When they reached me, part of my terror was eased by the sudden appearance of Huphu. Somewhere in my addled mind, I’d been worried about our mascot. Abruptly, there she was, rearing in front of me, chattering defiance at the towering spider-things.
The creatures rocked back, amazement now so evident that I might have been watching them with perfectly tuned rewq. One of the things crouched down and murmured hurriedly, excitedly, either talking excitedly about the little noor or right at her. I couldn’t tell which.
Can I trust that dreamlike impression? At this point, as they say in some Earthling books, I was fading to vacuum, fast. In retrospect, it seems an illusion.
One thing I know I fantasized. Something that comes back now more as notion than memory. Yet the image clings, flickering the same way consciousness flickered, just before dimming out.
Without warning, a final figure crept into view, crawling from under a slab of our poor shattered bathy. Half-flattened and deformed, Ziz regathered its conical shape while the two monsters staggered backward, as if they had seen something deadlier than a poison-skenk. One of them swung a gleaming tube at the battered traeki partial and fired a searing bolt that blew a hole in thepoor stack’s middle ring, flinging it against the wall near Huck.
My overtaxed brain shut down about then. (Or had it done so already?) Yet there is just one more vague, dreamlike impression that clings to me right now, like a shadow of a phantom of a ghost of stunned astonishment.
Somebody spoke, while the midget traeki oozed sap across the sodden floor. Not in the trilling whistles the creatures used before. Not in GalSeven or any other civilized tongue—but in Anglic.
“My God—“ it said, in tones of disbelief, and it struck me as a human female’s voice, with a strange accent I never heard before.
“My God—all these—and a Jophur too!”
Legends
It is said that we are all descended from unlucky races.
/\ccording to many of the tales told by the Six, there is endless war, persecution, suffering, and fanaticism amid the Five Galaxies. But it this really were typical, that civilisation could not have lasted even a million years, let alone a billion or more.
If it were typical, places like Jijo would be teeming with countless sooner infestations, not just half a dozen.
If it were typical, worlds like Jijo would have been used up Iong ago.
Other accounts tell that the vast majority or star-faring races are relatively calm. That they manage their interests, raise their clients, and tend their leased worlds with serene attentiveness to good manners and the ancient codes, while trodding the Upward Path toward whatever transcendence awaits them. They see the abrasive antics or jealous, fanatical alliances as tasteless, immature—but why intervene when it is simpler and safer just to keep your head (or heads) down and mind your own business? Clients lucky enough to be adopted into such moderate clans grow up peaceful and secure, except during those intervals—legendary times of Change—when upheaval overwhelms even the cautious and discreet.
Then it is the hardy that tend to thrive.
Those toughened by scrappy interactions in the back alleys of space.
Those alleys claim victims, though. It is said that we Six count among the bleeding refugees who slunk away from lost causes and broken dreams, seeking a place to hide. To heal. To seek another path.
To search in quest of one last chance.
Sara
IT WAS A MUDDLE, ANY WAY YOU LOOKED AT IT. The stun-bomb had driven the pack animals into hysterical flight, yanking free of their tethers to run wild through the maze of stony spires. Someone would have to go search for them, but only after the wounded were tended with what skill Sara possessed.
Those humans who were blinded-perhaps temporarily-needed to be calmed, then fed by hand. Later, the dead must be dragged to a flat spot where a pyre could be raised, to sear their corpses down to ineluctable dross-a neat, transportable pile to be gathered and sent to sea.
There was an added complication. Several dead Urunthai had been carrying husbands or larvae. Sara herded together the strongest that crawled out of pouches-those with any chance of surviving-into a makeshift pen where the diminutive males took charge of their offspring, chewing and regurgitating small bits of meat for the pasty, caterpillarlike, pre-infant urs.
In tales praising the glory of war, they never talk about the hard stuff that comes after a battle. Maybe people wouldn’t fight as much if they knew they’d have to clean up the awful mess.
Kurt and Jomah finally got her to sit down around sunset, to eat and rest for a while. By then the day had dimmed, and the campfire’s glow flickered across two ranks of sullen captives-human and urrish-who stared at each other, sulky, half-blind, and petulant. None seemed more melancholy than the former sage, the scholar-turned-prophet who had argued with Sara so confidently half a day before. Dedinger glared calculatingly at Kurt, who cradled the pistol carefully, never letting any of the prisoners out of his sight.
Before sitting down, Sara first checked Prity’s stitches, which still oozed enough to worry her. It had been difficult sewing the wound, with the chimp understandably twitching and with Sara’s eyes blurry from the stun-bomb. After she had done all she could for her little assistant and friend, Sara looked around for the Stranger. He had been a great help all afternoon, but she had not seen him in over an hour, and it was past time for his medicine.
Kurt said, “He went off thataway”-indicating southward, into the rocks-“to try catching some donkeys. Don’t worry. That fellow seems to know how to take care of himself.”
Sara quashed her initial reaction-to berate the ex-ploser for letting the star-man head into an unfamiliar wilderness all alone. The alien was a cripple, after all, and might get hurt or lost.
But then, she recalled, he was a strangely competent cripple. Clever and skilled in ways that had little to do with words. And for a man with such a peaceful demeanor, he fought very well.
With a shrug, Sara accepted what could not be changed and sat down to partake of the desert warriors’ wafer bread and a jug of leathery-tasting water.
“In the morning we must gather wood for a pyre, since we haven’t any scavenger toruses for proper mulching,” she said between mouthfuls, speaking more loudly than normal, because everyone was still rather hard of hearing. At best, it took a shout to carry over the steady ringing in her own ears. “And we should send someone for help.”
“I’ll go,” Jomah volunteered. “I’m the only one who wasn’t banged up in the battle. I’m strong an’ I’ve got a compass. Uncle Kurt knows I won’t get lost. And I can move real fast.”
The
senior
exploser
looked
uncomfortable.
His
nephew was very young. Still, after a moment’s reflection, Kurt nodded. “It makes sense. He can head—“
“Of course /an the one to send,” Ulgor interrupted, turning from tending the campfire. “I can run faster and farther than the child, and I know these hills well.”
Sara choked. “Not a chance! I can’t believe we haven’t tied you up yet with the others! Let you go? So you can hurry off and collect more of your fanatic friends?”
Ulgor turned her narrow head to peer at Sara sideways. “As if those friends are not already on their way, dear daughter of Nelo? UrKachu sent envoys ahead, don’t forget. Let us suffose that Kurt’s nephew could reach the Glade without encountering a ligger, or a fack of khoovrahs. If he heads north, I guarantee the first folks he encounters will ve UrKachu’s allies, hurrying to join us.”
Now it was Kurt’s turn to interrupt, with a short, hard laugh.
“And who says we’re headin’ north?” Both Ulgor and Sara looked at him. “What do you mean? Obviously we have to . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she saw the exploser smile. Come to think of it, Kurt never explicitly said the Glade was his destination. She had assumed, quite naturally, that his urgent business lay there. But he might have planned to leave our group at Crossroads, where the rest of us would turn uphill toward the Egg.
“Others of my guild have already gone to help the High Sages. But the boy and I have interests in another direction. And while we’re on the subject, I suggest you should consider coming along, Sara. For one thing, it’s the last direction the Urunthai are likely to look.”
It was the longest speech she had ever heard Kurt make, and her mind churned with implications. For instance, why was he saying this in front of Ulgor?
Because any determined urs could track a bunch of humans and donkeys over afresh trail. Obviously, Ulgor has to come along, or else be eliminated.
But then, didn’t the same logic require that they murder all the other survivors, too? Kurt surely knew that Sara would never permit that. Anyway, the problem would not go away simply because they got a couple of days’ head start. A good tracker, like Dwer, could hunt them even over a trail that had gone cold.
She started to raise these matters, then stopped, realizing that Kurt could not give a satisfactory answer with the seething outlaws listening nearby.
“You know I can’t go,” she said at last, shaking her head. “These men and urs will die if left here like this, all trussed up, and we clearly can’t release them.”
If she had any doubts about that, one look into Ded-inger’s wrath-filled eyes settled the matter. That cold fury was a problem only a great deal of time and distance would solve. The more the better. “I’ll stay and take care of them till their friends arrive,” she added. “The Urunthai will probably protect me, since I fought to help save some of them-though they may still keep me prisoner. I may even be able to stop ‘em from slaughtering Dedinger’s gang.
“But you and Jomah ought to go ahead. Assuming we get some of the donkeys back, you can take Prity and the Stranger along. With tons of luck you might get them somewhere with a pharmacist and a strong militia outfit. I’ll follow for several arrowflights and brush away your trail, then I’ll use more donkeys to trample a mess of false paths leading out of here.”
A soft whistle of grudging respect escaped Ulgor. “You are, indeed, your vrother’s sister.”
Sara turned and pointed at the elegant tinker. “Of course this means you have used up the free time you earned by helping us at the battle’s end.” She bent to pick up a length of tent rope. “It’s time for you to join the others by the fire, neighbor.”
Ulgor backed away. “You and who else plan on enforcing that ruling?” she asked in defiant GalSix.
Kurt cocked the pistol. “Me and my magic wand, Ulgor. You just stop right there.”
Ulgorls long neck slumped in defeat. “Oh, all right,” she murmured, disconsolately. “If you’re going to ve so insistent. I suffose I can stand it for a little while.”
Amid Ulgor’s stream of placating words, it took a dura or two for Sara to realize-she’s still hacking up!
Confused by mixed signals, Kurt wavered until Ded-inger cried out. “She’s faking, you fools!”
In a blur, Ulgor whipped around and plunged into the twilight dimness. Kurt fired once-and missed-as the urrish rump vanished amid the rocks. Their last sight of Ulgor was a flourish of twin braided tails. The captive urs lifted their heads from drug-hangover misery to chortle with amused glee. Several human captives laughed at the exploser’s discomfiture.
“You need more practice with that thing, grandpa,” Dedinger observed. “Or else hand it to a guy who hit something the one time he tried.”
Prity bared her teeth and snarled at the ex-sage, who sarcastically feigned terror, then laughed again.
He spent time around’chimps in Biblos, Sara thought, laying a hand on Prity’s knee to restrain her. He should know better.
Then again, there’s no fool like a bright fool. “Well, that tears it,” Kurt muttered to Sara. “It’s my fault. I should’ve listened to you. Tied her up, even though she helped save my life. Now she can lurk out there watching us. Or run and bring her gang before we get far enough away.”
Sara shook her head. Far enough away for what? Surely Ulgor’s escape only hastened the inevitable.
The exploser motioned for her to come closer. When she sat down, Kurt’s lips pressed together hard before he finally decided to speak, so softly that her battered ears could barely hear.
“I’ve been thinkin’ lately, Sara ... it seemed a gift from the Egg to find you traveling with us. A fluke-blessing of Ifni. Your skills could prove quite useful to something ... a project I’m involved with. I was going to ask you at Crossroads.” “Ask me what?”
“To come south with us”—his voice lowered further still—“to Mount Guenn.”
“To Mount—“ Sara blurted, standing up.
At Kurt’s panicked expression, she sat back down and dropped her voice. “You’re kidding, right? You know I have business at the Glade. Important business. If the radicals think the Stranger is important enough to kill over, don’t you think the sages ought to have a chance to look him over and decide what to do? Besides, if the aliens are his friends, it’s our duty to help him get modern medical—“
Kurt waved a hand. “All quite true. Still, with the path from here to the Glade blocked, and with another task waiting that could be more important—“
Sara stared at the man. Was he crazy as Dedinger? What could possibly be more important?
“—a task one of your colleagues has been working on, down at the place I mentioned, for several weeks now—“
One of my colleagues? Sara blinked. She had seen Bonner and Taine, a few days ago, at Biblos. Plovov was at Gathering. Then who . . . ?
One name came to mind.
Purofsky the astronomer? Down at Mount Guenn? Doing what, in the Egg’s name?
“—a task which seems to cry out for your expertise, if I might be so bold.”
She shook her head. “That—place—is all the way beyond the Great Swamp, past the desert and the Spectral Flow! Or else you must take the long way around by river and then by sea—“