Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  She felt his forefoot under her arm, steadying her. “Allow me, Mistress,” he said. She let him guide her back to her quarters. Once there she lost the contents of her stomach, then lay down with a cold cloth over her forehead, one hand on Martinus. “If the major comes, Mistress, what should Andat and I do?”

  Kill him, she wanted to say. Beat him until he never dares harass any woman ever again. The pain grew worse. “Chase him off, but try not to injure him too badly, please,” she whispered.

  “Yes, Mistress.” Did she smell //disappointment?// Probably. Rigi wanted Tomás. Tomás would make everything right. That was his job.

  11

  A Matter of Honor

  Rigi could not sleep that night. Instead she lay in the dark, silent, motionless, waiting. Would LeFeu come after her? If he did, she refused to stop Makana and Andat and Martinus if they attacked the major. He’d be trespassing and assaulting her. She would not go to him, not if he were the only male human on Shikhari. Late that afternoon she’d imagined his hands on her, touching her the way Tomás did, and she’d lost the contents of her stomach once more.

  The next morning she sipped her tea and tried to decide what to do. Something rattled outside the shelter-tent’s main door, then clattered, and a Staré grumbled about human tools. The door opened and Makana poked his head in, saw her, and entered with a bow. “Andat and I have assembled the tools for your test dig at the gate,” he enunciated in Common.

  My what at the where, she thought? The light dawned, and she set the cup down. “Excellent, Makana, thank you. I will finish my repast and be ready to go.”

  “Very good, Mistress.” He bowed once more and walked away. She finished her tea, gnawed a food-bar as she dressed in sturdy digging clothes and her favorite work boots, put a fresh gas-pack in her hand-shooter and confirmed the pressure level on the big shooter, and added a few things to her art bag. She was tying down her sun-shade when she heard the low-pitched sounds of Slowth muttering and the crunch of wheels outside the door.

  Rigi and Martinus went from doorway to cart in two steps. Andat lifted the step, then clambered awkwardly up beside Makana on the driver’s seat, perched on the edge and holding on with his good foreleg. Thanks be that they did not have far to go. The males had already loaded the tools, and what looked like two food baskets. The guard at the gate checked them out, reminding them to be alert with the usual terror-bird warning. Andat had brought a military-grade shooter with Staré modifications to the grip, trigger, and sights, and Rigi wondered how he’d managed that. Well, no Staré wanted their medic eaten by something, and she suspected that the weapon had been “misplaced” and would mysteriously reappear this evening, just before the last weapons’ check of the day.

  The drive to the possible gate in the First World wall or whatever it was took no more than half an hour. Makana found a good place for the cart and tied Slowth to a sturdy tree after letting him drink from a small stream nearby. Andat took one of the shovels, one that had been modified for Staré use, and once Rigi located exactly where she wanted the test hole, started digging, slowly and carefully. Rigi watched the dirt, looking for bits of anything that might be manufactured. Makana joined Andat once Slowth had been seen to.

  They’d gotten almost half a meter down before Rigi saw something. “Stop, please.” They stopped, moving out of her way as she pulled the small light out of her bag and shone it into the hole. “Excellent work! My turn.” She picked up the smaller shovel and stepped into the hole, digging out a little way on two sides.

  “Mistress, stop, please, that is our task,” Andat protested.

  Makana held up one forefoot. “Wait and watch.” Rigi switched to a trowel with a brush on one end, digging a bit more, then brushing away the dirt. She climbed out of the hole.

  “Whatever was here, I believe it might have been rather large,” she panted, shining the light down onto part of a block of something with a brilliant blue and green swirled tile pattern. “Please dig this way, as deep as you did last time,” she used the trowel to mark off a meter in the direction of the “open area” that seemed to be the gateway proper. She drank some water and watched. The dirt over the tiled block appeared to be archaeologically sterile, without any bits of tile or of crumbled material. The dirt changed color just above the block, from the reddish-brown to darker and more crumbly, as if it had something like charcoal in it. That would fit the destruction pattern of First World sites.

  Twice more they took turns digging, until they had revealed the end of the block and pattern, and what had most likely been the opening in the wall, at least based on the lack of block. While the males ate and rested, Rigi drew. Then she measured and made holo-images of the dig and the trench. The blue and green tile pattern looked restful, and she wondered why it was on top of the block. She’d have put it on the side, where people could see it. Or was it really decorative? Could it have served a different purpose, like helping to hold layers of wall together, and just happened to appeal to her eyes? Was it meant for a deity to see and no one else? Was it just how the manufacturer identified her blocks? Whatever it was, Rigi decided that she wanted to embroider it on something, maybe a new festival day dress. Or something for the little-one-to-be.

  The sun had passed the zenith and almost touched the top of the mountain to the west when she finished. Makana had been eyeing the dirt piles, and she smiled, moving well out of the way. “Please back-fill the trench, Makana, to protect the find.”

  //Enthusiasm/delight.// “Yes, ma’am.” He bent over, hind-legs spread, tail held high, and used his strong, broad forefeet to toss the dirt underneath his stomach and into the hole. Andat joined in and Rigi strolled over to check on Slowth, untying him and moving him to some ungrazed grass. He mumbled something in wombow and devoured the tenderest bits of grass, then began nibbling some of the other plants, spitting out a wad of bright red broadleaf.

  “You have picked up my dining habits, I see,” Rigi told him. Once he’d slowed his gobbling, she took him to the water. He stuck his flat nose deep into the water, then lifted it a few centimeters and guzzled. Rigi frowned. Wombows usually drank a little, waited, then drank more. Could it be..? She crouched down and stuck one finger into the rivulet upstream of Slowth. The water felt warm, warmer than just sun-heated. It didn’t smell odd, but she didn’t drink any, just in case. “I know what fish do in water,” she giggled to herself.

  Makana and Andat rinsed their forefeet after Slowth finished drinking. As the Staré took Slowth to the cart to hitch him up, Rigi and Martinus walked upstream. She kept her eyes and ears open, stopping every few steps in case something lurked in the brush a few meters from the banks of the stream. Aside from crushed plant and the sharp scent she was coming to associate with the breeze from the south, she didn’t sniff anything out of the ordinary, no predator musk. She could not tell where the stream came from, and she didn’t want to walk too far from the males, so she turned around, and blinked. “Well, well.”

  She’d come in a straight line. There was the bush Slowth had nibbled then spat out, and that meant that the big rock marked a spot just downstream of where she’d watered him. From there the stream followed an absolutely straight line to where she stood, and beyond her if she read the land and the plants correctly. Rigi retraced her steps, Martinus following along behind. They passed the rock and the little grassy area, and paced the stream until it made an abrupt right turn, away from the wall and gate.

  On the ride back to camp, Rigi asked, “Makana, if you can tell me, are there ever bathing places outside the walls of a Staré settlement or village?”

  “Wet bathing or dusting, Mistress?”

  “Wet bathing.”

  Makana and Andat murmured something to each other, and she smelled //puzzlement/hesitation/memory.// “I have heard that there are some, or were before the humans came and brought,” he switched to Common, “plumbing.” Makana flipped back into Staré, “But never dusting places, Mistress.”

  “Thank you. The
stream flows away from the First World wall, and since it is warm, perhaps it served to provide water to a washing place.”

  //Polite/agreement.// “That is possible, Mistress.” Slowth tossed his head, then tossed it again. He smelled trouble. Rigi sat up and Andat readied his large shooter. Makana shook the go-fast stick and Slowth accelerated into a fast trot. Rigi shifted until she sat as low in the cart as she could, hoping not to get bounced out. With her luck, if she did bounce out, Martinus would land on top of her!

  Rigi heard a commotion behind them and hung on as Slowth lurched into a canter.

  Something large bellowed. Raow!

  Bwaa! Bwaa!

  Thud, thud, thud. At least a dozen of the not-a-kitfengs raced toward the cart. She couldn’t see what they were running from, or if they were being chased at all, but she got the big shooter ready, just in case. Slowth and the cart bounced, then half-skidded as he turned toward the gate leading into the military camp. The wild reptiles rushed past, paralleling the edge of the camp, or so Rigi guessed. Had the protective shield been turned on?

  “Faster!” A human man yelled. Rigi saw another wombow cart coming from the direction the not-a-kitfengs had raced. Slowth did not speed up, instead dropping back into a trot, albeit a fast one. The other wombow seemed to be gasping, mouth gaping, tongue lolling as white foam dripped from his jaws. Makana made an odd noise and Rigi smelled //disapproval// from both males. Slowth eased into a brisk walk, panting but not struggling for air. “Damn you, hurry!” the man called from behind them.

  Rigi didn’t answer. They’d reached the gate and the soldier on duty waved them through. Rigi felt a little tingle as they crossed into the camp, as if a bit of barrier field remained up, enough to dissuade but not repel. Then she was holding on once more as Slowth lurched to the left, out of the way of the second cart, walking a few meters before stopping. Rigi’s eyes went wide when she saw the blood tinting the darker wombow’s mouth foam. The poor beast gasped, flanks heaving, staggered, then gasped again. The man stopped the cart, got out, and began yelling at the animal, cursing it.

  Ice cold, Rigi hopped down from her own cart and approached the man. “Sir,” she interrupted his tirade.

  “What?” He caught himself and flushed. “Your pardon ma’am. I didn’t realize you were in the cart.”

  Rigi nodded, graciously accepting his apology as she studied the miserable wombow. The poor creature—still gasping, exhausted—stood with his head so low that his nose almost brushed the dust. She reached out and touched his ear. It felt thin, a sign of dehydration. No wonder he was wheezing and about to collapse. “Sir, I apologize for intruding on your business, but may I give your beast something to drink as he cools off? We didn’t use what I’d brought, and I don’t want to waste it or have to carry it all the way back to pen three.”

  He blinked at her, looked at the ailing wombow, and seemed to realize at last that something was wrong. “Ah, certainly ma’am.” Andat had climbed down from the seat, and wrestled the end of the water-bag and the portable trough to where she could reach them. Rigi put the end of the synthetic bowl under the dark-brown wombow’s nose and opened the little valve, allowing water in. She filled the bowl a quarter full and waited. The wombow smelled the water and lapped it up. His breathing slowed and Rigi refilled the water bowl. The beast drank more. She repeated the exercise four more times before the wombow seemed to have had enough for the moment. “Thank you, ma’am.” The driver sounded uncomfortable and looked down as he kicked at some dirt. “I’d been about to water him when I got the warning for a big herd moving through. Didn’t think, just started running for the gate.”

  Rigi wanted to shake the go-fast stick at him and make him run a dozen kilometers without any relief or water, but didn’t. Proper ladies did not do that. She smiled and nodded again, like her mother would have. “These things do happen, sir. Thank you for letting me lighten my cart’s load before we go up the hill.” Andat had slipped on forefoot covers and he took the portable trough from her and returned it and the hose to the cart. Makana had been checking Slowth and the cart, and had found no problems, or so Rigi guessed. She climbed back in and Slowth set off at a leisurely pace, walking carefully. She clasped her hands in her lap to hide that they were shaking with anger. How could anyone be so mean? And the beast seemed out of condition as well, struggling for air.

  What had the man meant about a warning? Had she missed something? No, if he were getting things for the camp, he probably had a communications set with him. Yes, Rigi decided, that made sense. Instead of turning to the pens, Rigi noticed that Slowth was padding toward her shelter-tent. She yawned, then yawned again. Oh dear. Makana stopped the cart close to the door, and Andat helped her down, let Martinus follow, then brought in the large shooter and her bag and her food hamper. “Thank you, Andat.”

  He bowed and went back outside. Rigi cleaned up, changed into something more comfortable, and dusted off her boots. She could not stop yawning, and decided to clean Martinus’s feet later, after she rested her eyes for a few minutes.

  She woke with a sore neck and numb hand from sleeping on her arm. The sun had set, and it sounded like rain outside, but smelled dry. Rigi used the necessary, then ate some of the left-over food from the hamper. The sausage-in-a-bread needed a little more spice, but it filled her up. She cleaned Martinus’s feet, made some notes about her observations and the dig, then returned to sleep.

  “Oh, my.” Rigi was not quite certain what else to say the next morning. She was having her tea and finishing the previous day’s left-overs as a cold breakfast when she heard a commotion, deep-voiced animal sounds, more commotion, heavy thudding not too far away and a firm thump. Silence, then more commotion, and Staré voices interspersed with some human men’s comments.

  “How’d that get in?”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t care what it is, I want to know how it got through the shield!”

  “Did it fly?”

  “If it did, you’d better get a bigger hat, Jamie.”

  Andat tapped on the door and poked his head in. “Your pardon for the intrusion, Mistress Rigi, do you have skinning tools?”

  Skinning tools? Oh dear. “Yes. Just a moment, please. Human and Staré tools both.”

  “Very good, Mistress.” He ducked back out and she pulled on boots, shrugged into an over-apron such as she wore for messy cleaning or grooming Slowth, and found the case with her, Tomás’s, and Kor’s spare knives and hooks. She and Martinus opened the door, stepped out, and followed the sound of voices around the corner of the shelter-tent. There she stopped, blinking.

  “Oh, my.” A large, lumpy mammal head lay on the ground, with an equally large body attached to it. One of the Staré Subala-minors stood on the thing’s flank, holding his shooter aloft and preening at the admiration and awe of humans and Staré alike. The creature had three, no, four, sets of paired lumps on its head—two between the ears, two just outside of its eyes, and four on the snout. The teeth looked like grazer teeth, and it had a long upper lip. “This has to be at least four hundred kilos.” That would make it twice as large as a horn-nosed digger, which it vaguely resembled, although the lumps and bumps on the skull looked more like one of the extinct things from the museum. “Maybe they’re not as extinct as we thought,” she murmured.

  “Wooeef?”

  She folded her arms and nodded. “Quite right, Martinus. Wooeef is a good summation of the matter.”

  Makana gestured, ear-bowing, his hands full of beam-shooter. Rigi moved to stand beside him. The Staré moved out of the way, bowing or ear-bowing. The Subala-minor saw her, hopped off the beast, and bowed. “Wise Eye, a small token of gratitude for your service and wisdom,” he said in careful Common. Rigi wondered for an instant if he were related to Lexi, because that sounded exactly like what Lexi would have said.

  She hand-bowed and replied in Staré, “Thank you for your most generous gift. Perhaps it would be best to share this, so that all may appreciate your
skill and thoughtfulness.” She struggled to keep her voice even and face straight, her expression serious and appreciative.

  “What in the name of—? By the Orion Nebula, what is this damned thing?” Rigi turned around, curtsying as Major Chang rushed up, his collar open, hat askew. “Well, what is it?”

  Rigi almost said, “An extinct mammal, sir,” but refrained.

  “We don’t know yet, sir,” one of the humans, a lieutenant—DeBeers? DeMeers? De LaMere, that was it—said, saluting. “It came through the shield, one of the herd that’s been going past. It’s a female, we think.” Rigi wasn’t the only human to boggle at that, and she gulped as she tried to imagine how large the males must be.

  “How did it get in?”

  “It walked, sir,” someone called from the safety of the gathered crowd.

  Maj. Chang’s face darkened and he planted his fists on his hips. “Who said that? Who?” Silence. Rigi smelled //amusement// and //irritation// in equal measure from the Staré around her.

  “All of you, get back to work. You lot,” he waved at the Staré and some enlisted humans. “Get rid of this thing.” He stormed off, growling about idiots and shield technicians and who was on duty at the gate and people ruining his camp.

  Most of the humans departed as well, leaving Rigi, her males, and a dozen other Staré, and a human corporal with his handful soldiers. Rigi set her kit down and folded her arms once more as she walked around the beast. “Right. Who has cleaned large animals before?”

  “Cleaned ma’am? As in skinned and butchered?” The corporal looked from her to the beast and back and gulped.

  “Yes. There’s no need to wash it before we butcher it, and the shot was a good one. There will be lots of good meat, assuming the thing was not so frightened as to have dumped stress hormones into her blood.” She opened the knife-box and pulled out the largest skinning blade. It was one of Tomás’s treasures. “We start here,” she indicated a spot just below the lower jaw. “You four, to the other side so we can roll it when appropriate. Has someone gone for catch-cloths?”