Oaken was more direct. "How much?"
"That," said Dumarest, "I will consider when I have examined the ground."
* * *
The raft rode high, the pilot nervous, the two-man escort tense as they leaned over the edge to either side, laser rifles at the ready. In the body of the boxlike compartment behind the controls, Ven Taykor gestured to the hills.
"There," he said. "Right in among them, that's where you'll find their council house."
Dumarest followed his pointing arm, seeing nothing but the loom of hills slashed with crevasses, thick with shielding vegetation.
"Have you seen it?"
"Once, when I was a boy. Too long ago now." The guide was weathered, lined with age. His clothing, of thick weave, was patched, his high boots worn, torn on one of the uppers. "My dad took me. There was a festival of some kind. They made me a member of a tribe." He spat over the edge of the raft. "I guess that's why I'm alive now." He added thoughtfully, "I never expected trouble from the Ayutha. No one did. God alone knows what set them off."
Beside them, Captain Louk said, "Have you seen enough, sir?"
"Of the hills, yes." Dumarest looked below. "Can we drop a little?"
"It may not be advisable." The captain was young, conscious that his rank was diminished by his scant command, but the raft was small, and numbers had been sacrificed to light and speed. "They could be watching us from below," he explained. "If they are armed, we could be in trouble."
"Drop," ordered Dumarest. "And tell your men to keep alert."
He leaned over the edge as the ground rose toward them. On either side, as far as the eye could see, ranked plants made a mat of vegetation, scored by thin lines of paths nearly invisible in the fading light. The lofios grew ten feet tall, bushy fronds springing from a central bole, branches that now bore succulent fruits, blooms, enigmatic pods. Bad country for men trained in cities unaccustomed to moving in silence. Perfect cover for guerrillas.
"Mutated stock," said Taykor. "It took almost a century to perfect it. No seasons to speak of in this part of Chard, and the plants bear fruit, bloom, and pollen all at the same time. No insects, either, so they have those pods, see?" He pointed. "They are self-fertilizing. The pods explode and release the pollen, which lands on the blooms to conceive the fruit. I'm no farmer, but I know what it's about."
Without turning, Dumarest said, "What are you, aside from a guide?"
"Hunter, trapper, prospector. Mostly I'm up in the hills. There are some good pelts to be won up there. I was trading in the city when the trouble started. The quicker it's over the sooner I'll be back where I belong."
"What do you think of the Ayutha?"
"Simple people, but not stupid, if you know what I mean. They have their own way, and it isn't city living. They don't put much value on goods and possessions. They aren't lazy, but they don't like being forced to work. Come to think of it, who does?"
"Do they have initiation rites?"
"Maybe. I wouldn't know. I've been in contact with them in a casual way most of my life, but that's about all. Why do you ask?"
Rites could change. If murder was now the needed proof of manhood, it could provide the answer-or a part of it, at least.
"Have the farmers been pressing them? Taking their land, for example?"
"No. There would be no point. Lofios doesn't grow everywhere, and that's all the farmers are interested in. Anyway, they need the labor the Ayutha can supply. There's a lot of weeding and collecting to be done, and machines are too expensive. And no one yet has designed a machine to extract the natural oil. If we land, I'll show you what I mean."
"Later." Dumarest straightened and turned to the officer. "Take me to the first place to be attacked."
"Homand?"
"If that's what it's called, that's the place I want."
It was small, a collection of neat houses backed by warehouses and sheds holding equipment for processing the crop. A school, store, something which would have been a church. A forge and meeting house, a typical backwoods village. A place where children could grow safe in the knowledge they were loved, where old men could sit and dream of past achievements. There would be festivals and occasional trips to the city. Transient merchants would drop from the sky in silent rafts. Life there must have been an easy thing.
Now it was gone. The place was deserted, the houses empty, shattered glass ugly in the streets, black timbers standing gaunt against the sky where a house had burned, doors scarred with the impact of savage blows.
Dumarest said, "Tell me what happened."
"We can't be sure. A message was received in the city-a garbled thing barely making sense. Something about monsters. When we got here-"
"We?"
"A party from the city. I was among them. Before I became a soldier, I was a field supervisor on duty at the reception center."
"Good. Continue."
"When we got here, everything was a shambles. The Ayutha must have hit all over the place at the same time. Men were lying cut and bleeding, women ripped open, children torn apart, babies with their heads smashed against doorposts. That building was on fire. Those savage swine didn't leave a thing."
"You are talking of the Ayutha?"
"What else?"
Dumarest said flatly, "I am not interested at this time in your opinions. Did any resident of this place say they were responsible? Think now, did they?"
"The few that were still alive were dazed, dying. They muttered something about monsters, about being attacked."
"But did not, specifically, mention the Ayutha?" Dumarest continued at the reluctant nod. "Then we have no actual proof that they were responsible for what happened here. Was much damage caused to the equipment? No? Was anything taken? No? Then apparently some force of which we can't be certain attacked and killed for no apparent reason. Do you agree?"
"Does a savage need a reason to kill?"
"Yes. His reason might not be immediately apparent, but it is always present. Hunger, hate, fear, the conviction that he cannot become a man unless he does, a stranger who must be disposed of-always there is a reason. How long did it take you to get here after you received the message?"
"A few hours. We had to find rafts, gather and arm men."
"And there were no survivors?"
"None, not even a baby. Damnit, whose side are you on? If you'd seen what I did. The blood, the mess, heard them screaming…" The officer caught himself, forced a measure of control into his voice. "I'm sorry, but it hit me hard. There was a girl I knew… I wish I hadn't found her."
Dumarest said, "Let's look around."
* * *
It was dark when he returned, the city bright with flecks of light from street lanterns, windows, drifting rafts, and moving cars. A busy, bustling place, a violent contrast to the village he had left, the place where a community had died. Zenya was absent, and he looked at the things she had left. The golden dress, the serpents that had graced her arms, a litter of cosmetics. Quickly, careless of who might be watching, he searched them all, letting the fabric slide through his fingers, taking care over the jewelry, the pots of unguents, paints, and powders.
He found nothing. If the girl carried a device to activate what was within his body, it must be buried within her flesh. He had checked on the ship; what he did now was for confirmation. And it was highly possible that she didn't carry the trigger at all.
Aihult Chan Parect, he remembered, trusted no one.
The phone rang. On the screen Colonel Paran looked anxious. "I heard you were back, Earl. Have you arrived at a decision?"
"Not yet. I must correlate my findings."
"Later, then?"
"Later."
A bottle of wine stood on a table, and he poured a glass, sitting facing the window with it in his hand. He felt tired, uneasy. There were too many problems and too few solutions. Parect's threat, the false position he was in, the girl. Even now she could be babbling, betraying him, and to a people at war, such a betrayal could have unpleasant consequences.