The Iron Breed (16 page)

But the stone dens lay to the north. And suppose Maba or Geogee had already told their captors about the things found there? If so, the spacemen could easily fly that distance, take what they needed, and be away before the People—or Jony—could cover half that journey back on foot.

Maba had been so excited about the finds. Jony could well imagine her telling these strangers about them. Or was Maba a prisoner?

Jony tensed. Movement about him. Not Otik alone, there were others of the People ringing him nearly around, advancing toward him. There was only one opening in their circle, downslope. To take that way of escape would bring him into view from the ship. He could only wait . . .

His suggestion to Otik might have touched off a reaction which—Jony's hand went to the loose collar. He remembered only too well those concealed fangs within it which Voak had displayed as a warning. On the other hand, he knew he had no chance of escaping from the clan's steady advance, nor could he use the staff—not against them!

Otik, then Trush, Huuf, two of the younger females—Itak, Wugi—none of the older members of the clan. Jony could do little against even Itak and Wugi; he could not choose to fight.

The newcomers squatted down as Otik had done, their staffs beside them where a paw-hand could drop easily to a familiar hold. Otik had something else in his grasp—a coil of the cord they used to weave their nets.

“Talk—” Otik signed.

About his wild plan for looting the storage place among the stone walls? Jony could only guess. He signed slowly, trying to make sure he chose each time the most effective gesture to clarify his meaning. Though, with the limits imposed upon him, he despaired of making them understand or believe what he had to tell.

He told of his own journey underground to a great cave—of the many strange things there. Finally of the rod Geogee had found, and what happened when, in the struggle to get it away from the boy, the alien power had been inadvertently fired. That they would believe in the instant disappearance of what it had been pointed at, Jony was doubtful. They listened, but did they understand?

No one signed a message for him to read as he finished. Instead they spoke among themselves, leaving Jony baffled as always by the succession of sounds which had no meaning for the ears of his species. Each made some comment in turn. Then, though Jony was not sure of what had been said, he sensed that the verdict was against him.

He reached for his staff, though he was sure he could never turn its terrible might against any of the People. But Otik had again gotten paw on that, and it was gone! At length Otik rose to his feet and loomed over Jony.

When Jony tried rising to face the young clansman, the weight of Trush's paw-hands on his shoulders held him where he was. Otik uncoiled his cord, hooked an end through the collar, and made one of the deftly tied knots the People used.

He gave a jerk, bringing the edge of the collar tight against Jony's throat as if he meant that as a warning. Then he turned away, and Jony, now released, had to follow. It was plain that he had worsened his cause with these clansmen, instead of bettering it. He was angry now with his own stupidity at voicing a suggestion which must have aroused their deep-set rage against their one-time captors, turning it toward himself.

The clan had no campsite, but they had taken up station within a thick covering of brush which would give them cover overhead if the flyer came cruising. There were four more awaiting the return of Otik's squad with their prisoner—three were females, the fourth old Gorni, who had once been chief, but who had yielded to Voak as his strength had lessened.

It was to him that Otik went, reaching down to put the end of Jony's leash in the paw-hand of the old one. One of Gorni's eyes was covered with a white film so that he had to always turn his head slightly to view anything directly before him, as he did now.

But he did not use sign language; instead he gave the leash a tug which again brought the collar painfully against Jony's flesh. At that rude demand that he sit, Jony dropped down. Otik also laid the metal staff before the elder, as if to clinch some argument. But Gorni only glanced at that briefly.

With his free hand, the other never losing that tight hold on the leash, the clansman began to sign very slowly:

“You are now walker on fours. You do what People say. You are People's
thing.”
He touched the fruit net looped about him. “This People's thing. You like this—not People—just
thing!”

Jony wanted to loop both hands in the leash, tear it loose from the oldster's hold. He knew better than to make any such move. He was now a “thing,” perhaps having some use for the clan, but without any freedom to be Jony.

The anger which he had known, young as he was, when in the cages of the Big Ones, burned in him once more. Only he could see the side of the People, too. They did not trust him. What of those the flyer had taken—the spacemen who looked like Jony, who resembled the pictures in the storage place and the stone woman? Perhaps the People had always feared that Jony himself might revert, to become one with their enemies. Only when he was small had they tolerated him, as they did the twins, as a weak, helpless thing not to be feared. Then he had directly sought out the place of stones, aroused in them the fear that the old days might so return. After that, to add to their fear, had come the arrival of the sky ship and the capture of the clansmen. The People were only doing what they could for their own protection.

What was the worst was that he must have, by his suggestion of raiding the storage place, aroused in them a belief that he was intending to take over once again. They had undoubtedly dismissed his talk of their finding and using the weapons as being deliberate falsification on his part, or as an indication that he held them in contempt.

Looking at Gorni's impassive face, then glancing from one to another of those ringing him around, Jony could see no way of impressing them with the fact of his own innocence of any desire to harm them. Yet he had to do just that.

The ship might lift now, taking with it, into the unknown of the far skies, their own people and the twins! Above all else the People must somehow find a way to prevent that—though Jony could not see now any hope of rescue.

ELEVEN

Jony's leash was released by Gorni, only to be fastened by another of those tough knots to a sapling strong enough to resist any attempt of his to break loose. For the moment the boy had to accept the knowledge that he could do nothing. But neither could he believe that this was the end, that the clan would continue to consider him a “thing,” and that he might not be able to find some way to rescue those on the ship.

If he could reach Maba or Geogee . . . Just as Rutee had once instructed and trained for the day when he could get to freedom, perhaps he could work through concentration to make the twins aid him now in the same fashion.

Wugi came near enough to place on the ground two fruits and a leaf twisted around about a handful of grass seeds. Even a “thing” was to be fed. And Jony ate the portion hungrily.

His metal staff remained lying on the ground near Gorni. Nor did the elder make the slightest move to examine it as Otik had. Jony eyed the sharp edge of the hook longingly. By the use of that the leash could be easily severed; he freed. But to go where, do what?

Impatience ate at him until he wanted to pound the wet ground with both hands and howl aloud his misery. If he could only make them understand! Concentrate on the ship? Or would such mental touch guide the spacemen here? He wanted . . .

Otik returned. The young clansman had been away in the brush, perhaps once more spying on the invaders. Going directly to Gorni he conveyed some report. Jony watched, longing to be able to understand. If he could only share such open communication perhaps he might make the People understand the folly of not listening to him. They had, he was sure, little idea of the weapons and instruments which the ship people might use. Jony's own knowledge was only the bits and pieces relayed to him by Rutee, who had, in turn, a very limited grasp of the subject. That, and what he had learned in the lab of the Big Ones. But those scraps of information were certainly infinitely more than the People possessed.

Both Gorni and Otik eyed Jony now. He could guess that what they said had to do with him. At last Otik came to the sapling, loosed that knot and gave a jerk, to signal Jony to follow. A call from behind made Otik turn his head.

Wugi, leaves wrapped about her fingers so she did not touch the bare metal of the staff, had taken up Jony's find. She carried the weapon with the attitude of one disposing of a loathsome thing and held it out to Otik. Plainly this was not to be left behind.

If Wugi did not care to touch the weapon-tool, Otik had no such scruples. He lacked a staff. Perhaps, in spite of clan opinion, he had a lurking desire to keep this one. At any length he readily took it into his hand. Then, with another jerk, but no signed command (as if Jony now lacked the intelligence to understand such a thing), the clansman pushed out of their small brush camp, heading back upslope of the ridge.

The rain was slacking, though periodic gusts struck them in the open, driven by a new wind. At least the sky was lighter. Jony could see the position of the ship and the flyer nearby in clearer detail than he had earlier. Also the ramp was run out once more, and there was a cluster of figures gathered on the lower edge of it. The spacemen now wore coverings over their heads which made them look unnatural, as if they were in truth a race as alien as the Big Ones. But the smaller figure with them—even at this distance Jony recognized Maba!

As far as he could determine she was under no restraint, but mingled freely with the off-worlders. As he caught plain sight of her, she flung out one arm in a typical exaggerated Maba gesture, the fingers of that hand pointing north. Telling them of the stone place?

But why was Maba free? Mind-controlled? Memory supplied that as a very probable answer. Jony's anger against circumstances, and now against these intruders, flared higher. Maba, to be so controlled! What Rutee had always feared for any of her children had happened.

Because of that anger Jony sent a sudden probe, striving to find out just how much they had taken over the girl. Was her normal mind totally blank so that she was only animated by the wishes of the space people, after the fashion of those blank-eyed captives of the Big Ones who walked blindly through what life their owners allowed them to retain?

His probe met no barrier, no hint of mind-control! Jony's shaft of Esper power had sharpened to meet the resistance he expected, but instead went straight into Maba's own thought-stream.

“Maba!” Aware that the worst had not happened, Jony was excited. Could he plant a thought of escape—of aid—now?

He watched that small figure eagerly. Her arm had dropped limply to her side, she swayed, and perhaps would have fallen to the ground, had not one of the spacemen caught and steadied her. Jony had put too much force in that contact. He retreated at once, aware of the danger of his move as caution returned too late.

The invader who supported Maba gathered the girl up in one swift movement, turned and ran back up the ramp into the ship. However, his two companions did not follow. Instead they headed for the flyer, throwing themselves through an opening which appeared in its bubble top, as if they sought safety from attack.

Jony guessed that they were aware of his attempt to contact Maba, that now they would again be on search for him. He turned to Otik. Let the clansman understand that Jony's presence was what would draw trouble straight to the People. He signed with all the authority he could bring to the matter:

“Those know I am here—they will hunt—they can track—”

Otik gave that small turn of the head which signified indifference.

“No one can find when People are warned,” he returned.

“They
can,” Jony had kept part attention on the flyer. The bubble was closed, the machine rising steadily into the air. “They have a way—”

Was he getting Otik to really listen? If the clansman would not, the People were probably doomed to the same fate as had already swallowed Voak, Yaa and the rest.

“Show—You go—that way—”

To Jony's momentary relief, Otik dropped the leash before he pointed with the metal staff along the ridge, away from that section where the clan had gone to cover.

Jony began to run, scrambling down under the roofing of the brush, indeed leading any chase away from the others. He had not the slightest hope that the People could match the weapons of the strangers. But he had once mind-befuddled a Big One, and he might just have a chance to do the same with these new invaders. If he could escape detection, and was sure he had, he would head back to the stone place, arm himself with the most potent weapon he could find there. Unless, with Maba's help, the strangers got there first.

Why was Maba helping these invaders if she was not mind-controlled? The question haunted him, but Jony could give no real time to such a problem now. He must use all his wits to try and escape that flyer whose buzzing grew ever louder.

The leash dangling behind him caught once on a bush with a backward jerk which nearly swept him off his feet and brought the collar constrictingly tight against his throat. Jony tore the cord loose and then made a tight roll of the end about his waist, unable to take the time to pick the knot on the collar. Here ground was rough and the rain had slicked clay into greasy slides, so that twice he lost his footing and tumbled down.

He kept to cover with all the skill he had learned when in vor bird country. Only that buzz overhead was continuous; they were apparently able to follow him with the same ease as if they saw with their own eyes every movement he made, every dodge and evasion he tried. Then—

Jony stumbled forward on feet which suddenly refused to support him. A sense of weakness, of floating, made him feel as if he were no longer trying to run, but rather rested on air which was moving . . . He made one last desperate attempt to hold on to his consciousness—and lost.