Bessany realized she was gripping the armrests of her observer’s couch so hard she couldn’t feel her fingers. When she tried to move her hands, they refused to budge. So she savaged her lip instead and stole a worried glance at the Tersae beside her. Chilaili’s expression was ghastly. If the Ones Above had appeared at that moment, Bessany devoutly believed Chilaili would have ripped their furry heads off their stocky necks with her bare hands.
Bessany would have helped. Gladly.
A whole planet poisoned. A whole sentient species wiped off its snow-covered face.
Then they were skidding through the final turn, running down the last leg of the wriggling green line. Rapier dropped speed to a relative crawl to reduce the noise he was making. The Bolo navigated around stands of trees, rather than plowing straight through them. The angle of the command compartment shifted, tilting as Rapier descended a precipitous slope. They jolted their way toward the valley floor, descending at a spot shallow enough to let them enter without Rapier having to blast a ramp out of the walls with his guns—doubtless one reason the Bolo had chosen this particular valley. The aerial drone running ahead of them came to a halt above a narrow crack in the earth, then sank slowly down into the fissure, revealing the entrance to the cave they’d chosen.
“All right, people,” John muttered, “there’s the entrance. Looks big enough to get ’em through, thank God. Chilaili, you need to decide which members of that war party will shelter inside Carter’s shuttle and which ones will have to take their chances in the cavern.”
“We will place the oldest males inside the shuttle,” Chilaili answered at once. “The younger ones have been damaged more intensely. We cannot afford to rely solely on the bloodlines of hotheaded, suicidal youngsters. The Evil One Above did his work well,” she added bitterly. “I have seven sons who will shelter in that cavern. The youngest three have already killed two of their older brothers in senseless challenge . . .”
Bessany bit her lip, needing the sharp flare of pain to control her unsteady breaths. Then a long, low blur raced across the viewscreen, startling a gasp from Bessany and both Tersae. A Navy shuttle settled to earth at the upper end of the valley. Carter had made it without a single shot fired. Bessany started breathing again. Maybe, she chanted under her breath, maybe . . .
Rapier ground to a halt less than two meters from Carter’s shuttle. The pilot was already out of her craft, holding two carrysacks with the precious canisters. “Everybody out,” John barked.
Bessany fumbled with unfamiliar restraint catches. A swift glance at the chronometer sent her pulse skittering. They had twelve minutes to save a species.
Chapter Thirty
Chilaili had never scrambled so fast in her life.
John Weyman had already reached the ground and vanished into one of the cargo holds by the time Chilaili climbed down the long ladder. He emerged again holding a thick bundle.
“Use this to block the cavern where the passage narrows,” he said tersely. “Spread it across the opening and use Carter’s sealant to glue it in place against the rock. Kestejoo will have to seal off the whole edge, all the way around.” He thrust both items into a carrysack and handed them to Kestejoo.
“I will explain on the way,” Chilaili told the akule, whose eyes betrayed his frightened uncertainty.
Bessany Weyman thrust another item into Kestejoo’s carrysack. “It’s a portable light,” she explained, glancing at Chilaili. “For the cave. Tell Kestejoo to push the big black button and the light will come on.”
As Chilaili translated, John Weyman said, “Good luck, both of you. Carter has the canisters. Go.”
She and Kestejoo sprinted toward the shuttle Chilaili had ridden in such a short time ago. Lieutenant Carter shoved one satchel at Chilaili, the other at Kestejoo. “You’d better take one, too, Chilaili, in case you can’t get back to the Bolo in time. You’ve still got your earplug? Good. I’ve put sealant and sensors in both packs, so Rapier can monitor neurotoxin levels wherever you are. Go!”
Chilaili flung her thanks over one shoulder, already running hard. She and Kestejoo climbed rapidly up a rough stone slope and reached the top unscathed. They strapped on their snow-webs, then pelted southward at a mile-eating run, slogging across the crusted surface of the drifts rather than floundering through them at a crawl. As they ran, Chilaili gasped out critical instructions Kestejoo would need. She showed him how to push the plungers on both the canister and the smoke bomb and demonstrated how to use the spray sealant. They covered the first mile in only three minutes, but wooded terrain in the second mile slowed them down. Branches and tangled snags of vines caught at the snow-webs. We’ll never make it in time, Chilaili groaned, not unless they turn around and meet us partway.
She drew a deep breath and sent the clan’s distress call rolling across the snow, a low-pitched cry that would travel for miles. Kestejoo glanced at her, startled, then realized what she was attempting and added his own urgent cry. They staggered forward, sending out the repeated distress calls, and finally broke into the open again.
A broad, trampled swath of snow marked the war party’s trail; they had passed just minutes previously, from the look of the snow. Then Chilaili’s heart lifted. “There!”
The whole war party had turned around and was racing back to meet them. “Thank . . . the . . . ancestors . . .” Kestejoo gasped out. He was holding his side, clearly in pain from the sustained effort. The moment the war party was close enough to hear, Kestejoo shouted, “We are betrayed! We have but minutes to live!”
Yiska, fur greying with age but still powerful—he’d fought off several challenges just this turn of the season alone—pushed through to the front of the crowd. “What do you mean, Kestejoo? How are we betrayed? Why do we have only minutes to live?”
Kestejoo gabbled out their dire news: the warning from the True Ones Above, the Council’s desperate alliance with the humans, the attempt by the Evil One Above to kill the entire clan. He finished up with the worst news of all. “The Evil One Above has murdered the other clans, viho. All of them, everywhere in the world! The poison is loose on the wind, blowing toward us as we speak. The True Ones Above and the humans have given us the antidote, but we must be inside a shelter we can seal off. Even then, there is a risk that some of us will die, but it is the best chance we have.”
Shocked curses spread through the war party.
Chilaili shouted to be heard. “The sixty oldest warriors must come with me, to shelter with the humans. There is not room for everyone in the humans’ machine, so Kestejoo will lead the rest of you to a cave near here. Another human machine is hovering over it to point the way.” She pointed to a flash of sunlight, where the airborne “drone” could just be seen above the treetops.
Tohopka, one of the youngest warriors, pushed roughly forward. “I say it is a trick! A trick of the devils from the stars! We must not listen, must not believe these lies!”
Kestejoo roared forward, boxing Tohopka’s ears soundly. “How dare you question the akule? I heard the voice of the Evil One Above come through the Oracle, giving the order to release the poison. Everyone in the clan heard it. Without the humans, we would all be dead! The Council has formally declared alliance with the humans as our only prayer of survival. If you wish to die in the snow, with blood pouring from your skin and eyes and nose, you are free to do so. But do not destroy the whole clan with your stupidity!”
The young warrior, momentarily stunned, recovered his wits with a roar. He launched a murderous blow full of wicked claws—
—and Chilaili slammed a fist into his belly and flung him headlong into the snow. “As I am katori,” she snarled, “do that again and I will kill you myself! There is no time! Die, if you like! But I will not let you kill our entire race!”
Yiska broke the shocked hush. “The sixty oldest warriors, go with Chilaili. Now. The rest of you, follow Kestejoo.”
Mutters of rebellion raced through the ranks. Her own youngest sons were snarling defiance. “It is better to die than make alliance with devils!”
Old Nahiossi, whose weapons hand bore only three fingers from an ancient wound, growled, “Only a fool dies without purpose. The Spirit Warrior of our ancestors has watched over us this day, guiding the humans to help us. I thank Hania for his mercy. Kestejoo, go. Let whoever chooses to follow go with you. Go.”