Charon (27 page)

 
As for the hunting and killing, humans had been doing that to animals since the dawn of time. Though the civilized worlds knew meat only as a synthetic, those on the frontier certainly knew it in the same way ancient man on ancestral Earth had. Here on Charon people made their livings hunting game and fishing and eating their
catch,
and those who did this work enjoyed it. The fact that the people of Montlay and Bourget, among others, had their meat ground or cut and cooked and seasoned so they no longer really thought of their meal as an animal that had to be butchered only eased their minds a bit Darva and I were no different—we were simply eliminating the hypocrisy.
Looking at it in that way we both found it much easier to move fully into our roles as predators.

 
The Warden organisms that governed everything inside us also seemed to take a more practical view. After only the third kill and feed I was aware of odd feelings, mostly numbness and a little discomfort in my mouth. I mentioned this to Darva, who had noted the same thing, and a quick examination showed that things
were
changing. Our teeth were becoming sharper, the front fangs growing longer and thicker. Without an additional magic spell or anything else, we were changing into"true carnivores.

 
Such a modification could not have been in the long-range plans of an apt like Isil; the Wardens inside us, somehow, were sensing the change in our lif e-style and modifying us to adapt. But what exactly were they reacting to? I wondered. Was it the changed physical circumstances? That seemed unlikely—Darva had been this way for a long time, I a very short time, yet the transformation was taking place only now. It had to be the change in our
mental
attitude that triggered it, I decided. Korman said we all had the power. Maybe the process was more complex than even he thought.

 
But that brought up an even more mystifying question. How did the Wardens
know!
An apt like Isil, even a powerful sore like Korman, hardly had the kind of mind that could literally reprogram every cell, order speeded growth,
put
every cell and every molecule together in such a pattern as to create a biologically functioning changeling. The Confederacy's computers could do the job easily, of course, although doing so was illegal. But a man or woman could just wave a magic wand here, mumble some words, and somehow, force the transmutation of a human being into something else—something that functioned.

 
I had here a lot of pieces of a truly great puzzle but, as yet, nothing with which to put them all together. For the first time in a long while I wondered about my counterpart, my old self, out there, somewhere, off the Warden Diamond. Was he still getting his information even though I'd been transformed? And, if he
was
getting information from all of us on the four Warden worlds, had he already been able to put those pieces together with the superior computer and Confederacy resources at his command?

 
I no longer hated him, certainly. Now, here, the way I was, I wasn't even sure if I envied him.

 
Slowly, through it all in the final week, we moved cautiously closer to the rendezvous point Darva had selected as the main target for us, the least likely to be betrayed. It was about a kilometer off a main road, in a rock cleft near a waterfall, and we approached it cautiously and in a roundabout manner. Darva was still hesitant about going at all, particularly now.

 
"We're happy here," she argued. "You said it yourself— we were made for the jungle and for this life. If we return, there'll only be more fighting and trouble."

 
"What you say is true," I admitted, "but I'm thinking of more than just you and me.
For one thing, /
have to know.
I want to find out just what the hell is going on here, and I have a particular responsibility, since I know that all Charon might be destroyed, we and our precious jungle along with it. But there's more. If we win, and if this Ko-ril's a man of his word, we can strike a blow for changelings and end this stupid discrimination. Changelings need their own land and they need the Power. Otherwise, somebody will always control and threaten us. With the Power, we could build a new race here, or many races."

 
I'm afraid she didn't really share my vision or my curiosity, but she understood, at least, that I could not be denied—and she wasn't going to be left out, alone, again.

 
We approached the rocks cautiously. I let her take the lead because she at least knew the lay of the land from the maps. She was very cautious. Fifty meters or more from the clearing, but within the sound of the roar of the falls, she froze into the immobility we both could achieve and still found hard to believe. Seeing her, I automatically froze as well.

 
The falls masked most sounds, so I started looking around, feeling a bit what she also felt—or sensed. It was, I knew, another one of those animal attributes we were either acquiring or discovering. There were others about. We couldn't see them or hear them but we knew with absolute certainty they were there.

 
Concentration on this one aspect produced an interesting sensation, I was aware that I was sensing something entirely new, outside any previous experience. For the first time, consciously, we were sensing our own Wardens—our war, as the old woman had called it—and those Wardens were not isolated or alone. Somehow some threads of energy, incredibly minute, were sending and receiving signals in all directions. No, that wasn't right, either—not signals; more like an open communications link, waveforms of the most basic and microscopic sort; open channels to the trees, grass, rocks, stuff in the air—everything around us. This, then, was what the sores felt, what Korman could not explain to me.

 
The jungle was alive, both with the forms of life we could see and with the Warden organism itself. It was alive, and we were a part of it
What
a glorious, heady feeling—unlike any I'd ever known.

 
Suddenly, I realized what exactly Darva and I were sensing. In us and most of the surroundings, the Wardens were usually passive, connected to all the other Wardens but sending and receiving nothing. But there were Wardens around through which things were now being transmitted. Not changelings—as far as Darva knew-there were few with any of the Power and much of it had been blocked off by the spell. These were apts then, very minor apts, but apts nonetheless, and that meant humans.

 
Fine-tuning that sense of the Wardens as much as I could, I tried to locate the sources of these emanations— and did. One was about ten meters from Darva, behind a large tree. There was another about fifteen meters in the other direction and ahead of her. A third, at least, was near the waterfall—and a fourth was on top of it. It seemed absurdly simple to pick them out now, with their very different Warden patterns. But did that mean that they had also picked
us
up in the same way? Almost immediately I decided that they hadn't. Either they were totally unaware of us or they took us for bunhars. If they knew, we would have been jumped by now.

 
At that moment the one nearest Darva, the one behind the tree, came into view, but he wasn't looking at us 'or even in our direction. We were against the best natural camouflage and remained incredibly still, so he might not have seen us anyway.

 
He turned out to be a trooper in one of those black and gold uniforms. Looking very relaxed and very bored, he settled down under the tree, weapon still bolstered. I could tell from its shape that it was a laser pistol. How I wanted one of those! Both Darva and I were efficient killing machines, it was true, but nothing could outrun a laser pistol. If I had one now, I could knock the trooper off without any personal risk at all.

 
I heard a short beeping sound, and the man reached to his belt and picked up a tiny transceiver. He spoke a few words into it, and I could make out that there
was
a reply, although not what the reply was. Checking in, that was alL

 
Unfortunately, we were not small, delicate creatures. The old Park Lacoch would have been better in this situation—tiny and catlike. We had to get away from here. I was in no danger, but Darva was too damned close. Slowly, carefully, I reached down and picked up a large rock, noting idly that even the rock radiated the Warden sense.

 
Darva turned her head very slowly and carefully, saw what I was doing, and gave me a careful nod; then she turned back to look at the trooper.

 
Quickly I heaved the rock with all my might in the opposite direction from where we stood. It was not a good throw—my hands were tough and nasty, but my arms were really very weak. Still, the rock made a clatter in back of the trooper, and he jumped to his feet and whirled around, pistol quickly drawn,
then
looked around suspiciously. The rock, as I said, was weakly thrown, and though it
had
landed beyond us the trooper began walking slowly toward Darva. I seemed to see the man's Wardens almost "light up," although that's not really the right word for it I could sense those channels of communication between his own Wardens and those around him reverberating with a sense of suspicion, a message of inquiry, as it were, although I could only guess that was what it was.

 
Darva was crouching a bit, flattened against broad-leafed trees and bushes of the same green as she; and she would have been nearly impossible even for me to spot had I not known she was there. It was the
Warden
sense that was to be feared, not any physical ones.

 
For some reason he hadn't yet picked her up—possibly we were involuntarily jamming in some way through our own apprehension—but I could see that he was soon going to be close enough to her that he couldn't miss her no matter what. It also hadn't escaped my notice that he had yet to call in on his communicator.

 
I made up my mind in a moment, only hoping that Darva would have the presence of mind to act correctly in the split second she would have.

 
The man stopped no more than two or three meters from her, turned slowly, and—I realized—saw her, first with Warden sense and then, knowing she was there, by sight. He grinned. "Well, well! A changeling with the Art," he said, obviously enjoying himself.

 
At that moment I popped up. "Hey!" I called,
then
gave my huge rear legs the kick of my life.

 
Darva whirled as the man's head and pistol turned toward me and struck him a blow that nearly cut off his head. Then his finger pushed the firing stud, and a beam of blue-white light shot out, burning a tree far over my head.

 
She didn't wait, but started for me, but I ran at her and at the dead body. She looked puzzled as I reached the man and tore the pistol from his hand; then I pivoted on my tail and headed for the jungle. I could hear another man's voice yelling behind us, and heard, rather than saw, the sound of laser pistol blasts.

 
Darva was still ahead of me dashing back into the jungle. When I saw she was safely out of the way I stopped, assumed my camouflage stance at a good spot, and waited.

 
Two troopers—a man and a woman—came running into the jungle, pistols drawn. I suddenly realized how off my timing was going to be with my oversized, taloned hands, but the comfortable feel of the pistol was reassuring enough. I was the absolute best—and this was like shooting targets at ten meters. Picking my time, I squeezed off two easy, well-placed shots, putting neat little holes in both chests. Both fell backward and were quickly still. As fast as I could, I went to them, took both pistols and both utility belts with their precious chargers, then turned and followed Darva's trail.

 
I handed her one of the belts and a pistol, power off, and we said nothing until we were deep into the jungle and felt safe. Finally we settled back on our tails, caught our breath, and relaxed a bit. "That was close!" she wheezed.

 
I nodded.
"But worth it, anyway."

 
She looked puzzled.
"Worth it?
Why'd you take such a chance to get those pistols?" She flexed her talons.
"We
don't need them."

 
"You're wrong on that," I told her. "Neither of us can outrun a communicator or a well-aimed shot" I grinned. "But neither can
they
."

 
She shook her head in wonder. "He was so—weak.
Puny."
She lifted up her right hand. "I caved in his skull with one quick blow." 1

 
"That you did," I agreed. "And our arms are the weakest things we have. But don't get too cocky. Humans have always been the weakest and puniest creatures on any planet they've settled, and look
who's
boss."

 
She looked over at me. "Well, I guess that's it for anyplace else. If they were at that place I'm almost positive they know the alternates."

 
I shook my head. "No, we've got to try them. One of them might still be good. If there's a chance, we have to take it."

 
"All right," she sighed, sounding disappointed; then she brightened a bit "You know, I really did the right thing back there!"

 
"You sure did," I agreed. "I'm proud of you. There was no way for me to tell you what to do and you came through magnificently."