Footfall

Pheegorun took his surrender. They don’t think like us… never mind. It flew straight. I saw it.

The medic studied Pheegorun without touching him. “I want him to lie down,” he said. “Some of you help. First, brace him while I pull the stick-blade out.”

Two soldiers held him with their mass while the doctor pulled. Pheegorun screamed at the pain. It was deep inside him, tearing its way out-it was out, held bleeding before his face. Chintithpitmang, watching horrified, felt the tearing inside when Pheegorun tried to breath.

“Good. Now brace him. Pheegorun, can you hear me? Lean to the left. You should be lying down.”

Pheegorun couldn’t make himself move. The doctor pushed, and he leaned anyway, and was lowered to his left side. His own weight was forcing his lungs shut. Exhaling was a matter of letting it happen, despite the agony, but inhaling was like lifting a mountain. The doctor said, “This will end the pain. I believe the stickblade punctured a lung. I must cut him open and sew up the wound.”

“Save him if you can,” said Chintithpit-mang.

Pheegorun was dying. He must have known it. He had to speak now or die silent. His eyes found and locked on Chintithpit-mang. “Did you see? The danger—” and he was reduced to gasping. His eyes filmed over. The doctor’s knife was cutting into him. He tried to make his mouth work.

Not loud enough. Chintithpit-mang bent his ear next to Pheegorun’s mouth. Pheegorun gathered his will, forced his rib cage to move, gathered breath like a thousand daggers, and spoke.

“Thumbs,” he said, and died.

“His village.” Chintithpit-mang screamed the demand. “Coordinates!”

Someone answered. Chintithpit-mang shouted into the communications box.

Five eights of makasrupkithp away, green lines laced down tight spirals. When they were done, Chintithpit-mang turned the prisoners.

“Who from his tribe?”

They all were. When the work was finished, Chintithpit-mar sent two captives away to tell others.

“I can guess what he was thinking. Their thumbs are more dexterous than our digits. We were the supreme tool users until we came here. We were ready for the wrong things. We guessed some of the prey’s advantages: his greater numbers, his knowledge his own territory, his grasp of an inferior technology that he ha at least built himself, with no thuktunthp for guidance.

“Pheegorun was dying, and he thought to warn me. I had heard such talk from others since. But it is wrong! What if the thumbs let them make their machines smaller? We have the thultunthp to give us more powerful tools, and they have-only then selves.”

“You violated orders,” Fookerteh remarked. “You destroyed a entire fithp—”

“I did. I did it in rage, and I did it to correct my own mistake Shape your own lessons. We have lost only two more fithp in this region,” Chintithpit-mang said. “The others bring us cattle an milk.”

“Have you done it since?”

“No. Not yet. But it changes me, this war. I need the wisdom of the females. I need my mate.”

36. TREASON

A light drizzling rain kept them zippered and sweating in their waterproofs. Today wasn’t bad. They had huddled through days of rain-laden gales that would have blown Harry’s motorcycle off the road.

The sign read BELLINGHAM city LIMITS. The freeway off-ramp led to what had once been a main road. Now it hardly looked used. They drove past closed service stations, closed motels, a closed Black Angus restaurant. One gas station was open, but there was a sign: NO GAS. NO SERVICES. I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M OPEN EITHER. WANT TEA?

Most of the houses were boarded up.

“Bellingham has an unfriendly look,” Roger shouted in his ear. It seemed to make him happy.

Where the hell was that turnoff? The map showed the main road forked, with one fork going off west around Western Washington University and down to the harbor-there it was. Harry took the other branch. It curved east and went under the freeway, past a shopping center that didn’t look completely closed. After that there were only houses.

The Enclave wasn’t easy to find. It lay at the end of a winding road, and it didn’t look much like the place that had once been described to Harry. It seemed too small, and the te

Harry drove slowly past, unsure. There was a small woods at the end from there they had a view of the area in front of the garage.

“John Fox! He’s there!” Roger shouted.—

“Fox? Oh, yeah, I remember him. Never met him,” Harry sal “How do you know?”

“How many pickup trucks have a California personalized license plate that reads ECOFREAK?”

“Oh. That one.” Harry turned the motorcycle around. “So now what?”

“We go in. Before, I just wanted a shower. Now I know I want to meet your friends.”

“Okay.” Harry stopped at the gate. The gong wasn’t as lot as he’d thought it would be.

Jack McCauley’s round face had picked up angles and a closely clipped black beard. Men wore beards these days, all across the country. His shoulders and arms had gained muscle mass; they strained his old shirt. “I’m telling you up front, we’ve got the room,” he said, “but drive on in. George’ll be glad to see you Harry. But what in hell is a newsman doing here?”—

Roger smiled lightly. “We’re pla

McCauley eyed Roger closely. “Yeah. Sure. Well, come on in but there’s no story here.”

The house and grounds looked like a construction site, Hart thought. They put the bike next to Fox’s truck. Roger looked it and nodded in satisfaction.

They found George Tate-Evans working on the greenhouse Harry wasn’t surprised to see that George was clean-shaven. H would be. George drove in a nail, straightened, stared at Harry and whistled. “It’s really Hairy Red.” He smiled warmly. “Dam all, Harry, you’re not as clean as you used to be, but somehow you look a lot better. How’s the back?”

“Wonderful. I haven’t had to see a lawyer in months. Mee Roger Brooks, with the Washington Post. We’ve both come out of Kansas.”

“Kansas. Harry, I expect everybody would like to hear some stories about Kansas. You’ve come all the way from Washington?

“Naw, from Colorado Springs,” Harry said.

“Colorado Springs,” George said carefully. “Yes, Harry, I guess you better come to di

“We have tents—”

“Look around you. The only place you could put a tent would be in the driveway.”

— “We’ll think of something,” Harry said. He gri

It didn’t surprise Roger Brooks that there was plenty of water, because there was water everywhere, too damned much water.

This was different. He showered in warm water; not as much as Roger wanted, because the pipes in the rooftop heat collector didn’t hold that much, but more than Roger had enjoyed for a long time.

I better enjoy it. I’ll pay for it. It had been a long trip. I chose the right guide. We got here. But now Harry will tell his war stories again…