"Yes, bringing civilization to the poor savages." Rod's eyes glittered. "I always find unification fascinating."
Something in his voice made Chornoi look up with a scowl. "Don't make any mistake, Major. It was the Wolmen's idea to get together to fight us, not the colonists'. Just a marriage of convenience, that's all."
"And as fragile as such unions usually are, I'm sure— but one which Shacklar and Cholly have steadily been trying to strengthen."
"Oh, that's deliberate enough, sure—and Shacklar definitely likes having a national leader he can deal with. But they chose Hwun, not him."
"At a national council?"
Chornoi nodded. "The tribal leaders got together, so of course they chose one of their own number. That's how come Hwun, the Purple chief, wound up being acclaimed chief Wolman chief."
"Makes sense." Rod nodded. "But why'd they elect a shaman instead of a general—excuse me, 'war-chief?' I mean, how good a tactician is a pholk-physician going to be?"
Chornoi shook her head. "Medicine's only part of it, Major, only a spin-off, really. His main function is spiritual. He's a holy man."
Rod shuddered. "I don't like the sound of that. Religion and politics make a lousy combination."
"But it's very useful when you're trying to keep all the factions of your people together," Chornoi pointed out. "That's Hwun's main job. As to fighting when they went to war, he had four generals, one for each tribe. They took care of the tactics; he just had the final say on strategy."
"Neat." Rod scowled. "In fact, a little too efficient for my liking."
"But his constituents can recall him at any minute," Yorick pointed out.
Chornoi gave him an irritated glare. "That's right, in fact. How'd you know?"
"Y' seen one oral culture, y' seen 'em all," Yorick said. "Not really true, but they do all have certain characteristics in common. Government by consensus is one of 'em, and instant recall is part of that."
"Instant, yes—by the most effective means available. At least, sometimes. In fact, it has occurred to me that we may be looking at an impeachment here."
Yorick shook his head. "You'd know better than I would, but I find it hard to believe. This kind of a society wouldn't understand that kind of sneaky killing. If somebody wanted to challenge the head honcho, he'd just do it. In fact, the more witnesses he had for the fight, the stronger his support would be."
Rod nodded. "That sounds right. Besides, you said it yourself, Chornoi—some of your colleagues are inhumanly efficient. This is such a neat job that it fairly screams 'professional.'"
Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. Probably well armed, too."
Rod frowned. "But he didn't use a blaster. If he had, there wouldn't have been blood."
Chornoi shook her head. "A pro wouldn't have, Major. This was right at dawn, remember? A blaster bolt would've been seen. It also might have set a fire, and people would have really started wondering." She shrugged. "Sometimes the oldest weapons work best."
"Well, one thing's sure, then." Yorick stood up, dusting off his hands. "It wasn't any Wolman who did this killing. I mean, they may be pretty enthusiastic, and I'm sure they're skillful, but when you get right down to it, when it comes to killing people, they're really amateurs." He nodded to Chornoi. "One of the soldiers did this—and one trained for commando work."
"Probably." Chornoi gazed at the dark spatters on the stone. "Don't sell those Wolmen short, though. They've become very competent warriors since they started fighting these convict-soldiers. Very competent—and they've been developing a lot of skill with blasters, ever since Shacklar took over and the truce began."
"I do not understand," Gwen murmured. "Why doth he give Wolmen his weapons, when to keep them to his own men would yield him great advantage?"
Chornoi shrugged. "He seems to think that if it comes to war, the colonists are going to be wiped out, sooner or later. We're so heavily outnumbered that our only real hope for survival is peace with the Wolmen."
"And the only way to be sure of that," Rod said stiffly, "is to meld the two cultures into a single, unified society."
Chornoi nodded. "And having all the blasters on the soldiers' side, doesn't exactly help build Wolman confidence."
"Maybe not." Yorick looked around. "I get the feeling we're missing something. There may be evidence of a struggle in the area around here—or some other kind of evidence that we won't find at night."
"True," Rod said judiciously. "With only a flashlight, we're limited to looking at what we already suspect. We'll have to wait for daylight to get the Big Picture, and any clues we haven't thought of."
"There's a problem with that," Yorick pointed out.
"Aye, my lord," Gwen added. "We must needs be at the Governor's great hall in the morn—e'en by dawn."
Rod shrugged. "So what? We already skipped town, didn't we?"
"Aye, yet they did enlarge us upon our parole."
Chornoi stared. "What is she talking about?"
"She means Shacklar only let us go, because we promised to come back in the morning." Rod's mouth tightened at the corners.
"'Twould be dishonorable, an we did not return."
"Well, true, but this isn't Gramarye. Honor isn't quite so important here."
Gwen stared at him, scandalized. More importantly, Rod realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he didn't believe it himself anymore. "All right, all right! We'll have to go back to town! Besides—skipping town is one thing, but skipping the planet is entirely another!"
Gwen frowned. "What is a 'planet,' my lord?"
Chornoi just stared at her; but Rod took a deep breath and said, "Well. A planet is a world, darling. It's not flat, you see—it's round, like a ball."
"Assuredly not!" she cried.
Rod shrugged. "Okay, so don't believe me—just take my word for it. I came to Gramarye on a 'shooting star,' remember—and I got to see the planet from way up. Way up—and it's round. Oh, believe me, it is round!"
"He's telling you the truth." Chornoi frowned, puzzled. "I've seen planets from space, too, and they're round, all right. Like that." She pointed at the single moon that was still up in the sky. "It's just a very little planet. The word means 'wanderer,' see, and you know how the moon wanders; it moves all over the sky."
"Aye." Gwen frowned, trying to absorb the alien concept. "There be others, be there not? Stars that do wander."
"Right." Rod nodded. "They're worlds, too. But most of the stars, the ones that stay put—well, they're suns, just like the one that gives us light and heat during the daytime."
"Can they truly be?" Gwen breathed, eyes round. "Nay, surely not! For they be but points of light!"
"That's because they're so far away," Chornoi explained.
"Nay, it could not be." Gwen turned to her, frowning. "For they would have to be so far distant that…" She broke off, her mind reeling as she realized just how far away that would have to be.
Chornoi watched her, nodding slowly. "Yes, ma'am. That's how far away. So far that it takes their light quite a few years to get here."
"Yet how can that be?" Gwen asked, looking from Rod to Chornoi and back. "How can light take time to come to a place?"
"Well—it travels," Rod said. "Believe us, honey—there's no easy way to prove it. I mean, it has been proven, but it was very hard to do, very complicated. Light travels at 186,282 miles per second. That's about six trillion miles in a year." Gwen's eyes lost focus, and Rod confided, "Don't try, dear. We can't really grasp the idea of a distance that huge—not really, not emotionally. But we can be intimidated by trying." He turned to Chornoi. "The nearest star here—it wouldn't happen to be visible, would it?"
"Oh, yeah. It's the third star in the barrel of 'The Blaster'— one of our homemade constellations." Chornoi stepped up beside Gwen and pointed. "You see those six stars, forming a rough parallelogram—you know, a rectangle leaning sideways?"