Hear now this, O foolish people, and without understanding; which have eyes, and see not; which have ears, and hear not.
—JEREMIAH 5:21
Digit Ship Forty-nine carried vitamins for the human fithp, stock of plants and frozen meat for analysis, seeds and small animals and an infant elephant, and three spaceborn warriors returning for the mating season. Chintithpit-mang arrived to find himself summoned to the funeral pit.
Who had died? The airlock guard who gave him his order hadn't known. He had aborted his time with Shreshleemang, he had gone down to the War of Winterhome ahead of mating season. He had been out of contact . . . and the scent of mating was in the air, but Chintithpit-mang felt only fear. Who had died while he was gone?
A small delay could hardly matter. Chintithpit-mang passed through the Garden on his way to the funeral pit.
It was not as he had expected.
The Garden was small. Cramped. The single thriving pillar plant seemed a pitiful reminder that once the Traveler Fithp had known jungles. Chintithpit-mang had fought in jungles bigger than Message Bearer! His own reactions shocked him. He hastened through the Garden and into the leave-taking room that half circled the funeral pit. It smelled of Winterhome . . .
A crowd was waiting, or so it seemed; and one of the crowd was Shreshleemang. He said, "Mang . . ."
His mate did not respond. There were eyes on him: Herdmaster Pastempeh-keph, K'turfookeph, Fookerteh, a female he didn't know, Breaker Raztupisp-minz, and a human Chintithpit-mang recognized. He asked, "Who is dead?"
"Fathisteh-tulk," said the Herdmaster. "I have taken the task of learning how he died. Chintithpit-mang, you returned from the first battle on Winterhome with Digit Ship Six."
"I did."
"What did you do then?"
"I turned my cargo and prisoners over to another octuple. Then I went to see my mate."
"Shreshleemang, when did your mate reach you?"
"Two-eighths of a day after Digit Ship Six coupled aft," said Shreshleemang. Above the smell of the funeral pit he found her special scent—she was in season—but her voice was cold as winter.
The Herdmaster asked, "What delayed you, Chintithpit-mang?"
"I was interrupted."
"In what fashion?"
Chintithpit-mang was afraid to speak. The Herdmaster blew softly, vexed. "On your way to see your mate for the first time in eight-squareds of days, what could have interrupted you? A fi' high in status? Or with an urgent mission? Or allied with your own dissident movement? You were intercepted by Advisor Fathisteh-tulk!"
This was going to be very bad. Chintithpit-mang saw nothing for it but to tell as much of the truth as he must. "We met in the corridors. He demanded that I go with him."
"Where? Why?"
"Why, he did not say. We went to the mudroom. It had been thawed. He said, 'Cold, it would be uncomfortable for us. It might freeze my guest. Chintithpit-mang, I insisted that my contact come alone, and he demanded that I do the same, though he is a slave.'
"I said, 'What is he then, a rogue?' And then I knew. He was to meet a human.
"He said, 'I want to question him. I think he has much to tell me about the uses of space. He surely has motive to be convincing. When I speak of this meeting to the Year Zero Fithp I don't want to depend on my unsupported word. You must witness, unseen.'
"I stayed near the far end of the mudroom, hidden from the grill by the curve of the ceiling. The human was behind the grill. I listened. Herdmaster, I hate and fear humans, but this one said things I have always believed. He knew more of the wealth of the spaces between worlds than we have guessed! He spoke of marvelous dreams, of asteroid mines, of towers that would take loot from a world to beyond orbit—"
"He told the Advisor that the dissidents were right. I am not amazed," said the Herdmaster.
"Suddenly the grill came flying out and struck Fathisteh-tulk a stunning blow. The human came after it, kicked at Fathisteh-tulk, and leaped back into the duct."
"What did the Advisor say?"
"He said nothing. He leapt after the human, to punish—"
"Pause. What upset the human? It had what it wanted. You were there to witness. Exactly what did the Advisor say that so enraged a surrendered human?"
Trapped. After what he had done, lying to the Herdmaster would be a trivial crime; but what did the Herdmaster already know?
The Herdmaster's accusation rolled forth. "You confronted me in the Garden to tell me that humans are a terrible enemy, that we should turn our backs on them. After one day aboard Message Bearer you volunteered to return to Winterhome. You fought well. Chintithpit-mang, what was here that you feared more than the war? What were you afraid that a fi' might ask? What did Fathisteh-tulk say to the human?"
It was impossible. "Fathisteh-tulk said that descendants of the human prisoners would serve the Traveler Herd in space, with their smaller food requirements and dexterous digits and their greater knowledge of the worlds of Winterhome-light."
"Was this what enraged the human?"
"It was."
"Would you recognize this human again?"
"It was him! That one!"
The Herdmaster turned. "Wes Dawson, did you speak to my Advisor a second time?"
The man said, "Wesley Dawson. Congressman. 514-55-2316."
"Chintithpit-mang saw you. Did you see him?" The man was silent. "The line you were given for cleaning the ducts, we found its mark deep in Fathisteh-tulk's snnfp." Still he was silent. The Herdmaster said, "You must speak."
"I don't think so."
"Chintithpit-mang, why didn't you help the Advisor?"
"I was stunned."
"Did it cross your thoughts that the Advisor would say things you didn't want heard?"
"No! My mind had not moved at all. I knew so little of humans then. A surrendered prisoner attacked a fi' of the herd!"
"Stunned. Speak further."
"Fathisteh-tulk went after him. I thought he was reaching for the human, to scoop him out and kill him. But it went on too long, and I tried to think what to do, and then Fathisteh-tulk was pushed out into the mudroom. He was dead."
"And you?"
"I looked into the duct. I pulled the grill out and looked again. There wasn't anything. I . . . put the grill back . . . I couldn't find the twist fasteners . . . I . . . took the line off Fathisteh-tulk's snnfp and pushed him into the mud until he was completely covered. Then I left. I went to the emergency control room and set the mudroom to freeze again."
"Why?"
"What the human said, he might say again if we caught him."
"Pfoo. You were stunned. From the way the Advisor reacted, don't you think even a human might learn a lesson? You've been on Winterhome, you know they're bright. Next time he would say, we've certainly wondered if there might be things in space worth having, the meteors lead us to think that there are all-metal asteroids and ice strata and air bound loosely in rock, but we have not looked. Well?"
"I didn't think of it."
"I think you have lied. You shall be isolated. None shall speak to you henceforth. If you have more to tell me, tell a guard."
The females' eyes were fixed on Chintithpit-mang, and he cringed. He tried, "Mang . . .?" and then Shreshleemang turned away.
The Herdmaster had already forgotten him. "Dawson. We kill rogues."
The rogue human said, "We kill murderers ourselves, or else we imprison them."
"When a fithp conspires to murder, we may kill them all, or not. It depends on their grievance. Did you act alone in this?"
"Alone? Of course I was alone. You had kept me isolated for a week."
"And did you tell others afterward?"
"Wesley Dawson. Congressman. 514-55-2316."
"You shall be imprisoned alone. None shall speak to you. If you have more to say, tell a guard."
The Herdmaster watched them being led away. He had toyed with the notion of imprisoning them together—but Chintithpit-mang would surely kill the man. Pastempeh-keph wanted more than that. Why had Dawson done what he did? Was there no strategy that would hold a human's surrender?
To exterminate an intelligent race really would make the Traveler Fithp equal to the Predecessors. Godlike criminals. For all history the priests had taught the fithp children the words of the Squuff Thuktun. It told the tale of the Homeworld's ruin. Many mistakes are mapped here, that you may walk around them . . .
Isolation would break Dawson soon enough. It would take longer with humans. No matter. There was time . . . and he must be studied. Let him be only a rogue, a rarity! Otherwise . . .
Chowpeentulk stood proud, victorious; but the victory here was Pastempeh-keph's. Her mate had died because he rejected the dissident cause. She would talk. The dissidents were broken now. They would never again stand between Winterhome and the Traveler Fithp.
* * *
Something had changed in Tashayamp. She visited the human cell less and less frequently. She rarely talked to them. The morning after John Woodward died, she appeared in the spin hatch and looked down without curiosity, and was already backing out when Jeri called up to her.
"Tashayamp! John Woodward is dead; he died in the night. Tashayamp?"
The teacher's mate peered down at the little group clustered around Carrie Woodward, and John's body all alone. "I thought he sleeps. He looks like he sleeps. Wait." Tashayamp disappeared.
Tashayamp was quite wrong. John's face was slack; his eye were open; he wasn't breathing. How could anyone have missed the presence of death?
Fithp soldiers descended via the lift platform. Carrie was huddled with her face between her knees. The children hung back. They didn't know how to help. When the warriors wrapped digits around John's shoulder and ankles, Carrie surged to her feet . . . and stood, rigid, while they put him on the platform and sent him up.
The warriors rose after him. Tashayamp looked down. "How did he die?"
There was venom in Carrie's answer. "Slowly. Weeks, now, he's been getting sicker and sicker. He couldn't handle the gravity changes. He couldn't sleep right. You weren't giving him the right vitamins. We don't have a doctor. Being penned like an animal, knowing you're smashing our world, he couldn't take it. Now he's dead."
"You come," Tashayamp said. "All."
Tashayamp led them toward the axis via spiral ramps.
By the time they reached the funeral room they were nearly weightless. Above their heads, beyond a glass ceiling, a dark slush was in queasy churning motion. The stink of it permeated the air.
Two fithp awaited them: the Bull and the Priest.
The Russians were quiet; they appeared resigned. Jeri knew that was how they wanted to appear. But what else can we do anyway? We will not escape without outside help, and no one is going to help us.
Here were all of humanity for twenty thousand miles around, save for Wes Dawson. Alice was edgy; her eyes kept straying to the entrances, as if she expected him to appear.
Wes had disappeared over a week ago. None of the fithp would speak of him to the humans. Seeing him absent, Jeri at last believed that he was dead.
She moved to rest a hand on Carrie's shoulder. "How're you holding up?"
"I'll manage." Carrie laughed: a cracked, joyless sound. "None of us dares go crazy. They'd leave us all together, wouldn't they? We'd all go off our heads one by one. Don't look at me like that, Alice. I'm all right."
Fistarteh-thuktun said something to the Herdmaster, too fast to catch. The Herdmaster nodded at Tashayamp, who said, "Query: does Fistarteh-thuktun speak last words for John Woodward? Query: does one of you speak?"
"There's no preacher," Melissa said. "Mom—"
"I don't know . . ." Jeri began.
Carrie stepped forward jerkily. "I'll do it. I've been to enough funerals to know the words. He was my husband."
Jeri was close enough to catch the Herdmaster's words to Tashayamp. "Do not translate, but remember."
Through the glass she watched two fithp emerge on the lip of the funeral pit, carrying John Woodward like a sack of grain between them.
" 'I am the resurrection and the life,' saith the Lord. 'He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'
" 'I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand the latter day upon the earth, and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.' "
The fithp soldiers launched Woodward toward the center of the vortex of brown muck. He moved slowly, tumbling, stiff with rigor mortis. Carrie stopped. The look on her face was dreadful.
"Remember this good man, Lord. Remember him and bring him to Your peace. Bring him to rest in Your arms. Let him go to Jesus."
An empty-eyed skull showed through the slowly churning compost heap. It was almost conical, an animal's skull, with knots where the tendons of the trunk had been anchored. Jeri ground her teeth with the need to get out of here before John Woodward brushed against the glass! Carrie must be hanging on to her sanity by her teeth! Yet she looked and sounded as calm as any early Christian about to face Nero's lions.
" 'The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.'
" 'He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of rightousness for his name's sake.'
" 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'
" 'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.'
" 'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.' "
She turned toward the fithp, aging but ageless, a woman of farms and fields. "You can't hurt him now. He's in the arms of Jesus." She raised her hands high. "Deliver me from mine enemies, O God. Defend me from them that rise up against me. Deliver me from the wicked doers. Stand up, arise, awake, O Holy One of Israel, and be not merciful unto them that offend these little ones!
"I say it were better that a millstone were tied about their necks, and they were cast into the sea! Thou, Lord, shall have them in scorn. Consume them in thy wrath, consume them that they may perish, and know that it is God that ruleth unto the ends of the world!"
She fell silent.
What will they do? They can't be afraid of curses. God, my God, have you forsaken all of us? Are you there? Are you listening? Can you listen?
Tashayamp waited.
God, let us out of here!
"Return to your place," Tashayamp told them. "Follow the guards." She herself departed with the Bull and the Priest.
* * *
"Eat them. Rage and eat them, that they will die and know that God leads everywhere. That's as near as I can translate," Tashayamp finished.
"You see!" Fistarteh-thuktun trumpeted. "Of course we might have learned something by dissecting the creature, but this we would have lost! We have never before witnessed such a ceremony."
"And what do you think you have learned?"
"I was wrong," said the priest. "Despite their shape, they are not totally alien. We can lead them. Herdmaster, do you see it? They have no Predecessors. None lead them, they must lead themselves. They have made for themselves the fiction of a Predecessor!"
Pastempeh-keph signaled assent. "It must be a fiction. This God would hardly have tolerated our incursions. I wonder how they see him? Does their God have thumbs? And they give him male gender . . ."
"I cannot make myself care. They seek a leader greater than themselves! Tashayamp, did you render that phrase accurately? 'Fear God?' "
"I think so. We have a book of words from Kansas. I will examine fear."
They had reached the bridge. The warrior on duty covered his head. "Herdmaster, a message. Chintithpit-mang wishes to speak to you."
"I hear."
"We shall be their Predecessors," Fistarteh-thuktun said. "I must learn more. I wish I could go down to Africa."
"You may not. We need you here. Get your data from Takpusseh-yamp. Tashayamp, is your mate—"
"Easily distracted, but at your service," Tashayamp said, as the mating scent thickened in the air.
The Herdmaster left them there. The bridge was busy; some site in Africa was about to get a consignment of meteors. The Herdmaster settled onto his pad and tapped at the console.
Chintithpit-mang was a brown ball in the center of his cell. The Herdmaster watched him for a bit. Huddled in his misery, he might have been asleep but for his nostril and digits, which moved restlessly, as if they had independent life.
Eight days! Give him credit, that's a tough-minded fi'.
The Herdmaster said softly, "Chintithpit-mang, speak to me."
The fi' started convulsively. He looked toward the camera. "Herdmaster, I will speak to the dissidents."
"You have done so. I recorded our last conversation, and broadcast it. What would you tell them?"
"Fathisteh-tulk said that human help would be beyond price in the conquest of space, with their ambitious plans and their smaller food intake and dexterous digits. Winterhome must be conquered and the humans broken into the Traveler Herd."
"This is what you said an eight-day past. What have you to add? You should have helped Fathisteh-tulk."
"Herdmaster, I would have joined the argument against the Advisor. The human attacked first."
"You let him die."
"He would have destroyed the dissident cause."
"He has. You have no other to speak for you. Why did you hide the corpse?"
Chintithpit-mang's digits were tight across his skull, as if welded. "I was in shock! The Advisor betrayed us! If the human were caught, he might repeat Fathisteh-tulk's words!"
"Dawson holds his peace better than you have. You weren't trying to protect Dawson. Must I return you to the silence of your cell?"
"I heard a snoring sound."
"When?"
"A 64-breaths or so after the human left the Advisor for dead. I still didn't know what to do, so I did nothing. I heard a snoring sound. I turned and his chest was heaving."
"Speak further."
"I knew what he'd say. The dissidents . . . we would have . . . I pushed his face in the mud. I pushed mud in his mouth. The snoring stopped. I pushed him the rest of the way."
It was what the Herdmaster had expected to hear; yet he had hoped. "What shall I do with you now, Chintithpit-mang? I cannot have you loose in Message Bearer."
"Kill me. Gather the herd as tradition requires."
"We are roguish enough these days. I cannot order my fithp to trample you and expect them to stop short of riot! Besides, too many owe you their lives, or their mates' lives. The Attackmaster regrets your absence. Chintithpit-mang, will you return to Africa to fight?"
"Yes, if I am allowed."
"You are sent, not allowed. Forever, Chintithpit-mang. I can grasp the pressures that made you rogue, but if such happens again, you will be trampled." The Herdmaster tapped at keys.
And that is well done. Chintithpit-mang will serve us well. I will send down others of the Year Zero Fithp. Let them make amends in Africa. He tapped more keys. The picture changed.
Wes Dawson was . . . running nowhere? Pastempeh-keph watched for a bit. Dawson ran, legs pumping, making no progress; forelimbs pumping in rhythm, though they never touched the ground. Was he already mad? Did he dream that he chased a fleeing meat animal, or that something chased him?
"Wes Dawson."
Dawson turned as he ran, to face the camera. He said nothing. The desperate longing to hear another's voice . . . might have been present, but the Herdmaster saw no trace of it.
He said, "Chintithpit-mang tells me that he killed the Advisor. Fathisteh-tulk was still alive when you released him."
Dawson's mouth twitched upward at the corners. In fair fithp he said, "I do it better next time."
Pastempeh-keph turned off the screen. Just whose mind was being broken by this treatment?
* * *
Spinward around the curve of the mudroom there were the sounds of splashing and soft-trumpeted gossip. Shreshleemang ignored it. Her status had become uncertain when her mate's confession was broadcast. This was an embarrassment to her friends. These days they avoided her. Shreshleemang understood this, and resented it nonetheless. She could do nothing about it. She lolled in the mud with eyes half closed.
She grew aware of others gathering around her. They rested in the mud, quiet, but she could feel their eyes. When it became clear that they would not go away, she said, "I remember a time when the mudroom was a refuge from the day's cares."
"There was never such a time," said Chowpeentulk. "The mudroom has forever been a pond of politics."
Shreshleemang looked up. Chowpeentulk and K'turfookeph seemed to be coolly studying her. K'turfookeph said, "Your mate is not to be trampled. He will be returned to Africa."
"He told me himself. He has already departed."
"Shreshleemang, you should join him."
Shreshleemang surged from the mud. With the greatest effort she managed to curb her bellow. "The Herdmaster may send me where he wills. Have you come as his emissary?"
"No. You are a mated female of the Traveler Herd, with no stain on your character. Will you listen?"
She sank back. "I will."
"He needs you. Males go rogue far more easily without a mate to steady them. Chintithpit-mang lives close against that barrier."
"Yes, for he has crossed it."
"Africa is being conquered, but there remain many human rogues in the pacified territory. Effective warriors are needed. Chintithpit-mang is one of the best, but the jungle hunters live under terrible strain. Often they hunt alone, as if already rogue. Unmated, Chintithpit-mang will be rogue within a 64-days. Mated, he can be an effective leader."
"Yes, he needs me. He has destroyed the dissident cause, he has humiliated me personally. Do I need him?"
Chowpeentulk said, "Unmated females go rogue too."
"Nonsense."
"We show it differently. We do not go on killing sprees. But we often develop a distaste for males and for children. We play dominance games instead of cooperating with our fithp."
"What are you doing here, Chowpeentulk? What is your interest? Did you want my mate trampled?"
"No . . . I am widowed. At my age it is certain that I will never mate again. The war kills males, particularly unmated males. My interest now lies with my children and the Traveler Fithp. The Traveler Fithp needs your mate, sane."
"If you knew how I feel about him, you might send me down in order to punish your mate's murderer."
"You were dissident too."
"I was and am. The Traveler Fithp owned the stars and planets before ever we saw the shape of the prey. We don't need them."
K'turfookeph spoke softly. "There is no dissident fithp. The matter has been decided, consented by the new Advisor, accepted by Fistarteh-thuktun. Winterhome will be ours. The danger of leaving it for the humans is too great. Fathisteh-tulk found a true path."
"Nothing tried to kill us when we circled the gas giant."
K'turfookeph stood silent. Chowpeentulk spoke in a voice like falling water. "Shreshleemang, did you advise your mate to exercise proper restraint in his efforts for the dissident cause?"
"Proper restraint? We—" She stopped.
"Restraint is the thuktun of females. Males don't understand restraint. Chintithpit-mang would do anything to advance the dissidents. He proved that. Males need their mates to protect them from such folly."
"He was fighting in Kansas, tens of thousands of makasrupkithp from me!"
"My mate made a mistake there," K'turfookeph acknowledged. "The Year Zero Herd were a working fithp. Separating them drove some toward rogue status just when they were facing a madly alien environment. But do you not share blame?"
"You will not drive me from the ship," said Shreshleemang. Females don't normally fight, but she was ready.
"We would not drive you," K'turfookeph said.
"I will not go! To live on Winterhome, forever—what would I do there?"
"There is much to do. We have a world to hold, a new species to bring into the Traveler fithp. Your mate is there. Many of the Year Zero will be sent there."
Another spoke from behind K'turfookeph. "Once the mang fithp was great. Now there are few. If you die childless, there will be fewer still."
Shreshleemang had not noticed Flarishmang's approach. Her own great-aunt. Shreshleemang's anger rose at being reproved as a childless sleeper, but they weren't giving her time to answer. The females were gathering round her like a wet brown wall.
Chowpeentulk said, "Your mate will go rogue again. It will be remembered that he committed murder while you were present to advise him. You will be blamed. No male will risk your company. You will remain unmated and childless. Your friends will gather to comfort you, of course . . . won't they? Perhaps not. And you will grow old, held within the womb of Message Bearer, while others carve our future across the face of Winterhome!"
Chowpeentulk's voice had risen to a bellow. "Do you really think I seek vengeance? Against whom? If your mate went mad who failed to pull him back? It was known that Digit Ship Six was arriving. Why did you not meet him at the airlock?"
"I will go."
"Where were you?"
"I was busy. Cease! I will join my mate in Africa. We will conquer the human fithp and bind them to us. History may judge the result."