The Practice Effect

by David Brin

  He lay back on the dry sticks and needles beside the little cart. They had pushed the wagon into this thicket fifteen minutes before. It had been just in time, as the lead elements of Kremer’s cavalry pounded around the rim of the mountain only moments later.

  He and Arth had fallen to the ground exhausted, hardly noticing the apparently endless procession of horsemen who galloped past. It was only in the past few moments that the roar in Dennis’s ears—and the laboring of his lungs—had quieted enough for him to hear anything at all.

  Dennis felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. He turned his head and saw the robot standing only inches away. It had nudged him with one manipulator arm. Its red “attention” light flashed.

  Dennis rose onto one elbow and looked at the small line of text that appeared on the machine’s little screen.

  “Oh, hell. Not now!” he told it.

  The thing still wanted to fulfill the very first function he had given it—to report what it had found out about the inhabitants of this world. No doubt it had discovered a lot, but now certainly wasn’t the time for a debriefing!

  He patted the little robot on its turret. “Later, I promise, I’ll listen to everything you have to tell me.”

  The machine’s lights winked in response.

  “Okay,” Linnora said. She used the Earth term she had picked up from Arth. “The last of the horsemen are gone. From what we saw on high, they cannot be followed closer than an hour by any other forces, even more cavalry.”

  “All right,” Dennis said, groaning as he sat up. “We chance the road again.”

  It was the only way deeper into the mountains. And deeper to the south they had to go if they were to arrive in time to do the beleaguered L’Toff any good.

  Dennis stood up and held out his arm. The pixolet swooped down from its vantage point on a branch overhead, from which it had watched the cavalcade of horsemen. Grinning, it seemed to think the episode a wonderful joke.

  Of course, they never would have made it this far without Pix and the ’bot.

  This forest thicket in which they had hidden had been more than three miles away when they first caught sight of their pursuit. He and Arth could never have hauled the cart this far in time.

  But the robot proved to be powerful when he ordered it to lend a hand—or claw. It was at least as good a tractor as the donkey had been. They covered those three miles quickly.

  During the race for shelter, Dennis was certain that he had felt that queer resonance effect again between the humans and the Krenegee, directed at the tools they were using. It had been a mild version of the felthesh trance. He was sure the cart and robot had changed again even over that short stretch.

  At his command, the ’bot took its place under the wagon again. Two of its three arms clamped onto the undercarriage to hold on.

  Already the arms were beginning to look suited to the task.

  Linnora and he pushed the cart through a gap in the bushes, while Arth ran back up the road to keep watch. Once they were onto the highway, Linnora climbed aboard and reset the glider sails. Dennis almost stopped her, but then he shrugged and let her finish. Who could tell? The flapping things might frighten some party of troops they came upon.

  Arth came hurrying back. “Th’ whole army’s headed this way, Dennizz! At th’ rate they’re comin’ we got no more’n an hour’s head start.”

  “Okay. Let’s get going.”

  Linnora belted herself into the cart, its sleek, almost streamlined sides glistening in the sunshine. Arth climbed aboard and took the brakes, whose friction bars and bindings had begun to look almost like machine-designed units.

  Dennis remained on his feet to help push. He would hop in when they came to a downhill slope.

  Linnora had already begun to enter her practice meditation. Maybe he was becoming more sensitive, or maybe it was the presence of the pixolet, but Dennis could already feel its traces begin to fill the space around him.

  The pixolet, seeing a better place to position itself than his shoulder, abandoned him and launched itself to the top of the twin masts. The sails drooped under its weight, but the creature seemed happy enough. Its purring intensified the feeling that strange powers were already at work, helping mould the cart into something better.

  Fine, Dennis thought, but I’d still rather have an armored personnel carrier, made from scratch by the Chatham Works in England.

  With a sigh he nodded to his motley crew, and signaled the robot to commence pulling at top speed.

  Dennis pushed on the upslopes, and ran alongside on the downhill sections while Arth applied the brakes and Linnora steered. The robot whirred and the sails flapped.

  Above them all, the little Krenegee beast purred, amplifying the queer resonance that seemed to glow around them like an aura. The afternoon felt crystalline, like a faceted gem, and the use of the cart became like a complicated dance to music just beyond the edge of hearing.

  Clearly they were getting better at working together to make the practice trance work.

  It gave Dennis a strange sense of exhilaration. Through the pixolet, he could almost feel Linnora’s thoughts as she concentrated. It seemed to tie them together, somehow closer than they otherwise might have been. Arth, too, became part of the matrix, although the Krenegee did not focus upon the little thief quite as much.

  Dennis caught occasional glimpses of Pix perched upon its drooping sails. The creature grinned, enjoying the flow of purpose that flooded through it into the machine their lives depended on.

  And it was changing. Dennis pushed the cart until he found he had to run simply to hang on! At the top of a steep rise he ordered the robot to stop, and he climbed aboard up front to take the reins from Linnora. The straps, he found, had grown softer and easier to hold.

  He was about to start off again when Arth nudged his shoulder and pointed. Dust rose from the trail behind them. Only a mile or so off, they could see another troop of horsemen, followed by a seemingly endless column of foot soldiers, winding along the mountainside.

  Trapped! They couldn’t afford to go much faster, or they’d catch up with the units ahead of them. But to slow down would be disastrous!

  “I’m going to take down these blasted sails,” Dennis said. “Look at how they’re drooping. They’ll just attract attention, and there never was much wind, anyway.”

  Linnora stopped him. “Don’t, Dennis. I am certain they have helped us remain stable and have slowed us safely over a few of those steep downhill stretches, although I admit I don’t understand why. I am sure the cart is practiced for them by now. Removing them would only hurt.”

  Dennis could only trust her fey second sense. He kissed her quickly, then turned forward and told the robot to proceed.

  They sped off down the mountain road.

  Less than a mile farther on, they rounded a corner to sweep by a squad of resting cavalrymen. There were at least ten surprised faces, caught in a blur as the cart fluttered past like some great running bird. Men dove to both sides to get out of the way, tumbling in the dusty slope. Shouts followed the fugitives and soon there were charging troopers after them.

  Dennis concentrated on his steering. The cart was already screaming along faster than ever. This time, however, he felt he was in control. In the grip of the practicing trance, he felt lightheaded and powerful.

  Let ’em follow! They can eat our dust!

  He heard Arth laugh from the back of the car, taunting their pursuers. Linnora was singing softly, an old warriors’ song, with a strong beat and tone of defiance. It wove itself into the trance they shared. Dennis shouted in exhilaration.

  The road turned then, and they came into sight of a battle.

  Just ahead, in a flat clearing between the hills, the first fighting was taking place.

  It looked like the invaders had caught a party of L’Toff by surprise. About fifty of Kremer’s cavalrymen rode around a harried band of warriors dressed in faded green. The mountain men defended themselves in a disciplined
manner with their pikes. No horseman dared approach too closely. But neither could the spearmen withdraw. And from their nervous glances to the north, it was clear they knew the rest of the invading army was not far away.

  The defenders looked up in consternation as Dennis drove the car over the lip of the hill. A few cavalrymen, expecting nothing but help from that quarter, shouted in triumph.

  The shouts turned to dismay as a great flapping juggernaut zoomed down on them. Dennis had no choice but to head into the thick of them. The ground on the right was too rocky, and on the left, only a dozen meters away, was a steep drop-off.

  The cavalry horses were well trained, but not for anything like this whirring, flapping contraption! They screamed and bolted, carrying their hapless riders in every direction.

  Dennis could sense Arth, standing up in the rear of the bouncing cart, striking out right and left with a staff and yelling with all his might. One knight who charged alongside seemed about to slash at the broad sails with his battle-ax, but just in time Arth’s swinging pole knocked him completely off his horse.

  A glimpse behind told Dennis that more of Kremer’s soldiers were coming. And about a quarter mile ahead, a large contingent of green-clad fighters was approaching from the south, to the rescue of the beleaguered pikemen. A fair-sized battle was brewing.

  He urged the robot to speed up. Their only chance was to get beyond the fighting, quickly!

  Swerving hard to the left, Dennis struggled to avoid a collision, sending another pair of horses rearing in panic in their dusty wake.

  If their sudden appearance had thrown off the invaders’ tempo and enabled a few defenders to escape, that was all to the good. But Dennis’s top priority was to get the cart to the other side of this little vale intact. Once beyond, they would be safely behind friendly lines. They could ride unopposed all the way to Linnora’s home!

  He felt something move between his legs. He glanced down and saw the pixolet grin back at him from deep within the cart, out of harm’s way. The little Krenegee clearly knew how to take care of its own skin.

  On looking up again, Dennis cursed quickly and slewed hard to the left. The wagon swept past a cluster of frightened pikemen, missing the stunned soldiers by the breadth of one of the sails.

  “Dennizz!” Arth flailed. Dropping the quarterstaff, he plopped down into the cart. “Dennizz, where are you goin’?”

  “Where do you think I’m—Oh, no! Robot! Full reverse!”

  The little machine tried to comply. Its treads screamed. Clouds of dust rose from below them.

  The steep slope before them had been hidden by a thin hedge of shrubs beside the road. They plowed straight through the narrow barrier in a shower of branches. Then they were over, rushing pell-mell down a forty-degree embankment!

  “Aaaaagh!” he heard Arth say.

  “Hoooyyy!” Linnora contributed.

  Dennis struggled to steer as the cart bounced and flew downslope. “Slow down!” he urged loudly. He practiced slowing the descent as hard as he could and could feel the others doing the same.

  “Slow down!”

  Ahead, less than a hundred meters away, was the edge of a precipice. And there didn’t seem to be any way to stop in time.

  11

  Et Two Toots

  1

  “Now, remember what I told you all!” Gath shouted at the other aeronauts. From the undercarriages of ten bobbing balloons came cries of assent.

  Gath turned and gave thumbs up to Stivyung Sigel, riding the lead balloon of the south contingent. The big farmer nodded. He brought his hands to his mouth.

  “Cast off!” There were two trumpet calls.

  Axes split the tethers. Sandbags dropped. Hands spread fresh coals onto the smoldering fires beneath the open bags. One by one, the bright balloons rose past the tall trees and into the sky.

  They had waited long for a favorable wind. At last one had come that blew the right way but that would not force them past the battle too soon.

  Underneath rode a convoy of support troops ready to catch anchoring ropes when the time came to tether the lighter-than-air flotilla.

  Gath was filled with excitement. To be aloft and in action was wonderful after all the waiting. It was a vindication of all the work he and Stivyung had put in with the L’Toff makers and practicers.

  They drifted eastward with the wind. It felt like hours, but actually they were soon over the Ruddik heights, where the enemy had made their deepest penetration so far. Stivyung’s contingent floated over the south spur, rimming that side of the canyon. There his aeronauts dropped anchors to waiting men. The L’Toff soldiers below scampered over the rocks to seize the anchors and tie them down.

  When Gath’s forces were over the north spur, they repeated the procedure.

  The aeronauts had not had a chance to practice the technique. Fortunately, only one balloon from the south contingent drifted free, floating unanchored off to the east, rising rapidly.

  That was a smaller loss than Gath had expected. They had planned to send one eastward anyway, with a report to the King of Coylia. Even Kremer’s gliders could not stop the message if the balloon gained enough altitude in time.

  If the L’Toff on the ground cheered when the balloons hove into view, the enemy below stared up in dismay. Rumors had already spread of the great, round monster that had roared into Zuslik one night, months ago. And now here were ten of the behemoths, glaring down with fierce, painted faces. The attackers fell back nervously from the high redoubts and muttered nervously while their captains conferred over this new development.

  Here, where the L’Toff had chosen to make their chief stand, the terrain was extremely rough. A series of deadly prearranged rockfalls would make any direct ground assault costly.

  But all these defenses required that Kremer’s gliders be kept away so the L’Toff fighters on the heights could work unmolested.

  That was the purpose for which the balloon detachment had been sent. The test was not long delayed.

  “There!” One of the young bowmen in Gath’s gondola pointed.

  Against the sunlit clouds, high in the noontime sky, at least two dozen black shapes were outlined. The gliders looked like hawks in the distance, and they stooped, suddenly, like great birds of prey.

  “Get ready!” the captain of a neighboring gondola cried.

  The enemy looked small and distant for what seemed the longest time. Then, in an instant, they were down upon them! All around Gath, his bowmen were shouting.

  “There! Shoot!”

  “They’re coming in too fast!”

  “Quit complainin’, kid! Just stop em!”

  The babble of voices was almost as unnerving as the wicked black wings that rushed amongst them.

  “Yahoo! I got one!”

  “Great! But don’t get cocky!”

  “Watch out for those darts!”

  There were screams of pain and cries of triumph, all in a matter of seconds. Then, almost as swiftly as they had come, the gliders were speeding away along the ridgetops toward carefully charted updrafts. They left behind three of their squadron, wrecked and scattered on the rubble below.

  One more glider, unable to recover from a tear in its dragon wing, crashed directly into a cliff face as Gath watched. The defenders, both above and below, cheered.

  “All right!” Gath yelled hoarsely as soon as he caught his breath. “They’ll be back, and it won’t be as easy to drive them off next time!

  “Until they return, though, we concentrate on the enemy on the ground! Mark your targets, and make those arrows count!”

  It would be difficult to get more ammunition. Resupply would be slow and chancy by bucket. And now the enemy’s ground commander would certainly throw everything he had at the points where the covering balloons were anchored. Already Gath could see the invaders marshaling their forces for an assault on the other slope of the crumbled canyon, where Stivyung Sigel’s four balloons were moored.

  The attacks came, thereaft
er, at hourly intervals. The archers took a terrible toll of invaders on the ground. But each arrow lost was precious—in the making, in lost practice, and in the difficulty of hauling up supplies under fire.

  And the defenders died in ones and twos as the battle went on. The L’Toff fighters on the surface fought to hold their ground and to defend the anchor points. The forces of the barons fought just as desperately to take those ridges.

  The long afternoon passed like a slow agony, punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Within a few hours, the tactical picture began to emerge.

  Here on the northern spur, the defense was going well, for now. Gath’s archers took a heavy toll of attackers trying to climb the slopes and beat back three separate glider sorties.

  But on the southern spur things had begun to go badly. Before the sun passed beyond the highest peaks, two of Sigel’s southern balloons were lost, one when its bag was pierced. It settled slowly to the ground. The other one drifted off over the eastern plains when its anchor point was taken. It was too slow at ascending and finally fell under a rain of darts as Kremer’s gliders converged from all around, like wolves upon a wounded lamb.

  Gath wondered if Stivyung could hold out until nightfall. The two remaining southern balloons couldn’t give each other much support.

  Gath watched helplessly as enemy reinforcements arrived late in the afternoon … including a dozen fresh gliders. Kremer seemed to have an endless supply of them! Either that or his generals were stripping the other fronts of air support to handle this sticky spot in the center.

  As the afternoon wore on, Gath watched as the entire flock of gliders swooped down on the two balloons on the lonely slope. And there was nothing he could do to help!

  2

  “Slow down! Slow down!”

  Dennis realized that both Arth and Linnora had taken up his chant. The practice resonance was fully upon them.

  Silvery fire seemed to dance around the body of the cart, and their acceleration down the tumbled slope did, in fact, seem to be slackening. But that didn’t keep them from moving inexorably toward the cliff. It loomed ahead ten meters, five meters, two meters away.