Turning Point (14 page)

Ignoring the gun pointing in her direction, Carrie moved forward a few paces.

“I brought him here, Captain,” she said, stumbling a little as her tongue tried to form sounds that were truly Alien to her. “Perhaps you would have preferred him to remain among my people masquerading as a forest cat—like you.”

The muzzle of the Captain's gun wavered slightly.

“She speaks our language!” His voice was almost a whisper.

“Of course,” Carrie replied, her intonation a little surer now. “May I suggest that we join you? There are guerrilla bands of my people roaming these woods, plus the odd detachment of Valtegans. We have no wish to meet either of them, even if you have.”

The Captain's tail began to switch violently from side to side as he peremptorily motioned them forward.

They clambered up the incline, Carrie edging her way into the cave first.

Kusac was held back briefly.

“You had no business allowing her to accompany you,” said the Captain, ramming his gun back into the holster he wore strapped to the belt of his sleeveless jacket.

Kusac shrugged the restraining hand away.

“You did not need to let her enter the cave,” he replied amiably.

Just beyond the entrance the tunnel turned at right angles and widened out, forming a natural cavern of adequate proportions to house a dozen Sholans.

At regular intervals around the three walls were placed jury-rigged lighting systems. The glow they gave off, though soft, was bright enough to see by. The floor had been covered with dried grasses and bracken which crackled slightly underfoot as Carrie walked farther into the den.

A sibilant hiss from behind sent her reaching instinctively for her knife. Before she could draw it, her hand was clamped to her side by an iron grip and she was swung round to face a powerfully built Sholan.

“An Alien!” he growled. “By what right does Kusac bring one of these carrion here?” His grip tightened, the nails digging into her flesh as he yanked her hand away from her belt knife.

Helpless, Carrie looked up into a face contorted with hate. She sensed his inner fear of strangers and knew that he was capable of crushing the life out of her with as little compunction as she would have in destroying a cockroach.

“Look at it!” he mocked, forcing her round to face the other Sholans, “Hairless as the insects that crawl in the dirt on this Godforsaken planet.”

“Guynor, let her go.” Kusac's voice was deceptively quiet.

Contemptuously, Guynor raked Kusac with his gaze.

“I see you've gone native, too. Don't you believe in clothing any more? As for this creature,” he shook Carrie, making her lose her balance and stumble, “what use is it to you or anyone?”

Seconds later, Guynor was lying sprawled on the floor nursing his head.

Kusac took Carrie's hand and looked briefly at the blood coursing down it. He glanced toward a small Sholan standing nearby.

“Vanna, do you have a medikit? Carrie's wrist needs attention.”

As he led her over to the roughly made table and benches, the rest of the crew relaxed visibly.

Vanna went over to the far corner of the cavern to rummage through some boxes, returning with a small case.

“What is your name?” she asked kindly, indicating that the girl should sit, then taking her arm and examining the puncture wounds around the wrist.

“She's called Carrie,” interrupted Kusac. “The cuts look deep. Will you be able to close them?”

“You know I have coped with far worse, Kusac. Just go and get me some warm water. I need to wash this blood away so I can see the extent of the damage. Do you know if her system can cope with our drugs?”

“I suffered no ill effects when they treated my wounds. I suspect our systems are not very different.

“Will scars show? She has no fur to cover them.”

“Kusac, fetch the water,” Vanna said sternly. “She could bleed to death while you stand and chatter.”

Carrie looked at her wrist in fascination. Vanna was holding it just above the wounds and the slow flow of blood had almost stopped.

Kusac hesitated, then moved off to where one of the others was calling him.

“Our males are all the same,” smiled Vanna. “Not very practical when it comes to the aftermath of a fight.

“Are your males just as bad?”

“Most of them,” said Carrie wryly, thinking of her brother's panic over a nosebleed he'd collected in a fight with one of the other youths.

Kusac returned with a bowl of water.

“Thank you,” said Vanna, taking the bowl from him with her free hand. “Now go and do something useful instead of hovering around me. I'm sure the Captain will want a report on your activities these past few weeks. You might as well do it now, before mealtime.”

Kusac shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Are you sure there is nothing I can do?”

“Nothing except report to the Captain,” said Vanna briskly as she began to clean Carrie's wounds with some dampened gauze. “Go and do it now before you ruffle his fur any more.” She nodded to where the Captain stood at the entrance to the den, hackles raised, glowering over at them.

“You've caused quite a stir, you know. We haven't had so much excitement for days. Not only do you return as if from the dead, but you bring an Alien with you.” Her eyes, a deep green, glanced up humorously at Carrie. “Not content with that, you round it off by besting Guynor—for the moment.”

Her tone became serious. “I don't need to warn you to be careful of him, do I? Both of you,” she emphasized, stopping for a moment. “No one beats Guynor, least of all you, Kusac, since your caste of Telepaths forbids personal combat.”

“I take your meaning,” nodded Kusac.

“Then scat, and don't antagonize our Captain any longer,” she ordered, reaching into her box for a canister from which she liberally sprayed a clear liquid over Carrie's wrist and hand.

“It's easier treating you than it is one of us,” Vanna said. conversationally to the girl. “I don't have to cut back any fur before I can start treating the wounds. You only have vestigial hairs and not enough of them to cause any concern, except on your head.”

“Our ancestors were once covered in body hair,” murmured Carrie, watching the wounds as Vanna released her grip. The bleeding had stopped and so had the pain. “We are descended from primates. Was that a coagulant spray?”

“Yes, and an analgesic. I'm afraid I will have to close the wounds. You seem to know something of medicine. Have you had any training?”

“No, but I've picked up bits and pieces. My job was to teach the children.”

“You're the first of the natives we've seen up close,” Vanna said. “I thought no sentient life was found when we did our first survey twenty years ago. How did you manage to avoid being seen by our scout craft?” she asked curiously, placing an object resembling a staple gun over one of the punctures. A slight click and she moved to the next wound, leaving the previous one neatly tacked closed.

“We're not indigenous here,” Carrie corrected her absently, almost mesmerized by the efficiency of the little gadget. “We're colonists.”

“That explains many things that have puzzled us, and settles an argument,” laughed Vanna. “Guynor loses again! Mito and he were convinced your people came from this world. It isn't his day today, is it?

“Now, I'm going to give you something to ensure the cuts don't become infected, then I'll bandage your wrist. If you feel any strange effects—dizziness, sickness, anything—let me know immediately. I have an antidote for the drug. As for the stitches, they will dissolve in a week. At least they do with our body chemistry,” she amended, taking out a hypodermic gun.

“It should be all right,” said Carrie, as the female placed the tip against her flesh. A slight sting and it was over. “Kusac didn't react adversely to our antibiotics.”

Vanna put the hypo away and picking up a slim packet tore it open and took out a sterile dressing.

“Hold out your arm,” she said, placing the pad over the wounded area.

“Do take my warning about Guynor seriously,” she continued, fastening the bandage. “He has several reasons for disliking Kusac, and today's incident has only made the situation worse. No one has ever struck him before, and for it to be Kusac ...” She shrugged expressively.

“Apart from our Captain, Guynor is the strongest member of the crew. If things don't go his way, he lashes out, but never when Garras can see it. To hit Guynor back means a worse beating.

“He used to take a delight in baiting Kusac, knowing that as a Telepath, he wouldn't even consider defending himself. But Kusac has changed.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at the girl. “He is not the same person we left in the woods the day we crashed. He is older, and stronger, and has a sense of purpose, unless I'm mistaken.”

Carrie remained silent, gently probing Vanna. The Sholan's last sentence had said more than the words alone.

Drawing some energy from Kusac, she was able to read the surface of Vanna's mind, but beyond that was the natural barrier that took their combined strength to break through unless Vanna willingly removed it. She was certainly no Telepath. This was not the mind she had touched before. She sensed her concern for Kusac over a female that Guynor had claimed, and her curiosity about Carrie and her place in Kusac's life—obviously an important one—but nothing more. She withdrew and returned her attention to what Vanna was saying.

“So keep out of Guynor's way. You cannot stand up to him yourself: you don't have our natural weapons. Never go anywhere alone, that would give him the opportunity to Challenge you when none of us were there to prevent him.”

“Why should he Challenge me?”

Vanna looked puzzled. “To be able to claim superiority over you, of course. Don't your people fight for superiority?”

“Not physically on a personal level. Superiority in strength doesn't mean superiority of intellect among Terrans. Surely that applies to you, too?”

“You can only be Challenged by someone of your own grade,” Vanna said, her tone slightly stiff.

Carrie felt something brushing against her leg and glancing down, she saw the Sholan's tail twitching slightly back and forth.

“Would your people follow a leader who was not the strongest member of the crew? Ours would not.”

“We follow those thought to be wisest. We believe wisdom comes with age,” replied Carrie.

“So do we, but in certain fields such as our armed forces, the old ways still linger. Yet our senior leaders tend to be older, like Garras,” Vanna conceded, beginning to gather her medical equipment together. “Many of us dislike the personal combat procedure, but obviously the stronger ones among us wish to continue it. Besides, it is the best way to choose the Junior Officers, and if you allow that to be the deciding factor among them, then it must be allowed throughout the lesser members of the crew. It is only fair.” She closed her case and picked it up. “You stay here while I fetch you a hot drink, then you can tell me how you met Kusac.”

Carrie watched Vanna's retreating figure, really looking at the Sholan woman for the first time. Like the Captain, she wore a multipurpose sleeveless jacket covered with various sized external pockets. From the utility belt at her waist hung a side arm. What the pouches contained, Carrie had no idea, but presumably they held various medical and personal items. Over her right shoulder was a wide band of blue—probably a mark of her status or profession.

Vanna's fur was also differently colored from that of Kusac and the Captain. They were dark; she was light beige with darker marks banding her tail.

Looking over the rest of the company, she saw that of the other three members of the crew, only one was similarly colored. The banding of darker fur was echoed on the face around the eyes and ears. A gentle surface probe revealed a lesser barrier than she had encountered from the other Sholans, and she identified the feel of the mind that had mistaken her for Kusac.

The shock of her experience with Guynor had left her too drained to probe any further even had she wished to, so she withdrew, turning her attention to where Kusac was still talking to the Captain.

“Right,” said Vanna, setting two mugs of steaming brown liquid down in front of her, “now I want to hear how you found Kusac.”

Carrie picked up the crude pottery mug and sipped the drink cautiously. It tasted vaguely like coffee but was insipid by comparison.

“First, tell me why you left Kusac behind. If we hadn't found each other he would have died.”

“It wasn't my decision, it was the Captain's.

“When we crashed here, we had very little time to make our escape. We knew the planet had produced a feline form not unlike our own and the Captain reasoned that with any luck we could be mistaken for them if the need arose, but only if the bodies of our dead were destroyed. We took anything useful we could lay our hands on, then we set the craft alight and were moving into the forest just as a small group of the Others ...”

“Valtegans,” interrupted Carrie.

“... Valtegans landed near us. There was a fight during which another of the crew was killed and Kusac was wounded. There was barely time to throw the body into our blazing scout craft before we had to leave.

“It was important that as many of us as possible escaped to find the life pod that had been dropped here by the first survey. There's a transmitter in it, and with it we could contact Shola and report that we had found the Others and were stranded on the planet.