Var the Stick Page 12

  His muscles grew tired, then knotted, but he did not shift position again. He knew it could not be long, at this speed, before the machine reached the end of the tunnel and he knew by the packed dirt where it had tO stop. It only cleaned so far, for some reason. Once it did stop, they could jump free. They would be the first to escape from this farocious tunnel.

  In less than half an hour light showed, a dim oval beyond the focus of the machine's beam. The vehicle ground to a halt, steam rising thickly about the wedged passengers. Var made his effort and discovered that his legs had gone to sleep.

  Soil was still unconscious; there was no help there. If he dislodged himself now, be was likely' to drop them both into the dread hopper.

  Thà machine shuddered. The blasting water jets cut off.

  The grinder beneath Var ceasea its motion, and he saw that his fear had been Well-founded. But at least now he could step down on those gears without losing his feet, and that would make it possible to recover his circulation and lever Soli out.

  The light doused, leaving only the pale cast from the entrance. The machine jolted into motion again the other way. Soil rolled off and Var had to grab for her. By the time he had her safe again, the motion was too swift. If he jumped with his prickling legs and her unconscious weight they would both be hurt.

  But the grinder remained inert. Apparently it had been disconnected for the return trip, along with the spray and headlight Var worked one foot down, then let Soil slide.

  Returning sensation made his legs painful, but now they were securely ensconced within the hopper, riding back along the tunnel at a good clip.

  But why didn't she revive? Now, increasingly, he feared that she had struck her head too hard against the light, and suffered brain damage. He had seen warriors who bad become disorganized and even idiotic after club blows to the head. If that were the case with Soli... On and on the cleaner went, returning whence it had come. Var, helpless to do anything else, held Soil firm and slept.

  He was jolted awake by bright light The machine had come into the open. Soil still nestled unconscious in his arm

  The machine stopped again and there were people. First men with strange weapons no, they had to be tools then tall, armed, armored women, peering in at him and Soil. Some carried round disks of stretched leather, so that one arm was fettered and useless for combat.

  'Look at that!" one exclaimed wonderingly. "A beardface and a child."

  Var did not speak immediately, sensing trouble. These women were aggressive, militant, unfeminine and unlike those he had seen before. Their curiosity did not seem mendly. Their metal helmets made them look like birds.

  Soil did not move.

  "See if he has his finger," another woman said eagerly.

  There was something guilty and ugly about their attitude as though they were contemplating an intriguing perversion. Var drew out his sticks.

  Immediately bows appeared and metal-tipped arrows were trained on him from several directions. He had no protection against these, and with Soil unconscious his position was hopeless. He dropped his weapons.

  The quiet men were climbing on the machine, applying their tools to its surfaces. Evidently they cared for it the way the crazies cared for their tractors, checking it over after each trip. That was why it was still operating, so long after its makers were gone.

  "Out!" cried the burly woman who seemed to be the leader. She held a spear in one hand, a shield in the other.

  Var obeyed, lifting Soil carefully.

  "The child is sick!" someone cried. "Kill her!"

  Var held SOli with one arm about her chest With his other arm he grabbed for the leader of the females, catching her by her braided hair. He yanked her against him, hauling back on her head so that her neck was exposed. Her shield got in the way, making her struggles ineffective. He bared his teeth. He growled.

  "Shoot him! Shoot him!" the captive woman screamed. But the archers were oddly hesitant. "He must be a real man," one said. "The Queen would be angry."

  "If my friend dies, I rip this throat!" Var said, breathing on the neck he held bent. He was not bluffing; his teeth had always been his natural weapon, even though they were clumsy compared to those of most animals.

  Another woman came forward. "Let go our mistress; we will medicate the child."

  Var shoved the captive away. She caught herself, rubbing her neck. "Take him to the Queen," she said.

  A woman made as if to take Soil, but Var balked. "She stays with me. If you kill anyone, kill me first, because I will kill anyone who harms her." He had made an oath to that effect long ago, to Soli's natural mother, but that was not the reason he spoke as he did now. Soil was too important to him to lose.

  They walked down a pathway toward water. Var saw that they were on a small island hardly larger than required to serve as a surfacing point for the tunnel. The cleaning machine stood athwart the road, grinders and brushes and headlamps at each end, hissing and cooling as the mechanics labored over it. In this culture, it seemed, the men were crazies the women nomad warriors. Well, it was their system.

  Beyond the machine there was a level stretch; then the surface rose into a tremendous metal and stone bridge that traversed the extensive water and led out of sight.

  At the waterside was a boat. Var and Soil had seen such floating craft in the course of their journey, and understood their purpose, but bad never been really close to one. This boat was made of metal, and he did not understand why it did not sink, since he knew metal was heavier than water.

  He balked at entering the craft, but realized that there was no reasonable alternative. Obviously the Queen was not on this atoll. And if he made too much trouble he and Soil both would die.

  The boat rocked as they entered, but held out the water.

  Var could see that its bottom deck was actually below the surface of the sea. One of the women pulled a cord and a motor started banging and shaking. Then the entire thing nudged out from the dock.

  It was astonishing that people other than the crazies or underworlders should possess and control motors. Yet obviously it was so.

  The boat pushed along through the ocean. Var, unused to this rocking motion, soon felt queasy. But he refused to yield to it, knowing that any sign of weakness would further imperil himself and Soil.

  How long would she sleep? He felt strangely unwhole without her.

  The boat came to parallel the enormous bridge. Girders like those that rimmed the mountain Helicon projected from the sea and crossed and recrossed each other, forming an eye-dazzling network. But these were organized and functional, serving to support the elevated highway. Somewhere within this jumble that road was hidden; he could not see it now. He wondered why the amazons did not walk along it instead of splashing dangerously over the water.

  At length they angled toward the bridge. There was an archway, here, where the water under the span was clear for a space. And suspended in that cavity was something like a monstrous hornet's nest all wood and rope and interleaved slices of metal and plastic and other substances Var could not guess at.

  The boat drew up beneath this, where a blister hung scant feet from the surface of the water. A ladder of rope dropped down and the women climbed up with alacrity to disappear with him.

  Var had to ascend carrying Soil. He laid her over his shoulder and grasped the ladder with one hand. It swung out, seeming too frail to bear the double load.

  Well, if it broke, he would swim. He was not really enthusiastic to enter the hive, and did not trust these armored women. He hauled himself and his burden up, rung by rung, carefully curling his clumsy fingers about each. The rope did not break.

  The ladder passed through a circular hole, and was fastened above by a metal crosspiece. Var clung to this and got his feet to a board platform, and shifted Soil down. They were in a cramped chamber whose sides curved up and out. Metal cloth seemed to be the main element.

  But there were other ladders to climb. Each level was larger, the curving
walls more distant, until doors and intermediate chambers were all he could observe in passing.

  At length they stood within a large room with adjacent compartments, rather like the Master's main tent.

  On a throne fashioned of wickerwork sat the Queen: bloated, ugly, middle-aged, bejeweled. She wore a richly woven gown that sparkled hidescently. It fell from a high stiff collar behind her broad neck to the sides of her stout ankles, and was open down the front to reveal the inner curvatures of her, monstrous breasts, her dimpled kettle stomach, and her hanging thighs.

  Var, hardly prudish, averted his eyes. Sexuality as brazen as this repulsed him.

  Weapons threatened. "Foreign beardface, look at the Queen!"

  He had to look; it seemed this was protocol. She reminded him of a figurine the Master had shown him once: a fertility goddess, artifact of the Ancients. The Master had said that in some cultures such a figure was considered to be the ultimate in beauty. But for Var the female attributes became negative when expanded to such grotesque proportion.

  "Strip him," the Queen said.

  Again Var had to make a decision. He could fight but not effectively while supporting Soil, and both of them would be wounded or killed. Or he could submit to being stripped by these women. Nakedness was not a strong taboo with him, but he knew it was for others, and that the demand represented an insult. Still he yielded. "You promised to care for my friend," he said.

  The Queen made an imperious gesture that sent gross quivers through her various anatomies. An unarmed woman came to take Soil. She brought her to 'a wicker divan and began checking the limp girl, while Var watched nervously. And the armed women removed his clothing.

  "So he has his finger," the Queen said, staring as though studying an animal.

  Now Var understood the term. It occurred to him that he bad not had a close look at a man of this tribe.

  The nurse attending Soil spoke: "Concussion. Doesn't look serious. Bruise on the neck, probably pinching a nerve, could let go anytime." She splashed water from a bowl on Soli's face.

  The girl groaned. It was the first sound she had made since the leap to the tunnel sweeper, and Var felt suddenly weak with relief. If she could groan she could recover.

  "He looks strong," said the Queen. "But mottled. Do we want any piebalds?"

  No one answered. Evidently the question was rhetorical. After a moment she decided. "Yes, we'll try one." She pointed to Var. "Your Queen wili honor your finger. Bring it here."

  Prodded by spearlike arrows, Var walked toward her. He had some idea what she meant, and was disgusted, but the weapons bristling about him discouraged overt protest. He saw Soil sitting up and wanted to go to hers If only he weren't restrained by the odds against him! Alone, he could have made a break, but he did not want to start trouble that would hurt the dazed girl.

  He came to stand immediately before the gross Queen.

  She was even more repulsive up close. Fat jiggled on her body as she breathed, and there was a steamy unnatural smell about her.

  She reached out and caught what she termed his finger in her hand. "Yes, your Queen will use this once, now and no woman after her." She spread her legs, hauling Var toward her.

  It was no longer possible to pretend to mistake her meaning. Var acted. He whirled on his guards, grabbing at their weapons, shoving the women down. He caught the handle of a fighting hatchet and raised the blade toward the Queen.

  The guards fell back, for they could not mistake his meaning either. He could split her head before they reached him.

  "Bring her!" Var cried, gesturing toward Soil. He hoped they would not realize that they could nullify his threat by threatening Soil.

  Bows came up, arrows nocked. Var put both hands on the hatchet and poised above the Queen. Even if a dozen arrows transfixed him, he would take her with him.

  Soil came, listless but walking by herself. She. still wore her two sticks; they had not been noticed by her captors.

  Something flashed. Var jumped back as the Queen drove for his loin with a jewelled stiletto. "We shall remove it now, I think," she said.

  In that moment of confusion Var saw the arrows coming. One grazed his thigh. The guards closed in.

  In a fury, Var leaped at the Queen and clove her head with a two-handed stroke. A cry of horror went up. He did not need to look. He knew as he yanked free the blood-soiled blade that she was dead.

  He caught Soil by the arm and sprinted for the nearest compartment behind the throne. For a moment no one followed. The women were too shocked by the fate of their breeder Queen.

  There was a ladder. "Climb!" he said at Soil, and she, unspeaking, climbed. Var stood with the hatchet, ready to fend off attack. He was sure that he himself would never have the chance to use the ladder.

  Then, as the amazons advanced keening in fury, he struck at the wicker door supports. Rope and fiber sliced easily, and the door began to collapse, and the floor beneath it sagged. He hacked some more until there was a tumble of material ealing him off, then dived for the ladder.

  Soil waited for him at the next level "Where are we, Var?" she asked plaintively.

  "In a hive!" he gasped, drawing her through another door. "I killed the Queen-ant!"

  They entered another large room. Men were working here, weaving baskets. Naked, flabby Var saw at once that they were castrate. No wonder the women had been fascinated by the visiting male they seldom saw a complete man!

  But though these men were harmless, even pitiful, the amazon women were not. They burst through the door behind, screaming.

  Var and Soli bolted again. But the next room was a blank cubbyhole, next to the gentle curvature of the exterior wall. They were trapped.

  "Fire!" Soil cried.

  Var cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner. He fumbled for his pack for a precious match and some kerosene. This thy hive would ignite rapidly.

  His pack, of course, was not on him. It lay with the rest of his clothing in the Queen's hail.

  But Soli was already making fire from the duplicate materials in her own pack. As the first female warrior charged into the compartment, she ignited a puddle of kerosene on the wooden floor.

  The amazon stomped through the sudden blaze and screamed. Var clove her with the hatchet and she fell, her shield rolling away, the fire licking around her body.

  "We're trapped, Var!" Soli cried. For the moment be was too glad to have her intelligible and functional to pay attention to her words. Perhaps the action had jolted her out of her concussion.

  "We'll burn!" she screamed in his ear.

  That registered. He went to the wall and began hacking. The fibers were tough, and several times the blade rang against metal, but he succeeded in ripping a hole to daylight.

  "Hurry!" Soil cried, and he glanced at her while chipping. He saw to his surprise, that the fire was not consinning everything. Only the kerosene itself was burning. Soil stood just behind it, both sticks in her hands, fending off any amazons who tried to reach through. Fortunately the constriction of the surroundings prevented the effective use of arrows. But soon the flammable fluid would be gone, and the mass of outraged women would press through. Some were already trying to use their shields to block Soil's sticks.

  "Out the hole!" Var shouted at her. Soil obeyed with alacrity while he covered her retreat.

  He took a final swipe at a protruding spear and dived through the hole the moment her feet disappeared. As his head poked out he saw. the water, far below. He had forgotten how high they were! How could they jump that dizzying distance?

  Where was Soli? He did not spy her either on the wall or in the water. If she had fallen and drowned "Here!"

  He looked up. She was clinging to the framework above the hole. Again, relief was almost painfully great and of course climbing was the answer. They could escape via the rope that supported the entire framework!

  A helmeted head showed in the bole. Soil reached down negilgently and tapped it ringingly with a stick. It vanished.
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  They climbed, Var carrying the hatchet between his teeth. It was easier than the ascent to the mesa bad been, so long ago in experience. The woven ropes and struts provided plentiful handholds, and as the two rose the surface tilted toward the horizontal.

  A trapdoor opened in the top and a head appeared. Var threatened it with the hatchet and the lid popped closed again instantly. They had command of the roof.

  The rope by which the hive was suspended was much more sturdy than it had appeared from a distance. It was a good four feet in diameter at its narrowest, and the fibers were metal and nylon and rubber, interwoven tightly.

  Var had had some notion of chopping through this cord and dropping the entire hive grandly into the sea. He gave it up; his battered little hatchet could not do the job.

  They climbed the column, Soil still wearing her heavy pack because there was no time for adjustments. Fortunately this stretch was short. Var didn't know how long she could last, after her prolonged unconsciousness. And if the amazons emerged and started firing arrows at them.

  The women did emerge, but too late. Var and Soil were perched on the massive steel strut that supported the hive, and the arrows could not reach them directly. They were safe. All they had to do was mount the road surface of the bridge and be on their way.

  Well, not quite all. A chill wind attacked Var's bare skin. He would have to find new clothing and traveling supplies. And new weapons, this hatchet, useful as it had been, was not to his liking.

  He led the way up an inclined beam, going into the maze of supports. The angry cries of the amazons were left behind, and their arrows stopped rattling between the girders. He wondered why they did not follow; certainly they would know how to get around on the bridge, since they had built their hive within it.