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ring o jewels around his throat. He worked his wings,
crouched to spring
Blackie held up a hand. "Wait! You said we'd know you
by one of your nicknames. . . ?"
The blank-eyed man sprang into the air. He rose and
twisted about to face them, hovering.
 The Shadow Walker," he said. "The Demon Cat. There
are others. As with my face, my voice, my reputation, they're
not real. Nor are these jewels, which are TPs re-
50 JOHN CLEVE
placing blind eyes. And now, Cool Winds to thee, Blackie and
Zanzi ... of Aglaya!"
He turned in air and flew off over the field, stretching
for height. Lizina's voice drifted back to the two dumbstruck
raiders:
"Yemahl Huhleem! Remember the code!"
Zanzi found her voice. "I have it! Cool Winds to
thee...."
They were gone.
Zanzi looked at her partner. "Blackie? those names?
Do they mean anything to you?"
"Oh, pos," he said, though he looked as if he couldn't
believe it. "Firm, they do. We've been working with the most
renowned thief in the Galaxy. And the most wanted."
"Right now," Petaluma said, "he's no more wanted
than the rest of us, at least here on Andor. I suggest we get
going."
"Agreed," Blackie said. "Where? We're in your hands.
Is there any way out of here except . . . ?" He gestured broadly
toward the woods.
She nodded. "Firm. This whole place is serviced by
tunnels. Not just for access. All the main controls and conduits
are underground. The Jaranit tunnels connect for transport
purposes with the underground systems of Koba."
"You mean we can just walk to the capital?" Zanzi
asked, eyebrows rising.
"Not that simple," the Outie said. "There'll be guards .
. . especially after all this!"
Blackie looked as if he had bitten into a green bapple.
"And you can bet they'll have the tunnel to Koba
blocked," he said. "So that's that."
Petaluma shook her head. "Neg. Not that simple for them
either. There isn't just one tunnel, but a whole maze running
under adjacent farms. Many routes into town. It's a ways, but
that gives us lots a opportunity for evasion."
 RACE ACROSS THE STARS 51
The raiders exchanged questioning looks, nods.
Blackie again unholstered his stopper.
"Let's redshift," he said.
Neither Blackie nor Zanzi had any need of stoppers.
Oh they came close, once or twice. Hiding behind a huge
cybertractor, they managed to avoid detection by a Jaranit
patrol. Then they made it into the tunnels.
Blackie thought he had a good sense of direction,
forged on his starless home planet where woodsmanship
demanded it, tempered on nigh-featureless Bleak, and honed
by years of astrogation. Yet he couldn't for his life have
renegotiated the labyrinth through which Petaluma led them.
She commented at one point that it was just logic, grasping
the purpose of each tunnel and thus comprehending the
nearness and direction to the city. . . .
Whatever the explanation, it worked. They dodged
two more patrols (Koba Seccers this time), stopped to rest
once, finally emerged from a service hatch into a blue dawn in
a cheap section of Koba. The streets were bare of people
and of decorative shrubbery. The locusts had come and gone.
Plants were pitiful skeletons with stripped stems like bones.
Free of the tunnels, free of Security, free of the
necessity to maintain their disguises, they were by no means
free of Andor. The disguises were in fact a liability, since
descriptions were surely out on all four of them. Those of the
Outie and Jarp were accurate, of course.
"We could put makeup on you, Petaluma," Zanzi said.
"But there's no way that would do a thing for Sitspin. And we
can t celldye you, anyway.
The Outie looked her redeemer in the eyes.
"You could leave without us. You've many slaves off-
planet already."
Zanzi smiled. "We don't do this by numbers, Petaluma.
52 JOHN CLEVE
If we did we'd go mad or give up. Individual slaves are, why we
came here. It's why we ll stay until we can all go.
"Besides," Blackie added,  we ve become rather fond
of you. Especially since you've saved our lives more than once.
We're grateful. To you, too, Sitspin, for bashing that guard on
the konk."
The Jarp whistled quietly. Minus its translahelm it
couldnot communicate in Erts, the language of Galactics. It
understood that language, though, and its friend and fellow
slave understood Jarpi. Petaluma translated.
"Sitspin wants freedom no less than I do. Naturally we
wanted to help. Naturally we also tried to cover that help_ in
case you lost." She shrugged. "Maybe you're used to Outie
and Jarp spacefarers and/or freed slaves. We have been
neither. Sitspin is a musician and a gentle soul. I was a
farmer on Outreach. We've seen only two worlds each: our
own and Jaranit Farms. Plus of course the slaver ship between.
I was taken on my first and only voyage, a business trip. Sitspin
was snatched right off Jarpi. We aren't fighters. And there's
more to it than that."
The Jarp reached out bony fingers to touch Petaluma
on the shoulder, uttering meanwhile a series of mildly frantic
trills, one of which, repeated, sounded like "Hoo-ee."
Petaluma smiled comfortingly, shook her head. "That's
as close as it can come to my name," she said. "Loomie, for
Petaluma"
"Beats Pet," Zanzi said. "Loomie you are." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]