“And didn’t arrive,” Hosteen stated instead of questioned.
But Kelson was shaking his head. “No-there is a chance she did arrive, that she crashed in the Blue. Weak signals of some sort were recorded on robot coms in two different line camps out in the Peaks. A cross check gives us a Blue landing point.”
“And your local climate would mean death to any survivors out there without adequate supplies or transportation at this season,” Widders continued. “I want you to guide me in-to get my son out-“
If he was on that LB and is still alive, Hosteen added silently. But he made his oral reply as plain as he could.
“You are asking the impossible, Gentle Homo. To go into the Blue at this time is simply suicide, and there is no possible way of getting behind the Peaks during the Big Dry.”
“Natives live there all year around, don’t they?” Widders’ voice scaled up a note or two.
“Yes, the Norbies live there. But their knowledge of the country is not shared with us.”
“You can hire native guides, anything you need. There is no limit on funds-“
“Credits can’t buy water knowledge from a Norbie. And there is also this-right now the tribes are making medicine in the Peak country. We would not be able to ride in under those conditions even in the Wet Time when all the odds are in our favor.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Kelson said. “It has to be looked into-“
“Not by me!” Hosteen shook his head. “There’s trouble shaping up back there. I’m down here partly to report it and to try and hire riders to replace our Norbies. Every native has pulled out of the Peak country during the past week-every one-“
Kelson did not appear surprised. “So we heard. And they are moving northeast.”
“Into the Blue.” Hosteen digested that.
“Just so. You were a short way into that country when you discovered that Xik nest. And Logan-he’s hunted along there. You’re the only two settlers who have any ground-level information we can use,” Kelson added.
“No.” Hosteen tried to make that negative sound final. “I’m not completely crazy. Sorry, Gentle Homo, the Blue is closed country-in more ways than one.”
Widders’ eyes were no longer bleak. There was a spark of anger in their gray depths. “If I refuse to accept that?”
Hosteen slipped a credit disk into the table slot. “That is your privilege, Gentle Homo, and none of my business. See you later, Kelson.” He rose and walked away from Widders and his problems. He had his own to deal with now.
CHAPTER THREE
“That’s it-“ For some reason Storm could not sit still but strode up and down the length of the big main room of the holding while he gave the results of his mission to Galwadi. “I hired just one rider, and I had to bail him out of Confinement-“
“What had he done?” Brad Quade asked.
“Tried to wipe off the pavement of a street, using the aeropilot of the Valodian minister for a mop. The minister was rather upset about it-his protests got Havers twenty days or forty credits. He’d lost his last credit at Star and Comet, so he was sweating out the twenty days. Had served three of them when I paid his fine. He seems to know his business, though.”
“And you saw Kelson?”
“Kelson saw me. He’s blown all his rockets and is spinning in for a big smash if you ask me.” Unconsciously Storm dropped into the old service slang.
There was a soft growl from the shadows, where Surra picked up his mood of irritation and faint apprehension, translating it into her own form of protest.
“What did he say?”
“He had an inner-planet civ in tow. They wanted a guide into the Blue-right now!’
“What?” Quade’s incredulity was as great as Hosteen’s own had been back in Galwadi.
Swiftly he outlined Widders’ story.
“That could all be true, though why he’s so sure his son was on board that LB-wish-thinking, I suppose.” Quade shook his head. “A Norbie might just make it. Only you’re not going to find a Norbie who will try, not now. On the other hand-“ Quade’s voice trailed off. He was sitting quietly at his file desk, two of Hing’s kits curled up in his lap, a third cuddled down on his shoulder. Now he looked to the map on the wall. “On the other hand, that might be just the direction in which we should do some prospecting.”
“Why?”
“Dort Lancin made a swing up the valley in his ‘copter. He spotted two clans on the march, and they weren’t just shifting camp. They were moving with a purpose-so fast they had left a stray mare-“
Storm stopped pacing, eying his stepfather with startled interest. For a Norbie to abandon a horse under any circumstances, except to save life, was so unheard of as to join in magnitude Widders’ desire to enter the Blue.
“Heading northeast?” He was not the least surprised to be answered by a nod.
“I can’t understand it. That’s worse than Nitra country-that’s where they eat THE MEAT.” He made the Arzoran sign for the cannibal tribes. “No Shosonna or Warpt or Fanga would head in that direction. He’d be ritually unclean for years-“
“Just so. But that’s where they’re going-not raiding parties but the clans, with their women and children. So I agree this much with Kelson-we ought to know what is going on back there. But how any of us could get in-that is a different matter.”
Storm went to the map. “ ‘Copter would crack up if those wind currents are all they’re reported to be.”
“They are, all right,” Quade returned with grim emphasis. “You might-with a crack pilot-do some exploring along the fringe, under the right conditions and weather. But you couldn’t make any long survey flight into that region. Any exploring party would have to go on horses or afoot.”
“The Norbies do have wells-“
“Which are clan secrets and not shared with us.”
Storm was still tracing the lines of the mountains on the mural map. “Did Logan ever learn any well calls?”
Though the human voice box could not duplicate Norbie speech, nor a Norbie produce anything like a Galactic basic word, there was a rarer form of communication that some of the Arzor-born settlers-those initiated deeply enough into native ways-could understand, even if they could not imitate it themselves. Long, lilting calls, which were almost like songs, were a known code. These were used by native scouts as warnings or reports, and it was common knowledge among the riders that some were used only to signal the appearance or disappearance of water.
“He might have.”
“You’re sure he is riding with Krotag?”
“He wouldn’t be allowed to join any other clan.”
The meercats awoke, squeaked. Again Surra growled, alert to the tension behind that quiet answer. Then the big cat padded soft-footed to the door.
“Someone’s coming-“ Storm stated the obvious. Surra was familiar with every living thing at the holding, human, animal, Norbie. She was waiting now for a stranger.
The dune cat’s phenomenal hearing and her better than human nose had heralded the newcomers long before they reached the door, where Quade now stood in the cool gloom of very early morning to welcome them. A path of light from the window picked out the green tunic of a Peace Officer, and a moment later the visitor’s hail came in Kelson’s voice.
“Hallo-the holding!”
“The fire is waiting!” Brad Quade called back the customary answer.
Storm was not in the least surprised to see that Kelson’s companion was Widders, who, in his finicky civ dress, looked even more out place in the comfortable but rather rough-hewn main chamber. Its chief decorations were trophies of Norbie weapons on the walls, its heavy furnishings were made out of native wood by settler hands, and a few off-world mementos of Brad Quade’s roving past as an officer of Survey were scattered around.
Widders crossed the threshold with an authoritative stride and then halted quickly as he fronted Surra. The big cat regarded him with a long, wide-eyed stare. Storm knew that she had not only imprinted the civ’s appearance on her memory for all time but had also made up her mind concerning him, and that her opinion was not in any way flattering to the off-world Gentle Homo. Majestically, she moved to the far side of the room and leaped to the low couch, which was her own particular seat. But she did not curl up at ease; instead she sat upright, the nervous tip of her fluffy fox tail just brushing her foretoes, her vulpine ears at attention.
Storm busied himself at the heating unit to produce the inevitable cups of swankee. His early tension was increased now. Kelson had brought Widders here. That meant that neither the off-worlder nor the officer had given up the wild scheme about the Blue, but Quade’s word would carry weight. Hosteen did not believe that the others were going to be satisfied with the outcome of the interview.