“Yes, that is true,” she said, her tone mournful. “What is also true is that I was one of the ones who did the vivisection, Dannerman.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Was I angry at Pirraghiz? You bet I was. In fact, “angry” wasn’t a strong enough word; I was seething with rage. My nursemaid and pal was one of the torturers who had cut up the helpless bodies of my living, screaming friends. The first thing I thought of doing was to find the nearest rock and pound her head bloody with it.
I didn’t exactly do that. I did pick up a rock, but I didn’t attack Pirraghiz with it. I threw it as hard as I could at the nearest tree, and then I stalked away, leaving her gazing unhappily at my back.
I didn’t look back. I kept right on walking, right out of the compound along one of the ancient trails that wound through the woods. It had rained during the night, and the footing was still a little slippery. I suspected Pirraghiz was trailing after me, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to talk to one of the creatures who had carved up my friends-and me!-bit by bit, while they were wide-awake and screaming, just to see what made them tick. As you might do with an unfamiliar machine, and with no more regard for the machine’s feelings. What I had gone through with the Christmas trees’ helmet didn’t compare to their ordeal. It didn’t bear thinking about.
So I did my best not to think about it. It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of there, and there was only one way to do that. The transit machine was obviously still working-the Horch machines had used it to make me. My job was to get back to it, and away.
But I couldn’t do it without help. And the only help around was the person who was silently following along the trail, no more than eight or ten meters behind.
So I turned around and beckoned to Pirraghiz. “I’m sorry,” I told her as she approached. “I overreacted. It was a shock to me, that’s all. I understand that you couldn’t help yourself.”
She looked at me warily. “Do you understand, Dannerman?” she asked.
I patted her great upper arm. “I do, Pirraghiz. You had a control implanted in your brain, and you had to do whatever the Beloved Leaders wanted.”
“Yes, but do you understand? Do you know what it is like to be owned?”
There was an expression on Pirraghiz’s face that I had never seen there before; I couldn’t tell whether it was sorrow or implacable anger. “Well-maybe not, exactly.”
“But you should know, Dannerman,” she told me sternly. “What happened to us may happen to your own people, in exactly the same way. We were not always slaves of the Beloved Leaders. We had our own lives, on our own planet-that was many eights of eights of generations ago, and we have only stories to remind us of what it was like. But it was a good life-I think-and then the Beloved Leaders came, and they saw a use for us. We were a clever people. We still are.”
She paused to give me a challenging look. I said, “Of course you are. I know that.”
“But do you also know what it is like to be clever, and to be owned? Under the Beloved Leaders we could do almost nothing they did not order us to do. Most of the time we could not even speak to each other, only when we were very young, or when we were permitted to breed.”
That surprised me. “Breed? I didn’t know-“
“No, Dannerman, you didn’t know. I did once bear a litter of three after I was bred to the male, Perjowlsti, but I was allowed to keep them with me only until they were half grown. Then I watched while another Doc implanted them with controllers.
They were very young and frightened. I had to lie to them. I said it would do them no harm. No harm! Do you hear me, Dannerman? I told them it would do them no harm! And I do not know what became of them. Since the Horch came I have not seen them, or Perjowlsti. Perhaps they were killed in the fighting.”
She turned away from me and was silent for a moment. I thought she might be weeping, if Docs ever wept. I reached up and touched her shoulder. I hadn’t forgotten about the vivisection, but I couldn’t help feeling compassion. I said, “I’m sorry, Pirraghiz.”
She said, “Yes,” her voice muffled. When she turned around, the great cow eyes were dry, and her expression was less angry. “I too am sorry,” she said, “for what will happen to your own species.”
I straightened up. “My own species?”
She nodded with the great head, her hat flopping ludicrously. “You will serve them too, if they wish it.”
Something was tasting very bad in the back of my throat. I did my best to repress it. “What would they want us for?”
“I do not know, Dannerman, but-“ She thought for a moment, then sighed. “Have you ever seen the warriors of the Others?”
I remembered a half-dissolved corpse of a Bashful I’d seen in our escape. “No. Yes. I mean, I’ve seen a dead body, but-Wait a minute! Are you trying to tell me they’d make Bashfuls out of us?
“I do not know what a ‘Bashful’ is”-I had used the English word-“but to use you to fight their battles for them when there is occasion for fighting, yes. I think so. It is known that your species is good at wars and violence. Was that not the reason for your own work before you were captured?”
I was aghast. “No! We won’t let that happen! If we’re going to fight, we’ll fight them!”
“Of course you will, Dannerman,” she agreed somberly. “As I suppose we did, all those years ago. Even now, sometimes-you see, the control channels are very effective, but they are not perfect. If one of us finds himself surrounded by a kind of wall of metal mesh-I do not know the name for it-“
I guessed, “A Faraday cage?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. In such a situation the controls are weakened. Then we have enough volition, sometimes, to try to fight back. But we do not succeed. As soon as that happens the others of our own kind who still belong to the Beloved Leaders come at once, and recapture us. Or kill us. They have no choice, just as I had none when the Beloved Leaders caused me to cut the flesh of your conspecifics.”
She gazed down at me searchingly. “It is not only persons of your own species that have been vivisected in that way by us. You are only the most recent. The same has been done to members of every captive species-the Wet Ones, the Shelled Persons, the Tree-Livers, even the captive Horch. Even to my own people. And in every case-“ She broke off, looking at me in a different way. “What is it, Dannerman?”
She had puzzled me. “What do you mean, ‘captive Horch’?”
She looked at me with surprise. “But I thought you knew. What did you think Djabeertapritch was?”
I blinked at her. “A Horch, of course.”
She sounded impatient. “Certainly he is a Horch, but until the other Horch captured this base, he was a prisoner, too. He and all his nest, Dannerman. Look, you can almost see the farms they cultivated, just past these trees. They were kept here since their ancestors were captured, long ago, for study and, yes, to be experimented on, just as your people were.”
That was unexpected news. I had thought of the Horch simply as Horch. They were conquerors. I
had not imagined that Beert himself had once been a conquered.
I stared through the tangled vegetation toward where Pirraghiz had said Beert’s people still lived. I couldn’t see anything that looked like farms, but I knew what I had to do. I had to try my best to avert that horrible prospect of a subjugated Earth, and the place to do it was not here.
I turned to Pirraghiz. “You said Beert’s village was out there?”
“The nest of the formerly captive Horch is, yes.”
“All right. I’m as well as I need to be, and I want to see Beert. I’m going there now.”
She did not seem surprised, only thoughtful. “I do not know if he will be at the nest. He may have called from the base.”
“I’ll wait for him.”
“You do not know the way, Dannerman. You have never been there.”
“I’ll find it.”
“It is a long walk. I am not sure you are yet strong enough for that-“
I didn’t let her finish. “That’s my problem,” I said, but she finished anyway.
“-so I will carry you there myself.” And she did. Hoisted me up into the crook of one of her great arms, and trotted away.
PART FOUR
The Nest
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dopey had always preferred being carried by a Doc to walking. I could see why. Pirraghiz held me comfortable and secure, and the ride, despite those elephant legs of hers, was rapid and just about jolt-free.
As we left the beaten path to cross over into Horch territory, she had to push her way through wet brush. Considerately she pushed the soggy branches away from me with one or another of her spare arms. Then, as we passed that invisible dividing line where weedy trees gave way to shrubs, we were in Horchland.
The difference between the two compounds was the difference between wilderness and civilization. Behind us was jungle. Ahead, neatly cultivated cropland. We came out onto a dirt road that bordered a couple of hectares of green stalks of grain, shoulder-high-I don’t mean Pirraghiz’s shoulder, of course. Between the rows two snaky heads popped up to stare at us in astonishment. Pirraghiz paid them no attention, but turned left on the road and loped along.
Although the road was dirt, it was smooth and almost rutless, even after the rain. Obviously the Horch were careful about keeping their place tidy. A kilometer or two ahead I could see something that looked like a huge, six-sided barn, but before we got there I heard a whirring noise from behind us. Pirraghiz didn’t bother to look behind. She just moved courteously over to one side, allowing a vehicle to shoot past us. It was a three-wheeled cart, a little like the one Beert had used when he rescued me from the interrogation chambers. That one had had a motor, though; this one was pedal-driven by its occupant-one of the Horch who had gawked at us from the cropland, I supposed. He lay flat on his back, feet pumping at the pedals as fast as he could, while his neck swayed back and forth between staring at us and watching the road ahead.
As we got closer to the barnlike structure I could see that it was a kind of wickerwork tenement, four or five stories tall, with porches jutting out at every level. Some of the porches were enclosed in coarse screens, others open to the sky. I could see figures on some of them, perhaps taking the air. The whole thing looked like something some tribe of aborigines might have built for themselves out of willow withes and bamboo, in the days before the European colonizers came along with their whiskey, guns, row houses and syphilis.
It was the biggest structure in sight, but it wasn’t the only one. I began to see sheds nearby, and a couple of peculiar trees, all circled by little clusters of flowering bushes for decoration. The trees were branchless until near the top, where they spread out in a crown like royal palms. The most peculiar thing about the trees was that they were all bent at a sharp angle from the ground up, and all at the same angle. There was something that looked like a wicker band shell-people were moving around it-and, as we moved toward one side, behind the main building a smaller structure appeared of a wholly other kind. This one wasn’t wicker. It was made of the same glossy ceramic stuff as my former cell, though this was pinkish in color. A pair of the Horch Christmas trees were industriously unloading some sort of equipment to take inside it.
I wasn’t pleased to see them there, but Pirraghiz paid them no attention. She set me down carefully. “Wait, Dannerman. I will see if Djabeertapritch is here.”
She left me standing in a plot of damp, spiky grass; I suppose the Horch equivalent of a front lawn. There were low wicker benches scattered around-unoccupied- and a few smaller trees with buttercup-yellow blossoms. Although the robots weren’t paying any attention to me, I was uncomfortable in their presence. I walked a little way around the great house to get out of their sight. When I looked up the woven-sapling side of the building, I discovered that someone was looking back at me. Three or four of those snaky heads were peering over the side of one of the porches. I waved, but the only response I got from them was to pull hastily back, some completely out of sight, one still staring at me with just the nose and eyes showing.
As long as I was here, I told myself, I should be keeping my eyes open for the kind of information the Bureau would want to hear when (I didn’t let myself say “if”) I got back. The trouble was, there didn’t seem to be very much sensitive information lying around.
So I made do with what was available. To start, I heard shrill soprano singing coming from nearby. It was that band-shell thing, and it seemed to be functioning as a kind of Horch kindergarten. Eight or ten tiny Horch infants danced around as they sang, waving their sinuous arms and necks more or less gracefully. The two littlest ones weren’t dancing. They lay on their backs in tiny wicker baskets, looking like some kind of musical calamari as they waved their limbs and piped along with the others. There was one adult with them to conduct the performance. By the swellings under her jumpsuit I judged she was female.
She moved quickly to interpose herself between me and her charges, thrusting her head toward me suspiciously. “What are you?” she demanded.
That wasn’t an easy question to answer. Before I had figured out how to describe myself, she gave the neck-twist that was like a human nod. “Yes, now I remember. You are Djabeertapritch’s new pet.”
I didn’t respond to that. I was digesting the implications of that word, “pet,” and anyway, she was still talking. “Please go away. You are distracting the children and they must prepare to sing for the Greatmother.” Her tone was commanding, and she gestured accordingly.
She was right. All the children had stopped what they were doing to goggle at me. I apologized. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you. I’m just waiting for Beert-for Djabeertapritch, I mean.”
“You should not wait here,” she said crossly. I might have argued, but then I saw two Horch ambling around the perimeter of the building toward us. They seemed in no hurry. They weren’t looking in our direction at all; they were in animated conversation with each other, their necks winding close together except when they paused to examine some detail of the building’s structure.
There was something about them that was different. It took me a moment to figure it out, and then I had it. It was the way they were dressed. All Horch seemed to like to ornament their round little bellies, but not all in the same way. Beert, as well as this teacher-Horch and the little ones in her class, sported a circle of colorfully embroidered fabric there. These two were dressed like the female I had seen with Beert in the interrogation room; their belly bowls were shallow domes of bright metal, as shiny as chrome.
I didn’t have good feelings about the metal-wearing brand of Horch. The strollers didn’t seem to have noticed me, and I preferred to keep it that way. I nodded politely to the teacher and left, as inconspicuously as I could.
When Pirraghiz found me I was in the middle of a sort of car park of those three-wheeled velocipedes; they were ingeniously put together out of four or five different kinds of wood, wheels, bearings and all. “There you are! You should have stayed where I left you,” she scolded. “Now come. The Greatmother has summoned Beert. I will take you to a room that is available, where you can wait for him. And I will go back home to get food for you, and to pick up some of my own things so that I can stay with you here.”
The wicker building was wicker all the way through, wicker walls, wicker floors, wicker stairs-and a lot of them-to take us to the upper levels. I marveled at the kind of engineering skills it had taken to create a five-story building out of withes woven together. “They must be pretty good designers,” I offered to Pirraghiz, breathing hard.
She looked down at me with concern. “Of course. They are Horch. But are you all right? Should I carry you again?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t willing to let her know how quickly I tired, not to mention that the steps sagged and protested Pirraghiz’s weight with soft, squeaking sounds. I didn’t think it was a good idea to add my weight to hers.
The stairs we were c
limbing circled an interior courtyard, like the atrium in a five-story Roman villa-if any Roman villa ever got five stories high. Balconies ran all around the inside of the structure at every level, and a few Horch paused in whatever they were doing on them to peer at us. We went up three flights, and I was panting in earnest by the time Pirraghiz reached the right level. She took me to a door-rather like a thick woven curtain-and flung it open. “This is where you will stay,” she announced.
The room wasn’t anything like the sterile chambers where the Horch machines had questioned me. It wasn’t like any place I had ever been in before. I said politely, “It looks fine. I’m glad they had a spare room for me.”
“They have very many spare rooms,” she said somberly. “There are very few of this Greatmother’s nest left. Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a while? It will only be for a little bit, then Djabeertapritch will be here. There is a place to sleep; perhaps you should do that. It will not be long until he arrives, I think,” she said again, to reassure me. “You will be quite safe. If you need anything, you can call and someone will come, but do not eat anything until I return with proper food for you.”
It had been a long time since anyone had fussed over me in that way. I couldn’t help laughing. “Thank you, Mother,” I said. “You can go. Honestly. Go!”
She went. But actually I had barely begun to investigate my new room when I felt the wicker floor vibrate again with her heavy tread. When I turned to the door, there she was again, carrying a large pottery bowl. “This is in case you need to relieve yourself while I am away, Dannerman,” she said. “Now I will leave again.” And she did.
The room the Horch had given me was a good size, maybe three meters by four. The walls were unadorned, except that on the interior ones the wickerwork had been woven together in strands of several varieties of withes, of different colors. The result was rather pretty, almost like an abstract tapestry. The outside walls were made of darker, more robust basketwork, and something like clay had been plastered into the wicker to seal the walls against the weather outside. The door to the balcony outside was made of accordion folds of the same material, and they were ajar. When I stepped out to look around I had a view of farm fields beyond the outbuildings and the curiously bent trees. A stream cut through them-the same stream that went through the old compound, I supposed. There were little rainbow-shaped Japanese-garden bridges over the stream here and there. Oddly, not all the fields appeared to be under cultivation. Some seemed to have been farmed once, but now bore only a scraggle of weeds.
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