Earthblood (7 page)

"A mule's a cross between two human strains that never should have got mixed up together in the first place," she said carelessly. "Mules are sterile." She looked at him.

"You've cut your head. And you've been crying."

"Will you—" Roan started, and swallowed "—will you take your tunic off?" The girl looked at him, still smiling, and then the pale cheeks quite suddenly were pink. She laughed, but it was a different laugh.

"What did you say?"

"Please—take off your tunic."

For a long moment the ocher eyes looked into Roan's blue ones. Then she stepped back from the door, her soft hand slipping from under Roan's for a moment. She did things to the silver garment and it fell away, and she stood for a moment poised and straight, and then she turned slowly, all the way around.

Roan's breath came hard through the turmoil in his chest.

"I never dreamed anything could be so beautiful," he said. The girl drew a quick breath, then bent, snatched up her garment, and was gone. Roan pressed his face to the bars, caught a glimpse of her as she darted past a lumbering, bald humanoid who turned and stared after her, then came clumping up to the cell door. He looked angrily at Roan.

"What the hell's wrong with Stel?" he barked. He looked down, clattering keys. "All right, Terry, the vacation's over. I'm Nugg. You work for me. I can use some help, the devil knows . . . "

The door clanked open. Roan stepped out, measured the alien's seven foot height. The creature raised a fist like a stone club.

"Don't get ideas, runt. Just do your work and you'll get along. You'll need some shoes, I suppose. And a tunic. Around this place clothes are the only way to tell the Freaks from the animals."

"Who was she?" Roan said. "Where did she go?" Nugg glared at him. "Keep your mind off Stel; Stellaraire, to you. She dances. She's got no time for Freaks and scrapers. I know about you; you're a mean one. You watch your step, Terry, and tend to your scraping—and your greenface. Now come on."

Roan followed the hulking humanoid along the echoing corridor, noisy with the rumble of ventilators, the clamor of voices, the thump of feet, to a dingy room of shelves heaped with equipment. Nugg hauled a large duffel bag of used clothing from a locker, dumped it out onto the floor. Roan discarded a bra affair that might have fitted a midget Stellaraire, a zippered tube that seemed to be made of human skin, a hexagonal wired corset, and a gauze veil before he came up with a simple buttoned tunic only a few sizes too large. But he found a marvelous belt made of flexible metal links that fitted itself perfectly to his slim waist. He also found a pair of heavy hide sandals.

Nugg grunted. "Get down to C deck. One of the boys will tell you what to do." He gave Roan directions. "And stay out of trouble!" he added. Roan rode down the lift, stepped out into a sour reek of stables, a vast, steel room echoing with grunts, squeals, and the shuffle and clatter of hooves and the pad of horny feet. Through bars he saw shaggy pelts of black and pink and tan, glistening hides, scaled, knobbed, smooth, the flash of light on horns, tusks, fangs, the curl of sinuous tails, the reach of taloned limbs, and tentacles that groped restlessly.

"You—oo son of a bitch—itch," an echoing voice said. Roan turned. On the other side of a massive grill a seven-foot Ythcan glowered, one three-fingered green hand thrust through the bars, the thick fingers closing futilely an inch from Roan's tunic. The other hand was a round knob of dirty bandages.

Roan stepped back and looked around for a weapon. Ithc raised his maimed hand and shook it. "It wa—as my skilled—illed hand—and. You—oo've ruined it for life—ife."

"Good," Roan said. "I'm going to ruin the other one too."

"You—oo wait there—ere," Ithc said, moving along the grill. "I'm—mm coming to kill—ill you—oo."

There was a long-handled pitchfork against the bulkhead with straw and dung matted in the tines. Roan clanged it against the steel wall and ran to meet Ithc. A wide gate at the end of the grilled wall stood open. The Ythcan halted just beyond it and Roan stepped through, the pitchfork raised.

Ithc made a sudden motion and the heavy, motor-driven grill slammed against Roan, knocked him off his feet, pinning him in the opening. The Ythcan planted a horny, three-toed foot against Roan's chest and with his good hand drew a knife from behind him. He clicked a catch and the blade guard dropped off the knife and what was left was a glistening razor that made Roan bite his teeth to look at.

"I'll—ll cut your wrist tendons first—irst," Ithc said. He leaned close, just out of reach of Roan's hands. His gill flaps rippled, flushed pink. "Then—en I'll do—oo your eyes—ss . . . " He held his bandaged hand before him for balance, weaving the blade to and fro.

Roan was watching the dagger. Every time it moved, he had his hands ready to grab. With a sudden, unexpected motion the Ythcan jabbed for his shoulder; Roan struck out—and the Ythcan jumped back, holding his bandaged hand. A red stain grew on it. Roan's hand tingled from the blow he had struck.

"Ow—ow," Ithc keened. "Ow—ow." He stepped back, holding the dagger by the point now and lining it up with Roan's left eye. Roan got ready to dodge, then realized that was what he was supposed to do. The Ythcan would throw for some other spot.

There was the clank of a door, then the sound of running feet along the corridor.

Stellaraire's woman-voice rang. "Ithc, you smelly animal! Get away from that gate. Let him up!" She was standing over Roan, long, slim legs planted astride him, fists on rounded hips. Ithc held up his bloodstained bandage.

"Because of him—im I lost—ost my job—ob. Now I'm just a dirty scraper—rr."

"You'll be worse than that if I tell Gom Bulj about this!" She pushed at the heavy gate.

"He hurt me—ee," Ithc said. "Ow—ow." But he let the gate come open. Roan rolled over and sat up. He looked at the pitchfork, and the girl followed his look.

"Terry, you've got to promise me you won't start it again . . . "

"I'm going to kill him . . . " It was hard for Roan to breathe. His ribs hurt.

"He would have killed you if I hadn't made him let you up. Now call it square!"

Roan looked at her. "Maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't. He doesn't move very fast."

"Look, you've got to forget what happened. He's too dumb to hate."

"Hey—ey," Ithc started.

"You shut up," Stellaraire snapped. "Now go on, get out!" Roan watched Ithc move off, holding his bad hand in his good one. "All right," he said. "I'll leave him alone—until the first time he bothers me." He lay back against the cold metal floor, wanting to moan, but not wanting the girl to see how much pain hurt him.

Stellaraire's hand was cool on his forehead. "You take it easy a minute, honey . . . "

"I have to get to work."

"You're a real sucker for punishment! You stay where you are, till you get your breath."

"He's still walking. So can I."

"You don't have to tell me, sugar. You're a tough one. I saw the fight when they caught you. The Ythcans don't have much brains, but they're awfully strong. I saw Ithc's hand before they bandaged it. It's ruined for life. I've never seen anybody fight like that before, and believe me, I've seen a lot of fights in my carny days. What made you so mad?"

Roan sat up, remembering, feeling the hot tears ready behind his eyes. "My father," he said. "They killed my old man."

"Ah, sweetie, that was a lousy thing to do . . . " She was kneeling, cradling his head in her arms. "Go ahead; it feels better if you cry. But you fixed that Ithc good. He can't be on Security any more; not with that hand. Gom Bulj has already sent him down here as a scraper."

"He didn't have to kill Dad," Roan said. "My father was a cripple. He was crippled defending me before I was born."

"How much real Terry strain do you have?" Stellaraire asked. "Your mother?"

"I'm all Terry," Roan said. "Raff was only my foster father. Ma wasn't really human. They lived all their lives in a garbage dump on account of me and Dad got killed on account of me. And Ithc walks around with nothing but a bad hand."

"My folks were a funny pair," Stellaraire said. "Pa was a water miner on Archo Four. He came of one of the Ganny crosses; real short-like, and he could go fifteen minutes without taking a breath—and o'course real coarse skin. Mother came from Tyree's World; she was dark, with light hair, and real slender. I've got her eyes, but outside of that, I'm kind of a throwback, I guess."

"You're beautiful," Roan said. "I love your eyes. If . . . if it wasn't for Dad, I'd be glad they kidnapped me."

"That's right." Stellaraire smiled. "Just think about the good part."

"I've never had a friend before," Roan said. "A real friend."

"Gee," said the girl, and her eyes grew round like a child's. "Gee, I could make you a list ten miles long of all the things men have called me since I've been with the 'zoo, but this is the first time it was 'friend.'" Her hands moved gently over his chest and arms. "There are the oddest things about you. This fuzz; what's it for?" She touched his cheek. "And your face is prickly."

"That's my beard. I have to shave nearly every day."

"I like it. It gives me nice shivers to get scraped with it. But I wonder what kind of adaptation it was supposed to be for. Open your mouth." The girl looked at Roan's teeth.

"You have such nice, white teeth—but so many of them . . . " She counted.

"Gosh, thirty-two." She looked thoughtful, moving her tongue around inside her mouth. "I only have twenty-six."

"The better to eat you with, my dear—"

The grilled door slammed open. A thick, boneless gray arm with a mouth at the end of it reached in, groped over Stellaraire, then curled around her and pulled her to the door.

"Stellaraire!" Roan gasped, and jumped to his feet, grappling the arm. But Stellaraire was laughing, perched in the curve of the massive tentacle. Beyond the doorway, Roan saw a vast creature like a mountain of gray rock. The girl put a foot on a great curving tusk, stepped up to the enormous head.

"It's just Jumbo. He knows how to work the lift and sometimes he gets loose." Jumbo reached his mouthed arm into a bin and came out with a wad of hay, which he stuffed into the other mouth, under his single tentacle.

"Stel!" a rasping voice called. "Get that damned bull back down where he belongs." The bald humanoid Nugg came stamping up. He looked angrily at Roan.

"Stel, this Terry's dangerous. You stay away from him—"

"You're not talking to your scraping crew now, Nugg," Stellaraire said sharply. "Don't go giving me orders. And you'd better keep an eye on Ithc. He started trouble with the kid here."

Nugg looked angrily at Roan. "All right, you. Get to work. I told you—"

"He's not working today. He might have busted ribs; that damned Ythcan goon slammed the door on him. I'm taking him to the vet."

"Look here, Stel—"

"Tell it to Gom Bulj. Come on, Terry."

Roan looked at the elephant, then up at Stellaraire. He put out a hand and touched the gray hide, then stepped into the curve of the trunk and was lifted up beside the girl.

"This is the strangest-looking creature I ever saw," he said, trying to sound casual. "And you don't have to call me Terry. My name's Roan." He held on as the bull turned ponderously, swayed off along the corridor.

"And I don't need to go to any vet," he added. "I'm all right."

"Suits me. I'll take you to my room and clean you up. You smell like a scraper already. And I want to see to that cut on your face." Roan's eyes opened wide when he saw Stellaraire's quarters. The single room, three yards by four, had a low ceiling which shed a soft light on three walls decorated with patterns of flowers and a fourth which was a panel of greenish glass behind which small vivid fish waved feathery fronds, moving with dreamlike slowness through an eerie miniature landscape. There was a low couch by one wall, a table of polished black wood, a carpet of soft gray into which Roan's feet seemed to sink ankle-deep.

He drew a breath, wrinkling his nose. "It smells—pretty," he said. "I never smelled a pretty smell before."

"It's just perfume, silly. Sit down—over there on the bed. I'll get some medicine."

Roan waited quietly while the girl cleaned the deep scratch on his cheek, painted it with a purple fluid that burned like cold fire, and sprayed a bandage in place.

"There. I'm as good a vet as Grall any day. I ought to be—I've done enough of it. Now go in there"—she pointed—"and take a bath." Roan went to the door and looked in. There was a large basin in the floor, with glittering knobs and spouts around it.

"I don't see any water . . . "

Stellaraire laughed. "You're such a baby—except when you're mad. Here, just turn this . . . " Water churned into the tub.

"Now take off your tunic and get in. You do know how to rub yourself, I hope."

Roan stepped into the warm water. "This is strange," he said. "Taking a bath—inside a room. I always used to go to the river."

"You mean right outside—with fish and things bumping into you? And mud?

How could you ever do it?"

"It was nice. And fish don't bump into you. I could swim right out across the water to the other side, and lie on the bank and look up at the sky. But this is nice, too," he added.

"Here, I'll do your back. That Nugg, putting you in that dirty pen where they used to keep the mud-pig until he died! I'm going to tell Gom Bulj a thing or two. You'll have a room right by mine. You're a valuable Freak, Roan. What's your act?"

"Walking a wire. Gom Bulj said Terries aren't supposed to be able to, but I don't have any trouble."

Stellaraire shuddered. "I'm afraid of heights. But you said you grew up among those flying things—grapples or whatever they are—I guess that makes a difference. What's he paying you?"

"I don't know. Nothing, I guess, until I learn the business."

"Ha! We'll see about that. Why, you're the only real Terry in the show. Don't say anything to Gom Bulj about the extra teeth and he'll never know the difference."

"I don't want anything from him. I'm going to get away as soon as I can, and go . . . go . . . "