Sheri Tepper - Grass

“I wish I had some idea how to go about that,” the mayor said, turning to his father-in-law. “Roald? Do you have any ideas?”

Roald fidgeted. “Alive, what the hell can you try? Blow it up with something. Flood it somehow. Get some kind of gate across it.” He rubbed his head. “Hime Pollut is good at this kind of thing. Ask him.”

Alverd went to find Hime Pollut. In a few moments he returned “Hime thinks we ought to blow it up. He just doesn’t know what we’ve got that’ll do the job.”

Rigo said, “Don’t you have construction explosives, things you use to loosen up the rock when you have to expand the winter quarters? Or in mines? You have mines. Use that!”

“We’ve thought of that, Ambassador, but there are Hippae massed at this end of the tunnel. There’s no way we can get in there close to blow it up without getting eaten first.” Alverd chewed his lips, thinking.

“The other end—”

“The same, Ambassador. Hippae. at both ends. As soon as I heard about the ones at this end, I sent an aircar to see what was happening at the other end. The driver counted about a hundred of the beasts out in the grasses, with about a score or so guarding the tunnel entrance. Assuming they stay that way, still we’ve no way to get to the tunnel.”

“Drop something from above?”

“What? We have a few explosives but no bombs. No — what do you call them — detonators. There are people here who could build bombs, if we had the materials, or make the materials, possibly, if we had the time. You and your friend here say there may not be time. If we could get into the swamp forest far enough, if we could locate the tunnel from above, and if we had days or weeks to work, we could drill into it and flood it. We don’t have days or weeks. We have hours. Maybe. They’ve laid their plans. Your wife found their declaration of war trampled into that cavern. We’ve seen it. Brother Mainoa here has told us what it means. That word says they plan to come in here and slaughter us all, just as the Arbai were slaughtered. Fun and games for the Hippae, they say.”

“Where does the tunnel come to the surface?” Rigo asked.

Brother Mainoa said, “On a little island among the trees at the bottom of this slope. The forest is narrowest here, on the east side of the port. Two or three Terran miles through, perhaps. Elsewhere it’s wider, but on this side the land slopes up on either side of the swamp and narrows it to a neck. There’s where the damned migerers dug. That’s where they must have been digging for years. The tunnel has to go deep enough to have a good rock layer above or it’d be full of water. Who knows how long it’s taken them!”

“Can you reach the entrance to the tunnel? Can you physically get to it?” Rigo asked Alverd Bee.

“We could if the Hippae weren’t there, yes. But not with them there. Not with them rampaging around, coming after us,” Alverd ran his fingers through his hair, pulled his lips back to reveal his teeth, furrowed his brow. “We don’t have any armor, any kind of combat vehicle. The little runners we use around town, they’re like pea pods. We could use aircars to drive them back inside the tunnel, just inside, but then they’d come out again when any one of us tried to lay explosives.”

“If we enticed them away, you could go in close and blow up the entrance, block it.”

“Entice them away how?” Alverd turned to regard Rigo with an expression of half hope, half suspicion.

“I don’t know yet. Could you do it?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Then get ready to do it.”

“God, it seems pretty hopeless.” Alverd shook his head.

Rigo glared up at him. “Those of us here on Grass may end up being the last of humanity, Mayor Bee. Assume that we are. How would you prefer to die? Waiting or fighting?”

Alverd showed his teeth again and went away. Rigo turned to Roald Few. “If we entice the creatures out, some of them may go around us. Can you get everyone down into the winter quarters and barricade the entrances? Can you arm people? If you have nothing else, arm them with laser knives, the kind Persun gave me.”

“People can be armed, yes. But I think we have a line of defense to use before we’re forced into winter quarters, Ambassador. We have the barrier at Gom. Let’s put weapons there, first. Weapons and some courageous people.”

“That could work. Get everyone behind that line. Evacuate the Commercial District and Portside. Get everyone into the winter quarters except those who are going to fight. Be sure the ships in port are shut up tight- !f we get out of this, we may need them later. Where’s your power station?”

“Below the town, in winter quarters. They’ll have to get us first before they can get the power station.”

And likely to do so, Rigo thought. Likely to do so. After a few moments of silence passed, Roald left him to his thoughts, which were all of death and destruction. It was easy to speak of enticement. Less easy to think of a way to do it. He went to the window and leaned in it, not seeing the bustle and confusion outside, not seeing anything but his own bloody images. “Ambassador?”

“Yes, Sebastian.”

“There’s a Green Brother here to see you. The high mucky-muck. Head of that whole bunch.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jhamlees Zoe. Says he has to talk with you.”

“I can spare him about three minutes.”

“I told him you were all busy. Told him what about, too. There’s a room over there with nobody in it. I’ll bring him there.”

The Elder Brother was peremptory. “Ambassador, I need to know what you know about the plague.” Though the room was chilly, sweat stood at the roots of his hair and ran down behind his ears.

“Indeed,” said Rigo. “On what authority?” He stared at the odd face before him.

“Sanctity’s authority. They sent you. They told me to keep in touch.”

“I wasn’t given that information. I was told no one on Grass was to know anything about my mission here “ Rigo watched a drop of sweat roll down the man’s tiny nose and hang at the tip.

“I received word from the new Hierarch, Cory Strange. His message came on the same ship that brought you.”

Rigo smiled mirthlessly. “So there’s a new Hierarch. I wish he had taken office earlier. Brother Zoe. If he had, I wouldn’t be involved in this mess. Well, your authority doesn’t matter! Even if you have none at all, it doesn’t matter. I could refuse to tell you, but you could find it out from anyone out there in the hotel in ten minutes. There is no plague on Grass. Which means, at least by implication, there is a cure here, but we don’t know where. Or what Or how. We don’t know if people coming here are cured, and if so, permanently or only for a time. The answer is probably here on Grass. That’s all we know.”

The Elder Brother pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his robe and wiped his face with it. “I… I… that is, I appreciate your giving me this information, Ambassador.” He turned and left the room, almost running.

Rigo started after him, then stopped as he saw a folded piece of paper lying on the floor. It had fallen from the Brother’s pocket when he pulled out his handkerchief. Rigo picked it up, smoothed it to see if it was important enough to send after the man.

“My dear old friend Nods,” it began in a clear, quirky handwriting, narrow and clear as print.

Rigo read it all the way through in mounting disbelief, then read it again. “There is plague here, as there is everywhere else… It is not our desire that information about the cure be widely disseminated… wiping out the heathen to leave worlds for Sanctity alone to populate…”

“Rigo.”

He turned to find her at his side. “Marjorie! They said you were with Stella.” She looked very pale. Very tired.