by Julian May
The men came up the path, then halted. Standing in their way was a tiny animal. Stiff-legged, its oversized eyes gleaming, it growled.
"Hey, Deej!" Burke laughed. "It's just us, pupikeh. Friends!"
The little cat growled louder, the low nimble moving up the scale to become a threatening howl. It stood its ground.
Chief Burke put down his burden and knelt with one hand outstretched. Khalid Khan stepped behind Sigmund, a memory and a terrible suspicion crowding to the fore of his mind. A memory of a rainy night inside a Tree when the cat had growled like this before. A suspicion of a valued companion who had been too good a woodsman to be surprised by the relatively sluggish attack of a giant salamander . . .
Khalid slipped open the mouth of his sack just as the cottage door swung wide to show Amerie's veiled figure silhouetted against dim lamplight.
"Dejah?" the nun called, rattling her rosary beads in what was evidently some signal. She caught sight of the men. "Oh, it's you, Chief. And Khalid! You're back! But what . . ."
The turbaned metalsmith seized the hair of the one they had called Sigmund. With his other hand he pressed something gray and hard against the man's throat.
"Do not move, soor kabaj, or you are dead, even as your brother before you."
Amerie screamed and Uwe uttered an obscenity, for Khalid was suddenly struggling with a gorgon. Instead of hair, the Pakistani clutched writhing little vipers growing from Sigmund's scalp. These struck, sinking tiny fangs into flesh that puffed up, throbbed, as quasidcadly venom flooded the blood vessels and went racing toward Khalid's heart.
"Stop, I say!" roared the anguished smith. Involuntarily, his right arm tightened, driving the dull point of the iron lance-blank into the soft hollow below the monster's voicebox.
The thing emitted a gurgling squeal and went limp. Khalid sprang away from the falling body, dropping the iron. It hit the earth with a dull thud and came to rest close beside the dead shape-changer. Amerie and the three men stared down at the creature, which could have weighed no more than twenty or thirty kilos. Flattened little dugs identified it as a female. Its bald cranium was monstrously compressed just above the eyes and elongated backward into a triangular bony collar. It had a mere hole for a nose and a massive lower jaw with loose, peg-like teeth. The body was almost globular, the limbs spiderishly thin, with the left forepaw missing.
"It's not . . . a Firvulag," Amerie managed to say.
"A Howler," Burke told her. "Some biologists believe they're a Firvulag mutation. Each one is supposed to have a different true shape. All hideous."
"You see what she was trying to do, don't you?" Khalid's voice was shaking from reaction and chagrin. He felt his left hand, which was now completely normal. "She saw us kill her mate with iron, and had to find out what the new weapon was. So she must have crept up on Sigmund as he marched at the end of the line and . . . she took his place. Cut off her hand so she wouldn't have to carry the iron."
"But they've never masqueraded as humans!" Uwe exclaimed. "What could have been its motive?"
"Look at her, dressed in rags," Amerie said. She knelt down in the light from the doorway to examine the goblin body. One of the Howler's crude skin boots had dropped off in the struggle, exposing a humanoid foot, miniaturized but as perfectly formed as that of a child. There was a pathetic blister at the heel; evidently the little being had had to hurry to keep pace with the faster humans.
The nun replaced the boot, straightened the pipestem legs, closed the glazed eyes. "She was very poor. Perhaps she hoped to discover information valuable enough to sell."
"To the normal Firvulag?" Burke suggested.
"Or to the Tanu." The nun got up and dusted the front of her white habit.
Khalid said, "There might be others. Others who watched us at the smeltery. If this one could change to human shape, how will we ever be sure . . ."
Burke picked up the iron blade, grasped the metalsmith's arm, and drew the rough lancehead across the skin. A few drops of dark blood sprang from the abrasion. "You're real enough, anyhow. I'll go test the rest of the crew right away. Later, we'll work out something a little less crude. Pinprick, maybe."
He limped away toward the bathhouse. Uwe and Khalid hauled the precious bags of iron into the rose-covered cottage, then returned to where Amerie stood over the body. She held the cat, which was still gently growling.
"What shall we do with her, Sister?" Khalid inquired.
Amerie sighed. "I have a large basket. Perhaps you can put her in the springhouse for me. I'm afraid I'll have to dissect her tomorrow."
As the Steering Committee waited for Chief Burke to return to the cottage, the Victualer in Chief offered samples of a new beverage. "We took some of that lousy raw wine of Perkin's and steeped this little forest wildflower in it."
Everybody sipped. Amerie said, "That's nice, Marialena." Uwe said something in German under his breath. "You know what you've done, woman? You've reinvented Mai-wein!"
"That's it! That's it!" Old Man Kawai piped. He was only eighty-six; but since he had declined rejuvenation on a matter of principle, he resembled an unwrapped Oriental mummy. "Most refreshing, my dear. Now if we can only produce a decent sake . . ."
The cottage door opened and Peopeo Moxmox Burke stooped to enter. The other committee members sat stark still until the red man gave a nod. "They were all kosher. I tested not only the smelters, but all the rest of the folks in the bathhouse as well."
"Thank heaven," said the Architect in Chief. "What a thought, shape-changers infiltrating our people!" He wagged his neatly trimmed muttonchops, managing to look like an accountant who had discovered that a valued client was cooking the books.
"Neither Firvulag nor Howlers had any reason to try this trick before," the Chief warned. "But now, with the attack coming up and the iron as a maybe not-so-secret weapon, we're going to have to be alert for other attempts. When the volunteers start arriving, every single one must be tested. And we'll test all participants before every important meeting or briefing."
"My responsibility," said Uwe, who was Hunting and Public Safety. "Whip me up some needles, Khalid?"
"As soon as I can get the forge hot tomorrow."
The Chief took his place with the other seven committee members around the table.
"All right, let's get this over as quickly as possible so Khalid can get some rest. As Deputy Freeloader, I call this meeting of the Steering Committee to order. Old business. Structures. Let's have it, Philemon."
"The huts at the Rhine staging area have been completed," said the architect. "Everything is ready there except the main shelter pavilion. The boys will have our Hidden Springs visitor dorm ready in another two or three days."
"Good," said the Chief. "Public Works. Vanda-Jo."
A taffy-haired woman with the face of a madonna and the voice of a drill sergeant spoke up. "We've finished the masked trail from here to the staging area. A hundred and six bloody kilometers, invisible from the air. Corduroyed the last two kloms through the swamp, and all that wasn't a bitch! Still putting up the thorn boma around the staging camp to keep most of the critters out and the recruits in."
"How about the launching ramps?"
"Decided on pontoons. Inflated skins and boarding. Put 'em up at the last minute. Pegleg and his lads are contributing the skins."
"Good. Hunting and Public Safety."
"Nothing much new from me," Uwe said. "Most of my people are working with Vanda-Jo or Phil. I've liaised with the commissary at High Vrazel to help with quantities of game and staples when the extra bods start arriving. And we've set up a procedure for processing new arrivals here at Hidden Springs before sending them to the river."
"Sounds okay. Domestics."
Old Man Kawai pursed his scored lips. "There is no way we can come up with more than a hundred boiled-leather hard hats and chest guards by D-Day. You know how long it takes to shape and dry that stuff, even with the forms filled with hot sand. The volunteers are just going to have t
o go mostly bare-ass unless you want our people deprived. Do shimasho? I've done my best, but I'm no miracle man."
"The shortage can't be helped," Burke said soothingly. "How about the camouflage nets?"
"We'll be putting the big one in position tomorrow, just in case they get back early with the exotic flyer." The wizened ancient threw an anxious glance at the Chief. "Do you really, think they've got a chance, Peo?"
"Not much of one," Burke admitted "But we won't give up hope until the last hour before the Truce . . . Human Services."
"Linen bandages ready," Amerie said. "We're assembling stores of oil and alcohol and all of the AB we can scrape up. Fifteen fighters have been rough-trained as front-line medics." She paused, her face furrowed with determination. "I want you to change your mind about having me accompany the fighters, Peo. For the love of God, when will they need me more than in a battle?"
The Native American shook his head. "You're the only doctor we have. Probably the only one in the Lowlife world. We can't have you at risk. There's the future to think about. If we do liberate Finiah, we may be able to de-torc other medical people. If we fail and the troops come across the Rhine to our staging area . . . it may be a long time until the next war. Our fighters will tend their own injuries. You stay here."
The nun sighed.
"Industry," said Burke.
"We brought back two hundred and twenty kilos of iron," Khalid said. "Four of our men died. We have enough experienced people left to begin final work on the weapons as soon as we get some sleep."
There were somber congratulations all around.
"Provisioning."
"We've enough stored here to feed five hundred people for two weeks," Marialena said. "That does not include the five tons of instant rations we'll distribute to fighters going down to camp. You don't want any cooking going on down by the Rhine where the Tanu might spot the smoke." She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her pink and yellow gown and mopped her ample brow. "Those poor souls are going to curse pemmican and parched bulrush roots before this thing is over."
"If that's all they curse," Burke said, "they'll be lucky. All right, that leaves my report. Warlord in Chief. I've received word from Pallol, the Firvulag generalissimo, that his forces will hold themselves combat-ready for the last three days in September. Under optimal circumstances we'll mount the attack before dawn on the twenty-ninth, which will give us nearly two full fighting days before the Truce officially begins on October first at sunrise. After that, we humans'll be on our own, and Finiah better be ready for mop-up. I'll have more details on plans of attack at the war council later. Okay? Now, new business. We'll consider the matter of the Howler spy as already introduced and sent to Public Safety for action."
"The final preparation of the iron weapons," Khalid said. "My men will soundproof one of the vented caves and turn it into a smithy, I'll need some help from Phil's people."
"More new business?"
"We will need more alcoholic drink," Marialena said. "Mead or beer from the Firvulag. I can't have the volunteers swilling our young wines."
Burke chuckled. "Perish the thought. Uwe, will you sound out the High Vrazel people on that?"
"Check."
"Any more new business?"
Amerie hesitated. "Perhaps it's too soon to bring this up. But there is the matter of the second phase of Madame's plan."
"Hai!" cried Old Man Kawai. "If Finiah is a success, Madame will want to send others south immediately!"
Philemon was uneasy. "We'll do well to accomplish even a small part of the first phase of Madame's plan, much less the other two. I say, leave this to Madame to work out when she returns. It's her scheme. Perhaps she and that wild little person, Felice, will have worked something out."
"Caracoles," grumbled Marialena. "I must consider the later phases, even if the rest of you shirk your responsibility. If our people must go south without proper provisions, it is I who receive the cowchip bouquet! Ahhh, I'll do what I can."
"Thank you, querida," the Chief said peaceably. "I'll talk with you tomorrow about a possible division of rations. But I think that's the best we can do for now on Phase Two or Three planning. There are too many unknown factors. . . ."
"Such as who will survive Finiah!" wailed Old Man Kawai. "Or, if we even mount the Finiah attack in the first place!"
Vanda-Jo slapped one hand on the table. "Tails up! No defeatism allowed! We've going to hit those high-pocket bastards like they've never been hit before. And, Khalid, I've got dibbies on one iron arrowhead, if you please. There's a certain Tanu stud on the other side of the Rhine whose ass belongs to me."
"If you're sure that one will do it," the metalsmith laughed.
"Order," Burke muttered. "Chair will entertain a motion to table strategy planning for the Grand Combat."
"So move," said Amerie. It was quickly affirmed and seconded.
"Any more new business?" the Chief asked. Silence.
"Move adjournment," said Old Man Kawai. "Past my bedtime."
"Second," said Uwe, and the Steering Committee meeting came to an end. Everyone except Chief Burke bade Amerie goodnight and slipped away into the shadows. The quondam judge stretched out his wounded leg for the nun to examine.
At length she said, "There's nothing more I can do for you, Peo. Hot soaks and moderate exercise to keep the muscles from tightening. I can give you a herendorf to block the pain on D-Day."
He waved a deprecating hand. "We'll save it for somebody who really needs it."
"As you like."
They went outside, where the village was quiet except for faint insect noises. It was nearly midnight and the moon was still down. Burke craned his neck and studied the starry vault of the sky.
"There it is, just above the rim of the canyon," he said, pointing.
"What?" she inquired.
"Ah, I forgot you were a newcomer, Amerie. The constellation we call the Trumpet. See the triangular bell, the four bright stars forming the straight tube? Take special note of the mouthpiece star. It's the most important one in all the sky, at least to the Tanu and Firvulag. On the day when it culminates at midnight over Finiah and High Vrazel, those are the oldest settlements, remember, it will mark the opening of the five-day Grand Combat."
"The date?"
"By our Milieu calendar, around October 31 or November 1."
"You're kidding!"
"It's true. And the noon culmination that takes place exactly six months later comes around May Day. The exotics have another big show then, which Tanu and Firvulag celebrate separately, the Grand Love Feast. Most popular with the females of the species, it's said."
"That's really very odd," Amerie said. "I'm no folklorist, but those two dates . . ."
"I know. Only in our time, there was no good explanation, in astronomy or anything else, for the ritualization of those days rather than any others occurring about the same times."
"It's ridiculous to assume a correlation."
"Oh, certainly." The Native American's face was inscrutable in the starlight.
"I mean, six million years."
"Do you know the significance of the mouthpiece star? It's a marker. Their home galaxy lies almost directly behind the star."
"Oh, Peo. How many light years?"
"A hell of a lot more than six million. So in one way, they've come even farther away from home than we have, poor devils."
He gave her a brief salute and limped away, leaving her standing beneath the stars.
Chapter Seven
"But it isn't blue!" Felice protested. "It's brown."
Madame changed the course of their dinghy to avoid a stranded snag. "The color brown, it lacks that certain cachet. The composer wished to evoke the river's beauty."
The girl gave a contemptuous snort as she studied the terrain "This place would never win any prizes. Too dry. It looks like it hasn't rained for months." She knelt upright in the bow of the little boat and scanned the open dun-colored slopes with the aid of Mada
ine Guderian's little monocular. Only in the arroyos and in the flats nearest the Danube were there areas of green. The widely scattered groves of trees had a dusty bluish look.
"I can see a few small herds of hipparions and antelopes," the girl said after a time. "Nothing else seems to be alive in those uplands on the left bank. No sign of the crater. Nothing distinctive at all except that little volcano yesterday. You don't think we could have passed it by, do you? This damn river really rolls"
"Richard will tell us at noon."
The old woman and the athlete had shared one decamole boat since the party had emerged from the Water Caves nearly two days ago. Claude, Martha, and Richard occupied a second boat that drifted a few dozen meters ahead of them on the swift current of the Bright Ystroll. In spite of the drought they had made splendid time, since the flood received most of its water from the Alps, which shone white in the far south. On the previous night they had pulled up on a wooded gravel bar to sleep, the Bogle having warned them against camping on shore. They were grateful for their isolation when they were awakened later by the cries of hyenas. Claude told them that some of the Pliocene species attained the bulk of large bears and were active predators as well as scavengers.
For navigation, they had one precious map. Back at the Tree, Richard had traced pertinent portions from the fading plass of a venerable Kiimmerley +Frey Strassenkarte von Europa (Zweitausendjahrige Ausgabe), which a nostalgic Lowlife treasured as his dearest memento of times to come. The old road map was dim and difficult to decipher, and Claude had warned Richard that the watershed of the Pliocene Danube was going to be greatly altered during the coming Ice Age by volumes of glacial till washing down from the Alps. The tributary streams of the upper Danube that were shown on the map would likely occupy different positions during the Pliocene; and the bed of the great river itself would lie farther south, twisted all out of recognition. The travelers could not hope to follow Galactic Age landmarks to the Ries crater. But there was one precious bit of data from the old map that would have retained its validity over six million years: the exact longitudinal component in kilometers between the meridian of High Vrazel peak (alias Grand Ballon) and that of the Ries (symbolized on the map by the future city of Nordlingen, which lay within what would be a mere ringwall plain on the Elder Earth). No matter how the Ystroll wandered, it was still bound to cross the Ries meridian. As nearly as Richard had been able to determine from the decrepit plass of the road map, the linear distance was 260 kilometers, three and one-half degrees of longitude east of the "prime meridian" of High Vrazel.