by Larry Niven
They looked at each other, undecided. One said firmly, "No, Hercimaster." He was a massive young fi', posed a bit ahead of the others: Rashinggith, the Defensemaster's son.
"So you do not know where he is either?"
"We had hoped to find him through you, Herdmaster."
"Ha. I have asked his mate. She has not seen him, yet she has a newborn to show." The Herdmaster became serious. "There are matters to decide, and we have no Advisor. What must I do?"
They looked at each other again. "The teqthuktun—"
"Precisely." Pastempeh-keph breathed more easily. They still worried about the Law and their religion. Not rogues, not yet. "I can take no counsel nor make any decisions without advice from the sleepers. It is the teqthuktun. the pact we made with them, and Fistarteh-thuktun insists upon it. Now I have no Advisor, and there are matters to decide. Speak. What must I do?"
"You must find another Advisor," the wounded one said.
"Indeed." This hardly required discussion. The Traveler fithp might continue on their predetermined path, but no new decisions could be made without an Advisor.
Fathisteb-tulk might be dead, or too badly injured to perform his duties. He might have shirked his duty, crippling the herd at a critical moment. He might have been kidnapped. . . and if some herd within the Traveler Herd had been pushed to such an act, it would be stripped of its status. But the Advisor would still lose his post, for arousing such anger, for being so careless, for being gone.
The Herdmaster had already decided on his successor. Still, he must be found. "You, the injured one—"
"Herdmaster, I am Eight-Squared Leader Chintithpit-mang."
He had heard that name; but where? Later. "You must come fresh from the digit ship. Do you know anything of this? Or are you only here to add numbers?"
"I know nothing of the Advisor. What I do know-"
"Later. You, Rashinggith. If you knew where the Advisor might be, you would go there."
His digits knotted and flexed. "I assuredly would, Herdmaster."
"But you might not tell me. Is there a place known only to dissidents? A place where he might commune with other dissidents, or only with himself?"
"No. Herdmaster, we fear for him."
There must be such a place, but the dissidents themselves would have searched it by now. "I too fear for Fathisteh-tulk," the Herdmaster admitted. "I went so far as to examine records of use of the airlocks, following which I summoned a list of fithp in charge of guarding the airlocks—"
"I chance to know that no dissidents guard the airlocks," Rashinggith said.
An interesting admission.
"I was looking for more than dissidents. Did it strike any of you that what Fathisteh-tulk was doing was dangerous? Consider the position of the sleepers. In herd rank the Advisor is the only sleeper of any real authority. The sleepers could not ask his removal. Yet he consistently opposed the War for Winterhome. How many sleepers are dissidents? I know only of one: Fathisteh-tulk." They looked at each other, and the Herdmaster knew at once that other sleepers held dissident views. Later. "There are sleepers in charge of guarding the airlocks. The drive is more powerful than the pull of the Foot's mass. A corpse would drop behind, but would not disintegrate. The drive flame is hot but not dense. Our telescopes have searched for traces of a corpse in our wake." Pause. "There is none.
"Shall we consider murder, then? By dissidents seeking a martyr, or conservative sleepers avoiding future embarrassment? Or did Fathisteh-tulk learn something that some fi' wanted hidden? Or is he alive, hiding somewhere for his own purposes? Rashinggith, what did Fathisteh-tulk plan to tell you?" The Herdmaster looked about him. "Do any of you know? Did he leave hints? Did he even have interesting questions when last you saw him?"
"We don't know he's dead," Rashinggith said uneasily.
"Enough," the Herdmaster said. "We will find him. I hope to ask him where he has been." That was a half-truth, Fathisteh-tulk would cause minimal embarrassment by being dead. On to other matters. The Herdmaster had remembered a name.
"Chintithpit-mang, you had someting to say?"
Nervous but dogged, the injured warrior got his mouth working. "The prey, the humans, they don't know how to surrender."
"They can be taught."
"There was a—a burly one, bigger than most. I whipped his toy weapon from his hand and knocked him down and put my foot on his chest and he clawed at me with his bony digits until I pushed harder. I think I crushed him. Of the prisoners we brought back, only the scarlet-headed exotic would help us select human food! Even after we take their surrender they do not cooperate. Must we teach them to surrender, four billion of them, one at a time? We must abandon the target world. If we kill them all, the stink will make Winterhome like one vast funeral pit!"
Chintithpit-mang was one of six officers under Siplisteph.
Siplisteph'was a sleeper; his mate had not survived frozen sleep, and he had not mated since. He had reached Winterbome as eightcubed leader of the intelligence group. It was an important post, and Siplisteph had risen higher still due to deaths among his superiors. The Herdmaster intended to asic him to become his Advisor, subject to the approval of the females of the sleeper herd-and Fistarteh-thuktun, as keeper of the teqthuktun.
Chintithpit-mang was among those who might have Siplisteph's post.
"Why did you seek me?" the Herdmaster demanded.
The response was unexpected: first one, then others, began a keening wail. The rest joined.
It was the sound made by lost children.
Frightening. Why do I feel the urge to join my voice to theirs?
"We no longer know who we are, Herdmaster," Chintithpitmang blurted. "Why are we here?"
"We bear the thuktunthp."
"The creatures do not seek the thuktunthp. They have their own way." Chintithpit-mang insisted.
"If they do not know the thuktunthp, how can they know they do not seek them?" Could this one be worthy of promotion? Are any? Shall I ask him to remain? No. Now is not the time to judge him, fresh from battle and still twitching, injured, and plunged suddenly into the scents of blooming Winter Flower and sleeper females in heat. "Chintithpit-mang, you need time and rest to recover from your experience. Go now. All of you, go."
For one moment they stood. Then they filed away.
The Herdmaster remained in the Garden, trying to savor its peace.
Chintithpit-mang did not now seem a candidate for high office. Another dissident! Yet he had fought well on Winterhome; his record was exemplary. Give him a few days. Meanwhile, interview his mate. Then see if she could pull him together. He didn't remember Shreshleemang well. . . though the mang family was a good line. At a Shipmaster's rank the female muss be suitable and competent.
Where was Fathisteh-tulk? Murdered or kidnapped. He had suspected the Year Zero Fithp, but that now seemed unlikely. They were nervous, disturbed, as well they should be; but not nervous enough. They could not have hidden that from him. Who, then, had caused the Herdmaster's Advisor to vanish? How many? Of what leaning? He might face a herd too large to fear the justice of the Traveler Herd; though the secrecy with which they had acted argued against it.
There were herds within herds within the Traveler Herd. It must have been like this on the Homeworld too, though in greater, deeper, more fantastical variety. Even here: sleepers, spaceborn, dissidents; Fistarteh-thuktun's core of tradition-minded historians, the Breakers' group driving themselves mad while trying to think like alien beings: the Herdmaster must balance them like a pyramid of smooth rocks in varying thrust.
* * *
"He is late," Dmitri whispered. "We must go."
"Not yet. We will wait for him," Arvid Rogachev said.
"But-"
"We will wait."
Dmitri shrugged.
He obeys me because he has no choice, yet he considers himself my superior. Perhaps he is. He is a better strategist.
There was a rustle behind them, and Nikolai's legless form app
eared from a lateral shaft. He fell to the corridor between them, catching himself with his arms just before he struck the deck. Once more Arvid marveled at how agile a legless man could be in low gravity.
"Whert have you been?" Dmitri demanded.
Nikolai ignored him and turned to Arvid. "Comrade Commander, I have success," he said.
"Come." Arvid led the way out of the air shaft. They took their time about attaching the grill covers. Arvid worked in silence. Although he didn't feel especially tired, he thought of how exhausted he was, and presently he felt it. Be wary. Do not let them know our true strength. Dmitri says this. I am beginning to think like KGB now. Is this good?
"I have seen women," Nikolai said in an undertone.
"Ah," Dmitri said.
Arvid felt a twinge. Women! I have been long in space— "Where?"
"In the center of the ship, in a garden area, Comrade Commander. They were with the American, Dawson."
Dawson! How has he deserved this— "The newly arrived warriors," Dmitri said. "They came with those. New prisoners from Earth. Were they Russian?"
"No, Comrade Colonel. They were by their dress American. There were children also. Three women, two children, a man, and Dawson. I could not know what they were saying."
Nikolai lifted the heavy grill. Crippled, Arvid thought. He has more strength in his arms than I have in my legs.
"Tell us," Dmitri said.
"As you ordered, I explored farther than ever before. At first I took each turn that presented itself. There are grills everywhere. There are radial ducts. Some ducts are too small even for me, but"-Nikolai stretched his antis above his head, exhaled completely, and grinned-.-"I can make myself narrow.
"The fore end of Thuktun Flishithy is too far. We expect to find the bridge there, but I made no try to reach it. I saw a big mom full of sleeping fithp, all females, sleeping with all four feet gripping the wall rugs, like gigantic fleas. I saw a slaughterhouse or a kitchen. Fithp were cutting up plants and animal parts and- and arranging them, but there was nothing like a stove.
"I tired of this and went inward along radial ducts. I found the room of the Podo Thuktun, and the priest all alone at the television screen. He muttered to himself, too tow to understand. I found the greetthouse region. It is lighted. It was there that I saw Dawson and the newcomers. They were all at work planting things. The garden is at the center of the ship. There were many fithp.
"I saw no need to watch Dawson longer, and I had little time, so I continued aft. I found what may be a bridge aft of the greenhouse. No ducts run aft of that point. It may be an engine room, serving the main drive, but it is also an emergency bridge."
"Da," Dmitn said. "At the axis it would be quite safe, like the Podo Thuktun. So?"
"The room is circled by television screens, square and thick, with the same proportions as the Podo Thuktun. I saw our prison, empty, of course. I saw Dawson and one of the newcomers, a redhaired woman, working in the garden. They worked together, but they ignored each other. I saw you, Comrade Rogachev. Heh-hehheh. Very industrious you looked."
"Go on," Arvid said,
"There was much on those screens. One showed three of the fithp watching a viewscreen. On the screen they were watching, were scenes of a man and a woman—Comrades, the man had an enormous pecker, and she swallowed it, all of it."
"What is this?' Dmitri asked sharply.
"I have told you what I saw," Nikolai said. "On one viewscreen were three fithp who watched a viewscreen. On that viewscreen was that scene, and others like it."
"What else did the woman do?" Arvid asked.
"Nonsense," Dmitri hissed. "What did the fithp do when they saw this?"
"Comrade Colonel, they must have found it interesting, because they rewound the tape and watched it again. Then they spoke among themselves, and spoke into communications equipment."
"So," Dmitri said to himself.
"What?" Arvid demanded.
"I do not know why, but I find it disturbing," Dmitri said. "Did you see who they spoke with?"
"No. Soon that screen was blank. I waited, but there was no more. Then when I was ready to leave, I saw two views of the main control room, and there is a window, so it must be at the fore end. I knew there must be other screens, so I circled through the ducts for another view." Nikolai's voice had dropped until he was nearly whispering. Dmitri and Arvid crowded close. They pretended to have difficulty replacing the fastenings for the grill.
"I saw outside. Four screens in a row. Three look at the stars, and the views move back and forth. So does the fourth, but it looks out on black rock. At one end of its swing the screen looks along the hull of Thuktun Flishithy. The fore end is right up against the rock,
"Do you remember the films they showed us? Thuktun Flishithy leaving that other star? The nose was up against a kind of ball, pushing it. Now it is against black rock that has been carved like the kind of sculpture the Americans in New York are so fond of, twisted shapes that tell nothing."
Arvid said, "So they have an asteroid base."
"But they are pushing it," Dmitri said. "Can't you feel it?"
The hum of the drive: he had learned to ignore it, but it was there."
Pushing it—yes. Where? I cannot think we will like the answer. So, Nikolai, you saw along the hull. Was it smooth, or was there detail?"
"I was lucky. One of the star-views turned to look sideways at an oval hatch. It opened while I watched, and a big metal snake uncoiled. Then the view shifted, and it was a view from the head of the snake, looking at another metal snake as it coiled itself into its own hatch. Then it turned and looked back along the hull. I saw quite a lot before it turned again and looked at nothing but stars. Aft of the ship is a violet-white haze. Ships are mounted along the rim, big ships, but there were many empty mountings."
"Empty. Good," Dmitri said. `Perhaps ships we have destroyed."
"And perhaps ships that remain to attack our world," Arvid said. "You have done well, Nikolai."
Women! It has been long . . .
26
CONFRONTATION
For we know that the law is spiritual: but I am carnal, sold under sin.
For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I.
If then I do that which I would not. I consent unto the law that it is good.
For the good that I would I do not: but the evil that I would not, that I do.
—ST. PAUL, EPISTLE TO THE ROMANS 7:14-19
COUNTDOWN: H PLUS SIX WEEKS
The Herdmaster paused at the door. More problems awaited him inside. At least I will no longer have the strange views of Fathisteh-tulk to confound me. One of the guards moved to open the door.
Where can he be? He must be dead. A secret corpse, and a key to more terrible secrets.
"Thiparteth-fuft!" "Lead me, Herdmaster."
"Have the funeral pits searched. I am certain that the Advisor is dead, and I wish to know how he died."
"At once"
Dead or not, I had no choice
. Pastempeh-keph trampled conflicting feelings deep into the muddy substrate of his mind. The Traveler Herd must continue, and without an Advisor no decisions are possible. A replacement was needed. I have found one. Why am I so disturbed? Siplisteph is a good choice. He has been to Winterhome. He commanded spaceborn, and they accepted his leadership. The sleeper females acclaimed him even though he is not mated. Now he must mate—
Pastempeh-keph thought of eligible females. There are so few. Would the sleepers accept a spaceborn mare for the Advisor? That would go far toward uniting the Traveler Herd. The door opened. Pastempeh-keph moved decisively into the theater. He need not have bothered to compose himself. Siplisteph, Raztupisp-minz, and Fistarteh-thuktun were shoulder to shoulder before the projection wall. They did not look up.
Thiparteth-fuft lifted his snnfp to bellow for attention, but the Herdmaster laid his digits across the guard officer's forehead. "There is no need. Come, l
et us see what so fascinates them."
The equipment had come from Winterhome; the only fithp equipment was a makeshift transformer to mate the human recording machines to Message Bearer's current.
The Herdfnaster stood behind them. The forward and inward walls were a smooth white curve, a screen that would serve under thrust or spin. Advisor, breaker, and priest were in agitated argument. Their waving digits made shadows on the forward wall, where two humans similarly waved their arms and bellowed, trumpeted, a sound no fi' could have matched. To fithp ears it seemed a song of rage and distress. Their clothes were thick, layered, a padding against cold. The male waved something small and sharp that glittered.
"At last my digits are whole again," Raztupisp-minz translated.
"Meaning?" the Herdmaster asked.
The three fithp turned quickly. "Your pardon," the Breaker said. "I did not hear you enter."
"No matter. I ask again, what was the meaning of what the human said?"
"None. He was not crippled." Raztupisp-minz turned back to the screen.
The Herdmaster waited. The humans on the screen huddled, conspired, all in that ear-splintering keening voice. "Have you ever heard them speak like that?" the Herdmaster demanded.
"Once. Nikolai, the legless one, spoke like that at length once, but far more softly. Thcy call it `singing."
"What are they building?"
Breaker-One Raztupisp-minz only folded his digits across his scalp.
"The other recordings," Raztupisp-minz demanded. "Siplisteph, you have brought others."
Siplisteph only needed a moment to change tapes.
The four humans looked soft and vulnerable without their clothing. Two patches of fur apiece only pointed up their nakedness. Alien music played eerily across fithp nerves. "Mating." Said Breaker-One, "Odd. I had the idea they sought privacy when they did that. Herdmaster, that isn't the female's genital area at all!"
"But that is the male's."
"Oh, yes. I've never seen it in that state . . . but of course they usually cover themselves. Does it seem to you that she might harm him accidentally?"