Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 4: September 2013 (18 page)

His smile vanishes. He shakes his head. “Diyet,” he says. He is about to talk like a father.

I stop him with a gesture. My head still hurts.

The train whispers in, sounding like wind. Oh the lights. I sit down, shading my eyes, and he stands in front of me. I can feel him looking down at me. I look up and smile, or maybe grimace. He smiles back, looking worried. At the Moussin of the White Falcon, we get off. Funny that we are going into a cemetery to live. But only for a while, I think. Somehow I will find a way we can leave. We’ll go north, across the sea, up to the continent, where we’ll be strangers. I take him through the streets and stop in front of a row of death houses, like the Lachims’, but an inn. I give Akhmim money and tell him to rent us a place for the night. “Tell them your wife is sick,” I whisper.

“I don’t have any credit. If they take my identification, they’ll know,” he says.

“This is the Nekropolis,” I say. “They don’t use credit. Go on. Here you are a man.”

He frowns at me but takes the money. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, bargaining, pointing at me. Just pay, I think, even though we have so little money. I just want to lie down, to sleep. And finally he comes out and takes me by the hand and leads me to our place. A tiny place of rough whitewashed walls, a bed, a chair, a pitcher of water and two glasses. “I have something for your head,” he says. “The man gave it to me.” He smiles ruefully. “He thinks you are pregnant.”

My hand shakes when I hold it out. He puts the white pills in my hand and pours a glass of water for me. “I’ll leave you here,” he says. “I’ll go back. I won’t tell anyone that I know where you are.”

“Then you were lying to me,” I say. I don’t want to argue, Akhmim, just stay until tomorrow. Then it will be too late. “You said if you could be free, you would. You
are
free.”

“What can I do? I can’t live,” he says in anguish. “I can’t get work!”

“You can sell funeral wreaths. I’ll make them.”

He looks torn. It is one thing to think how you will act, another to be in the situation and do it. And I know, seeing his face, that he really is human, because his problem is a very human problem. Safety or freedom.

“We will talk about it tomorrow,” I say. “My head is aching.”

“Because you are jessed,” he says. “It is so dangerous. What if we don’t make enough money? What if they catch us?”

“That is life,” I say. I will go to prison. He will be sent back to the mistress. Punished. Maybe made to be conscript labor.

“Is it worth the pain?” he asks in a small voice.

I don’t know, but I can’t say that. “Not when you have the pain,” I say, “but afterward it is.”

“Your poor head.” He strokes my forehead. His hand is cool and soothing.

“It’s all right,” I say. “It hurts to be born.”

Copyright © 1994 by Maureen McHugh

******************************************

Jeff Calhoun is a long-time fan of science fiction. This marks his first professional sale.

GARUDA SUPERIOR

by Jeff Calhoun

Guy Richard crouched behind the fur-coated trunk of a mink tree and thumbed the safety off his carbine.

It was a cool morning; Tau Ceti was above the horizon and Rama’s pale orange crescent was still visible in the west. Half a kilometer down in a natural amphitheater formed between steep rocky hills, a solitary monoceratops cropped patches of beryl grass with its curved beak. Guy spotted the tether attached to the saurian’s third left foot. He saw no other movement, though his earlier sensor scan showed two humans concealed on the farther hill.

A piercing screech broke the stillness. Guy looked up to see a five-meter wingspan silhouetted against the sky. The garuda banked and executed a steep dive into the amphitheater before leveling off. Sensing the predator, the tethered monoceratops began bleating frantically and tried to run. The garuda soared over the mink tree, its dark plumage flashing in the morning sun, and Guy saw the spear tipped with obsidian clutched in the avian’s upper claws. He switched on his helmet cam.

The garuda climbed high and banked once more before swooping in to release its spear like a guided missile. The monoceratops kicked up a dust cloud in a futile effort to escape. The spear plunged into the horned reptile’s flank and through it to its innards, knocking the herbivore on its back. Six feet pawed the air helplessly before falling eternally still.

The garuda alighted on its hind claws and folded its huge wings before yanking the spear from the saurian’s corpse and carefully licking off all the blood. Then it drew a hatchet from its leather belt and began butchering the corpse. Only then did it freeze, spotting the tether.

Seconds later the morning air was rent by the harsh chatter of machine gun fire as the garuda’s body was shredded and it toppled lifeless over its prey.

The humans emerged from their place of concealment mounted on hopping quadroos. Both wore turbans, vests, and baggy trousers that were common dress here in Pashtunstan Province, along with boots made of monoceratops hide that marked them as local ranchers. But Guy recognized their weapons as military issue that were not only uncommon but illegal.

He waited until they dismounted to examine the slain garuda before breaking cover and cautiously moving in to listen.

“Careful, you idiot!” the shorter one yelled. “Make sure it’s dead!”

“Our bullets tore it to shreds, Uncle Mahmoud,” replied the taller man.

Mahmoud shook his head. “I once saw one of these screechers disembowel a man after he swore he’d killed it. Use your laser knife to cut off its head.”

Just then Guy’s foot dislodged a loose rock. The ranchers jerked about to face him.
So much for the stealthy approach!

“Colonial Ranger!” Guy barked. “Drop your weapons!”

The younger man reached for his gun, but his uncle stopped him. “Do as he says, Ali! So what if this underpaid flunky arrests us? No court will convict us for defending our property.”

“That tether attached to the monoceratops says you staked it out specifically to lure a garuda,” Guy pointed out. “And that means you obviously didn’t care if you lost the beast.”

“We made a recording of this screecher killing our cattle in a manner that will scare the hell out of most Newsnet viewers,” Mahmoud shot back.

Guy tapped his helmet cam. “But
my
recording will show the two of you ambushing that garuda like the cowards I suspect you are. I don’t need to remind you the avians are protected by the Indigenous Sentients Act. You can’t go around killing them like they were dumb meat animals.”

“So you think these damn screechers are sentient?” spat Mahmoud. “Hell, my wife’s cat has twice their intelligence!”

“A flock of screechers can wipe out an entire herd,” Ali added. “We’ve got every right to protect our livelihood, and when Malik Shah becomes our leader he’ll spit on your precious Act!”

Guy’s smile widened when he heard the name of the most politically connected rancher on Sita. “Thanks. I had a hunch it was Malik who provided your illegal weapons.” He tossed his prisoners a pair of handcuffs. “I think you both know what to do with these.”

As he spoke his chin touched the sensor on his helmet that summoned his flitter from its resting place on the far side of the hill. The aircraft glided in on autopilot. The whine of its engine frightened the quadroos and both animals hopped away. The flitter’s vertical drive kicked up dust as it settled, and a whirling granule struck Guy’s eyes and temporarily blinded him. It was all the distraction his prisoners needed.

Mahmoud dropped to his knees, drew a laser knife he’d concealed in his boot, and aimed the beam at Guy’s shoulder. The sudden pain caused him to drop his carbine. Ali rushed him and felled him with a pair of powerful blows before snatching up his carbine.

“Now who’s in control?” the young man spat.

Mahmoud stepped forward to yank off Guy’s helmet, which contained both his com-link and recorder. “So much for your precious evidence. Ali, round up the damned quadroos!”

Guy sat up, still groggy. “Let me remind you that killing a Ranger is an automatic death sentence,” he grated.

“We’re going to let the local scavengers do that,” replied Mahmoud.

“Maybe even another screecher.”

As if in reply a loud cry sounded overhead. Then Ali screamed as a spear impaled his back, spitting him like meat over a cooking fire. Mahmoud jerked the carbine from his nephew’s dead hands and fired up at the garudas now circling them until a second spear plunged into his neck, dropping him to the ground amid a gushing crimson stream.

Guy struggled to his feet, wincing from his wound. Two large shadows loomed behind him. Slowly he turned, half-expecting to feel an obsidian hatchet bite into his skull.

Two garudas stood behind him on long feather-coated hind legs, regarding him with intense, deep-set eyes. Their plumage was not the mottled black and brown of most avians, but orange-saffron paling to white on their breasts and abdomens. Each wore a leather harness far more elaborate than the usual simple belt. But it was their high foreheads that captured his attention.

The pair looked at each other and made noises that were midway between hisses and shrieks. At first Guy thought they were conversing. Then he remembered that garudas had not yet developed a spoken language, one of the main reasons ranchers like Mahmoud considered them to be mere animals, albeit very clever and dangerous ones.

One of the garudas was looking at his wound. To his surprise the avian bent down and spat on his shoulder. The creature’s saliva worked its way down into his torn flesh. Guy winced as it stung him, but the pain soon diminished and then ceased as his shoulder became numb.

The garudas were hissing and shrieking furiously at each other, and Guy got the distinct impression that they were arguing. Finally both spread their enormous wings, each of them seized one of his arms, and they jerked him to his feet. Wings beat the air and clawed feet left the ground as the hunters rose skyward bearing Guy between them.

Cloud wisps suddenly grew into huge bright islands as the garudas continued their climb, while below the beryl-colored floor rolled away until it was replaced by the brown foothills that led up to the granite faces and snow-capped peaks of the Caledonian Range that separated Pashtunstan from Caledonia Province. Howling wind filled his ears and buffeted his face and hair. Finally he became so disoriented that he shut his eyes.

He forced himself to review the facts. The first interstellar probes from Sol System to reach Tau Ceti discovered the twin planets, Rama and Sita, orbiting a common gravitational center that lay 0.85 Astronomical Units from their primary star. Of the two, only Sita proved habitable for terrestrial life, as Rama’s ecosystem had been all but destroyed by numerous impacts from Tau Ceti’s vast comet halo, rendering it suitable only for mining and industrial activity.

Still, as Sita’s atmosphere was more dense than Earth’s, men could not live in the lowland regions because of the high nitrogen content. Settlements were restricted to the highlands of the northern continent, thousands of meters above sea level. Thanks to the planet’s friendly axial tilt, sufficient sunlight was available most of the year to grow crops. The native fauna, almost all of it edible, was highly evolved, the most advanced being the garudas, named for the man-birds of Hindu mythology.

Suddenly bitter cold began slashing Guy’s face. He opened his eyes long enough to watch snow-covered peaks far beneath his booted feet. The garudas did not seem to be tiring as they rode the frigid air currents.

He looked beyond the mountain peaks to see broad mesas spread out before him, separated by Cromarty’s Rift. He hoped they would set him down there…but they kept on flying.

Maybe they don’t plan on killing me. Hell, they could have dropped me anytime. But where the devil are we going?

The gunmetal surface of a huge lake appeared to the north and west. Kelpie Loch, like Lake Geneva in his own native province, was believed to have been created by an ancient meteor strike. Robertson’s Island, a solitary speck of land in the middle of the loch, was crowned by a single towering granite peak.

Do they have a nest there? Am I nourishment for their chicks?

His ears detected a familiar whine. He twisted his head to see a civilian flitter traveling directly below him. The pilot was obviously hanging back so as not to spook the garudas and make them drop their captive, a fact for which he was profoundly grateful.

The avians were aware of it. One of them shrieked at its companion, and in perfect synchronization they banked and dived, leaving the flitter behind. Guy screamed involuntarily as the ground rose rapidly up to meet him.

Then, just as abruptly, the garudas leveled off and brought their mad flight to a halt on the southern shore of Kelpie, then gently set him down on his feet.

The flitter extended its landing struts and set down next to him, kicking up clouds of dust before killing its drive field. The garudas quickly flew away, their flight taking them out over the water toward Robertson‘s Island.

The flitter’s hatch popped open and a young woman in khaki coveralls emerged. “Are you all right?” she asked in concerned tones.

“Yes, ma’am!” said Guy, saluting her. “I’m fine. This is all in a day’s work for a Colonial Ranger!”

Then he fainted.

***

Tau Ceti was setting in the west when he awoke. He lay covered by a blanket, his head propped on a pillow. Lifting the blanket, he discovered that his ruined clothes were gone, and he became aware that the flitter pilot was seated next to him.

“Relax!” she said when she saw he was awake. “I’m a trained paramedic. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before. Your clothes were a mess, but fortunately this flitter was designed for long operations in the field and is equipped with a laundry unit. I’m Elsa Brandt, biologist with the University of Sita.”

“Sergeant Guy Richard, Colonial Rangers. I really need to contact headquarters.” He tried getting up, but dizziness forced him back down.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Easy. You’ve had a hell of an experience.” She handed him a canteen of vitamin water. “Have you any idea why those garudas were taking you to Robertson’s Island?”

He took a sip before replying. “No. But they
did
rescue me from a pair of Pashtunstani ranchers who were faking propaganda for repealing the Indigenous Sentients Act.” He explained what had happened.

“I see,” she said when he was finished. “You can use the com-link in my flitter.” A questioning look crossed her face. “Your superiors sent you out without back-up?”

He took a longer pull from the canteen before replying. “We’re undermanned and underfunded, and it’s a big planet.”
And unfortunately Malik Shah has his share of supporters among the Pashtunstani Rangers.
“You said you’re a biologist. Did you notice anything different about those garudas? I’m not talking about their plumage.”

“You mean their larger braincases? Of course; that’s why I came out here to study them. The University got a report about a new type of garuda from a rancher a few months ago.” He tried getting up again. “Your clothes should be clean now. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my back turned while you dress.”

Then Guy noticed his shoulder. The wound was no longer visible save for a thin pale line. He rotated his arm and felt no pain. “This is incredible!”

“What is?” He explained what had happened as Elsa examined it. “You’re certain it wasn’t just a flesh wound?” she asked.

“I’m certain, but even if that’s all it was there hasn’t been enough time for it to heal.”

She frowned in puzzlement. “Bodily fluids from an alien species that can heal human tissue? I’d have to find a garuda corpse and extract samples to make sure.”

“If Malik Shah has his way they should soon be plentiful,” he said grimly.

Captain Gupta’s face suddenly appeared on the com-link inside Elsa’s flitter. “Sergeant Richard!” he growled. “Where the hell have you been?!”