Farfetch

For a moment it seemed obvious that Jindigar's fear of dissolution/death would be triggered by Desdinda's attack on her. But the insight faded, leaving her puzzled but deeply touched, vowing silently to rid herself of the demon for his sake, if not her own. Even if there's no such thing as dissolution/death. Yet, to her, all death had always been dissolution. Now, amid the echoing residue of the night's experience, she couldn't think of it that way anymore.

Life–pervades.

The rising sun had crowned the waterfall with morning rainbows, and the camp fire was dead. Suddenly there was a splash in the pond, and Imp scrambled out of the water with a fish in his mouth. He swarmed up Jindigar's pant leg, presenting the wriggling creature. Jindigar rose with the dripping piol under one arm, the whule in his other hand. "He says it's time for breakfast!"

"I'm starved!" she agreed, unsurprised and unfooled by his swift change of mood.

When they arrived back at the camp, they found everyone gathered around the main camp fire inside the ring of sleds. The moment he saw them, Shorwh leapt up from where he was helping Frey gut fish and ran to Krinata. "They let me cast three votes, one for me and one for each of my brothers. And I voted to do what Jindigar wants, and we won!"

Everyone looked to Jindigar. "In that case, we'll forage, gathering supplies, so you can all learn what's good to eat and what's dangerous. Day after tomorrow—"

At that moment the sky lit with a flash that eclipsed the rising sun, and Jindigar yelled, "Down! Take cover!"

The piols screamed, and everyone dived under the cliff. Long moments later, the thunderous roar reached them. Pebbles rattled loose and showered down on them, but their cliff held while something ominous blotted out the sunshine.

When it was over, Jindigar stood and dusted himself off. "Ephemeral Truth has been destroyed—"

FIVE

Hive Massacre

Two days they foraged and learned the idiosyncrasies of the ecology while casting anxious glances at the sky. But it was time well invested, for during the next seven days of hard marching to the end of the river canyon, they barely disturbed the ecology as they passed. Once, Jindigar remarked wistfully that an Oliat might have convinced the local hives to eradicate all trace of their passage.

Jindigar and Frey quested for signs of the Squadron during rest breaks, sure that searchers expected the blowing of their ship to flush them out. As Jindigar explained, "I think they're searching the trail we would have taken logically. But we're cutting a circle, treading respectfully among the interlaced network of hives. If we move swiftly, we'll stay ahead of them until they conclude we've all died."

"But if they pick up our trail—" started Irnils.

"Once they're on the ground, the hives will probably convince them we could not have survived," answered Jindigar.

Despite the time he spent isolated with Frey within the duad, Jindigar found time to begin language lessons for the young Cassrians, encouraging Shorwh to help train their voices and leaving Krinata to referee the inevitable squabbles. She didn't mind. The children refreshed Jindigar so much, and they kept her mind off the ominous nightmares.

Nightly, now, she was having repeating dreams. Usually it started with Jindigar playing the whule near the little waterfall, then, lulled, she'd drift into becoming Desdinda, believing she was the only sane one left able to protect all Dushau by destroying Jindigar and the Archive he'd sullied. But she'd fail and fall into a ruined Archive with scenes of bombed and burned-out cities, cindered worlds, drifting hulks of dead spaceships, scenes from their flight across the galaxy reeling before her eyes as if the pristine beauty recorded in the Archive had been blasted to rubble. If she fought out of that horror, she'd fall back in a terrifying swoop until she was Center of an Oliat, with Jindigar as an Officer, and treacherously he'd turn on her, ripping away her power of decision, rendering her helpless.

Sometimes she woke, fist to her mouth, stifling a scream, then lay awake dredging the evaporating dream for any clue of how it symbolized Desdinda's hold on her.

They emerged from the valley over a series of rolling hills. Where the river turned west to cut deep canyons with foaming rapids, they filled every container with water, then angled to the southeast.

The duad identified many medicinal herbs, but all too often Jindigar would shake his head, admitting the limits of-a mere duad. Once, Terab became ill on a root-and-leaf soup she'd improvised, and Jindigar halted the column for the day, saying, "This is my fault. I should have noticed that combination would prove to be a strong laxative."

They used the day to forage. Eggs were plentiful, but Jindigar instructed, 'Take only unfertilized or abandoned eggs, or a few from large clutches."

Gibson scoffed, "Dushau may be evolved scavengers, but humans ain't. There's nothing wrong with taking what we can find. It's not like we're overpopulating this world!"

That afternoon he returned to camp limping, one hand bound up in his shirt. He was swearing luridly. "Frissin snakethings near killed me!" While they were bandaging his wounds he complained to Jindigar, "Why didn't you tell me them blue wormthings were dangerous?"

"They aren't," answered the Dushau mildly, "if you don't steal their last egg of the season." Gibson had assumed Jindigar's motives were human, thought Krinata. A human might impose his morals on others, but Jindigar wouldn't. He just seemed human because he was a good Emulator.

The next day they emerged from a crease between two hills onto a russet-and-gold grassland dotted with stands of the dark green trees, liberally sprinkled with purple and white flowers. Breathtaking! I could live here! She romped up the hillside with the children and piols, gathering the purple wild flowers with exultation until Terab, climbing to the summit of the hill ahead of Krinata, found another native plaque and called Jindigar.

He summoned Frey, and together they pored over the inscriptions. Just when it seemed they couldn't decipher it, Jindigar saw the bouquet in Krinata's hands. "May I?" He took the flowers, savoring their fragrance with a blissful smile. Then, analytically, he held the flowers next to the crude carving declaring that they were of the species drawn there. "This tablet describes the surface water availability by seasons, and gives the water table depths, too. I don't know the animals, but I'll recognize them when I see them."

"It means," said Frey, "there're natives on the plain';"

Jindigar scrambled down the hillside. "Yes, their habitat has spread. It would probably be most efficient if the group camps here tomorrow while Frey and I explore."

"I'd be happier," said Terab, the ex-Captain, casting an eye upward, "if we had a less exposed position."

"Deactivated, the sleds shouldn't register on orbital sensors. Cast an irregular pattern, and I doubt even atmosphere observation would notice us," answered Jindigar.

Late the next night, in a driving downpour, Frey and

Jindigar returned with a sketch of the terrain. Gathered around a lightstick under a tarp, they all heard the bad news.

"The natives' hives are clustered near the hills, in the section just ahead of us and to our left. That's the area of the most abundant surface and ground water." Jindigar smoothed the paper and pointed with a damp finger. "Our first idea was to bear south, away from all habitation." He looked up at them. "But we found an old camp of a Squadron's ground unit. They were headed east. We could circle west and go around behind them—if there aren't any more sweeping in from the west."