We packed half the fugitives in the skips, Pels and Adelaar flew them out. I stayed behind with the leftovers. There was some argument about that, Pels was determined I should go back and get some sacktime in the tub’s autodoc, but I didn’t want to face that long flight the way I was feeling; I could easily pass out somewhere along the way and I wasn’t about to trust any of those ex-slaves with the com. The autopilot could handle a lot, but things come up no flakehead can cope with. Adelaar didn’t go maternal over anyone but Aslan, she didn’t care what I did. She told Pels he could do what he wanted, but she was going now. And she went. Pels worked over me until I was as sore as he was satisfied, then he slapped bandages on my punctures and lacerations, shot me full of antipyretics, blood-builders and painkillers, left the kip’s medkit beside me and took off.
One of the ex-slaves who volunteered to stay behind was a Froska named Jair, an officious little male, precise and self-contained, stoic to the point of insanity like a lot of his species. Pels warned me about him, said he was sure to be a nuisance, he didn’t obey orders, he’d do what he wanted no matter how irritating that was to the rest. When the bunch of them got settled in the brush hollow to wait for me, Jair decided to go off on his own hunting water. Without bothering to tell anyone what he was up to, he peeled off from the group and went exploring. Being nocturnal and forest bred, he was the best suited for nightwalking in strange places, so it was a reasonably sensible thing to do; what wasn’t sensible was sneaking off. Self-contained was one thing, Pels said, carried that far, it was crazy. There wasn’t any need to ooze away like that, what could we do? Sit on him? Thing is, he’s been here over fifteen years; I suppose his natural tendencies were warped all to hell by that. Hard to argue with success, though. He found a small stream about half a kilometer deeper in the forest, rooted around till he located some large seedpods, cleaned two of them out and filled them with water. When he got back, I was furious with him, Pels said, but apart from some growling I couldn’t say much because several of the others were suffering from water loss and on the point of collapse. While they finished off the water, I wasted some time trying to get him to see where he went wrong; he listened, blinking those frog eyes at me, nodding like a good little Froska. Like he heard and agreed with everything I said. Hmm. Not a hope. Swar, if you lose the little bastard, don’t bother hunting him or waiting for him, it’s his own fault.
The moment Pels took off, Jair tapped two Kouri on their fore-shoulders and slipped away into the darkness with them. I saw that, but what with the painkillers and general exhaustion I didn’t feel like starting an argument I was sure to lose. The three of them were back soon enough, hauling more water and a load of empty pods. I hadn’t thought to ask Kumari, but she sent empacs with Adelaar, two tea bricks and a self-heating thermos. Jair trotted briskly over to a female Svigger and stirred her out of her sleep to make tea for us and convert some of the meatflakes into a thick soup that tasted like empac rations always taste, no one not starving could get them down without gagging. The tea helped, woke up appetites; besides, the food the Huvved had been giving them the past months wasn’t all that much better so they were hungry and got the soup down without complaining. I stuck to tea and some CVP wafers.
The next night Pels came earlier than I expected. He’d lifted off before sundown, taking a chance on being spotted before he plunged into night. He just grinned when I snarled at him. Adelaar was plugged into the Warmaster, ready to warn him if it moved, he said, and as for ocean traffic, there was one whingding of a storm blowing through the strait, no seagoer would be out in weather like that. No droned skip either, I said, but he just shrugged. I made it, he said. By the time we got back, it should be blown out, so that was all right.
The AP’s had killed my fever and this body heals fast, so I was in better shape than yesterday; the trip back to Base was no problem, just tedious. I let Pels take the lead in his skip and do most of the watching and my autopilot did most of the work for me, so I spent the greater part of that miserable night sleeping, cramped, cold, drifting from one nightmare to another. And swearing for the umteenth time I would never again commit us to anything like this.
6. 23 days after the meeting at Gerbek.
Aslan put the Ridaar down, looked at her chron. An hour till noon. She had time for another interview, maybe two, before she met her mother for lunch, which was set for midafternoon when Adelaar turned over the Tap feed to Kumari and took a short break to eat and exercise a little. She rubbed at her temples, feeling drugged by talk, hammered at by talk, exhausted by the need to listen attentively and ask the right questions to get the story down in all its aspects of feeling and event. One thing you had to say for this experience, she was going back to University with an enormous pile of data; scholars from a dozen disciplines would be excavating it for the next decade, maybe longer. It could hoist her higher on the tenure list, dearie dai, ooh-yeha.
She looked up, saw Parnalee standing in the doorway of his work station, watching her. Hastily she got to her feet, looked around for something that would give her an excuse to go somewhere else. The Jajes were starting up the path to the lake, small dark figures like wingless black bats. She hadn’t interviewed them yet, they were shy creatures and self-absorbed, they allowed very few intruders into their yiuriu. They probably wouldn’t talk to her, but they were the draw she needed. She started after them.
When she reached the plateau, they were nowhere in sight, but she saw Kumari stretched out in the shade of a broad squat tree, a pitcher of fruitade beside her, a book on her stomach.
Aslan chewed on her lip, looked over her shoulder. She was alone, she couldn’t see the tug or the shelters, which meant anyone down there couldn’t see her. She moved hesitantly nearer the figure under the tree, she’d rather talk with Quale (nothing to do with her lust for his body) or Pels, they shared enough of her background to make her comfortable with them, she didn’t even know Kumari’s species, let alone the basic assumptions of her culture. But during the day Quale and Pels were sleeping or conferring with Parnalee and at night they were gone. She walked forward feeling decidedly unwelcome. Kumari continued to read, no sign she even knew Aslan was there. More than that, there was a strong indication that anyone who came by should keep on walking.
“Despina Kumari,” Aslan said, “It’s important I talk with you.”
Kumari turned a page. “Second hour after noon, your mother’s work station.”
“No. I’m sorry. That’s not possible. I don’t want Parnalee Proggerd aware I’ve spoken to you.”
“Sit there.” Kumari closed the book, pushed up; she checked to see that the panicbutton was in reach, then scowled at Aslan. “Why?”
Aslan dropped to the grass, sat cross-legged, her hands on her thighs. “I don’t want him putting his mind to killing me. I have a feeling he’d manage it no matter how I squirmed.”
“Your reasons?” Kumari sounded skeptical but not wholly unconvinced. Aslan felt herself trembling, fooled with her breathing until she was calm enough to go on. The past two weeks had been more of a strain on her than she’d realized.
“He said it, don’t screw me up, he said, I’ll twist the neck of the one who tries it. He was talking about something else at the time, but I doubt he’s changed his mind. He’s crazy, you know. Not just a little warped. I’m talking about seriously bent. It’s not my field, I don’t know the technical terms for what he is, but he’s focusing all his energies on one thing, making Huvved dead. Some little Huvved snot had his Tassalgans hold Parnalee down while he beat on him with his czadeg, you know, those gray whips they use on anyone who annoys them, cut his back and buttocks into dogmeat. I was there while he was healing, I saw it eating on him. He’s not the kind of man who enjoys a little bondage now and then, no, and there was something from when he was a boy, some sort of trouble, he dreams about it when he’s under stress, nightmares, very noisy. I woke him once, tried to get him to talk about it. He punched me around a bit, broke a couple of ribs, gave me enough bruises to decorate an SM sanctum and kicked me out, made me finish the night on a garden lounge, which I preferred to his company, believe me. If he gets a chance at the Warmaster’s armory, he’ll boil Tairanna down to bedrock. As long as he gets the Huvved, he doesn’t care who else he ashes.”