didn’t need it yet in spite of the running around and fighting I’d done, but I needed him cooperative.
He came to as I finished and tried to buck me off him. “Be still,” I said. “Relax.”
He stopped struggling and lay still as I lapped at the bite just enough to stop the bleeding and begin the healing.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go see how things stand between your people and mine.” I stood up and waited for him to get up. He was a short, stocky, black-haired man, clean shaven but disfigured by the beginnings of a big lump over his left eye and a lower lip rapidly swelling from a blow that had probably loosened some of his teeth.
He stumbled to his feet. “They’ll kill me,” he said, mumbling a little because of the swelling lip and looking toward the clusters of people putting out the fires, gathering weapons, moving cans of gasoline away from the houses, checking dead or wounded raiders, keeping children away from the bodies.
“Stay close to me and do as I say,” I told him. “If you’re with me and if you don’t hurt anyone, they won’t kill you.”
“They will!”
“Obey me, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
He looked at me, dazed. After a moment he nodded. “Okay.”
“How many of you were there in those three cars?” I asked, glancing back at the cars. None of this group should escape. Not one.
“Eighteen,” he said. “Six in each car.”
“That many and your gear. You must have really been packed in.”
I walked him back toward the houses, made him pick up his shirt and put it on again. Then I spotted
Wright. He came toward me, looking past me at the raider.
“Don’t worry about him,” I said. “Are Celia, Brook, and Joel all right?” “They’re fine.”
I nodded, relieved, and told him where to find the men I’d killed and their guns and their gasoline. “Get other symbionts to help you collect them,” I said. “There should be a total of eighteen raiders, living and dead, including this one.”
“Okay,” he said. “Why is this one still alive?”
“I’ve got questions for him,” I said. “Are any of the rest of them alive?”
“Two. They’re shot, and they’ve been kicked around a little. The symbionts were pissed as hell at them.”
“Good. Make sure the dead, their cars, and the rest of their possessions are gathered and shut up out of sight in case the noise or the smoke attracts outside attention.” The Gordons had no neighbors who could be seen from the houses, but the noise might have reached some not-too-distant farm. And the smoke might be seen, although there was much less of it now. The fires were almost out. Two houses had been damaged, but none of them had been destroyed. That was amazing. “Where are the survivors?” I asked.
He pointed them out in the yard where they had been laid, then he said with concern, “Shori, your face is beginning to blister. You should get inside. If it gets any worse, you might have scars.”
I touched his throat just at the spot I had so often bitten. “I won’t scar anymore than you do when I bite you. Thank you for worrying about me, though.” I left him. My raider followed me as though I were leading him with a rope.
The two surviving raiders were battered and unconscious. They lay on the grass in front of Edward’s house. “Don’t hurt them any more,” I told the symbionts who were guarding them. “When they can talk, your Ina will want to question them. I will, too.”
“Our doctor will look at them when she gets around to them,” a man named Christian Brownlee said. He stared at my raider, then ignored him. My raider inched closer to me.
“Are all the symbionts alive?” I asked.
He nodded. “Five hurt. They’re in Hayden’s house.”
I knew the Gordons had a doctor and two nurses among the ninety or so adult humans in the community, and I went to Hayden’s house, expecting to find her at work there. She was.
The doctor was one of Hayden’s symbionts. She was an internist named Carmen Tanaka, and she was assisted not only by the two nurses, a man and a woman, but by three other symbionts. She was busy but not too busy to lecture me.
“You stay out of the sun,” she said. “You’re blistering.”
“I came to see whether I could be of use,” I told her. “I don’t know whether there is anything I can do to help heal symbionts not my own, but I want to help if I can.”
Carmen looked up from the leg wound that she was cleaning. The bullet had apparently gone straight through the man’s calf. “If any of them were in danger or likely to be in danger before their Ina awake, I’d ask for your help,” she said. “But as things are, you’d just cause them unnecessary pain and create problems between them and their Ina.”
I nodded. “Let me know if anything changes,” I said. “I’m going to do what I can for the raiders who survived. We’re going to want to talk to them later.”
“Is this one?” she looked at my companion. “Yes.”
She looked at the bite wound on the man’s neck and nodded. “If you bite the others, you’ll help them avoid infection and they’ll heal faster and be more manageable.”
I nodded and went out to tend to the raiders. Once I finished with them, I took my raider back to the guest house, gave him a cold bottle of beer from the stock we’d found in the pantry, and sat down with him at the kitchen table.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. “Victor Colon.”
“All right, Victor. Tell me why you attacked this place.” He frowned. “We had to.”
“Tell me why you had to.”
He frowned, looking confused. It was a kind of confusion that worried me since it seemed to me that it could mean only one thing.
Celia and Brook came into the kitchen, saw us, and stopped. “Come in,” I said. “Did you come to get food?”
“We missed lunch,” Brook said. “We probably shouldn’t be hungry after all this, but we are.” “It’s all right,” I said. “Eat something. Fix some for Victor here, too. And sit and talk with us.”
They didn’t understand, but they obeyed. They cooked hamburger sandwiches for themselves and one for Victor Colon. They had found loaves of multigrain bread, hamburger meat, and bags of French fries in the freezer, and had put the meat and bread in the lower part of the refrigerator to thaw. Now, they fried the meat and the potatoes in cast-iron pans on the stove. There was salt and pepper, mustard and catsup, and a pickle relish in the cupboard but, of course, no fresh vegetables. At some point we were going to have to find a supermarket.
Once they all had food and bottles of beer from the refrigerator, and I had a glass of water, the confused man seemed more at ease. As he ate, he watched Celia and Brook with interest. He was seeing them, I thought, simply as attractive women. He stared at Celia’s breasts, at Brook’s legs. They knew what he was doing, of course. It seemed to amuse them. After a few glances at me, they relaxed and behaved as though Victor were one of us or, at least, as though he belonged at our table.
Celia asked, “Where do you come from?” Victor answered easily, “L. A. I still live there.”
Brook nodded. “I went down to Los Angeles a few years ago to visit my aunt—my mother’s sister. It’s too hot there.”
“Yeah, it’s hot,” Victor said. “But I wish I were there now. This thing didn’t go down the way it was supposed to.”
“If it had, we’d be dead,” Celia said. “What the hell did we ever do to you? Why do you want to kill us?” Oddly, at that moment she handed him another bottle of beer. He’d already finished two.
Victor frowned. “We had to,” he said. He shook his head, reverting to that blank confusion that so worried me.
“Oh my God,” Brook said. She looked at me, and I knew she had seen what I had seen. Celia said, “What? What?”
“Victor,” Brook said, “who told you and your friends to kill us?”
“Nobody,” he responded, and he began to get angry. “We’re not kids! Nobody tells us what to do.” He drank several swallows of his beer.
“You know what you want to do?” Brook said. “Yeah, I do.”
“Do you want to kill us?”
He thought about that for several seconds. “I don’t know. No. No, I’m okay here with you pretty ladies.”
I decided he was getting too relaxed. “Victor,” I began, “do you know me? Who am I?”
He surprised me. “Dirty little nigger bitch,” he said reflexively. “Goddamn mongrel cub.” Then he gasped and clutched his head between his hands. After a moment, he put his head down on the table and groaned.
It was clear that he was in pain. His face had suddenly gone a deep red.
“Didn’t mean to say that,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to call you that.” He looked at me. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it.”
“They call me those things, don’t they?” He nodded.
“Because I’m dark-skinned?”
“And human,” he said. “Ina mixed with some human or maybe human mixed with a little Ina. That’s not supposed to happen. Not ever. Couldn’t let you and you . . . your kind . . . your family . . . breed.”
So much death just to keep us from breeding. “Do you think I should die, Victor?” I asked. “I ... No!”
“Then why try to kill me?”
Confusion crept back into his eyes. “I just want to go home.”
“Victor.” I waited until he sat up and faced me. “If you leave here, do you think they’ll send you after me again?”
“No,” he said. He swallowed a little more beer. “I won’t do it. I don’t want to hurt you.” “Then you’ll have to stay here, at least for a while.”
“I . . . can I stay here with you?”
“For a while.” If I bit him a time or two more and then questioned him, I might get the name of our attackers from him—the name of whoever had bitten him before me, then sent him out to kill. And if I got that name, the Gordons would probably recognize it.
“Okay,” he said. He finished his
