Orphans

by Kevin Killiany

  While it was the Bynar who had noticed the intricate design of the landscape, it had been the human who deduced its purpose. The frequent areas of rough terrain, as well as the dense forests, rushing rivers, and mountain ridges that extended above the atmosphere, all combined to make straight line travel impossible. They’d not seen it, but a barrier or series of barriers prevented circumnavigating the cylinder. No one could simply walk thirty-seven kilometers upwater or downwater, as the natives called it, and end up where they’d begun.

  A native, unaware of the design of the ship, would think the world much larger than it was and, given the difficulties involved, be disinclined to undertake long journeys.

  But how had the designers managed to keep the colonists from building and maintaining roads for two thousand years? No doubt that was the sort of question the cultural specialist was expected to answer.

  In rear-guard position, and taking the responsibility with admirable seriousness, was the Tellarite, Tev. Kortag had told him that many humans were amused by a superficial resemblance between Tellarites and a Terran animal similar in temperament to a targ. Kairn found little to be amused by in Tev. Of all the species he had met, and he had to admit he had met very few, the Tellarite made the most sense. Kairn suspected that Tev, like Langk, was from the Tellarite equivalent of a noble House.

  A single pebble ticked off a rock to Kairn’s right. Lauoc announcing his return. Unnecessary for Kairn, who had his scent, but it brought Tev’s head around. Neither the humans nor the Bynar noticed.

  A moment later the Bajoran appeared next to Kairn.

  “Twelve riders approach,” he reported. “Ornate armor, a totem bearer, and someone in what might be ceremonial robes.”

  “Take a dose of triox now,” Kairn said. “Also any medicinals due in the next two hours.”

  “What happened to half rations for the duration?” the human, Stevens, asked.

  “An official party that may be seeking us approaches.” Kairn reflected that Defense Force protocol called for him to kill the human for making such a challenge. “We must give them no reason to doubt our strength.”

  Even the human did not question the wisdom of that. For the next few moments everyone busied themselves with their kits.

  Kairn noticed Stevens helping Soloman to a higher position, then bracing him in place with two backpacks. He nodded at the strategy. The natives who were withered from birth were accorded special courtesies on this world. All whom they had met regarded Soloman as one such; the boarding party’s treating him appropriately set others at ease.

  The riders appeared in due course, rounding a curve in the trail ahead, and paused. They appeared to sort themselves out, no doubt changing from travel formation to formal greeting formation, Kairn thought. The people of this ship were too fond of formality for his tastes.

  When at last the riders came on, they were spread as far to either side of the trail as the terrain allowed.

  “That looks like a skirmish line,” Tev observed.

  Kairn loosened the d’k tahg at his belt. He noted Lauoc had already disappeared into the underbrush.

  The rider in the ceremonial robes rode in the center of the trail, the totem bearer at his elbow. He came to a stop a dozen paces before them and made a show of raising both his hands in apparent greeting. Yet even as he did so, the outriders on either flank continued on, past Kairn’s boarding party to take up positions on the trail behind them.

  Kairn raised his own hand in greeting.

  “Tactical assessment?” he said, looking at the rider before him.

  “We are well and thoroughly caught,” Stevens replied.

  “Agreed,” said Tev.

  “Their insignia match the messenger we met at Nazent’s,” Abramowitz added. “For what it’s worth, these are the people we came to see.”

  Kairn nodded. Whether or not this was the baron they’d learned of before the translators had lost power he had no way of knowing. But whoever the individual was, he represented the source of the high-tech artifacts the natives were using as decorations.

  Going with these natives would bring them closer to their goal. The trick would be doing it freely and not as prisoners.

  That thought had barely formed when the robed figure suddenly dropped both his arms. The ring of mounted soldiers charged.

  Kairn roared and launched himself at the nearest rider, d’k tahg upraised. Startled, the mount shied. Kairn’s slashing blade caught the rider’s thigh in passing. Part of his brain registered that the rider had not tried to kill him.

  Gaining a bit of high ground, he paused for a moment to assess the situation. The riders were clearly trying to capture them alive.

  Abramowitz and Soloman were both already slung across the saddles of riders. Tev was wielding the quarterstaff he had fashioned earlier, but with his back against a cleft of rock, it was only a matter of minutes before he would be taken. Stevens had secured a position on a small mound and was holding three riders at bay by hurling fist-sized rocks with remarkable speed and accuracy.

  The scent of native gave Kairn a heartbeat’s warning. He leapt just as a massive hand dropped on his shoulder. A native on foot had snuck up on him. Twisting free, Kairn bolted down the hill away from the trail.

  Or would have, but a second grab by the native snagged his backpack.

  Kairn’s legs churned air as the giant lifted him free of the ground. He hooked his d’k tahg under a strap and cut free of the pack, stumbling slightly as he hit the ground running.

  The native grunted, a deep, bell-like tone, and started after him.

  Kairn cut right toward what looked like a narrow ravine. The larger being could overtake him on open ground, his only chance was to find a bolt-hole too small for the native to follow.

  There was a sudden shriek behind him, and the native bellowed in pain. Kairn swung about, d’k tahg ready, to see Lauoc and the native soldier on the ground. Apparently the Bajoran had attacked from low cover, tripping the giant.

  They were out of sight of the others. There was a chance….

  Before Kairn was halfway back to the struggle, the native rose, Lauoc held easily in one hand.

  “Run!” Lauoc shouted. “Get reinforcements.”

  Seeing Kairn so close, the giant raised Lauoc up over his head, then slammed the Bajoran to the ground. He stood for a moment, making sure his first captive was too stunned to get away, then started after Kairn.

  Kairn hefted the d’k tahg, his engineer’s habits double-checking what he knew. The weapon was balanced to rotate at fourteen meters, half a rotation at seven, and his opponent was twelve meters away.

  Kairn gripped the d’k tahg by the tip of its blade and drew his arm back until it hung behind his shoulder. He needed the native three steps closer.

  If he understood the threat, the giant ignored it. Weapons sheathed, buckler across his back, he closed on Kairn with deliberate strides.

  The d’k tahg sank to the hilt just above the native’s knee. The leg bent the wrong way, tendons that had to be there severed, and the giant went down, wailing in agony.

  Again Kairn started toward Lauoc, but shouts from the trail told him native riders were just below the crest of the rise. The only hope of victory lay in bringing back a rescue force.

  Empty-handed, without weapon, food, or water, he turned and ran for the ravine.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Pattie gloried in her pain.

  Light, wonderful light, beautiful light, filled the metal chamber and sent stabs of perfect agony lancing through her skull. She laughed and cried, her crystalline voice echoing off the silver walls as she covered her closed eyes with her arms, trying to shut out the delicious brightness.

  Drunk with joy, she barely had the wit to roll clear of the trapdoor before surrendering herself completely to the wonder of letting her eyes adjust. She was not blind, she thought giddily; the tunnel had been dark.

  From the sound of the echoes of her laughter, she was in
a large room. From the one glimpse she had had before having to squeeze her eyes tight against the brightness, the walls were made of metal. She could hear a thrumming sound—pumps?—and the drip of liquid, and could smell metal and stone and none of that heavy mustiness that had haunted her through the tunnel.

  She had been in total darkness for—how many days? She was not sure.

  Briefly, fitfully, she had slept at one point, tied to the ladder in darkness, and once before that in the tunnel far below, and—she was now sure—she had been unconscious for some time after the blast. But counting sleep periods was not an accurate calendar. When one considered the effects of injuries, stress, exertion, and, she could admit it now, terror, it was highly unlikely she’d been following anything close to her normal sleep pattern.

  Alone in the tunnel she had not dared dwell on her condition. With no water, food, or medical supplies it would have only served to emphasize her plight. At the moment she still had none of those things, but she had light. That gave her the courage to assess her levels of dehydration and hunger.

  By the time she could discern objects around her unobscured by glare and halos, Pattie was reasonably sure it had been five standard days since the explosion. The suppleness of her injuries seemed to indicate days longer, but the constant physical activity may have accelerated the healing process.

  She rose cautiously to her feet, looking carefully around her. The walls and floor were indeed metal, though a dull gray now that her eyes weren’t overwhelmed by photons. The light came from polished mirrors set high along the nearest wall, reflecting ersatz sunlight.

  Twelve meters away the far end of the chamber was open, revealing only the haze of the upper atmosphere. From the level of glare Pattie guessed the light source was quite close; it would be early morning in the world below.

  The metal walls of the room gave way to stone for the last few meters, and the opening itself was irregular. She had no doubt it appeared to be a natural cave from the outside.

  It occurred to her that if she was now level with the upper atmosphere, she had climbed the giants’ ladder for over a kilometer. As near as she could tell, there was no entrance to the chamber other than the trapdoor. What sort of race considered a kilometer-tall ladder a sensible way to get from place to place?

  A very tall race,she answered herself, looking at what were apparently control panels set into the walls above her head. At least four meters tall.

  Only one panel was active: a row of lights and an analog gauge that seemed to be counting something down. Time would be the most likely guess, but Pattie knew anything was possible. Though she could not read them, the pattern of numbers indicated the builders had counted in base four.

  The column of pipes she’d sensed in the darkness rose from the floor and curved to run parallel with the ceiling eight meters above. The pipes ended, without apparent purpose, at a row of boxy apparatus just inside the opening of the “cave.”

  Pattie’s speculation on the purpose of the pipes ended abruptly as she focused on the boxes, or rather the surface of the boxes. The pipes were clearly hot, but the boxes were not, which in this moist atmosphere meant condensation: water.

  The dripping sound she’d been hearing was cool, clear water dripping from the metal boxes into shallow pools worn in the stone floor.

  Pattie remembered Carol Abramowitz warning of the heavy metals in the vegetation and knew enough botany to know that heavy metals in plants indicated heavy metals in the water. But metal poisoning was cumulative and five days of thirst was immediate; she did not hesitate. The water tasted dusty and metallic and was the most delicious thing she had ever drunk in her life.

  Not wanting to lose all the wonderful water to nausea, she paced herself and forced herself to sit back between sips.

  She was leaning back against a wall, considering a nap before making her descent from the cave, when the pumping stopped. She sat up, wondering if she could recognize a problem—or what to do about it without tools—with the alien equipment.

  Above her the metal boxes groaned and clanked in unison and a deafening roar almost drove Pattie into a defensive ball. Huge columns of steam blasted from the row of pipes, shooting far out over the landscape below.

  Of course,Pattie thought. The atmosphere is too shallow for real weather. We’re making rainstorms.

  Meanwhile spillage from the pipes cooled as it fell in the cave. Pattie’s laughter was lost in the roar of steam as she took advantage of the long overdue hot shower.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Again the splash and drip. Testing the breeze, Kairn scented water first, then a native, different from the baron’s guardsmen, but clear, and something herbal. Medicinal? He wasn’t sure. But someone, singular, was definitely bathing in a pool very close to the other side of the boulder.

  Kairn pressed close to the stone and listened. No need to risk detection by peeking around the boulder; his ears told him all he needed to know of his quarry’s movements. Scrubbing, the herbal scent strong, followed by a long silence. Had he been detected? He relaxed slightly when a sudden splash and gust of expelled breath assured him the native had merely submerged to rinse.

  He knew that to attack while the opponent was still in the pool would be foolish. The water would slow him down, eliminating surprise and giving the other time to prepare. Also, his heavy clothing would put him at a disadvantage should the enemy carry the fight to deeper water. As would the fact that he couldn’t swim.

  Best to wait until the native was out of the water, preferably preoccupied with dressing, before launching his attack. Kairn felt certain there was no dishonor in taking every advantage with an adversary twice your height and three times your mass.

  Particularly when one was so lightly armed. He balanced his Master’s dagger uncertainly in his hand. The edges were of course not sharp; honing them would have distorted the measuring scales. But the point was sharp, and thrust with sufficient force should find some vital organ, even on a being as large as the natives. His best chance was to get to whatever blade the native carried before he did. A doubtful plan since he would not know where the other’s weapons were until he’d rounded the boulder and battle was joined.

  For a moment he considered retreat—finding a way around the native without confrontation. But he was not mountaineer enough to scale the walls of the gorge, and backtracking to the beginning to find another way through the barrier ridge would lead him directly into the baron’s forces. He had to go forward, and forward meant through the native barring his path. He hoped it could be done without killing.

  In due course the sounds of bathing became the thrashing splash of a large person wading toward shore. Kairn crouched, steeling himself for battle, and waited for the first silent step on land. He was keenly aware this was not a sporting event, not a skirmish under orders. This was solo combat. He brushed aside doubt, focusing on the sounds of his enemy, straining to judge the moment of attack.

  But it was his heart, not his mind or judgment, that chose. Almost before he realized he was moving, Kairn was around the jut of rock, the best battle cry of his career ripping from his throat as he closed on the enemy.

  The native woman had four breasts.

  Kairn’s charge faltered a fateful heartbeat as the discovery registered. He had just processed that even the lower pair were above eye level when an open-handed blow shattered his right eardrum and sent him cartwheeling toward the water.

  Left-handed, the tactical portion of his brain noted. The native confirmed his assessment by hefting a sword the size of Kairn’s leg in her left hand and stalking toward him.

  Scrambling to his feet, Kairn shifted his grip on his dagger and considered his options.

  A pool of uncertain depth behind him, a massive stone barrier to his right, a steep slope with thorn-bushes to his left, and a truly enormous woman with a sword she clearly knew how to use closing rapidly from in front. Even if he managed to parry with his dagger, the sword looked massive enou
gh to break either its blade or his grip with the first blow. Death by dismemberment seemed likely.

  Then the size of the native woman registered. She wasn’t just huge, she was fat; her advance was more lumber than charge. If he cut to his left, her right, he would be on her weak side. He could probably elude her first swing. If he made it up the hill as far as the first thornbushes, he could be around her and free.

  Truly, he was no warrior, but in his heart he knew there was no honor in a useless death. Given a choice between dying at the hands of a madwoman and saving the lives of his comrades, even a high-born warrior of the most noble House scramble over that hill and run.

  He feinted right, then dashed left. Even as he made the move, he saw she’d anticipated him. As her sword whistled, he threw himself flat, rolling beneath its arc. Only his size saved him; she simply didn’t adjust quickly enough to so small an opponent.

  Coming out of the roll at the run, he felt the loose gravel at the base of the slope slip beneath his boots as he clawed at the bushes to pull himself up. The thorns ripping his flesh only spurred him on. Something heavy fanned the air behind him, snagging his mane. A step, a kick, and a heave and he was above the first stand of thornbushes. He turned right, parallel to the slope, and ran as fast as the slipping soil would let him.

  Behind him, farther than he expected, the native woman bellowed in frustration and pain.

  Pain?

  Despite himself, Kairn pulled up, his feet slipping slightly as he straightened, and looked back.

  The native woman had fallen to her knees and was leaning on her sword, holding the hilt in both hands as she moaned in evident agony. Her legs and the ground around her knees were wet with what looked like water and a rusty liquid he realized must be blood. The woman struggled to rise, but her sword tip slid in the dust and she fell forward, barely catching herself with her hands. A sob racked her body.