Gorged to repletion, she started back to pick up the now loudly complaining Shrick. He had been playing with the spear and had cut himself on the sharp point. But it was the spear that Weena snatched, swinging swiftly to defend herself and her child. For a voice said, understandable, but with an oddly slurred intonation, “Who are you? What are you doing in our country?”
It was one of the People, a male. He was unarmed, otherwise it is certain that he would never have asked questions. Even so, Weena knew that the slightest relaxation of vigilance on her part would bring a savage, tooth-and-nail attack.
She tightened her grasp on the spear, swung it so that its point was directed at the stranger.
“I am Weena,” she said, “of the Tribe of Sterret.”
“Of the Tribe of Sterret? But the Tribe of Sessa holds the ways between our countries.”
“I came Inside. But who are you?”
“Tekka. I am one of Skarro’s people. You are a spy.”
“So I brought my child with me.”
Tekka was looking at Shrick.
“I see,” he said at last. “A Different One. But how did you get through Sessa’s country?”
“I didn’t. I came Inside.”
It was obvious that Tekka refused to believe her story.
“You must come with me,” he said, “to Skarro. He will judge.”
“And if I come?”
“For the Different One, death. For you, I do not know. But we have too many females in our Tribe already.”
“This says that I will not come.” Weena brandished her spear.
She would not have defied a male of her own tribe thus — but this Tekka was not of her people. And she had always been brought up to believe that even a female of the Tribe of Sterret was superior to a male — even a chief — of any alien community.
“The Giants will find you here.” Tekka’s voice showed an elaborate unconcern. Then — “That is a fine spear.”
“Yes. It belonged to Sterret. With it I wounded my mate. Perhaps he is dead.”
The male looked at her with a new respect. If her story were true — this was a female to be handled with caution. Besides—
“Would you give it to me?”
“Yes.” Weena laughed nastily. There was no mistaking her meaning.
“Not that way. Listen. Not long ago, in our Tribe, many mothers, two whole hands of mothers with Different Ones, defied the Judge of the Newborn. They fled along the tunnels, and live outside the Place-of-Little-Lights. Skarro has not yet led a war party against them. Why, I do not know, but there is always a Giant in that place. It may be that Skarro fears that a fight behind the Barrier would warn the Giants of our presence—”
“And you will lead me there?”
“Yes. In return for the spear.”
Weena was silent for the space of several heartbeats. As long as Tekka preceded her she would be safe. It never occurred to her that she could let the other fulfill his part of the bargain, and then refuse him his payment. Her people were a very primitive race.
“I will come with you,” she said.
“It is well.”
Tekka’s eyes dwelt long and lovingly upon the fine spear. Skarro would not be chief much longer.
“First,” he said, “we must pull what you have left of the good-to-eat-ball into our tunnel. Then I must shut the door lest a Giant should come—”
Together they hacked and tore the sphere to pieces. There was a doorway at the rear of one of the little compartments, now empty. Through this they pushed and pulled their fragrant burden. First Weena went into the tunnel, carrying Shrick and the spear, then Tekka. He pushed the round door into place, where it fitted with no sign that the Barrier had been broken. He pushed home two crude locking bars.
“Follow me,” he ordered the mother.
The long journey through the caves and tunnels was heaven after the Inside. Here there was no light — or, at worst, only a feeble glimmer from small holes and cracks in the Barrier. It seemed that Tekka was leading her along the least frequented ways and tunnels of Skarro’s country, for they met none of his people. Nevertheless, Weena’s perceptions told her that she was in densely populated territory. From all around her beat the warm, comforting waves of the routine, humdrum life of the People. She knew that in snug caves males, females and children were living in cozy intimacy. Briefly, she regretted having thrown away all this for the ugly, hairless bundle in her arms. But she could never return to her own Tribe, and should she wish to throw in her lot with this alien community the alternatives would be death or slavery.
“Careful!” hissed Tekka. “We are approaching Their country.”
“You will—?”
“Not me. They will kill me. Just keep straight along this tunnel and you will find them. Now, give me the spear.”
“But—”
“You are safe. There is your pass.” He lightly patted the uneasy, squirming Shrick. “Give me the spear, and I will go.”
Reluctantly, Weena handed over the weapon. Without a word Tekka took it. Then he was gone. Briefly the mother saw him in the dim light that, in this part of the tunnel, filtered through the Barrier — a dim, gray figure rapidly losing itself in the dim grayness. She felt very lost and lonely and frightened. But the die was cast. Slowly, cautiously, she began to creep along the tunnel.
When They found her she screamed. For many heartbeats she had sensed their hateful presence, had felt that beings even more alien than the Giants were closing in on her. Once or twice she called, crying that she came in peace, that she was the mother of a Different One. But not even echo answered her, for the soft, spongy tunnel walls deadened the shrill sound of her voice. And the silence that was not silence was, if that were possible, more menacing than before.
Without warning the stealthy terror struck. Weena fought with the courage of desperation, but she was overcome by sheer weight of numbers. Shrick, protesting feebly, was torn from her frantic grasp. Hands — and surely there were far too many hands for the number of her assailants — pinned her arms to her sides, held her ankles in a vicelike grip. No longer able to struggle, she looked at her captors. Then she screamed again. Mercifully, the dim light spared her the full horror of their appearance, but what she saw would have been enough to haunt her dreams to her dying day had she escaped.
Softly, almost caressingly, the hateful hands ran over her body with disgusting intimacy.
Then— “She is a Different One.”
She allowed herself to hope.
“And the child?”
“Two-Tails has newborn. She can nurse him.”
And as the sharp blade found her throat Weena had time to regret most bitterly ever having left her snug, familiar world. It was not so much the forfeit of her own life — that she had sacrificed when she defied Sterret — it was the knowledge that Shrick, instead of meeting a clean death at the hands of his own people, would live out his life among these unclean monstrosities.
Then there was a sharp pain and a feeling of utter helplessness as the tide of her life swiftly ebbed — and the darkness that Weena had loved so well closed about her for evermore.
No-Fur — who, at his birth, had been named Shrick — fidgetted impatiently at his post midway along what was known to his people as Skarro’s Tunnel. It was time that Long-Nose came to relieve him. Many heartbeats had passed since he had heard the sounds on the other side of the Barrier proclaiming that the Giant in the Place-of-Little-Lights had been replaced by another of his kind. It was a mystery what the Giants did there — but the New People had come to recognize a strange regularity in the actions of the monstrous beings, and to regulate their time accordingly.