She shook her head. “Why would anybody? It’s obviously crazy! Those watch globes …”
“Yeah,” Fiben said contemplatively. “I was just wondering how many of ’em it took to line a fence around the whole city. Ten thousand? Twenty? Thirty?”
He was remembering the guardian drones that had lined the much smaller and much more sensitive perimeter around the former Tymbrimi Embassy, that day when the chancery building exploded and Fiben had had his lesson in ET humor. Those devices had turned out to be pretty unimpressive compared with “Rover,” or the typical battle robot the Gubru Talon Soldiers took into battle.
I wonder about these, he thought, and took another step forward.
“Fiben!” Sylvie sounded close to panic. “Let’s try the gate. We can tell the guards … we can tell them we were robbed. We were hicks from the farms, visiting town, and somebody stole our clothes and ID cards. If we act dumb enough, maybe they’ll just let us through!”
Yeah, sure. Fiben stepped closer still. Now he stood no more than half a dozen meters from the barrier. He saw that it comprised a series of narrow slats connected by wire at the top and bottom. He had chosen a point between two of the glowing globes, as far from each as possible. Still, as he approached he felt a powerful sensation that they were watching him.
The certainty filled Fiben with resignation. By now, of course, Gubru soldiery were on their way here. They would arrive any minute now. His best course was to turn around. To run. Now!
He glanced back at Sylvie. She stood where he had left her. It was easy to tell that she would rather be almost anywhere else in the world than here. He wasn’t at all sure why she had remained.
Fiben grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. His pulse was fast and thready and his mouth felt dry as sand. Trembling, he made an effort of will and took another step toward the fence.
An almost palpable dread seemed to close in all around him, as he had felt when he heard poor Simon Levin’s death wail, during that useless, futile battle out in space. He felt a dark foreboding of imminent doom. Mortality pressed in — a sense of the futility of life.
Fiben turned around, slowly, to look at Sylvie.
He grinned.
“Cheap chickenshit birds!” he grunted. “They aren’t watch globes at all! They’re stupid psi radiatorsl”
Sylvie blinked. Her mouth opened. Closed. “Are you sure?” she asked unbelievingly.
“Come on out and see,” he urged. “Right there you’ll suddenly be sure you’re being watched. Then you’ll think every Talon Soldier in space is coming after you!”
Sylvie swallowed. She clenched her fists and moved out onto the empty strip. Step by step, Fiben watched her. He had to give Sylvie credit. A lesser chimmie would have cut and run, screaming, long before she reached his position.
Beads of perspiration popped out on her brow, joining the intermittent raindrops.
Part of him, distant from the adrenaline roar, appreciated her naked form. It helped to distract his mind. So, she really has nursed. The faint stretch marks of childbearing and lactation were often faked by some dummies, in order to make themselves look more attractive, but in this case it was clear that Sylvie had borne a child. I wonder what her story is.
When she stood next to him, eyes closed tightly, she whispered. “What… what’s happening to me right now?”
Fiben listened to his own feelings. He thought of Gailet and her long mourning for her friend and protector, the giant chim Max. He thought of the chims he had seen blown apart by the enemy’s overpowering weaponry.
He remembered Simon.
“You feel like your best friend in all the world just died,” he told her gently, and took her hand. Her answering grip was hard, but across her face there swept a look of relief.
“Psi emitters. That’s… that’s all?” She opened her eyes. “Why… why those cheap, chickenshit birds!”
Fiben guffawed. Sylvie slowly smiled. With her free hand she covered her mouth.
They laughed, standing there in the rain in the midst of a riverbed of sorrow. They laughed, and when their tears finally slowed they walked together the rest of the way to the fence, still holding hands.
“Now when I say push, push!”
“I’m ready, Fiben.” Sylvie crouched beneath him, feet set, shoulder braced against one of the tall slats, arms gripping the part of the wall next to it.
Standing over her, Fiben took a similar stance and planted his feet in the mud. He took several deep breaths.
“Okay, push!”
Together they heaved. The slats were already a few centimeters apart. As he and Sylvie strained, he could feel the space begin to widen. Evolution is never wasted, Fiben thought as he heaved with all his might.
A million years ago humans were going through all the pangs of self-uplift, evolving what the Galactics said could only be given — sapiency — the ability to think and to covet the stars.
Meanwhile, though, Fiben’s ancestors had not been idle. We were getting strong! Fiben concentrated on that thought while sweat popped out on his brow and the plastisheath slats groaned. He grunted and could feel Sylvie’s own desperate struggle as her back quivered against his leg.
“Ah!” Sylvie lost her footing in the mud and her legs flew out, throwing her backward hard. Recoil spun Fiben about, and the springy slats bounced back, tossing him on top of her.
For a minute or two they just lay there, breathing in shuddering gasps. Finally though, Sylvie spoke.
“Please, honey… not tonight. I gotta headache.”
Fiben laughed. He rolled off of her and onto his back, coughing. They needed humor. It was their best defense against the constant hammering of the psi globes. Panic was -incipient, ever creeping on the verge of their minds. Laughter kept it at bay.
They helped each other up and inspected what they had accomplished. The gap was noticeably larger, perhaps ten centimeters, now. But it was still far from wide enough. And Fiben knew they were running out of time. They would need at least three hours to have any hope of reaching the foothills before daybreak.
At least if they made it through they would have the storm on their side. Another sheet of rain swept across them as he and Sylvie settled in again, bracing themselves. The lightning had drawn closer over the last half hour. Thunder rolled, shaking trees and rattling shutters.
It’s a mixed blessing, Fiben thought. For while it no doubt hampered Gubru scanners, the rain also made it hard to get a good grip on the slippery fence material. The mud was a curse.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Sure, if you can manage to keep that thing of yours out of my face,” Sylvie said, looking up at him. “It’s distracting, you know.”
“It’s what you told Gailet you wanted to share, honey. Besides, you’ve seen it all before, back at the Thunder Mound.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “But it didn’t look quite the same.”
“Oh, shut up and push,” Fiben growled. Together they heaved again, putting all their strength into the effort.
Give! Give way! He heard Sylvie gasp, and his own muscles threatened to cramp as the fence material creaked, budged ever so slightly, and creaked again.
This time it was Fiben who slipped, letting the springy material bounce back. Once more they collapsed together in the mud, panting.
The rain was steady now, Fiben wiped a rivulet out of his eyes and looked at the gap again. Maybe twelve centimeters . Ifni! That’s not anywhere near enough.
He could feel the captivating power of the psi globes broadcasting their gloom into his skull. The message was sapping his strength, he knew, pushing him and Sylvie toward resignation. He felt terribly heavy as he slowly stood up and leaned against the obdurate fence.