Butler, Octavia - Survivor

The yellower of the two Garkohn, a huntress, raised a hand to strike Jules out of the way, but her companion stopped her.

“Send out the ones who attacked us,” he ordered.

“They attacked in the defense of the nonfighter you were beating. It was their duty.”

Both Garkohn were silent for a moment, then the darker one flared angry yellow. “Your people are too much alike! Who can tell fighters from nonfighters?” He turned away with a mixture of anger and humiliation. The huntress followed.

The status of nonfighters—farmers and artisans—was in some ways similar to that of women in Missionary society. Fighters protected them, governed them, and considered it less than honorable to mistreat them. They ranged from the bright green of the highest farmers to the startlingly beautiful golden green of the artisans. Among the Garkohn, there were even artisans who descended to pure yellow. Nonfighters were the only truly beautiful people that Alanna had seen among the Kohn.

Jules turned from the retreating Garkohn and faced his people. He spoke only loud enough for those closest to him, those involved in the incident, to hear. “If we panic, we can die as uselessly, as foolishly, as the Everett brothers died last night. Yes, we lost them. They mixed into fighting between the Tehkohn and the Garkohn. They acted without thinking.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over their exclamations of shock. “We are not cowards,” he told them. “If we have to fight, we will. Only remember that we may be all that’s left of the human race, and that every time one of us dies, we decrease the chances of human survival as well as our own chances to fulfill the Mission!”

They were accustomed to obeying him, accepting his judgment. And he had invoked a powerful persuader in the Mission. They calmed and resigned themselves to staring their hostility at the Garkohn.

Then someone noticed what the Garkohn were bringing out of the houses and the calm vanished.

Several people called out, alerting the entire group to the fact that they were losing their weapons. Several more tried to break through the Garkohn circle. Abruptly, the colony was only seconds from the chaos Jules had envisioned. And Alanna thought it would take more than an inspirational speech to calm them this time. They would have to be shocked into submission.

She looked around for Natahk, saw that he had come closer to the circle. He was talking to a huntress not far from the outer fringe of Garkohn. She hurried toward him. A hunter of the circle tried to stop her, struck at her in the careless way that Garkohn reserved for slow untrained Missionaries. He appeared startled when she managed to avoid him. He tried again, not underestimating her this time, but he was simply not fast enough. She reached Natahk several steps ahead of him and Natahk stopped him and ordered him back to the circle. The huntress had just turned away from Natahk. He looked at Alanna questioningly.

He was holding what Alanna needed. She had seen it in his hand as she approached. Apparently, he had taken it from the huntress.

“Give me the gun, Natahk.”

He glanced down at the huge ancient .44 magnum revolver he held. Then he looked at her again, uncomprehending.

“Give it to me before your people have to start killing.”

He looked at the deteriorating situation on the common, saw two Missionaries beating down a hunter who, surprisingly enough, was trying not to kill them. But they were big men, strong in their own right. The hunter gave up and broke their necks.

Natahk handed the heavy gun to Alanna, all the while watching her with an intensity that she barely noticed. She fumbled with the gun for a moment, seeing that it was loaded, remembering… It had been a long time since she had last fired a gun. She had never fired one this large. But its size was a good thing. It would make plenty of noise.

Alanna went back inside the circle of Garkohn, Natahk ordering a path opened for her. She moved to the highest ground she could find, a slight rise from which all the Missionaries could see her, but where none could reach her without alerting the Garkohn. She held the gun with both hands, fired diagonally into the ground. The savage recoil sent a shock of pain through her hands, but it was worth it. She had been right about the noise. It was deafening. It got her the attention of every person on the common instantly. She used none of Jules’s diplomacy.

“We’re outnumbered,” she yelled. “Some of us are already dead. Take a look around. Then if you want to commit suicide, start fighting again.”

She stood where she was and watched them unfreeze. Watched them look numbly at each other, and at the surrounding Garkohn. Watched them become sheep again—discontented sheep, but sheep nevertheless. She closed her eyes and lowered her head so that her hair hid her face. They tried so hard to die while she was trying so hard to save them. If only they would be still until Diut opened a way of escape for them.

She was aware of Natahk coming to stand beside her. He did not startle her when he spoke.

“The weapon, Alanna.”

She handed it to him without hesitation. “You were wrong to collect them.”

“I was wrong not to collect them sooner. Do you understand what would have happened, had your father chosen to use one of them against me instead of the knife?”

“Yes.”

“I am not Hao, but I am my people’s leader. They would make the Missionaries pay many times over. It would be a matter of honor.”

“I said I understood.” She shook her head. Ironically, he was right. In a way, he was saving the Missionaries from themselves—saving them from the retribution that would surely come as soon as any Missionary was goaded into killing any Garkohn, however much the Garkohn needed killing.

Alanna watched a party of Garkohn leave the settlement. They were carrying some of the weapons and pulling others in one of the Missionaries’ handcarts. They left triumphantly, fighters who had won their battle, while most of their fellows stayed behind to guard the Missionaries. As soon as the gates were closed behind them, Natahk gestured Alanna away from him so that he stood alone on the rise. Then he demanded the Missionaries’ attention.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Alanna

Diut made me known to the people who were important to him. Jeh and Cheah, who were his friends, now became true friends of mine rather than superiors. It was an easy transition. I was not surprised when Cheah told me how concerned she and Jeh had been when Jeh took me to Diut. They had seen the terror in me and they were afraid Diut would be offended, yet they could do nothing. Cheah grayed just slightly when she told me: “It is never easy to see one friend kill another.” She spoke as though from experience and I wondered what pain she was remembering.

I met Diut’s First Judge, a woman as tall as Diut himself but, of course, without the heavy Hao musculature. Her coloring was excellent and her strength and fighting ability second only to Diut’s. She was Kehyo, the first Tehkohn woman to make me feel small—and not only with her larger size.

“You are Alanna,” she said when I met her. The occasion was a traditional gathering held to announce her third pregnancy. It was not the formal welcoming ceremony that would be held after the child’s birth, but only a gathering of friends that a couple held to share their joy and receive the good wishes of the bluest people they knew. I had not been invited, but Diut had. He took me along. Now Kehyo had come to sit near me.

“I have heard about you,” she said. “You are Diut’s furless one.”

I smiled a little. “Yes.”

“I hear that you hunt very well.”

“I’m learning.”