The Light-years Beneath My Feet (12 page)

A bewildering confrontation with one alien being was unsettling enough. Finding themselves attacked from the rear by a second completely different in size, shape, and appearance from the first, whose teeth for all they knew might contain enough poison to kill a dozen soldiers, the pair turned and fled as fast as their long, lean legs could carry them. Taking note of their retreat, George relaxed his grip, shook his head, spat, and trotted back to rejoin his friend. Sword dangling from one hand, a stunned Walker gaped down at him.

“I didn’t know if those two were going to         .         .         .         Thanks, George. You made up their minds for them.”

The dog looked around warily. Though they were standing off from where most of the fighting was taking place, he was not about to let down his guard. He’d been ambushed and attacked in too many alleys, on too many back city streets, to relax while combat raged around him.

“Too bad Braouk isn’t here,” he growled conversationally. “If those two were spooked by the sight of you, the appearance of our Tuuqalian friend would probably have dropped them in their tracks.” He looked up, tail wagging. “You okay?” His breathing steadying, Walker nodded slowly.

“Good. Hate to lose my human.” He indicated the small-scale but intense battle that was playing out nearby. “Our friends the Niyyuu don’t look so civilized right now, do they?”

You’d think an individual on the verge of having their throat cut or their torso run through by a sword would break with tradition and pull out a gun, even a small gun, if only to save their own life,
Walker mused as he watched the fighting. But nothing of the sort happened. Despite the ready presence of advanced weapons in the city and on the ship that had brought him and his companions from Seremathenn to Niyu, not one of the combatants raging through the forest produced so much as a canister of pepper spray in their own desperate defense.

The Kojn-umm did not kill all of the attackers, but they slew or disabled enough of them to compel the survivors to beat a frustrated retreat. A moment later Viyv-pym was at his side, the two fingers of her left hand wrapping around his arm, urging him upward.

“Quickly now, friend Marc! Those who took flight may have others station nearby. Surprise at yous’ presence will not stop them kill or capture you if they come back.”

Badly winded, he was immensely grateful to discover that they were not all that far from the top of the ridge. The forest had hidden the inward-sloping outer walls of Jalar-aad-biidh from the climbers’ sight. Moments later, anxious Kojn-umm fighters from within the fortress were escorting the survivors of the ambush into the safety of the sturdy ramparts.

Though exhausted, Walker had suffered damage only to his pride. Stunned by the swiftness of the unexpected attack, after the first confusing moments he had pretty much stood by while Viyv-pym and her comrades had fought off the assault. Safe and secure now, he had time to reflect more systematically on the events that had taken place and on his reaction to them. Or rather, his nonreaction. Though Viyv-pym and her comrades had expected nothing of him, he peered inward and found himself wanting. Hell, even George had drawn blood.

When he offered apologies for his lack of assistance, neither Viyv-pym nor any of her fellow soldiers appeared upset at his lack of participation. “After all,” she told him without a hint of insincerity, “it our job protect you, not other way around. You not trained in our ways of fighting.” She caressed his arm. “You cook.”

It was the most hurtful thing anyone had said to him since the day he had been abducted by the Vilenjji.

He determined then and there to rectify at the first opportunity his ignorance of swordsmanship and Niyyuuan military training. Such schooling would have to come later, he knew. He had not been escorted to Jalar-aad-biidh to learn swordplay. Also, his own private reason for agreeing to make the dangerous visit in the first place came back to him. He had not made the trip to learn better how to survive on Niyu, but to seek possible assistance in getting off it.

While Walker’s escort exchanged excited banter with the defenders of the fortress who had swarmed out to greet them, Viyv-pym escorted him and George deeper into the complex. Though constructed of humble native stone and other simple, natural materials, the rock walls appeared solid and inviolate. As far as he could tell, they did not make use of steel rebars or any high-tech galactic-standard reinforcing materials. To have done so would have constituted a violation of accepted Niyyuu standards for traditional combat, which extended to the construction and maintenance of physical defenses as well as individual weaponry.

“A bit more excitement than I thought we would see.” Striding fluidly alongside him, her armor scratched and dented by the blows of the enemy, it was hard for Walker to see Viyv-pym as the same graceful, sophisticated governmental delegate he had first encountered at the elegant reception on Seremathenn. “I glad yous both unharmed.”

“We’s both glad, too,” declared George genially as he trotted along beside Walker. “I only like to play at being dead, thanks.”

Negotiating the twists and turns of the inner fortress, it was hard to believe that just outside and beyond the ridgetop redoubt lay a sprawling modern city steeped in technology sufficiently advanced to make any place on Earth look like a mud-wattle village in comparison. The dissimilarity was startling, but not absolute. The inhabitants of the fortress did not stumble about in rags and primitive attire, and the prohibition against the use of modern technology apparently extended only to those elements that could be utilized in warfare. There was ample evidence that modern methods of dealing with hygiene were in use, while the media broadcasters who relayed scenes of the fighting around the planet did so with all the advanced gear that could be put at their disposal. Walker queried Viyv-pym on the seeming latter inconsistency.

“What’s to prevent one of these reporters,” he asked as a pair of them, draped in the electronic elements of their profession, strode past, “from relaying on-the-spot information to a local commander in the field?”

“Is true such temptation is great,” Viyv-pym admitted. “Especially when one side losing badly. But detection not difficult. If what you say attempted and found out, penalties are very severe. Individuals involved sacrifice their position and never find such work again. Are banned for life from such work anywhere on all of Niyu. Also, big communications company responsible lose its right to broadcast all future conflicts. Ratings—” (yet again Walker found himself praising the efficacy of the Vilenjji implant, which could even convey the meaning of local colloquialisms) “—too important to big companies to risk breaking of regulations for temporary gain—even to save lives of soldiers. Everyone on Niyu follows and watches such conflicts. Much in politics is decided by these traditional battles, yet only volunteer military suffers injury. Rest of world goes about daily business in peace and security.”

War as politics, and both as entertainment. Was it all so very dissimilar from home? he found himself wondering. Or were the basics the same and only the rules different? He envisioned an imaginary Niyyuuan newspaper, divided into the usual sections: World, Local, Business. The only question was, would you allot war its own section, or file it under Entertainment? Or possibly, Sports? Perhaps the National Hockey League. Rome under the Caesars would have known how to handle and classify it.

He did not remember his previous meeting with General Saluu-hir-lek. During that first outrageous, frenetic night when he had performed for local luminaries, he had been introduced to a veritable blizzard of alien faces. George did not remember Kojn-umm’s most prominent military personality either. The only faces the dog recalled were those he had been placed in close proximity to, during those moments when he had been picked up and cuddled by enchanted locals. Neither man nor dog knew what to expect.

As it turned out, neither the general nor the room into which they found themselves ushered matched their preconceptions. Despite the alienesque medieval surroundings, there was no throne, and certainly no throne room. Saluu-hir-lek operated out of an office that was quiet, unadorned, and businesslike. Charts and maps, all of them appropriately primitive and two-dimensional, filled the walls and covered several desks. None of the fortress commander’s subordinates paused in their work when the trio was admitted, though a few did glance up to steal a quick look. Walker wondered if these were directed at him, George, or their striking female escort.

Rising from behind his desk, Saluu-hir-lek picked up the external translator he had ordered and made sure it was functioning. In response to Walker’s question, Viyv-pym explained, “The device has no indigenous military application and is therefore permitted.”

“Like flush toilets,” George pointed out tactlessly.

Still fiddling with the device, though it was largely automatic, Saluu-hir-lek greeted them effusively, reserving particular acclaim for Walker.

“Ah, the famous small-ear food presenter!” The general glanced downward. “And his irrepressibly cuddly companion.” George made a rude noise that was not translatable. “It wonderful see you again. I am pleased to be yous guide and interpreter this aspect of Niyyuuan culture.”

The general was much smaller than the average Niyyuu, Walker noted, though far from Napoleonic in stature. Alien and human regarded each other eye to eye. Other than being half a foot shorter than Viyv-pym or the other officers in the strategy room, and noticeably older, Saluu-hir-lek was little different in appearance from the majority of Niyyuu Walker and George had previously encountered. His uniform consisted of a simple brown tunic and the long, wide shoes favored by his kind. Only the three emblems heat-sealed to the center of his shirt indicated his rank. Whether this sartorial simplicity was a reflection of the individual himself or standard-issue attire for general officers Walker did not know.

“I great admirer of you work,” the general was saying as Walker studied him. “Never seen such skill. But of course, you learn on Seremathenn.” His voice took on the Niyyuuan equivalent of a bittersweet tone, the round mouth contracting. “Someday I like very much visit Seremathenn. But always duty to Kojn-umm calls. Whenever Toroud-eed or Faalaur-oor make trouble, responsible sources come deliver to me their insistence. ‘Take command of forces, Saluu-hir-lek! Protect us from evil! Save us from attack!’” One twin-digited hand waved diffidently. “Protect commercial contracts, they mean. Traditional warring is for obtain business advantage, or water port, or favorable trade terms. I understand such local foolishnesses no longer apply on more advanced worlds.”

“That’s not always the case,” Walker told him, thinking of Earth. “Sometimes a culture’s technology far outpaces its social development.” He indicated their surroundings. “I think the Niyyuu have made an interesting accommodation with their traditional way of settling disputes between neighbors.”

“It is kind of you say so. Kind of you think such of Niyu, when you find yourself so far and so lost from your own world.”

Sympathy from a general. Well, Walker would take it where he could get it. It boded well for his original rationale in agreeing to this visit. Idly, he wondered how much pull Saluu-hir-lek might wield in the same local corridors of power that wished to keep him and his friends resident on Niyu.

The general gestured toward the doorway through which they had just entered. “Would you like to see some more of fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh? It has served as gateway and protector of capital for many thousand-days.”

Why not?
Walker thought. “That would be very nice.” Near his feet, George nodded assent. The dog was less interested in a tour of traditional alien military fortifications than he was in fresh air. The war room had no windows.

“Excellent!” Saluu-hir-lek moved to lead them. “There small battle for main gate going on right now. Hope is not inconveniencing for you.”

Before Walker could raise question or objection, the general was showing them the way out the door, leaving neither time nor discreet opportunity for the human to object.

8

B
ound together and launched by some unseen and unfamiliar alien mechanism, the three sharpened shafts spun around a central axis as they flew toward him—the spinning, barbed points clearly designed to do maximum damage to anyone they struck. Walker ducked behind shielding stone as they whizzed past to shatter themselves against the wall behind him in a spray of broken metal tips and splintered wooden shafts. All around him was shouting, screaming, and the “nails scraping on blackboards” Niyyuuan equivalent of bloodthirsty cries. Given the inherent raspiness of the native speaking voice, the latter made up in ear-grating harshness what they occasionally lacked in volume.

Huddled at the base of the stone rampart and Walker’s feet, George glanced up sullenly. “So much for having a quiet meeting and making polite inquiries.”

“Just stay down,” Walker advised him. “You’ll be fine.”

“Sure. Unless the fortress is overrun. Then I’ll be fine barbeque.”

“What makes you think any local with any sense would try eating something as alien-looking as you?”

The dog turned his face to the wall. “I can’t imagine why that thought doesn’t make me feel completely secure. Incidentally, you might give it a tumble yourself.”

It had not occurred to Walker that the assaulters of Jalar-aad-biidh might regard him as a fit subject for nibbling. As a newly skilled cook, he was not used to regarding himself as a potential cookee. While Saluu-hir-lek—displaying commendable, or foolish, disregard for his own personal safety—rallied his forces, Viyv-pym leaned against Walker to reassure him.

“That arthret that just miss you was an aberration, a lucky launching. See?” She tugged gently on his arm. Not wanting to appear fainthearted in her company, he allowed himself to be pulled forward for a better view.

The panorama spread out before him very much resembled paintings he had seen of ancient medieval battles. The participants were alien, their accoutrements foreign, and the design and layout of the fortress itself different in a number of aspects from what humans would have constructed, but hand-to-hand fighting was fairly similar regardless of body size, shape, and the number of digits on weapons-wielding hands.

He was struck once again by the slenderness of both the combatants and their weapons. The tall, slim Niyyuu swung or stabbed with spears, pikes, and narrow-bladed swords. There was nary a battle-axe or mace in sight. Absent the need to protect barrel-chested warriors, shields were similarly slim and lightweight. Unexpectedly, he almost laughed. In spite of the fact that blood was being spilled in copious quantity, assorted body parts were being carved from torsos, and individuals were dying, the crowded battlefield that spread out in front of the fortress’s outer wall appeared populated by clashing armies of heavily armed, heavily armored, high-couture models. Despite the very real death and destruction, a part of him couldn’t help thinking
Vogue/Cosmo
rather than
Soldier of Fortune
.

That somewhat risible image vanished instantly when a sling-boosted short spear went right through the neck of a bolt-firing Kojn-umm soldier standing atop an elevated platform off to Walker’s left. Dropping her weapon, the female warrior grabbed reflexively at the protruding shaft of the lance as she toppled over and plunged into the swirling throng of fighters below. No more laughter bubbled up in Walker’s throat.

Saluu-hir-lek remained in the thick of the fighting: ranging back and forth along the wall, urging on his soldiers, altering defensive strategy in response to shifts in the enemy’s plan of attack, shouting commands, all the while doing serious damage with his own sword. Walker could see why the general was lionized by Kojnumm society. Whether it was tactically wise for him to place himself in such danger was not a matter for visitors to question. Walker hoped the general would survive the battle. While other Niyyuu had been of little help to him and his friends in their quest to get home, dead ones would be of no use whatsoever.

Bobbing up and down in the midst of the ferocious skirmishing like so many electronic imps were representatives of the media from both Kojn-umm and Toroud-eed. They were easily recognizable by their bright orange attire and the fact that they wielded recording and broadcasting equipment, not armor and weapons. Amazingly, they moved with ease among the combatants, who largely ignored their presence.

Walker pointed out the nearest. “Surely the media must suffer the occasional casualty. A stray spear, or short bolt?”

Today painted half blue and half crimson, Viyv-pym’s mouth expanded as if she was simultaneously shocked and amused by the notion. “Only rarely. At such times, they become news themselves. No soldier wants injure correspondent. Is bad for career. Soldiers want be interviewed. Good for career. Injured correspondents cannot conduct interviews.”

Made sense, Walker knew. A warrior, or an entire army, would not want to be on the receiving end of the unfavorable press the maiming or killing of a correspondent would bring. Mindful of the ramifications, he pressed her further.

“The battlefield reporting—is it honest? I mean, is it straightforward? No picking and choosing of scenes for propaganda purposes?”

“Oh, no,” she insisted. “Citizens want, citizens need, to see everything. Good and the bad.” She indicated another pair of orange-clad figures moving effortlessly among the combatants. “Communications facilities of Kojn-umm and Toroud-eed share field pickups of both sides. Also others present, reporting back to realms not involved in fighting.”

Once again, the sports analogy reared its bloody head. Was there a special global media feed for all of Niyu? The round-the-clock, “all war all the time” channel? Sadly, he realized such an innovation was also possible on Earth.

The fighting was beginning to wind down. “What happens if the Toroudians win? If they were to overrun and take the fortress?” Given what he had already learned about the conventions of Niyyuuan combat, somehow he did not think such a result would result in widespread rapine and looting.

He was right. “Since Jalar-aad-biidh defends capital city,” she told him, “Kojn-umm would have to formally surrender to Toroud-eed. In such unlikely happenstances, Kojn-umm would probably pay compensation—indemnity—to victors. Possibly also trade concessions. In extreme case, loss of territory.”

“What about a triumphant Toroud-eed taking over your realm completely?”

“It happens, but such a thing is rare in our history.” Watching her watching the fighting, Walker could sense that she would rather have been down on the battlefield swinging a sword instead of watching from the comparative safety of the high battlements nursemaiding an alien chef and his small companion.

The latter looked up from where he had squeezed himself into as small and protected a place as possible. “What’s to keep a few realms from taking over everybody else and controlling the whole planet?”

Viyv-pym peered down at the dog. “If one realm get too big, too powerful, is inevitably attacked by allied forces of many others and so reduced in size and strength.” She spoke with considerable conviction, Walker noted. “That also happens—and is also rare in our history.” One long, willowy arm rose to point over the wall. “Not happen here, this day. See!”

The campaign was beginning to slacken as the forces of Toroud-eed, fought to a stalemate if not actually defeated, began to retreat. Their siege engines having failed to breach Jalar-aad-biidh’s massive outer stone wall and their swarms of attacking soldiers having been repeatedly forced from its ramparts, they started to pull back. Given the ferocity of the fighting he had witnessed, Walker was surprised as he surveyed the field of battle that it was not littered more profusely with dead bodies. Perhaps, he decided, the Niyyuu cultural dichotomy of war allowed for the application of modern medicine to the wounded. He made a mental note to ask Viyv-pym about it later. Meanwhile, he fought to compose suitable congratulations for the general who was now striding toward them.

Saluu-hir-lek’s armor was dented as if he had been run over by a large vehicle, and it was actually cut clear through at one leg. But the general himself appeared to be physically uninjured. His round mouth was expanded to its maximum diameter, while his huge eyes shone with an inner glow. Quadruple tails switched sharply back and forth, and blood stained him from head to toe.

“That should slow them, those effing offspring of Eed!”

Persuaded that the fighting was done with, George rose from where he had been lying. “You mean, they won’t attack again?”

Saluu-hir-lek turned to peer over the ramparts and follow the attackers’ retreat. “Too soon say for certain. Have better idea tomorrow, when scouts make morning report on enemy disposition. Disposition of forces, disposition of mind!” The general was in a very good mood indeed.

An excellent time, Walker felt, to hit him up for support.

“Come!” Lightly dragging a bloodstained finger down Walker’s chest in friendly Niyyuuan fashion, Saluu-hir-lek bade his visitor accompany him. “I must clean up for presentation tonight. Then we talk more.” From within the lightweight but sturdy helmet, vast yellow-gold eyes regarded the human. “Maybe I can persuade you cook for me and my staff.”

“Kind of short notice, but it might be arranged,” a thoughtful Walker told him. “When someone is in a position to provide a special service to a friend, it’s always nice to be able to help out.”

Any secondary meaning inherent in Walker’s response flashed right past the general. Perhaps their respective translators had mangled the verbalization. But from what he had seen of Saluu-hir-lek, Walker was sure the general would remember it.

There wasn’t much to work with. While the great fortress of Jalar-aad-biidh was amply stocked for war and for the fulfillment of the basic needs of its defenders, there was a decided dearth of advanced, nonessential material. Even its commanding officer had limited access to luxury goods. Walker was relieved to discover that the food preparation equipment, like the medical facilities, was apparently exempt from the cultural restrictions that were placed on any modern technology related to combat requirements.

In concise terms, what that meant was that he had the apparatus with which to exercise his gastronomic skills. Though raw material was lacking, he took its absence as a challenge. The eventual results showed off his innate creativity and talent in ways that swapping raw rubber futures on the Chicago Exchange could not have come close to duplicating.

Certainly Saluu-hir-lek and his staff were more than pleased, if not outright overwhelmed. Following the dramatic culinary presentation and the expansive meal that was its outcome, the general once again invited George and Walker outside. This time they found themselves higher up than before. To the right, the private balcony overlooked the distant, rambling metropolis of Ehbahr, Kojn-umm’s wholly contemporary capital city. Straight ahead, a gradually descending slope glittered with splotches of illumination that marked the location of the bivouac of Toroud-eed’s troops.

“Wonderful meal, simply wonderful!” the general declaimed to the cool, indifferent night. His round mouth was contracted, sphincterlike, around a transparent tube that dispensed measured quantities of tartly flavored alkaloids. While the slowly dissolving powder produced a pleasant taste and mild rush in the Niyyuu, it would have wreaked serious havoc on Walker’s more sensitive digestive system. He had long since learned which local molecular combinations he and George could tolerate and which, harmless though they might be to the natives, man and dog should at all costs avoid. These personal limitations did not hinder his practice of performance gastronomy.

“Glad you enjoyed it.” Resting both arms on the high, solid-metal barrier, he let his gaze wander over the ranked lights below. At a distance, they reminded him of so many stars fallen to Earth. Silent soldiers patrolled the walls of the fortress, alert for any inimical nocturnal intrusion. Music, nearly as harsh as Niyyuuan speech, scratched and clawed its way up from the ancient courtyard below. The smaller of Niyu’s two moons, irregular of shape but bright of albedo, hung high in the night sky.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying,” he continued, “that while my friends and I have enjoyed the time we’ve spent here on your world, like anyone else cut off and long away from their home, we’re anxious to be on our way.” Nearby and unable to see over the railing, George sniffed meaningfully.

“That only natural,” the general responded encouragingly.

“The problem is that we don’t have any idea which way, out of an infinity of possible ways, to go from here, and the Kojn-umm government and its allies won’t send a ship outward on our behalf until we can choose a reasonable course.”

“Also natural, I imagine.” Saluu-hir-lek was studying the now-silent field of battle. Distant lights were reflected in his wide eyes.

“It would be helpful,” Walker went on, “if someone, someone in a position of real power, could use their influence to persuade the government to initiate on our behalf a real, serious search of the surrounding starfield, with an eye toward locating our homeworlds.
We
certainly aren’t in a position to do it. We’ve filed repeated requests, only to be told to be patient and that the appropriate resources are being employed on our behalf. But this has been going on for some time now, and so far we’ve heard nothing.”