Distantly there was the sound of an engine.
“Sera!” an azi shouted from the porch. “The truck’s back!”
Everyone started to his feet, save the Ny-Berdens and their family: the azi guarding them did not let the guns turn aside. The truck groaned and rumbled its way to the porch. Raen put on her sun visor and took her rifle in hand, walked out to meet it.
It was a wretched sight, the covered vehicle laden with injured, with men bleeding through their bandages or, deep in shock, trying to protect unset bones. Warrior danced about anxiously, scenting life-fluids: “Go, out of the way,” Raen bade it. Merry climbed down, and the three he had taken to help him climbed out of the back, exhausted and staggering themselves from the heat. Raen ordered cold water for them, ordered the others to work while Merry and his companions slumped in the shade of the truck.
Willing hands off-loaded the injured into the air-conditioned house, to the bedrooms, the carpeted floors, everywhere there was room. They gave them water, and what medicines they could find in the house. Some were likely dying. All were in great pain, quiet as azi were always quiet, so long as they retained any consciousness of what they were doing. Some moaned, beyond that awareness.
Raen walked back into the living room, where her sunsuit lay over the back of a chair. She looked at the kitchen door, where Merry stood, shadow-eyed and bruised and bloody. “There’s no taking them farther,” she said hoarsely. “It’s too cruel. Some, maybe. Some.” She looked at Ny and Berden. “You tell me, seri. What would happen to those men here, in your care? I can terminate the worst or I can leave them—but not for you to do it. You tell me.”
“We can manage for them,” Ny said. “Want to.” He pressed Berden’s hand. “Never killed anybody. Don’t want anybody killed in this house.”
She believed that, by means having nothing to do with logic.
“Are you,” Berden asked, “leaving us our own azi?”
She had intended otherwise until that moment. She looked at the beta woman and nodded. “Keep them. Likely you’ll need their help yourselves, and probably they’re no use in a fight.”
The youth stood up, provoking a nervous reaction of his wife and of the armed azi. “I’m coming with,” he said. “You’re going to the City; you’re going to fight. I’m coming with. There’s others too. From other farms.”
She was bewildered by that, saw his parents and wife almost protest, and not; saw ser Ny nod his head in slow agreement.
“I have the place to hold,” Ny said sorrowfully. “But Nes’d go if he wants. Take some of the guard-azi with him, ours. We can spare. Settle with those citymen, and ‘bove-worlders.”
“You don’t understand,” Raen protested. “You can’t help. It’s not ISPAK; it’s not ITAK either.”
“What, then?” asked the younger Ny, his brow wrinkling. “What are you going to fight, Kontrin?”
It was a good question, better than he might know. Raen looked about her at their refuge, the farm, that might survive the chaos to come . . . looked back at him and shrugged. “Hive-matter. Things that have wanted settling for a long time.”
“There’s men would go,” the young beta insisted. “Farms like ours and big estates too, belly-full with the way ITAK’s run us. There’s men all over would go to settle this once for all, would go with you, Kontrin.”
“No.”
“Sera,” Merry objected. `This is sense he offers.”
“This is the tapes,” she said, looked about at all their faces, azi and beta. “Tapes . . . you understand that? You owe me nothing. We taped it into your ancestors seven hundred years ago. All your loyalty, all your fear of us, your desire to obey. It’s ail psych-set. Your azi know where their ideas come from. I’m telling you about yours. You’re following a program. Stop, before it ruins you.”
There was silence, stark silence, and the young man s stricken and the young woman held her child close.
“Be free,” Raen said. “You’ve your farm. Let the cities go. I doubt there’ll be more azi. These are the last. They’ll go at their forty-year. Have children. Never mind the quotas. Have children, and be done with azi and with us.”