Chilaili had never scrambled so fast in her life.
John Weyman had already reached the ground and vanished into one of the cargo holds by the time Chilaili climbed down the long ladder. He emerged again holding a thick bundle.
"Use this to block the cavern where the passage narrows," he said tersely. "Spread it across the opening and use Carter's sealant to glue it in place against the rock. Kestejoo will have to seal off the whole edge, all the way around." He thrust both items into a carrysack and handed them to Kestejoo.
"I will explain on the way," Chilaili told the akule, whose eyes betrayed his frightened uncertainty.
Bessany Weyman thrust another item into Kestejoo's carrysack. "It's a portable light," she explained, glancing at Chilaili. "For the cave. Tell Kestejoo to push the big black button and the light will come on."
As Chilaili translated, John Weyman said, "Good luck, both of you. Carter has the canisters. Go."
She and Kestejoo sprinted toward the shuttle Chilaili had ridden in such a short time ago. Lieutenant Carter shoved one satchel at Chilaili, the other at Kestejoo. "You'd better take one, too, Chilaili, in case you can't get back to the Bolo in time. You've still got your earplug? Good. I've put sealant and sensors in both packs, so Rapier can monitor neurotoxin levels wherever you are. Go!"
Chilaili flung her thanks over one shoulder, already running hard. She and Kestejoo climbed rapidly up a rough stone slope and reached the top unscathed. They strapped on their snow-webs, then pelted southward at a mile-eating run, slogging across the crusted surface of the drifts rather than floundering through them at a crawl. As they ran, Chilaili gasped out critical instructions Kestejoo would need. She showed him how to push the plungers on both the canister and the smoke bomb and demonstrated how to use the spray sealant. They covered the first mile in only three minutes, but wooded terrain in the second mile slowed them down. Branches and tangled snags of vines caught at the snow-webs. We'll never make it in time, Chilaili groaned, not unless they turn around and meet us partway.
She drew a deep breath and sent the clan's distress call rolling across the snow, a low-pitched cry that would travel for miles. Kestejoo glanced at her, startled, then realized what she was attempting and added his own urgent cry. They staggered forward, sending out the repeated distress calls, and finally broke into the open again.
A broad, trampled swath of snow marked the war party's trail; they had passed just minutes previously, from the look of the snow. Then Chilaili's heart lifted. "There!"
The whole war party had turned around and was racing back to meet them. "Thank . . . the . . . ancestors . . ." Kestejoo gasped out. He was holding his side, clearly in pain from the sustained effort. The moment the war party was close enough to hear, Kestejoo shouted, "We are betrayed! We have but minutes to live!"
Yiska, fur greying with age but still powerful—he'd fought off several challenges just this turn of the season alone—pushed through to the front of the crowd. "What do you mean, Kestejoo? How are we betrayed? Why do we have only minutes to live?"
Kestejoo gabbled out their dire news: the warning from the True Ones Above, the Council's desperate alliance with the humans, the attempt by the Evil One Above to kill the entire clan. He finished up with the worst news of all. "The Evil One Above has murdered the other clans, viho. All of them, everywhere in the world! The poison is loose on the wind, blowing toward us as we speak. The True Ones Above and the humans have given us the antidote, but we must be inside a shelter we can seal off. Even then, there is a risk that some of us will die, but it is the best chance we have."
Shocked curses spread through the war party.
Chilaili shouted to be heard. "The sixty oldest warriors must come with me, to shelter with the humans. There is not room for everyone in the humans' machine, so Kestejoo will lead the rest of you to a cave near here. Another human machine is hovering over it to point the way." She pointed to a flash of sunlight, where the airborne "drone" could just be seen above the treetops.
Tohopka, one of the youngest warriors, pushed roughly forward. "I say it is a trick! A trick of the devils from the stars! We must not listen, must not believe these lies!"
Kestejoo roared forward, boxing Tohopka's ears soundly. "How dare you question the akule? I heard the voice of the Evil One Above come through the Oracle, giving the order to release the poison. Everyone in the clan heard it. Without the humans, we would all be dead! The Council has formally declared alliance with the humans as our only prayer of survival. If you wish to die in the snow, with blood pouring from your skin and eyes and nose, you are free to do so. But do not destroy the whole clan with your stupidity!"
The young warrior, momentarily stunned, recovered his wits with a roar. He launched a murderous blow full of wicked claws—
—and Chilaili slammed a fist into his belly and flung him headlong into the snow. "As I am katori," she snarled, "do that again and I will kill you myself! There is no time! Die, if you like! But I will not let you kill our entire race!"
Yiska broke the shocked hush. "The sixty oldest warriors, go with Chilaili. Now. The rest of you, follow Kestejoo."
Mutters of rebellion raced through the ranks. Her own youngest sons were snarling defiance. "It is better to die than make alliance with devils!"
Old Nahiossi, whose weapons hand bore only three fingers from an ancient wound, growled, "Only a fool dies without purpose. The Spirit Warrior of our ancestors has watched over us this day, guiding the humans to help us. I thank Hania for his mercy. Kestejoo, go. Let whoever chooses to follow go with you. Go."
Kestejoo began to run. The vast majority of warriors, solidly in their middle years, went with him, dropping their weapons to lighten their burden. Chilaili's four oldest sons joined them. She faced down her three youngest, standing rebelliously with their age-mates. "I gave you life, sons of my nest, taught you all that I could. But if you have learned nothing of wisdom, you are no sons of mine."
The eldest of the three muttered, "I may or may not trust a foreign-born akule and I may never trust the humans, but our mother does not lie." He dropped his weapons and sprinted after Kestejoo. A moment later, several of the younger warriors followed, including Chilaili's second-youngest son. The third stood his ground with nine of his friends.
Chilaili said softly, "I will not sing your names in the eulogies, for there is no bravery in a foolish death." She turned her back and began to run. The oldest warriors of the clan joined her, led by Yiska himself.
"I hope," he growled, "that your trust in the humans is not misplaced."
Chilaili didn't bother to answer. She needed her breath for running. Ten fools out of a hundred and sixty warriors. Far fewer losses than she'd dared to hope. If only they reached safety in time. If only the analog worked properly. If only . . .
She tried, frantically, to reckon the number of minutes that had passed, how much time they'd lost arguing with doomed, hotheaded fools. She decided, despairingly, that she had no idea how much time was left—and drew comfort from the silence of the tiny radio in her ear. They will warn us, if the poison catches us before we reach shelter, they will warn us, I have to believe they will.
They burst through the stand of timber to run the final mile—and found Lieutenant Carter's shuttle parked just beyond the trees, every hatch standing wide open. Carter was standing in the snow beside it, shouting, "Hurry, Chilaili! You're down to less than two minutes!"
Chilaili let go a sob of thanks and shouted, "Climb into the machine! Hurry!"
The warriors paused, staring.
"Move!" Chilaili snarled. "We have less than two minutes!"
Warriors stumbled forward, piling into the shuttle. Sixty of them, heavily muscled, tall, trying to scrunch down into the only available space. Chilaili shoved Yiska into the last narrow place left. Carter dogged the hatch closed. "Into the copilot's seat, Chilaili," the human shouted, running for the pilot's hatch on the opposite side. Chilaili dragged herself in through the open hatch and slammed the heavy door shut. Carter scrambled into her own place and shut the final hatch. "Now, Chilaili! Release that analog now!" Carter was yanking at the craft's controls, tugging a device over her face as the craft tilted and roared into the air.
Chilaili snatched out the canister of analog and pushed the plunger, spewing its contents into the shuttle. "I've released the antidote," she shouted over her shoulder, pushing the control on the smoke bomb as well, to provide the critical visual element necessary to belief.
"Breathe as deeply as you can!"
Yellow smoke mingled with the invisible antidote, setting them to coughing. The device on Carter's face protected the pilot's nose and eyes from the stinging smoke. The smell of terror was as thick and choking as the smoke.
"I'm trying to climb above the neurotoxin plume," Carter said through her protective mask. "Rapier, what's the count?"
"You are fifteen seconds away from contamination. Fourteen . . . thirteen . . . twelve . . ."
Uncontrollable shivers hit as the Bolo counted down the seconds. Crowded into a small space, aware that this time, the poison had already been released, the terror was far deeper than before. Please, she prayed silently, unable to think beyond that one word. Please . . .
Relentless as a flash flood, the Bolo's voice counted down the seconds to doom, using their own language so they could all follow the words. "Chilaili, you are five seconds from contamination. The cavern is already inside the contamination zone. You are three seconds from contamination . . . two . . . one . . ." A tiny pause, while all of them held their breaths in mortal fright and Carter continued climbing at a steep angle. Then: "You are contaminated. Monitoring parts per billion." Another ghastly pause came. "I detect a low level of neurotoxin in the shuttle, holding steady at three parts per billion. Contamination in the cavern has reached twenty parts per billion and continues to climb. Shuttle levels are holding steady. I have initiated countdown to onset of symptoms based on Unit SPQ/R-561's observations at the Rustenberg nest site. One minute thirty-nine seconds to estimated onset of poisoning effects at the cavern. Two minutes twenty seconds to onset in the shuttle."
Yiska, voice hoarse, called out from the cargo space behind her. "Chilaili? What do the humans say?"
"We are breathing the neurotoxin," Chilaili said, coughing as the smoke continued to irritate her throat. "The cavern has been contaminated, too. All we can do is wait to see if the antidote will work." Her voice quavered badly.
A low moan rolled forward, as even the most hardened of the warriors groaned in fright. It was one thing to die gloriously in battle—and quite another to die in convulsions from poison. Each passing minute took years to complete. As they neared the moment when they would all know, Yiska broke the dreadful silence.
"Chilaili," he said, voice low, "you have chosen wisely, leading us into this alliance with humans. I would not have thought it possible, even an hour ago. Whatever happens, know that you have the deepest respect a warrior can bestow." A low murmur of agreement rose from the other warriors.
Chilaili's heart overflowed with the things she wanted to say, but the tightness in her throat kept the words bottled up. So she clutched at the armrests of her seat and stared blankly at the blue sky, and simply waited. And waited. And waited longer still. Then the Bolo spoke once more.
"The cavern has passed the earliest calculated moment of onset. I detect no sound of distress through the comm link embedded in the neurotoxin monitor. Chilaili, the shuttle is now forty seconds from earliest onset. I will continue to monitor contamination levels."
Hope flared, an agony in heart and spirit. Time spun out, inexorable, yet none of them collapsed, none of them bled from skin or eyes, no one seemed to be ill at all. Chilaili's pulse thundered inside her skull, hammered at her throat.
"I detect no sound of distress from the cavern," the Bolo said again.
Bessany Weyman's voice came through the radio. "Why aren't they getting sick? There wasn't time to saturate their tissues with the analog."
Alison Collingwood's voice answered thoughtfully. "The concentrations in the shuttle, even in the cavern, are a lot lower than they are in the general atmosphere. Since they are breathing in the analog, I suspect there's a minor war going on at the receptor sites. The neurotoxin molecules have to compete with inert analog molecules for possession of every cell. The neurotoxin may require a certain threshold, body-wide, before it reaches critical toxicity. In combination, those factors might be enough to protect them. All we can do is cross our fingers and wait."
Chilaili didn't understand all the words the human had spoken, but she'd caught enough of it to translate for the others. "We may be all right?" Yiska asked, voice hushed.
"We aren't dead yet," Chilaili answered. "No one is." The dreadful tension gripping her had begun to drain away, slowly, as genuine hope took hold.
"Chilaili," Carter said softly, "look out the windows."
She did—and gasped.
There was no longer blue sky overhead. It had gone dark as night, with a blaze of stars visible. Below, a thin blue-white haze curved away beneath them. And below that, Chilaili gaped at the awe-striking sight of their homeworld, glittering where sunlight struck the snow. She could see dark patches and long, snaking scars that at first made no sense, then she made the connection between the dark green color of the patchy places and the dark green of the conifer forests she knew so well. If those were the forests, then the long, wrinkled scars were mountains. The staggering scale of it took her breath away. In the distance, where the world fell away in a mysterious curve, she could see immense stretches of a beautiful blue color.
"Wh-what is the blue?"
"The ocean, Chilaili," Carter said gently. "You've never seen the ocean, have you?"
She shook her head, staring.
"You may be up here only for an hour or so, while that analog saturates everyone's tissues, but for an hour, Chilaili, welcome to the stars."
Chilaili's throat closed up again. She tried three times to find her voice, then whispered, "Can you see, Yiska? Through the clear places in the machine? We're flying among the stars. And the whole world is below our feet."
Icewing Clan had fulfilled the destiny promised the strongest, wisest, best clan. For one, short hour they would fly amongst the stars. Chilaili wept at the price paid for that hollow honor.
And soon—very soon—she must look into Bessany Weyman's alien eyes and give her friend the sole thing she could offer in return for their lives: one final, critical thing the humans must be made to understand.
Find our creators, she would say, find them in their hidden homes amongst the stars. Then kill them. All of them.
After what the humans had done, this day, Chilaili's makers would not rest until they had destroyed humanity, on every world her new friends called home.
Her thoughts, as cold and silent as the stars, held the ominous ring of prophecy.