He tried to rise, but a furry foot in his back kept him down. As he struggled to keep his trunks from being crushed beneath his face, he held back the words he wanted to shout. The fact that he had not been shot did not mean he could not provoke them to do so.
So he lay quietly and sobbed within himself as he watched his business burn.
In Udredruta, the Salamthi family was just concluding their morning mutual ablutions when two armed Sakuntala burst into the house.
“Here now!” Both trunks waving angrily, the senior of the two females present immediately placed herself between the junior wife and their pair of mutual offspring. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” She waved both hands and all four digits at the much taller intruders. “Get out, get out, both of you! You are not invited; you are not welcome here. Bursting in like this armed, and in front of the broodlings! You should be most ashamed of yourselves, oh yes.”
Raising the battered but still serviceable pistol he was holding, the nearer of the two Sakuntala shot her cleanly between eyes and speaking trunk. Hoots of shock and alarm rose from the surviving female. So terrified were the two broodlings that they expelled air through their eating as well as their speaking trunks.
The other Sakuntala growled at his companion. “We not supposed to kill them. Only frighten and chase from house. Yuiqueru Getouka-via will be unpleased.”
“May Getouka-via suffer a kensuk in his bowels.” The raptorish eyes of the other native were wild. “Ever since I a prewarrior I have watched Deyzara make most credit, take best home places. For years I see them looking at me like I a therruna just drop from top of whirltree. I hate them. I hate their clothes that hurt the eyes; I hate their smell; I hate their food. I hate everything about them.” As he looked down at the body of the senior female, lying smoking on the floor of the house, his expression did not change. “Let Getouka-via be unpleased. I, Nevairu-kei, am very pleased.” Raising the wonderful pistol that had been assigned to him, he leveled it at the two broodlings. Eyes rolling back fully into her head, both trunks quivering in fear, the junior female nonetheless placed herself between the weapon and the offspring.
Taking his companion's forearm in a strong six-fingered grip, the other Sakuntala forced the muzzle of the weapon down. “This not about Getouka-via. It not about you or me. I like Deyzara no more than you. But is greater end at stake here.” Both highly mobile ears inclined in the direction of the terrified remnants of the typical Deyzara family. “You remember talkings. Killing offspring the sort of thing that might bring humanx intervention. Better for us that Deyzara offspring walk away and humanx peoples have to feed and house them. Keep humanx authorities busy.” He smiled. “Feeding and housing take more time than dumping in Viisiiviisii. You want vengeance, my friend—or results?”
The other Sakuntala's initial, archetypal reaction at being grabbed was anger. Then it cooled, and common sense took over. It was a measure of how much the Sakuntala had advanced in the hundreds of years since their initial contact with the Commonwealth.
“My blood says kill them, but my mind says you speak wiseness.” Lowering the pistol, he fumbled in another pouch until he found one of the compact conflag packages. Taking it in his free hand, he broke the seal as he had been instructed and threw the activated handful against the back wall of the gathering room. The incendiary material contained in the package immediately set the wall aflame. It would burn, he knew, even in the rain, drawing the components necessary to sustain combustion from the very material it was consuming. The broodlings began to hoot even louder. The Sakuntala's ears twitched. It was a revolting sound.
“Let's go to next house.” The thrower's eagerness could not be denied. “Maybe they will have weapons and try resist. Getouka-via say we can shoot any who resist with weapons.”
“We must first decide what is weapon sufficient to justify shooting back.”
The pair continued their conversation as they strolled nonchalantly from the now flaming structure, leaving the junior female and the broodlings to make their way to safety as best they could.
Outside, a collective trill of massed panicked Deyzara hooting could be heard even above the falling rain.
In Nesawiti, a pitched battle was under way between their Sakuntala assailants and a handful of Deyzara determined to defend their community center. After two hours of exchanging fire with their indigenous attackers, they were forced to surrender when the main cables supporting the structure were severed by Sakuntala wielding cutters. With the building listing dangerously to one side and threatening at any moment to fall into the swirling waters below, they marched out and sullenly turned their weapons over to their tormentors. Expecting to be slaughtered, they pleaded only for the lives of their families. Though it could not be said they were delighted with the consequences, they were certainly surprised to find themselves only beaten, instead of killed.
More unexpectedly still, after razing and looting the interior of the dangling building the attacking Sakuntala left them to deal with their wounds and their misery. Someone found an undamaged cargo skimmer. Piling themselves and their families into the well-used but sturdy vehicle, tending to those who were most seriously injured, the survivors of the outpost rose above the trees and limped toward the nearest community with a Commonwealth station.
Nilsson was finishing his midday ration, while Erla had just cracked a container of pink grape juice. Mist rose from the cylinder as the contents automatically chilled to her preset preferred temperature. Next to her, Nilsson reached up to bat a wandering tseth off his shoulder. It had its augur unsheathed and was making a strenuous effort to bore through his shoulder armor. It buzzed angrily as it fell, broken-winged, toward the water seven meters below. Something long, slim, spotted, and yellow-black that Nilsson did not recognize thrust a pair of stem-mounted jaws skyward. One snapped shut around the body of the tseth with an audible popping sound before sliding back beneath the surface.
Chewing idly, Nilsson studied the spot where both creatures had vanished before returning to the last of his meal. Sometimes he wished he were a xenobiologist. Most of the time he did not. What he did wish was that his term of service on this world was six months further along. Then he would be packing to leave.
He knew his partner felt exactly the same. Commonwealth insistence notwithstanding, Fluva was no place for sensible human beings. But a presence was required, and like it or not, they were part of it. Erla had just put the freshly chilled drink to her lips when a dozen Deyzara came running along the walkway toward them.
Adults all, they were moving as fast as they were able. Deyzara were not naturally gifted runners, and their sandaled twin-digited feet tended to slip even on the dimpled, perforated artificial surface. They accelerated noticeably as they neared the end of the walkway, which began to sway beneath their weight. The reason for the terror Erla felt she saw in their goggling eyes soon manifested itself. Coming up hard behind them were half a dozen Sakuntala, wild-eyed, sharp teeth flashing, ears pointed forward like knives. Most of them carried intricately carved spears or traditional war clubs fashioned from jokobo or segleth wood. But two—Nilsson put aside the last of his food and Erla set down her drink—two of them carried shock rifles. Held them correctly, too, at the appropriate end, with two thin fingers resting on each trigger.
Stationed on the periphery of Taulau Town, the two humans had spent months shedding water without engaging in anything more strenuous than popping a few predators that had tried to climb from the water below up into the trees. Suddenly faced with a small but unprecedented crisis, they reacted with admirable speed. Erla unlimbered her own gun while Nilsson activated his before speaking into the communicator pickup of his duty suit.
“Central, this is Twenty-three. Corporal Nilsson speaking.” He squinted through the rain at the thoroughly terrified Deyzara and the pursuing Sakuntala. “We have some kind of an incident in progress here. There appear to be—”
Central dispatch interrupted him. The voice at th
e other end (probably Fasoli, he mused) sounded unusually harried. “Wait your turn, Twenty-three! I'll put you in line with the others.”
The others? That didn't sound right. What was coming down here, besides rain? Leaving the line open, he picked up his own rifle and moved to stand alongside Erla.
“Business dispute, you reckon?” he murmured.
She shook her head, having pulled the helmet's protective visor down over her eyes. “Too many locals involved. You see the rifles?” He nodded. “Where did the Sakis get shock rifles?”
“Don't know,” her partner responded tersely. “Right now I'm more interested in finding out if they know how to use 'em.”
Upon reaching the sentry's position, the Deyzara did not race past. Instead, they alternately stumbled and fell to a halt, clustering as tightly as they could behind the two humans. Their always pungent body odor was powerful with perspiration, and their blaze of usually immaculate colorful attire was uncharacteristically torn and dirty. One elderly individual, his breathing trunk pulsing sharply as he strained to suck air, stood as close as possible to Nilsson. It was plain that he and his companions were in the last stages of fear and exhaustion.
“Please, respected sir! You must protect us! The Sakuntala—they have all gone mad, quite mad! Houses have been burnt, businesses looted, families forced to flee for their very lives. Help us!”
Erla blinked in the Deyzara's direction. “Say what? We haven't heard anything like that.” Her gaze shifted to her partner. “Have we?”
His attention remained focused on the onrushing Sakuntala. “Not yet.” Reaching up, he tapped his communications pickup with one index finger. “Something's not right. Not just here, either.”
At the sight of the two armed humans, the six Sakuntala slowed. Those holding the rifles fingered them in a fashion sufficiently familiar to suggest to Nilsson that the natives did indeed know how to use the advanced Commonwealth weapons.
“What's all this about, now?” Erla demanded to know, holding her ground.
The Sakuntala exchanged glances. They were barely breathing hard. It was clear they had been toying with the Deyzara they had been chasing and, had they wished to do so, could have overtaken them at any time. That in itself was suggestive—though of what, precisely, neither Commonwealth soldier could be sure.
One of the Sakuntala armed with a club stepped forward, holding the weapon out parallel in front of his torso to show that he meant, for the moment, no harm. “We have begun this thing to take back our world. Not involve humans. Not want hurt you.”
“The feeling's mutual.” Nilsson spoke softly but did not lower his weapon. “So if you'll just turn around, or go around, we'll all be content and nobody'll get hurt.”
Looking past the sentry, the speaker glowered at the pitiful Deyzara. “Step to left or step to right. Both steps make safe for you and me.”
Erla glanced back down at the huddled refugees. She did not think much of the Deyzara. Neither did she have any particular affection for the Sakuntala. But she was quite fond of her rank.
“How about you step back and they step forward? That'll have the same result: nobody'll get hurt, and whatever this is all about can be sorted out later.”
The Sakuntala hesitated. Nilsson's eyes shifted slightly to the right and he raised the muzzle of his gun. “If you're thinking of using that old shock rifle, big-ears, you'd better make sure you don't miss with your first shot. Mine's a stable repeater, and I could kill you and all five of your buddies before you have time to figure out what you did wrong.”
“Not to mention,” Erla added, tapping her chest plate, “that we're wearing armor and you're wearing fur. Take it from me: in a firefight, armor is better.”
Several of the Sakuntala fell to murmuring sharply among themselves. Disagreement was palpable. Finally they turned and, with a couple of murderous backward glances, loped back the way they had come, disappearing among the rain and the trees.
As bawling, appreciative Deyzara crowded close around him, pawing him with grateful two-digited hands, Nilsson barked into his pickup, “Fasoli, what the hell's going on?” He tapped the tip of the lightweight pickup again, making it bounce slightly. “Fasoli, dammit!” The dispatcher didn't answer.
He was very, very busy.
Such actions were being repeated, on scales both larger and smaller, throughout a large portion of the inhabited Viisiiviisii. It rapidly became apparent that unlike in the past, the attacks were not random outbreaks of anti-Deyzara violence but were being well coordinated. In the face of the ferocious (but by no means universal) assault, those frightened Deyzara who were able to do so fled their small settlements. Seeking protection and aid, they began to converge on the larger, more developed towns and municipalities. At first they were taken in by relatives and friends. But as the full dimension of the attacks and the scope of the tragedy became clear, more and more sought shelter in public facilities. These were rapidly overwhelmed by the number and desperation of the refugees with which they were being asked to cope.
Calls began to go out. Information traveled through the troubled Viisiiviisii. Eventually it reached Taulau.
Where it all ended up, metaphorically if not literally, on one desk.
7
Brushing idly at the softly humming brim of her fully charged rain cape, Lauren Matthias gazed glumly at the chaos before her. Hundreds of Deyzara were packed into the port's staging area, a sea of mooning eyes, bobbing trunks, and pale rain-slicked heads. There was hardly enough room for those already there while more were arriving every hour on foot and via transport. Flocks of gauzy-winged, serrated-beaked voukopu soared overhead, skimming from one tree or building to another in search of the dead meat they seemed certain was to be forthcoming.
Gosling was a good man, but the strain was already showing on his face. He was nominally in charge of a refugee agency that had not even existed forty-eight hours earlier. Though doing his best, he was clearly overwhelmed by the scope of the task before him.
“They keep filtering in,” he told her in his sorrowful, laconic manner. “Some of the other towns are worse.”
“So I've been told.” Walking past the families was hard. Broodlings gaped up at her out of impossibly wide, confused eyes: they had been forced to surrender the familiar, sometimes at spear or gunpoint, often in the middle of the night. Most families had brought some food with them. That would soon begin to run out, she knew. Then it would be the responsibility of the Commonwealth, as the administering authority, to feed them. She had already made arrangements for individual teams to set aside their regular duties in favor of hunting-and-gathering expeditions. That would help. Whether or not it, in combination with the usual warehoused supplies available in each community, would be enough remained to be seen.
The Sakuntala could help—except that the Sakuntala were the cause of the crisis. The trouble was that many of those who did not agree with the methods being employed by the radicals, and there were many, had been intimidated into refusing assistance. Others gave tacit approval to the end the radicals were striving toward even if they did not agree with the means that were being used. A dangerous majority were indifferent. The result was a carefully crafted conundrum knotty enough to test the skills of a senior diplomat.
Which she was not. She was only an administrator.
Jack was being as supportive as possible. He could hold her and tell her that everything was going to be all right, but he couldn't make decisions for her. At least Andrea had settled down. The scale of the emergency and the extent of the overt violence had pushed adolescent concerns onto the back burner. In other words, Matthias knew, the events of the past couple of days had forced her daughter to grow up a little.
“We can handle another thousand max, maybe.” Gosling was studying the crowd. His staff was methodically settling groups in empty hangars and available storage buildings, trying to provide every family and individual with at least a modicum of shelter. There was no pushing or shoving among
the Deyzara. It was not that they were an especially docile people, just that they were used to, and respected, the benefits of organization.
“Any more than that and port operations will begin to be compromised.”
Matthias's mouth tightened. “We can't have that, Eric. Local transport is going to be more important than ever, and we're going to need space for some big boys to land and unload here.”
“How soon until the first relief ship arrives?”
“Couple of weeks. The government on Praxiteles has been as helpful as you could ask for, but it still takes time to get relief material together, shuttled to orbit, loaded, and delivered. Tharce Four is putting together an enormous shipment, as you might expect, but there's no telling when that will get here. That's what happens when the world you're on lies on the fringes of settled space.” She checked her chronometer. “I've got to get back to the office. I'm meeting with representatives of both species.”
Gosling sighed. “These things blow up among the Sakuntala all the time. Maybe this one will disappear as quickly as it surfaced.”
“Let's hope so.” Privately, she was seriously concerned. This uprising was different from the periodic outbursts of violence that were so much a part of Sakuntala culture. An uncharacteristic amount of planning was involved. The radicals were acting in concert all across the Viisiiviisii. Then there were the reports that some of the insurgents possessed advanced weaponry, and not the kind used for shooting game. A hasty check of stores showed nothing missing from the armory. Where had shock rifles and neuronic pistols come from? The radicals would need outside help to acquire such weapons. Who among her staff or the limited number of successful Sakuntala traders or even rogue elements among the Deyzara could have smuggled in such weaponry?
Her thoughts had no rest as she took the slider back to Administration, dodging pedestrians as she navigated the web of suspended spun-strilk walkways. Deeper inside Taulau Town life went on as usual, with none of the turmoil attendant on the activities at the port. The surrounding signs of normality served to settle her nerves somewhat. By the time she reached Administration and parked the slider in its charging slot, she was feeling a little better. Unseen lightning illuminated the clouds, and distant thunder boomed. Not a good sign. The rain on Fluva usually fell without such dramatic accompaniment.
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