Maeve by Jo Clayton

the great need of my people can justify my breaking of courtesy to one of great power and great heart. The house of cludair is being destroyed and we are powerless to stop it. As father of men, I must seize on whatever might be able to help us.”

Chapter VI
    The noise was deafening. Trees crashing, saws whining, wood screaming under lathes—slaughtered trees evaluated as worthless, chewed into chips and spat out behind. The squat, ugly machine ate at the forest like a monstrous locust.
    A skimmer hovered over the anal orifice of the metal locust, scooping up the end products of the machine’s digestion, hanging the processed lumber in a bulbous cluster beneath its flat bottom. As they watched, it reached its lifting limit, rose, and darted off to the south. The machine inched along without taking the slightest notice of this visitation.
    Tipylexne touched her on the shoulder. When she turned, he bent down so that his mouth was close to her ear. “You see, fire sister?” She could barely hear the words over the raucous din from the machine. “That thing,” he went on, “has been eating at the forest for the past year.” His face pinched with pain as if the devastation before them was perpetrated on his own body. “This is the second time it has passed, leaving dead land from sea to stone.”
    Aleytys nodded, got silently to her feet and followed the cludair back under the trees. As they moved away from the clearing, the forest blocked out some of the noise so that it was possible to talk. She thought over what she had seen as she followed the silent, grieving forest man. Then she quickened her pace until she was walking beside him. “I suppose you tried driving it off.”
    â€œToo many died. Uselessly.” She could hear the pain in his voice. “We couldn’t touch it.”
    Aleytys frowned at the leaf-padded earth that muffled the sound of their feet. “I see. You want to know if I might have a way to kill the machine.” She rubbed her throat and considered the problem. “I think I do. They’d repair it, you know.” She shook her head as he caught eagerly at her arm. “They will repair whatever I do. And they’ll retaliate, hunter. Are you ready to face what that would mean for your people?”
    His first elation faded, replaced by a thoughtful optimism. “The forest is large. And you can break the machine again.”
    â€œI don’t know this Company, Tipylexne. They might keep fixing the machine for months. I can give you a little of my time but I can’t stay forever.”
    Tipylexne nodded briskly. “I understand. The council will consider.”
    Gwynnor watched the two emerge from the shadows, walking quickly together in quiet companionship. He clenched his fingers into fists until his knuckles ached, wanting to drive them into that exotic face, wanting to hit hit hit the starwoman until she lost that bone-deep certainty that marched her imperiously toward some goal; that gave her power over men who fumbled about in pain and confusion for the little self-knowledge that life seemed willing to allow them.
    Unconsciously, he drew his body in on itself, wrapping his arms around his knees, untying his fists and wrapping hands tautly about his calves, pulling himself as far as he could from contact with the silent cludair beside him. The slight, sweet oily smell of their mottled fur nauseated him. He tautened the muscles of his throat rather than humiliate himself by vomiting in front of them. He pressed his face against the hard bone of his knees and cursed the peithwyr whose attack had forced them off the plateau into this mess. A sharp spasm of shivers went through his crouching body and he wanted desperately to be back on the open plain, the gentle welcoming maes where yellow broom glowed like butter tucked in amid the grassy swells.
    The forest men drifted, silent as motes in a light beam, to cluster around