Sabre gazed around in amazement. "How do you train them to accept you and let you in here?"
"We don't. They do it naturally. We believe that at some time they had an indigenous symbiote, which the colonists probably wiped out. Chances are, it was a predator, possibly dangerous. The snails have a parasite that we rid them of, as their previous symbiote undoubtedly did. In return for this service, we get a warm, dry, safe home."
"I wonder why the colonists allowed such a large indigenous creature to survive," Sabre mused.
Clon shrugged. "Why not? They're completely harmless, and they crop the grass and fertilise the land. There's no reason to destroy them. They eat the tough grass that grazing animals like cattle and sheep don't, and leave a rich green lawn in their wake, as you've seen."
"You're the first person I've encountered on this planet who knows it was once a colony."
The little man swelled with pride. "Ah, well, most people have no record of what happened. For them, the past has been swallowed up in legend. Our people survived the holocaust because they were farmers, and didn't live in cities. They were thinly spread over this vast planet, for even then there were only a few million people.
"Most kept in touch with civilisation with radios, and made biannual trips into the cities for supplies. When the bombs destroyed the cities, the survivors went a little mad. But for the farmers, all that changed was they could no longer get supplies and there was no market for their produce. Most became subsistence farmers, but some became nomads. We still have records of what happened, which we carry with us now, and teach our children."
Tassin asked, "How did your people discover that they could live in the snails?"
"We're not too sure about that, but probably some adventurous person came across a herd and knocked curiously on a shell. Once he had been admitted, he must have seen the advantages of living in here instead of in tents or shacks as they did then."
"So anyone can knock on a shell and be admitted?"
"Oh yes, the snail always responds to a knock by opening the passage."
She raised her brows. "What if the people inside don't wish to be disturbed?"
"Well, the snail waits for a while if no one enters, so the visitor will always call out for an invitation before entering."
"What about your enemies?" Sabre asked.
"We don't have any." Clon grinned and clapped the cyber on the shoulder. "Don't worry; you and your wife will be quite safe with us."
Tassin scowled. "I am not his wife. I am the Queen of Arlin."
Clon's eyes darted between them. "You're not married to each other, yet you travel together?"
"Sabre is my man-at-arms. He is responsible for my welfare and protection."
"I see, well, that's fine, you can share a snail until things change."
Sabre wondered what was going to change, and why it should. Tassin seemed to be too interested in the snail to notice Clon's odd statement.
She studied the blue bulk beneath her. "What happens when the snail comes into its shell?"
Clon's perennial smile broadened. "They rarely do that. Only when there's danger, and not much frightens these beauties, as you can imagine. But when they do, there's still room at the top there." He pointed up the stairs. "You can sit quite comfortably until it comes out again. For some reason, the air's always fresh inside, even when the snail's in its shell."
Sabre glanced at the top of the steps, calculating that there would be little space there when the snail's vast bulk had been pulled in. "So you're trapped until the snail decides to vacate the shell again?"
"Pretty much. But no one would be foolish enough to want to go out when there's danger outside."
Sabre opened his mouth to ask what sort of dangers there were in the plains, but Tassin spoke first. "Are there any cities or towns around here?"
Clon shrugged. "There's Malkil to the north, but I wouldn't recommend that to anyone."
"Why?" Sabre enquired.
"It's not a nice place. It's a city that was gassed during the war, and the culture is an odd mixture of old and new. They have no laws, so people do as they please, murdering, stealing, even enslaving others. They use pre-war weapons, which makes them dangerous. You seem to know something about our history. I thought only snail people knew that this world was a colony. Even the idiots in Malkil believe in crazy stories and legends, mixed with a smattering of truth. Did your people also keep records?"
"That's a long story."
"Good, we need new stories told at supper. Yours will be a most welcome addition." Clon eyed the control unit. "That thing on your head looks like a modern gadget."
"It is."
"Excellent. You can tell us all about it tonight."
Clon turned towards the exit, but Sabre detained him with a touch on his elbow. "One thing, before we decide whether or not to stay here. Has a stranger joined your tribe within the last few days?"
"No, we've seen no one since last we met another herd, and that was, oh, about eight months ago now."
"Any new snails?"
"No, why?"
"Just curious."
Clon clapped his hands, and the snail pulled its flesh aside to open the passage. Outside, the crowd had dispersed, and only Shan waited for them. He smiled when Tassin emerged.
Clon joined them, turning to Sabre. "We'll find you an empty snail to live in right away."
"Oh, no," Tassin said, "we'll be more comfortable in our tents."
"My dear girl, you can't stay outside; it's not safe!” Clon was clearly horrified. “There are wolves, and besides, these beauties may look slow, but they can cover quite a distance in a night. You would wake up to find us gone."
"We've been camping in the plains for weeks, and we've seen no wolves," Sabre said.
"You've been lucky. It's not safe to sleep in the open. We just have to find an empty snail, and you can put your mark on it and move in."
"Thank you."
Clon told Shan to find them an empty snail, then continued to expound the advantages of living in snails, which seemed to be many and varied. Sabre listened with half an ear, thinking of all the disadvantages he could have pointed out, like the lack of indoor plumbing, privacy, and land to grow crops that the snails' endless meandering would not leave behind. If you fell asleep in the grass, you would wake up to find that your home had vanished over the horizon, he mused. Then again, the snails left a large enough track to follow.
A burst of giggles made him look up. Three grinning children sat on the huge tail of the snail he had just inspected, bouncing and jostling as it moved past. Tassin smiled at them, increasing their shy giggles while they tried to hide behind each other. Shan returned and guided them to a snail on the outskirts of the herd, walking close to Tassin. Sabre did not miss the covetous looks he shot her, and sensed trouble brewing. She seemed oblivious, listening to his prattle, and, when they reached the snail, Shan drew knife.
"I haven't been inside yet, and, although we check the empty snails from time to time, there may be parasites. Come with me, and I'll show you what to do."
Tassin shot Sabre a meaningful look, clearly not interested in killing parasites, so he followed Shan into the shell. Three black, tube-like creatures clung to the floor, and Shan squatted beside one. The parasite was as featureless as a piece of garden hose, but it wriggled like a maddened snake when Shan gripped it. He jerked it out, revealing the long proboscis that had been imbedded in the snail's flesh, sucking its blood.
He explained, "When they crawl up they move very fast, but once they're attached they're easy to kill." He cut it in two with a flick of his knife. "We prefer to try to kill them before they attach themselves, to save the snail from pain, but it doesn't really matter."
He killed the rest of the parasites, then stood up and confronted Sabre, smiling. "I like your wife. Perhaps I'll challenge you for her."
"She's not my wife, and I wouldn't advise it. You can ask her if she's interested, but if not, leave her alone."
>
Shan beamed. "If she's not your wife, there's no problem."
Sabre's brows rose at this assertion, wondering what he meant. He followed Shan back outside, where he smiled and winked at Tassin before sauntering off.
She swung to glare at Sabre. "Did you tell him something?"
"Only what you told Clon; that you're not my wife."
"He asked?"
Sabre headed into the grassland to collect the packs. "He assumed. I think he fancies you."
Tassin snorted and followed him. "Well, I don't fancy him."
"You don't fancy anyone who's not a prince or king."
"That's right."
"So when he asks, tell him."
She trotted to keep up with his long strides. "You should tell him. You're my bodyguard."
"No I'm not."
"What are you then?"
"Good question."
When he had retrieved the packs, Sabre climbed into the snail and spread the bedding out on opposite sides of the oval room. Tassin gazed around, looking dubious. Sabre noticed that a faint, spicy odour hung in the air within the snail, rather like incense.
"Home sweet home," he quipped, eliciting a weak smile from her.
"I never dreamt that I would one day live in a snail."
"Me neither." He grinned. "But it's different."
Tassin sat on the soft, warm floor. "I don't think I want to stay here very long."
"That's good. Shan might become a problem if we do."
"What kind of problem?"
Sabre settled on his bedding and leant against the smooth wall. "Well, when he thought I was your husband, he said he might challenge me for you. When I told him I wasn't, he said that then there was no problem. I think in this tribe, the women go with whoever wins them."
"That's barbaric!"
He shrugged. "This whole planet is barbaric. I wish I knew how their society worked. It would be a lot easier if you just pretended to be my wife, you know."
"But I'm not!"
"I'm well aware of that, but it may save a lot of trouble. We don't even know what constitutes marriage around here. Maybe possession is nine tenths of the law, and all Shan has to do is drag you into his snail, and presto, you're married." He chuckled. "Although I pity him if he does."
"Why?" She raised her brows.
"Because every man who's ever had designs on you, you've threatened to murder. You did threaten Rai, didn't you?"
"Yes, but he was a pig. So was Torrian!"
"I agree. Are there any men you don't consider pigs?"
She looked away. "You're not a pig."
"Thank you. And Victor."
"Victor's a coward."
"He's a prince and a politician, and there's never anything honest about politicians. They have too many ulterior motives."
Tassin eyed him. "It's your job to help me, so if Shan becomes a problem, you'll just have to take care of it."
"That's the problem. I don't want to have to."
"Oh, Sabre, don't get soft again. It's your job."
"My job? You jest, My Queen," he mocked. "It was the cyber's job, not mine. I agreed to help you, but that doesn't necessarily include chasing off suitors, does it?"
"Oh, so you would just let him drag me off and ravish me?"
"Who said anything about ravishing?"
"Well if I'm not willing, what would you call it?"
He smiled and cocked his head. "A marriage of convenience?"
Tassin's brows drew together in a thunderous scowl, and she jumped up, advancing on him. "You're impossible! It's not funny!"
Sabre chuckled and ducked when she took a swing at him. "He'd be a better catch than Torrian. He's good looking, at least. You could be Queen of the Snail People!"
"That's not funny, Sabre!" An unwilling smile tugged at her lips even as she tried to clout him again.
He rolled to his feet, evading her. "Oh, now you're going to beat me up too? Since you're a fearsome warrior queen, why don't you chase him off? You're very good at that, aren't you?"
Tassin gave up trying to clobber him and stamped her foot. "I will, too!"
Sabre grinned, delighted. If Shan pursued Tassin, it would be a source of much amusement indeed. Although the journey's trials had mellowed her, sometimes her old stubborn snobbishness returned. He looked forward to the fireworks that would ensue if Shan decided to tackle her, and pitied the man.
Chapter Eighteen
The snail made a comfortable home, and the tribe's simple lifestyle proved to be carefree and filled with laughter. Every night they built a communal fire, and the women cooked the meat the hunters provided, as well as roots and tubers the women had collected. The people ate, talked, told stories and danced to simple tunes played on drums and a sort of violin. The women wore bright, printed cotton skirts on these occasions, and Clon explained that they traded with the people from Malkil for clothes, pots and steel knives, paying with skins and pretty stones they found in the grassland.
Tassin and Sabre's tale kept the Moniliid entertained night after night, for they insisted that it be retold many times. The tribe's folk tales proved equally entertaining to the newcomers, and the story-tellers were happy to have a new audience. After the song and dance, everyone retired to the snails, which were lighted by luminescent algae that grew on the inside of the shells.
The hunters used bows, and lay in ambush for the fleet-footed grazers. Even previously domesticated animals like cattle and sheep had evolved a fair turn of speed and a healthy distrust for anything that moved in the grass. The hunters were excellent marksmen, but the speed with which their targets moved curtailed their success rate. The day Sabre joined the hunt, however, he brought down three cows and five sheep, at which point the hunters asked him to stop before they had more meat than they could use. Their effusive praise of Sabre's marksmanship embarrassed him, and when they sang his praises around the fire that night, Tassin laughed at his discomfort.
The snail tribe had an orderly, stable society of families that relied on each other, and ensured that no one ever went hungry. If someone fell ill, another hunter, usually a relative, would provide for him and his family until he recovered, or in the case of a woman, cared for her and her children. Almost everyone was related, some by marriage and many by blood, but marrying relatives was forbidden. Girls were considered to be of marriageable age at sixteen, and when two tribes met, a friendly sort of war broke out as single men challenged husbands or fathers for their women.
Fathers usually only put up a token fight, and many husbands were not averse to a change of mate. Once children had been born into a union, however, it was seldom challenged. If it was, the battle was often fierce and bloody, for the children went with their mother. Few men wished to raise another's children, however, so these fights were rare. Three children in a family was generally the maximum. The men fought with sticks and shields in a traditional duel that the elders judged and refereed. The tribe treated their elders with respect and provided for them. They taught the children their folklore on the tail of a snail, and Sabre often attended the school to learn more about their culture, much to the children's amusement.
The women showed Tassin which roots were edible and how to clean and cook them, as well as which pretty stones should be collected. They helped her to hone her sewing skills and make a pretty dress from the soft lambskin Sabre provided. The men taught Sabre to make a bow and arrows, took him hunting, and sparred with him. The tribe's carefree lifestyle involved no major decisions, since they went where the snails took them and ate what they were able to kill or find. The traders from Malkil came out in wagons to barter, and followed the herd until the transactions were complete. The tribe had no real need of a chief; Clon had been chosen because he had a quick tongue and was good at settling disputes.
Sabre checked the cyber's human life-sign total daily, to ensure that it had not increased by one. Any illusions the magician cast would be investigated by dozens of people, however, and, clearly realising t
his, he kept away. Sabre remained vigilant, even so, aware that the wizard could ambush a hunter out in the grass and replace him, if he chose.
Shan pursued Tassin with a single-minded intensity that drove her to distraction, but Sabre refused to interfere. Shan was undaunted when she refused his gifts of meat, flowers, skins and pretty stones, or by her slaps, glares and harsh words when he tried to hold her hand or stroke her hair. Sabre found it amusing, which enraged the Queen further. Her scolding tirades only made him avoid her company, though, and left her more vulnerable to Shan's attentions.
Tassin railed at Sabre for this too, but he was determined to let her sort out the problem. When she realised the error of her tactics, she stopped castigating him and stayed close to him instead, in the hope of finding protection there, he guessed. He spent a great deal of time with Clon, who was a font of information about snails, which Sabre found fascinating.
One balmy afternoon, Sabre sought out Clon, as he often did, and joined him on the sloping side of a low hill. Tassin followed and sat beside him, although the subject of snails bored her. The chief greeted them with a warm smile, and Sabre propped himself on his elbows and gazed at the herd. Plucking a blade of coarse grass, he chewed it.
"How old are these snails?" he asked.
"They live for many hundreds of years," Clon explained. "Only when they're about four hundred years old are they big enough to live in. There are males and females, and they mate at a certain time of the year, then migrate to a river, where they lay their eggs. The eggs are swept into the sea, and the baby snails spend the first fifty or so years there, then crawl ashore, seek out a herd and join it. Herds seldom grow larger than thirty, then they split up. If they moved in greater numbers, there wouldn't be enough grass for all of them."
Tassin groaned as Shan approached with an armload of flowers, which, considering how few grew amongst the grass, must have taken him all day to collect. The tall man knelt before her and laid the blossoms at her feet.
"For you, Tassin."
She glowered at him. "Go away, Shan, and take your flowers with you."
The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone Page 22