Dead. No living plants but pale, desiccated fiber materialized before him, strands ripped loose, blowing in the wind, a ghostly forest of dead trunks. He touched the blowing strands, drew his av-tlen to probe the trunk closest, to try whether there might be life and moisture at the core.
And suddenly he received something from the dus, warning-sense, which slammed panic into him.
He moved, ran, the beast loping along with him. He cursed himself for the most basic of errors; Think with the land, the mri had tried to teach him; Use it; flow with it; be it. He had found a point in the blankness. He had been nowhere until he had found a point, the rocks, the stand of dead plants. He was nowhere and could not be located until he made himself somewhere.
And childlike, he had gone from point to point. The dus was no protection; it betrayed him.
Think with the land, Niun had said. Never challenge beyond your capacity; one does not challenge the jo in hiding or the bur-rower in waiting.
Or a mri in his own land.
He stopped, faced about, blind in the dust, the shortsword clenched in his fist. Cowardice reminded him he was tsi'mri, counseled to take up the gun and be ready with it. He came to save mri lives; it was the worst selfishness to die, rather than to break kel-law.
Niun would.
He sucked down mouthfuls of air and scanned the area around about, with only a scatter of the great plants visible through the dust. The dus hovered close, rumbling warnings. He willed it silent, flexed his fingers on the hilt.
The dus shied off from the left; he faced that way, heart pounding as the slim shadow of a kel'en materialized out of the wind.
"What tribe?" that one shouted.
"The ja'anom," he shouted back, his voice breaking with hoarseness. He stilled the dus with a touch of his hand; and in utter hubris; "You are in the range of the ja'anom. Why?”
There was a moment's silence. The dus backed, rumbling threat.
"I am Rhian sTafa Mar-Eddin, kel'anth and daithon of the hao'nath. And your geography is at fault.”
His own name was called for. They proceeded toward challenge by the appointed steps. It was nightmare, a game of rules and precise ritual. He took a steadying breath and returned his av-tlen to its sheath with his best flourish, emptying his hands. He kept them at his sides, not in his belt, as Bhian had his. He wanted no fight
"Evidently the fault is mine," he said. "Your permission to go, kel'anth.”
"You give me no name. You have no face. What is that by you?”
"Come with me," Duncan said, trying the most desperate course. "Ask of my she'pan.”
"Ships have come. There was fire over the city.”
"Ask of my she'pan.”
"Who are you?”
The dus roared and rushed; pain hit his arm even as he saw the mri flung aside. "No!" Duncan shouted as the dus spun again to strike. The dus did not; the mri did not move; Duncan reached to the numb place on his arm and felt the hot seep of moisture.
Two heartbeats and it had happened. He trembled, blank for the instant, knowing what had hit, the palm-blades, the as-ei, worn in the belt. The dus's attack, the mri's reflex both too quick to unravel; dusei read intent.
He shuddered, staggered to the dus and found the other blade, imbedded in the shoulder… fatal to a man, no serious thing to the dus's thick muscle. He was shaking all over… shock, he thought; he had to move. It was a kel'anth who lay there, a whole Kel hereabouts…
He leaned above the prostrate form, still shaking, put out a hand to probe for life, bis right one tucked to him. Life there was; but the kel'en had dus venom in him, and sand already covered the edges of his robes. Duncan gasped breath on his own, started away cursed and shook his head and came back, seized the robes and tugged and struggled the inert form to the stand of pipe, left him sitting there.
"Dus," he called hoarsely, turned, veered off into the wind again, running, the dus moving with lumbering haste at his side.
They would follow; he believed that beyond question. Blood feud if the kel'anth died and someone to tell the tale of him if he did not. He coughed and kept running, sucked in dust with the air despite the veils, slowing when he could no longer keep from doubling with pain. Dus-sense prickled about him, either the animal's alarm or its sense of a new enemy. He held his injured arm to him, running a little, walking when he could not run, making what speed he could. Two mistakes on his own; the dus had accounted for the third.
"Storm is diminishing," the voice from Flower reported. "No chance yet to assess conditions outside.”
"Don't," Koch said, passed a hand reflexively over the stubble on his head. "Don't risk personnel, in any limited visibility.”
"We have our own operations to pursue." Flower's exec was Emil Luiz, chief surgeon, civ and doggedly so. "We know our limitations. We have measurements to take.”
"We copy," Koch muttered. The civs were indeed under his command, but they were trouble and doubly so since they were the potential link to the SurTac. "We are dispatching Santiago to a survey pattern. We wish you to observe unusual cautions for the duration. Please do not disperse crew or scientific personnel on outside research. Keep everyone within easy jump of the ship, and no key personnel out of reach of stations. This is a serious matter, Dr. Luiz. We fully sympathize with your need to gather information, but we do not wish to have to abandon personnel onworld in case of trouble. Understood?”
"We will not disperse personnel outside during your operation. We copy very clearly.”
"Your estimation of mission survival down there?”
There was long silence. "Obviously natives survive such storms.
"Unsheltered?”
"We don't know where he is, do we?”
Koch tapped his stylus nervously against the desk. "Code twelve," he cautioned the civ; they used scramble as standard procedure, but there was a nakedness, sending information back and forth after this fashion. He misliked it entirely.
"We suggest further patience," Luiz said. "Anything will have been dekyed in this storm.”
"We copy," Koch said.
"We request an answer," Luiz said. "Flower staff recommends further patience.”
"Recommendation noted, sir.”
"Admiral, we request you take official note of that recommendation. We ask you cease flights down there. These are clearly reconnaissance and they're provocative. Our personal safety is at stake and so are our hopes of peaceful contact. You may trigger something, and we are in the middle. Please discontinue any military operations down here. Do you copy that, sir?”
Koch's heart was speeding. He held his silence a moment, reached and coded a number onto his desk console. The answer flashed back to his screen, negative.
"We will look into the matter," Koch said. "Please code twelve that and wait shuttled reply.”
Now there was silence for a few beats on the other end.
"We copy," Luiz said.
"Any other message, Flower? We're moving out of your range. Santiago should be in position soon to serve as relay and cover. Ending transmission.”
"We copy. Ending transmission.”
The artificial voices and crawl of transcription across the second screen ceased. Koch wiped sweat from his upper lip and punched in Silverman of Santiago. The insystem fighter was in link at the moment, riding attached to Saber's flank as she had ridden into the system. "Commander, Koch here. Report personally, soonest”
He received immediate acknowledgment. With matters as they were, key personnel kept communicators on their persons constantly.
He punched up security next, Del Degas. The man was in the next office and available, there as soon as four doors could open.
"Sir.”
"Someone's overflying Flower's scan down there. Who?”
Degas's thin face went tauter still. "We have no missions downworld right now.”
"I know that. What about our allies?”
Til find out what I can.”
"Del if they're regul… theoretically younglings can't take that kind of initiative. If someone's data is wrong on that point, if Shirug can function in their hands that's a problem. Theoretically those shuttles the agreement allows them aren't armed.”
"Like ours," Degas said softly.
"Want Santiago out there where she has a view, Del; scan operations have to be subordinated to that for the time being. They won't let us inside; we do what we can.”
Regul could not lie; that was the general belief. Their indelible memories made lying a danger to their sanity. So the scientists said.
Likewise regul were legalists. To deal with them it was necessary to consider every word of every oral agreement, and to reckon all the possible omissions and interpretations. Regul memory was adequate for that kind of labyrinthine reckoning. Human memory was not.