Var did not speak immediately, sensing trouble. These women were aggressive, militant, unfeminine and unlike those he had seen before. Their curiosity did not seem mendly. Their metal helmets made them look like birds.
Soil did not move.
'See if he has his finger,' another woman said eagerly.
There was something guilty and ugly about their attitude as though they were contemplating an intriguing perversion. Var drew out his sticks.
Immediately bows appeared and metal-tipped arrows were trained on him from several directions. He had no protection against these, and with Soil unconscious his position was hopeless. He dropped his weapons.
The quiet men were climbing on the machine, applying their tools to its surfaces. Evidently they cared for it the way the crazies cared for their tractors, checking it over after each trip. That was why it was still operating, so long after its makers were gone.
'Out!' cried the burly woman who seemed to be the leader. She held a spear in one hand, a shield in the other.
Var obeyed, lifting Soil carefully.
'The child is sick!' someone cried. 'Kill her!'
Var held SOli with one arm about her chest With his other arm he grabbed for the leader of the females, catching her by her braided hair. He yanked her against him, hauling back on her head so that her neck was exposed. Her shield got in the way, making her struggles ineffective. He bared his teeth. He growled.
'Shoot him! Shoot him!' the captive woman screamed. But the archers were oddly hesitant. 'He must be a real man,' one said. 'The Queen would be angry.'
'If my friend dies, I rip this throat!' Var said, breathing on the neck he held bent. He was not bluffing; his teeth had always been his natural weapon, even though they were clumsy compared to those of most animals.
Another woman came forward. 'Let go our mistress; we will medicate the child.'
Var shoved the captive away. She caught herself, rubbing her neck. 'Take him to the Queen,' she said.
A woman made as if to take Soil, but Var balked. 'She stays with me. If you kill anyone, kill me first, because I will kill anyone who harms her.' He had made an oath to that effect long ago, to Soli's natural mother, but that was not the reason he spoke as he did now. Soil was too important to him to lose.
They walked down a pathway toward water. Var saw that they were on a small island hardly larger than required to serve as a surfacing point for the tunnel. The cleaning machine stood athwart the road, grinders and brushes and headlamps at each end, hissing and cooling as the mechanics labored over it. In this culture, it seemed, the men were crazies the women nomad warriors. Well, it was their system.
Beyond the machine there was a level stretch; then the surface rose into a tremendous metal and stone bridge that traversed the extensive water and led out of sight.
At the waterside was a boat. Var and Soil had seen such floating craft in the course of their journey, and understood their purpose, but bad never been really close to one. This boat was made of metal, and he did not understand why it did not sink, since he knew metal was heavier than water.
He balked at entering the craft, but realized that there was no reasonable alternative. Obviously the Queen was not on this atoll. And if he made too much trouble he and Soil both would die.
The boat rocked as they entered, but held out the water.
Var could see that its bottom deck was actually below the surface of the sea. One of the women pulled a cord and a motor started banging and shaking. Then the entire thing nudged out from the dock.
It was astonishing that people other than the crazies or underworlders should possess and control motors. Yet obviously it was so.
The boat pushed along through the ocean. Var, unused to this rocking motion, soon felt queasy. But he refused to yield to it, knowing that any sign of weakness would further imperil himself and Soil.
How long would she sleep? He felt
