Deyzara body odor was strong enough to be detected even through the rain. With so many crowded together so closely, the stench bordered on the overpowering. Still, she wore no filtering mask over her face. While the need for it would have been understood by the Deyzara, who were quite aware of their own fragrance, it would not have been tactful. Striding through the temporary shelters that had been erected and the thousands of ropy limbs, writhing trunks, and bulging eyes, she tried to breathe through her mouth as much as possible.
Falu Bedara was a small man with thick artificial implants in his eyes that made him look more than a little like a Deyzara himself. His arms moved continually, as if he were conducting unseen music, when in reality he was only accompanying his own agitated oratory. As a result, his rain cape was constantly hurling repelled water in all directions. Matthias tried to keep as far from those flailing limbs as courtesy allowed. One thing she didn’t need, one thing no human on Fluva needed, was more water to be thrown in her face.
Bedara was one of those people who lived inside proscribed procedures. At this he was expert, and without his hard work administering such procedures she knew that the bedlam at the port would have been ten times worse than it was. Consequently, she respected his efforts without feeling any particular fondness for their supervisor.
“. . . another thousand bubbles by the end of the week, at least,” he finished, referring to the lightweight and simple-to-erect aerogel shelters that had been pressed into service on behalf of the refugees. She had not paid much attention to his long recitation of needs. The refugee effort was short of everything, and there was no overflowing government warehouse ensconced on any of this system’s empty worlds or dead moons capable of providing the desperately needed supplies.
“I’ll authorize whatever you deem necessary for the short term,” she replied absently.
“That’s all very well and good, Administrator Matthias,” Bedara huffed, “but given the predicted shortfall between what we have been able to scrounge already and what is likely to remain in the—”
She turned on him sharply. She was shorter than most of her subordinates, and in this instance she was able to take full advantage of the man’s modest stature. “I can’t give you what we don’t have, Falu. You know better than I what’s in the storehouses. And despite the desperateness of the situation here, I have to keep in mind the needs of other communities besides Taulau.”
He flinched, but only for a moment. “I understand, Administrator. I only want to do my best.”
“Nobody else on staff could handle this any better than you are, Falu.” There, she thought. That ought to satisfy him, even if she was obviously grading him on a curve that began and ended with him.
It did. “Thank you, Administrator. I assure you I will do my utmost to justify your continuing faith in . . .”
But the administrator had lengthened her stride, and his words were lost in the cacophony of mewling, hooting Deyzara.
Port Administration’s offices were a refuge from both the sound and smell of the refugee flood. She embraced it readily, if not gracefully, as she pushed back the hood of her rain cape, striding straight over to Harriman’s desk. Looking more than a little disheveled, the younger woman was in no mood for formalities. That was fine with Matthias, who felt similarly. Though engrossed in a tridee projection, Harriman, Matthias noted right away, was carrying a side arm. Stopping in front of the desk, she gestured in its direction and spoke without ceremony.
“Expecting trouble, Nichole?”
“Prepare for every eventuality. That’s what the handbooks tell you.” The tired blonde smiled wanly. “They just don’t prepare you for an eventuality like this.”
“I just finally managed to lose Bedara.”
“Lucky you.” Harriman made a face. “I have to deal with him every day.”
“Try to be understanding. He’s good at what he does.” Matthias indicated the hovering projection. “How are we doing—really?”
“About as well as could be expected. Maybe even a little better.” Harriman leaned back in her chair. “Thanks to the bubbles, most of them now have a place to sleep out of the rain. A large number brought food with them, and we’ve been able to supplement that enough to prevent any hunger, let alone starvation. It helps that the Deyzara eat only soft foods and that those are easier to store and transport, not to mention rehydrate.” She summoned up a reluctant smile. “The Commonwealth can be proud of its representatives on Fluva.”
“Hang the Commonwealth. We need to settle this soon, before our facilities are overwhelmed. And overwhelmed they will be, if this keeps up.”
Murmuring to her desk, Harriman snuffed out the projection and turned to her superior. “How is it in the other towns?”
“Pretty bad. A few better, where moderate, reasonable Sakuntala have been able to intervene.” Her expression darkened. “Several worse. There have been some killings.”
Harriman nodded somberly. “I’ve heard. Word gets around. Much more of that and the Deyzara won’t wait for us to adjudicate. They’ll start finding weapons of their own and fighting back. Then we will have a tragedy on our hands.” She hesitated. “Well, a bigger tragedy.” She gestured toward a window. “A few of these Deyzara can trace their lineage on Fluva back five generations. Some of them have lost everything. They’ll be petitioning for redress.”
“Let the government on Earth and Hivehom worry about that,” Matthias responded impatiently. “Our job is to try to take care of these people until they can safely return home.” She shifted in the chair, the transparent material of the deactivated rain cape crackling beneath her. “Let me see your latest.”
Harriman obediently called forth a series of descriptive projections. Viewing them while occasionally asking pointed questions, Matthias was not pleased with either the visuals or the figures. They were as remorseless and unforgiving as Bedara’s statistics. The conflict had to be brought to an end, and soon, or the ability of her people to manage the situation was going to fall apart. In the mayhem that would follow a collapse of local Commonwealth authority, deaths on both sides were sure to be numbered in the thousands. Then there was the still small but slowly escalating threat to her own people.
Her attention was briefly diverted by movement she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. A pair of Sakuntala had entered the administration building. They were young but well dressed, with finely decorated and embossed strappings that served to emphasize their height. One was a Hata-nau, or Low Chief, while his attendant companion was a commoner. It must have taken more than the usual quotient of Sakuntala nerve to make their way here through the teeming mass of Deyzara refugees, she reflected. One of Harriman’s subordinates took them in hand.
Assuming they were on some kind of port-related business, she did not give them another thought until she saw them coming closer, picking their way carefully between workstations. Absorbed in their own assignments, staff engaged in manipulating data and projections ignored the two lanky green-and-brown-furred natives. They must have a question for Harriman, she was thinking even as she saw the Hata-nau reaching into one of the larger pouches hanging from his torso strappings. That was not what tipped her off: it was the ears. A strolling Sakuntala’s ears were always pointed outward, in opposite directions, to pick up as much ambient sound as possible. They pointed directly toward something only when their owner was engaged in person-to-person conversation, confronted with a threat—or about to pounce on prey.
The two Sakuntala were not talking with anyone, including each other, there was nothing in the room to threaten them, and as for prey . . .
There being nowhere to run and no place to hide, she did the only thing she could. It was also the last thing the Sakuntala expected. Rising abruptly from her chair, she extended her arms, lowered her head, and charged straight at the oncoming native. She hit the startled visitor low while he was still trying to take aim with the pistol he had pulled from his pouch. It was brand-new, still gleaming with the
pride of its thranx manufacturers.
Though eager to make use of it, the Hata-nau was not entirely familiar with the lethal device. By the time he had succeeded in slipping one of his six fingers around the trigger, he was down on the floor with his would-be victim on top of him, flailing madly at his face. While the Sakuntala were possessed of considerable lean strength, the willowy build that made them so agile in the forest also left them vulnerable to a straight-ahead attack by a stockier opponent. Though she would have been loath to admit it, Matthias weighed more than her prospective assassin.
Before he could throw her off or bring his weapon to bear, half a dozen alerted workers were on top of him. A sizzling sound terminated the shouts of the Hata-nau’s companion. Breathing hard and brushing back hair as she rose, she saw one of the other office workers looming over the body of the other Sakuntala. The pistol she held tightly in her right fist was pointed down at the prostrate native. He lay unmoving, except for the smoke that coiled upward from the hole in his forehead.
Concern writ large in her expression, Harriman was at Matthias’s side in an instant. “Are you all right, Lauren?” Her gaze shifted to the two prone bodies; one dead, the other defiant. “O’Morion, what the hell just happened here?”
“Death to Commonwealth!” the pinioned Hata-nau rasped. “Death to thieves of Fluva! Those who stay, we kill!”
Swallowing hard, her throat dry, Matthias strove to project an air of calm above the pandemonium that had enveloped the office. “I’d say that explains it pretty plainly.” Under the direction of a trio of armed officers who had arrived in response to an emergency call from a member of the staff, the surviving assassin was secured and hauled away, facedown, long arms bound behind him.
Matthias restrained one officer briefly. “If you can, find out if they are acting alone or, if not, who sent them. They could be acting on behalf of a clan, a family, a single fanatical Yuiqueru, or someone else. Or they might have decided to do this on their own.” Her expression contorted as she watched the bound assassin being removed from the room. “The extremists’ extremist.”
“Don’t worry, Administrator.” The officer’s face was flushed with anger. “We’ll get the answer out of him. If we have to, we’ll just turn him over to some of the local Deyzara who’ve lost loved ones in the uprising.”
“No,” she replied firmly. “This doesn’t involve the Deyzara. Do what you can, but do it properly, following prescribed procedure.”
The officer was visibly disappointed. “As you wish, ma’am.” Turning, he hurried off in pursuit of his colleagues.
Walking back to Harriman’s desk, she resumed her seat. “We were going over arrival projections for the next week, I believe.”
Lips parted, Harriman slowly sat down in her own chair. “Are you sure you want to continue with this, Lauren? We can pick it up anytime. Don’t you want to go home, or at least back to your own office, and get some rest?”
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, straightening the upper half of her jumpsuit beneath the rain cape. “I played a lot of competition contact sports when I was younger.”
“You took that Sakuntala right down.” Harriman did not try to disguise the admiration she felt for her superior.
“Once I saw the gun starting to come out, I didn’t have any choice except to get right in the middle of him. He was ready for me to run or try to dodge, not attack.” Smiling, she patted her right hip. “Nice to know a low center of gravity is good for something.” With a hand, she gestured at the projection that still hovered, undisturbed, above the center of the desk. “Let’s get on with it.” Harriman did not see the administrator’s other hand. Lying out of sight in her lap, it was shaking badly.
It didn’t occur to Matthias, more rattled than she would have admitted, to try to suppress the news of the attempted assassination. As a result, it was all over the port and then the rest of Taulau within a couple of hours. The Hata High Chief Naneci-tok came as soon as she heard the news. She arrived alone, Matthias noted, without an escort, braving the derogatory and abusive hooting of the Deyzara refugees massed outside the Port Administration center.
“I heard what happened.” As Naneci-tok spoke, Matthias was ashamed of herself for reflexively noting the position of the Sakuntala’s ears. Both faced outward, to the sides. “This a terrible thing, terrible!”
“It was that,” Matthias agreed as she took leave of Harriman and Port Administration. “But it’s over, and no one was hurt. Except the one attacker who was shot, of course.”
Together they exited the double door that was designed to keep out rain as well as excessive heat and humidity, not potential killers. In light of the attempt on her life, the procedure for native access, Matthias knew, was one of the things that was going to have to be changed, perhaps permanently. That was not how interspecies relations were advanced, she knew, but under the circumstances she saw no alternative.
Outside, with her hood up and the rain coming down steadily around them, they headed for the small personal skimmer that would convey them back to her office. “If the radicals now feel confident enough to target humans as well as Deyzara, it shows that this uprising has moved into a new and far more dangerous stage.”
“May only be a few crazies.” Naneci-tok spoke thoughtfully as droplets coursed down her slender form, hanging momentarily from the tips of her body strappings and fur before falling to the tarmac. “May have decided to do this dreadful thing without Hata or clan approval.” Piercing eyes met her own. “I ask, as Hata for Taulau territory, that you only warn your people about what has happened. Ordering payback will only make situation worse.”
Matthias could not conceal her surprise. “I had no intention of ordering a reprisal.” Even as she replied, it struck her that Naneci-tok was speaking, albeit in terranglo, as if to a fellow Sakuntala. Among her people, given what had just taken place inside the port building, instant reprisal would have been the order of the day.
“That’s not how the Commonwealth works,” she explained. “We have advanced beyond such things.” At least, government policy had, she knew. The actions of individuals were something else again.
“That good to know. I will see to it that all Hatas are so enlightened. It will help.”
Matthias’s skimmer was parked on the other side of a single covered walkway beneath the open overhang that fronted the nearest maintenance-and-storage hangar. As they approached, a quartet of thick-beaked kolari spread perforated leathery wings and glided down toward the water. The holes in their wings allowed them to sieve away rain that would otherwise have weighed them down and rendered flight a more arduous proposition.
Every creature on Fluva, Matthias reflected, had evolved its own method of dealing with the constant rain, some of them unique and found nowhere else. She was particularly taken with the blind jilp, to whom Jack had introduced her soon after their arrival. Standing motionless out in the heaviest downpours, the jilp thrived in and relied on steady rain for its survival. Clusters of the harmless, attractive, knee-high russet- and pink-colored browsers could be seen standing with the flowerlike orifices that crowned their bodies spread open to the rain. They fed by straining a constant flow of rainwater through their bodies, in the top, out the bottom, filtering out and living upon whatever tiny creatures were washed down out of the trees and macromycetes by the rain. A boring life, that of a jilp. But it seemed to suit them.
Pondering the static jilp, Matthias did not notice the heated shouts of recognition and resentment that had begun to rise above the general din. It was impressed upon her that something out of the ordinary was happening only when they suddenly found their way blocked, not by knots of imploring refugees but by Deyzara faces distinguished by red-rimmed bulbous eyes and angrily darting trunks.
“Look, brethren—a high Sakuntala walks alone among us!”
“The She-Hata shows nothing but contempt, I have to say.”
“She thinks that because she can see easily over us, we do not exist
in her eyes.”
“Bring those eyes down to ours, so that she may see the pain in them that her people have caused.”
“Bring her down; bring her down; bring her down!”
Initiated by the most militant among the crowd, the cry was taken up with an enthusiasm and a speed that startled Matthias. Confronted by a single Sakuntala Hata, those who had been forced out of their homes, had their livelihoods destroyed, or seen friends and relatives ill-treated found in the isolated Naneci-tok a target for their accumulated hatred. No rocks were thrown (there were no rocks in the Viisiiviisii), but someone found a branch and hurled it. It struck the now wary Naneci-tok on one shoulder and bounced off. Other objects started to come flying through the air: pieces of wood, empty containers, battered sandals. There wasn’t a lot the irate Deyzara could throw. Every emergency food container was soft and either edible or biodegradable. Only the satiated would hurl uneaten food, and there were not many of those in the crowd.
Feeling something hard strike at the back of her knees, where she was most vulnerable to being brought down, Naneci-tok started to reach for her side arm. Matthias was quick to restrain her.
“No shooting! We’ll get out of this.” She nodded forward. They were almost to the walkway. Once on the strilk-suspended accessway, the crowd would be able to follow only two abreast and would find itself slowed accordingly.
That was all she needed now, she reflected worriedly: a shooting incident. Self-defense or not, if the Hata accompanying her shot down one or two Deyzara, the huge mob might well get completely out of control.
Then something struck her in the face, and she was forced to place survival above procedure.