"Maintain Battle Reflex Alert," John told Rapier as he wriggled into his cold-weather gear. "I'm not expecting any serious trouble until this blizzard clears, but what one Tersae could do, others can duplicate. And I'm certainly not ready to trust Chilaili carte blanche, no matter what Bessany and the rest of those scientists say. I sure as hell don't trust her clan."
"Understood, Commander."
John nodded and rejoined the science team, confident in Rapier's ability to warn them or deal with any trouble that might threaten from the clifftops. Their tour of the battered research outpost didn't take long. They carried heavy flashlights to pierce the snow-filled gloom. Herve Sinclair and Dr. Ivanov acted as guides, pointing out each surviving, damaged, or missing structure, while Chilaili broke trail through the deep snow. Even the Tersae had donned a layer of furs for added warmth, but her bare feet—or talons—were apparently impervious to the cold.
Bessany stayed at John's side, a silent ghost shivering in the blasts of wind. Her long, dark hair whipped across her face where strands had escaped her parka hood. They made a surprisingly quick circuit, due mostly to the fact that so much of the station—which had never been large, in the first place—was simply gone.
John kept one hand near the side arm strapped to his hip at all times, but the Tersae gave them no trouble, not even any furtive moves. The tornado had—thank God—spared the biochem lab, along with all of its equipment and data. Bessany's records had survived, too, another small miracle, since the room right next to her lab had been smashed to rubble.
John chose the biochem lab for their meeting site, since it was too small for refugees to take shelter there. The power was off, so they set their flashlights on top of cabinets and high-tech equipment the power outage had rendered temporarily silent. The room was so cold, their breath steamed.
"Is there any way to get the power back on, in here?"
"Probably," Herve Sinclair frowned, "if we could find enough cable to reconnect it to our power plant. We've been digging under the snow to find broken connections, trying to restore power to the shelters. I'm afraid we haven't had much luck finding cable. Our maintenance warehouse was scoured clean, right down to the foundations. We managed to cannibalize enough cable from damaged labs and living quarters to bring the shelters back on-line, but there wasn't enough to do small labs like this one."
John nodded. "That's one problem easily solved, anyway. Rapier carries spare power cable for just this kind of emergency. Put a crew to work looking for the broken ends and we can splice into your power plant within minutes." He spoke into his comm link. "Rapier, open your rear portside cargo bin, please. Herve Sinclair will be coming out with a crew for that power cable."
"Understood, Commander."
Sinclair, pausing on his way out, directed a wan smile at the comm link. "You can't know how good it is, being rescued. We'd all but given up hope." That said, he vanished into the swirl of snow. Dr. Ivanov volunteered to fetch Alison Collingwood, their biochemist, and her technician, Arnie Kravitz.
The moment they were gone, John turned to the Tersae. "All right, Chilaili," he said quietly, "I've been very patient, but it's time you answered a few questions."
"What do you wish to know, John Weyman?"
It was positively uncanny, hearing human speech coming out of a mouth not even remotely designed for it. The effect reminded John strongly of trained parrots, a disturbing image under the circumstances. The deep shadows cast by their narrow flashlight beams only heightened the strangeness. "For starters," he narrowed his eyes, "tell me everything you know about this biochemical weapon."
"I do not understand. I was deeply confused by your words, earlier. Please explain what a 'biochemical weapon' is."
Bessany spoke a shade too quickly, before John could answer. "You remember that time we talked about what causes illness, don't you, Chilaili?"
"The tiny living things you spoke of?" she asked, swinging her gaze around to peer at Bessany. The alien cocked her head downwards, since Bessany was nearly a full meter shorter than the Tersae. "Yes, I remember very well. I have tried to teach the clan the things you said, to keep these tiny living things from harming us. We wash everything more frequently now, and when I care for the injured and the sick, I wash my fingers and claws with very hot water, carefully boiled. There has been less sickness, since we began this."
"I'm glad, Chilaili," Bessany said with conviction. "Very glad. A biochemical weapon is a tiny thing—sometimes alive, sometimes not—that causes illness. One so terrible, everything exposed to it dies. If someone knows how, they can take things that are merely dangerous, things that might only make you very sick, and change them into something deadly."
The Tersae's pupils dilated. "As the Ones Above altered us?"
Chills ran down John's spine.
"Yes, Chilaili," Bessany nodded. "Exactly like that."
"But the Ones Above have never given us such a thing."
"You're sure?" John asked sharply.
The Tersae turned that eerie gaze on him once more, causing alien shadows to leap across the walls. "I am a master katori, John Weyman. I would know such a thing. It is my duty to heal my clan of any illness. Such a thing would put the whole clan at risk, so I would have to know." The Tersae hesitated a moment then, as though struck by a sudden thought. Even John could read the sudden uncertainty in that alien face, those alien eyes.
"What is it, Chilaili?" Bessany asked gently.
"My mother died when I was fifteen summers old, the same age Sooleawa is now. She was killed while hunting. It is possible my mother died before she had the chance to tell me of such a thing. But," an odd sigh gusted past her beak, "my father's mother believed I was fully trained. She had spent much time with my mother, assisting her, for my mother's mother died young, also, which left the clan with only one katori to treat the sick and the injured. It is why she thought my mother would have taken great care to teach me all that she knew, because she had lost her own mother so young."
"So it's possible your mother didn't tell you?" John asked.
"That is possible, yes. Or that my mother's mother may have known, and died before she could pass on the knowledge. But I cannot believe that only a clan's katori would have known such a thing existed. Such an important weapon would have to be known, not only to the katori, but also to the war leader and the akule."
"The what?" John frowned.
"He- or She-Who-Looks-Up."
"The priest or priestess who speaks the words of the Oracle," Bessany translated. "From what Chilaili and Sooleawa have told me, the Oracle is some kind of radio transmitter/receiver. The Ones Above speak through them and the clans can ask their creators questions."
Another chill touched John's spine.
Chilaili was nodding, in grotesque parody of a human gesture. "Yes, this is so, John Weyman. The Ones Above always speak to us through the Oracles. We have never seen their faces directly, only flat images of them. We have never seen the wondrous machines they build to fly between the stars. The weapons they gave us were stored long ago in the deepest caverns of the winter nests. Could such a weapon survive for so many years?"
John did not like what he was hearing. "Yes," he growled, "it could. Possibly for hundreds of years."
Chilaili's pupils dilated. "That is frightening," she whispered. She was frightened, too. Even John could see it. Her hands were shaking and her voice was unsteady. "Our grandmothers' grandmothers might not have known had such a thing been left so many years ago. But surely a clan's akule, at least, would know? And the akule would be honor-bound to reveal the secret to the katori and the viho, the war leader. It would endanger the clan, not to tell them."
Chilaili's fright shook John, dispelling his suspicions far more effectively than any protestations of innocence. "What about the other clans?" he asked. "Might they have something like this? Or do you talk to anyone outside your clan?"
The Tersae clicked her beak softly. "Yes, I have spoken with the katori of other clans. We trade widely when the clans are not warring with one another. There are often summer meetings of the katori from neighboring clans, to share ideas and new discoveries. What we katori speak of amongst ourselves is just as serious as this 'biochemical' weapon, yet not one of the other katori has mentioned such a thing."
"Chilaili," Bessany asked, "in these wars between clans, would the war leaders use weapons given them by the Ones Above to fight each other?"
She clicked her beak again, more rapidly this time, giving John a strong sense that Chilaili was in distress. "It is forbidden," the Tersae whispered, glancing uneasily toward the ceiling as if afraid her gods would overhear, "but in my mother's grandmother's day, it is said a terrible war full of bitter hatred broke out between two clans far to the south. It quickly became altsoba, total war."
"Total war?" John echoed. "Like your war against the humans?"
"Yes," Chilaili said with devastating simplicity.
"Tell me more about this altsoba. The one in your mother's grandmother's day."
"Before the fighting was done, the two clans had used all the weapons given them by the Ones Above. Weapons that explode with terrible noise and force, weapons that fly through the air very quickly, weapons that throw lethal projectiles. Both clans were destroyed. The worst of the bombs left nothing but great holes in the earth where the winter nests had been, holes as large as this valley, where nothing would grow for years afterward. When I was still a nestling, the clan's akule used stories about this war to instill proper awe toward the power of the Ones Above and their weapons. But none of the tales told of this altsoba mention anything like a living weapon that kills within a few heartbeats. I cannot believe that a clan pushed to the edge of survival would fail to use this terrible weapon against an enemy, if the clan knew it existed."
"From the sound of it," John said roughly, "that's exactly what they did at Rustenberg."
Chilaili had no answer for that.
Bessany was frowning. "We've been incommunicado, with the radios missing, so I don't know what's happening with the rest of the colonies, but it seems to me other clans would have used this stuff before now, if they thought it would kill us."
John rubbed the back of his neck under his parka. "Not necessarily," he was forced to admit. "Not if they knew it might kill them, too. Damn, what a prickly puzzle."
Bessany narrowed her eyes. "Chilaili, would a clan ask the Ones Above for guidance before using such a weapon? And would the Ones Above answer them?"
John shot his sister-in-law an intent stare. Unit SPQ/R-561 had picked up a radio transmission just before the release of that neurotoxin, something he hadn't mentioned to anyone here. Chilaili's head swung around to peer at her. "A clan's akule might well seek permission for the viho to use such a deadly weapon, or ask for guidance to avoid destroying the clan when using it. But the Ones Above have not spoken since this war began. The last message our clan received before I left the nest cavern was the command to kill the devils from the stars. The blizzard had already begun by then, and we could not leave."
Bessany frowned. "This is something I've never asked, Chilaili, but how often do the Ones Above speak through the Oracles? And what do they talk about, when they speak?"
John followed her logic instantly. If Chilaili's creators spoke infrequently, on very general subjects, then the Oracle might well be nothing more than a long-distance communications system similar to SWIFT, capable of reaching across interstellar distances. But if they spoke frequently, on matters of day-to-day import, there had to be a base of operations somewhere in this star system, probably on one of the moons. And the more he thought about that, the less he liked it.
"The Ones Above speak to the akules several times during the wheel of the year," Chilaili answered readily enough. "They remind us of our duty to them or tell us of new laws we must obey. Sometimes they warn us of impending danger. They have spoken twice to Icewing Clan about great stones which were about to fall from the sky. Each time, the clan sought safety underground, although such a thing has never happened during my life. My father's grandmother was a child when the last great stone fell. The clan nearly starved that winter. Everyone would have perished had the warning not come in time, allowing the clan to take shelter in the deepest cavern in our territory."
"A meteorite warning system?" John glanced at Bessany.
"It makes sense," she shrugged, although there was a hard edge to her voice. "It's clear they view the Tersae as lab rats. A big meteorite would wreak havoc with a sizeable investment of time, money, and scientific resources. This is the biggest eugenics experiment I've ever heard of and it's obviously been under way for generations."
"God, yes." The cold finger that had touched John's spine repeatedly during the past few minutes left his whole body chilled this time. An experiment lasting multiple generations spoke to a massive, disturbing level of government support. And that scared him. Badly. My God, he wondered, staring at Chilaili, what have we stumbled across here?
"All right," he muttered, "I'll grant you the importance of a meteorite warning system to protect their research. But is the surveillance carried out by live technicians? Or an automated computer system?" He frowned. "And if they're using live technicians, are they still in the system somewhere? Or did they abandon their base quietly and slip away through all the muck out there, when our first military forces arrived? Or have they sent a courier," he blanched at the sudden thought, "to bring in reinforcements?"
Bessany eyes widened. "You mean we could find ourselves under attack? By an alien war fleet coming in from hyper-light?"
"Yes. We could. I don't like this, Bessany. I really don't like this. They're watching us, Bessany. Whether they're still in the system or operating automated equipment from a safe interstellar distance, they're watching us. Gathering data on how we fight, how we react, how we think. And that bothers the hell out of me."
"What bothers me," Bessany muttered, "is this hemorrhagic neurotoxin. If Chilaili's makers didn't give it to the clans to use against 'devils from the stars'—" Her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, my God . . ."
"What?"
"Chilaili," she whispered, voice shaking, "tell John about the threats your akule used to force Icewing Clan to obey. To attack Seta Point, I mean, and this station, once the weather had cleared."
Chilaili blinked. "The Ones Above demand total obedience. The akule reminded us of this. I was not the only one arguing against the attack. Many Mothers and Grandmothers want nothing more to do with the Ones Above. They are murdering us slowly, by altering our chicks inside their eggshells. They are making the males more violent, more suicidal. The akule was afraid when the Grandmothers spoke of defying our makers, for his greatest desire is to protect the clan to which his life-mate was born. He gave up his own clan to mate with Zaltana, our last akule. Since her death five winters ago, he has worked ceaselessly to protect . . ."
Chilaili's voice trailed off, prompting Bessany to ask, "What is it, Chilaili? What's occurred to you?"
"Only that in twenty seasons together, they produced no chicks. Not one. Is it possible the Ones Above have caused this somehow?"
Bessany sucked down a hissing lungful of air. "God, yes. If they've gengineered each clan to be fertile only with members of their own birth clan . . ." She met John's gaze. "Don't you see it? The Tersae are in serious genetic trouble. And I mean serious. This war could wipe out the whole species. All it would take would be to drop the gene pool of each clan below the critical recovery threshold. The Tersae's creators have to know that. Yet they've ordered the Tersae to stop at nothing to kill us."
"My God, Bessany, what kind of monstrous things are we dealing with here?"
"Why do you think I kept sending those urgent messages?" She pressed fingertips to her eyes, rasped out, "I could see some of this even before Chilaili came here to warn me. But this . . . My God, this changes everything, the whole scale of the war, the stakes we're fighting for, the level of ruthlessness we're up against."
John groaned aloud over the disaster of those unforwarded, unread, unholy reports. When he got back to Sector Command, heads were going to roll. He'd see to it they bounced, all the way down those impressive stone steps. "What, exactly, were these threats the akule used?" he asked grimly.
Chilaili, whose puzzled expressions were becoming rapidly more fathomable, said, "The Ones Above long ago warned the clans that disobedience would be severely punished. A clan that defies the will of the Ones Above will be totally destroyed. The only clans which ever dared such disobedience, the ones that used the weapons meant for the star devils against one another, were destroyed. Perhaps by one another, perhaps by the Ones Above, as the akule insists in his teaching parables. I cannot say for sure. But the akule spoke the truth, when he reminded us that the Ones Above will turn their most powerful weapons against us, if we disobey."
The snow outside had more color than Bessany's face. Her voice shook. "I'm an idiot, John, not to have seen it sooner. All the clues point to it."
"Point to what?" he demanded, not quite seeing where she was going with this—although he was quite sure he wasn't going to like it.
"That neurotoxin wasn't developed as a weapon against some hypothetical enemy from the stars. If Chilaili's right, it's been sitting in the ground for hundreds of years, so it predates any possible human contact with the Tersae's creators. Not only that, there's no guarantee that a neurotoxin deadly to one species would even make another species sneeze, so it wouldn't make sense to create a weapon out of a neurotoxin unless you knew the biochemistry of the target you planned to kill."
"If it wasn't developed to kill humanity, then—" His eyes widened as he saw it. "It's meant to kill the Tersae!" John stared at his sister-in-law. Felt the skin along his back crawl. Eugenics experiments, a doomsday neurotoxin to wipe out the experimental animals . . .
Names from ancient history slipped into his mind, terrifying names like Mengele, Treblinka, Auschwitz. Worse yet, what did the experimenters plan to do with the information they were gathering? A planetwide study in deliberate genetic deformation of an intelligent, self-aware species had all kinds of ugly implications attached to it, very few of them connected to mere scientific curiosity.
Before he could pursue those implications any further, Rapier hailed him with a code that meant incoming priority message, top secret and scrambled. John swore aloud. "Excuse me, but I've got a coded transmission coming in." He stepped outside and touched controls on the comm link. "Go ahead, Rapier."
"We have received a transmission from Unit SPQ/R-561, John. Lieutenant Commander Lundquist, assistant ship's surgeon, stayed in Rustenberg to make room for children being airlifted out. He is still alive and shows no signs of illness. Unit SPQ/R-561 is conducting analyses of tissue samples. General McIntyre has instructed him to relay the results to the research team here."
"Dear God. Bessany could be right. Download those analysis results to a data disk. I'll come up for it."
Six minutes later, he walked back into the biochem lab. Herve Sinclair and Dr. Ivanov had returned with Alison Collingwood and Arnie Kravitz. Bessany said, "I've told them our hypothesis . . ." Her voice trailed off. "What is it?"
"It looks like you were right. We've got a survivor at Rustenberg. A ship's surgeon who gave up his seat to make room for some kids. I want to know why he's still alive." He handed the data disk to Dr. Collingwood. "The Bolo at Rustenberg's already working on tissue analyses. These are the preliminary results."
The biochemist took the disk with a dazed expression just as the power came up. Lights glowed in the overhead panels and equipment hummed to life. "We're going to need heat in here," she said. "And God knows how many of our chemicals have been ruined from freezing."
"Put together a list of what you need. We'll requisition it from the Darknight and the Vengeance. I'll see what Rapier has in the way of heating units, tucked away in his cargo bins."
"Thank you. Very much." She shook off the dazed air. "Let's get cracking, Arnie. Inventory the supplies, please, while I check the equipment."
Time to let them work uninterrupted, John nodded to himself. He'd only be in the way, now. He caught Bessany's eye, tipping his head toward the door. "Want to help me scrounge for those heating units?" She glanced at Chilaili and he sighed. "Bring her along."
Rapier had moved closer to the lab, to make the job of stringing cable easier. A rear cargo bin stood open, where Sinclair's crew had retrieved the power cables. "You're getting snow up your backside, Rapier," he said into the teeth of the wind, since they were well within pickup range of the Bolo's external sensors.
"There is nothing in my portside aft cargo bin that will be damaged by a little snow," the Bolo responded drolly, his voice booming above the sound of the wind. "If you're looking for heating units, you'll find them clipped at the back of that same compartment. I left the hatch open, since you mentioned wanting them."
John grinned. "That's what I like about you, Rapier. You're the most thoughtful fellow I know."
The Tersae was staring at the immense machine, open-beaked with astonishment. "The ogre speaks for itself?"
John and Bessany exchanged glances.
Bessany answered first. "Yes, Chilaili. A Bolo is much more than just a machine. Bolos are as self-aware, intelligent, and self-directing as you and I are."
Chilaili's beak opened again, but no sound emerged for several seconds. She blinked repeatedly, her alien eyes dilated in shock that even John could read. "But—" she began, then halted again. "I do not think even the Ones Above can realize this. They spoke of the ogres as great machines, with bombs and missiles like the ones they gave us. The Ones Above instructed the clans carefully, if the humans brought the ogres to this world. We were to kill the commanders, if possible, to cripple the machines and render them helpless."
"That's very interesting," John said quietly, while a sudden spark of excitement flared. It was an advantage, however slim. John was beginning to think any advantage at all would prove critical, because he could see a much larger war brewing in their immediate future. "Extremely interesting, in fact. Let's get those heating units rigged, shall we?"
It didn't take long to retrieve and carry them inside, where Bessany set them up with brisk efficiency. Satisfied, John excused himself to finish reading Bessany's reports. He was anxious now, to glean every speck of information possible from them.
He climbed up and settled himself in the command chair, calling up the first of his sister-in-law's field reports. "When I've finished going over these," he told Rapier, "I'll want your opinion. You may see something I'd miss."
"Understood, Commander. Routing to main data screen. If I may speak freely?"
"Of course, Rapier. You never have to ask permission to say what's on your mind, you know that."
"I only wanted to say," the Bolo's voice came out very softly, indeed, "how grateful I am that I was created by humans."
John's throat closed. "You're welcome."
Humanity had never been paid a higher compliment.