the program was designed to do and what it was doing to them—but he did not
fight it. It was the first thing he’d done by chance that had turned out right,
and he was going to use it. Neither woman, of course, could understand the
process and know how to fight it, anyway. For all the People, the priorities
were family, then tribe, then nation. By accident, the survival program had
reoriented those three categories to go with different labels. Their loyalty was
to him now, and he to them—they were their own tribe. The threatening wilderness
and the treacherous yet mighty river were their friends and allies against all
other tribes and nations.
He got one of the bottles from the archaeologist’s pack and opened it. Primitive
hunter-gatherers they might now be, but they could neither hunt nor gather in
this darkness and strange wood. Food would wait until dawn.
There is energy in this fire drink, which is called bourbon, he told them. We
must use it for now, although too much will cause dullness and throbbing heads
the next day. Drink in celebration, for now we are one.
They drank, all coughing as it made its way down. It is like a fire inside that
warms, Cloud Dancer noted. Now I see why it is called fire drink. But they
finished it off.
When the bottle was empty, he broke it on a stone and washed the sharp point in
the river. Until now I had a wife who stands here. Now I have two wives, and
they are proven warriors as well, as brave as any man and as skilled. Silent
Woman gave a short gasp, and he realized that until now she’d still considered
herself a slave—his slave. Tonight we will mix our blood and bind ourselves
forever to one another.
Three cuts on three wrists were joined one after the other, then all together.
And then, full of togetherness and in the knowledge that they were as safe as
they could expect and could do nothing more until morning, and being loosened
with bourbon, the two ministered to him and he to them on the forest floor, and
they slept entwined together.
* * *
You assholes just stood there and let him steal a damned mindprint machine?
Raven was aghast.
And twenty bottles of good bourbon, the archaeologist chief added mournfully.
It was only a portable unit. Not programmable. I can’t imagine what good it’ll
do him.
It’ll make those bitches linguists, Raven replied. Make it a lot easier
moving south. You tell me quick what the nonlanguage cartridges were. I want to
see just who and what we’re dealing with now.
The survival cartridge’s importance did not escape the Crow. They’ve shown
themselves to be right resourceful up to now, he told Warlock. Now they can
avoid all human company and still fill their bellies. Probably do better with
the canoe, too.
I have studied the charts, she responded. If they get south of the Arkansas,
they are going to be in a region that is heavily populated and thickly traveled.
He picked this place because it is of Council; his actions here will not affect
his relations with the tribes. Down there he cannot escape detection or at least
notice. The tattooed woman stands out in any situation. I cannot understand why
he keeps her along. He must know that.
Oh, he’ll keep her, the Crow assured Warlock. He’s incurred an obligation,
and that’s an honorable man there. Still, the more people, the harder to use
sensors to find a camp. We can’t hardly roust every camp we find. Some of the
tribes down there get a mite touchy and wouldn’t be at all impressed with
Council. My feeling is that we ought to pack it in, call in a skimmer, and wait
for ’em at Mud Runner’s place.
Only as a last resort. If we were to spook him there, in those swamps, we might
get him killed or lose him forever. We don’t know where he thinks he’s going,
but he does, and he is one single-minded man. Whatever he knows, he believes it
is worth any price.
Well, I got to admit I don’t like the odds down there, he said. He’s a
stranger there, true, but so are we, and, pardon, we’re just as conspicuous as
he is. Those swamps have defeated just about everybody who ever tried to beat
’em rather than live with ’em. You got any ideas?
Just one. We have the advantage that we know he must stick close to the river
and probably on it. Time is pressing him. The river is the only fast way to go.
We know what they look like and where they are going. We must stop chasing them
and get ahead of them. Let me see the current charts.
They looked over the river course and the latest information. Charts of the
Mississippi were always out of date, but this one was close. Warlock pointed a
long finger at a spot well to the south. There, she told him. It is narrow,
and see how it loops around. We could get two cracks at them there.
He nodded. Okay. As long as they don’t portage through the neck here.
That is a chance I am willing to take. They have no charts; the river is full
and could flood down there at any time. They can’t portage across every oxbow or
they would eat far more time than sticking to the water. I think they will come
by there in a canoe in about three days. If we call in a skimmer, we can be
there in a few hours and have that much time to prepare.
He nodded. All right, I’ll go with that. Better than the swamps, anyway. If we
miss ’em, though, then it’s Mud Runner or nothing.
She smiled enigmatically. Then we will see if he lives up to his legendary
reputation as a ladies’ man.
Ordinarily the programs and data fed by a portable mindprinter faded as time
went on; only a Master System unit could lock in permanent changes. However, it
was also true that the more a skills program was used, the more entrenched it
became: If you lived it and used it, it often integrated into the mind and
achieved a level of permanency. Hawks insisted that the two women literally
think in English and only in English.
Though a stronger imprint, the survival program was supposed to be emergency
medicine, something carried in the hope that it would never be used. Under those
conditions, it required regular retreatment with the machine. Once in use,
however, the effects would last as long as necessary. Used too long, it could
take on a life of its own, stripping away the last vestiges of a complex and
refined culture like the Hyiakutt’s and leaving only the savage primitive. It
was designed to do this to one born and raised in the high-tech, pampered world
of Council; the women came from cultures that were no less complex or primitive
than Council in their own ways, but they were cultures much closer to the land.
There was less civilization to strip away. The authors of the survival program
simply assumed that any such problems could be fixed once the person was located
and rescued. An easy job for Master System—but they could never meet up with a
Master System connect.
Hawks let it happen. Food, at least, was no problem now. What they had been best
at before they were expert at now. His bowmanship was so perfect, it amazed him;
Cloud Dancer could spear something almost instinctively, and Silent Woman could
bring down birds in flight with stone or knife. The programming was geared to
using what you had, and from the standpoint of survival they had quite a bit.
Minor ills, bruises, aches, and pains simply did not bother them anymore.
Fearing a major break or injury, Hawks urged quiet caution.
He also began to entertain doubts about Mud Runner. What if the Resident Agent
didn’t remember this wild man as his old friend? What if he turned them in? What
if, most probable, he just couldn’t help? He had to be made to help, even if it
meant telling him about the rings and their secret and thus passing on the
obligation. Hawks didn’t really want to do that anymore; now his thoughts ran in
a different direction.
The fact was, he admitted to himself, that right now he was as happy as he had
ever been. He felt both free and loved. He began to think about ways to fake his
own death, to throw off pursuit. Perhaps truly to found a new tribe and live
this life, which was satisfying. He was approaching middle age, not a good time
to go wild, but he was in excellent health. There were programs that could erase
a lifetime and alter forever a personality. Mud Runner might well have these.
For the first time he began to doubt his mission.
Why had he run? Because insatiable curiosity had forced him to read those papers
and learn their deadly contents. He had fooled himself into thinking that it was
some sort of noble mission to save humanity, but it was really just a bid to
save his own neck. Until now his alternatives had been either to remain with the
Hyiakutt or return to Council, but now there was another alternative.
If the bottom-line idea was to save his life and the lives of Cloud Dancer and
Silent Woman, then which promised more? Passing on the information and depending
on some Lord of the Middle Dark to save and protect them from Master System? Or,
perhaps, logic. A readout into a full mindprint machine would show that he had
passed his knowledge to no one. A second record showing that all his knowledge
had been erased, along with his past, and replaced with that of a primitive
hunter-gatherer might not absolutely take the heat off, but Master System would
be unlikely to send a Val or expend much effort on him. Death was the sentence
only because Master System did not trust its own demon lords. But if no demon
lord were involved…
Humanity could save itself. Someone had discovered the ancient knowledge; others
would over time. What he had here was worth a thousand Master Systems.
9. THE WOUNDS OF HOPE
CHU LI HAD EXPERIENCED ONE BIG SCARE ON THE way to the spaceship. Just before
boarding, they were all required to clear security by placing both hands on a
plate and looking through a binocularlike eyepiece. He had been sure that the
other three would leave without him once the machine, which was definitely
linked to Master System, identified him not as Chu Li but as Song Ching.
But the machine had not. Incredibly, it positively matched eye- and fingerprints
with Chu Li and showed a picture of the disguised Song Ching on the security
monitor. The success at the checkpoint was as startling and disturbing as
failure would have been. He knew that the system was hardly infallible, but
nobody could fool Master System to this degree. It was unthinkable. The only
explanation possible was that the gods themselves had intervened.
Captain Sabatini was correct that the ship was not intended to take off from the
ground except in emergencies; it was impossible to imagine how it had ever
landed there. The passenger cabin was boarded by going sideways through an open
air lock, then into a room that contained twelve huge, plush chairs with
oversized backs in three rows of four each. The ship was not completely vertical