Key to Chroma

  "It will do,” she said. “Now try to act like a woman who has just had sex."

  "I lack experience."

  "Then blank out most of your thoughts, so you seem opaque in my fashion. I will broadcast mixed frustration and satisfaction: the sex was good, but would have been better at another time, and slower."

  "Why do I have a mental image of a quasar?"

  "Banish that!” she said sharply.

  "Banished,” he agreed meekly.

  They took up their weapons and went out. Stevia walked ahead with some swagger, while he followed more humbly. Would they fool the others? He wasn't sure. The trained eyes of Dour and Lucent might penetrate the change, but they would know better than to react. Similar for Gale and Symbol. He wanted their thoughts to support the ruse. With luck the birds would not question it.

  The time for the engagement came. There was Avian, flanked by twenty other birds. The engagement was set to commence when the human force crossed the line that marked the limit of the birds’ territory.

  Stevia forged across, followed closely by Havoc and Ine, with Symbol and Gale at one flank, Dour and Lucent at the other. All drew their light swords and fired. It was a concentrated volley, and it caught the birds by surprise; three went down as the rest scattered.

  That was the limit of the easy kills. The surviving birds took refuge in green bushes and trees, effectively disappearing. The humans stalked them, knowing that the surest strategy was to wipe out the enemy force, particularly the king, so as to end its threat. Stevia, emulating Havoc, took out after Avian, tracking him from tree to tree. There were several light jabs from the bushes, but the humans were moving in the manner of a phalanx, difficult to strike. They continued to fire at any birds that showed, and did catch two more. The birds were evidently not used to such organized, concentrated force.

  Havoc, as Stevia, fell back. He dropped into the foliage of a bushlike tree as if searching for a bird. His effort was seemingly wasted; there were none there, as he knew. He sent out a quick thought to the tree: Friend, cover me! Then he urinated at the root of the tree. My offering.

  The tree did not react, but that was positive. It was a prickler, with many sharply barbed leaves. Had it been annoyed, they would have struck Havoc's flesh. Instead he brushed against them without discomfort. The tree had accepted his offering, and regarded him as a friend. He had always gotten along well with trees, understanding their needs, regardless of their Chroma.

  Concealed by the foliage, he stripped away his armor and clothing and left it on the ground with his laser sword. Naked and weaponless, he crawled out from the cover of the tree. His mind was blank; there were no open thoughts, and even his secret thoughts were mainly of vegetation. As he encountered grass, he paused, thinking an apology for intrusion and begging its indulgence. He was careful not to put any weight on any tender stems; he followed an animal trail that was largely clear of delicate plants.

  Meanwhile the battle raged to one side. “Havoc” was still stalking Avian, trying to take out the enemy king. But the birds were catching on to the strategy, and their resistance was stiffening. More of them were going down, but increasingly accurate light probes injured one human and then another. Then “Havoc” himself took an injury in the right arm, and had to change his weapon to his left hand. Ine rallied to him, and the others, so that their tight defense prevented the birds from getting any killing shot at the king.

  However, this slowed progress. The humans had a good defensive emplacement, but could not advance from it without crossing a low open field where they would be highly vulnerable. The birds hung back, perched in surrounding trees, waiting for the sally that had to come. Because it was not feasible to sit at the site all day; if night came with no resolution, the battle would be over, and the humans would have lost by default, their prize uncollected. So the birds had the advantage, and knew it. They were content to wait.

  Meanwhile the real Havoc crossed the field on hands and knees, focusing on each patch of grass. Apology ... appreciation ... parting. He was just a clumsy animal trying to get clear of the combat. He was in plain physical sight of all participants, but there was no royalty or human arrogance in him. He picked his way though, negotiating with each plant he encountered, deferring to whichever one held the immediate territory. Some were resistive, and he avoided them; others were tolerant, and he thanked them. One green cactus granted him passage, and he admired her thorns and flower, flattering her. Another small tree was hungry, and he squatted and strained and managed to produce a moderate turd for its nourishment. It gave him access to the forest beyond the field.

  His mind received the thoughts of the battle without reacting to them. “Havoc” had taken another injury, this time in the leg, and was in simulated pain, unable to walk upright. Ine bewailed his incapacity and sought to help him walk, but that open field was daunting. The others were uncertain; Symbol had gotten killed, and Gale was injured. Only the Cartographer and the Amazon were whole, but they could not advance without Havoc. It was going badly for the invaders.

  They decided to remain defensive, making surprise sallies when they thought they had a chance to get Avian. If they took out the king bird, they would be able to carry Havoc to the cone, facing no further resistance. It was a desperation strategy, but seemed to have the best chance of success.

  The mentally nondescript animal that was Havoc moved on. Travel through the forest was easier, because the trees crowded out the smaller vegetation, and were not much concerned about passing animals as long as they behaved. He was able to follow a regular path now, and made better progress, because he did not have to negotiate with individual plants along the way.

  He rounded a bend—and there was Avian, standing on one wing-leg, evidently snoozing. Had the bird anticipated this ploy, and blocked off the route? Havoc was naked, without weapons; he could neither attack nor defend. He could not circle around; the forest was magically thick here, near the cone, and he had seen no viable alternate paths. This was his only way through in time.

  He pondered, and realized that he would have to gamble that the device that had fooled the other birds would also fool the leader. All he could do was avoid notice, if that was possible. He feared it wasn't. Avian would wake the moment Havoc approached, and beam him, and he would be dead. The bird had after all outsmarted him. Unless Avian had also outsmarted himself by being so sure of victory that he thought he could relax.

  Havoc got back down on all fours and moved along the path, thinking animal thoughts. He was looking for nuts, berries, or roots to eat, varieties that wouldn't hurt his sensitive muzzle. Sometimes he found them around the base of the cone. He would sniff them out, or go hungry.

  He was close to the bird. The animal took note: did the bird care? No, it wasn't a predator on his kind, and it didn't eat the same varieties of berries. So it could be ignored; it was of no survival significance.

  Now he was up to the bird. He didn't want to disturb it, because he had no quarrel with it, but there wasn't quite room to pass. So he touched the foliage on one side, and found it was a stinging nettle tree. That required negotiation; nettles could sting, torment, or even kill, depending on the state of their annoyance. They did not suffer foolish animals gladly. Fortunately he had generated some more urine, so he made a cup of one hand, filled it with urine, and deposited it at the base of the nettle, where a root could imbibe it. Friends?

  The nettle was interested, for animal urine was a nutritious delicacy it seldom got to taste, but it was not satisfied. So Havoc got another hand-cup full, and a third, and a fourth, depositing each carefully by one of the main roots. How many would it take? He was running low on fertilizer. But he had to continue. Like all trees, the nettle had eight major roots radiating out from the base, and it seemed that all of them had to be pacified by similar offerings. The tree knew he had no choice, and wasn't settling for tokenism.

  He got the eighth cup, exhausting his bladder, and served the eighth root. Only then did the tree a
ccept his friendship. Its nettles relaxed, and allowed Havoc to brush by them without being sorely stung. He moved carefully through the deadly foliage, skirting the standing bird without touching it. And emerged on the other side, resuming the cleared path. He had made it!

  He set off down the path, ready to sniff out edible berries. He glanced back once, and saw the bird facing him, still snoozing. Then he rounded another bend, and was alone.

  Something nagged. Facing him? Avian had been facing him when he approached from the other side, his lens oriented to fire down the path. Now the bird was oriented the other way. How could that be, if he had never awoken?

  There were two explanations. The bird could have shifted position in sleep, to relieve a fatigued foot, and turned around in the process. Or he could have awakened and spied Havoc—and let him go.

  The more Havoc considered it, the less likely it seemed that Avian would have come to the tight spot of the path to block Havoc's progress, then fallen asleep on the job. The mere approach of Havoc's mind should have alerted the bird, regardless. So probably Avian had been awake throughout. Havoc's mental pose as a dumb animal might have fooled a snoozing mind, but his human body would have given him away instantly to an alert mind. Avian had to have recognized him. That meant he had let Havoc go.

  But why? Why yield the easy victory? Avian could have won the moment Havoc came into view, or at any time during his negotiation with the nettle tree. He could have shot Havoc down when he glanced back.

  Not only had he spared Havoc, he had let Havoc know it. By turning. What motivated Avian?

  It had to be that the bird wanted Havoc to succeed. That was another mystery. Havoc suspected that he had better fathom that mystery, lest he overlook something vital to his mission. But at the moment he had to fetch that ikon.

  He reached the base of the cone and mounted it. It was unguarded; even the local green demons seemed unconcerned about a wandering animal. He felt the terrible intensity of magic, but the cone was not rumbling; it was safe to approach at the moment. He would not remain here longer than he had to; he wasn't sure what effect unfocused magic could have on him, but it was uncomfortable.

  He found the cave and entered. Inside was the chamber with the altar. There were the eighteen pockets. In the ninth one he found a small model of a ten legged squid. He picked it up and put it in his mouth. He had gotten what he had come for.

  The intensity of the magic seemed to abate. Havoc realized it was because of the ikon: it had a tremendous focus of magic, and that protected him from the rest.

  He walked back to the battlefield. The fighting had stopped. The birds were standing in a circle, no longer hiding. Stevia was lying on the ground, Ine leaning over her. “He isn't dead,” Ine was saying. “He isn't dead."

  "It was a fair shot,” Dour said. “By the rules of this engagement, he is dead."

  "Havoc isn't dead,” Ine insisted.

  Havoc realized she was stalling, to give him time. The game was over, but not in the way they thought. It was time to clarify that.

  He strode toward the group. “She is right,” he said. “I am not dead."

  Birds and humans alike turned to stare at him. There he was, naked.

  What is this? Avian demanded.

  Of course the bird already knew. But evidently Avian's role in Havoc's victory was not intended to be publicized. He had done something for Havoc, and Havoc suspected it was a favor he would be obliged to repay in kind—when he understood how.

  Stevia sat up. “It's an exchange. I am dead; I was fairly killed. But I am not Havoc. I am Stevia in his armor. Havoc went to fetch the ikon."

  Havoc brought out the green squid and held it aloft. “I made it through,” he said.

  Avian put it together. We did not track the gray woman.

  "And I crawled right past you, thoughts muted,” Havoc said. “The battle was a diversion, concealing my progress. Any bird could have killed me, had it tracked my body instead of my mind."

  Avian made an almost human nod of his body. Things may be concealed in open view. Then he leaped into the air and flew away. The others followed him. They had yielded the issue.

  Things might be concealed in open view. Havoc had done that—but was that all that the bird meant? What was Havoc missing? This bothered him increasingly. There was more here than he understood, and he suspected that it was important he achieve proper understanding. Avian was telling him something, if he but had the wit to grasp it.

  Havoc came to Stevia. “Now if you care to return my clothes to me—"

  But she scrambled away, and Dour and Lucent leaped to the sides. “Put away that thing!"

  He realized that he had been reaching toward her with the green squid. He returned it to his mouth.

  "You're squeamish about a model of a sea creature?” Symbol asked. She had returned to life when the contest ended.

  Havoc knew it wasn't that. It was the fact that a Glamor could not touch a Glamor icon. But that had not been explained to the others, and until Stevia chose to reveal herself to those others, she was entitled to her privacy. So he tried to cover for her. “That wasn't the only thing closing on her. I'll put it away as soon as I get my clothing.” He glanced down at his own crotch.

  Symbol laughed. She knew that Stevia was anything but gun-shy in that respect, so took it as a joke.

  Havoc went to the tree to recover Stevia's things. But as he did so, he pondered another odd detail noted in passing. Stevia had recoiled from the little squid, and he understood that. But why had Dour and Lucent flung themselves out of the way too? Had they taken the statuette for something else? A weapon? Why would they fear a weapon in his hands? That didn't add up.

  He brought the things back. Stevia was standing naked, a buxom figure of a gray woman wiping off the remnants of whitish body paint. He set her things down a short distance apart, then walked to the pile she had left for him. He would give her reasonable distance on the return trip. Ine would surely be glad to monopolize his attention.

  Now they had all seven ikons. What was their secret? The Red Glamor had called them threads, and said they would weave a tapestry that would provide the identities of the five missing Glamors. Somehow he doubted that it would be that simple. Those ikons had enormous power, and surely more significance than a mere woven pattern. They might provide an answer, but perhaps not to the question that either he or the Glamors had.

  Well, soon enough they would find out. Once they got back to Triumph City and got the seven ikons together.

  Meanwhile, he would belong to Ine, because he was not going to let the green squid out of his possession, and Stevia would not be able to touch him, let alone kiss him, while he had it in his mouth. Perhaps that was just as well. It prevented him from being tempted to flirt again with annihilation.

  Still, those incidental mysteries bothered him. Avian, Dour, Lucent—could there be some common thread? To go with the threads? That seemed ridiculous. But was it?

  Chapter 8—Loom

  Throe watched them go with certain misgivings. He wished he could be with them, and not just because it was his job to bodyguard the king. Nor just because the sorceress Ine was apt to be more of a handful than Havoc appreciated at the moment. It was that this had become Throe's mission too. He had fetched the Invisible millipede ikon, and helped Gale fetch the Yellow sun. He wanted to be in on the conclusion.

  But his feet were gone. He balked at the notion that he would never walk again.

  Ennui came to him, as he sat in a wheeled chair. She was a plain woman his own age, of no particular flare except for two things: she was Havoc's oath friend and secretary, and she was Throe's perfect soul mate. “I love you,” she said, vocally and telepathically. “I will be your feet."

  "I love you,” he told her similarly, and it was true. “But I don't want to be a burden to you, and I see no way it can be otherwise. I believe I should free you and retire to medical indigence."

  "You can't free me. I lived through a whole marria
ge and four children, and left them behind because that life wearied me. First I found Havoc, who brought excitement into my life. Then I found you, and love. I can't give either of you up without returning to the dreadful fate of my name."

  Ennui. Her life of discontent, of emotional weariness. He knew it from her mind: she had not truly come alive until she connected with Havoc. Then she had been ready for love, and after failing to find it with Chief, she had come to Throe. And he to her. His marriage and family had been good, but it seemed he hadn't measured up. They were both forty, middle-aged, and not handsome. And somehow perfect for each other. Out of what berserk chance of fate had they come together?

  "Havoc,” she said, answering his thought. “He is the common element. There's something about him, and I don't mean his manly barbarian vigor. He is a creature of fate."

  "That he must be,” Throe agreed. “And Gale with him. She is some woman."

  "She must be. You never gave up your feet for me."

  "You didn't ask me to."

  She sat on his lap. “Now I can do anything I want with you, and you can't escape.” Her mind was bathing him in love and desire. She had been the first of their group to catch the illness of mind reading, and after initial problems had made it part of her being.

  "I wouldn't try.” Her supportive closeness was perhaps the single thing he most needed now. He had offered her freedom, but hadn't expected her to take it, and was tremendously relieved by her confirmation. He wished he could take her to bed right now.

  "That's it!” she said.

  "You're sitting on it,” he agreed. She had, indeed, gotten him sexually excited. Ine and her sisters had had remarkable physical abilities, but Ennui's overflowing love added a dimension the others lacked.

  "Not that,” she said, striking him gently on the shoulder with a small fist. “Not yet, anyway. I mean the telepathy: that's what brought us together. Our minds were compatible."

  It was true. They had had open access to each other's minds at a time when each was in a relationship with a non-mind reader, and they meshed so readily that they had to make it physical too. The pale clerk and the robust martial artist, their life styles so different. They might never have found each other, but for that mental rapport. “You were the one with the courage to deliberately catch the mind reading disease, to see whether it could be tamed,” he said.