“Of course one cannot trust what they say. …”
Athaclena’s hips rocked slightly out of joint as she swayed from side to side. Tentative mourning — like a trembling of the lips as a human girl might begin to sense desolation.
No. I will not contemplate this now. Later. I will decide later what to feel.
“Of course you may have whatever aid we can offer,” Chim Schultz continued quietly. “Your flitter has weapons, as well as food. You may fly to where your friend, Robert Oneagle, has been taken, if you wish.
“We hope, however, that you will choose to remain with the evacuation for a time, at least until the gorillas are safely hidden in the mountains, under the care of some qualified humans who might have escaped.”
Schultz looked up at her earnestly, his brown eyes harrowed with sadness.
“I know it is a lot to ask, honored Tymbrimi Athaclena, but will you take our children under your care for a time, as they go into exile in the wilderness?”
23
Exile
The gently humming gravitic craft hovered over an uneven row of dark, rocky ridge-spines. Noon-shortened shadows had begun to grow again as Gimelhai passed its zenith and the flyer settled into the dimness between the stone spines. Its engines grumbled into silence.
A messenger awaited its passengers at the agreed rendezvous. The chim courier handed Athaclena a note as she stepped out of the machine, while Benjamin hurried to spread radar-fouling camouflage over the little flitter.
In the letter Juan Mendoza, a’freeholder above Lome Pass, reported the safe arrival of Robert Oneagle and little April Wu. Robert was recuperating well, the message said. He might be up and about in a week or so.
Athaclena felt relieved. She wanted very much to see Robert — and not only because she needed advice on how to handle a ragged band of refugee gorillas and neo-chimpanzees.
Some of the Howletts Center chims — those affected by the Gubran gas — had gone to the “city with the humans, hoping antidote would be given as promised… and that it would work. She had left only a handful of really responsible chim technicians to assist her.
Perhaps more chims would show up, Athaclena told herself — and maybe even some human officials who had escaped gassing by the Gubru. She hoped that somebody in authority might appear and take over soon.
Another message from the Mendoza household was written by a chim survivor of the battle in space. The militiaman requested help getting in touch with the Resistance Forces.
Athaclena did not know how to reply. In the late hours last night, as great ships descended upon Port Helenia and the towns on the Archipelago, there had been frantic telephone and radio calls to and from sites all over the planet. There were reports of ground fighting at the spaceport. Some said that it was even hand to hand for a time. Then there was silence, and the Gubru armada consolidated without further incident.
It seemed that in half a day the resistance so carefully planned by the Planetary Council had fallen completely apart. All traces of a chain of command had dissolved; for nobody had foreseen the use of hostage gas. How could anything be. done when nearly every human on the planet was taken so simply out of action?
A scattering of chims were trying to organize here and there, mostly by telephone. But few had thought out any but the most nebulous plans.
Athaclena put away the slips of paper and thanked the messenger. Over the hours since the evacuation she had begun to feel a change within herself. What had yesterday been confusion and grief had evolved into an obstinate sense of determination.
I will persevere. Uthacalthing would require it of me and I will not let him down.
Wherever I am, the enemy will not thrive near me.
She would also preserve the evidence she had gathered, of course. Someday the opportunity might come to present it to Tymbrimi authorities. It could give her people an opportunity to teach the humans a badly needed lesson on how to behave as a Galactic patron race must, before it was too late.
If it was not too late already.
Benjamin joined her at the sloping edge of the ridge top. “There!” He pointed into the valley below. “There they are, right on time.”
Athaclena shaded her eyes. Her corona reached forth and touched the network around her. Yes. And now I see them, as well.
A long column of figures moved through the forest below, some small ones — brown in color — escorting a more numerous file of larger, darker shapes. Each of the big creatures carried a bulging backpack. A few had dropped to the knuckles of one hand as they shuffled along. Gorilla children ran amidst the adults, waving their arms for balance.
The escorting chims kept alert watch with beam rifles clutched close. Their attention was directed not on the column or the forest but at the sky.
The heavy equipment had already made it by circuitous routes to limestone caves in the mountains. But the exodus would not be safe until all the refugees were there at last, in those underground redoubts.
Athaclena wondered what was going on now in Port Helenia, or on the Earth-settled islands. The escape attempt of the Tymbrimi courier ship had been mentioned twice more by the invaders, then never again.
If nothing else, she would have to find out if her father was still on Garth, and if he still lived.
She touched the locket hanging from the thin chain around her neck, the tiny case containing her mother’s legacy — a single thread from Mathicluanna’s corona. It was cold solace, but she did not even have that much from Uthacalthing.
Oh, Father. How could you leave me without even a strand of yours to guide me?
The column of dark shapes approached rapidly. A low, growling sort of semi-music rose from the valley as they passed by, like nothing she had ever heard before. Strength these creatures had always owned, and Uplift had also removed some of their well-known frailty. As yet their destiny was unclear, but these were, indeed, powerful entities.
Athaclena had no intention of remaining inactive, simply a nursemaid for a gang of pre-sentients and hairy clients. One more thing Tymbrimi shared with humans was understanding of the need to act when wrong was being done. The letter from the wounded space-chim had started her thinking.
She turned to her aide.
“I am less than completely fluent in the languages of Earth, Benjamin. I need a word. One that describes an unusual type of military force.
“I am thinking of any army that moves by night and in the shadow of the land. One that strikes quickly and silently, using surprise to make up for small numbers and poor weapons. I remember reading that such forces were common in the pre-Contact history of Earth. They used the conventions of so-called civilized legions when it suited them, and innovation when they liked.
“It would be a k’chu-non krann, a wolfling army, unlike anything now known. Do you understand what I am talking about, Benjamin? Is there a word for this thing I have in mind?”
“Do you mean… ?” Benjamin looked quickly down at the column of partly uplifted apes lumbering through the forest below, rumbling their low, strange marching song.
He shook his head, obviously trying to restrain himself, but his face reddened and finally the guffaws burst out, uncontainable. Benjamin hooted and fell against a spine-stone, then over onto his back. He rolled in the dust of Garth and kicked at the sky, laughing.
Athaclena sighed. First back on Tymbrim, then among humans, and now here, with the newest, roughest clients known — everywhere she found jokers.
She watched the chimpanzee patiently, waiting for the silly little thing to catch its breath and finally let her in on what it found so funny.