Since the getup consisted of a breechclout made of bright crimson and green feathers sewn on a leather backing, a halter of the same material, bands of colorful monkey-fur at elbows and knees and wrists and ankles, and a towering headdress of orange plumes and 'saur teeth, Marc could scarcely blame her. He and Blair were in much the same, except that they didn't have to wear the Barbarian Sports Bra. Their chests and faces were covered with swirling designs in chalk, black greasepaint and orange spots, which they'd spared Cynthia, probably because the color contrasts wouldn't work.
Night lay heavy on the Cloud Mountain settlement. The great bonfire at the center threw the patterns in the curved roofs of the huts around into sharp relief and cast a column of sparks into the blackness of the sky, filling the air with the spicy smell of burning pinewood. The warmth of it cut the coolness of the highland night, and palm-broad insects with wings that glinted like flying jewels circled it and then threw themselves to frenzied death in the flames.
Ranks of women surrounded the fire, drumming on tall, hollowed-out logs topped with taut hide. Their faces were painted in halves down the centerline, robin's egg blue on one side, white on the other, with their long yellow hair flying wild around their heads as they dipped and swayed their faces to the beat. The sound throbbed like the heartbeat of a giant, until even the pulsing of the fire seemed to throb in time with it. Naked children a little too young to be with the drummers dashed through the crowd, blowing handfuls of powder at the adults—Marc caught some that Zore blew at him, grinning behind a mask of face-paint that made her look like some mad blue-eyed raccoon.
"Tchew!" he sneezed involuntarily.
It smelled like not-much, a sort of burnt pollen scent. Then his nose began to tingle…
"Uh-oh," he said. "Mais, I think that stuff's got an active ingredient."
Teesa appeared. Her face was painted, too, with a band of black across the upper half that made her eyes glow like jewels in the fire-shot dark. The Diadem of the Eye was on her brow the green jewel at its center shining with an inner light, and a cloak that looked like the throat of a hummingbird swirled around her as she danced, at once slow and sinuous. Behind her the Cloud Mountain warriors came, threading about the drummers, their feet stamping in unison and their spears rippling like the antennae of some great beast.
"Here's our part," Marc said.
The three Terrans moved forward. Marc concentrated on his part in the ceremony—it felt rather like amateur theatricals in high school combined with choral dance, though he'd never done the bit where you cut your arm and dripped blood in a bowl of berry wine and then everyone drank it before. At last Teesa raised the empty bowl.
"Their blood is ours! Our blood is theirs! They are of the folk!" she cried, and threw the bowl into the flames.
They flared up to meet it. For a moment Marc felt sadness; it had been a nice piece of woodcarving, and the cream-and-orange striping of the wood was beautiful. Then he staggered slightly.
"Wow, that powder stuff has quite a kick," he muttered.
He'd smoked grass once or twice in high school, but it hadn't been anything like this. The whole world looked as if it were painted in bright primary colors on a pane of glass, with light shining through it. At the same time, every sight and sound seemed heavy, as if they carried a freight of incommunicable knowledge that he was just on the verge of understanding. Everyone here was his brother, his sister, his father and mother; the entire universe was linked to him as if with chains of silver light as the Cloud Mountain folk gathered around and began patting the Terrans on the back or giving them quick hugs.
"It's an honor," Marc said, sincerely.
Suddenly Blair began to weep. The sight was an overwhelming sorrow to Marc.
"Hey, podna, what's wrong?" he asked.
Cynthia used the plumes of her headdress to tenderly wipe the Englishman's tears away. "Lover boy, it's all right. Everything all right!"
Blair shook his head, and covered his face with his palms. "Oh, mon Dieu, I should have told you! Even though it wasn't my fault, I should have told you when we crashed! I am a cochon't A bad, bad man!"
"Why are you swearing in French?" Marc asked.
It didn't seem all that important. Off to the side Tahyo was in a pen; he'd seemed interested and just a bit frustrated at not being allowed to join in. Now he was bristling, every hair on his head standing erect and his teeth showing… and Teesa screamed.
At first it seemed part of the rite; then Marc saw how the tribesfolk were recoiling in horror. He started forward, then stopped as if he'd run into a brick wall as he saw the anguish in her eyes and the carved-stone immobility of her face. Blood sprang from under her nails as she tried to tear the Diadem of the Eye from her brow, but even though the muscle corded like flat straps in her forearms and her fingers crooked like talons, she could not force them the last inch towards the circlet of metal.
"Run!" she screamed. "Oh please, beloved, run!"
Marc gaped at her; his limbs felt heavy, weighed down with the hostility of a universe. Then her arms fell to her sides, and she spoke again. This time it was in Russian—which he understood, well enough to know that she was speaking it with a strong accent. Somehow that made the whole process more horrible.
"Disposition of experimental subjects is unfavorable," she said, in a monotone that somehow managed to sound irritated without any inflection at all.
Her head turned, tracking like a radar-controlled gun. "Data input on new stimuli is suboptimal. New sources must be accessed where bandwidth is available."
Decision firmed. Marc leaped towards her; if she couldn't take the damned thing off, he could do it for her.
Time seemed to stretch. For all that she moved so stiffly, Teesa wasn't there when his body hurtled through the space she'd occupied an instant before. Instead a foot seemed to come from nowhere and slam into his solar plexus; all the breath in his body went out in a single ooof, and his diaphragm spasmed, paralyzed and unable to draw in more. He rolled almost to the edge of the fire, and would have rolled into it if there hadn't been a lip of earth buildup there. As it was, he could feel his hair begin to smolder in the seconds before he could gather strength to roll over.
That let him see Blair try to seize Teesa from behind. One fist snapped back, and suddenly the big blond man was bent over and clutching himself. The Cloud Mountain shamaness turned and hit him behind the ear; the blow looked as if it had been executed by some piece of digitally controlled machinery, precise and fluid.
Tahyo was going hysterical in his pen, throwing himself at the slats and roaring, foam flying from his teeth as he splintered the tough wood. The Cloud Mountain folk were tumbling over one another in panic flight, all except Zore, who stood crying and calling out her sister's name.
Cynthia was much cooler; she stooped and picked up a nice fist-sized smooth rock, hefted it thoughtfully, wound up, and lofted it at Teesa's head.
The long yellow hair flicked as her head moved aside just enough to let the rock pass. Then she took two quick steps and clamped a hand on the top of Cynthia's head. The black woman reached up to knock the grip aside… and then froze, immobile, scarcely even breathing.
"Satisfactory," Teesa said in the same dreadful monotone. "Full data transfer will require locational access to the central node. Follow me."
Teesa turned and walked into the darkness. Cynthia followed, marching with the same robot precision.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Encyclopedia Britannica, 16th Edition University of Chicago Press, 1988
INTERNAL CONTROL DEVICE: method of controlling animals through electrical signals conveyed via electrodes implanted in the brain tissue. Initial experiments in the 1960s were pursued with some vigor when the projections for the Venusian bases showed that the cost of shipping heavy earthmoving equipment was prohibitive, even without the necessary support infrastructure…
Cynthia Whitlock came to herself with eyeblink suddenness. She staggered, and a hand grasped her arm.
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"Be calm," an accented voice said.
Jadviga, she thought. Where—
Memories crashed into her mind. The firelight, Teesa suddenly turned into a flesh-and-blood puppet, then the grip on her head and a blinding pain, and when she was aware of anything it was walking with something else moving her limbs—
Her knees buckled. She sat on a rough stone bench covered in furs, blinked, choked back a heave of nausea. Jadviga handed her a gourd of water, and she drank thirstily; it was clean and cool, and soothed a throat she realized was dry as mummy dust.
The light was dim, but she could see that they were in a circular fieldstone hut—a good-sized one, ten paces across, with a quartet of carved poles in its middle holding up a roof of poles and branches covered in thatch; a rock shelf covered in skin rugs ran all the way around the interior, save for a door curtained with another hide. There was a rock-lined hearth in the center, and a smoke hole above, but both were empty right now. There was a faint smell of old smoke. The hut itself smelled clean, with scents of leather and food and the sweet scent of fresh rushes on the packed-earth floor, but somewhere not too far away was the garbage-and-sewage stink of a settlement of primitives whose customs didn't include much washing or cleanup. Leather bags hung from pegs driven between the dry-laid stone of the walls, and gourds and crude boxes.
"Where am I?" she husked, after another drink of the water.
"Velniai griebtu!" Jadviga said. "Devil fly away with it if I know! We are near where the Riga came down, that is all I know. Among the Neanderthals. Near a cliff, near caves—"
Cynthia felt her stomach heave again. Cold, rancid sweat broke out on her forehead as she clutched at her temples. Cave. Light. Light that shone through me—
"Try not to think of it," Jadviga said quietly.
Cynthia nodded jerkily and looked at the other woman. Jadviga Binkis didn't look as if she'd been beaten or tortured; she didn't even look gaunt. But there was something in her eyes…
I suspect it's like looking into a mirror.
"How long have I been here?" Cynthia asked.
"Not long. I think they… it… brought you here late last night. Then you were in the caves—no, do not try to recall it! And they brought you here this morning and left you. It is noon now."
Cynthia put her head down between her knees and waited until her head stopped spinning. That took a while; it didn't only feel dizzy, but as if someone had extracted all the contents and then scraped in the inside with a spoon, like a Halloween pumpkin.
"We were at the Cloud Mountain settlement," she said. "The Neanderthals attacked us and we beat them off, and there was a ceremony. Then… something took over the shamaness, Teesa. Like it did your husband in the fight at the rock."
Jadviga sat down on the bench herself. "Yes," she whispered. Then she made herself look up. "It… it is as if he is a prisoner in his own head. Sometimes a little of my husband emerges."
"So he's still there," Cynthia said comfortingly.
Jadviga bit her lip. "Yes. And he is mad. It is almost worse then. He… he does not know where we are or what has happened. Then I must try to comfort him; that is why…it… keeps me alive, I think."
Ouch, Cynthia thought. "What do you think is doing all this?"
"That is something I have thought much. I think it is alien… not human in its origins. But I do not think it is an alien. It is a machine."
Cynthia nodded; that was all too plausible. Whoever or Whatever had turned Venus into a giant terrarium—probably Mars likewise—had left a sentinel.
"We're the prisoner of an omnipotent machine that can take over our minds. Why didn't I stay home? I could have gotten a research position at Princeton; honest I could…"
Jadviga laid a comforting hand on her shoulder for a moment. "I said that I have thought much. There has not been much else to do when… when Franziscus is… gone. I think that this is a very powerful machine, yes. But I do not think it is very intelligent"
"You don't?" Cynthia said.
"If it was, it would communicate better. This protpisys, this thing, it just seizes information, but from what it has said… I do not think it understands what it learns well. It is as if it were a, an automatic alarm."
"That is sort of comfortin'," Cynthia said. Then her face fell.
"What is it?" the Lithuanian asked.
"If it's an alarm, could the folks who put it here get the alarm and come to see what's wrong?"
Even through her own fear, Cynthia felt a stab of guilt as the other's face fell. Jadviga had been trying to comfort her.
"But Marc and Chris will do something" she said. "They're smart dudes and tough, too."
"Yes," Jadviga said. "Would you like food?"
Suddenly Cynthia's stomach cramped with hunger. "Yes!"
One of the sacks held smoked meat, and tart wild comar-fruit. She ate voraciously, as if she'd been working hard for a day with nothing…
Which is probably the truth of the matter, she thought. "Well, we can't just sit and wait to be rescued, like some dumb bimbo in those books Marc likes. We've got to be ready, and we've got to find out what we can for our folks when we get back home."
Jadviga winced. "Then there is something I must tell you, about the Riga's cargo. It may get me into a great deal of trouble."
She took a breath…
Another burst of arguing broke out among the assembled Cloud Mountain warriors on the hillside. Marc Vitrac sighed. There was a stale smell of ashes and sweat in the air, despite the freshness of the wind from the north. Of course, that had to cross the little dell where the fire had burned and where Teesa had been…
Taken. Possessed. Whatever. We'll get her back, and smash whatever did it to her. He had to believe that, or just sit down and wait to die.
"Whatever that powder was, at least it didn't leave a hangover," he said. He had no headache or pains, just a generalized lassitude he could overcome with an effort of will.
Blair started to snap at him, then visibly thought better of it. "I realize you're trying to buck me up and all that, old boy," he said tightly. "But it's wasted effort, I'm afraid."
"I don't have to tell you not to try and live off your nerves, do I, podna?"
Blair shook his head ruefully, then took a long breath and let it out slowly. "Point taken. I do wish these chappies would… how do you Yanks put it… get their asses in gear."
Marc looked out over the fifty or so warriors. They're scared, he thought. Down to the guts and balls.
They looked rather crapulous, too, still wearing bits and pieces of the finery they'd had on last night for the adoption ceremony, tawdry and ragged in the bright sunlight of afternoon. There was a shrill note to their voices as well. What looked like evil magic seizing their most sacred things had broken something; he didn't doubt that they were brave men, against men or dangerous beasts.
Beasts, Marc thought suddenly. Weh, let's give it a try.
"Warriors!" he called out. "Warriors!"
Quiet gradually fell. About half the eyes looking at him were frightened. A fair number were full of hate, Taldi's first and foremost among them. Some were hopeful.
"Whether anyone joins us or not, my comrade and I will go to rescue our women from the beastmen and their wizard," Marc said.
Taldi bristled. Good, the Terran thought. Get his blood flowing.
"But I do not ask you to carry a spear against magic—even with the thunder-sticks you took in the fight two days ago."
Some of them stirred and murmured at that; it was something to buck them up a bit, against the terror of last night. It must be possible, because…
Because if it isn't I don't know what the fuck we're going to do, me, he thought. Besides, they're here, not just scattering off with their families. Not far from that, though.
"You know I am a warrior, too. So hear my word, for my word is true. If you help me, I will lead you against the beastmen and their demon. I will do it riding on the back of a thunder-lizard! And if I
cannot fulfill my pledge, then you may kill me—I will not resist."
He stood silent then, his arms crossed on his bare chest. Blair stood by his side. Marc thought the other man's eyes had rolled up slightly at the tone, and he'd have liked the flamboyant rhetoric even less if he could have followed the language—as yet he only spoke it haltingly.
But Cloud Mountain custom demanded it… and it just seemed appropriate, somehow.
He'd say it was all the books I read as a kid, too. Well, maybe it is, but it fits here.
Marc kept his eyes steady, watching the renewed debate. To his surprise, it was Taldi who shouted the others down.
"You know I am no friend to the black-haired stranger," the man said. "The other is no one's enemy here, but this Ma-rek is my rival and my foe. But he is a brave man. If he can help us reclaim our sacred one, then I will follow him to save Teesa, until we save her."
The tribesman's teeth showed in what wasn't even notionally a smile. "And if he fails us… I will kill him myself. Whether he resists or not."
The steep ridge where they lay overlooked the floor of the valley, and they were about thirty feet above it. That put them about at the height of the titanosaur herd currently making its way northward. The migration here was much like migrations on the Serengeti, or the American plains in the old days, except that many of the animals concerned could crush a buffalo underfoot and barely notice.
"No," Marc said patiently. "Not those. I need—enfer, what's the word for 'ceratopid'—"
He paused and searched his Cloud Mountain vocabulary. Translation was usually automatic, but sometimes you had to hunt when the concepts didn't map onto each other one-to-one.
"—I need a hornhead thunder-lizard. One about this size at the shoulder."
He pointed to a place about ten feet high on the tree beside him.
"Ah," Taldi said. "But hornheads charge very well. Will what we have built hold them?"
"We'll find out," Marc said.
There was no point in being quiet or trying to hide. Animals the size of human beings didn't really register on the radar of the biggest 'saurs. Tahyo was lying beside him, trying to cuddle up and with his ears folded right back as he stared.
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