The Shasht War (11 page)

Simona was one of the few women who had elected to stay aboard the ship rather than go to the new purdah buildings ashore. Because she was the daughter of the powerful fleet surgeon, she had been able to have her way. Now the women's deck was relatively uncrowded, and Simona had been able to have her cabin extended by removal of a bulkhead. Now she had room for a table, a chair, and a place to hang her hammock.

They embraced and she drew him inside. He sat on the small chair, and she sat on the floor in front of him. He stroked her hair. It was a comfort to still have his lovely daughter, even if his wife had been snatched away by fate.

He observed a copy of Gallin's
Meditations
lying on the table. He felt a surge of pride in his intelligent, well-read daughter.

"Did you hear the screams earlier?" he asked her.

"Yes. We all wondered what was happening."

"They took General Hustertav away."

"The general?"

"Yes. They just dragged him out. The priests have him. He will scream for the Great God tonight. They will kill him in the morning."

"Oh, that is terrible, the poor man."

"Yes, it is, but the admiral had to do it. There were more than a thousand dead, more are dying all the time from their wounds. We cannot afford failure like that."

"Father, you sound like the admiral."

Filek nodded, accepting her words.

"Oh, my dear, my darling, sometimes I am afraid I am becoming like them. Am I just another insensitive brute?"

"No, Father, you are better than that. We both know it."

"Do we? Well, I hope so. But in this situation I can see the pressures that are building up on the admiral's head. He must have victory, or else he will pay with his own life. The generals are mostly stupid fellows, promoted because they are obedient. They cannot give him what he needs."

"So why doesn't the admiral go ashore and take command himself?"

"Hah!" Filek chuckled. "Trust my daughter to put her finger on the sensitive spot! After what happened in the north, the admiral swore never to put himself at risk again. He will not go ashore until the colony is established and the monkeys are destroyed."

"Father, they are not monkeys, they are mots, mors, brilbies. They are people like ourselves."

"So you have said, my dear, and I do not doubt you. But I cannot let myself believe it too much, or else I cannot go on with my duties. Do you see? I must blind myself to this, or else I must commit suicide."

"But, Father, you know it is the truth. You have said so yourself, their artwork, their houses, all are the work of civilized people. You met Thru Gillo. Did he seem like a stupid animal to you?"

"We must destroy them or be destroyed ourselves."

Simona sighed deeply, but made no reply. Filek would only get angry if she argued with him over this.

"You have been reading Gallin?"

"Yes, Father, he is so wise."

"Indeed. I wish the world could be ordered according to Gallin's teachings."

"Oh, so do I. There would be no purdah. Women would be allowed to go out without fear of men."

Filek chuckled again. As always, Simona found the one spot that was too sensitive to be touched.

"Well, my dear, for that we would need more than just the teachings of Gallin."

"Father, Gallin says that men do not need the protection of purdah to stem their lust."

"Yes, dear," Filek was feeling uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation.

"He says they can control themselves. He says the 'conscious man' is capable of great things, including the ability to restrain himself in the presence of women."

"Yes, dear, but Gallin wrote that many centuries ago, the men of Shasht are more potent now than they were then, perhaps."

"More potent than the men of Kadawak's time?"

"Well, I don't know about that, but the laws of purdah govern our lives now, and we must remember that. Or else the powers that be will notice us, and that will not be good."

Simona sensed that her father was eager to escape this topic. Since Chiknulba had died in the plague, Filek had been turning away slowly from some of the more daring and open-minded things that Chiknulba had taught him.

Simona was sensible enough to know when to change the subject, but not sensible enough to change it to something harmless.

"Father, have you asked about Rukkh for me, as you promised?"

Filek pursed his lips. From one area of discomfort to another. Ah, this daughter of his, he loved her, but sometimes she drove him to distraction.

"Rukkh has survived. He was involved in the battle, but he was not even wounded. He is now ashore."

"Father, did you think about the things I spoke of?"

"Yes, dear, but I do not want to talk of those things now."

"When, Father, when can we talk about them?"

"I do not know, but not now."

There was an edge to his voice, and Simona knew not to push any further. Her father was torn between the gentle, well-read medical man he had been and the new leading figure of the colony that he was becoming.

If she pushed he would get huffy and start talking about what a peasant Rukkh was, and how unsuitable he was as a match for the daughter of the colony's leading surgeon.

It was unacceptable in Shashti society for a woman to remain unwed. Unwed women could only be slaves or whores. Simona had to be wed, and soon, for she was well into young womanhood.

But, alas for her, she had the strawberry birthmark on her left breast. No young man of her own social class would take her. It was seen as the mark of a witch.

"Red-mark girl..." Those were the cruel words she had heard all her life.

So the only "suitable" match that Filek could arrange for her would be with some withered old man who wanted a second, third, or even a fourth wife, and Simona thought she would rather die than submit to such a fate.

Rukkh was a peasant, but he was a good soldier in a crack regiment. He had looked at her with eyes burning with desire. This was the new world, a new social order was going to rise here.

She gave an inner shrug. None of these things counted with Filek, except the first. The Biswas clan had been a town family for centuries. Filek despised the peasantry for their ignorance and sloth.

"I have spoken to the builders," Filek had turned instead to a topic that pleased him, the construction of a shoreside hospital, along with a house for himself close by. "They assure me that the materials will be ready within a few more days. I have been over the drawings with the architect. The whole project has great potential."

Simona relaxed. She hated having to dissemble. She hated the gap that had opened between her and her father. But she knew that Filek, without Chiknulba at his side, was subjected to all the social pressures of his world. He wanted the intellectual intimacy that they had always enjoyed, but he himself was turning toward the more traditional views of Shasht society. Simona did not think that way. Her time among the mots of the Land had dissolved any remnants of belief in the official religion of He Who Eats. Thru Gillo had helped her see that there was another way.

Father did not believe in the Great God, either. Both of them knew that. Father was turning in this direction because it accorded with the views of his master, the admiral. Nor was the admiral a believer; but he was conservative in his social mores, and it was better for Filek if he became more conservative, too.

This was the same admiral who had ordered her to be tortured when she came back with the message of the Assenzi. Somehow, Filek had put this away out of his thoughts. He had hardly ever spoken to her about it, though he had heard her screams as the red tops beat on her hands and feet. Probably, she understood, he had to pretend it had never happened or he could not continue as fleet surgeon, working for the admiral. Part of her understood why he had done this, and part of her could never forgive him.

Out of the confusion of these thoughts and emotions, she recalled Thru Gillo's face. The wedge of the dark nose, the bushy eyebrows framing the eyes with their inhuman depth of color. Another being in the shape of a man. A man with grey fur covering him from head to toe. A man with an inhuman face.

They had learned each other's languages. The whole thing had taken a couple of weeks, an amazing, intoxicating process. She had learned so much from Thru. The experience had been both incredibly strange and still wonderfully familiar. She had forged a bond with Thru that was like none she had ever known.

She remembered the strange little city of the mots. The steeply tilted roofs and narrow windows, the winding little streets. Every building was unique. Compared to Shasht it was tiny, of course, but it remained exquisite.

And that was the world that her own people were determined to destroy.

Her father was happily talking about his new hospital. He had big plans.

"There will be three wings. I need an entire wing for the experimental work."

"Cra-ack!" the sound of the wide bat on the white ball echoed back to the hundreds of spectators on the terraced seats behind the batting post in Sulmo's royal park.

The small white ball flew up, higher and higher, while underneath it the fielders scrambled to get back and make a catch. The crowd watching with bated breath, saw the ball reach its apogee and then fall, drifting a little in the clear air until it fell safely across the scoring line.

Another run for the Army team! Polite applause rippled from the stands, while some soldiers gathered in the tighter scrum right behind the batting post let out shouts of triumph. They were matched by the cries from the scrum of chooks gathered along the endline.

Army was on 66 runs and Thru Gillo had yet to bat!

The Academy team's throwers shrugged and looked to each other. The lead thrower took up another small white ball and then jogged toward the throwing line before hurling the ball with every ounce of energy he could muster toward the red-painted post.

The batter, wielding the wide-bladed bat, watched the ball, judged its flight, and swung hard. But instead of the hearty "crack" of the well struck ball there was only the "snick" of a deflection and the little ball whistled up and into the netting behind, only to be collected by the young mots who gathered up loose balls and returned them to the throwers.

The crowd chatter continued while the next thrower took a few practice moves before beginning his jog to the line.

Now came the delivery and the ball hurtled in. The batter swung, but missed completely, and the ball struck the red-painted post with a solid "thwack."

Now cheers rang out from the Academy supporters, who were sitting in a solid block on the left side of the seating. The soldiers gave a few groans and moans, but at 66 runs and with the famous Thru Gillo yet to bat, the Army team was still in control of the game.

Another mot was striding out to the batting post, ready to take up his position. Polite applause greeted his arrival.

Several rows above the tight mass of soldiers sat a small group of old friends, reunited that day for the first time in a year or more.

Nuza sat beside Toshak, now the overall commander of the armies of the Land, and gentle Hob, the brilby who had caught Nuza during her acrobatic performances, sat beside them.

Toshak and Hob were in Sulmo to assist with the training of the Sulmese army in the wake of the battles of Chenna and Sow's Head. The Sulmo army had won those battles, but it had come at great cost. Training continued and Toshak had brought with him some more northern veterans who were to assist in improving the Sulmo army's abilities to maneuver in the field.

Nuza looked at the scoreboard. The current batter was a brilby named Heplu. She squeezed Toshak's arm by the elbow.

"Thru will be batting next. I hope you can stay a little while."

"Well, I can certainly stay to see him start his innings. Whether I can be here 'til the end I don't know; his innings are sometimes very long."

They smiled together. Thru was famous in the circles that followed the ball game as "Seventy-Seven-Run Gillo" for a record he'd set in a village match years back.

Hob chuckled. "Thru Gillo is likely to stand at the batting tree all afternoon, win the game on his ownsome."

Nuza leaned her head on Hob's massive shoulder, so familiar to her from their years of working crowds together.

"It is so nice to be together again. I wish Gem and Serling were here, too."

"Nice thought, Nuza. Where are they anyway?" said the big brilby.

"Gem is in Lushtan, working with the bandage weavers. Serling left to go to his home village in Lunt. I haven't heard from him in a while."

"How is Gem these days?" wondered Toshak.

"Oh, he's like he always is. One week he's in love, the next week he's out of love. Then he's heartbroken."

"Ah, that again. His heart is a fragile piece, but he risks it constantly."

"That he does."

"And your family, Nuza. Are they happy in Lushtan?"

"Well, everyone's still crowded together, fur to fur as they say. My mother hates that. She's used to having her own house, but they've made the best of it and during the winter everyone worked very hard and got along well."

A loud crack! announced another good shot by Heplu. They watched the little white ball veer off into the sky and then curve down onto the distant green outfield.

"Heplu's getting his eye in all right," murmured Hob approvingly.

"Army's on 69 runs now..."

They watched another ball hurtle in, Heplu swung, but dug under the ball too much and skied it high.

The crowd gave a collective "ooh" as they watched the ball soar. Fielders bunched beneath it waiting. Down it came seeming to float at first then turning into a white streak. It was caught, and the Academy crowd gave another cheer.

Heplu had given up the first of his four "outs."

"What was that, Hob," said Toshak with a smirk, "something about his eye?"

"Well, I thought he had his eye in, but I guess I was wrong."

Heplu struck the next ball sharply and sent it skittering off toward the boundary, with fielders in pursuit.