Midworld (6 page)

Born sat very still on his branch, concealed behind a broad leaf taller than Losting, wrapped tight in his green cloak. The devil reached his level, circled, and passed on. Staying close to the branch, Born edged his way to the precipice once again. Far below he saw the scaled back and wings winding down toward the blue object. Eventually it reached bottom, folded its wings, and stopped. The devil walked clumsily on the blue surface, making its way awkwardly to the half-dome at the object’s apex. It poked at the globe with its toothed beak, stabbed again. Born could hear it yelling, a distant, muffled croak.

Another sound drifted up to him. One that penetrated above the normal din of comb vines and resonators and chattering chollakees. It was a human scream, and it came from somewhere near or in the object!

BORN STARTED DOWNWARD WITHOUT
thinking, plunging recklessly from branch to branch, shoulder muscles straining at the shock, taking meters at a jump. Ruumahum followed close behind. They were making enough noise to attract half the afternoon forest predators, and the furcot told him as much. Wrapped in other thoughts, Born ignored the furcot’s warnings.

Once he nearly dropped square onto the back of a Chan-nock, the big tree-climbing reptile’s knobby back the perfect imitation of a tuntangcle vine as it lay stretched between the boles of two air-trees. Born’s foot hit the armored back. Instantly he was aware he had met flesh and not wood. But he was moving so fast he was meters below as the Channock whipped around to crush the interloper. Furious at missing its prey, the blunt snout swung round for a stab at Ruumahum. Not even pausing in his downward rush, the furcot stuck out a paw in passing and crushed the flat, arrowheadshaped skull.

If Born had stopped to think about what he was doing, he might have fallen and hurt himself seriously. But he was traveling on instinct alone. Unhindered, his reflexes did not fail him. Only when Ruumahum put on an extra burst of speed, got in front of him, and slowed down, did Born become conscious of how fast he had been moving. He nearly dislocated a shoulder as he slowed to a halt behind the furcot. Both were panting heavily.

“Why stop now, Ruumahum. We—”

The furcot growled softly. “Are here,” he muttered. “Air-devil is near. Listen.”

Born listened. He had been so excited he had nearly shot past the level at which the blue thing lay. Now he could hear the horrible half-laugh, half-coughing of the devil and a scratching sound, a sound similar to the one Reader produced by running his nails over the axe blade during the invocations. Then he was right about the composition of the blue thing! He had no time to bask in his own brilliance. A moan sounded now, not a scream; but it was no less human.

“There are people there and the skydevil is after them,” Born whispered. “But what people live on the Fifth Level? All persons known live on the Third or Second.”

“I do not know,” Ruumahum answered. “I sense much strangeness here. Strangeness and newness.”

“
It
needs killing.”

“Air-devils die slowly, Born person,” advised Ruumahum. “Go carefully.”

Born nodded and they backed deeper into the brush. “The air-devil may not be able to penetrate here. It is too big and clumsy on the wood. But if it does …”

He started searching, working around the well circumference, always staying well back from the open pit where the nightmarein-life scratched and clawed at the blue thing. He found what might serve—a certain epiphytic orchid that nestled in the crotch formed by the great lower limbs of an emergent. The bottom of the plant overreached the limbs on both sides, the great ball of self-made soil sending long airroots downward in all directions. Above, long thick petals of dark chalcedony color curled toward the sky. A wonderful limelike fragrance issued from the huge flower’s depths, its creamy petals many meters long.

Keeping a careful distance from the gigantic bloom, Born moved cautiously back toward the well.

“Softly,” Ruumahum urged anxiously. Born looked back at the furcot and made quieting motions, but he took the advice. There was more open space here where the light did not penetrate as well. There were fewer places to hide, fewer webs of vines and lianas to lose a big meat-eater in. Surely there was nowhere near enough open space for the sky-devil to spread its wings. But it had thick clawed legs and just maybe could scramble through the open places.

Hence his enlisting of the orchid as a silent ally.

Born reached the edge of the well bottom. A cluster of shattered wood and herbaceous growth bordered it. Everything here was sticky and slippery from spilled sap. He would have to watch his footing. Then suddenly he was staring at the skydevil from between the leaves. It battered and dug in frustration at something deep within the blue metal disk. The moaning, Born now was sure, came from somewhere inside. Taking a deep breath and wishing for a more stable footing, he lined up the end of the snuffler with the skull of the demon, a difficult target that was bobbing and weaving on a long flexible neck.

Born jerked the trigger. There was a tiny explosive puff as the tank seed popped. The jacari thorn hit the devil just behind the left eye. It quivered, its slow nervous system reacting dully to the poison, then it spun to look in the direction of the shot. At the same time Born yelled, “Be strong!” at the top of his lungs, to alert those within the blue metal, then he turned and raced back along the branch.

A tremendous thrashing sounded immediately behind him as the sky-devil, showing unexpected strength, smashed through the outer wall of branches and vines in its drooling desire to get at him. Born fancied he could feel its fetid breath hot on his neck. The giant orchid loomed ahead.

That crawling leathery horror was at his spine. At any second long teeth might close on his neck and snip his head off. There was no time to look back, no time to think or consider. He dove past the soil ball of the flower, reaching out with the end of the shuffler so that the green wood pipe brushed several of the dozens of dangling rootlets.

Born fell another couple of meters before landing with a jolt in a bed of hyphae below. Above him, the tiny rootlets he had brushed and everything around them curled protectively inward against the bulk of the plant. The sky-devil burst through the undergrowth, reaching with claws and jaws for Born, who stared up in helpless fascination at that descending abomination.

Too quick to see, the thick white petals of the pseudo-orchid thrashed in blind fury in all directions. Three of the petals struck the rampaging devil, curled shut about it and contracted. The devil seemed to explode, eyes shooting like ripe seeds from the skull, wings crumpling, guts and innards shooting in all directions. The plant continued thrashing about for several minutes before the petals began to relax.

As it returned to its normal shape and form, the orchid released the mangled pulp that had been the sky-devil. The shattered corpse fell bouncing into the depths. Born sat up and watched it fall, his heart beating fast. The devil had died too quickly to scream, never knowing what had hit it.

Using his snuffler as a brace, Born pulled himself erect and climbed over to where Ruumahum lay, watching him quietly. “I think,” he said, trembling slightly, “we can go help the people now.” The furcot nodded silently.

They started back toward the worldwell, once again giving the now quiescent pseudo-orchid—known in Born’s village as “Dunawett’s plant”—plenty of room.

Born parted the broken stems and walked out into something he had experienced only a few times in his life. Something few people ever experienced— the open air. He stared upward, but from here the sky was a distant circlet of blue pasted against an otherwise green heaven, “Will watch Upper Hell,” Ruumahum announced, sitting himself down by the edge of the well. His head inclined and he studied the distant blue disk stolidly.

Born extended a cautious foot, set it down easily on the deep blue surface of the object. It was cool and hard, just like the axeblade. Reassured, he walked out onto the curving surface, making his way toward the half-dome in the center. As he neared it, he saw it covered a circular cavity in the metal. Looking down at the broken, jagged edges of the dome he saw tangles of tiny vines and roots inside, which were also made of some shiny, hard substance.

An inspection of the interior of the disk showed one side made of more metal that was filled with dents and abrasions from the claws and probing beak of the sky demon. Born thought he heard a slight moaning coming from behind it.

“Hello. Is anyone alive here? It is safe to come out. The devil has gone to its cousins in Hell.”

The moaning ceased abruptly and was followed by clicking, metallic sounds. Then the section of rectangular metal began to disappear inward, on hinges.

A man peered out and up at him uncertainly. Something small and reflective shone in his hand. Born caught his breath. It was an axe—No, no … a knife made of the same material as the axe, only far cleaner and smoother. After a long stare the man’s gaze went around the open cavity in the metal. When he satisfied himself that Born’s words were true and the sky-devil was safely gone, he emerged into the open space and commenced a detailed survey of the mass of tangled instrumentation and components while keeping a watchful eye on Born.

Born studied the giant. Though he was only a normal-sized man by normal man standards, he towered a good twenty-five centimeters over Born. He displayed other surprising characteristics, as well. He was undeniably a person, but the differences were striking. His hair was orange-red instead of brown, his eyes blue instead of green, and his skin—his skin was so pale as not to be believed, though among his own people he was considered moderately well tanned. His build was slim and his face freckled and friendly.

“Jan?” A second voice, slightly higher. “Is it clear to—?” Then the speaker caught sight of Born, standing quietly on the surface of the skimmer. She was a couple of centimeters taller than the man. Her body beneath the torn single-piece jungle suit, was bony and athletic. Short hair the color of tarnished silver indicated she was somewhat older, as well. Strong, long legs showed from the beige shorts and their color was also, to Born, unbelievably pale. She seemed less nervous than the man, a little more assured.

“Who the hell is that?” she asked with a jerk of her head. The man she had called Jan continued picking disgustedly at the crushed remnants of the skimmer’s controls.

“The man who just saved our lives, I think. For the moment.” He stared up at the sky uneasily.

“The sky-devil is dead,” Born informed him. “It went too near a stimulated Dunawett’s plant. It will not trouble you again.”

The man digested this information, grunted something noncommittal, and turned back to his discouraged probing. “Board’s shot to hell and gone, Kimi,” he finally declared. “What didn’t come apart in the touchdown, that flying carnivore pecked to shreds. This skimmer isn’t going anywhere except the scrap yard.”

The woman sat down in. the ruins of a swivel chair, bent now at an angle its designers had never intended. Born stared curiously at her. She suddenly became conscious of his attention and looked up at him.

“What are you staring at, short stuff?”

Born bristled, more at her tone than the words. “If my presence makes you uncomfortable …” He hefted the snuffler, turned to go.

“No, no, wait a minute, fellow.” She rested her head in crossed arms for a minute. “Give me a second, will you? We’ve just been through a pretty rough time.” She looked up again, locked fingers. “You’ve got to understand, when our drive went …” She noticed Born’s questioning frown and tried again. “When the thing that powered our skimmer …” The frown deepened. She patted the metal wall next to her. “When this thing which carries us through the air …” Born’s face showed an expression of disbelief, but she pressed on. “… crashed here, we thought we were already dead. Instead we crawled out of what was left of our chairs and found we were still alive. Shaken, but alive.”

She gestured at the surrounding green walls. “This incredible planet—threequarters of a kilometer of stratified rain forest—cushioned our fall just enough.” Her voice dropped. “Then that long-necked horror landed on top of us. We barely got through the engine-access hatch when it started working on the door. I thought we were dead all over again. Now you show up and insist some local vegetable has slaughtered something it would take an arm’s-length laser to discourage. And then there’s the matter of yourself, which is no small shock to us, either.”

“What about myself?” queried Born, unaccountably self-conscious.

She made a fluttering, tired gesture. “Just look at you.” Born declined to do so. “You’re an anomaly, you don’t belong here, according to what we’ve been told,” she added hastily. “This is supposed to be an unreported, barely surveyed, uninhabited world known only to—”

“Careful, Kimi,” the man said warningly, glancing back over his shoulder.

She waved him off. “What for, Jan. This”—and she nodded toward Born— “
native
obviously knows nothing that could complicate our presence here.” She looked back at Born as she got to her feet. “As I said, this is supposed to be an uninhabited world. All of a sudden, on the heels of a series of rather disconcerting events, we’re faced with accepting your presence. I presume you’re not a solitary freak? There are others of your kind?”

“The village supports many,” Born told her, in what he hoped was an adequate answer. These giants were fascinating.

“I said native, but what kind remains to be determined.” She studied Born openly. He bore her examination because he was engaged in one of his own. “You’re nearly a whole foot shorter than an average adult, but you’ve got the arms and shoulders of a weight-lifter.” Her gaze lowered considerably. “And what look like awfully long, probably prehensile toes. You’re dark as old redwood and with hair to match … but green eyes. Altogether, the most remarkable specimen I’ve seen in a long time. Though not,” she added in an odd tone, “for all that, unappealing.” The man made a sound which Born interpreted as one of distaste, though for what reason he could not imagine.