Kei's vision cleared by midafternoon, except for a lingering bit of static. The terrible drain of blueshift was still upon him so that his muscles twitched, and his right palm had been burned in that brief contact with the crystal. At the moment, he could not hold his rifle to fire it, but he still had his claws, if it came to a fight, and, by the Voice, he wished it would. He craved an entire horde of the enemy upon whom he could vent his rage and frustration.
Bey's seared body lay twenty paces uphill, hidden behind a rock formation. Kei had trailed along as best he could, his vision phasing in and out, when Onopa and the Black/on/black carried it up there. It troubled him to abandon Bey as though he were some cast-off carcass. The dead should be given honorably to the sky, though perhaps this sky on this alien world would not receive him.
From his earliest memories, Bey's dark-brown form had been with him, in the stark, cold cave that was all the nursery Levv could give its cublings, when the flek attacked the mountains of his home and scarred his muzzle, and then later on the plains, when, following the fabled Black/on/black, they had finally defeated the invaders.
Bey, who had been always at his side, deferring to his Leadership, until today. A low-throated snarl escaped his throat. His lifelong huntmate had died knowing he had fled the flek in the cave and it was more than Kei could bear. Even if his brains had boiled out through his ears, he should have stayed down there, fought to a clean and honorable death as Bey had. Now, if he killed every flek in the entire universe, it would not be enough to reclaim his honor.
Kika looked up, then left Naxk's prostrate body to walk unsteadily to the mountain stream just at the forest's tangled edge. A covey of scarlet avians cried out, then burst away at her approach. Her ears never twitched.
She had recovered consciousness fairly soon after being removed from the cave, but her damaged ears still leaked blood. Her balance was off and her hearing severely impaired. Whether the effects were temporary or permanent remained still to be seen.
The pale-gray female dipped a strip of cloth torn from her uniform in the rushing water, then returned to Naxk, who had suffered a bad burn across her chest and was fighting for every breath. Kika lifted the smaller female's head and squeezed the cloth so that water dripped into her panting mouth. Naxk snarled and pushed feebly at Kika's pale-gray hand. Kika held her more firmly and forced her to drink.
On the other side of the clearing, Visht sat hunched over, head in hands, staring at his feet with pain-glazed eyes. He had also been burned, but not as badly as Naxk. Aliki Onopa had tried to speak to him earlier, but he refused to answer.
Kei could almost read his thoughts. They had trained hard to fight the flek and had been so foolishly certain none of it was necessary, that with tooth and claw and a laser rifle, they were more than the equal of any ordinary Confederation soldier. They would succeed where humans had not. At the first opportunity, they would drive the flek before them like frightened yirn back on their home world.
But then one undersized flek, not even a warrior-drone according to the Black/on/black, had defeated them. They had all lost their honor today. Only Bey, who had died, had preserved his intact.
A hrinn had but two legs, several males who had long ago trained Kei had been fond of saying: Duty and Honor. Honor had fled. All that was left now for them was Duty.
Montrose was soaking his burned leg in the stream and seemed more alert. His uniform had protected him to some extent, being specially treated to resist laser fire, and the medkit had worked against swelling, shock, and pain. The Black/on/black was sitting on his heels beside him now, discussing something.
The tall female, Onopa, had disappeared into the rain forest, probably to forage. Food . . . Another snarl rattled in his throat. He felt the urgent need to replenish what he had fruitlessly spent in blueshift earlier.
The Black/on/black gripped Montrose's shoulder, then rose to walk back across the clearing to Kei. He stood over him, blocking the sun. "How is your hand?"
Kei snorted. "It does not matter."
The Black/on/black gazed down at him. He had shed his shirt somewhere in the last day and his black fur gleamed in the sun, not a single off-color hair anywhere, the ancient legend come to life. His mane had come unbound and whipped in the breeze. His eyes smoldered like black flame. Kei looked away, ashamed to be in his presence.
"We were whipped," the Black/on/black said, and though his voice was low, it carried across the makeshift camp.
Kika followed him with her eyes, though Kei doubted she could hear him. Visht struggled to his feet. Montrose swung his burned leg out of the stream and turned around to listen.
"And we'll be whipped again and again, if we survive," the Black/on/black said. "That's just part of being a Ranger."
Visht looked doubtful, while Kei flattened his ears.
The Black/on/black sighed. "Think of it as the something/in/motion which rules all soldiers. What makes this pattern special is that, when you get the stuffing knocked out, you pick yourself up, go back and make the enemy pay!"
Visht's ears pricked forward and there was a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
Montrose cleared his throat. "What about Jensen, sir? Did the flek take her prisoner?"
The Black/on/black raised his nose into the wind as though seeking her scent. "I don't know. I got there too late."
"She fought well," Kei said gruffly. "After I hit my head, I could see only a little, but she was charging the flek, knife drawn, just as the grid flashed white. Then they were gone."
"If she was far enough inside the platform not to be vaporized, then she must have transported." The Black/on/black's tone was bleak. He closed his eyes, pulled his lips back, as though in pain. "I hope she took out a hundred of the bastards when she got to the other side."
Even the traitor had fought with more honor than he had, Kei thought wearily. He should have thrown himself through the grid with her, whether he could see or not, brought down as many flek as claws and teeth could manage before he passed through the Gates of Death.
He could stand it no longer and lurched to his feet, stiff and sore from nose to claws. "I must tend to Bey," he said gruffly.
Visht stood too, ears drooping. "I will go with you."
"No!" Kei bristled. "He was my huntmate!"
"We are Rangers," the Black/on/black said. "That makes us all huntmates, human and hrinn alike."
"Yes," Montrose said. His dark face was lined with pain. "I'll go too. What can we use for shovels?"
The Black/on/black shook his head, a particularly human gesture which always looked odd to Kei. "Hrinn do not bury their dead. They are `given to the sky.' "
Kika was looking from one face to another, unable to hear what they were talking about. The Black/on/black put one hand on her shoulder. "Bey," he said loudly and jerked his head upward. "He must enter the sky."
Understanding dawned in Kika's black eyes. She glanced up at the rugged green mountains that formed the backbone of the island. Clouds were scudding across the peaks and accumulating in dark patches as though it might rain soon.
"There is no place for that here," she said.
"We will make one," the Black/on/black said. "A Ranger place." He turned to Montrose. "It has to be high up, where the clouds touch the peaks. I don't think you could make it with that leg, and besides someone needs to stay with Naxk and Kika until Onopa gets back."
Montrose bowed his head.
Kei could see he did not want to stay, an almost hrinnti response to the situation.
"What about Skal?" Montrose said finally and looked around. "Couldn't he stay?"
"That's a good question," the Black/on/black said grimly. "I haven't seen him since we evacuated the cave. Has anyone else?"
The survivors looked at each other, but no one remembered seeing the Squad Leader since he'd carried Naxk out and deposited her unconscious on the grass.
"He'll be back," the Black/on/black said, "and then he's going to have a lot of explaining to do."
Mitsu was limp from the intense heat by the time dusk fell on the flek world. The brash red sun, diffused by the thick atmosphere, slipped toward the horizon with agonizing slowness. Her uniform was plastered to her body by sweat. Her throat burned and the effort it took not to cough was draining what little reserves she had left. If this took much longer, she wouldn't have the strength to enter the grid.
The tuner-drones went about their work with dogged persistence, ignoring her. The tech remained off to one side, dormant, and she could see silvery splotches across its smushed-in face now. It was old. They must be hard-up indeed for techs on this so-called "failed world," she thought. She had not seen one half so old on Anktan. The flek prized efficiency above all else. Most were sacrificed long before achieving this age and then consumed by their successors in order to pass along crucial memory engrams.
She fingered the foil of the only remaining foodpak in her pocket, but put off eating it just yet. She was merely ravenous and thirsty for the moment. If she didn't get off this world soon, she would need it much worse later, as well as a decent water source, if there was such a thing on this world.
The lights down in the flek city were easier to see as the sun faded: typically flekish pinks, blues, and greens, along with the occasional purple. How many of the flek down there were warrior-drones? She ought to go, she told herself, and find out. If she ever made it back through the grid, that kind of knowledge could be invaluable intel.
The very thought of venturing into a viable flek hive made her ill though. No one would expect it of her, after what she had been through. She paced around the grid platform, wondering if these misbegotten tuners would ever be done. Perhaps the tech was just toying with her. Maybe they all knew she was an imposter and were just waiting for her to make a move. That might even be what passed for flekish humor.
Finally, as the shadows lengthened, a pink sphere detached itself from the city and drifted toward the grid. She watched it with sick fascination. It was moving too fast to be a worker on foot.
The tech stirred, then checked the tuners, making minute adjustments here and there. She watched the approaching sphere nervously, dizzy with the heat, but unable to stand still. "Is the grid ready?" she asked.
"Not yet. It is antiquated," the tech said, "very delicate, and these tuners are inexperienced. The last set died on the previous world and these had no opportunity to ingest their knowledge, although I will attempt to retrieve at least one of the bodies for that purpose when you return."
The pink sphere reached the bottom of the rise and then winked out. A large flek unfolded itself and ambled up the hill toward the transfer grid.
Mitsu was frozen. There was no place to hide, and, if she did run, they would know she was an imposter for sure, if they didn't already. She had to bluff it out.
This flek did not seem to be a warrior-drone, but that gave her little relief. Though much larger than the tech, it was not a Decider either. She had seen several back on Anktan and they were at least twice the size of a tech with overlarge heads and stunted arms.
The flek stopped at the edge of the crystal matrix and studied her, its red eyes glittering in the sunset. It wore a belt around its gleaming white middle, fitted with several devices, of which she recognized only one, a porosity generator for entering buildings. "Designation?" it said crisply.
"Spy-Drone 87650," she said, her mouth dry. "Your designation?"
"World-Architect 549." It canted its head. "We had not received word of a spy-drone left in place on Planet 873."
"I—was trapped there," she said, "for a very long time, until this tech opened the grid and brought me back through."
What in the name of the Thirty-Nine Systems was a "world-architect," she wondered. She'd never heard of that caste before.
The flek architect was watching her closely.
"I left an information cache behind," she said. "This tech is going to effect my temporary return, then send me on to a tertiary nexus for information processing."
"The Primary Decider will confer with you," the architect said. "You are directed to accompany me to the Integrating Chamber for inquiry."
"The grid is almost tuned," she said. Panic ricochetted through her. She gripped her sweating hands together to keep them from trembling. "I must return as soon as possible. Delay might impair any chance of retrieving the records. I can report to the Decider, when I return."
"This tech reported contact with the Enemy on Planet 873," the architect said, "which supersedes all other priorities. The Primary Decider will evaluate the details you supply so response can be planned."
She would have to go with it for now, then give it the slip as soon as they reached the city and circle back here. Refusing in front of the tech would only give her away.
Heart pounding, mouth dry as the desert back on Anktan, Mitsu followed the architect down the slope. It paused at the foot, while she gazed out over the flek city. More spheres were visible among the buildings and broad walkways, some larger, others smaller, pink and blue and purple. She had a flashback of the grid on Anktan. Beautiful under the night sky, like a wonderland of fairy lights, and so big, large enough to transport thousands of warrior-drones.
With an almost subliminal hum, a field of pink light enveloped both herself and the drone. She put out a finger and touched the shimmering pink skin. It tingled and hummed more loudly, but did not give to the pressure as they lifted into the air and floated toward the city. She withdrew her finger and watched through the field of translucent pink. The city grew nearer with surprising speed and the architect did not appear to be controlling their progress in any way. Their "vehicle" must be managed from some central area. Since she was supposed to be a flek spy, familiar with this, she did not dare ask how it worked.
She would get away, she told herself over and over. They would not flay her mind open this time. She would die first, and as many as she could reach would die with her.
White, irregularly-spaced towers passed below, some low and stubby, others almost ethereal, rising high into the murky yellow twilight. And everywhere, she saw flek, striding purposefully with that terrible single-mindedness only their species had perfected. The entire city was alive with them. There had to be a million at least, she thought, all of them poised to invade Oleaaka.
Heyoka would have liked to wrap the corpse for its last journey, but they had nothing suitable, so in the end, he took the shoulders, leaving Visht and Kei to carry the legs and they climbed toward the rugged center of the island. The afternoon was waning, but it was still devilishly hot and they were all three panting before they had gone a few hundred feet.
The clouds gathered above, ever more dark and ominous. The humidity seemed only to increase and it was soon obvious why hrinn were never meant for a tropical climate.
The wind streamed against their faces, filled with alien green scents, and, beneath that, the salt of the sea at their backs. Because of his burned hand, Kei could only carry left-handed and did not speak at all. Visht, silent by nature, said nothing either, but it was Kei that concerned him.
Something had happened, during the battle perhaps, or earlier during the day, which had affected him. Even the way he carried himself was different, and the fact the others deferred to Skal now, instead of Kei, spoke volumes. Dominance had shifted, which ordinarily never happened among hrinn without Challenge. Had Skal and Kei fought? Skal had appeared to be the only uninjured survivor of the battle, and he did not believe the black-and-white's fighting skills were good enough to come away from an encounter with Kei unmarked. Heyoka could not make sense of it.
They stopped to rest, easing Bey's poor body to the rocks, then gazing back down the slope at the island spread out below. Green sward, just subtly darker than the greens of Earth, covered broad terraces to the east, while the green tangle of rain forest dominated the rocky slopes. The wind gusted and a ripple of silver undersides flashed like slow lightning. It was a lovely land, with its black sand beaches and lush vegetation. If Oleaaka were not already inhabited, humans would gladly have colonized.
Without a word, Kei picked up Bey's leg and stood waiting to continue. Heyoka resumed his place at the shoulders and Visht joined them. They needed a high place, open to the sky. Heyoka remembered that much from Anktan. When he had recovered enough of his strength, after the final battle, they had taken him to the peaks, at his insistence, and shown him the dead.
He had known there would be casualties, but, despite their victory, the numbers were staggering, all placed on the highest summits, where the fierce wind and sun desiccated the corpses in short order and predators did the rest. The humans of course had asked for plots of land to bury their dead, mightily shocking the hrinn, who found the practice barbarous.
The light ebbed as they climbed until, high up, on a rocky ledge, Visht slipped on loose scree, breaking open the wound on his shoulder. He sprawled on the slope, ears flattened, eyes narrow with pain. Heyoka set his burden down, then reached to help him up. Visht struck at him with bared claws.
He drew back and waited while Visht collected himself. Kei had tactfully averted his eyes, and Heyoka now realized he should have done the same. It was difficult to avoid giving insult when you had not been raised in a culture. A portion of his mind was hard-wired with hrinnti instincts, but even those had by necessity been dulled by years of living with humans.
"Why did Skal leave the squad?" he asked Kei, while they were waiting.
Kei bristled. "He is Leader now, so he goes when he pleases. No one can question his right."
"When did he become Leader?"
The wind gusted, rattling the leaves of a stunted tree growing at an angle out of the rock. Kei snarled, but would say no more.
"He should be here," Heyoka said, "helping us, honoring his huntmate for the last time."
Kei turned on him, teeth bared, claws flashing. He looked altogether unsoldierlike, savage. "He is hrinnti, not human, and he will never fit into your hidebound human patterns! Whatever is at work here is much larger than anything a human has ever named!"
"This is not just a pattern/in/progress!" Heyoka was breathing hard and the blood was surging in his ears. His savage other strained to break free. This could not be settled with words, it insisted. Only teeth and claws and blood could resolve this matter. With an effort, he turned away from its seductive whisper. "This is a combat situation! If hrinn are ever going to have a chance to make a contribution to this war, we have to maintain order and discipline, the chain of command!"
"Those are patterns fit only for softskins!" A voice rang down from above.
Heyoka, Kei, and Visht looked up the slope. Skal's black-and-white form stood on a rocky point, legs braced apart, unbound mane flowing in the wind. "Your pattern is finished, Black/on/black, just like you! Everyone knows you're a burnt-out wreck now. You should have stayed on Anktan, listening to the stories the old Tellers spin for cublings about you. This is a new place and needs fresh eyes and ears. We will make our own pattern here!"
"Like you did down in the cave when you hung back?" Heyoka threw back. "That didn't look the least bit new to me. I would have called that fiasco death/in/longing, wouldn't you?"
With a snarl, Skal disappeared.
Heyoka just had time to realize Skal had entered blueshift before the fight was upon him.