Xeelee: An Omnibus: Raft, Timelike Infinity, Flux, Ring (68 page)

She was concerned for Farr. Even in the gloom she could see how distressed he was: his face was white and seemed to be bulging, his eyes half-closed; he seemed barely aware of where he was, and he moved along the trunk stiffly.

Dura forced herself to look away, to carry on. There was no help she could give him. Not now. The best she could do was to move on, to bring home the results of a successful hunt. And as Adda had said, the boy was probably safer with her than anywhere else ...

At least Adda was close to Farr. Dura found herself offering up a simple, childlike message of thanks to the watchful Xeelee for the old man’s presence and support.

When the climb ended it was with a suddenness that startled her.

The tree trunk she’d followed had broadened only gradually, at last reaching a width just too great for her to stretch her arms around. Now, suddenly, the clean lines of the trunk exploded into a complex tangle of roots which formed a semicircular platform over her head. Peering up, she could see the roots receding into the dim, translucent interior of the Crust itself; they looked almost like human arms, reaching deep into the gossamer solid in search of neutron-rich nuclei of molybdenum, strontium or krypton.

Looking around, she saw how the root system of the tree merged with those of its neighbours in the forest, so that a carpet of wood formed an impenetrable ceiling over the forest. A few strands of purplish grass sprouted among the roots. The tree trunks, following the Magfield lines, met the root ceiling at an oblique angle.

Soon the others had joined her. The four Human Beings huddled together, clinging to loose roots for stability. It was so dim now that Dura could barely make out the faces of her companions, the outlines of their thin bodies. Philas’s eyes were dull with exhaustion and apathy; Farr, trembling, had his arms wrapped around himself, and his mouth was wide as he strained at the residual Air. Adda was as uncomplaining as ever, but his face was set and pale, and Dura could see how his old shoulders were hunched over his thin, heaving chest. Adda took leaves from the bulging pack at his waist. Dura bit into the food gratefully. Insubstantial and unsatisfying as it was, the food seemed to boost what was left of her strength. Farr continued to shiver; Dura put an arm around him and drew him closer to her, hoping to transmit enough of her body warmth to stop the trembling.

Farr asked, ‘Are we at the Crust?’

‘No,’ Adda growled. ‘The true Crust is still millions of mansheights above us. But we’ve reached the roots; this is as far as we can go.’

Philas’s voice was low and harsh in the thin Air. ‘We can’t stay here for long.’

‘We won’t need to,’ Dura said. ‘But maybe we should open up a trunk and start some nuclear burning again, before we congeal here. Adda, could you ...’

The old man raised a hand, curtly. ‘No time,’ he breathed. ‘Just listen ... all of you.’

Dura frowned but said nothing. The four fell into a silence broken only by the rattle of their uneven breaths. Dura felt small, vulnerable, isolated, dwarfed by the immensities of the root systems over their heads. Every instinct ordered her to bolt, to slide back down the tree and plummet through the wall of treetops to the open Air where she belonged; and she could see the same urges in the set faces of the others.

There
. A rustle, a distant grunting ... It came from the root systems, somewhere to her left.

Adda’s face crumpled with frustration. ‘Damn it all,’ he hissed. ‘I can’t hear; my ears are turning to mush.’

‘I can hear them, Adda,’ Farr said.

Dura pointed. ‘That way.’

Adda nodded, his good eye half-closed with satisfaction. ‘I knew it wouldn’t take long. How many?’

Dura and Philas looked at each other, each seeking the answer in the other’s face. Dura said, ‘I can’t tell, Adda . . . more than one, I think.’

For a few seconds Adda swore steadily, cursing his age, his failing faculties. ‘Well, into the Ring with it,’ he said finally. ‘We’ll just have to chance there aren’t too many in the herd.’ In an urgent, harsh whisper he gave them careful instructions on how, in the event of attack by a boar, they should scatter . . . and work
across
the Magfield flux rather than try to flee along it. ‘Because that’s the way the boar will go. And, believe me, the boar will be a damn sight quicker than you.’ His face was a murderous, chilling mask in the twilight.

Dura said, ‘Philas, go with Adda and Wave around to the far side of the herd. Take the nets and rope and get downflux from them. Farr, stay with me; we’ll wait until the others are in position and then we’ll chase the pigs into the nets. All right?’

Hurriedly they passed round the equipment they would need. Dura took two short stabbing spears from the bundle carried by Philas. Then Adda and Philas slid silently into the darkness, working across the Magfield by Waving and by clambering across the parallel tree trunks.

Farr stayed close to Dura, still pressed close to her for warmth, trusting. For a few seconds she looked down at him - his eyes seemed vacant, as if he were not fully conscious - and she tried to imagine how she would feel if anything were to befall this boy, as a result of her own ignorance and carelessness.

Well, she thought ruefully, at least she’d done her best for him in the way she’d structured the hunt. It was undoubtedly safer to be upflux of the herd when the hunt started. And she would have been greatly more worried if she hadn’t stayed with Farr herself.

With a last, brisk hug, she whispered, ‘Come on, Farr. We’ve got work to do. Let’s see how close we can get to those pigs without them spotting us.’

He nodded dully and drew away from her, still shivering.

Hefting a short spear in each hand, Dura began to pull herself across the lines of the fat trunks in the direction of the noises she’d heard. Moving in this direction, the resistance of the Magfield was added to the thickened viscosity of the Air, and the going was hard. She felt submerged and had to suppress a pang of panic at the feeling of being trapped up here, of being unable to free herself from this solidifying Air.

She did not look back, but was aware of Farr following her, perhaps a mansheight behind; he moved silently save for his rattling breath, and she could hear how he was trying to control the noise of his breathing.
The brave little hunter
, she thought.
Logue would have been proud of him.

It took only seconds to reach the pigs; soon Dura could see the blocky forms of several animals sliding between the tree trunks, still apparently oblivious to the humans.

Beckoning Farr to come close to her, Dura lodged herself amid the tree trunks perhaps ten mansheights below the root ceiling.

There were three Air-pigs. The animals, each about the size of a man’s torso, worked steadily around the bases of the trees, scooping up purple-green krypton grass and other small plants. The pigs’ fins waved languidly as they fed, and Dura could see how their eyestalks were fixed on the grass before them and their mouths were pursed, almost shut. When grazing on the thin foodstuff which floated in the free Air, a pig’s mouth could open so wide that it exposed the entire front end of the pig, turning the animal into an open-ended tube, a crude eating machine trailing eyestalks and fins. But here in this failing Air the mouths were barely opening as they worked, lapping and chewing at the krypton grass. The pigs were keeping their squat bodies sealed up as much as possible, maintaining an inner reservoir of life-sustaining Air; in this way, she knew, the pigs could last for days up here - unlike fragile, weak and ill-adapted Human Beings.

She turned to Farr, who hovered beside her with his eyes barely protruding over the trunk. She mimed:
Just three of them. We’re in luck.

He nodded and pointed at one of the pigs. Dura, studying the animal more closely, saw that it was bigger than the others: bulkier, clumsier.

A pregnant sow.

She felt a smile spread across her face. Perfect.

She counted one hundred heartbeats, then lifted her spears. Philas and Adda should be in position by now.

She nodded to Farr.

The two humans erupted from behind their trunk. Dura yelled as loudly as the thin Air would permit; she hurled herself along the Magfield flux at the pigs, rattling her spears against the wood of the trunk. Beside her Farr did the same, his hair tangling almost comically.

At their approach the pigs’ mouths snapped shut. Their eyestalks lifted, rigid, to fix straining gazes on their sudden assailants. Then, as if with one mind, the pigs turned and bolted.

The animals hurled themselves along the Magfield lines, seeking the easiest and quickest escape. They clattered against tree trunks and bounced over roots, their jet orifices farting clouds of green-stained, sweet-smelling Air. Dura and Farr gave chase, still roaring enthusiastically. Suddenly Dura found herself bound up by the excitement of the hunt, and a new energy coursed through her.

The pigs, of course, outran Dura and Farr easily. Within a few heartbeats the animals were disappearing into the darkness of distance, trailing clouds of jetfarts ...

But there were Adda and Philas, waiting just a little further down the Magfield, with a net pulled tight between them and with stabbing spears at the ready.

The first two pigs were moving too rapidly to stop. They turned in the Air and tumbled against each other, their huge mouths popping open to emit childlike squeals, but they hurtled backside first into the net. Philas and Adda worked together, a little clumsily but effectively. Within a few heartbeats they had thrown the net around the two pigs and were prodding at them, trying to force them to subside. Green jetfarts squirted from the pigs, and the net bulged as the terrified animals strove vainly to escape. By the time Dura got there they would have the animals trussed up and then ...

There was a scream behind her. Farr’s scream.

She whirled in the Air, Adda and Philas forgotten. The third pig - the pregnant sow, she saw - had evaded Adda’s net. Terrified and enraged, it had flown down, away from the root ceiling, and was now plummeting up through the trees, back along the Magfield flux ... and straight at Farr.

The boy gazed at the animal’s flapping fins and rigid, staring eyestalks, apparently transfixed.
He isn’t going to get out of the way
, Dura realized. And the momentum of the pig would crush him in a moment.

She tried to call out, to move towards the boy - but she was plunged into a nightmare of slow motion. The Magfield was thick, clinging, the Air a soupy mass in which she was embedded. She struggled to get free, to shout to her brother, but the hurtling, blurring speed of the pig reduced her efforts to the trivial.

There was barely a mansheight between the pig and the boy. Dura, trapped in viscous Air, heard herself scream.

Suddenly the sow opened its mouth wide and bellowed in agony. Jetfarts staining the air, it veered abruptly. One ventral fin caught Farr with a side-swipe which sent him spinning against a tree trunk ... but, Dura saw with a flood of relief, he was no more than shocked.

As the sow tumbled in the Air the reason for its distress revealed itself: Adda’s long spear, protruding from the sow’s belly. The spear quivered as the beast thrashed, seeking an escape from this sudden agony.

Now Adda himself raced along the Magfield, ungainly but determined. Behind him the two trapped pigs were struggling free of the abandoned net. Adda bellowed: ‘She’s gone rogue ... Dura, get to the boy and keep him away.’

Now the pig settled in the Air, all six of its eyestalks triangulating on the old man. Adda slowed to a hover, arms and legs outspread, his gaze locked on the pig.

Dura said uncertainly, ‘Adda, get out of the way ... I think ...’

‘Get the damn boy.’

Dura hurried to obey, skirting the hovering pig.

With a howl that rent the glutinous Air, the pig charged Adda.

Adda twisted in the Air and began to Wave out of the way, his legs thrashing at the Magfield ...

But, Dura saw instantly, not fast enough.

Clinging to the weeping Farr there was nothing she could do as the final, ghastly moments unfolded. Adda’s face showed no fear - but no acceptance either, Dura saw; there was only a grimace of irritation, perhaps at this newest failure of his crumbling body.

As it closed on Adda, trailing green clouds of jetfarts, the sow opened its mouth.

The huge, circular maw closed on both Adda’s legs. The momentum of the hurtling sow carried away both pig and Adda, and Dura cried out as she saw Adda’s fragile body smashed against a tree trunk. But he was still conscious, and fighting; with both fists he pounded on the sow’s wide, quivering back.

Dura kicked away from the tree and Waved as hard as she could towards the pig. Philas was approaching the pig from the far side, her stabbing spears held out before her. The woman’s eyes were wide, emptied by shock and terror.

The pig, halted by its impact with the tree, pulled back into clear Air now, and it began, with lateral squirts of gas, to rotate around its long axis. Adda seemed to realize what was happening. With his legs still trapped, he beat harder at the pig’s flank, cursing violently. But still the pig twisted, ever faster, becoming at last a blur of fins and eyestalks. Jetfart gas trailed around its body in circular ribbons, and electron glow sparkled from its fins. Adda, at last, fell backwards and lay against the pig’s long flank, his knees bent cruelly.

This was the way boars killed their prey, Dura knew: the boar would spin so fast that the superfluidity of the Air which sustained all animals in the Mantle, including humans, broke down. It was simple, but deadly effective. Even now, she knew, the pain of Adda’s trapped legs, the agony induced by the whirling of the world around him, would be subsumed by a dull, disabling numbness as his muscles ceased to function, his senses dimmed, and at last even his mind failed.