The Integral Trees

Minya said nothing-her triad leader spoke for her-but she felt a fierce joy. Right now there was nothing she needed more than a fight.

Denisse dropped back from her next survey. Her voice was deadly calm. "Intruders. We have intruders, three hundred meters in and a hundred to port, moving outward. At least six."

"Let's go slow," Thanya said suddenly. "I'd like to question one. We don't know what they want here."

"Do we care? What they want isn't theirs."

Thanya gri

They worked their way along the bark. Presently Denisse poked her head up, dropped back. "Intruders have reached the Checker's Hand."

Clearing the trunk of parasites was one of the Triune Squad's duties. Fan fungi were dangerous to the tree and edible besides; but one large and perfect fan had special privileges. Found twenty-odd years ago, it had been left to grow even larger. Minya had only heard of the squad's unusual pet. She eased her head above the bark. They were there: men, women, looking entirely human. "More than six. Eight, nine, dressed like dirty civilians. Sooty red clothes, no pockets…they're chopping at the stand. They're killing it, the Checker's Hand—"

Smitta screamed and launched herself across the bark.

No help for it now. Sal cried, "Go for Gold!" and the Triune Squad leapt toward the intruders

The fan fungus reached out from the trunk like a tremendous hand, white with red nails. Its stalk, disproportionately narrow and fragilelooking from a distance, was still thicker than Gavving's torso. He set to chopping at it with his dagger. Jiovan worked the other side.

"We'll get it down the trunk," Jiovan puffed, "but how will we ever get it through the tuft to the Commons?"

"Maybe we don't," said Clave. "Bring the tribe to the fungus. Let them carve off pieces to suit themselves."

"Tear the fringe off first," Merril said.

The Grad objected. "The Scientist will want some of the red part."

"And try it on who? Oh, all right, save some fringe for the Scientist. Not a lot, though."

The stalk was tough. They'd made some progress, but Gavving's arms were used up. He backed away, and Clave took over. Gavving watched the cut deepen.

Maybe they'd weakened it enough?

He pounded a stake into the bark and tethered his. line to it. Then he leapt at the fungus with the full strength of his legs.

The great hand bent to his weight, then sprang back, flipping him playfully into the sky. Floundering, gathering in his line, he saw what the others had missed through being too close to the trunk.

"Fire!"

"What? Where?"

"Outward, half a klomter, maybe. Doesn't look big." The sun was behind the out tuft, leaving the trunk somewhat shadowed, he could see an orange glow within a cloud of smoke.

A flicker at the corner of his eye. He pulled hard at the line before his forebrain had registered anything at all…and a miniature harpoon zipped past his hip.

He yelled, "Treefodder!" Not specific enough. "Harpoons!"

Jiovan was stumbling, indecisive; a sharp point showed behind his shoulder blade. Clave was slapping shoulders and buttocks to send his citizens to cover. Something sailed past at a distance: a woman, a burly red-haired woman garbed in purple, with pockets clustered from breasts to hips, giving her a look of lumpy pregnancy. She flew loose through the sky while she pulled something apart with both hands. Something that glittered, a line of light.

Their eyes met, and Gavving knew it was a weapon even before she let it snap shut. He clutched the bark and rolled. Something came as a tiny blur, thudded into the bark alongside his spine: a mini-harpoon with gray and yellow flasher feathers at the butt end. He rolled again to put the fan fungus between them.

Clave was nowhere in sight. Purple-clad enemies sailed along the wall of bark, yelling gibberish and throwing death. The red-haired woman had a harpoon through her leg. She tore it loose, cast it away, and sought a target. She picked the easiest: Jiovan, who wasn't even trying to seek cover. He took a second mini-harpoon through his chest.

They were using jet pods. A lean purple-clad man spotted Gavving; he pulled his weapon apart and a string snapped. He screamed in rage and opened a jet pod to hurl him down at Gavving. His other hand waved a meter's-length of knife.

Gavving leapt out of his way, drew his knife, yanked at the line to pull himself back. The man smacked into the bark. Gavving was on his back before he could recover. He slashed at the man's throat. Inhumanly strong fingers sank into his arm like a swordbird's teeth. Gavving shifted his own grip and jabbed his knife into the man's side. Hurry!

The grip relaxed.

The tree shuddered.

Gavving didn't notice at once. He was shuddering with reaction. He saw the great wall of bark shuddering too, decided it was the least of his problems, and looked for enemies.

The red-haired woman was coasting treeward not far out, ignoring the blood spreading across her pants; her eye was on the shuddering tree. Out of range? Gavving tried a harpoon cast and instantly dived behind the great fan.

Not necessary. He'd skewered her. She stared at him, horrified, and died.

Purple-clad enemies screamed to each other, voices drowned by a rising background roar. Jiovan was dead with two feathered shafts in him. Ji

Gavving reeled in his harpoon. The dead woman came with it, her arms and legs jerking. A wave of nausea clawed at his throat. He worked his harpoon loose, and was minded to examine the peculiar gleaming weapon still clutched in the woman's hand. He wasn't given time.

The tree shuddered again. The bass background roar continued, a sound like worlds ripping apart. Bark slid past Gavving; the red-haired corpse tumbled, falling. He was scrambling for a foothold when someone came at him from the side.

Dark hair, lovely pale heart-shaped face-purple clothing. Gavving thrust a harpoon at her eyes.

"The fire!" Thanya screamed. "It'll block us from the tuft! We've got to get past it!" She blew jet pods and was skimming outward across the bark.

Minya heard, but she didn't pause. Smitta was dead, and Sal was dead, and a single invader boy had killed them both. Minya stalked him.

The boy wore scarlet clothing, citizen's garb; his blond hair curled tightly as a skullcap; his beard was barely visible. His face was set in a rictus of fear or killing-rage. He thrust at her, threw himself back from her sword's counterthrust, lost his toe-grip on the bark. For an instant Minya was minded to go after him. Pierce him, kill him for the honor of Sal's triad, then go!

There wasn't time. Thanya was right. The fire could block them all, maroon them away from Dalton-Qui

Sal's corpse floated free, her dead hand clutching the tribal treasure. Behind Minya the blond youth gripped bark to set himself and hurled his hand-arrow. Minya kicked to alter her course and watched the weapon whisper past her. She turned back as a shape popped up directly in front of her.

The shape was wrong, not human. It froze her for an instant. Minya hadn't quite grasped what was happening when a fist exploded in her face.

Gavving had ignored the yells from the purple-clad women. Now two were fleeing, firing jet pods to carry them outward along the trunk.