by Ed Hurst
Back inside the tent, George was removing his sword harness. “I don’t want to break our circadian rhythm, but if you are able to sleep, taking a nap would be a good idea.”
Fortis was loading the food into his previously light pack. “Sneaky plans ahead?”
“Sneaky, indeed. I need to explain now, because when the time comes, we will need silence.” George sat down on his bed and began removing his boots. “We are going to arise about midnight, take down the tent, and prepare to leave.”
“Midnight,” Fortis muttered.
“But we won’t leave for awhile. Going through any gate at that time of night would require waking a warder to open the electric fence. We need to slip out unnoticed, if possible. So we’ll add a little confusion to whoever is watching us; it cannot be very many in a village like this. Likely the fake hunter is working alone here, with just a small amount of assistance from the busybody woman. She would probably believe whatever wild story he concocted for her. The tea man told me he had packed that breakfast basket to order for the stranger, who also returned it empty.”
“So he was still at the tea tent waiting for us. We all leave tracks unawares,” Fortis offered.
“Oh, yes. But we need not make a bunch of noise about it.” George produced something Fortis thought looked like thick woolly socks with drawstrings. “Slip these over your boots before we leave. A little nap now, dinner, then we pre-pack and set everything up to move quickly at midnight. We’ll meet the boys near a work gate and wait for the loggers to leave before dawn.”
Fortis lay back and swam in the ocean of thoughts. Perhaps it met no previously accepted definition he knew, but he realized he was praying, conversing with the presence of that Other in his soul. It was a conversation without words.
After dinner, George took him through a few exercises using the lance. There was barely any room inside the tent, but Fortis was assured that was a critical part of the training. The simple drills were repeated until Fortis was aglow and perspiring. Then they dry-bathed from a folding cloth washtub, and packed everything, each item thoughtfully positioned for quick and silent departure.
Of course, it helped if one was fully alert when executing such plans. Fortis had long experience with shifting his circadian rhythm, but it was never previously accompanied by so much physical exertion. Midnight came too soon, of course. George was patient, but Fortis could not quite shake his embarrassment at being so slow and clumsy. He wondered if all the trouble for silence had not been wasted by his fumbling.
Even having seen it so many times, he was still surprised at how quickly and efficient George triggered the built-in tent frame to collapse, each section going limp when George pinched some part to turn off the charge which made it harden. With the ceiling caved in, George stepped out, pinched two places at once, and the tent collapsed, almost folding itself. In seconds it was packed and strapped on the cart. George had borrowed Fortis’ jacket to cover the bright orange hammock bags.
The pack with it’s new load was not yet too heavy. Fortis recalled that first hike inland to this village, how the load was there, but his body had ignored the signal until he took it off. The muscles had suddenly complained loudly after the fact. With lance in hand, and muffled boots, Fortis followed George as they wound around past a couple of large tents, slipping in behind one where a low awning stood. George ducked under the edge, left his cart standing, and sat down with his pack still on, leaning back against it in the dark. Fortis did his best to follow suit.
He was startled by a whispered voice just beside him, and realized the young hunters were there. George responded in kind. “Yes, I would.” Leaning over to Fortis, “I recommend you take some of their jerky. We won’t be stopping for breakfast.”
Fortis accepted the bundle of rough, dried meat. It smelled of spices, very tempting, but he decided to stuff it into the inside pocket of his cloak. Stroking the fabric idly, he realized he liked the cloak better than his jacket, much better suited to the climate and circumstances. In the ensuing silence, he dozed.
A hand shaking his shoulder brought him back to awareness only slightly less confused than when they rose earlier. It was George’s unmistakable precise Galactic telling him, “Rise to your knees. In a few moments a group of men will walk by and we will join them as they exit the small gate. Make sure you stay close to Stephen here” – his hand was guided to a shadowy form in front of him. “Stanley and I will be behind you. We’ll break from the workmen without warning.”
The vague thrill of fear brought Fortis to full awareness.
Chapter 19: Predators
Because the woodsmen were generally large, and their ax heads narrower and thicker, Fortis had little trouble distinguishing his guide once they were out from under the awning. The warder was an aged man. He was yawning and stretching under the blanket draped across his shoulders. His arms were crossed before his face, hands clutching the corners of the cover, elbows extended high, and his head was turned slightly. Clearly the man would rather still be in bed. Fortis barely heard the sound of the gate being closed as the herd of boots in front of him mixed with a few words in the local patois, and the occasional snort of laughter.
Fortis kept his attention on Stephen in front of him, as the lad seemed very much just another part of the workforce. At one point the path narrowed between several pairs of large trees, and Stephen slowed a bit, opening space between himself and the workers, then suddenly darting left in the middle of the defile.
They labored forward on a narrow path for a while as the gray light of dawn filtered through the trees. Fortis realized Stephen had a small pack bulging low under his cloak, and the ax handle rested against it on one side. Stephen kept his right hand in front of him, holding something Fortis could not see. The pace was quick enough he didn’t want to risk turning to see, but he heard the muffled footfalls of George and Stanley behind him.
It was full daylight when they halted at a wide spot in the trail. Stephen turned, and it was then Fortis saw he held a small, light crossbow in front of him. His was the nose with the scar. He smiled at Fortis, but said nothing. It was not quite a whisper when George said they could remove the cloth booties. Standing his lance against the nearest tree, Fortis took a moment to balance himself with the load on his back, but managed it. George took the booties and stuffed them in Fortis’ pack. He then produced his water jug and offered it around.
“Are you doing well, Fortis?”
Nothing was hurting, but he knew his muscles were going to scream if they stopped for too long. “I’m okay for now.” He remembered the jerky and began gnawing on a stick, which suddenly awakened his hunger.
George reclaimed his water jug and took a long drink. His brow was slightly damp, compared to Fortis’ dripping. The two hunters showed no evidence of having done more than a light stroll. George reached out and readjusted something on Fortis’ pack. “Keep your water handy, especially while you eat that jerky. Drink a little between each piece, but don’t guzzle.” Fortis felt to make sure his hand could find it.
“In less than a kilometer we’ll join a wider road. It’s not the main road, and it’s not much used. Still, if we are going to have trouble, that’s where it is most likely.” With that, George pulled out his bow, and placed three arrows in the clips near the grip. The hunters checked their crossbows and bolts. Then Stephen turned and strode off down the trail. Fortis grabbed his lance and followed.
Once on the road, Stephen slowed a bit, drifting to the left side. He glanced back and indicated with his hand for Fortis to remain in the middle, several steps back. Glancing behind, Fortis saw George several meters back and Stanley on the right farther back still.
While the others obviously paid close attention to their surroundings as they marched on, Fortis focused his mind on George’s advice about registering a full awareness of the background noises and smells. The road was moderately hard packed, but carpeted in pine needles. There was the faintest crunching sound from twigs generously m
ixed in, and the strong smell of resinous sap. There were birds, unseen but making occasional calls. The insects flying around didn’t seem to make any noise Fortis could hear.
But his mind was poorly trained for this, and a part of him returned to swim in that ocean. He lost awareness of the time passing, and was brought up short when Stephen suddenly raised a hand. The young hunter’s stride changed and he stepped quietly forward, looking off into the trees. Fortis gripped his lance in both hands nervously. Satisfied it was nothing, Stephen seemed ready to move on. He had half turned when his body snapped back around and he fired off a bolt.
Fortis found his heart hammering, watching the wood line, but knowing he was unlikely to see anything the others missed. He glanced at George, who was studying the place Stephen’s bolt had gone.
The tension still high, Stephen motioned them to continue forward. Slowly and warily at first, they eventually returned to a more watchful march. Off in the woods behind them, there was a faint, whining growl. Fortis glanced back at George, who mouthed the word, “predator.” Fortis surmised Stephen had wounded the creature and it fled.
While it didn’t lessen his fear, he assumed it was another when it was Stanley’s turn to whip around the other side of the road and fire into the woods. But this time George and Stephen joined in, as they sent several missiles in short succession into the trees. A couple of them struck wood, but there was the distinct sound of bipedal running and human panting. Fortis caught a glimpse of movement; nothing more.
In a stage whisper, George spoke, “Excellent shooting, lads!”
The twins merely grinned in response. The three took care to re-supply their ready clips. Then, after a few more moments of silent celebration, they continued their march. George moved up close to Fortis, placing a hand on his cowled head.
“The predators are all over the place, so we are bound to see at least one every day. We are bigger than even the largest, and four of us together make them cautious. We wounded the first one, so it won’t be back. But the time it took to deal with it allowed whoever was following us to catch up, and approach from the other side. We didn’t strike him, but he won’t be back before we stop, if at all. At the same time, he’ll have to deal with the predators.”
“And we will have our little electric fence?”
“Of course. But we are going to push just a little today, so lunch will be late. Would you like me to get you some more food or water?”
Fortis took him up on the offer. He knew when they finally stopped, he would be too tired to eat.
Chapter 20: Safe Danger
Fortis decided he really liked hammocks.
It was hard to get out of it, but not because of the design. It was simply very comfortable on his aching muscles. The long nap after they first stopped and set up the tent was not long enough, but George insisted he train some more with the lance before dinner.
While they were thus engaged, the twins slipped away into the trees. They returned with a collection of game fowl, which made a marvelous dinner. That, despite what Fortis considered a very ugly butchering and cleaning process. But the boys handled it all themselves.
They rarely spoke. Fortis thought at first it was simply deference, but George mentioned how much he liked hunters because they were so quiet. So it was something natural to their work, obviously. Finally, Fortis recognized the small gestures, a highly subtle and abbreviated sign language.
“You know we have advanced medically to the point almost no one born deaf stays that way. Even here on Misty we do aural circuit implants. Still, we have maintained an official sign language. It’s taught in every academy, particularly useful for working in the desert where the high winds make conversation difficult.” He glanced at Fortis from his own hammock. “My clan home borders part of the desert belt.”
He was silent a moment. “But these boys are using a rather private version, with only a vague resemblance to the official one. I recognize the patterns, but not the meanings. I assume it’s a benefit of growing up so close to someone your whole life who thinks and acts the same.”
Fortis watched them awhile at the other end of the tent. Their hammocks were much lighter, but obviously well used. Nothing but a thin net, the end spreaders went stiff when pinched, like the tent frame. Fortis luxuriated in the denser fabric panel of his own hammock with the solid wood spreaders. It gave just a bit to accommodate an elbow or his aching back, yet held its basic shape, hugging him warmly. When he moved to roll out, it seemed to give just enough to make for an easy exit.
And while he was in no hurry to do so each morning, well before dawn, he knew it was necessary. Part of the reason he loved the hammock, though, was because the soreness in his back, especially, was somewhat less than when he slept on the mattress on the ground. Too bad it required sturdy trees for the tent to withstand the load strung from the spines running in the ceiling. The spines wouldn’t break, of course, but the whole tent would simply fold under the weight were it not firmly guyed to fat solid trees.
The five days passed quickly in this routine. During that time, the twins killed two predators, one which had dared to face them on the road. It was about half his size, Fortis estimated, after they told him it was a big one. Its forelegs were long and thin, ending in a triple hooked claw, and two vestigial digits on either side. They ran on their knuckles, with the claws tucked under. The hind legs were thicker and shorter, and this one easily reared on them to threaten with the claws. The dark brown hair was thick, streaked with faint variations in shade. The snout took up half the face, round and not particularly long.
The twins skinned the two they killed, salting the pelts down and rolling them for travel, but stretching them for drying in the evening. They carried a bunch of clips with thin net bags. The skins were hung from a limb first thing, with the clipped bags filled with rocks stretching them. In the morning, the boys would scrape off insects trapped in the gooey underside. They sprinkled on more chemicals, and then rolled the pelts tightly into a peculiar cloth cover they carried for the purpose. George explained the pelts had some value, but only insects and birds cared for the meat.
Four other predators were chased off, perhaps wounded. There were no more encounters with the human kind. Thus, he was puzzled when George insisted they set up camp, on schedule, just five kilometers from the hilly grassland rising up to the city.
As they lay in their hammocks after lunch, George stared at the ceiling. “Stanley is certain we were still being followed until this morning. Most likely that means whoever it is has gone on ahead into the city.”
“If the predators were such a chore for us, how did our pursuit handle them?”
“Slept in the trees, using a hunter’s hammock like the boys. There is a range of much more expensive and ultra-light military equipment for extended survival. I’m betting it’s a ranger. Not quite so specialized as the boys, but highly trained in tracking people, avoiding capture, moving fast and consuming very little for long periods. He would carry a terribly expensive Gauss weapon, lots of metal; one of the few still functioning after all these years without replacements or parts. They take a lot of power, so with the feeble daylight of Misty, even a fully charged battery pack” – he paused just a second – “would mean something just slightly more effective than our weapons, but far more compact, using tiny metal darts for ammunition.”
With the advent of such highly efficient energy weapons in the rest of the galaxy, Fortis had seen few Gauss weapons, mostly museum pieces. Nothing on Misty could replace the bare minimum wiring necessary to create a powerful electromagnetic field. Here, then, they would just barely work.
George went on, “Their importation here has been strictly controlled. Given our barter rate in the past, each one would equal over a ton of our products, so it’s not hard to track the few we could possibly buy. Any clan with a significant number of them would have too great an advantage in battle. The temptation to take over would prove too irresistible.”
Fortis d
igested this in silence for a few minutes. “So you and others suspect this is what these two clans plan to do, if they can somehow seize control of some part of the future trade.”
George smiled broadly. “You never fail to bless me with your quick intuition, Fortis.” He turned his head to face Fortis. “So tell me – why would I want us to wait here, now that this nameless ranger has surely gone into the city to meet with his confederates?”
“They’ll try to stop us.” Fortis felt that tiny chill again.
“But because we don’t come waltzing into town this afternoon, they’ll have to come look for us. Did you notice we came farther off the road than usual to set up camp today?”
Fortis had thought it was because the trees weren’t quite right near the road. He nodded.
“This will be another midnight move. The boys aren’t hunting dinner, but scouting right now. For our enemies to mobilize a search, they’ll have to move. Regardless of their ostensible reason for leaving their other duties, it would mean a coordinated departure from the city. We will trap them by notifying trusted authorities. While we would hardly catch them all, it will throw things into disarray for them. We’ll slip into a village not too far from here, where an old friend of mine has a very light-footed daughter. She can enter the city without attracting attention, and knows a few other friends of mine at the academy.”
Fortis didn’t sleep at all that evening. His body rested, but his mind drifted all over that ocean of thought. It was no longer fear, because he felt confident Elder Bradley would do his part, and whatever happened to him now was his own personal adventure. That sense of the Other’s presence was not particularly comforting, but his fear seemed to drown in the fascination for the intrigue. It was as if his life had become a very engaging adventure story. George’s confidence the real threat was capture, not death, was plausible. By the same token, Fortis was certain dying to avoid being used as a pawn for evil was not such a bad thing, even if George and he alone knew they were just a couple of weeks away, at most, from his spacecraft returning home.