GENELLAN: PLANETFALL(40)

Gloomy dusk was fast surrendering to impatient night. MacArthur scanned the river downstream, searching for telltale spumes of luminescence indicating rocks and rapids. The crescendo of the tortured water abated; he could hear the torrent at his feet, and the river flowed more gently, still with good speed but without the urgency associated with turbulence. He walked farther; the loudness receded. The river melded into darkness, but the low cliffs of the far bank gave him a dim perspective of distance. He slowed his pace. The river could be crossed with a raft. He stopped and stared one last time into the darkness—the decision made.

As he peered into the murk, clouds to the south pulsated with flickering blue light. A low rolling cannonade of thunder echoed up the river valley. He turned and headed back, leg-weary, stumbling over loose river rock.

* * *

Council chambers echoed with clicking talons. The hunters were ushered before the elders, unusual at this late hour—the elders fatigued easily. But the explosions from the sky, louder even than thunder, had reached the cliff dwellers' deepest fears. It had started again! The elders were frightened. The hunters lined up before the council, and Braan moved into the dock. For once he waited to be addressed, as was proper.

"I bid brave warriors welcome. Braan, leader-of-hunters, of clan Soong, please speak," said Koop-the-facilitator politely.

"Long life, excellency, I am humbled," Braan said with unusual ceremony. A cool breath of air fluttered through the chamber, causing spirit lamps to gutter and dim. The storm rolling up the river valley was a severe one—brilliant threads of lightning had guided the hunters' flight down the cliff face. Raindrops had pattered on them as they approached the portal of the grand assembly. An angry night.

"Braan and his hunters have returned," the facilitator said, his expression intense, "and the mysterious thunder plagues us still. What news of its source?"

"Visitors.. .powerful visitors, elder," said the somber Braan. "Loud noises come from their flying machine. Each time it soars, noise rends the air and more strangers are come."

"Bear people?" the facilitator asked.

"Not bear people," Braan replied. The hunter leader proceeded with his detailed report, rapidly exceeding the limits of cliff dweller knowledge. Braan was interrupted with astonished exclamations. The hunter leader begged to proceed, endeavoring to answer with the whole tale. There were mysteries for which he had no answers.

"They are not gods. They are tall and strong and have clear eyes, but they fear injury and death," Braan stated, hearkening to the rockdog incident. "Yet they kill like gods—from a distance, using sticks that spout loud noise and flame. Weapons we cannot match."

"'Tis the stick that kills, not the being?" a steam user asked. "The long-legs kill with the stick," Braan affirmed.

"Have they wings?" a fisher asked. "Did not initial reports attribute to them the power of flight?"

"No wings. With the exception of the silver machine, they cannot fly or soar. Or at least were not seen doing so. They walk slowly and clumsily wherever they go."

"Thy recommendation, Braan, leader-of-hunters?" Koop asked.

Braan pondered and said nothing. This was not rude, for a direct question was an invitation to consider deeply. The facilitator sat back, content that he had asked an important question.

Braan's answer, when it came, was not unexpected. "Our knowledge is insufficient to make a choice. Our alternatives are to kill them or to become their allies. Both alternatives offer consequences. Killing them could only be done at dear price, for they have powerful weapons. Yet kill them we can, for they are few, and we are many." Braan paused and looked about the chamber. The elders each fixed him with a stare of undiluted fear. Braan worried for the future.

"Becoming allies is likewise a dangerous path," Braan continued, "because it can only be done if the long-legs so desire. By offering ourselves to their compassion, we lose the advantage. If they prove treacherous, the cost in dweller lives would ultimately be far greater."

"Should we not attack immediately, before more long-legs arrive?" Bott'a-the-hunter asked impetuously—and rudely. The elders stirred.

"The young warrior's question is appropriate," Braan said. "To attack swiftly would increase the likelihood of victory. But it would also eliminate all other options. We would become enemies—a difficult condition to alter."

"Thy recommendation?" the facilitator persisted.

"Their numbers are not yet a cause of concern. It will take many landings of their flying craft to threaten us. If they are to be our allies, we must first test them," Braan said.