Broken Circle (18 page)

Lnur instinctively tried to jerk back—and her foot slipped. She tottered on the edge of the cliff.

Tersa grabbed her arm and steadied her. “We need to leave now.”

They hurried away, Tersa wishing Ussa had not forbidden the carrying of weapons without permission. Hunting parties were allowed. There were furred and feathered creatures in the stony, tree-flecked level of the Refuge, most unfamiliar but none dangerous—and many had been shown by scanners to be edible. The colony would rarely need the protein synthesizer from this time forward.

The weapons order was controversial, and almost inimical to a Sangheili. But Ussa was concerned about close confines, fights flaring that would only divide a relatively small settlement and weaken it when the time came to confront a real enemy. Ussa had declared that weapons would be issued if the shield world were attacked; at times they were permitted for practice sessions with targets, and sparring.

But Tersa needed one right now. ‘Crolon might well be pursuing them. If, as it seemed, he'd been plotting insurrection, he'd want to
know immediately who had overheard them. He had likely witnessed Lnur on the cliff's edge, at the very least. She was in danger . . .

Lnur seemed to be thinking the same way. She paused, picked up a broken limb from under a tree, desiccated and lightened by time, and gave it a good grip.

Her timing was excellent—‘Drem was suddenly there, leaping down from a boulder to block their way. He had a work knife in his hand—something used in construction, but deadly enough. Breathing hard, he hissed, “The others are slower, but they'll soon be here! We'll have a word with you!”

And he brandished the blade.

Tersa stepped in front of Lnur. “Get out of the way, you fool!”

‘Drem snarled, “You would insult me?” He rushed in, slashing at Tersa, who easily sidestepped the attack. The evasion gave Lnur a chance to step in and swing the club. She caught ‘Drem solidly on the side of the head with it.

‘Drem spun and went down, groaning, clutching his head.

“Good aim!” Tersa said admiringly.

“Come on!” Lnur said, leaping over ‘Drem and hurrying off.

‘Drem was starting to sit up, once more wielding the knife. Tersa kicked ‘Drem's wrist, hard enough to send the knife spinning from his grip. Then he rushed after Lnur.

It didn't feel honorable, not to stay and engage in full combat with ‘Drem, but somehow it also wouldn't have been right to linger and kill him. Three of ‘Drem's companions were coming, and Lnur would be unprotected if they set upon her.

But then again, it appeared she didn't need much protection. Perhaps, he thought, she should be protecting
him.

“I wonder,” Tersa said, when he caught up with Lnur, “if we should've killed him.”

“Yes, I wonder about that, too.”

Reskolah, Janjur Qom

850 BCE

The Age of Reconciliation

The dropship was moving through the night as slowly as possible, so as not to attract attention. Its occupants were following the contours of a deep ravine through a verdant tableland. A river ran below them—but Mken ‘Scre'ah'ben was not sightseeing, not in that way.

Hunched uneasily in his antigrav chair, behind Trok ‘Tanghil, who was now piloting the craft, Mken stared into the topographical hologram of Crellum projected over his chair. The image was being transmitted from the orbiting
Vengeful Vitality
, its scanners penetrating the cloud cover. Waving his hand over the holoswitches, he turned the image this way and that, expanding it to include a goodly distance from the settlement. Crellum was merely a double row of oval wooden and plaster houses, a fishing community curving along the edge of a large lake, some of the houses on stilts over the water. Some part of Mken's scholarly mind noted that the edifices were old-style, their outlines evoking the shape of an average San'Shyuum's skull seen from above.

But mostly he was scanning for movement, shifting the image through several spectra, looking for heat signatures. He could see a number of figures moving down the lane between the houses; animals that must be
garfren
, thick-bodied stock animals kept mostly for milk, shone from a kind of corral. He had a treasured
garfren
-fur coverlet on his bed, back on the Dreadnought. Was Cresanda snuggled under it now, tossing and turning, trying to sleep as she worried about him?

Don't think about her now,
he chided himself, looking more intently at the hologram.

Cupping the village was thick undergrowth, with every so often a larger tree looking lonely among the shrubs—most of the forest that had once stood there had been logged off many centuries ago. Something was moving rather oddly through the undergrowth, several shapes of the same kind, ones he did not recognize. Mixed in with it were other body signatures that might be San'Shyuum.

But he saw nothing that looked like an armed force, no overflights, no aircraft, nothing that looked like turret emplacements.

Trok ‘Tanghil glanced over his shoulder. “How lies the land, Your Eminence? Are the hostiles aroused?”

“If they've set a trap for us, it's too cunning for me to penetrate. It's time to move in—and take our chances. The females should be awaiting us.”

“Can our . . . our special guests really be waiting for us?” Trok asked, turning his gaze to the windshield and steering the vessel out of the ravine.

“The message was sent via holo, through an Eye . . . and two of them responded. The latest message indicates that seven others are also willing. There are almost no young males in this part of Reskolah—and when they
are
about, apparently they treat the females barbarically.”

“The settlement's males have died in battle?”

“They were conscripted—whether they are dead, we don't know.”

“We are approaching possible landing site one . . . It appears to be clear. Our stealth field must be doing its job.”

“Good. Then let us land. Deploy the Rangers and the others the instant we set down.”

“So it will be, Your Eminence.”

The cloud cover had fractured for the time being, letting the moonlight come unsteadily through to dance on the small waves of the broad lake. Accompanied by three Sangheili, Mken tramped along the curving beach toward the small settlement of Crellum. He was supported by an antigrav belt, which was not as efficient as the chair. Still, the chair's holo instrumentation glow would have put any local Stoic soldiers on alert:
Here is the Reformist invader you're looking for.

And Mken knew they were indeed searching for him. By now they'd have realized that the two encountered outside the grotto couldn't be the only ones planetside.

With Mken were Commander Trok ‘Tanghil, and two Sangheili Rangers: Vil ‘Kthamee and a stocky, frightened-looking Ziln ‘Klel, the latter clutching his rifle close to his chest. The Sangheili had a reputation for being insanely brave, but somehow R'Noh had assigned a couple of shaky Rangers to the expedition—Loquen and now this one. More of R'Noh's treachery, probably—but the Minister of Anticipatory Security hadn't counted on the resourcefulness of Vil ‘Kthamee, someone who had a great destiny to fulfill. Mken would see to that.

Mken hoped the dropship was safe with the others—it was underdefended, and if it was taken down, despite the stealth field, this mission would be useless.

The Prophet of Inner Conviction stopped and his armed entourage paused at his signal. He didn't want to blunder into a trap. He listened, and heard only faint voices, carried across lapping waves. He could smell the tarn's living waters; he heard the grunt and splash of some large creature out there, perhaps a hungry
ilpdor
. The immense six-legged predators were amphibious—he hoped they didn't come to shore to try for a taste of his expedition. It would take their plasma rifles to kill the creature, and that would attract unwanted attention.

Lamps in Crellum shone from windows with power collected
during the day from the energy of the sun—gathered by plants carpeted on the roof, according to the corvette's analysis scans; the lights made circles of illumination shaped by the round windows in the lozenge-shaped houses. Mken could see boats tied up, clacking against pilings with the movements of waves, and light reflected from the water around the houses on stilts. Occasionally he glimpsed San'Shyuum walking by, silhouetted against the lights. He saw only one who seemed male, and the fellow moved haltingly, as if quite elderly.

We are fools to be here,
he thought.
And what if something happens to the Purifying Vision and the Luminary back at the dropship? We should take it to orbit. I should be studying both—not fumbling about a primitive settlement.

But he was appointed to pick up their charges at a certain hour. He must be there on time . . .

He sighed. “Let us go on.”

He led the way, trudging along, wishing he had a more powerful antigrav belt.

The message had said they were to meet a female named Lilumna just outside the village along the shore. And up ahead—was that not the dark silhouette of a female San'Shyuum?

Yes. There was something, too, about her posture, her body language, that expressed nervousness, alertness—waiting.

“That is probably her,” Mken whispered. “Do not get nervous with those weapons. Stay here.”

He hobbled toward her, hand casually resting on the pistol holstered at his hip. But he wasn't much good with it. The antigrav chairs had their own weapons and did much of the aiming, too.

By the Great Journey, but this could end badly . . .

The San'Shyuum female looked more frightened than dangerous, however, as Mken approached her.

“Are you Lilumna?” he asked gently.

She stared at him. Then, her big eyes catching a flash of moonlight, she came a little closer. “Yes,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Are you . . . ?”

“Yes. My name is Mken—I am from off-planet. From High Charity. I am the one sent for you.”

She stared at him, then came a little closer. She was wearing a robe that was loose up above, clinging to her lower parts, sewn with the ancient home symbols of Reskolah and ancient symbols of fertility. It was a traditional robe worn by San'Shyuum females seeking mates.

Lilumna looked him up and down, frowning. “You seem . . . not entirely well. Is everyone like you there?” Her accent was thick, her word usage not entirely familiar, but he made out what she was saying, and she seemed to understand him.

He winced inwardly at her blunt assessment. “It is merely that—I am not used to the higher gravity here.” That wasn't the full explanation. But if he admitted that the typical Reformist San'Shyuum was feebler than the males she knew here on Janjur Qom, she might never come with him, and his mission would fail. Feeling obscurely guilty, he went on. “We are not all alike, no. Are you and the others still willing to come with us?”

She made a sinuous motion with her snaking neck and a hand gesture that was still the same with San'Shyuum, even on High Charity. It meant,
I have decided. It will be done.

“Excellent, Lilumna. But I must ask—are there soldiers here? Anyone looking for off-worlders?”

“I've seen no one like that tonight. But there was a
folasteed
patrol this afternoon, asking questions. None of us spoke to them—they're brutal. We all despise them quite thoroughly and completely. They are a good deal of the reason we want to leave
Janjur Qom. And there are so few males that one would care to mate with. And as for me . . .” She looked at the sky. “I want to see what is up there, beyond the moon.”

“You will,” he assured her, even as he wondered what a
folasteed
patrol might be. The word was unfamiliar to him. “Can you signal the others?”

Lilumna seemed to waver. Then she hand-gestured a shrug. “They asked me to meet you—I must decide. I have always been intuitive. You seem honest enough. I will simply have to trust you are not some sort of slaver.”

“I am not a slaver, and you will not be slaves. You will be offered the chance to meet many males, to make the acquaintance of powerful Prophets of the Great Journey, who seek new mates.”

Lilumna pointed at the lake. “The others are watching us—they're out there.” She took a deep breath and seemed to make her decision. She raised both hands over her head, and made
It's safe to come
gestures with both of them.

“I don't see anyone . . .”

“There—” Lilumna said. “Now do you see them?”

Then he saw the
ilpdor
—its legs moving rhythmically as it swam toward them, mouth agape . . .

Was this Lilumna here to feed him to a giant aquatic predator?

It seemed absurd. But still the great scaly beast bore down upon them . . .