Stress Pattern

by Barrett, Jr. , Neal

  I got nothing to eat or drink the following morning.

  The animals were packed again, and each of my neck loops was tied around the necks of one of the beasts. My leg ropes were loosed, and it was my job to walk between the animals, anticipating their speeds to avoid strangulation.

  One thing: When my legs ropes were cut, I glimpsed a new cultural artifact. A crudely chipped knife made of brown stone. What a marvelous people. In another hundred-million years, who could say? Clay pots and bone tools? There'd be no stopping them after that.

  As a small blessing, the landscape began to slope gently downward. It was a gradual decline, and hardly evident for the first hour or so. Then, I could look back and see that the horizon was, really, a great deal higher. The change was more evident ahead. We were moving into a vast, shallow valley. I guessed it was nearly a hundred kilometers wide—certainly farther than the eye could see. The soil changed from umber to dark sienna. Far out on the valley floor, the ground appeared almost black.

  The second caravan had trailed along behind us. By midmorning, it curved off on a path of its own. We had been skirting the edge of a shallow, eroded ravine, and the other group simply angled into it and moved out of sight..

  The ravine had impressed me. It was a singular tourist attraction on this featureless world. Finally, though, I decided it wasn't a natural wonder at all—just a long-abandoned section of the Great Groove. A disappointment, then. No postcards home from here.

  Once, shortly before noon, the caravan showed some signs of life. The creatures stopped, stood still, sniffed the air. Clearly, something was bothering them. They looked at each other, and their round heads slowly swept the horizon. Whatever it was, the pack animals sensed it, too. They snorted nervously and pawed the ground. One skitted aside and tightened my neck rope uncomfortably. I moved along with him to slacken the rope.

  When the sun was straight above us in a brassy sky we stopped for a rest. They untied my hands for this—one doing the job and two standing by with poles. It was some relief. With my hands free I could pull the pack animals close together and sit down. I dug—and gorged myself on bulbs.

  With my hands free, I was not to be trusted. Two pole-handlers watched from a cautious distance. I waved a bulb at the nearest.

  "I know we've been through this," I said, "but I'd like to know where you're taking me. And why."

  Nothing. The ball-bearing eyes never moved.

  I shrugged, drained another bulb, and picked at the starchy fruit inside. I decided to try the other sentry.

  "Where are we going? Can't you tell me that?"

  Nothing.

  "Damn it, look—it's not going to hurt you to speak!"

  The creature stared at me, then raised one skinny arm and pointed. Straight ahead.

  "Right." I nodded. "That's marvelous. I appreciate your help. I might have guessed, friend, even if—"

  The guard's head jerked away from me. His dun body went rigid. One of the animals made a small noise. The other creature had forgotten me, too. His gaze was locked in one direction. I looked about but didn't see anything.

  They did. And they were all waiting for whatever it was. Stock still. Rigid as brown statues. Whatever they heard, or saw, or thought they saw—

  A high, frightened wail cut the silence. I sprang up and the animal beside me bolted and scattered sand. I grabbed for his rope to keep slack. It burned through my fingers, finally held.

  Too late, I remembered there was another rope. And another animal behind me.

  I came up choking, spitting water.

  The sudden motion made me forget about choking as pain took me around the neck and tossed me gasping and sucking for air.

  "You gotten pullered ona neck real goods," someone told me. "S'gonna hurtim awhiles."

  I didn't open my eyes. The choking had stopped for a minute. The other pain was still there, but not as bad.

  "You wanter somore water?"

  "God, no," I pleaded hoarsely, "please!"

  "Awright," The voice sounded contrite. "'Msorries. I thinkit waters'll makin' you good sooners."

  "Yes," I said. I opened my eyes a little. "I'm sure you thought that. Thank you." I pulled in more air.

  "You wanners sitten up?"

  "No." I shook my head, and winced. That hadn't been a good idea. "In a minute. Not now."

  With that, something clutched me under the arms with ham fists and jarred me to a sitting position. Everything tore loose. I bit down a yell. The damn landscape started swimming and I was sure I was going to pass out again. No such luck. I leaned over and threw up between my legs.

  "You gettin' sick." The voice sounded frightened. "I don' li' bein' sick, d'you?"

  "No. Not too much." I took a deep breath, ignoring the pain. If whatever it was helped me again, that might be the end of it.

  "You don' wanany water?"

  "Look—" I opened my eyes.

  "Mhar! Leave 'm 'lone!"

  The second voice brought Mhar up short. I got a look at her for the first time. No use going into that again. She was made in the general manner of Thraxil—mottled, misshapen, a blur of features, wide, childlike eyes. She waddled off quickly, keening to herself. A pudgy, miscolored something-or-other.

  "You better?" The second voice touched me with his shadow, then towered over me.

  "I think so. I will be."

  He laughed shortly. "Mhar's not smart as some is."

  I thought that wrapped it up nicely. He wasn't as bad as either Mhar or Thraxil. His limbs matched to some degree, and his features were fairly well organized, though far from normal. There was that harried look I'd caught in Thraxil's eyes. But there was also the gleam of an intelligence that wanted to make itself heard. I pulled myself to my feet.

  "You doin' OK?" He looked concerned.

  "I'm all right." I faced him. "I'm Andrew Gavin. Thanks for the help."

  He grinned widely. "Sterzet's me." The shadow of worry crossed his features again. "Listen. They's havin' you tied good by y'neck. You'as lyin' all flat an' the Bhanos was draggin' you everywheres."

  I half-listened to his careful explanation of what had happened to me. It was really a story he was telling himself. And then my eyes wandered a little to my left, saw something, and I turned full around away from him.

  It was one of those times when you do not immediately react. I suppose there is some sort of explanation. An emotional overload, perhaps. At any rate, I calmly watched this grisly scene as if I were quite accustomed to this kind of thing. All of the dun creatures were dead. Sterzet's crew was methodically skinning, gutting, and jointing each unlovely specimen. Handy quarters of haunch, chest, or thigh were wrapped and tied in fiber mats. Loaded onto skittish pack animals.

  There was a great deal of blood. Much of it soaking through the fiber matting and running down the flanks of the animals. There were other unidentifiable items about. No packing plant worth its salt would hire these fellows, I decided. They were not tidy workers.

  Eventually, the regular machinery in my head took hold again, and I walked a few paces from Sterzet and vomited water.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I was given a singular honor.

  There were two pack animals not loaded with foul cargo, and these were ridden by Sterzet and myself. I was glad for the opportunity, regardless of the circumstances. I had surely done enough walking for a while.

  Sterzet announced we would not be making camp, that we would be riding at night for a while. Again, I was grateful. It would not have been easy to spend the night in that place.

  Twilight darkened the umber landscape. The valley quickly turned to shadow when the sun disappeared and the first dim stars topped the rim of the bowl.

  Sterzet was in an expansive mood. I was a new audience, and there was a great deal he wanted to tell me. I listened with half an ear and kept my mount going in the proper direction.

  Occasionally, Sterzet ran down. Or caught his breath. Then I could hear the animals shuffling along behind, o
r Sterzet's crew muttering to one another.

  Surprisingly, the bloody carnage of the dun creatures didn't bother me much anymore. Oh, I hadn't forgotten. And wouldn't. It just occurred to me there was a more pressing question that needed answering: Why had such a thing happened in the first place?

  What did we really have here—two races? Variations on a theme? There were the dun creatures, plus similar types such as I'd seen on the Dhoolh. And all of them much alike—dull, expressionless, rigid, noncommunicative. And opposed to that? Misshapen creatures. A genetic goulash. Minds that groped about in dark corridors, but at the same time, reasonably alert and responsive.

  The duns called them crazies. Normal enough. Any society rejects individuals whose appearance or actions exceed local norms. Normals reject abnormals, then. And sometimes, abnormals rise up and slaughter their keepers. Not an unusual reaction.

  But—why were the monsters monsters?

  And were the normals really normal?

  I shook my head and looked beyond the rim to the stars. A most peculiar "spread" between the two, I thought. I put together a mental graph, with Phretci at one end, and Thraxil at the other. Tossed in a few significant characteristics here and there. The results seemed rather chilling. Everything considered, the line curved sharply right at my own front door. I was the median. Andrew Gavin, human being.

  A false conceit, perhaps. Setting humanity as a standard. But it seemed to make sense to me. Phretci was incomplete. Thraxil overdone. Two extremes, then. With me in the middle? Maybe. The fallacy here, of course, was that both these extremes were better suited to this world than I.

  Somewhere past the middle of the night Sterzet changed our course and led us down a shallow ravine. It looked vaguely familiar and I had an idea where we were. We had doubled back and found the abandoned Dhoolh route, where the second caravan had left us after the big trading session. I hoped they hadn't lingered, that they were far away from here by now.

  We came upon them, just as the false dawn grazed the landscape. Or where they had been. Two of Sterzet's crew met us there, with five pack beasts. I was suddenly very weary. I supposed they had discovered this group first, then, and backtrailed to mine.

  Everyone had new straw hats, now. Everyone except Mhar. She giggled and whined until someone tossed her one to shut her up. I kicked my beast as hard as I could and pushed on ahead of the others. This happy scene and its accompanying stench was more than I could bear.

  I needn't have bothered. There was more to come. When the sun came up they built a fire, and roasted meat.

  "Andrew," Sterzet announced, "you bein' like me an' them—but not jus' like."

  I had done this act before, and knew my lines.

  "Sterzet, no one is just like anyone else. Everyone is what they are."

  Sterzet shrugged. "Don't understan' that, Andrew."

  "Well, then you don't," I said shortly.

  Sterzet smiled amiably. It was a waste of time to turn my anger on him.

  "Well, why you thinkin' this is?"

  "Why do I think what?"

  "Why ever'one's bein' not the sames?"

  "I don't have any idea. They just are."

  Sterzet grinned excitedly. "Hey, you bein wrong this time, Andrew. They're not different. The little uns. Theys all 'like!"

  He was talking about the dun creatures he'd slaughtered.

  "Ever' one. Can't tellit one from 'nother."

  "Maybe they can," I said dully.

  "Huh?"

  "Nothing." I squinted at the sun. Noon, and time to move on again. With any luck, he'd talk himself out now, and leave me to myself on the road.

  "You don' eatin' with me an' them, Andrew." Sterzet frowned. Clearly, it had just occurred to him I had made myself scarce during the morning barbecue.

  "You jus' eatin' greenies, don't you?"

  I assumed he was talking about bulbs. "Sterzet, as I said, everyone is different. OK?"

  "Sure, Andrew." He was silent a moment. "You goin' stay with us, Andrew?"

  "No, I don't think so."

  "I have to—go somewhere."

  "Wheresat?"

  "That way." I stuck a finger in a random direction.

  Sterzet laughed and slapped a mottled knee.

  "What's funny?"

  "You don' wannago that way, Andrew."

  "Why not?"

  "That's where them was takin' you!"

  Well, that was interesting. "Where? They were taking me where?"

  He pointed. "There. That way."

  "Right. But what's there?"

  His twisted features grew puzzled. "Andrew. Youwas goin' there. Don' you know wheresit?"

  "I—I did, Sterzet. They told me, I'm sure. But I've forgotten."

  "Oh!" Memory lapses were understandable. "Jus' a place is all."

  "What kind of place?"

  "Where the little uns live."

  "A settlement, you mean."

  He nodded. "'Cept there's no Dhoolh there. The Dhoolh don't go through there. Got to walkit, or be ridin' a Bhano if you can find one. Thems don' ride Bhanos, though. Jus' usem to carry stuff. We got lots good Bhanos now."

  He thought about all that for a moment. His eyes glazed over and his mouth went slack, and I knew I was about to lose him.

  "Sterzet."

  "Huh?" He blinked and grinned.

  "Why were they taking me to that place you were talking about?"

  He looked at me. "I don' think they gots a crazy there, Andrew."

  I decided he was probably right. A settlement without a loony. The traders knew about it and found me running loose and hauled me in.

  "Sterzet," I said, while I had his attention, "I told you about Thraxil."

  He thought a minute. "Sure. He's the crazy where you comin' from."

  "Yes. Thraxil has a hut there by himself, Sterzet. Nobody makes him stay there. He isn't tied up or anything. He can get up and go any time he wants to." I pointed at him. "Like you. Or the others here. Only—why doesn't he?"

  Sterzet leaned over and poked at the ground. He picked up a loose bit of soil and let it crumble in his fingers.

  "Thas hard, Andrew." He didn't look at me. "I'm not good at hard things."

  "That's OK. Just think about it a minute."

  He did. "I guess," he said finally, "'cause Thraxil's different. I knewed him once."

  "Yes, you told me."

  "Well, Thraxil's smart. Lot smartern' me. Or any of thems." He nodded over his. shoulder. "Maybe he don' seem smart. But he is. Not smart liken you, Andrew. Wish you'd go with us." His mouth dropped. "You won' do that, though."

  "Thraxil," I reminded him.

  "Yeah."

  "If he is smart, as you say, why doesn't he leave? Go away and do whatever he wants to do? He's not happy there. I know that."

  Sterzet looked at me with one eye. And there it was again. That flicker of something else. The touch of knowing. Peering out at the world from inside.

  "I tol' you he's smart, Andrew," he said slowly. "Some of 'em that's smart don' go 'way like the rest of us."

  "Why, though?"

  He looked back down at the ground again.

  "Guess 'cause they know it don't make any difference, Andrew."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I liked the idea of traveling at night.

  But I wasn't as sure of myself as Sterzet. Although I had never seen another capsule-eater after the first one, that creature had left a lasting impression.

  Sterzet didn't give up until the last. I should stay, and why not, Andrew? Wheresit you going, etc. Still, he very generously let me keep the Bhano I'd been riding, and threw in a straw hat, two fiber mats of his own, a length of rope, and two poles. I accepted graciously, and thanked him. Mhar wailed sadly at my leaving, though she hadn't the slightest idea why. I waved at her, though, and turned the Bhano south into the valley.

  No particular reason for that direction. It just felt right. And it was the route that would take me across the greatest expanse of that ar
ea, and give me the best chance to see whatever there might be to see.

  It was hot, and a cloudless morning, as always. But I was in the best of spirits. Though I couldn't say why. I was an old hand on this world—or felt I was—and had no great hopes of finding wondrous lands. Sterzet had shattered most of my remaining illusions. Questions about "different" places brought nothing but blank stares. Everything was just like this, he explained, pointing to the ground. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be?

  Still, I had a mount and a straw hat and various poles, ropes, and mats. It was good to be ready for anything. Even if nothing could be expected.

  A monumental discovery in midafternoon. The soil on the floor of the valley was darker, and looked considerably richer. I had noticed this earlier. Now, small clumps of green began to appear ahead, becoming more plentiful the farther I rode. This interested the Bhano, and I stopped to let him chew eagerly on the plants, while I walked alongside.

  The plants grew just above ground level. Long, gray-green leaves opposed one another on a central stem. The plants were mostly uniform in size, but a few had grown to half a meter in height. Studying the larger specimens, I decided there was something vaguely familiar about them. I snapped one off at the ground and looked at the stem. Of course—the same sectional growth, only smaller and greener. I had been soundly beaten with poles that had come from a plant such as this. I had samples in my pack.

  Curious, I dug around the base of a plant, feeling its stem below the moist soil. Not far below the surface I made a second discovery. The bamboo plants and the green water bulbs were one and the same. When the bulbs matured, the green stems grew from the pink fruit inside. The bulb I examined was still partially full of water, but most of its moisture had gone to nourish surface growth.

  Why hadn't the bulbs I'd seen in other areas matured? The answer, of course, was in the moist soil, and what lay beneath it—a closer, more plentiful supply of water. A fortunate ecological break for the creatures who depended upon "immature" bulbs for food and water.