Gregory Benford T

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But noit was a faint voice. A gathering call on Bishop comm.
It fell silent but he had gotten a fix. He followed it for a while toward a
range of slumped, ruined hills. The jagged stones of shattered strata seemed
to snatch at his boots. He stumbled and nearly fell.
--This way,-- Shibo sent.
He could not use his searching sensorium for fear that Cybers would detect
him--if they hadn't already.
--Dad!-- Toby's quick spike was enough to give him a fresh directional.
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He ran down a crumpled hill into the seeming shelter of a
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xt thick forest. The same umbrella trees stood stately and serene in the faint
promise of dawn. Beneath them he felt safer, cloaked in the remnants of life
in this battered place.
His power reserves ebbed. He slumped against a tree. The woods were silent and
brooding, and then without transition Shibo was walking steadily toward him
and the weight of the night lifted away, insubstantial.
"You . . . you . . ." He could not shape any words that expressed what he
felt. Then Toby was there and it was like his return to camp before, the
Family enclosing him in an unspoken clasp.
He simply let go, sinking to the ground. Time meant nothing.
The world was immediate, without past or future. Every tree and bristly bush
attained a sharp, stark clarity. Faces loomed, split by immense grins. Crisp
light poured through them all, illuminating everything with an even, eternal
glow. A mouthful of water drenched his throat in pure coolness. The snap and
bite of rations burst in his mouth like explosions of unendurable pleasure.
His muscles sang with release. The brush of Shibo's hand, Toby's arm about his
neck-these framed each moment, lending a halo of incandescent immediacy.
He had no idea how long he spent like that, but the moment came when the
ordinary world snapped back solidly.
"On your feet," Jocelyn called. She stood among the scattered party of
Bishops, looking tired, her jaw set stiffly. "I located His
Supremacy. They're headed down, followin' that ridgeline up there."
"What about Cybers?" Toby asked.
"We'll deal with 'em better ff we got the Tribe with us,"
Jocelyn said.
"Besen can't make good time," Toby insisted.
Besen leaned against a tree. Her eyes were hollow and her face was drawn.
Jocelyn nodded. "We'll take turns helpin' with the wounded."
"Not good for 'em," Toby said. "Wear 'em out."
"We got no choice."
"Howcome we should hook up again with those sonbitches?"
Toby demanded.
"'Cause when the Cybers run us down, ! want help."
There was no good answer to that. Killeen was proud of the
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322
Gregory Benford way Toby had stood up for Besen but he knew Jocelyn had to
keep them moving.
Nobody said anything as they got up and wearily made ready to march. There was
no time for the Family to gather and count the dead or to mourn them.
Desperation hung in the dry silence.
Killeen discovered that his feet were sore. His boots had kept their water
seal intact but his leggings were still damp from the night. It was a simple
fact of life in the field that such a discovery quickly banishes whatever joy
or pain the previous day brought.
Every fresh pain demands its own audience. Every joint protested.
As he got up Killeen swore he could hear himself creak.
He helped Toby reset the bandage around the boy's hand.
They said little. Toby spent all his time caring for Besen, who was dazed and
weak. The boy seemed far more energetic and focused than he had been before.
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Killeen moved down the line cajoling a few Bishops who were simply staring
into space. There were always those who could not forget the losses of one
battle and carried them into the next.
Years on the run had taught Killeen that people would put aside emotional
weight when action came first. Their resilience was surprising, even noble.
But if they had time to brood, or if someone belabored them about it, they
could crack completely.
He chided a few onto their feet and got them started. It helped him forget how
many faces he did not see in the marching column and never would again.
Everyone was low on power now. Some had a little more and they started out
strongly, taking long strides and getting out in front. Killeen smiled at
that. It was stupid to waste your reserves when you were still fresh. Jocelyn
barked at this vanguard and made them take flank and point positions.
Sunrise sent yellow blades cutting through the upper cloud decks. Killeen
thought of all the activity above the misty overcast--the huge warrens
abuilding, the cosmic ring orbiting as it waited to be used again, the
Skysower that churned on, planting its seeds. For what? All these immense
structures seemed without human implication, as natural and inevitable as the
weather--and equally beyond human hope of changing.
The Family line straggled out along the slopes as they worked up into the
hills. Cermo had taken a tech hit in the waist; no bodily wound, and he could
still walk. He fussed with his equipment and got most of his upper shocks
working again. Then he went up and down the line, joshing and giving sympathy
and
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323
pulling together Family elements that seemed most discouraged.
Jocelyn did the same toward the front of the column.
Killeen watched all this with approval, curiously calm. Up
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xt ahead lay the Tribe and the supply train. Behind came the Cybers.
If they were to survive this day the Family would have to be swift and lucky.
Having turned the matter over in his mind for a while, he put it aside. There
was nothing more to do but enjoy what was probably his last glimpse of
morning. He walked with his arm across Shibo's shoulders, resting on her
exoskeleton. It was charging from her solar panels and helped her up the
steepening slope.
Its catlike purr seemed to waft on the warming air. The slow, lazy sound
floated through his mind. It was a long while before he realized it was not
sound at all.
A dry cool weight rested in the space just behind the nape of his neck. That
was the way it felt when he had just taken on a new
Aspect--a lumpy wedge tugging at the back of his brain. But this was stronger,
as though air had twisted and condensed into a hanging dark syrup. Traceries
of half-sensed ideas flapped through the ball of blotchy air. Killeen labored
up the gravelly slopes, keeping march speed with the others, saying nothing, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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