thick a worm couldn’t crawl through ... and we may have to, yet.”
“Yah, do or die,” said Mitzi, slurring off.
“Oh, wake up and think!” Ardagh cried. “You’re so mad to get off here!”
“I don’t care any more,” said Mitzi.
“We’ll make great time dragging her,” Koz said.
“Time,” said Esther. “We need a timetable. Sven?”
Sven was watching Shirvanian: if Dahlgren sent that thing here then Dahlgren’s gone mad, and if we try to reach the ship it’s not only the ergs we’ll have to get past ...
“Sven ...” Esther wanted him to answer.
Do or die, says Mitzi. “If we have twelve days, with margin, we have to make fifteen kilometers a day. That leaves two to get ready.”
Shirvanian came to the door with the clawed feet in one hand, like a branch of metal thorns, and the malevolent red-eyed head in the other. “How many Solthree hours in your day?”
“Just under thirty. Why?”
“To see if I had enough time.” He clashed the pieces together gently.
“For what?”
“To fix this. I told you.” He added for the benefit of morons, “To make a proper bird of it.”
“And for what purpose?” Esther found equal patience when she chose.
Shirvanian sat on his heels and rested chin on fists so that the metal head stuck out of one ear and the legs out of the other. “Do you want to let the ergs know you’re not scared?”
“We’re scared,” said Ardagh.
“Yah. It was sent for a scare. I could just leave it smashed up ... only I like things fixed.”
“So?”
“Or I could have it running in circles with a signal to make the ergs chase it because they didn’t know what it was—”
“We might get in their way,” said Joshua.
“Or I could send it back. You see,” he tapped the pieces together again, in a peculiarly unpleasant sound, “it had a direction finder, to reach this point, and a life sensor that homes on Solthree body chemistry, to come to us. It hasn’t got a receiver that would pick up anything else here, but ... it works on an erg signal. Not the kind of erg we saw last night, and not a servo. Not an ordinary class, or a model of a class. I’ve been around a lot of ergs, not as big as these, but I know. This was sent here by one particular erg, something new and big, and,” his eyes narrowed in a passion that would have been lust in an adult, “it sure is an erg I’d like to see ...”
“I hope I’m not around when you do,” said Esther.
“Well ... if you’re not too scared I’ll send it back along that beam. It might give something or somebody an unpleasant surprise.”
They looked at space, all those strange children, and at Sven. Dahlgren’s inheritor. He said in a low voice, “Send it back. We won’t have many surprises for them.”
“Okay.” Shirvanian tossed his glittering giblets in the air, caught them, and went to work. “Twenty kph ought to be enough.”
“Is that thing going to fly?” Esther asked.
“No, but it sure will run fast.”
“When will you be done?”
“Around midnight.” Gathering a wreath of baleful looks, he amended, “If it disturbs you I’ll finish in the morning.”
At that moment Mitzi quietly heeled over sideways and slumped to the ground.
Ardagh jumped up and pulled at her. “Mitzi—”
Esther hopped to her side. “That stuff she smokes—”
“It wouldn’t do this.”
Koz opened his mouth; Joshua put a hand on his arm. “Don’t say it. We have to stop that.”
“I think she’s got a fever,” Ardagh said.
Esther put her forehead to Mitzi’s cheek. “Ayeh.” She pushed away collar and hair. “Bakri mold. First thing everybody gets here.” There was a coin-sized spot on Mitzi’s neck, an outer ring of white crust, red inside and centered with green. “You got antibiotics?”
“Yes.”
“Give her what you take for dysentery. Sven, you get the alcohol. I’ll boil a knife.”
Ardagh cried, “What are you going to do with a knife?”
“Slit her gizzard.” Esther
“Yah, do or die,” said Mitzi, slurring off.
“Oh, wake up and think!” Ardagh cried. “You’re so mad to get off here!”
“I don’t care any more,” said Mitzi.
“We’ll make great time dragging her,” Koz said.
“Time,” said Esther. “We need a timetable. Sven?”
Sven was watching Shirvanian: if Dahlgren sent that thing here then Dahlgren’s gone mad, and if we try to reach the ship it’s not only the ergs we’ll have to get past ...
“Sven ...” Esther wanted him to answer.
Do or die, says Mitzi. “If we have twelve days, with margin, we have to make fifteen kilometers a day. That leaves two to get ready.”
Shirvanian came to the door with the clawed feet in one hand, like a branch of metal thorns, and the malevolent red-eyed head in the other. “How many Solthree hours in your day?”
“Just under thirty. Why?”
“To see if I had enough time.” He clashed the pieces together gently.
“For what?”
“To fix this. I told you.” He added for the benefit of morons, “To make a proper bird of it.”
“And for what purpose?” Esther found equal patience when she chose.
Shirvanian sat on his heels and rested chin on fists so that the metal head stuck out of one ear and the legs out of the other. “Do you want to let the ergs know you’re not scared?”
“We’re scared,” said Ardagh.
“Yah. It was sent for a scare. I could just leave it smashed up ... only I like things fixed.”
“So?”
“Or I could have it running in circles with a signal to make the ergs chase it because they didn’t know what it was—”
“We might get in their way,” said Joshua.
“Or I could send it back. You see,” he tapped the pieces together again, in a peculiarly unpleasant sound, “it had a direction finder, to reach this point, and a life sensor that homes on Solthree body chemistry, to come to us. It hasn’t got a receiver that would pick up anything else here, but ... it works on an erg signal. Not the kind of erg we saw last night, and not a servo. Not an ordinary class, or a model of a class. I’ve been around a lot of ergs, not as big as these, but I know. This was sent here by one particular erg, something new and big, and,” his eyes narrowed in a passion that would have been lust in an adult, “it sure is an erg I’d like to see ...”
“I hope I’m not around when you do,” said Esther.
“Well ... if you’re not too scared I’ll send it back along that beam. It might give something or somebody an unpleasant surprise.”
They looked at space, all those strange children, and at Sven. Dahlgren’s inheritor. He said in a low voice, “Send it back. We won’t have many surprises for them.”
“Okay.” Shirvanian tossed his glittering giblets in the air, caught them, and went to work. “Twenty kph ought to be enough.”
“Is that thing going to fly?” Esther asked.
“No, but it sure will run fast.”
“When will you be done?”
“Around midnight.” Gathering a wreath of baleful looks, he amended, “If it disturbs you I’ll finish in the morning.”
At that moment Mitzi quietly heeled over sideways and slumped to the ground.
Ardagh jumped up and pulled at her. “Mitzi—”
Esther hopped to her side. “That stuff she smokes—”
“It wouldn’t do this.”
Koz opened his mouth; Joshua put a hand on his arm. “Don’t say it. We have to stop that.”
“I think she’s got a fever,” Ardagh said.
Esther put her forehead to Mitzi’s cheek. “Ayeh.” She pushed away collar and hair. “Bakri mold. First thing everybody gets here.” There was a coin-sized spot on Mitzi’s neck, an outer ring of white crust, red inside and centered with green. “You got antibiotics?”
“Yes.”
“Give her what you take for dysentery. Sven, you get the alcohol. I’ll boil a knife.”
Ardagh cried, “What are you going to do with a knife?”
“Slit her gizzard.” Esther
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