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"Shooting! I haven't shot in years." Alarmed, Kyle looked around in all directions. The land around them was a narrow valley surrounded by steeply rising, forested hills. It was totally deserted. Right now, it was hard to believe that anyone else could be within hundreds of miles of here.
"Aw, no need to panic," said Tim easily. "But you might want to break out one of those old rifles so we can look it over."
"Later," said Kyle. "I still want to know where we're going."
"To the northern steppes," said Tim. "You have the background material in your notes."
"I remember some of this," said Kyle. "But I have over a year's worth of notes and it's all packed up at the moment."
"I memorized the important parts," said Tim. "Listen. Several rumors tell of steppe nomads living up there. Mongol tribes, central Asian tribes . . . the crew members weren't sure. I don't think they could tell the difference. But there aren't many of them yet, and they're a long way from the CoDo authorities. I'm gambling that there's a good future to be carved out up there, over the mountains. We landed here so we could get started in private. The tribes on the steppes can be dangerous, especially if you just land abruptly."
Kyle was silent a moment. "How far is it to the steppes?"
"Nobody could tell me for sure. It'll be risky, but I have a line on a series of passes and valleys we can take. We'll have to be careful. Some of those valleys are already inhabited. I'm hoping to barter some of our Terran liquor for passage."
"And that mysterious black case of yours?"
"We'll camp early tonight. I'll have to brace the case up under the wagon somehow, out of sight. It only needs a few hours of sunlight every day to stay powered. It's a sure bet that if we meet people who want to search us, we'll have to let them."
"I think I'll take a look at those guns," said Kyle.
The trip northward was largely uneventful. The road led to occasional sources of water. At first, they relied on their stores for food during this part of the trip. Perhaps the hardest adjustment was getting used to the 87-hour day and constant cold, for two born-and-bred sons of Hawaii.
On the rare occasions when they encountered strangers, they both do
Eventually, they had to hunt out of necessity. In this endeavor, Kyle was actually a better shot, being more patient and deliberate. Before long, they had reached the first settlement, where two bottles of their best liquor and an extra rifle earned them a night's hospitality, including a di
Tim warned Kyle not to ask the origins of their hosts. Haven was a planet where most arrivals were starting over with their last chance in life and sometimes they were sensitive of strangers who pried. Still, Kyle eyed their hosts carefully. They were herders, certainly, but not of an East Asian descent. By their appearance, he surmised that they were perhaps of a Central Asian stock, of mainly Turkish ancestry. In any case, their hospitality was genuine and they sent an escort to take the brothers to their own northern border.
In like ma
Kyle had never been so cold for so long in his entire life, but Tim never said a word of complaint. Then, just as the horizon ahead began to show empty sky, they reached one final valley. Only flatland lay beyond the last, distant ridge.
As the wagon creaked patiently through the entrance to the valley, Kyle looked up ahead in surprise. Both the right and left slopes were settled, though only a few structures were actually visible on each side. The flat but fairly narrow, open valley floor spread in front of them also had one settlement he could see; a distant spot might represent another one. Kyle estimated the valley was no more than five or six kilometers across at the widest. He couldn't tell how long it was from here.
"These aren't nomads," said Kyle. "Look at this place. All those dwellings are permanent."
Tim took in the tableau at a glance. "That's right . . . but look at the differences. The western slope is built up with some wooden huts around that stone tower-hell, it looks like a little castle!"
"And the other slope is a cluster of little wooden houses nestled in the trees," said Kyle. "I see what you mean. But there's just as much stone and forest on both sides. What do you make of it?"
"You're the public policy expert," said Tim. "You tell me."
Kyle looked straight across the valley. An hour's travel ahead, he could see a small walled compound. The wall appeared to be made of stone with a smooth mortar facing. Inside, tiled roofs were visible on the buildings. A windmill stood over it.
"Well?" Tim prodded.
"Three notably different styles of architecture based on only one set of natural resources," Kyle said slowly. "I'd say they represent three distinct cultural backgrounds. From the distance between them, and the defensible nature of their architecture, they don't share a political system. On the other hand, they must have a workable coexistence, because the valley dwellings were made in part with stone from the slopes." He could also see livestock in all three areas, but they appeared to be of the same types. Both the valley and the slopes were cultivated in spots.
"What did the hillside people get from the valley?" Tim asked.
"I can't tell. Maybe free passage and the right to share-crop some fields in the valley, something like that."
"Which one should we approach?"
"Let's go straight through the valley," Kyle decided. "This road goes to that place on the valley floor."
"Does that mean they're the most important?"
"Maybe." Kyle gri
In only a few more minutes, a flashing light caught Kyle's eye. It was reflecting the sunlight and came from the stone tower on the western slope. "We should have company soon," said Kyle.
He was surprised, though, to see that the five riders who came into view departed from the valley compound. They started at a leisurely pace on two horses and three muskylopes. As the wagon plodded toward them, however, and the gap shrank to a kilometer or so, the riders spurred to a canter.
Tim prepared their own weapons. Kyle saw that the riders had only two rifles among them. The others carried lances and wore machete-like swords in their belts.
As the riders finally came close, Kyle drew the wagon to a halt and braced the stock of his rifle casually on the seat, the barrel aimed up. So did Tim. They had this down to a routine now.
To Kyle's surprise, all the riders who reined to a halt in front of them were of the same racial stock as much of Hawaii, including themselves-Cantonese, judging by their fairly short, stocky frames, round faces, and somewhat broad noses. The northern Chinese tended to be taller than this and their skintone was too light to have originated in southeast Asia. They lacked the facial hair of Japanese men.
The first rider, a young man near their age, tried two languages before saying, "Hail, strangers," in accented English.