Asimov’s Future History Volume 8 Page 8

  Maverick’s right foot found something solid, and he flipped himself up over the edge and hit the ground running. And curse me and my bright ideas! With a clumsy crash, the sharpfangs fell into the gully. One of them roared in distress, and then they began slashing a passage up the side.

  Maverick flattened his ears again, straightened his tail, and focused on putting distance between himself and the sharpfangs.

  Up to a point, things had been going really well. After the pack had wiped out the WalkingStones, LifeCrier began leading the hunt every day, and Maverick had managed to make himself a permanent part of LifeCrier’s hunting party. And after a week of practice, LifeCrier’s group was actually starting to hunt like a pack. This morning two of the younger kin had taken down a smallgrazer, and Maverick himself had surprised a smerp that was trying to hide under a log. They’d even managed to handle it intelligently when the point kin stirred up a small female sharpfang. The scouts got out of the way, the stupid lizard charged straight at the main body of the pack, and Maverick had time to draw his knife and try his under-the-chin trick.

  It worked to perfection. He dropped the sharpfang with one blow, and for a minute there he’d had the undying admiration of the entire hunting party. LifeCrier even got out one of those stupid amulets and made a great show of hanging it around Maverick’s neck.

  Then the pack was jumped by the three full-grown male sharpfangs that had been following the female he’d killed.

  A new roar joined the chorus behind him. Maverick looked over his shoulder long enough to see that the third sharpfang, blood fresh on his face, had decided to join the party.

  That does it! Maverick decided. If I get out of this alive, I’m going to head west and forget I ever heard the name PackHome. May the fleas of a thousand grazers infest LifeCrier’s ears!

  Speak of the FirstBeast and he shall rise. Maverick burst through another patch of spineberries and almost collided with LifeCrier. The old kin pulled up short and gave Maverick a dumbfounded look as he sped past.

  Against his better judgment, Maverick barked out a warning.,, Sharpfangs! Right behind me!” All three roared as if to reinforce the point.

  “Wait up!” LifeCrier yelped.

  Got to give the old boy credit, Maverick thought as he spared a moment to glance over his shoulder, he can really move when he’s motivated. In a few seconds LifeCrier had pulled up along Maverick’s right side and was matching his speed.

  “Where’s WhiteTail?” LifeCrier asked between gasps.

  “She wasn’t with you?”

  “We got separated.” LifeCrier broke running form long enough to raise his head and take his bearings. “We’ve got to regroup the pack. Make a stand!”

  “We can regroup when we’re back in PackHome.” Maverick closed his mouth as they ploughed into a patch of blooming stinkweed.

  “You don’t understand. Three sharpfangs! This must be a test of our faith. SilverSides will protect us!” A limestone outcropping loomed in front of them. “Left! Trust me!” LifeCrier dropped back to cross Maverick’s tail and turn down the slope, parallel to the base of the bluff.

  Maverick hesitated a fraction of a second and then followed. “Funny thing,” he called after LifeCrier. “My sire always used to say,” a boulder appeared in his path, but he managed to gauge his lead-in correctly and land on his right leg, “the OldMother helps those who help themselves!”

  LifeCrier rounded the foot of the bluff and skidded to a stop. “Drat! We’re here? I thought we were...”

  Maverick followed him around the corner and slammed on the brakes as well.

  To their left, the gully he’d crossed earlier broadened out into a marshy delta. Directly in front, there were a few scrubby little nut trees and about a twenty-foot drop into the swamp. Vast, dim shapes moved in the distance, dipping their long necks into the floating mats of vegetation.

  To their right, a narrow path skirted the base of the cliff and teetered on the brink of falling into the swamp.

  LifeCrier stood at the edge of the drop, sniffing at the water twenty feet below. “I suppose we could swim.”

  “Idiot! There are things in that swamp that eat sharpfangs!”

  “Well, perhaps we could —”

  A sharpfang roared and rocks came bouncing down the slope behind them, accompanied by the sound of massive talons skidding on loose gravel.

  “Right!” Maverick decided. He lit off on the path at a pace that would have scared the scent out of him were he not already terrified. LifeCrier followed two trots behind.

  “Do you think they’ll give up?” LifeCrier shouted.

  More roars behind them; the thud of heavy bodies colliding and the sharp crack of a nut tree being broken in two, followed by a massive splash. Maverick looked over his shoulder long enough to see one sharpfang slogging along in the mud at the base of the cliff while the other two cautiously, almost comically, slid down the embankment on their hindquarters and tails.

  “No!” he shouted back. The path rounded a little outcropping and dipped down to water level. Great! Now they won’t even have to jump to get us! But on the other side of a clump of giant grazertail plants, the path intersected a broad, flat path that led back into a gap in the cliff face. “This is it!” he shouted at LifeCrier. Skidding a little on the marshmuck, he cut a sharp right turn and darted in.

  By the time they realized that it was a box canyon, the three sharpfangs were out of the water and thudding up the path behind them.

  Maverick’s breath was coming in short, ragged gasps now, and his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst his ribcage. “Is there a way out?” he said between gasps.

  “Not that I can see,” LifeCrier wheezed. “Perhaps around-around that bend there.” They both staggered in the direction in which he was looking.

  “Still think — SilverSides — is gonna save us?”

  “I’m sure —” LifeCrier licked his lips. “I’m sure she has a reason for all this.”

  “It’s just that — if she’s planning to save us-this’d be a real good time, y’know?” They rounded the bend.

  LifeCrier stopped in his tracks and gasped, “Mother have mercy!” Then he dropped on his belly and began whining like a pup. Maverick looked where LifeCrier had been looking.

  He saw the four WalkingStones.

  Oh, Mother, did 1 figure these things wrong!

  The WalkingStones were tall; as tall as sharpfangs, almost, and black as a starless night. They stood firmly on their hind legs, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and sported broad chests and massive forelegs that looked as if they could uproot trees. In place of eyes they had narrow slits filled with a flickering, hellish light, and in place of forepaws they had great hooks like a fliptail’s pincers.

  “LifeCrier!” Maverick whispered urgently. “Are those male WalkingStones?!”

  LifeCrier peeked out between his fingers, and then covered his eyes again and went back to whimpering. “Yes, yes, that’s them!”

  “They’re raising their right forelegs. Their paws-they’re hanging funny. They’ve got some kind of extra bone extruding from their wrists. Is that how they throw lightning?”

  “Yes!” LifeCrier clamped his paws down harder, as if trying to push his face through the ground.

  “LifeCrier, there’s some kind of glow forming around —”

  CRACK! Lightning split the air and echoed off the sides of the box canyon. The brilliant flash dazzled Maverick’s eyes; for half a minute, all he could see were searing blue afterimages.

  About the time that his vision cleared and his ears stopped ringing, the scent of blood and burnt flesh reached his nose, and he noticed that he was still alive. And he could no longer hear the sharpfangs. He turned around to see how close they were.

  The sharpfangs were close, but they would get no closer. Where once they had heads, they now had smoking stumps. One WalkingStone stood by the corpses, inspecting them with his red, fiery eyes, his lightning-th
rower extended and ready.

  Another was walking toward the kin. Maverick put a paw on LifeCrier’s shoulder and tried to jostle him out of his terrified cringe. LifeCrier peeked out just long enough to mutter, “Off the spit and into the fire.”

  The WalkingStone halted. “Be you well, Master LifeCrier?” Its inflection was odd, and it spoke in a garbled mix of HuntTongue and KinSpeech, but it was understandable.

  The words were what finally got LifeCrier to uncover his face. “You — you know my name?”

  “Oh, certainly, master. As you are he whom we were sent to serve.”

  “Serve? Serve me?” LifeCrier’s ears went up.

  “Such is our mission. Have you been served well by the demise of yon sharpfangs?”

  LifeCrier got to his feet and took a hesitant step toward the WalkingStone. “Y-yes, very well. But —” He paused, and looked sharply at the WalkingStone. “Were you sent by SilverSides?”

  “We are sent to protect you.”

  “By SilverSides? Have you seen her? Did she give you any words for us?”

  The WalkingStone tilted its head slightly, as if looking over LifeCrier’s head. “We have seen the one you know as SilverSides. And we bring you this message: You are to go to the Hill of Stars.”

  “What?”

  The WalkingStone shifted into a deep, stentorian voice. “You are to return to your den and gather your followers. Instruct them to gather their females and their offspring; gather their possessions and all that they would take with them, and follow you into the Hill of Stars. There a place has been prepared for you to dwell, and you shall never know hunger nor want again!”

  LifeCrier’s mouth dropped open, and he sat down heavily on his haunches. “Well, I’ll be!” He looked at Maverick, smiled, and shook his head. “I expected a miracle, but not this soon!” He looked at the WalkingStone and shook his head again. “We’ll live in the Hill of Stars and have all our needs provided for?”

  “You will be served and protected,” the WalkingStone said.

  LifeCrier nodded. “Yes. Yes, I understand now. How soon?”

  “Your place is being prepared even as we speak. It will be ready by the time you return to PackHome with this news.”

  LifeCrier nodded again, sagely this time. “Very well. Servant, we will meet you at the Hill of Stars.”

  “As you wish, master.” The WalkingStone bent in the middle-a gesture that Maverick found puzzling-and backed away. As one, the other WalkingStones turned to join it, and together the four of them marched out of the canyon.

  Maverick turned to LifeCrier and found that LifeCrier was looking at him with an enigmatic smile on his face. “Well, Maverick, it seems that you and a few others have a little apologizing to do. What do you think about a silly old kin and his SilverSides nonsense now?”

  “Sir,” Maverick said with a respectful baring of his throat, “only a fool would refuse to believe after seeing this. Where you lead, I will follow.”

  “Excellent.” LifeCrier got to his feet and gave Maverick an affectionate nuzzle. “You are my first true follower, and my strong right paw. I shall name you —”

  Maverick interrupted him with a discreet cough. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I’d really rather stick with Maverick. It’s easier to remember.”

  LifeCrier looked a little disappointed. “Oh, very well. You’re now Maverick, the First Believer.” He looked back at the smoking corpses of the three sharpfangs-already flyers, eightlegs, and other carrion-feeders were starting to gather — and dismissed them with a sniff.

  “Now let’s follow those WalkingStones and see if we can’t find a way out of this canyon.” LifeCrier set off at a trot.

  Panting, bewildered, but full of honest trust, Maverick fell in behind.

  Chapter 16

  DEREC

  THE ROBOTICS LAB was dim and quiet, except for the quartet of high-intensity lamps that Avery had pulled down from the ceiling and the soft chirping of the positronic monitor. The data terminals and chairs were gone, dissolved back into the substance of the ship; the work table was reconfigured into a body-contour slab that held the immobile figure of Mandelbrot. A function robot with four long, mantis-like arms stood behind Avery, handing out utensils as he asked for them, while another floated a foot over Mandelbrot’s head, carefully monitoring his positronic brain functions and ensuring a stable supply of power to the critical synthecortex.

  Derec and Avery crouched over the robot’s open chest, trying hard not to block each other’s light. They’d already removed most of Mandelbrot’s chest plating and disconnected the power from the cube cage. Now they were carefully cutting away the damaged portions of the data bus and fitting replacement parts.

  “Micro-calipers.” The function robot slapped them into Avery’s open hand. “Pentaclamps.”

  “Easy,” Derec said. “You’ve got a little bit of grisaille blast-welded on that buss bar.”

  “I see it. Think you can debride it?”

  “I’ll try. Cutting laser.” The robot started to hand a flashlight-sized tool to Derec, but he refused it. “Sorry. Make that the 10-milliwatt cutter.” The large laser went back into the robot’s drawers, and it offered Derec a slim, dental-probe sized tool instead. After taking a moment to don protective goggles, Derec set to work.

  “So,” Avery asked after a minute or two of silence, “where’s Ariel this morning?”

  “Up in the gym,” Derec answered without taking his eyes off his work. “Working out.” He made another tiny cut and announced, “There, that should clear it. Try to extract now.”

  “I’m extracting-no, it’s stuck on something else. Can you see what it is?”

  Derec removed his goggles and scrutinized the offending part. “Seems free to me. I can’t-ah, there it is.” He dropped his goggles, stepped back from the table, and rubbed his eyes. “Frost, we’re going to have to remove the neck retainer.”

  “All of it?” Avery sounded very disappointed.

  “That is the standard procedure. Unless you want to risk spine alignment problems.”

  Avery briefly set down the pentaclamps and put his hand on Mandelbrot’s chin. “We’ve got him pretty secure here. The head’s not going anywhere. I say we risk it.”

  Derec shrugged. “You’re the doctor. I’ll hold while you decouple.” He reached for the pentaclamps.

  “No, son,” Avery said, taking the pentaclamps himself. “I hate to admit it, but your hands are steadier than mine. You’d better do it. Toolbot? Give Derec the two-millimeter splinedriver.”

  Wordlessly, Derec took the tool and set to work. In a few minutes they managed to decouple the front neck brace, extract the damaged sections of the cube cage, and sonic-weld the replacement bus sections in place.

  They were just test-fitting a new memory cube when the first explosion rocked the ship.

  “All ‘ands!” Wolruf barked over the intercom. “We’re und’r attack!”

  Derec invoked his internal commlink and patched into the ship’s intercom. In a flash he was looking out through the ship’s main optics and talking to Wolruf on the bridge. Aranimas again?

  “‘Oo else?”

  Where is he? 1 can’t see him.

  “Dorsal port quarter. ‘Bout 25 degrees above the ecliptic.” Derec flipped through the ship’s optic feeds until he found the correct one, and then he gasped. The multi-hulled Erani pirate ship was huge-and close. Tiny pinpricks of actinic light seared his eyes as the gunners fired off another salvo.

  How’d he manage to sneak up on us like this?

  “‘U took Mandelbrot off the scanners,” Wolruf said between strained pants, “an’ limited me to manual controls. Ship’s been fightin’ me-makin’ sure ever’thin’ I entered agreed w’ th’ First Law. I was ‘avin’ enough trouble-just gettin’ ready for th’ jump.”

  The jump. How close are we to the jump point?

  “‘Bout ten minutes. Not close enough,” she barked sharply, and growled something unintelligible in her nati
ve tongue. Another blast rocked the ship.

  Can you take evasive action?

  “What do ‘u think I’m doin’, you stupid ‘airless ape!” Wolruf broke off her end of the commlink. Derec withdrew himself from the ship’s optic feed.

  “What’s going on?” Avery demanded. He was still crouched over Mandelbrot’s open chest, a sonic welder in his hands.

  “Aranimas!” Throwing aside his tools, Derec stripped off his goggles and darted toward the lift. “I’ve got to get down to the bridge!”

  Avery dropped the sonic welder into Mandelbrot’s chest and started after Derec. “Wait for me!” The lift doors hissed open; Derec dashed in and started pushing buttons. The ship shuddered under another explosion. The lights flickered for a moment, the monitor robot went crashing into the wall, and Avery was thrown off his feet. But he recovered his balance and made it into the lift an instant before the doors slid shut. The bottom dropped out of the lift car.

  Seconds later, the lift doors opened, spilling Derec and Avery onto the bridge. “Wolruf!” Derec barked.

  “I’m busy,” she growled back at him. The little alien was standing before the control panel, balanced on one foot like a Burmese dancer. Her other foot was up on the throttle lever, her thick, sausage-like fingers were flying over the fine control knobs and buttons, and her teeth were clamped on the yawl pitch joystick. Somehow, she was managing to control the ship.

  “Damage report!” Derec yelled.

  She let go of the joystick for a moment. “Th’ first ‘it took out the gym. Th’ rest ‘ave all been glancing blows.” Wolruf bit the joystick again.

  “The gym?” Derec blanched. “Where’s Ariel?”

  “Locked in the Deck 3 Personal,” Ariel’s voice came over the intercom. “I was taking a shower when the attack started. I’m okay, but I’m afraid that the trainer robot is a total loss.”

  “If we get out of this, I’ll build you another one.” Derec broke off the conversation and turned to Wolruf. “Okay, I’ll take over now.”

  Wolruf flattened her ears, let go of the joystick, and growled at Derec. “‘V a combat pilot?”