Fall of the White Ship Avatar (29 page)

"I will do this thing you've taught, going-ahead-with-out-the-herd," Pokesnout resolved. "Keep them moving, keep them together," he told his deputy males and senior females, and Alacrity and Paloma as well.

Then he was charging off, Floyt clinging as best he could, praying the surcingle would hold. Pokesnout was amazingly fast and sure despite the pliabamboo sheaths.

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[Fitzhugh 3]-FALL OF THE WHITE SHIP AVATAR

Soon the duneline loomed up; Floyt's heart sank. It wasn't very formidable by normal standards—ten meters high, a thirty-five-degree incline. No problem for a gawk who, churning along and sinking to its knees or losing balance, could simply right itself and keep on going. But a lethal obstacle when a single falter could leave a helpless herdmember covered with clinging, venomous sand devils.

Pokesnout slowed to a trot, he and his rider searching for some solution. Floyt pounded Pokesnout's neck and pointed, crying "Look there!"

For the first time it came to him that he didn't have a proteus, and he wondered how in the world he was going to get the message across. But Pokesnout craned around to glance at his arm, then followed the pointing finger. At the very least, he'd learned what the gesture meant. At most …

He is! He's picking up Terranglish
!

Sand devils were far fewer at the dunes, perhaps because of the shifting sand. But more than a dozen were attacking the alpha's various shoes as he trotted for the little saddle between dunes. The bull shifted to a strong six-by-six low gear as he climbed. He was more coordinated and efficient than an articulated adjustable-suspension vehicle that Floyt had seen do the same sort of thing once on Blackguard.

Pokesnout's limbs were far more agile and adaptable than the ASV's pantograph legs.

Floyt held his breath, hypnotized by the straggle, clutching for all he was worth. He watched the solid legs work, and the crest of the saddle came closer. Sand devils circled and darted in a frenzy, showing their teeth to each other when they bumped. Pokesnout's sheathed feet sank in halfway to the rims of the pliabamboo segments.

The top bull took a near spill that had Floyt's heart in need of a jumpstart. Then Pokesnout crested the rise. His sides heaved and his head hung tiredly as he inhaled in rapid whooshes and exhaled in unbelievably loud whistles, foam dripping from his muzzle.

Beyond the dune ridge's base, a gentle slope led to a rocky barrens lying between cliffs and talus heaps.

There were a few isolated patches of sand, like pink snow disappearing in springtime. Though the air was rank with the furious sand devils' frenzy-smell, there were none below.

Floyt patted Pokesnout's head. "You made it, you … made it. You got us through … "

The bull huffed, brought his head back up with a shake, and whirled to start back for the herd, making his way downslope cautiously. Floyt wasn't sure the weaker calves, oldsters, and other marginals could make the upgrade, but those who couldn't had no way out but death.

Floyt took a last look back at the lowlands that lay along the route of march. In the distance, there was file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20krui...%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (147 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

[Fitzhugh 3]-FALL OF THE WHITE SHIP AVATAR

still the barrier of Lake Fret. As suddenly as that, inspiration came to him. He exulted and urged Pokesnout back to the herd.

"We lost two while you were gone," Paloma told him when he rejoined the others. "One calf fell, and there was a beta-male whose boot split wide open."

When Floyt explained what he'd found, she summed it up. "If that's all there is, we'll have to take it. It looks like smoking out the hive wasn't such a master stroke; there's a lot of activity back that way and the gawks have picked up some new smell. We think the hive queen may have come out for the hunt."

Floyt absorbed the bad news. According to Paloma's proteus, a queen's decision to take part in the hunt made the borderline sand devils completely crazy, as she programmed their behavior with her royal scents.

"And she's gaining on us," Alacrity said, studying the duneline ahead. Floyt thought he could make out movement back the way the herd had come.

"We have to move faster," Alacrity told Pokesnout, " 'even if it means casualties."

"We can't let anything stop us now!" Floyt told Alacrity. "I've figured out a way to get across Lake Fret!"

"You
which
?"

"I'll explain later."

Pokesnout gave orders. Treeneck, Rockhorn, and the other lead gawks got the herd moving at a pace that would've been suicidal earlier in the day, but the gawks had had time to get used to the leg coverings.

Weaker members began straggling in spite of everything Pokesnout could do, their tongues lolling, breath coming harshly. Alacrity thought about trying to slow things down again but saw it would never work. The herd knew it was near the end of the high desert. Fear and the need for flight had taken over; they wouldn't be slowed this side of safety or hell.

The herd strung out farther and farther. Paloma had ridden far back to drop the last decoy carrion; it did little good. The scuttle-death was coming in the tens of thousands to form a carpet, their stench thick as smoke from a prairie fire.

A stringy old bull, whose legs had been trembling and quaking since the march began, finally reached the end of his strength, missing his footing. He skidded on front knees, then struggled up to race another three lengths. He tumbled tail over horns, nearly bringing down a second male who'd blundered into him from behind. In an instant the sand devils were clinging and biting around him, still unable to climb far.

The bull got to his feet a second time, bellowing weakly, as the last herdmembers swerved around him, file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20krui...%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (148 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

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devils bobbing on him with their teeth fixed in his hide. He keeled over and more warrior-workers flooded in at him. The vanguard of the herd was already at the dune saddle, bunching up as gawks jostled to get ahead of one another.

Alacrity caught a whiff of something new from the sand devils, who were more agitated than ever. He looked back and saw a thicker mob of them coming, darker than the ones he'd seen so far. One particular knot of them moved as a unit, like the eye of a hurricane.

Hive queen
! And she was leading a sea of her subjects; they were slaves to the royal hunt-odor now, following it no matter where or what, laying out an emulating smell so that the plague of devils coming after, blindly obedient, would sense the command, would comply, and would put out the emulating smell in turn. Alacrity held his proteus by Treeneck's ear, yelling his idea.

Paloma noticed as Treeneck swung to retrace his way. "Where are you going?"

Alacrity pointed with his lance. "You keep 'em moving, Babyfat! I'll be right back!" Treeneck cantered off at a reckless pace.

"
Cazzo
!" she spat, and turned to ride for the turmoil of the duneline just in time to see a calf inadvertently trampled by its elders, bleating as it died.

Many times the size of her warrior-workers, big as a terrier, the hive queen wasn't hard to pick out. Her personal scent overcame the normal sand-devil loathing of territorial incursion; in her vicinity and along her odor trail they piled atop one another, all squirming to be close to her and bask in her aromas. They were in such transport that they failed to notice Treeneck's approach, or warnings from peripheral members of the swarm, until the gawk was in their midst.

Treeneck seemed to take naturally to the flat-footed gait that was his only hope of survival. Even in the writhing mass of the scuttle-death, they couldn't reach vulnerable flesh, but it was a nearer thing; making weak, clumsy hops from mounded hivemates, devils were coming within centimeters of the gawk's boot tops. Treeneck waded on bravely anyway.

A new scent permeated the air in the last seconds before Alacrity struck, the hive queen and her escort raising an alarm. Alacrity drove his long wooden lance down into her and through her, overhand, with all his might, the fire-hardened point striking in just between her first set of shoulders, the scare-flare claw barbs sinking deep.

With an effort that nearly ungawked him, Alacrity hauled the queen up from her worshipping subjects, a few of them dropping from her. Treeneck was already turning to trample his way back into the clear.

Moving faster than most herdmembers could, the big bull left most of the wriggling mass behind, but file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20krui...%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (149 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

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they were already in furious pursuit, sending out summons and alarm odors tinged with the queen's scents. Sand devils converged on Alacrity and Treeneck from several sides.

The queen struggled and flailed angrily at the end of the lance. Alacrity paused long enough to make sure it was firmly fixed in her, then set off, dragging the queen over the sand, leaving a scent trail. Her hordes came flooding after.

The next few minutes were sheer adrenaline unreality, as Alacrity left the trail while praying he wouldn't fall or lose the queen, and Treeneck clomped along recklessly in the clumsy boots. Man and gawk did their best to keep track of direction; to become lost would mean an ugly death. They cut a long arc away from the rest of the herd. More and more sand devils streamed along the queen's odor trail, their frenzied aromas mingling with hers, reinforcing the urgency for those behind.

Treeneck wove around rock obstacles and occasional desert plants; the nearsighted sand devils never attempted to take shortcuts or head him off, staying right on the scent-path because its stimuli would let them do nothing else.

Alacrity began to panic, fearing Treeneck hadn't understood the plan, or had become disoriented. Then the bull rounded a boulder and Alacrity saw what he'd been praying for: the spot where he'd originally begun laying down the trail. Sand devils were still converging on it from all over.

The queen was still wriggling, but only feebly; the scent she was exuding was almost visible. Still dragging her body, Alacrity urged Treeneck on. In another minute they were at the beginning of the queen's trail again, having drawn a full circle. Treeneck went into the scuttle-death stream gingerly but quickly; the pursuit had nearly caught up with him.

Alacrity dragged the queen right to the spot where her trail began, closing the ring, then lifted her high, where she could deposit no trail, bearing her away as fast as Treeneck could manage. The leaders among the pursuing scuttle-death followed her spoor right back to where they'd started, encountering the imperative, emulating scents of other pursuers who were just starting on the circle, along with the queen's own original smells.

Their genetic programming gave them no room for doubt or hesitation. The devils leading the way started around again, laying out even more scent. More and more of the little fiends thronged to the scuttle-death superconducting ring. Alacrity, still holding the wounded queen aloft, turned for the herd.

Wouldn't surprise me if they all turned into butter …

Paloma was at the crest of the dune saddle on Rockhorn, exhorting the gawks on. The path had been churned to a gentler incline by the herd's passage, making it easier going; there'd been a dozen-plus file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20krui...%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (150 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

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casualties, which Pokesnout had miraculously managed to get moved out of the way with his aides' help, mostly through careful use of hind legs.

Gawklegs who'd already made the transit were grouping on the rocky stretches beyond, where the scuttle-death wouldn't go. The herdmembers were shaken but beginning to sort themselves out once more.

Alacrity showed up, his lance bare again. He'd dragged his weapon free of the wounded queen a kilometer back, not out of clemency but to give nearby devils something else to do. It may have helped, but the trampled incline was still alive with devils.

It was pandemonium. Gawks' cries of panic and dismay were deafening and the air was almost unbreatheable with dust. Alacrity pulled up his blue—now pink—bandanna again. As he drew near, the last of the herd got ready to assay the dune saddle.

Floyt and Pokesnout were about to go up, to make sure everything was all right at the crest and beyond.

Treeneck fell in beside the runt alpha. Alacrity and Floyt held on tight as their mounts went up with the last few of the herd.

Then a young noncalving female in the group slipped and, bleating and hooting, slid backward, somehow still keeping upright, her legs widespread. Pokesnout watched, gathering himself; Floyt knew the gawk was going to try to help her. Treeneck faltered, exhausted by his labors and undecided.

Pokesnout blared something at Treeneck; the big bull swung to continue grinding his way up the hill.

Alacrity held the surcingle and objected loudly. He had an impulse to go after Floyt afoot, trusting to the protection of the pathfinders. But he saw it would likely be suicide; the sand was too uncertain. And Pokesnout had brought Floyt through so far. Alacrity was borne to the top of the hill in a spume of sand and flying, nailing scuttle-death.

Pokesnout slid to a stop near the female. Floyt's heart sank when he saw what was wrong: she'd split both shoes on her two forelegs and lost one of them. The other foreleg was exposed all the way to the hoof pad. She'd had the presence of mind to rear up on her two hindsets, free of sand devils so far, but Floyt didn't see how that could last long with an animal so used to traveling on all six and built for little else. She was right there yet beyond help.

But Pokesnout was trumpeting to her, buffeting her in reverse gear to get her attention, backing his rump at her then swinging around to trumpet at her again, and backing at her once more. Frustrated, the bull swung around and belched something at Floyt, waggling the vast behind again, bouncing and wriggling it.