Only Human (33 page)

Tychon holstered his gun and dug another
shirt from their diminishing stores. "Calm her down, Greah. We'll take her
to the city with us. But shut her up."

Greah did his best and soon she tramped
along with them, shell-shocked and silent.

It was not long now before their path met
the main road. They halted when they saw people moving slowly toward Shad
Areen. In the distance a stone bridge spanned the river. A small group of natives
were making the cross, leading furred animals. Now that the highway had
broadened they were no longer making an effort at concealing themselves.

"We're not far now," Greah said.
"We'll keep meeting other people. Cover yourselves up a little. You look
much too Human."

"I am not Human," Tychon
grumbled. He tied his hair back and threw a blanket over his head as a sort of
cowl.

"You're not Shaddallama, either!"

Nova went back to the sandrunner and
searched through her parcels. "Give me your water bottle." The others
watched in silence as she poured a powder into the leather flask and then shook
it carefully.

"What is that?" Tychon asked.

"Ishet gave me this. Turns your skin
red. Apparently there are lots of Bellac Tau traders in this area. That right,
Greah?"

He nodded. "Miners, slave
traders." He giggled when Tychon sniffed the bottle and made a face.

"Drink it fast," Nova advised.

Tychon squeezed his eyes shut when he did
so. "That stuff is ugly!" he gasped.

Nova drained the rest of the concoction,
nearly retching.

They looked at each other. "So?"

Tychon dropped into the high grass. "I
guess we'll wait and see what happens." He beckoned the bird to settle.

They waited in silence. Nova's stomach
ceased its protest over the unfamiliar substance. Her skin tingled. She looked
at her hands. "I'll be grounded! Look at this!" She turned to Tychon.
"Look at you!"

"Not if I look like you."

Their skin had turned an agitated, sickly
red. "This had better wear off," she said. "Greah, do you know
anything about this stuff?"

"Never heard of it."

"I guess I should have asked
Ishet." Nova covered her hair, thankful that the potion had not turned it
white.

None of the people that they now met along
their trail took particular notice of the two tall Bellacs walking their way
with the Shaddallamas and their runner. As in Shad Lengh, the people here
seemed to avoid strangers. True to Greah's word, not one of the natives carried
so much as a stick for a weapon.

More and more of the paths emerged from the
undergrowth until the trails had formed a busy road where everyone seemed to
travel in just one direction. Nova felt like a giant walking among the
Shaddallamas, most of whom travelled in groups and journeyed with livestock and
carts.

At last the dense vegetation parted to
reveal the city before them. Surrounded by a sloping stone wall, it resembled a
fortress into which their road led without bypass. Armed guards paced atop the
wall at even intervals. Small groups of Rhuwacs patrolled the road below,
harassing people at random.

Planes came and went, indicating an
airfield within. Nova scrutinized each one, seeing mostly the unmarked ships
belonging to Tharron's fleet. Only one or two were designed for long distance
travel. She wondered if he kept jump-capable ships in other parts of
Shaddallam, perhaps cruisers in orbit.

“Not a lot of useful planes,” she said to
Tychon, speaking Bellac. Her accent was imperfect and she kept her voice low.
“I’m guessing the Eagle is here, since we didn’t find it in Shad Laika. Adachi
and his crew should be able to track it here.”

“Yes, except they don’t know we’ve
misplaced it,” Tychon said. “For all they know we’re still looking for that
tree.”

She sighed. Standard procedure on a
rebel-held planet would prevent Vanguard Three and One from communicating with
the others unless their objective had been reached. Although it had been days
since their arrival on Shaddallam, their silence would not yet be cause for
alarm.

“Besides,” Tychon said, peering at the
Rhuwacs from beneath his hood. “Pe Khoja surely knows to remove the ship’s
squawker. He seemed familiar with the Eagle’s specs. I’m guessing that it’s
powered down and dead silent by now.”

The steady pedestrian traffic slowed as
each caravan was questioned at the city gate. While awaiting their turn, Tychon
peered up to study Shad Areen's outer defenses."I think the guards up
there are for show," he said. "Look at those cameras by each
buttress."

“What's your business here?" A
Centauri guard held his long gun to Tychon's chest. Meta, their new
acquaintance, squealed fearfully.

"Eh? What does it say?" Tychon inquired.

"We are not on Bellac, you," the
leather-garbed soldier growled. He looked to Greah. "Do you speak Dgabi?"

Tychon gambled. "Tell this foul
smelling pig dog to remove its weapon from my person."

Nova tensed but the guard had not
understood the insult. "What did he say?"

She smiled prettily. "He begs you to
lift your gun, sir."

The rebel studied Nova. He did not look at
her face. "Tell me your business here."

"We are only looking for a place to
rest for the night," Greah said quickly. "His lungs, you see. They
are weak. Another cold night outside would worsen him."

Nova winced at this. Bellacs had only one
rather complicated lung; a fact of which she hoped the guard was as ignorant as
Greah.

The soldier eyed them suspiciously. At
last, after another long look at Nova's legs, he waved them through. "You
can find the other Bellacs in the south quarter. See to it that you stay
there."

Tychon shambled his way past him, smiling
idiotically. "May a makal monkey visit your sister and may the meeting be
fruitful."

Nova shoved him through the gate. "Cut
it out!" she napped when they had passed.

"Couldn't help myself. At least we
know that a lot of the rebels here don't speak Bellac. That's something. If
they did, they'd have an interpreter at the gate."

Greah tugged on his arm. "We better
find a place to stay."

Tychon agreed. A wound on his leg had begun
to throb steadily. "Where is that Bellac quarter?"

Greah shook his head. "We may have
squeezed past the Centauri but you won't fool a real Bellac. Meta said we can
go to the house of her people. I’ll send for my friends from there."

Greah seemed to find his way through the
winding streets without error. Why, thought Nova, did it seem that every beggar
and merchant had converged here, in Shad Areen? She caught the impression of
carefully manufactured squalor. The houses and shops that lined the road were
certainly primitive, as on so many planets of Trans-Targon, but they were large
and well kept. Yet beggars huddled in doorways and transients slept in the
streets. Overcrowded, noisy, the city was awash with people of a half dozen different
points of origin. What were they all doing here?

"Crowds," Tychon mumbled.
"So many people."

"That's what I was just–"

He grasped her wrist. "That's it! Tharron
is bringing all of these people here from elsewhere on Shaddallam. Think of how
this would look on scanners in orbit. This would appear like a vast army."

"Sly," she commented.
"Although it wouldn't take long to find out that these are not rebels or
Rhuwacs. He's betting that the Union won't want to risk the civilians. Again."

Tharron's men seemed to be everywhere. Nova
was torn between ducking and firing whenever one of the rebels crossed their
path, weapons drawn. Besides the hated faces of the Rhuwacs, she saw the higher
ranking rebels of K'lar, Feyd, Magra and Terran origin wearing Tharron's
colors. Not one of them was Delphian.

Greah brought them through a side street
and to the recessed door of a low, stone-walled building. He knocked furtively,
just once.

It was a long time before the door was
opened from within. Nova and Tychon both had to stoop to enter a dim, low-ceilinged
room, its corners lost in shadow, windows heavily draped. Nova turned back to
see someone outside lead the sandrunner away. Then the door was shut.

"Sit on the floor," Greah
whispered. "Don't frighten them."

A group of people no taller than Greah
gathered around them. Greah pulled the hood from Tychon's head. The little
people gasped in unison. One of them, a wizened female, stepped forward to
touch first Nova's, then Tychon's hair. She leaned closer, looking into his
eyes. At last, she shook her head and said something.

Some of them giggled.

"What?" Nova looked to Greah for
translation.

He grinned. "She said that she doesn't
know what it is." He turned to explain the disguise.

His introductions seemed to satisfy the
group. Some of them nodded wisely and gathered in a corner to discuss the
matter. Greah fell into a long conversation with another group of his kinsmen
and the old woman took Meta under her wing. Food and drink was brought to the
strangers and they were left alone.

Nova sat comfortably on a rug, watching the
Shaddallamas, barely registering the bitter taste of their meal. She felt safe
here, shuttered away from the enemy behind thick stone and earth walls, the
pleasant smell of smoke and roasted meat mingling with the faint smell of
people. The incomprehensible murmur of voices made her drowsy and she sighed
contentedly when Tychon pulled her closer to lean against his chest.

Greah returned to them. "They say we
can stay as long as we like. But it's best to keep as many of them out of this
as possible. You're a risk to them here."

"We'll move after dark," Tychon
said. "We need to find a way to get out of here. There must be a way we
can steal a plane, if not the Eagle. We should split up and look around."

"Some of my friends have left already.
They know this place better'n we do. I think we'll know in a few hours where
they have Kira."

"I hope they don't get into trouble
for us."

"They know how to be invisible,"
Greah said, unconcerned.

Nova looked up at Tychon. "What if Kira
is locked up in some dungeon? This place is a bloody fortress. It would take an
army to get him out."

"They wouldn't put a six-year-old in
irons."

"I'm worried about Jelani. What if
he's done something already?"

"He'll take his time. Kira's mind is
more powerful than his. I wouldn't rush anything if I were Jelani. Once we know
where he is, it might be wise for us to regroup. We could probably get some of the
Vanguard here pretty fast if we can find a way to communicate. Knowing Carras,
he's probably put the rest of the squad on stand-by."

"If your plane is here, we'll know
that soon, too," Greah said. "My people are quick."

Nova's patience was wearing to a fine wire.
She barely restrained herself from interrupting the extremely animated
conversation taking place among the Shaddallamas. She wanted to pace but, in
consideration of the low ceiling, had to dismiss that notion. The thought of
pacing on her knees made her laugh nervously.

Four of the natives had gathered around
Greah, having returned to their hiding place a few hours after they had left on
their errands. There was much gesturing and waving of multi-jointed arms and
she could hear their musical laughter - it seemed part of their language with no
real connection to humor.

"What do they find to prattle
about?" she grumbled.

Tychon half reclined on the floor beside
her, carefully testing his wounds. "I think the one in the purple kilt
works in Tharron's keep." He flexed a leg. "Looks like he's come up
with something."

"How do you know?"

"I've been watching. What's wrong with
you?"

"Nervous, I guess. I wish they
wouldn't go into so much detail about everything." How she envied his
knack at remaining calm when storms raged all around. The lazy slouch of his
body belied the alertness in which he watched their hosts and listened to the
sounds of the city outside. She knew him well enough by now to read the deep
color of his eyes and the tension in the apparently relaxed pose. But he knew
how to channel his resources. While she had waited restlessly for the little
people to end their chatter, he had studied and understood their elaborate body
language.

Greah finally disengaged himself from the
group.

"Well? What is it?" Nova pressed.
"Have they found anything?"

He nodded. "Tsegh came just now from Tharron's,
ah, home."

"Is Kira there?"

"Indeed! Tsegh faced some danger in
gathering his information. At one point he–"

"Can't you spare us the details?"

Greah leaned closer to Tychon.
"Perhaps you will listen."