Bruce Bethke - Maverick

WhiteTail looked him straight in the eyes. “What do you believe?”

“Why, I believe that SilverSides kept her promise. I believe that this was given to us, to free us from the pain and drudgery of our old lives. We may still be a little bewildered, and maybe some of us are misusing the gift, but I believe that SilverSides will appear soon and make everything clear. ”

WhiteTail’s eyes narrowed. “But you do believe that this place was created as a reward for the faithful?” Maverick nodded. WhiteTail leapt to her hind feet and pointed at something in the street below. “Then what are they doing here?”

Maverick’s eyes followed where WhiteTail was pointing. At least thirty young males were marching four abreast down the middle of the street, ears flat, hackles raised, fangs bared in menacing snarls. A playing youngling made the mistake of darting into the street and got cuffed head-over-haunches back to the curb by one of the leaders.

“Who are they?” Maverick asked, his hackles rising.

“One Eye and his pack,” WhiteTail growled. “Very mean; we’ve been fighting border skirmishes with them for years. ”

Maverick fought his hackles down and whined nervously. “Maybe the missionaries persuaded him to-”

“What missionaries?” WhiteTail snapped. “My father spent three days talking about sending missionaries to the other packs, but by the time he was done talking, everyone was too well fed and comfortable to go!”

Maverick could only whimper anxiously.

WhiteTail pointed into the street again. “Look, there’s going to be a fight!” A ragged mob of converts was collecting in front of the automat, and someone from LifeCrier’s inner circle was desperately trying to organize them into a Hunt. For a moment the invaders slowed to a stiff-legged gait, arched their backs to make themselves appear larger, and sidled toward the defenders with loud, bloodthirsty snarls. Among the defenders, a few in the back deserted, and the formation started to crumble. With a triumphant howl in BeastTongue, One Eye charged.

With a completely different howl, he dug in his claws and skidded to a stop, just inches short of the legs of the enormous black WalkingStone that had stepped out of the shadows and into his path.

“You shall not fight in this city!” The WalkingStone’s voice was like thunder. One Eye scuttled back a few trots and seemed to gather courage once he was back with his pack. He issued orders to his lieutenants with a snarling voice and sharp, chopping gestures; several of the larger males slipped out of the pack and began sidling indirectly toward the WalkingStone, as if to flank it.

“You are welcome to live in the place that has been prepared for you,” the WalkingStone said, “but you shall not fight in this city!” On cue, eight more WalkingStones stepped out of the shadows, surrounding One Eye.

The pack broke and ran.

“Well,” Maverick said with a smug smile, “do you still doubt that SilverSides watches over us?”

“SilverSides schmilversides,” WhiteTail snarled. “So far all I’ve seen is WalkingStones behaving the way WalkingStones have always behaved. I’ll believe in SilverSides when I smell her fur. ” She was still glaring at Maverick when a rumble of thunder rolled out of the clear blue sky and echoed down the empty streets. Startled, both Maverick and WhiteTail jerked their heads up to see the strange, winged shape descending on a tail of flame.

“WhiteTail?” Maverick asked, his voice squeaking like a trapped grasshider. “It looks like you’re about to get your chance. ”

Fat gray fingers skittered across the control panel and came to rest on the vernier controls. A long black claw ticked nervously on a chrome button.

“Altitude five hundred meters,” the ship said pleasantly. “Descent rate two meters per second. ”

“Ventr’l thrust’rs up point two,” Wolruf whispered into the command pickup.

“Are you sure that’s all right with Master Derec?”

Wolruf snapped her head around to glare at Derec, who was studying a secondary viewscreen. Derec, aware of a sudden burning sensation in his ears, looked up and registered the question. “Uh, yes, ship, that’s fine. ”

“Complying. Altitude four hundred and fifty meters. Descent rate one meter per second. ”

Derec realized that Wolruf was still glaring at him and spoke up again. “Ship? Stop questioning Wolruf’s orders. ”

“But, Master Derec,” the ship objected politely, “Wolruf is not human and therefore has no Second Law authority. ”

Avery nudged Derec with his elbow and tried to draw his attention back to the viewscreen. Derec stole a glance at the screen and then looked up again. “Ship, I don’t have time to argue about this now. You are to consider Wolruf as human. ”

“Very well,” the ship answered, with just the slightest hint of petulance. “I will accept Wolruf’s commands for the time being. However, I would appreciate being given the opportunity to discuss this at length after we land. ”

Derec noticed that Wolruf was still glaring at him. He gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the best I can do for now. ” Wolruf snarled something untranslatable in her native language and turned back to the control panel

“Altitude four hundred meters. Descent rate-”

“Shut up,” Wolruf growled. The ship shut up.

Avery tugged on Derec’s elbow and tried to draw his attention to the secondary view screen again. “Look. There’s more arriving. ”

Derec turned and looked at the screen. “More? But where are they coming from?”

Avery leaned in close and studied the image. “There. ” He slapped a finger on the screen. “The tunnel transit station. ”

Derec leaned back and scratched his chin. “How could they survive in there? The transit platforms hit speeds of a hundred kilometers per hour. If the natives are running through the tunnels, the system must be out of commission. ”

Avery looked at Derec, one eyebrow arched. “Or else the natives have learned to ride the platforms. ”

“Don’t be ridiculous. For one thing, the natives are pretechnological. For another, the platforms are designed for bipeds, and besides, they’re robotic. They wouldn’t obey orders from-” Derec froze as he felt Wolruf’s glare on the back of his neck.

“Look there. ” Avery darted a hand out and touched another part of the viewscreen. “That’s a groundcar. Screen, magnification thirty. ”

“Complying,” the screen said in a tiny, insect-like voice. An instant later the point Avery had touched was the center of a telephoto view. Something that was obviously a large groundcar was slowly picking its way through the fringes of the crowd. The groundcar’s windows were open; a half-dozen furry heads were sticking out the windows, mouths open, long pink tongues rolled out in what looked like happy grins.

“Magnification normal. ” Avery turned to Derec, a glum expression on his face. “I saw it, and I still don’t believe it. ” He paused as he noticed that Derec was sitting rigid with his eyes wide open, blankly staring into space. “Derec?”

“I’m getting a commlink call from Spaceport Control,” Derec said, his face still blank. “They’re asking us-no, they’re ordering us to hover while they ask the citizens to clear the landing area. ” He blinked, focused his eyes again, and looked at Avery. “Citizens. Spaceport Control distinctly said ‘citizens. ’ “

Avery’s expression turned dark and unreadable. He glanced at the viewscreen and then back at Derec again. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to hear Central’s explanation. ” He raised his voice. “Okay, Wolruf, you heard the robot. Bring us to a hover. ”