I'm going with you."

  Jake said, "I don't think that's a good idea. We'll comlink you from the Cheyenne camp."

  "I'm going! This is my daughter!"

  Again Gail and Jake glanced at each other. Gail shrugged.

  Jake said, "I don't think you'll be permitted to see Nan."

  "I understand," Shipley said. He felt calmer now; he had something to do.

  But what? Sitting in the skimmer, Shipley closed his eyes and tried to open himself to silence. If only he could have taken this to meeting! So often the truth emerged only when many minds gave a part of it, guided by the Light. But there was no time now for meeting.

  And what could be done, anyway? Naomi had killed. No matter what the meeting did, no matter what Jake did, that couldn't be changed, or ignored. William Penn had seen that with the clarity of the Light, centuries ago: "A good end cannot sanctify evil means, nor must we ever do evil, that good may come of it."

  It didn't matter what justification Naomi thought s
he had for fatal violence. She had severed a soul from life.

  Lieutenant Halberg landed the skimmer in the same place outside the camp that he had used before. Evidently this was the Cheyenne aircraft landing stage, another thing that was not supposed to exist. Larry Smith waited there with three others, two men and a woman, each considerably older than he was. The Threadmore coveralls were gone. All four wore tunics of some animal skin over synth pants and boots. Their hair, black and brown and dirty blond, was tied back and trimmed with feathers and stones.

  As they climbed out of the skimmer, Shipley felt a warning hand on his arm: Say nothing. Shipley nodded at Jake.

  "Hello, Blue Waters," Jake said.

  "Hello, Jake."

  "I'm sorry we meet under such circumstances. Can we go somewhere to talk?"

  "We can talk here. There isn't much to say." Smith's sunburned face was set in rigid lines.

  "If you don't mind," Jake said apologetically, "Dr. Shipley is feeling a bit faint. Can we get out of the sun?"

  "You shouldn't have brought him," Blue Waters said, but he conferred in low tones with the other Cheyenne, and led the way toward the camp. Lieutenant Halberg stayed behind, looking unhappy at Jake's order to remain with the craft.

  Good, Shipley thought with the part of his mind still working rationally. Get a nonthreatening foot in the door. Jake was good. Shipley let himself hope.

  Much of Cheyenne life seemed to go on outdoors. Shipley saw people clumsily weaving baskets out of what he recognized as red creeper tendrils, tough and pliant. Two men laid strips of meat over a low, smoky fire. The odor wafted lazily in the warm air. In the distance a group of small, half-naked children ran and shouted happily.

  Shipley, Jake, and Gail were led to a teepee occupied by two young women who sat sewing. The old woman said something to them that Shipley didn't catch and they left, wide-eyed. Everyone sat on green Arab rugs with gold borders, as out of place here as a VR set. Seven more people crowded into the teepee, and Shipley found himself jammed between Gail and the old Cheyenne woman. Jake sat across from them, undoubtedly to keep attention focused away from Shipley. The air was pungent with human and food smells.

  Jake said, "First, Blue Waters, members of the council, thank you for agreeing to see us. I know that by contract you didn't have to, and I deeply appreciate it."

  Two Cheyenne nodded, but not Blue Waters.

  "I was thinking as we rode up here how little I actually know about your culture. I was expecting to see that your group had broken into smaller tribes. Wasn't that your original plan?"

  "We will do so eventually," Blue Waters answered. "When we better understand this environment."

  "And each tribe will be nomadic hunters, is that right?"

  "Each tribe will live in harmony with the land, taking its gifts but not exploiting it."

  "I wish I'd learned more," Jake said. Blue Waters crossed his arms across his chest. "However, one thing I do remember is that the chief personally bears accountability for the entire tribe. He must answer to the spirit of the land itself—have I got that right?— for the conduct of his people. That has to be a great responsibility, Blue Waters."

  "It is. Can we—"

  "Strong leadership is an admirable thing—we could probably use more of it at Mira City," Jake said ruefully. "If we'd had it, maybe this whole awful incident with Nan Frayne wouldn't have happened."

  Shipley's breath caught, a deep painful wad of air he couldn't seem to expel. Blue Waters said nothing.

  "I blame myself," Jake continued. "I shouldn't have let her stay here in your territory. That was a breach of contract, and I want to give you my apologies. I mean that, Blue Waters. This was our fault, not yours."

  Shipley watched Blue Waters uncross his arms. He placed one hand flat on his knee, and now Jake did the same. Jake said, "You have the right to deal with Nan Frayne according to your tribal customs. That's absolutely clear. But let me ask you this—what would it take for you to turn her over to us instead, in return for the promise that if one of your nomadic tribes ever commits any crime in Mira Corp's territory, even straying in inadvertently and in the indefinite future, we'll turn them back to you?"

  "I can't do that," Blue Waters said.

  "Why, specifically, can't you?" Jake's tone was genuinely interested.

  "We have a tribal council. The decision is not mine."

  Jack looked confused. "Yes, but ... you're solely responsible to the spirit of the land, right? The living spirit that's suffused into everything in nature?"

  "Yes..."

  "Well, I think I see what you mean. Dr. Shipley here is a New Quaker. His group governs by consensus, too. But each Quaker, as I understand it, is responsible for his or her individual conscience."

  Jake looked questioningly at Shipley, and he managed to nod in agreement.

  "And you're the same," Jake continued. "Group decision, but of course you as chief bear responsibility. Strong leadership." He smiled admiringly.

  Blue Waters frowned.

  "So let me repeat ... what would it take for you to turn Nan Frayne over to us? What do we need to do? What can we do to keep relations peaceful while we both adapt to this environment?"

  Blue Waters looked at his fellow Cheyenne. Some signal passed between them that Shipley couldn't read. Blue Waters said, "We've made our decision."

  "I know you have, and you have that right," Jake said. "But then, if in the future some Cheyenne do stray into Mira Corp's territory—your children, for instance, who may grow up less respectful of the boundaries than the first generation ... how many kids did you say you have, Blue Waters?"

  "Three. But, Jake..."

  "Shipley here has four. None for me or Gail, worse luck. Anyway, in the future—"

  He kept at it an hour. Never blatant, always deferential. He admired what was honestly admirable about Cheyenne culture as Blue Waters slowly revealed it to him, and missed no chance to draw parallels with the New Quakers. The ideal of a simple and dignified life. The natural world as a wondrous benefaction, a holy gift. The constant awareness of the mysterious splendor behind every simple act of eating, moving, gazing at the sky.

  Jake also asked Blue Waters' advice, repeatedly acknowledged his tribal sovereignty, tried to get the other three Cheyenne involved in the discussion. Eventually he succeeded in this. Then he doubled back, subtly pointing out how releasing Nan Frayne fit with the admirable things he'd learned about the Cheyenne. Releasing her was consistent with the kind of people the tribe was (or wanted to be). He stressed the reciprocity of leniency for their children, or their children's children. Blue Waters must look out, Jake said, for future generations; that fell under his mandate of strong leadership. By degrees Jake got Blue Waters to agree to something small, then something larger, and then somehow Blue Waters was the one coming up with a plan, and then all at once everyone was standing and Naomi was free.

  "My God, Jake," Gail said when the three were alone, and her tone was not entirely admiring. "I hope I never have to oppose you on anything important."

  "Shut up," Jake said, and for a second Shipley saw the raw edge of the man, scraped by the price he paid for his persistent manipulation.

  Naomi was led up to them by two Cheyenne women. She wore only a blanket wrapped loosely around her thin body. Her hair was filthy and matted and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. She smelled dreadful.

  "H-hi." Her voice quavered.

  "Naomi—" Shipley reached out to his daughter.

  "Don't touch me," she said, sounding more like herself. "Don't..."

  "I won't," Shipley said helplessly.

  At the skimmer, which Jake got them to as quickly as possible, she climbed in the backseats with Gail. Shipley had no choice but to lumber in beside Jake. Nan's reek filled the small cabin.

  As soon as they were in the air, Naomi began to talk. Words tumbled out of her, unstoppable, and Shipley realized she was the closest possible thing to hysterical.

  "I killed him, I kil
led the bastard, and I'm glad. I ran the spear through him from behind, it went in easily but then struck something hard in front, maybe the breastbone, Dad you'd think I'd know being the daughter of a doctor you fell down on my education. But nothing new there, is it? I heard the noise of those stupid braves attacking, 'braves' what a joke of a name they had fucking laser cannons with them! I jumped out of bed and yelled to warn my Furs but you can't make too many sudden moves they misinterpret it as aggression so Ninchee—"

  "Who's Ninchee?" Gail said, with a gentleness that startled Shipley.

  "My friend, she's the reason the Furs let me go to them. I sneaked away from Piss Water's laughable camp and took off all my clothes so I wouldn't look too much like the fake Cheyenne, and I found the Fur village and Ninchee found me. That's not her name of course but it's as close as I could come their vocal chords are different. Of course. She found me when she was foraging for food and of course she would have killed me except I'd learned from the sick Furs how to look harmless and passive—"

  "The sick Furs? You mean the first Fur village we found?" Gail said, still with that unexpected gentleness.

  "Yes, of course, what else, from some fucking computer program? So I went into passive mode and I think Ninchee might have killed me anyway except I'm female and small and maybe she thought I was a child. I think she did, they're very tender with children, there were two kids in one of the teepees the hunting Furs attacked a few weeks ago and they killed the adults but not the children, and afterward carried them outside so they wouldn't see— which is more than humans would do for the Furs! They're aggressive yes but who can blame them it's their planet not ours and they have no use for the fucking stupidity on nonviolence. 'Nonviolence'! You're such a fool Daddy it's not that kind of universe and so when those braves attacked with lasers, I went a bit nuts, I think, I pushed in the spear from behind, only it hit some kind of hard thing in front, maybe the breastbone, Dad you'd think I'd know being the daughter of a doctor, and I killed him. Dead. Gone. Blood..." She started to cry. The crying made her angrier.