The Eternal Enemy by Michael Berlyn Page B

real conflict was and how to deal with it.
    â€œDid they have a leader?”
    The Haber flashed confusion.
    â€œOne who directed the others, who told the group what to do.”
    It flashed red.
    â€œWhat did he look like?”
    The Haber did the best it could describing one of the Terrans. Markos figured it had to be Cathy Straka.
    Cathy?
    Wilhelm was second in command. Why should Cathy be in charge? What had happened to Wilhelm? A mutiny? Or was Cathy working on Wilhelm’s orders? He wheeled around to the Old One.
    â€œWhat are we going to do? We can’t fight them—not yet. The young I’ve produced are still in their first cycle. They don’t really understand what would be expected of them.”
    The Old One sat quietly, watching the last rays of the sun setting the sky on fire. “This is the change we, we may not survive. I, I do not think it matters what we, we do.”
    Markos’s anger rekindled as he felt old frustrations rise again. The tiring experience of trying to get these creatures to understand the true nature of the Terran threat, something he’d hoped was gone forever with Van Pelt’s death, was back, causing him to taste metal. The Haber before him turned his head away, took several steps back.
    If Wilhelm were dead, then so were the Habers. He couldn’t approach Straka and change her with his eyes as he’d done to Van Pelt. Everyone on the Paladin had to know of this ability and would probably shoot him on sight. Wilhelm would have told them all.
    Terrific, Markos thought. Death either way.
    Their only chance was to fight. But the only beings capable of fighting the Terrans were Markos and his offspring, and they were still too young.
    That left only him.
    â€œBut we can’t just accept it,” he said a little too loudly, a little too forcibly in his gravely voice. “They’ll kill us all.”
    â€œWe, we must accept it. It is the way of all things,” the Old One said.
    â€œNot where I come from. They can’t get away with this. I won’t let them.”
    â€œThen do what you can.”
    Yes, Markos thought. He’s right. They don’t seem to be worried—they don’t even care. I’m the one who’s afraid. If someone’s going to do something about this it’s going to have to be me.
    But what can I do?
    The next two Habers were waiting. The Old One was waiting. The messenger was waiting.
    â€œWe’ll run,” Markos said. He didn’t particularly relish the idea of becoming a hunted animal again—once had been enough to make him hate that feeling, but it was run or die. “That cave, that cavern where I was taken after I died. Do you know where it is?” he asked the Old One.
    â€œYes,” he said, flashing red tinged with orange.
    â€œI’m going to take these children there and hide. I’ll start teaching them immediately. You can stay here if you want, all of you,” he said, turning to face the group encircling him, “but I’m leaving. I’m not going to wait for Straka to grind me under her heels.”
    â€œWe, we were hoping this would happen,” the Old One said. “We, we waited for this change, the change we, we could never understand. Now you can explain it to us, us, and show us, us what it means.”
    â€œWhat?” Markos demanded, totally confused.
    â€œI, I think it is time, then,” the Old One said, rising slowly to his feet. The other Habers in the village flashed an emphatic crimson red. “We, we can now go home.”
    â€œHome?”
    â€œYes,” the Old One said.
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œUnderstanding is not necessary. You understand what we, we could not. Gather your children and I, I will lead you.”
    Markos stood quickly, his nerves taut. “Children,” he shouted, showing pink and yellow, “stop what you’re doing and come here.”
    All ten stopped,