Grass

“Where do we put them?” Mayor Bee asked. “Here in the town?”

The Seraph drew a map on the tablecloth with his fingertip, thinking. “Out there, north of town, I’d say two- thirds of the way to the forest. About a dozen, in a semicircle. You can set the receiver up anywhere here in town. The order station’d be a good place. Then if anything starts to dig in, you’ll know it!” He smiled beatifically, proud of himself for being helpful.

Alverd looked at Roald, receiving a look in return. So, they would know. Well and good. What in the hell would they do about it once they knew?

In the Israfel, high above all this confusion, the aged Hierarch fretted himself into a passion. The first time he had questioned the Yrariers he had been convinced the ambassador was misleading him, though the analyzers had said only maybe. The second time, however, the machines had declared Rigo and Marjorie to be truthful. Compared to Highbones and the Maukerden man — both liars (said the machines} from the moment of conception — the Yrariers had been certified honest and doing their best to be helpful. However, they weren’t Sanctity people, and in the Hierarch’s opinion they weren’t terribly bright. This business about the Moldies. That couldn’t be true. Sanctity had been too careful for it to be true. They had kept the plague so very quiet, so very hidden. The Yrariers must have misunderstood whatever this Brother Mainoa had said about Moldies.

The Hierarch considered this. The pair had been chosen by the former Hierarch because they were kin, because they were athletes. Not known for brains, athletes. That’s where old Carlos had gone wrong. He should have sent someone cleverer. Someone slyer. And he should have done it long before instead of waiting until the last possible moment. There was no point in keeping the Yrariers locked up. And he, the Hierarch, would be safe enough in the specially modified isolation shuttle his people had built for him. Once he himself was on the ground, things would happen! Discoveries would occur! He knew it!

As he was about to depart, however, a bulletin arrived from the surface. Danger, the Seraph said. Not only the possibility of plague, but the presence of large, fierce beasts would make it dangerous for the Hierarch to descend. Hostile creatures might be planning to overrun the port.

The additional frustration was enough to send the Hierarch into one of his infrequent fits of screaming temper. Servitors who had barely survived previous such fits were moved to panicky action. After emergency ministrations by the Hierarch’s personal physician, the Hierarch slept and everyone sighed in relief. He went on sleeping for days, and no one noticed or cared that no orders had been given for the Yrariers’ release.

Persun Pollut, Sebastian Mechanic, and Roald Few took the Seraph’s listening devices out into the meadows north of town to set them up. They were simple enough to install: slender tubes to be driven into the ground with a mechanical driver, long, whiskery devices to be dropped into the tubes, and transmitters to be screwed onto the tops.

“Foolproof,” the Seraph had told them “As they must be if inexperienced troopers are to use them. A-B-C. Pound it in, drop it in, screw it on.”

Foolproof they might be. In the aggregate, heavy they also were. The men used an aircar to transport the dozen sets and the bulky driver that went with them. They started at the western end of the proposed arc, setting each device and then moving northward, parallel to the curve of the forest. Most of the day had passed by the time seven of the gadgets were in place, and they were bending the arc toward the east when Persun shaded his eyes with his arm and said, “Somebody in trouble up there.”

When they stopped working, they could all hear it: the stutter of an engine, start and stop, the pauses like those in the breath of someone dying — so long between sounds one was sure no other sound would come — only to catch again into life.

Then they saw it, an aircar coming toward them, scarcely above the forest. It jerked and wobbled, approaching by fits and starts. When it had barely cleared the trees it fell, caught itself, then dropped, coming down hard midway between them and the swamp, not a hundred yards away.

Persun set out toward it at a run, with Sebastian close behind. Roald followed them more slowly. At first there was no sign of life in the fallen car, but then the door opened with a scream of tortured metal and a Green Brother emerged dazedly, holding his head. Others followed: six, eight, a dozen of them. They sank to the ground by the car, obviously exhausted.

Persun was the first to reach them. “My name’s Pollut,” he said. “We can get some cars out here to pick you up, since yours seems to be disabled.”

The oldest among them struggled to his feet and held out an age-spotted hand. “I’m Elder Brother Laeroa. We stayed out near the Friary thinking we could pick up survivors. Obviously, we stayed too long. Our fuel was barely enough.”

“I’m surprised to see any of you,” Sebastian said. “The place was pretty well wiped out.”

Laeroa wiped his face with trembling fingers. “When we heard of the attack on Opal Hill and the estancias, we suggested to Elder Brother Jhamlees Zoe that he evacuate the Friary. He said the Hippae had no quarrel with the Brothers. I tried to tell him the Hippae needed no excuse to kill.” He tottered on his feet, and one of his fellows came forward to offer an arm. After a moment he went on in his precise voice, as though he spoke from a pulpit. “Zoe was always impatient with argument and impervious to reason. So these Brothers and I started sleeping in the aircar.”

“You were in the car when the Hippae struck?”

“We were in the car when the fires started,” said one of the younger Brothers. “We took off and went out into the grass a ways, thinking we’d pick up survivors later. I don’t know how many days we’ve been out there, but we only found one man.”

“We picked up a couple dozen of your people,” Sebastian Mechanic said to them. “Young fellahs, most of ’em. They were wandering around pretty far out in the grass. There may be more. We been going out there every day to look. The Hippae aren’t around there anymore. They’re all around the swamp forest now.”

“They can’t get through, can they?” asked one of the men, obviously the one man the Brothers had rescued. His face was very pale and he carried what was left of one arm in a sling.

“Not so far as we know,” said Sebastian, wanting to be comforting. “And if they did, we’ve got heavy doors down in the winter quarters and people down there already making weapons for us to use.”

“Weapons,” breathed one of the Brothers. “I had hoped—”

“You’d hoped we could talk to them?” asked Elder Brother Laeroa bitterly. “Forget it Brother. I know you worked for the office of Doctrine, but forget it. I’m sure Jhamlees Zoe still retained his hope of converting the Hippae up to the moment they killed him He’s hoped for that ever since he came to Grass, no matter how many times we told him it would be like trying to convert tigers to vegetarianism.” Sebastian nodded agreement as he said, “lust be thankful the Hippae don’t have claws like Terran tigers do. Otherwise, they’d be able to climb and we couldn’t get away from ’em. Now, you start on up the slope there. I’ll get on the tell-me and have somebody come pick you up.”

The Brothers got wearily to their feet and started up the long meadow in a shuffling line. When Sebastian and Persun had seen that all of them could walk, they went to listen outside the car while Roald messaged for help.

“On their way,” Roald said at last.

“Good,” Sebastian murmured. “Some of ’em look like they couldn’t walk more than a hundred yards or so.”

“Thirty some-odd brothers left out of a thousand,” Persun commented, as he went to install the next device.

“One thing we can be grateful for,” the other replied. “There’s nothin’ left of the other nine hundred and some-odd to bury.” He paused beside the mechanical driver. “Have you noticed how quiet it is?”

The two men stood looking around them. “The noise of the tube driver,” Persun said. “It’s frightened everything.”

“The driver isn’t that noisy. And we haven’t been using it for the past little while.”

“The noise of that aircar, then.”

The silence persisted. The swamp forest, usually full of small croakings and rattles, the call of flick birds, the cry of leaf dwellers, was silent.

“Eerie,” whispered Persun. “Something wrong. I can feel it.” He started back toward the aircar, feeling in his