by Brin, David
People dressed in poorly tanned skins moved about at chores or simply slouched through the middle of the day. Their complexions were filthy. Most had matted hair, and they stank. After meeting the Slopies-and then Ling and Besh-it was hard to picture these savages as the same race as herself, let alone her own tribe.
Several male figures loafed near a makeshift pen where the new prisoners huddled, having barely moved since they were herded into camp a couple of nights back. Some of the men chopped at tree stumps with
machetes swiped from the newcomers' supplies, marveling at the keen blades of Buyur metal. But the men kept well away from the pile of crates Kunn had forbidden them to touch, awaiting his decision which to destroy.
A handful of boys straddled a new fence of laser-split logs, passing the time by spitting, then laughing as angry complaints rose from the captives.
Shouldn't let 'em do that, Rety thought. Even if the outlanders are nosy fools who oughtn't have come.
Kunn had assigned her the task of finding out what brought the prisoners to these parts, violating their own sacred law. But Rety felt reluctant, even disgusted.
Dawdling, she turned to survey a way of life she once thought she'd never escape.
Despite the tumult of the last few days, tribal life went on. Kallish, the old clubfoot, still labored by the stream bed, hammering stone cores into flake arrowheads and other tools, convinced the recent influx of iron implements would be a passing fad. He was probably right.
Upstream, women waded through shallows, seeking the trishelled juice oysters that ripened in volcanic heat this time of year, while farther upslope, beyond the steamy pools, a cluster of girls used poles to beat Illoes trees, gathering the tart fallen berries in woven baskets. As usual, females were doing most of the hard work. Nowhere was this more evident than near the cook fire, where grouchy old Binni, her arms bloody past the elbows, took charge of preparing the donkey for roasting. The headwoman's hair was even grayer than before. Her latest baby had died, leaving Binni irritable with swollen, tender breasts, hissing at her two young helpers through wide gaps between yellow-brown teeth.
Despite such signs of normality, most tribe-folk moved in a state of sluggish distraction. Whenever anyone glanced Rety's way, they flinched, as if she were the last thing on Jijo they ever expected to see. More shocking than a glaver standing upright.
Rety, the god.
She held her head high. Tell your stinky brats about it by the campfire, till the end of time. Tell 'em about the girl who talked back to big mean hunters, no matter what they did to her. A girl who wouldn't take it anymore. Who dared to do what you never imagined. Who found a way to leave this stinking hell and go live on a star.
Rety felt a thrill each time someone briefly met her gaze and quickly looked away.
I'm not one of you. Never was. And now you know it too.
Only Binni showed no trace of being overwhelmed by the deity Rety had become. The same old disdain and disappointment lay in those metal-gray eyes. At age twenty-eight, Binni was younger than any of the foray-ers, even Ling. Still, it seemed nothing on Jijo, or in heaven, would ever surprise her.
It had been years since Rety last called the old woman "Mama." She wasn't tempted to resume now.
With her back straight, she walked past the chefs and their grisly work. Inside, though, she wavered.
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come back here. Why mix with these ghosts when she could be in the aircraft, relishing victory over her lifelong enemy? The punishment being executed on Jass seemed rightful and good, now that she didn't have to face his agony up close. That contradiction made Rety nervous, as if something were missing. Like trying to use moccasins without laces.
"wife! there you are, wife! bad wife, to leave yee alone so long!"
Several clansmen scurried out of the way, making room for a four-legged creature, galloping past their ankles like some untouchable, all-powerful being. Which the little urrish male was, in a sense, since Rety had loudly promised horrors to anyone laying a hand on her "husband."
yee leaped into her arms, squirming with pleasure even as he scolded.
"wife leave yee alone too long with female foes! they offer yee soft, warm pouch, temptresses!"
Rety flared jealousy. "Who offered you a pouch! If any of those hussies--"
Then she saw he was teasing. Some of the tension in her shoulders let go as she laughed. The little critter was definitely good for her.
"relax, wife," he assured her. "just one pouch for yee. go in now?"
"In now," she replied, unzipping the plush hip bag Ling had provided, yee dove inside, wriggled around, then stuck out his head and long neck to peer at her.
"come now, wife, visit Ul-Tahni. that sage ready talk now."
"Ah, is she? Well now, isn't that awfully nice of her."
Rety didn't relish going to see the leader of the out-landers. But Kunn had given her a job, and now was as good a time as any.
"All right," she said. "Let's hear what the hinney has to say."
Dwer
THE URS, IT APPEARED, HAD DONE THE SMALL human expedition a favor. In receiving death and devastation, they had left a warning.
A tale of callous murder was clear to read through the dawn light-in seared and shattered trees, blackened craters, and scattered debris, pushed by a gusty, dry wind. The violence that took place here-just a few days ago by Dwer's estimate-must have been brief but horrible.
The plateau's terraced outlines were still visible after ages of softening by erosion and vegetation. It was a former Buyur site, going back to the last race licensed to use this world-legal residents dwelling in heavenlike towers, who went through their daily lives unafraid of the open sky.
Dwer traced the terror that recently fell upon this place. All too vividly he pictured the panicked urrish settlers, rearing and coughing with dread, coiling their long necks, with slim arms crossed to shield their precious pouches as the ground around them exploded. He could almost hear their screams as they fled the burning encampment, down a steep trail leading into a narrow defile-where human footprints swarmed in abruptly from both sides, tracked by crude moccasins, mingling with urrish hooves chaotically.
He picked up shreds of home-twisted twine and leather cord. From countless signs, Dwer pictured ropes and nets falling to trap the urs, taking them prisoner.
Couldn't they tell they were being herded? The aircraft aimed off to the sides and all around, to drive them. So why didn't the urs scatter instead of clumping in a mass to he caught?
Several patches of sticky sand gave him an answer. The overall intent might have been capture, but the flying gunner had few qualms about enforcing the round-up with a corpse or two.
Don't judge the urs too harshly. Do you know how you'll react when lightning bolts start falling all around? War is messy, and we're all out of practice. Even Drake never had to cope with anything like this.
"So, we're facing an alliance between the human sooners and the aliens," Lena concluded. "Kind of changes things, don't it?"
Danel Ozawa wore a bleak expression. "This entire region is compromised. Whatever fate befalls the Slope will now surely happen here, as well. Whether by plague, or by fire, or hunting their victims one at a time with machines-they'll scourge the area as thoroughly as back home."
Danel's task had been to carry a legacy into the wilderness-both knowledge and fresh genes to invigorate the human tribe already living here-to preserve something of Earthling life in case the worst came to pass. It was never a joyous enterprise, more like the mission of a lifeboat captain in some ancient tale about a shipwreck. But at least that endeavor had been based on a slim hope. Now his eyes lacked all trace of that emotion.
Jenin protested, "Well, didn't you just say the sooners and aliens were allies against the urs? The star-gods wouldn't turn on the tribe now, would they?"
She stopped as the others looked at her, their expressions answering better than words.
Jenin paled.
"Oh."
Moments later, she lifted her chin once more.
"Well, they still don't know we exist, right? So why don't we just leave, right now? The four of us. What about north, Dwer? You've been up that way before. Let's go!"
Danel kicked some debris left by the urs' riotous flight and the looting that followed. He pointed to a narrow cleft in the rocks. "We can build a pyre over there."
"What are you doing?" Jenin asked, as Dwer led the donkeys where the sage indicated and began unloading their packs.
"I'll set the grenades," Lena said, prying open a container. "We'd best add some wood. I'll gather these broken crates."
"Hey! I asked you guys-what's going on?"
Danel took Jenin's arm while Dwer hauled a portion of their supplies to one side-food and clothing plus a few basic implements, none containing any metal. Left behind in a stack were all the books and sophisticated tools they had taken from the Slope.
The sage explained.
"We brought this legacy in order to maintain some minimal semblance of human culture in exile. But four people can't establish a civilization, no matter how many books they have. We must prepare for the likelihood that all of this must be destroyed."
Clearly the prospect gnawed at Ozawa. His face, already haggard, now seemed sliced by pain. Dwer averted his gaze, concentrating on the work at hand, separating only supplies helpful to a small party of fugitives on the run.
Jenin chewed on the news and nodded. "Well, if we must live and raise families without books, I guess that just puts us ahead of schedule, no? A bit farther along the Path of-"
She stopped. Danel was shaking his head.
"No, Jenin. That is not the way things will be.
"Oh, we four might as well try to survive. But even if we did make it to some far-off valley, beyond reach of whatever demise the aliens have planned, it's unlikely we'd adapt to a strange ecosystem in time. Rety told us that her band lost half its first generation to accidents and allergic reactions. That's typical for sooner groups, till they learn what's safe to eat or touch. It's a deadly, trial-and-error process. Four just isn't enough."
"I thought--"
"And that leaves out the problem of inbreeding--"
"You can't mean--"
"But even if we could solve all of those dilemmas, it still wouldn't work, because we aren't going to start a band of fallen savages, spiraling into ignorance, even if the scrolls give that fate all sorts of fancy names. Human beings never came to Jijo for the Path of Redemption."
Dwer looked up from his work. Lena halted as well, holding a thick tube with a clockwork fuse at one end. Up to that point, Ozawa had been explaining what Dwer already knew. But now silence reigned. No one was going to move or speak until the sage explained.
For a second time, Danel Ozawa sighed deeply.
"The secret is passed on to a few, each generation. But I see no point in concealing it from you three, whom I now think of as kin, as family.
"Some of the other five races were appalled when we built Biblos. The Great Printing seemed to imply we had no intention of ever forgetting. Our founders did some smooth talking to explain the flood of books. A temporary measure, they called it. A way to help all races live in enough comfort to concentrate on developing their souls, till we're spiritually ready to move on down the Path.
"Officially, it's the long-term goal of each of the Six. But the Tabernacle founders never meant their descendants to devolve down to speechless proto-humans, ready for some race of star-gods to adopt and uplift."
The sage paused until Dwer finally broke in. "Then why are we here?"
Danel shrugged. "Everyone knows that each race had ulterior motives. Those forbidden to breed at home sought a place where they can have offspring as they please. Or take the g'Keks, who tell of persecutors, hounding them throughout the star lanes."
"So humans came to Jijo because folks on Earth weren't sure they'd survive?"
Ozawa nodded. "Oh, we'd made a few friends, who helped Earth get a Library branch. And having uplifted two client races, we won low-level patron status. Still, Galactic history doesn't offer much hope for a wolfling race like ours. We already had enemies. The Terragens Council knew Earth would be vulnerable for a long time to come."
"So the Tabernacle crew weren't outcasts?"
Danel ticked a thin smile. "A cover story, in case the colonists were caught, so the Council could disavow them as renegades. In fact, our ancestors were sent to find a hidden refuge for humankind." The sage raised his hands. "But where? Despite rumors, no route is known beyond the Five Galaxies. Within them, every star is catalogued, many with lease-holders to watch over 'em. So the Terragens searched the Great Library to see what other races did in our position.
"Despite flaws, the 'sooner' phenomenon showed promise."
Lena shook her head. '"There's a lot you're leavin' out. Like what we're supposed to be doing here, while hiding, if our mission isn't to go down the Path."
"If Lester or the others know, they haven't told me," Danel answered. "Maybe we're to sit tight and wait for the universe to change. Anyway, that hardly matters now. If our culture's finished, I won't have any part in going on as wretched fragments, whelping kids who will be no more than savage brutes."
Jenin started to speak, but then pressed her lips.
"At least we know Earth has survived a few hundred years," Dwer said.
"Though the forayers say there's a crisis," Lena noted. "With Earth in the middle of it."
Danel looked away, his jaw set.
"Hey," Dwer said, "aren't the sky-humans exactly what that Terra Council wanted? To have a branch of humans off somewhere safe from whatever happens to Earth? Those guys you met back at the Glade have these Rothen characters to protect them."
Danel exhaled. "Perhaps, though who knows if they'll remain human under that influence? The irony of being murdered by cousins seems too much to bear."
The sage shook himself, as if shedding cobwebs.
"Let's prepare that pyre. If these items cannot serve a civilized tribe of exiled Earthlings, then we can at least do our duty by this world and leave no dross. Lena, set the timer to go off one day from now, if we don't return."
"Return?" Lena looked up from her preparations. "I thought we were giving up-"
She rocked back as the sage whirled, with some of the old fire in his eyes.
"Who said anything about giving up! What's the matter with you three? Look at your faces. Are you going to let one little setback get you down?"
A little setback? Dwer wondered, glancing at the blast scars and shattered trees surrounding the urrish encampment. "I don't get it. You said we can't finish our mission."
"So?" Danel Ozawa demanded. "We're adaptable. We'll switch missions] We're not colonists anymore-so what?
"We can still be warriors."
Rety
THE PRISONERS LAY DEJECTED. IN MUDDY wallows, necks drooping, already stinking after two days' confinement in the dank pen. Thirteen urs who would have preferred the arid plateau where they had settled, till a warcraft screeched over their camp without warning, casting lightning, driving the survivors toward Jass and the other hunters^ waiting with rough ropes.
Thus Kunn had fulfilled his side of a bargain, ridding the hills of a recent, hated urrish infestation. In return, Jass was to guide Kunn to the site where he and Bom first saw the flying bird-thing. No one knew why the deal later broke down-why Jass abruptly changed his mind, preferring the robot's caresses over giving the pilot what he wanted.
No one except Rety.
Binni used to say--why defy men, who can beat you if you make them mad? Use words to nudge and guide the brutes. Make 'em think it was their idea all along.
But I kept talking back, didn't I?
Well, I finally tried it your way, Binni, and know what? You were right. Nothing I could do to Jass could ever hurt him like he's hurting himself, right now.
Bom was guarding the gate to the prisoners' pen. The burly hu
nter hurriedly obeyed her command to open up, not once meeting Rety's eyes. He knew where his pal was now. Just two things kept Bom from sharing the same fate. First was his notoriously poor sense of direction. Alone, he could never find the place where he and Jass had spotted the metal bird.
The other thing was Rety's whim. Bom's abject cringing pleased her more than screams. This bully was scared half out of his breech-clout.
When she glared at the boys spitting at the prisoners, they jumped off the wall and ran. She cast curt laughter after them. The tribe-kids never used to speak to her in the old days, either.
She entered the pen.
Ul-Tahni, leader of the unlucky urs, greeted Rety with a fluid bow of her long neck. From a gray-fringed snout, she launched into a series of whistles and clicks, till Rety broke in.
"None o' that now!" she admonished. "I don't follow that jabber."
Wincing, Ul-Tahni switched to Anglic.
"I afologize. Your attire deceives the eye into seeing a Galactic-level entity."
Rety lifted her head. "You weren't dee-seeved. That's exactly what I am."
I hope, she added inside. Rann and the others could change their minds before the ship returned, especially once she gave them all she had in trade. Even if the forayers kept their word, she would, in time, have to learn all those crazy languages they used among the stars.
"Again, regret for having offended. Is it true, then? You have veen adofted off Jijo's forlorn desert into the running-clan of star creatures? What a fortunate youngling you are."
"Yeah," Rety agreed, wondering if the urs was being sarcastic. "So, yee says you're ready to tell us what your bunch was doing out here, beyond the Rimmers."
A long sigh blew the gray fringe.
"We arrived, disgracefully, to set uf a colony, freserving our kind in a secret sanctuary."
Rety grunted. "That much is obvious. But why here? Why now?"
"It is a site already ascertained to ve ha vita vie . . . suitavle for sustaining Earthlings, and therefore the donkeys we rely on. You yourself testified to that fact."