Lark
TEARS COVERED THE CHEEKS OF THE AGED HUMAN sage as he ran through the forest.
“It’s my fault.…” he murmured between gasping breaths. “All my fault … I never should’ve allowed it … so near the poor g’Kek.…”
Lark heard Cambel’s lament as they joined a stampede of refugees, swarming down narrow aisles between colossal shafts of boo. He had to catch Lester when the sage stumbled in grief over what they all had witnessed, only duras ago. Lark caught the eye of a hoonish militiaman with a huge sword slung down his back. The burly warrior swept Lester into his arms, gently hauling the stricken sage to safety.
For those fleeing beneath the boo, that word—safety—might never be the same. For two thousand years, the ramparts of Dooden Mesa offered protection to the oldest and weakest sooner race. Yet no defense could stand against the sky cruiser that swept over that sheltered valley, too soon after Lark’s shouted warning. Some refugees — those with enough nerve to glance back — would always carry the image of that awful ship, hovering like a predator over the graceful ramps, homes, and workshops.
It must have been drawn by the Buyur computer — by its “digital resonance.”
Once over the mountain, the aliens could not help noticing the g’Kek settlement in the valley below.
“… we were too near the poor g’Kek …”
Driven by a need for answers — and a lifelong curiosity about all things Galactic — Cambel had allowed Ling and Rann to drive the machine at full force, deciphering the mystery records. It was like waving a lure above this part of the Rimmers, calling down an ill wind.
Some of those running through the forest seemed less panicky. Fierce-eyed Jeni Shen kept Herd on her militia team, so Rann and Ling never had a chance to dodge left or right, slipping away through the boo. As if either Danik had any place to go. Their faces looked as dismayed as anybody’s.
Lark’s ears still rang from when the Jophur ship cast beams of aching brilliance, tearing apart the frail canopy of blur cloth, laying Dooden Mesa bare under a cruel sun. Teeming wheeled figures scurried futilely, like a colony of hive mites in a collapsed den.
The beams stopped, and something even more dreadful fell from the floating nemesis.
A golden haze. A flood of liquid light.
Lark’s nerve had failed him at that point, as he, too, plunged into the boo, fleeing a disaster he had helped wreak.
You aren’t alone, Lester. You have company in hell.
Dwer
MUDFOOT SEEMED CRAZIER THAN EVER.
Blinking past a cloud of buzzing gnats, Dwer watched the mad noor crouch over some helpless creature he had caught near the shore, gripping his prey in both forepaws, brandishing sharp teeth toward whatever doomed beast had unluckily strayed within reach. Mudfoot showed no interest in two sooty spaceships that lay crippled, just beyond the dune.
Why should he care? Dwer thought. Any Galactics who glimpse him will just shrug off another critter of Jijo. Enjoy your meal, Mudfoot. No squatting under hot sand for you!
Dwer’s hidey-hole was intensely uncomfortable. His legs felt cramped and grit eagerly sought every body crevice. Partial shade was offered by his tunic, propped up with two arrows and covered with sand. But he had to share that narrow shelter with Rety — an uncomfortable fit, to say the least. Worse, there was a kind of midge, no larger than a speck, that seemed to find human breath irresistible. One by one, the insectoids drifted upslope to the makeshift cavity where Dwer and Rety exposed their faces for air. The bugs fluttered toward their mouths, inevitably being drawn inside. Rety coughed, spat, and cursed in her Gray Hills dialect, despite Dwer’s pleas for silence.
She’s not trained for this, he thought, trying for patience. During his apprenticeship, Master Fallon used to leave him in a hunting blind for days on end, then sneak back to observe. For each sound Dwer made, Fallon added another midura, till Dwer learned the value of quiet.
“I wish he’d quit playin’ with his food,” Rety muttered, glaring downslope at Mudfoot. “Or else, bring some up for us.”
Dwer’s belly growled agreement. But he told her, “Don’t think about it. Try to sleep. We’ll see about sneaking away come nightfall.”
For once, she seemed willing to take his advice. Sometimes, Rety seemed at her best when things were at their worst.
At this rate, she’ll be a saint before it’s all over.
He glanced left, toward the swamp. Both alien ships lay grounded in a seaside bog, just two arrowflights away. It made the two humans easy targets if they budged. Nor had he any guarantee this would change at night.
I hear tell that star gods have lenses that pick out a warm body moving in the dark, and other kinds to track metal and tools.
Getting away from here might not be easy, or even possible.
There wasn’t much to say for the alternatives. It would have been one thing to surrender to Kunn. As a Danik adoptee, Rety might have swayed the human star pilot to spare Dwer’s life. Perhaps.
But the newcomers who shot down Kunn’s little scout … Dwer felt his hackles rise watching tapered stacks of glistening doughnuts inspect their damaged ship, accompanied by hovering robots.
Why be afraid? They look like traeki, and traeki are harmless, right?
Not when they come swooping from space, throwing lightning.
Dwer wished he had listened more closely to holy services as a child, instead of fidgeting when the Sacred Scrolls were read. Some excerpts had been inserted by the ringed ones, when their sneakship came — passages of warning. Not all stacks of fatty rings were friendly, it seemed. What was the name they used? Dwer tried to recall what word stood for a traeki that was no traeki, but he came up blank.
Sometimes he wished he could be more like his brother and sister — able to think deep thoughts, with vast stores of book learning to call upon. Lark or Sara would surely make better use of this time of forced inaction. They would be weighing alternatives, listing possibilities, formulating some plan.
But all I do is doze, thinking about food. Wishing I had some way to scratch.
He wasn’t yet desperate enough to walk toward that silver ship with hands raised. Anyway, the aliens and their helpers were still fussing over the smoke-stained hull, making repairs.
As he nodded in a drowsy torpor, he fought down one itch in particular, a prickly sensation inside his head. The feeling had grown ever since he first gave the Danik robot a “ride” across a river, using his body to anchor its ground-hugging fields. Each time he collapsed on the opposite bank, waking up had felt like rising from a pit. The effect grew stronger with every crossing.
At least I won’t have to do that again. The robot now cowered under a nearby dune, useless and impotent since Kunn’s ship was downed and its master taken.
Dwer’s sleep was uneasy, disturbed first by a litany of aching twinges, and later by disturbing dreams.
He had always dreamed. As a child, Dwer used to jerk upright in the dark, screaming till the entire household roused, from Nelo and Melina down to the lowest chimp and manservant, gathering round to comfort him back to sweet silence. He had no clear memory of what nightmares used to terrify him so, but Dwer still had sleep visions of startling vividness and clarity.
Never worth screaming over, though.
Unless you count One-of-a-Kind.
He recalled the old mulc spider of the acid mountain lake, who spoke words directly in his mind one fateful day, during his first solo scouting trip over the Rimmer Range.
— the mad spider, unlike any other, who tried all kinds of deceit to charm Dwer into its web, there to join its “collection.”
— the same spider who nearly caught Dwer that awful night when Rety and her “bird” were trapped in its maze of bitter vines … before that vine network exploded in a mortal inferno.
