Without a moment’s hesitation, Jamieson yodeled ‘brother, brother, brother,’ the recognition call gathering strength from the echoes that cascaded in its wake, shattering the silence of the canyon, demanding that any Explorers or Tripsingers within hearing identify themselves. An answering cry came from the pillar top, telling them which side they were on.
Tasmin slid off his mule, dragging the rifle from its scabbard and throwing himself down behind a convenient looking rock. His best rifle scores had always been from the prone position, and he settled into the earth with a wriggle, flicking on the power switch and putting his eyes to the goggle scope all in one motion, tracking the lighted dot across the face of the butte. When it slid across one of the climbing figures he squeezed once, twice, then began tracking once more. One pull would drop a man. Two would keep him dropped for a while. He tracked and pulled again.
Jamieson and Clarin were clattering down the trail toward the pillar at a reckless gallop, the unshod hooves of the mules creating a cataract of echoes, a continuous thunder. The ‘brother, brother, brother,’ yodel, leaping the octaves to stir a threatening vibration from the surrounding ’lings, added to the cumulative rumble of avalanching sound that gave the effect of a mounted troop. At the base of the pillar the attackers broke and ran.
Tasmin tracked a fleeing shape, pulled, tracked another, and pulled again before the remaining attackers were lost behind a forest of crystal pillars. Crystallites? They were very quiet for Crystallites. By the time Jamieson and Clarin reached the pillar, all the attackers had disappeared. Tasmin stood up, brushing gravel from his chest and belly, and restored the rifle to its scabbard, noting with angry but somehow detached astonishment that the intensity dial was set to ‘kill.’ He hadn’t set it there. He hadn’t touched it. Regulation setting was ‘stun.’ Always.
At the foot of the slope, three people moved among the fallen. Clarin, Jamieson, and the shadow figure from the top of the bluff who had come down to join the acolytes. Tasmin mounted and rode to join them. As Tasmin drew nearer, he saw it was a woman who was turning one of the fallen bodies face down with a gesture of anger or dismay. She came toward him, golden hair fluttering in the light breeze, dark blue eyes fixed angrily on his own.
‘I wish to hell you hadn’t felt you had to kill them all!’ she announced.
Then, with surprise, ‘You’re Tasmin Ferrence, aren’t you? Your acolyte said “Ferrence,” but I didn’t make the connection.’ And then, surprisingly, ‘I hope to hell you’ve got my music box.’
Tasmin was gaping at her when Jamieson said ‘Master,’ in the tone of an adult interrupting the play of children. He was peering over their heads in the direction the fleeing attackers had gone. ‘I hate to bring it up, but the noise back in those ’lings indicates they haven’t gone away. There were at least ten of them, Sir, and with due respect, you only dropped four.’
‘You think they’re coming back?’
‘I don’t think all that hollering presages imminent departure.’
‘The Explorer expresses her thanks, Tripsinger,’ the woman said. ‘My mule’s over behind that rock, and the best place for us is back in the range, quickly.’ She ran toward the mule, and they followed her, hearing the noise building behind them as they went. ‘Those bastards caught up with me right after I came out of the range,’ she shouted over the noise. ‘There were only four of them at first, but then they seemed to drop out of the rocks like gyre-birds off a ’ling. I only had time to get up on that pillar. Two minutes later, they’d have had me. Or, if you’d been two minutes later, they’d have had me anyhow!’
Only when they were halfway to the range did Tasmin notice the typical Explorer outfitting of both beast and rider and realize who she was. ‘You’re Don Furz?’ he exclaimed.
She gave him a quick look. ‘Who did you think?’
‘I didn’t know Don Furz was a woman.’
‘I won’t be anything long if we don’t get back into the range. Your mules aren’t soft-shod. We’ll stop just inside.’ She kicked her animal into a run, and they trailed after her, entering the range between two bloody towers that hummed and whispered ominously. ‘Pay no attention to them,’ Don shouted. ‘They won’t blow if we hurry!’ She galloped on, making a quick turn to the right, then to the left, pulling up in a shower of gravel.
‘Get your mules shod, quick,’ she said, pulling the cover from her Explorer’s box and unfolding the panels around her waist and across her thighs. ‘We’re going down that canyon to the left. The Password is new. I just came up with it this afternoon.’
‘Then they can’t follow us,’ Jamieson said with satisfaction as he stretched soft shoes over mule hooves.
‘They may try,’ Clarin contradicted. ‘They weren’t making any noise before, but they’re certainly making it now.’ A cacophony of shouts, chants, and religious slogans echoed in the canyon behind them.
‘There weren’t any witnesses before,’ Don said. ‘Now there’s the possibility we may get away and talk about this. They want us to believe they’re Crystallites.’
‘You don’t think they really are?’
‘Those bodies weren’t dressed like Crystallites, and they weren’t half starved like the Crystallites I’ve seen,’ Don commented impatiently. ‘Finished? Good, come along behind and I’ll get us through.’
She rode toward a branching canyon, stroking the music box as she went. Her voice was good, not up to Tripsingers’ standards, of course, but then it didn’t need to be. Explorers rarely sang their way past the Presences, and in any case it didn’t take a great deal to get
