The Integral Trees t-1 Page 7

  But there were penalties. Now water had grown scarce too. There was no wind this high, and thus no leeward stream of water. Sometimes you found wet wood, wet enough to lick dry. There was water in fan fungus flesh.

  Here was the mark Jinny had found. Good: it looked nearly clean.

  And half a klomter farther up the trunk, a fan-shape showed like a white hand against the sky. It must be huge. The Grad pointed. "Dinner?"

  Clave said, "We'll find smaller ones around it."

  "But wouldn't it look grand," Merril asked, "coming into the Commons?"

  The Grad was pulling himself toward the tribal mark when Clave said, "Hold it."

  "What?"

  "This mark isn't overgrown like the others were. Grad, doesn't it look funny to you? Tended?"

  "There's some fuzz growing, but maybe not enough." Then the Grad was close enough to see the real discrepancy. "There's no takeout mark. Citizens, this isn't Quinn territory."

  Gavving and Jiovan had been left behind to tend the smokefire.

  Hard-learned lessons showed here. Bark torn from the rim of a patch of fuzz served as fuel. Healthy bark resisted fire. A circle of coals surrounded the meat, all open to the fitful breezes. A sheltered fire wouldn't burn. The smoke wouldn't rise; it would stay to smother the fire. Even here in the open, the smoke hovered in a squirming cloud.

  The heat of burning stayed in the smoke, so the fire didn't need to be large. Gavving and Jiovan stayed well back. A shift in the breeze could smother an incautious citizen.

  The meat should be rotated soon. It was Gavving's turn, but it didn't have to be done instantly.

  "Jiovan?"

  "What?"

  Even Gavving wouldn't ask Jiovan how he lost his leg-nobody would; but one thing about that tale had bothered him for years. And he asked.

  "Why were you hunting alone, that day? Nobody hunts alone."

  "I did."

  "Okay." Topic closed. Gavving drew his harpoon. He pulled air into his lungs, then lunged into the smoke. Half-blind, he reached over the coals with the harpoon butt to turn the nose-arm legs-one, two, three. He yanked hard on his line to pull himself into open air. Smoke came with him, and he took an instant to fan it away before he drew breath.

  Jiovan was looking in, past the small green tuft that had once enclosed his life, into the bluish white spark that was Voy. His head came up, and Gavving faced a murderous glare. "This isn't something I'd want told around."

  Gavving waited.

  "All right. I've got…I had a real gift for sarcasm, they tell me. When I was leading a hunt…well, the boys were there to learn, of course, and I was there to teach. If someone made a mistake, I left him in no doubt."

  Gavving nodded.

  "Pretty soon they were giving me nothing but the fumblers. I couldn't stand it, so I started hunting alone."

  "I shouldn't have asked. It used to bother me."

  "Forget it."

  Gavving was trying to forget something else entirely. This last sleep period he had wakened to find three citizens missing. He'd followed a sound…and watched Clave and Jayan and Jinny moor lines to the bark, and leap outward, and make babies while they drifted.

  What lived in his head now was lust and envy balanced by fear of Clave's wrath or Jinny's scorn (for he had fixed on Jinny as marginally lovelier.) He might as well dream. Any serious potential mate was back in Quinn Tuft, and Gavving couldn't offer anyway; he hadn't the wealth or the years.

  That would change, of course. He would return (of course) as a hero (of course!). As for the Chairman's wrath…he hadn't been able to send Harp. Possibly Clave could have resisted him too. If they could end the famine, the Chairman could do nothing; they would be heroes.

  Gavving could have his choice of mates. "So I was hunting alone," Jiovan said, "the day Glory busted open the turkey pen."

  For an instant Gavving couldn't imagine what Jiovan was talking about. Then he smiled. "Harp's told that tale."

  "I've heard him. I was down under the branch that day, with one line to tether me and another loose, nibbling a little foliage with my head sticking down into the sky, you know, just waiting. It was full night at the New Year's occlusion. The sun was a wide bright patch shining up at me, and Voy drifting right across the center.

  "Here came a turkey, flapping against the wind, still moving pretty fast, and backward. I put a net on my free line, quick, and threw it. The turkey's caught. Here comes another one. I've got more nets, and in two breaths I've got a turkey on each end. But here come two more, then four, and they're coming from above, and by now I can guess they're ours. I throw the end of the line I'm moored to, and I get a third turkey—"

  "Good throwing," Gavving said.

  "Oh, sure, there wasn't anything wrong with my throwing that day. But the sky was full of turkeys, and most of them were going to get away, and I still thought it was kind of hilarious."

  "Really."

  "That's why I never told this story before."

  Gavving suddenly guessed what wascoming. "I can live with it if you don't want to finish."

  "No, that's okay. It was funny," Jiovan said seriously. "But the sky was full of turkeys, and a triune family came to do something about all that meat on the wing. They split up and went after the loose turkeys.

  There wasn't a thing I could do but pull in my three."

  Jiovan certainly wasn't smiling now. "The male went after one of my turkeys. Swallowed it whole and tried to swim away. It got the wrong line…picture one end of a line spiked deep in the branch, and that massive beast pulling on the other, and me in a loop in the middle. I suddenly saw what was happening, and I pulled the loop open and tried to jump out, and the loop snicked shut and my leg was ripped almost off and I was falling into the sky."

  "Treefodder."

  "I thought I was treefodder, all right. Remember, I still had a line in my hands? But with a turkey on each end, flapping like crazy, and I was falling. I tried throwing a turkey, I really did, I thought it might get caught in the branchlets, but it didn't.

  "Meanwhile the triune male's been caught by something, and it doesn't know what. It pulls back against the line and feels a tug in its belly and throws up. I think that's what must have happened. All I know is something smacks me in the face, and it's a dead turkey covered with goo, and I grab it-I hug it to me with all my heart and climb the line back into the tuft."

  Gavving was afraid to laugh.

  "Then I tie off what's left of my leg. What's hanging loose, I had to cut off. Well, kid, did Harp ever tell you a story like that?"

  "No. Treefodder, he'd love it! Oh."

  "He'd make me famous. I don't want to be fanious that way."

  Gavving chewed it over. "Why tell me now?"

  "I don't know. My turn," Jiovan said suddenly. He filled his lungs and disappeared into the smoke.

  Gavving felt burdened. Always he asked too many questions. He grinned guiltily, picturing Jiovan trying to throw a line with a turkey flapping at each end. But what if Jiovan regretted telling it?

  He saw Clave appear from behind the curve of the tnmk.

  Jiovan emerged, bringing smoke, and Gavving held his breath while it cleared. Jiovan coughed a little. "It's been so long," he said. "Maybe it doesn't hurt as much. Maybe I just wanted to tell it. Maybe I had to."

  "They're coming back," Gavving said. "I wonder what's got them so excited?"

  Clave bellowed, "I will not go home without learning something about them!"

  "I know quite a lot about them," the Grad answered. "We all lived in the far tuft once. The Quinns left after some kind of disagreement. Before that, it was Dalton-Quinn Tribe."

  "Then they're relatives."

  The argument had grown a little less chaotic, but only because half the troop was trailing back. It was no less vehement. Alfin shouted, "You're not listening. They kicked us out! For all we know, they think they're still at war with us!"

  The Grad said, "Clave, the tribemarks are tended, and we aren't find
ing as many fan fungi lately, or the shelled things either. I'm thinking they keep this stretch of trunk clean. They must be still around. Our move is to get out of here!"

  "You want to run from something you haven't even seen!"

  "We saw the tribal insignia," the Grad said. "DQ. No takeout mark across the Q. Maybe they still call themselves Dalton-Quinn. What does that make us? Intruders on their tree? We've passed the median anyway, we're in their space. Clave, let's go home. Kill another nose-arm, pick some fan fungus and one of the shells, and go home with plenty of food." Clave was shaking his head. "The tribe won't have to go thirsty any more either! We bring water from the trunk—"

  Clave waved it away. "That water would get to the tuft anyway. No. I want to meet the Daltons. It's been hundreds of years, we don't know what they're like…maybe they know better tending methods for the earthlife, or ways to get water. Maybe they grow food we never heard of. Something. 'Day, Jiovan."

  "'Day. What's going on?"

  "We found a tribemark and it isn't ours. The question before the citizenry is, do we say hello before going home? Or do we just run?"

  The Grad jumped in. "Don't you see, we can't fight and we can't negotiate! We've got one good fighter, and two cripples and a boy and four women and a treemouth tender, and all of us thrown out of Quinn Tuft, we can't even make promises—"

  Clave broke in. "Alfin, you're for leaving too?"

  "Jiovan?"

  "What are we running from?"

  "Maybe nothing. That mark wasn't tended for a long time. Treefodder, the drought could have killed them off! We could settle the far tuft—"

  Merril broke in, though she was puffing from the climb. "Oh no. if everyone died there…we won't want to…go anywhere near it. Sickness."

  "Are you for going back or going on?"

  "I don't…back, I guess, but…let's get that…big fan fungus first. Wouldn't that impress the citizens! And smoke another nosearm…if we can. Far as that goes…we know there's meat to be hunted on the trunk. We should tell the Chairman that."

  "Jayan? Jinny?"

  "She makes sense," Jinny said, and Jayan nodded.

  "Gavving?"

  "No opinion."

  "Treefodder. Glory?"

  "Go back," Glory said. "I haven't tasted foliage in days and days."

  Clave sighed. "If I was sure I was right, we'd go on. Aaall right." His voice became fuller, more resonant. "We'll have enough to carry anyway, what with the giant fan and whatever meat we find. Citizens, we've done very well for ourselves and Quinn Tuft. We go home as heroes. Now, I don't want to lose anyone on the way down, so don't take the tide for granted! It'll get stronger with every klomter. Most of the way down we'll need lines for the meat and the fan fungus—"

  Their goals had become Clave's own. Gavving noticed, and remembered.

  The flashers had come back. Minya watched them at their mating dance. Two males strutted before. the same femhle with their wingcloaks spread wide, and the female's head snapped back and forth almost too fast to see. Decisions, decisions… "Something's been worrying you, woman."

  Decisions. Was it any of Smitta's business? Minya made a swift decision: she had to talk to someone, or burst. "I've started wondering if-if I'm right for the Triune Squad."

  Smitta showed shock. "Really? You were eager enough to join eight years ago. What's changed?"

  "I don't know."

  But she did, and suddenly Smitta did too. "Don't talk to Sal about this. She wouldn't understand."

  "I was only fourteen."

  "You looked older…more mature. And maybe the loveliest recruit we ever got."

  Minya grimaced. "Every man in the tuft wanted to make babies with me. I must have heard every possible way of saying that. I just didn't want to do that with anyone. Smitta, that's what the Triune Squad is for!"

  "I know. What would I be without the Triune Squad? A woman born as a man, a man who wants to be a woman…”

  "Do you ever want—" What was the right word? Not make babies, not for Smitta.

  "I used to," Smitta said. "With Risher — he was a lot prettier once — and lately with Mik, the Huntmaster's boy." Minya flinched. Maybe Smitta noticed. "We give all that up when we join. You just have to hold it inside. You know that."

  "Does anyone ever…"

  "What? Quit? Cheat? Alse jumped into the sky, a little after I joined, but nobody really knows why. That's the only way to quit. If you get caught cheating, I can name some would tear you apart. Sal's one."

  Tight lips and clenched teeth held back Minya's secret. Now Smitta did notice. "Don't get caught cheating," she repeated. "Maybe you don't know how citizens feel about us. They tolerate us. We won't give the tribe babies, so we do the most dangerous jobs anyone can think of, and pay the debt that way. But you don't ask any ordinary man to, you know, help you be in both worlds."

  Minya nodded. Lips pressed together, teeth clenched: if only she had kept them that way when she was with Mik! Mik had been impossible to get rid of, eight years ago. How had he changed so much? Would he tell?

  "Smitta—"

  "Drop it, Sal's coming."

  Minya looked. There were four figures down there, four women rising on jets of sprayed gas and seeds; and they carried no water. Sal shouted something the wind snatched away.

  "They're wasting jet pods," Smitta observed.

  They were closer now and in range to snag the bark. This time Minya heard Sal's joyful bellow.

  "Invaderrrsss!"

  Chapter Seven

  The Checker's Hand

  THE TWO TRIADS MOVED INWARD, STAYING IN CRACKS IN THE bark where they could. Every minute or so Denisse, a tall, dark woman of Thanya's triad, would pop up, look around fast, and drop back into the bark.

  "We counted six of them around the tribemark," Thanya said. "Dark clothes. Maybe they're from the Dark Tuft."

  "Intruders on the tree." Sal's voice was eager, joyful. "We've never fought invaders! There were some citizens thrown out for mutiny, long ago…some of them killed the Chairman, and the rest went with them. Maybe they settled in the Dark Tuft. Mutineers…Thanya, what kind of weapons were they carrying?"

  "We couldn't go ask them, could we? Denisse says she saw things like giant arrows. I couldn't even tell their sexes, but one had no legs."

  They veered to avoid a crack clogged with old-man's-hair. Smitta said, "Six of them, six of us, you may have missed a few…shall we send someone back for Jeel's triad?"

  Sal grinned wolfishly. "No."

  "And no," said Thanya for her triad.

  Minya said nothing-her triad leader spoke for her-but she felt a fierce joy. Right now there was nothing she needed more than a fight.

  Denisse dropped back from her next survey. Her voice was deadly calm. "Intruders. We have intruders, three hundred meters in and a hundred to port, moving outward. At least six."

  "Let's go slow," Thanya said suddenly. "I'd like to question one. We don't know what they want here."

  "Do we care? What they want isn't theirs."

  Thanya grinned back. “We're not a debating team. We're the Triune Squad. Let's go look."

  They worked their way along the bark. Presently Denisse poked her head up, dropped back. "Intruders have reached the Checker's Hand."

  Clearing the trunk of parasites was one of the Triune Squad's duties. Fan fungi were dangerous to the tree and edible besides; but one large and perfect fan had special privileges. Found twenty-odd years ago, it had been left to grow even larger. Minya had only heard of the squad's unusual pet. She eased her head above the bark. They were there: men, women, looking entirely human. "More than six. Eight, nine, dressed like dirty civilians. Sooty red clothes, no pockets…they're chopping at the stand. They're killing it, the Checker's Hand—"

  Smitta screamed and launched herself across the bark.

  No help for it now. Sal cried, "Go for Gold!" and the Triune Squad leapt toward the intruders

  The fan fungus reached out from the trunk like a tremen
dous hand, white with red nails. Its stalk, disproportionately narrow and fragilelooking from a distance, was still thicker than Gavving's torso. He set to chopping at it with his dagger. Jiovan worked the other side.

  "We'll get it down the trunk," Jiovan puffed, "but how will we ever get it through the tuft to the Commons?"

  "Maybe we don't," said Clave. "Bring the tribe to the fungus. Let them carve off pieces to suit themselves."

  "Tear the fringe off first," Merril said.

  The Grad objected. "The Scientist will want some of the red part."

  "And try it on who? Oh, all right, save some fringe for the Scientist. Not a lot, though."

  The stalk was tough. They'd made some progress, but Gavving's arms were used up. He backed away, and Clave took over. Gavving watched the cut deepen.

  Maybe they'd weakened it enough?

  He pounded a stake into the bark and tethered his. line to it. Then he leapt at the fungus with the full strength of his legs.

  The great hand bent to his weight, then sprang back, flipping him playfully into the sky. Floundering, gathering in his line, he saw what the others had missed through being too close to the trunk.

  "Fire!"

  "What? Where?"

  "Outward, half a klomter, maybe. Doesn't look big." The sun was behind the out tuft, leaving the trunk somewhat shadowed, he could see an orange glow within a cloud of smoke.

  A flicker at the corner of his eye. He pulled hard at the line before his forebrain had registered anything at all…and a miniature harpoon zipped past his hip.

  He yelled, "Treefodder!" Not specific enough. "Harpoons!"

  Jiovan was stumbling, indecisive; a sharp point showed behind his shoulder blade. Clave was slapping shoulders and buttocks to send his citizens to cover. Something sailed past at a distance: a woman, a burly red-haired woman garbed in purple, with pockets clustered from breasts to hips, giving her a look of lumpy pregnancy. She flew loose through the sky while she pulled something apart with both hands. Something that glittered, a line of light.