Early Byrd (8 page)

"Oh, yeah!" Tim agreed, and I matched his
big smile with my own. "Thank you
so
much for rescuing us,
sir."

He smiled back and stood taller. "Linda's
going to whip us up some breakfast, as promised. But the truth of
the matter is that we've got quite a bit to do before we're settled
in right and proper, and neither of you two has had much chance to
rest. So . . . how about a nice nap first? That's one good thing
about being underground—you can make it be nighttime whenever you
like."

We smiled back. "All right," I was the one
who answered this time. "But wake us up for the flapjacks!"

"Sure thing!" Sam promised. Then he was
gone, leaving the room illuminated by a single LED. It wasn't very
bright.

"I'm
so
tired!" Tim said, louder than he
really needed to. Just like he did when he wanted to mislead Mom
and Dad about something they didn't need to know about. He nodded
at the magazines—there was a pen lying right next to them. How
convenient!

"Me too!" I agreed, also too loudly and thus
seconding the motion that we should definitely try and get away
with something.

"Let's hit the hay, then."

We stripped down to our underwear and
settled in under the comforters. It was nice and warm and soft
there, and for a moment I almost fell asleep for real. Then, as
expected, a ballpoint with a slip of slick magazine paper stuck
under its clip fell from the bed above mine and onto my pillow. It
was just barely light enough to read the thing.
"
Got to move fast," it read. "Li, Rapput getting
weaker."

I nodded and turned the paper over. "Five of
them," I countered. "Two guards, Sam, Yukon, Linda." Then I folded
it all back together and, making use of the darkness along the
wall-side of the bed, passed the package upward into my brother's
waiting hand.

"Five is too many," he agreed. "Have to
separate them. I don't see any other way. Do you?"

"No other way," I agreed. Then a sick
sensation washed over me. "We're going to have to
kill
them, I think. Just like
deer, or coyotes. Dead forever. Don't want to.”

"Yeah," my brother agreed, this time on a
new, larger sheet. The other was too scribbled-up by now. "Dad
always told us we might have to kill people someday if we joined
the army or the police or something. And that it was okay so long
as we were for-sure certain there was no other way. Because some
things are even worse than killing,"

"This is kinda like the army," I wrote back.
"And police both, I guess. We're being held hostage."

“
Hostages twice over!" Tim
pointed out. "But they said we hafta go with Rapput or else the war
might start again. We'll all die if that happens. Everyone
everywhere, even though these Free State guys can't see it. So
that's what we should do, even if we have to kill people. It's the
least-bad way."

"These guys are
stupid!
" I agreed in
my reply, underlining the word over and over again. "We aren't
going to be able to talk sense to them. Not even Mom or Dad
could."

"It'll help us get out, them being stupid,"
Tim replied. "A lot." Then he began a new line. "We need to rest,
eat too. Even Li, Rapput need rest. After food is the best time. We
may not eat again for a while.”

"There's no indoor plumbing," I wrote back.
"That's maybe how we could divide them?"

"I'll get sick," he agreed. "Then we'll make
our move outside and fake it from there. Kill if we have to, but
not if we don't?"

I stuck my head out where he could see and
nodded, then put aside my last reservations. Right was right, Mom
used to tell us. And we were clearly in the right. Just because
parts of it were likely to be pretty awful didn't make it
not-right. Which in turn meant we should approach this just like
any other hunt, in order to give us the best odds possible. "It's
my turn to pull the trigger."

"Not!" he replied. "The doe ran away before
I could shoot."

I smiled as I read his words; Tim
loved
being the one to take the important shots, and I loved
to prod him about it. Well, this time we'd see what developed.
"Night, Timmy!" I said aloud.

"Night, Robert," he replied.

All the planning that could be done, was
done. Perhaps Rapput was right about my brother and I being among
our kind's foremost natural warriors, even though we were still
just kids. After all, kids our age and even younger had fought for
their tribes and nations as long back as anyone could remember.
Though Dad would've just called us healthy, independent-minded
Montana ranch boys, and that was probably a lot closer to the
truth.

***

Sam kept his word, kind of. He did indeed
faithfully wake us up when it was flapjack time. The meal wasn't
ready until one in the afternoon, however, which meant we slept
away a lot more of the day than we'd have liked.

Still, we made the best of things. No matter
what her other shortcomings as a human being might be—I'd never,
ever
forgive her for the way she'd kicked Rapput's shattered
arm while he was helpless—Linda was indeed a competent backwoods
cook. Though I hate to say it, her flapjacks were even better than
Mom's. Or maybe it was the syrup made from real maple trees, a fact
that Yukon emphasized over and over again. Apparently it was part
of his national pride. Even the poutine wasn't too bad, though
neither my brother nor I had ever eaten anything but ketchup on
fried potatoes before. While the gravy and curds were fine, the
conversation was what was really interesting.

"…can't keep them here forever, Sam," Yukon
pointed out as he sopped up his surplus gravy with one of Linda's
excellent biscuits. "They're
boys
. They need to go to school
and such."

"School!" the American snorted, making the
word sound like a curse. Mom did that too. "I can't speak for up
here in the Great White North, but back home they're just
brainwashing factories meant to convince us the values we grew up
with are wrong. No one ever learns anything useful there anymore."
He scowled. "We should induct them directly into the army. That way
they can learn to scout and such right from the get-go." He sighed
and looked down. "This is going to be a long, long war. We're going
to be in greater need of scouts than scholars."

Yukon took a bite of eggs and chewed it
thoughtfully. "We'll consider it. Times are hardly normal." Then he
turned to us. "How far have you two gotten, schoolwise?"

"We just finished the sixth grade," I lied.
The truth was that we were old enough to just be finishing seventh,
but both of us were way ahead of that. In some subjects I was all
the way up to high school. This was why we'd had so much time to
hunt and stuff lately; Mom and Dad had agreed it was better we take
the time to enjoy being young while we could rather than keep
learning stuff maybe faster than we were mature enough to
absorb.

"Though just barely," Tim added. He elbowed
me and grinned. "Dorkus here has trouble reading."

I elbowed him back—the lie was much too far
from the truth to carry any sting. I'd been reading adult-type
thrillers and mysteries for over two years. "Says you!"

"Now, now," Linda interjected. Then she
looked at me and smiled so wistfully that I wondered if maybe she
wished she could adopt us or something. "Some of us grow up a
little slower than others. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

That left me blushing bright red with
absolutely nothing whatsoever to say, except that under the table I
stepped on Tim's foot, hard, for saying I was having reading
troubles. Then I changed the subject. "We're sure grateful that you
rescued us." I let my features harden—it wasn't an act. "A lot of
people got killed, I think."

Yukon nodded, his own face growing somber.
"Yes, Robert. A lot of men and women
did
die freeing you. If
it makes you feel any better, and I hope it does, we've been
planning to snatch Rapput for months now." He looked at Linda.
"When we heard that you two would be with him, we decided that
adding a humanitarian element to the raid wouldn't hurt a thing.
The plan hardly needed to be changed at all. So I don't think
anyone
extra
died, if you get what I mean."

"I see," I replied. And I
did
feel a
lot better, I admit. Then I looked down. "We have so many people to
thank."

Yukon smiled, then reached out and tousled
my hair. "I'll see that everyone knows you said that. In the
meantime, it was our pleasure."

I squirmed under the touch—it reminded me of
Rapput's hand on my head. Why was it that no one ever asked
us
If we wanted our heads touched or not?

"Mom told us," Tim said carefully, "that we
had
to be hostages and do what we were told and everything
because otherwise the Artemu would throw rocks at Earth until we
humans were all dead."

"Rocks from all the way beyond the moon," I
added.

There was a long silence. Then, Sam spoke
up. "A lot of people have fallen for that. Even some of us at
first. But . . ." He cocked his head to one side, as if in deep
consideration. "If you think about it long enough, it soon becomes
obvious that it's just not so."

"Why?" I asked, cocking my own head.

"There's a hundred holes in the theory, on
close examination," Linda explained. "For example . . . if they
were to try that, we could blow up the rocks with nuclear missiles.
I mean, we'd have
months
to target them."

"Plus," Sam continued, "there's no firm
evidence a rock would do all that much damage even if it wasn't
intercepted. We've never been able to study an actual meteor on
that scale, so everything else is mere speculation."

"And even if it's true that it'd wipe us
out," Yukon finished for his partners, "well . . . What about
honor? What about our obligation to the future of the universe as a
whole to do what we can to make wars of conquest unprofitable
ventures? Better to die proud and free than submit to the likes of
him
," he declared, jerking his thumb in Rapput’s general
direction.

"Everyone else they've ever defeated were
either wiped out or became slave-races," Tim continued. "Or so they
say, and who can know otherwise? We're the first they've ever
negotiated with. And so far—at least according to the news
shows—they're living up to the Treaty's terms in every last
detail." He looked at Yukon. "Isn't that better than dead?"

The old Canadian's eyes narrowed, and for a
moment I thought my brother had pushed things too far. "So we're
not slaves, eh? Then tell me this: why exactly were we sending them
innocent little boys to hold hostage against our good
behavior?"

Tim blinked, and I couldn't come up with an
answer either. Where exactly did living up to the terms of a harsh
peace treaty end and outright slavery begin? Dad didn't think we
humans were slaves, and what he thought mattered a lot. But then,
neither Tim nor I had thought to ask him if he'd changed his mind
after learning he was going to be forced to give up his children.
Might he think differently now? Quite possibly, I had to admit.

"See?" Yukon said in triumph as he rose to
his feet and smiled. "Just because a jar's label says something on
it doesn't mean that's actually what's inside." His smile faded.
"Let that be today's lesson, in the absence of textbooks and
classrooms and such." He patted Tim's head this time. "You're smart
boys, and I'm sure you'll pick it all up in time."

Tim smiled, but the expression faded almost
as quickly as it'd appeared. "I don't feel so good," he said,
rubbing his belly. His eyes met mine, and I nodded ever so
slightly. "I might even be a little sick."

Sure enough, Tim looked
amazingly
sick. His face
paled, sweat covered his forehead, and his breathing became
labored. Long ago he'd told me that all he had to do in order make
that happen was pretend he was being forced to eat maggoty meat. In
any event, it was certainly effective.

"They're under a lot of stress," Linda
explained to her superiors. "What with all they're going through,
we're lucky it's not a lot worse. Some kids might even go
catatonic."

Yukon and Sam nodded but clearly felt put
out. Meanwhile, Tim continued his act, causing our keepers to
scramble for cold cloths, aspirin . . .

. . . and, worst of all for our hopes, a
basin for him to get sick in if he had to. We'd never thought of
that! He looked helplessly up at me, for the moment outfoxed.

"He gets like this sometimes when he needs
fresh air," I said. "Once he's outside, he's always a lot better.
It works almost every time."

"Yeah!" Tim agreed. "Can I please go outside
for a few minutes?"

"I don't see why not," Yukon replied.
"That's where the latrine is, anyway. We were just about to show
you."

"Good!" I agreed happily, not about to let
us be separated at this late date. "I need to go."

"Then let's take a trip upstairs," Yukon
agreed, rising from his chair and reaching for his hat. "Maybe
it'll do me some good too."

15

Tim continued to drool and retch as we made our way
back up the tunnels to the entrance. That had to be distracting for
him, so I looked things over twice as closely to make up for his
inattention. Where the tunnel branches came together, I carefully
attempted to go the wrong way.

"No, Robert," Yukon urged. "That's a dead
end, and there're dangerous places too. It's not like this part
we've fixed up."

"And this way?" I asked, keeping my tone as
innocent as possible while pointing down another passage.

"Don't you worry about
that
one,"
Yukon answered, his eyes hardening. And just like that, I knew
where all the really important stuff was located. Including, more
likely than not, Rapput and Li.