The Stygians drew closer, afoot, more distinct in the morning mist. The calibans walked behind them, like a living wall, five, six of them.
Closer and closer.
“Let’s walk out halfway,” said Genley.
“Not sure about that,” said Mannin.
Genley walked. McGee trod after him, her eyes on the calibans as much as the humans. Mannin followed. The Security fieldmen were watching them. No one had guns. None were permitted. If they were attacked, they might die here. It was Security’s task simply to escape and report the fact.
Features became clear. There were three elder men among the Stygians, three younger, and the one foremost was youngest of the lot. His long hair was gathered back at the crown; his dark beard was cut close, his leather garments clean, ornamented with strings of river‑polished stones and bone beads. He was not so tall as some. He looked scarcely twenty. He might be a herald of some kind, McGee thought to herself, but there was something–the spring‑tension way he moved, the assurance–that said that of all the six they saw, this was the one to watch out for.
Young man. About eighteen.
“Might be Jin himself,” she said beneath her breath. “Right age. Watch it with this one.”
“Quiet,” Genley said. He crouched down, let a stone slip from his clenched hand to the mud, let fall another pebble by that one.
The Stygians stopped. The calibans crouched belly to the ground behind them, excepting the biggest, which was poised well up on its four legs.
“They’re not going to listen,” McGee said. “I’d stand up, Genley. They’re not interested.”
Genley stood, a careful straightening, his Patterning‑effort abandoned. “I’m Genley,” he said to the Stygians.
“Jin,” said the youth.
“The one who gives orders on the Styx.”
“That Jin. Yes.” The youth set his hands on hips, walked carelessly off to riverward, walked back again a few paces. The calibans had all stood up. “Genley.”
“McGee,” McGee said tautly. “He’s Mannin.”
“ MaGee. Yes.” Another few paces, not looking at them, and then a look at Genley. “This place is ours.”
“We came to meet you in it,” said Genley. “To talk.”
The young man looked about him, casually curious, walking back to his companions.
This is an insult, McGee suspected without any means to be sure. He’s provoking us. But the young face never changed.
“Jin,” McGee said aloud and deliberately, and Jin looked straight at her, his face hard. “You want something?” McGee asked.
“I have it,” Jin said, and ignored her to look at Genley and Mannin. “You want to talk. You have more questions. Ask.”
No, McGee thought, sensing that civility was the wrong tack to take with this youth. “Not interested,” she said. “Genley, Mannin. Come on.”
The others did not move. “We’ll talk,” Genley said.
McGee walked off, back to the camp. It was all she had left herself to do.
She did not look back. But Genley was hard on her heels before she had gotten to the tent.
“McGee!”
She looked about, at anger congested in Genley’s face. At anger in Mannin’s.
“He walked off, did he?” she asked.
xvi
189 CR, day 27
Main Base, the Director’s office
She expected the summons, stood there weary and dirty as she was, hands folded. She had come back to Base with three of the security personnel. She had not slept. She wanted a chair.
There was no offer. The Director stared at her hard‑eyed from behind his desk. “Botched contact,” he said. “What was it, McGee, sabotage? Could you carry it that far?”
“No, sir. I did the right thing.”
“Sit down.”
She pulled the chair over, sank down and caught her breath.
“Well?”
“He was laughing at us. At Genley. He was provoking Genley and Genley was blind to all of it. He was getting points off us.”
“The sound tape doesn’t show it. It shows rather that he knows you.”
“Maybe he does. Rumors doubtless travel.”
“And you picked this up too, of course.”
“Absolutely.”
“You lowered Genley’s credibility.”
“Genley didn’t need help in that. This Jin is dangerous.”
“Might there be some bias, McGee?”
“No. Not on my side.”
There was silence. The Director sat glaring, twisting a stylus in his hands. Behind him was the window, the concrete buildings of the Base. Safety behind the wire. Beneath them detectors protected the underground, listened for undermining. Man on Gehenna had learned.
“You’ve created a situation,” the Director said.
“In my professional judgement, sir, it had to be done. If the Styx doesn’t respect us–”
“Do you think respect has to matter, one way or another? We’re not in this for points, McGee, or personal pride.”
“I know we’ve got a mission out there on the Styx with their lives riding on that respect. I think maybe I made them doubt their calculations about us. I hope it’s good enough to keep Genley alive out there.”
“You keep assuming hostility exists.”
“Based on what the Cloudsiders think.”
“On a ten year old girl’s opinion.”
“This Jin–every move he made was a provocation. That Caliban of his, the way it was set, everything was aggression.”
“Theories, McGee.”
“I’d like to renew the Cloudside contact. Pursue it for all it’s worth.”
“The same way you turned your back on the Styxsiders?”
“It’s the same gesture, yes, sir.”
“What about your concern for the Styxside mission? Aren’t you afraid that would precipitate some trouble?”
“If Genley’s right, it won’t. If I’m right, it would send a wrong signal not to. Not doing it might signal that we’re weak. And that could equally well endanger Genley.”
“You seriously think these Styxsiders could look at this Base and think we’re without resources.”
“This base has fallen before. Despite all its resources. I think it could be a very reasonable conclusion on their part. But I wouldn’t venture to say just what they think. Their minds are at an angle to ours. And there’s the possibility that we’re not dealing just with human instinct.”
“Calibans again.”
“The Gehennans take them seriously, however the matter seems to us. I think we have to bear that in mind. The Gehennans think the Calibans have an opinion. That’s one thing I’m tolerably sure of.”
“Your proposal?”
“What I said. To take all our avenues.”
The Director frowned, leaned forward and pushed a button on the recorder.
xvii
Report from field: R. Genley
The Stygians remain, watching us as we watch them. Today there was at least a minor breakthrough: one of the Stygians approached our shelter and looked us over quite openly. When we came toward him he walked off at a leisurely pace. We reciprocated and were ignored.
xviii
Styxside
“Sit,” said Jin; and Genley did so, carefully, in the firelit circle. They took the chance, he and Mannin together–a wild chance, when one of the young Stygians had come a second time to beckon them. They walked alone into the camp, among the calibans, unarmed, and there was the waft of alcohol about the place. There were cups passed. Quickly one came their way as they settled by the fire.
Genley drank first, trying not to taste it. It was something like beer, but it numbed the mouth. He passed the wooden cup on to Mannin and looked up at Jin.
“Good,” said Jin–a figure that belonged in firelight, a figure out of human past, leather‑clad, his young face sweating in the light and smoke, his eyes shining with small firesparks. “Good. Genley. Mannin.”