Farfetch

Mentally Krinata added, Which a mere duad can't tell. Storm asked, "Which is worse, to invade the natives' territory or risk being spotted by the Squadron?"

"There might be no avoiding both," said Jindigar. "The unit was heading toward a concentration of natives' hives."

Viradel challenged, "What danger can a bunch of primitive naties be? We got stu

Krinata answered, "It's not what danger they are to us, it's what danger we, and our stu

"But we're here," said Terab heavily. "Unless we decide to commit suicide, we can't help harming the natives. We just have to do as little damage as possible, because—well, I'm glad we're here, not dead."

Viradel agreed. "We were run off Plinshet 'cause we run a open hostelry—even let in Dushau. We'd be dead now if Jindigar hadn'ta taken us into Truth." Krinata would never forget the harrowing rescue in deep space when one of the two refugee ships they'd rescued from Imperial pursuit had blown up. She'd never known she had agoraphobia until she'd lost her moorings and drifted away from the scooter, helpless.

Jindigar drew a dry blanket around himself and sat back on his haunches. "This is what we know about the natives. They live in multispecies hives in symbiosis with other hives. One of the species binds all the species in the hive into a single group mind, quick, adaptable, intelligent, sometimes centrally controlled, sometimes not.

"Outsiders attacking a native hive are made to perceive hideous distortions of reality, sufficient to scare off any local predator. But offworlders are harder hit, often experiencing a genuine, personal hell.

"Raichmat's Oliat was not so affected, we believe, because we were a group mind. Our civilian staff was severely affected, and so this world is judged uncolonizable, though a hive is not aggressive and won't bother us if we don't attack them. Frey and I believe the Imperials have attacked some hives, and the others in this region are already gathering forces against the intruders. It's only a matter of time, and they'll be forced off Phanphihy."

"Empty-handed?" asked Krinata. "No* our dead bodies are their ticket into the aristocracy of the new Emperor– or at least to the favor of a powerful Duke."

"That's a point," Terab conceded. "Perhaps we can retreat back up the valley, at least until they're convinced we're not here and move on."

"That could be a long time," objected, Frey, "and to survive the winter, we must be settled—"

"So," said Krinata, "we must convince the Squadron we're not among the hives, then go hide among the hives without getting near any of them." They could do it with a triad, if only she'd whipped Desdinda, but she'd made no progress. "Can the duad lay a false trail for the Imperials?"

"We could do that," offered Storm excitedly. "Lay a cold trail so they'd think we passed this way days ago, heading due south?"

"But it'd tell them we're alive," warned Terab.

"They'll search this plain," said Gibson, hunched over.

"We can't settle with them looking for us," warned Terab. "We must destroy them or send them home appeased. We can't destroy them. So it's got to be trickery."

Krinata spoke, tapping the map. "Suppose we cut due east from here, follow the foot of these hills, skirting the inhabited region, then, if necessary, we can cut through hive territory way beyond where the Imperials turn back." With one finger she described a lazy, swaybacked Z on the map. "Then we can come back to our course, southeast. Meanwhile Storm can backtrack up this valley and lay a cold trail leading north. Look," she pled with them, "inevitably their scouts will find trace of us. Letting them think we went the other way will gain us days."

Frey agreed but added, "It would be very slow going. The forest is thickest along this edge of the plain, and Jindigar spotted some interesting predators—"

"Yes," said Jindigar, "changing weather patterns have shifted habitats. We'd have to move with extreme care."

Ruff nudged Storm, and the Lehiroh conferred. Then Storm a

"Now wait a minute," said Gibson, and that started a debate. Jindigar and Frey left, as always uninterested in ephemeral politics. Krinata, impatient with the wrangling she knew would consume most of the night, followed the Dushau out into the rain.

They were pointing their lights at the lashings holding the sleds under a webbing of tarps, to form dry sleeping areas. She watched as they adjusted lines. Jindigar had been more at ease since the waterfall, though Frey had seemed withdrawn. Now, as he worked, Frey spoke in Dushauni, which Krinata had learned on sleep tapes. "I don't see what they're arguing about. Krinata's plan is what we'd suggest."

"They'll adopt it by morning," assured Jindigar. "But

Gibson believes himself the leader and so must convince himself it's his plan, not an aristocrat's decree."

Frey shook his head, puzzled. "You've spent so much time studying ephemerals. You really understand them?"

"No. They're more complex than Dushau because you can't tell the children from the adults. I once met one who seemed near Completion."

Frey seemed amazed but asked, "What got you interested in them? Surely you knew the dangers before you—"

"Before I met Ontarrah? No, I didn't know they could be true friends. When I was Protector of Takora's Oliat, I felt as you do. But after I'd Inverted Takora's and found how people thought of me for it, I became Raichmat's Outreach, so I had to deal with ephemerals again. They didn't know or care what an Invert was. Then I met Ontarrah." He tightened a line, grunting, "If people can be wrong about Inverts, maybe they're wrong about ephemerals too?"

"I don't see how. They don't live long enough to become friends. When they die, they just leave you a scar to impede farfetching. They may be good people but not worth that."

"Dushau die too. 'To dam love behind a barrier of fear is to prevent Completion,' or so Shoshunri used to say."

"Love?" Frey looked at his mentor.

Jindigar leaned on a sled's cargo. "Would it shock you if I said I loved Ontarrah?"

"Yes. I'd always thought they maligned you with that."

"Well, I did. But I learned from it. I'll never let that happen again, any more than I'd ever again snatch an Oliat from its Center and Invert it. Neither act Completes."

"Then Krinata doesn't really mean anything to—"

"You said she came up with the best plan. Are you going to throw it away because she's bound to die soon?"

"No, but it's nothing personal."

"Exactly."

Satisfied, Frey ducked into the dry area, and for a moment, as the flap opened, firelight danced over Jindigar's features. He stared after his prot6g6, his jaunty confidence fading swiftly. Frey was right, he's fighting a losing battle against liking me, and it terrifies him.

Long after Jindigar went inside, Krinata stood in the rain, huddled in her cloak, emotions crystallizing with understanding. She should never have followed him to the waterfall. He needed those private moments. Her job was to uproot Desdinda and free Jindigar to go his own way. As she cast herself emotionally into that future, to test it, she found a renewed joy and satisfaction. She remembered the time, as a child, when she'd found a wild bird with a broken wing. She'd mended it, and she'd loved that bird so much, she cried when it was time to loose it. But later, the keen joy of its elation in freedom had been enough.

Later, her mind replayed the overheard conversation, leaving her chasing elusive fragments of memory. Ontarrah. Jindigar had often called her that in delirium as if she were Ontarrah. Takora—another name he'd mumbled.