walked—but he was still dangerous. Horza didn’t mind him talking, though; it passed
the time.
“We knew it was injured. When we found it in station six, and it did not move or show any sign of noticing us, we assumed
that those were
only the signs of its damage. We already knew that you had arrived; it was only a day ago. We accepted our
good luck without second
thoughts, and prepared to make our escape. You only just stopped us. Another few hours and we would
have had that train working."
“More likely you’d have blown yourselves into radioactive dust," Horza told the Idiran.
“Think what you like, little one. I knew what I was doing."
“I’m sure," Horza said skeptically. “Why did you take all the guns with you and leave that medjel on the surface without a
weapon."
“We had intended to take one of the Changers alive and interrogate him, but failed; our own fault, no doubt. Had we done so
we could have
reassured ourselves there was nobody else down here ahead of us. We were so late in getting here, after all.
We took all the available
weaponry down with us and left the servant on the surface with only a communicator so—"
“We didn’t find the communicator," Horza interrupted.
“Good. He was supposed to hide it when not checking in," Xoxarle said, then went on, “So we had what little firepower we did
possess
where it might be needed most. Once we realized that we were in here by ourselves, we sent a servant up with a weapon
for our guard.
Unhappily for him, it would appear he arrived very shortly after you did."
“Don’t worry," Horza said, “he did well; damn nearly blew my head off."
Xoxarle laughed. Horza flinched slightly at the sound. It was not only loud, it was cruel in a way Xoralundra’s laugh had
not been.
“His poor slave soul is at rest, then," Xoxarle boomed. “His tribe can ask for no more."
Horza refused to pause until they were halfway to station seven.
They sat in the foot tunnel, resting. The Idiran sat furthest down the tunnel, Horza across the tunnel from him and roughly
six meters away,
gun ready. Yalson was by his side.
“Horza," she said, looking at his suit and then at her own, “I think we could take the AG of my suit; it does detach. We could
rig it up to yours.
It might look a bit untidy, but it would work." She looked into his face. His eyes shifted from Xoxarle
for a moment, then flicked back.
“I’m all right," he said. “You keep the AG." He nudged her gently with his free arm and lowered his voice. “You’re carrying
a bit more weight,
after all." He grunted, then rubbed the side of his suit in faked pain when Yalson elbowed him hard enough
to move him fractionally across the
floor of the tunnel. “Ouch," he said.
“I wish I hadn’t told you, now," Yalson said.
“Balveda." Xoxarle said suddenly, turning his huge head slowly to look up the tunnel, past Horza and Yalson, over the pallet
and the drone
Unaha-Closp, past Wubslin—watching the mass sensor—and Aviger to where the Culture agent sat, her eyes closed,
silent, against the wall.
“Section Leader." Balveda said, opening her calm eyes, looking down the tunnel to the Idiran.
“The Changer says you are from the Culture. That is the part he has cast you in. He would have me believe you are an agent
of espionage."
Xoxarle put his head on one side, looking down the dark tube of tunnel at the woman sitting against the curved
wall. “You seem, like me, to be a
captive of this man. Do you tell me you are what he says you are."
Balveda looked at Horza, then at the Idiran, her slow gaze lazy, almost indolent. “I’m afraid so, Section Leader," she said.
The Idiran moved his head from side to side, blinked his eyes, then rumbled, “Most strange. I cannot imagine why you should
all be trying to
trick me, or why this one man should have such a hold over all of you. Yet his own story I find scarcely
credible. If he really is on our side then I
have behaved in a way which may hinder the great cause, and perhaps even aid
yours, woman, if you are who you say. Most strange."
“Keep thinking about it," Balveda drawled, then closed her eyes and put her head back against the tunnel wall again.
“Horza’s on his own side, not anybody else’s," Aviger said from further up the tunnel. He was speaking to the Idiran, but
his gaze shifted to
Horza at the end of his sentence, and he dropped his head, looking down at a container of food at his
side and picking a last few crumbs from
it.
“That is the way with all of your kind," Xoxarle said to the old man, who wasn’t looking. “It is how you are made; you must
all strive to claw
your way over the backs of your fellow humans during the short time you are permitted in the universe,
breeding when you can, so that the
strongest strains survive and the weakest die. I would no more blame you for that than
I would try to convert some nonsentient carnivore to
vegetarianism. You are all on your own side. With us it is different."
Xoxarle looked at Horza. “You must agree with that, Changer ally."
“You’re different all right," Horza said. “But all I care about is you’re fighting the Culture. You may be God’s gift or plague
in the end result, but
what matters to me is that at the moment you’re against her lot." Horza nodded at Balveda, who didn’t
open her eyes, but did smile.
“What a pragmatic attitude," Xoxarle said. Horza wondered if the others could hear the trace of humor in the giant’s voice.
“Whatever did
the Culture do to you to make you hate it so."
“Nothing to me," Horza said. “I just disagree with them."
“My," Xoxarle said, “you humans never cease to surprise me." He hunched suddenly, and a crackling, booming noise like rocks
being
crushed came from his mouth. His great body shuddered. Xoxarle turned his head away and spat onto the tunnel floor.
He kept his head turned
away while the humans looked at each other, wondering how badly injured the Idiran really was. Xoxarle
became silent. He leaned over and
looked at whatever he had spat up, made a distant, echoing sort of noise in his throat,
then turned back to Horza. His voice was scratchy and
hoarse when he spoke again. “Yes, Mr. Changer, you are a strange fellow.
Allow a little too much dissension in your ranks, mind you." Xoxarle
looked up the tunnel to Aviger, who raised his head and
glanced at the Idiran with a frightened expression.
“I get by," Horza told the section leader. He got to his feet, looking round the others and stretching his tired legs. “Time
to go." He turned to
Xoxarle. “Are you fit to walk."
“Untie me and I could run too fast for you to escape, human," Xoxarle purred. He unfolded his huge frame from its squatting
position. Horza
looked up into the dark, broad V of the creature’s face and nodded slowly.
“Just think about staying alive so I can take you back to the fleet, Xoxarle," Horza said. “The chasing and fighting are over.
We’re all looking
for the Mind now."
“A poor hunt, human," Xoxarle said. “An ignominious end to the whole endeavor. You make me ashamed for you, but then, you
are only
human."
“Oh shut up and start walking," Yalson told the Idiran. She stabbed at buttons on her suit control unit and floated into the
air, level with
Xoxarle’s head. The Idiran snorted and turned. He started to hobble off down the foot tunnel. One by one,
they followed him.
Horza noticed the Idiran starting to tire after a few kilometers. The giant’s steps became shorter; he moved the great keratinous
plates of his
shoulders more and more frequently, as though trying to relieve some ache within, and every so often his head
shook, as if he was trying to
clear it. Twice he turned and spat at the walls. Horza looked at the dripping patches of fluid:
Idiran blood.
Eventually, Xoxarle stumbled, his steps veering to one side. Horza was walking behind him again, having had a spell on the
pallet. He
slowed down when he saw the Idiran start to sway, holding one hand up to let the others know, as well. Xoxarle
made a low, moaning noise, half
turned, then with a sideways stagger, the wires on his hobbled feet snapping tight and humming
like strings on an instrument, he fell forward,