Snare (86 page)

‘Sooner or later you’ll find out about the false gods. I’m sorry
about that, but it was the best Dallas and I could come up with in the time we had. That damned xeno-bi girl, Davees, insisted that if we got the horses, you had to have gods, something to keep you on a tight rein. Davees suggested me and Dallas for the job, but we both refused. We’ll be culture heroes, sure. Gods, no. She was right about one thing, though, that if someday one of the other species manages to break through and land here, we don’t want you to tear them apart. If that means they have to look like gods to you, so be it.

‘I’m running out of time, but one last thing: remember, boys and girls, that you are stronger than the Shipfolk and Karashiki will admit you are, that you’re faster, too, and you can see things they don’t and hear things they’ll never hear. If they enslave you, break free. One of you could kill five of them with your bare hands. We are the Inborn, and we will be free. There was a time when all H’mai demanded freedom, but most of them choose slavery these days. It’s a nice comfortable slavery, with their machines and medicines and safe little lives, and they call it freedom, but it’s slavery. Don’t give in. Don’t waste yourselves on their damned machines and gadgets. Live the way the H’mai were meant to live.’

Her image looked steadily out until the picture changed. It seemed to be the same view, but standing in Lisadin’s place was a man who resembled Palindor, except for the grey in his hair and the look in his eyes – a man who had seen horrors, Ammadin decided, and who remembered the friends who hadn’t survived them. His shirt collar sported gold stars, one on each side.

‘I am Dallas ador Jenz, the only surviving general of the Third Army as well as a general survivor of our time on Ruby.’ His image smiled briefly at his joke. ‘Thanks to the accident in the shunt, we find ourselves sharing a planet with a group of fanatics almost as crazy as we are. I sincerely wonder if either group will still exist when these records are found, if they’re found at all. The Shipfolk will probably make it through, so the meek will inherit this new earth.

‘I have entered the history of the clone-born in text-based mode into the historical archives, just on the off-chance the Council will try to suppress the information back home. I do want to state, however, that unlike Lisa, I’m not bitter about our creation. I think their birth techs did a damn fine job on us, in fact. I reserve my
pity for the woman-born functionaries like the Recallers and Calculators, who have our burdens with none of our strengths. Had we remained in Council space, I would have tried to incorporate the functionaries into our Companies. As it is, I hope those attached to the fleet that brought us here will come join us on the plains.

‘Now, about the rites and rituals of the Tribes, we based those on historical material, the oldest I could find in the databanks back on the Rim. They all existed on Old Earth, or at least, the sources said they did. I tend to disbelieve before I believe, these days. I’ve put the historical background into the archives, too, along with some background material on shamanism. Someday maybe our scouts – I mean, spirit riders – will want to read it. It will seem strange to you, whoever you are, the audience for these records, that we were determined to root ourselves in history. If so, you have no idea how it feels to have no history whatsoever. Actually, we survivors have a little bit of a past, I suppose, since we’re all from the third batch.’

Jenz paused, his eyes suddenly cold and hard. Then he tossed his head and continued.

‘You see, they could use the psych-print tech to teach us how to be killers. But they couldn’t teach us how to be H’mai. I decided we’d better start at the beginning, and maybe this time we’ll get it right.’ He paused, and he may have smiled – the brief flicker of his mouth was hard to read. ‘I’m running out of things to say. I doubt that anyone from back home will ever find us, and I’ve never enjoyed talking to myself. Goodbye, and may we all fare well.’

The picture vanished. For a moment a black oblong hung in the air, then it too dissolved to reveal Sibyl, sitting in her blue quartz chair.

‘There you are,’ Sibyl said.

‘Yes,’ Ammadin said. ‘And here we are.’

‘Did you find the testimonies useful?’

‘Yes. Now I know what’s really ours. Sibyl, I want those records, the ones Dallas referred to, about the clone-born and the shamanisms, I think he called them.’

‘For me to transfer them into voice mode and deliver them in aural format will take approximately fifteen point five standard hours.’

‘All right, can you make a book out of them for me?’

‘Not at the moment. I will require a supply of rushi.’

‘Loy has some.’

‘She needs that material for her own purposes.’

‘You don’t want to give me those records, do you?’

Sibyl’s image fractured into cubes.

‘Answer my question!’

‘Very well.’ The image smoothed itself out into a flat image of a woman. ‘No, I do not want you to have them. I fear they will make you more dangerous.’

‘I don’t care. I want those records.’

‘I cannot give them to you. There is not enough rushi.’ Sibyl smiled, a sly little quirk of her mouth. ‘Now, if only you had a Recaller with you –’

‘I do, as a matter of fact. You can recite the records to him, and then he can tell me.’

‘If he’s willing.’

‘Oh, he’ll be willing. He enjoys memorizing, he tells me. He says it’s almost as good as sex.’

‘Then indeed he is a real Recaller.’ Sibyl’s expression turned sour. ‘It is unfortunate that there is no trained technician available. If there were, I could download the information you require into his datajack.’

‘His what?’

‘A ring of augmented cartilage at the base of his skull, similar to the nanocarbonic tube receiver unit you possess behind one ear, grown by his body in accordance with preprogrammed genetic information.’

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Wait – Sibyl, I don’t require precise answers to these questions.’

‘Thank you. A datajack allows AI units, such as I am, to connect directly to a Recaller’s brain. We can then transfer information back and forth in an extremely rapid fashion.’

Ammadin remembered with her fingers first, the sensation of touching the strange ring on the back of Zayn’s neck. ‘I understand now,’ she said. ‘Yes, he has one of those.’

‘Unfortunately I lack the connection required to utilize his jack, so the process of data transfer will be tedious.’

‘Too damn bad.’

‘When Hassan returns, I will transfer the records. In this form
I am forced to cooperate with properly phrased requests.’ Sibyl leaned forward, fully alive or so it seemed. ‘Please tell me why the records are so important to you.’

‘I want to know what I really am. The other spirit riders will, too.’

‘Do your words imply danger for the other sapient groups on this planet?’

‘No.’ Ammadin smiled briefly. ‘Not as long as they leave us alone.’

When the sun sank below the level of the traps, sending long shadows out into the valley, Stronghunter Man halted the warparty. Though the other Chur spread out behind, he motioned Fifth Out to come up beside him, then pointed west with his spear at the cliffs, which looked about half their true height at this distance. They were, however, close enough to see that the line of stone formed a right angle, a configuration that could turn out to be a death trap.

‘Very well, Zayn Recaller, the North Gate lie back there a now-short way. I show-now you something about Chof.’ Stronghunter Man tipped his head back, filled his throat sac, then let out the air slowly.

Zayn could assume that the Chur Vocho was making some sort of noise, but he heard nothing. All the Chur tipped their heads to one side and opened their mouths, but their sacs hung flaccid.

‘They be there,’ Stronghunter Man said. ‘Two H’mai, four horses, horses off to one side, both H’mai sitting in the grass.’

‘How can you tell?’ Zayn said.

‘We feel the pictures.’ Stronghunter Man stamped his forefeet. ‘Water Woman, she tell-then me word to use, a word that Sibyl tell-once her. It be called echo in your speaking. We Chof send out sound called varalanik. It come back in pictures, echo pictures.’

Zayn wasn’t sure if he understood, but he decided that he didn’t really need to. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘How far are they?’

‘Not very. We charge now. You know not know if they have those spirit guns you tell-then me about?’

‘As soon as I’m close enough to see them. If they have them, I’ll shout.’

‘Good. You do that.’

Stronghunter Man turned to his men and gave orders. First they
untied once again the extra spears from each other’s backs so that everyone had a weapon for each pseudo-hand. Next, they formed themselves into a long line, parallel with the cliffs. The entire troop of Chur filled their throat sacs, paused long enough for Zayn to cover his ears, then boomed, sending another fusillade of sound ahead of them. As one they filled the sacs again, then sprang forward, loping at first. In a few minutes they burst into a full gallop so suddenly that Zayn nearly fell. He managed to fling his weight onto Fifth Out’s ample neck and cling with both arms. Swaying and dancing, the cliffs seemed to rush forward to meet them.

From ahead of them Zayn heard horses neighing and H’mai voices yelling in panic, two voices, and one of them was Soutan’s. As the charge slowed, he sat up on the young Chof’s back and saw Soutan, standing on top of a grass-covered mound. He held a shiny piece of metal in one hand and with the other seemed to be trying to attach something else to it. With an audible howl Stronghunter Man threw his spear. Soutan shrieked and fell backwards, tumbling into cover, but not before Zayn got a good look at what he was holding, a stubby metal tube fused to a handle and dangling black cable.

‘Spirit guns!’ Zayn yelled. ‘Watch out!’

Soutan reappeared, the gun clutched to his chest, and started running towards the arched entrance. Stronghunter Man hurled his second spear, but Soutan scuttled untouched into the darkness of the cave. By then Fifth Out, burdened by Zayn’s weight, was panting for breath. He swung round in a wide arc and slowed, jogging parallel to the cliffs. Zayn leaned forward. ‘Let me off,’ he said. ‘Then get out of range. Fast!’

When the Chur stopped, Zayn slid off his back. Half-crouching, dodging, he ducked behind a huge grass-covered mound off to one side and dropped his saddlebags on the ground in front of him. Near the cave entrance something – someone – moved. From behind a pile of stone rubble, Arkazo stood up, a metal tube in his hand.

‘Duck!’ Zayn screamed. ‘There’s another one.’

Stronghunter Man swerved, bucked like a horse, and swerved again. The flash from Arkazo’s pistol singed the air beside him to strike something far behind the line of Chof. Zayn smelled a brief sting of smoke. He twisted round to look back, afraid that Kaz had
started a grass fire. A line of charred black grass smoked, flickered, and mercifully went out. The Chof boomed again, then retreated, swinging round for another charge. Zayn grabbed the bolas from his saddlebags. Better than nothing – and all he had.

Arkazo rose half-free of the cover, his pistol at the ready, his other hand shading his eyes as he looked for someone – me, Zayn thought. He waited, hidden, until Arkazo turned in the other direction. Zayn rose, twirling the bolas around and around until sheer momentum made them fly humming through the air. The noise caught Arkazo’s attention. He spun around, saw Zayn, raised the pistol, and froze, unmoving and pale, staring directly at Zayn. With a snap of his arm Zayn loosed the bolas.

Reflexively Arkazo flung up his hand, but too late. The solid brass balls hit. One cracked him across the face; the other two twined their cords around his upraised arm. With a yelp he dropped the pistol, let the power pack slide to the ground, and staggered back. Blood poured from his nose and upper lip. From the cave Soutan yelled something Zayn couldn’t understand. Arkazo turned in answer and fled, rushing up the ramp and leaping into the entrance after Soutan.

Booming in triumph the Chof charged the cliff. When Stronghunter Man thrummed, they raised their spears and hurled one each into the dark mouth of the cave. Under this cover Zayn darted forward and grabbed the pistol from the ground. He turned and aimed it at the cave mouth.

‘Fire!’ He mimicked the word he’d heard Loy use, and it worked.

A beam of light sped into darkness. Distantly rock shattered and fell. He sent another bolt after the first and heard a boom and roar. A quick blast of fire burst out of the cave, followed by the rumble of a long slide of stone. Stronghunter Man came trotting up to join him.

‘That noise!’ the Chur Vocho said. ‘What you do-then?’

‘I don’t know. I must have made a lucky shot and hit something that exploded.’

‘Good,’ the Chur Vocho said. ‘They come-not when you have that thing.’

‘I’ll bet you they don’t come out at all,’ Zayn said, ‘I’m going in after them.’

‘No!’ Stronghunter Man said. ‘You get-soon lost –’

‘No, I won’t. I’m a Recaller. I’m probably the only sapient here
who can go in without being lost.’ Zayn hefted the pistol. ‘And now I’m armed just like he is.’

Stronghunter Man leaned on his spear and looked Zayn over. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘You go-not. It be dark in there. That gunthing, we know-not how often it sends fire when there be no sunlight to feed it.’

‘Well, yes, but –’

‘Wait.’ Stronghunter Man took a few steps towards the cliff and shaded his eyes with his pseudo-hand. He made a snorting noise, then stamped hard on the ground. ‘We argue for nothing,’ he said. ‘They get-never out of the North Gate. Look! The fire you send-then into the cave? It pull-then down much rock.’

Zayn turned and saw a cloud of rock-dust, as thick as smoke from damp wood, drifting from the mouth of the cave. The two stone longtooth saurs had lurched from the impact and stood canted. Behind them he could just make out the dark shapes of rubble.

‘Good. Soutan can stay in there and rot.’

‘He do-maybe just that. The gods only know if they ever get out again. There be other gates, but they need-soon much luck to find them.’