The Iron Breed Page 3

  Jony had hardly been aware of the baby in his own hands though that was still crying, squirming against his briar-scratched skin. The paw-hands reached out and he surrendered the baby, to see it washed in turn and then laid down.

  Darkness gathered in the hollow, but not so much that Jony could not see Rutee's eyes were closed. Her head had fallen to one side. Frantically he aimed a thought in the way which had been instinctive for him ever since he could remember. No—there was no blankness there. Rutee was alive!

  The babies lay against her body, one on either side as the stranger had so carefully placed them. Now the paw-hands raked through the leaves, drawing up bunches of them to place across both Rutee and the twins. Jony could understand. It was so cold, and some of the rain still sifted in. Rutee, the babies needed protection. He set to work on his side, hunting the driest handfuls to spread over the unconscious woman.

  He sensed the approval of the stranger. This was right. When Rutee and the babies were covered, except for their faces, the furred one backed away.

  “No!” Jony could not bear to be left alone. What if Rutee were sick—hurt again? And the babies—he did not know what to do for the babies! He was frantic in his need to keep the stranger with them.

  Paw-hands fell on his shoulders, holding him very still, while those great luminous eyes stared straight into his. Jony wanted to turn his head, to avoid that level gaze, because in his head there was a swaying feeling as if he could not catch hold of an important thought, but only touch the edge of it fleetingly.

  He calmed down. There was a purpose in the creature's going, something important to be done. Jony nodded as quickly as if he had been reassured in words familiar to him. He would not be alone except for a little. He had asked for help, there would be help.

  Jony considered the thought of help. He had never asked for it since he had been taken forcibly from Rutee's cage and put by himself. Long before that had been done he had known, and Rutee had made it clear to him, that even those who were of his own kind, or at least looked like him, must never be trusted. They thought only the thoughts the Big Ones allowed them. Rutee was not like them, and he was not. He did not know why, only that the fact was important, Rutee had impressed on him. Never to be one who the Big Ones could use. This had been the main lesson of his childhood.

  His world had been the cages and what he could see of the lab beyond their walls. However, Rutee had told of Outside. She had once lived Outside, before the Big Ones had come to put her and the others in cages. Jony now began to think back, as he had so many times, on what Rutee had taught him. When they had put him in a cage by himself, he had made himself remember all he could of what Rutee had said.

  They were small and weak, and the Big Ones had ways of hurting and forcing them to be what the Big Ones wanted. But it had not been so with Rutee, or with Bron. Of course he could not remember Bron, though Rutee had talked of him so much that Jony sometimes believed he could.

  Rutee, and Bron, and many people (far more than still lingered in the cages of the Big Ones) had lived Outside. Then the Big Ones had come. They puffed the smell-stuff which made people go to sleep, and picked up those they wanted. Rutee never knew what had happened to the rest of her people.

  Afterwards the Big Ones had used what Rutee called the controllers on their prisoners. Some—Bron was one of those—fought, and he had been put into the dump place. But most of the others became just what the Big Ones wanted after they were controlled.

  Some were taken out of their cages while the Big Ones did horrible things to them. Mostly those ended in the dump place when the Big Ones were finished. But young ones such as Jony, and some of those like Rutee, they kept. To the Big Ones they were not people; they were things, just to use.

  Rutee had told him over and over that he must never let them use him, that he was not a thing. He was Jony and there was no one else exactly like him, just as there was no one exactly like Rutee. Jony moved now, remembering that, looking more closely at the twins.

  Their small, damp, wrinkled faces did not look like Rutee's. And there were two of them. Did that mean they were alike? Rutee's head turned restlessly on the leaves and Jony became instantly alert.

  “Water—” she said faintly, but she did not open her eyes.

  Water? There was plenty falling outside the hollow, but Jony did not see how he was going to bring any in. However, he crept out, noticing as he did so, that it seemed to be lightening, but maybe that was only in contrast to the dusk of the hollow. Water?

  He looked about him. Not too far away was a plant with big leaves, each one the width of Jony's hand or more. He twisted one of them loose, holding it with upcurved edges where a trickle of rain poured off a vine stem. When he had all he could gather without spilling, he edged carefully in and raised Rutee's head a little, putting the tip of the leaf to her lips so the scant burden of moisture ran into her mouth. She swallowed desperately, and he made the trip again and again.

  The last time he returned her eyes were open and looked at him as if she saw him, Jony.

  “Jony?”

  “Drink.” He held the leaf for her. As she tried to raise her head higher, one of the babies whimpered. Startled, she looked down at its flushed face.

  “Baby!” She raised her hand slowly, touched fingertip to the tiny cheek.

  Jony jerked back, dropping the leaf. He did not know just why, but he felt lost when he saw the way Rutee looked at the newcomer. Rutee—she was the bigger part of Jony's life, she always had been. Now there were the two babies . . .

  “You got two,” he said harshly. “Two babies!”

  Rutee looked surprised as her gaze followed his gesture to the other side.

  “Two—?” she repeated wonderingly. “But, Jony—how . . . ?”

  “It was the—the good thing who came—” he answered in a rush of words, content again that Rutee was now looking straight at him and not at either of those intruders. “It came and—and helped . . .” He was not sure just what the stranger had done, only that it had been there, licked the babies, bedding them down at last beside Rutee.

  “The good thing?” she repeated his words again. “What do you mean, Jony?”

  He used what words he could to describe the half-seen furred creature who had answered his cry for help.

  “I don't understand,” Rutee said when he had done. “You are sure, Jony, this isn't just something you thought about? Oh, Jony, what—who—could it have been? And—Jony!” Her eyes were big, frightened. She was no longer looking at Jony, but over his shoulder. A twitch of fear of the unknown arose in him to answer. He screwed his head far enough around to see outside.

  The stranger was back, crouched down, peering in at them.

  “It's the one, Rutee—the one who came to help!” Jony's fear was gone the moment he sighted those shining eyes.

  However, the woman watched the creature warily. Slowly she began to sense the feeling it brought with it: comfort, help. And she, who had learned through terror, horror, and continued fear, to look upon the whole world as a potential enemy, relaxed. Rutee did not know what—who—this being was, but she was sure within her that the creature meant her and the children no harm, quite the reverse. Now she lay back weakly in her nest of leaves and left action to it.

  Though its body seemed clumsy, perhaps because of its solid bulk, it moved briskly. But it did not try to insert itself into their refuge this time; instead, it dropped a mass which it had carried looped in one forearm close to its breast, shoving it at Jony.

  Obedient to its manifest signal, the boy pulled the offering to him. Branches had been broken, leaving sharp, bark-peeled ends. But still clinging to those boughs were a number of bright green balls. The creature snapped a single one of those from the stem and put it into its gaping mouth. The meaning was plain: this was food.

  Food to Jony had always been the squares of dull brown substance which the Big Ones had dropped into the feeding slot of his cage at regular intervals. Now, at the si
ght of the creature's eating, he was immediately aware that he was hungry. In fact his hunger was an ache which was close to pain. He grabbed at the nearest of the balls for himself.

  “No, Jony!” Rutee protested. How could she make him understand that what might be meat or drink to an alien whose world this was, could in turn be deadly poison to someone from another planet? She should have warned him, she should have . . .

  The globe was already in Jony's mouth. He bit down hard. A little juice dribbled from between his lips to glisten on his grimy chin. He swallowed before she could snatch it from him.

  “Rutee—” he beamed at her. “Good! Better than cage food. Good!”

  He was breaking balls recklessly from the branches, and those in one hand he forced upon her.

  “Eat, Rutee!”

  The woman looked longingly at the fruit. It had been a long time since she had tasted anything but the dry and flavorless rations which had kept her alive but had no savor in them. Now she resigned herself. There would be no more of those cakes given to the caged ones; the ship had taken off and they were here now. Either they could live on native food or they would starve. And she still had enough desire to live to make her take one of the fruits from Jony and bite into it slowly.

  Sweet, and full of moisture which was even better for her dry mouth than the rainwater Jony had brought her. This was like—like what . . . Her mind summoned up dim memories of that life long ago. No, she could find nothing there to compare this to. The fruit appeared to have no pit or seed, was all edible. She swallowed and reached for more, the need in her very great.

  Together she and Jony cleaned the branches of all the fruit. It was only when Rutee was sure that the last globe was gone she remembered the giver. The strange, heavy-looking creature still squatted there watching them. The rain had stopped; there was further lightening of the world without.

  Jony straightened out one leg and gave a little gasp. Rutee saw the raw gouge in his skin; blood stood out in new drops when he moved.

  “Jony—” She tried to lever herself up on her hands from out of the leaves. As she moved one of the babies wailed loudly. Rutee found the world swinging unsteadily around her dazed head.

  She saw a large hand (or was it closer to a paw?) reach within their small shelter. The hand closed firmly about Jony's ankle and drew him away from her side.

  The boy did not fight. Even when he lay across the outstretched arm of the creature, Jony had no fear. Nor did he experience the instant revulsion which had always arisen in him when he had been handled by the slimy hands of the Big Ones. He did not struggle as the stranger straightened out his leg, sniffed along the broken flesh as it had along Rutee's body.

  But he was surprised as that long tongue came forth and touched the torn skin, rasped over his wound. Jony was held firmly so that his start did not send him rolling away, but kept him just the proper distance from the probing tongue. As the creature had earlier licked the babies from head to foot, so now it washed the gouge. Nor was Jony released at once when the other raised its head, snapped its tongue back between its jaws.

  Instead he was held against a broad, furry chest, one massive arm both cradling and restraining him, as the stranger got to its feet, strode away from the tree shelter. Jony squirmed and would have fought then, for his freedom, to return to Rutee. But there was no way he could break the grip which held him prisoner.

  They had not gone far before the stranger paused, reaching out with its free hand to tear up from the ground a long-leafed plant. The muzzle above Jony's head opened; teeth worried the top-most leaves free of their parent stem, chomped away.

  Jony smelled a queer scent—saw a little dribble of juice at the corners of the full lips. Then the creature spat what it chewed into the palm of its hand as a thick glob of paste.

  With the tip of its tongue it prodded what it held, seemed satisfied. Swiftly it applied the mass to the tear on Jony's skin. The boy tried to evade the plastering, for the stuff stung fiercely. But the stranger held him tightly until there was a thick smear covering the whole of the gouge. Now the stinging subsided, and with it vanished the smarting pain of which Jony had been only half-aware during his anxiety over Rutee.

  “Jony—Jony—what has that thing done!” Rutee had somehow reached the edge of the shelter, was looking up and out, her face very pale under the leaf dust. “Jony—!”

  “It's all right,” he roused to reassure her. “The good one just put some chewed leaves on my leg. See.” He moved a little so he could show the plastered leg. “It hurt a little, just at first, but it is all right now.”

  Gently the stranger lowered Jony to the ground. He limped a little when he walked, yes, but the wound no longer smarted. Now he turned around, still favoring his leg, and looked all the way up to the muzzled face above him.

  “Thank you . . .” Because words probably did not mean anything to the stranger, Jony concentrated, as fiercely as he had when he had saved Rutee from the dump place, on making his gratitude known.

  Once he was sure that thought had touched thought, if very fleetingly, and that the stranger did understand. Then one of the babies began crying in loud wails. Rutee drew back into her shelter, took them both up, one in each arm, and held them close to her, crooning softly until the crying died down into a small whimpering. Jony watched. Once more his faint resentment of Rutee's preoccupation with the little ones troubled him. Though he did not know why he wished these two interlopers gone.

  There was a warm touch on his shoulder. He looked around. It seemed to him that the muzzle wore a smile, if those thick lips could ever move in a way to imitate his. Jony grinned and reached out to clasp one of the paw-hands, which closed very tight and protectively around his own much smaller and weaker fist.

  THREE

  Sunlight struck bright on the surface of the stream which frothed from the edge of the small falls on through the narrow valley. The same steady beams heated the rocks, drying quickly any spatter of spray that had reached this point. Jony lay belly down, his head propped on arms folded before him so he could watch where Maba and Geogee were diving back and forth under the falling water, shrieking at each other worse than a couple of vor birds.

  They were not alone. Two of the People cublings splashed around them. But Huuf and Uga were more intent on a little fishing, trying to lever water-dwelling tidbits out from under streambed stones.

  In the brilliant sunlight the patchy coloring of the People's fur, which gave them such good concealment in the brush, looked ragged. There was no pattern to the splotches of light and dark which dappled their stocky bodies. The fur of all patches was a green-yellow but in such a diversity of shades as to make their outlines almost indiscernible even here in the open. Only on their round heads was the color laid in an even design of light on the muzzle, dark about their large eyes.

  Jony and the twins were not so well provided with body covering, to his resentment and disgust. He did wear a kilt of drab, coarse stuff which was dabbled with berry and vine juice to resemble the People's shading. But, compared to the soft fur of his companions, he considered it highly inadequate, which it was.

  Though he lay at ease, his mind was alert on sentry duty. For more seasons than he could now count, for he had never tried to keep track, they had shared the life of the People. Formidable as they were (even a second season cub could best Jony in a friendly strength-match) they had their enemies, also. And Jony had early discovered that that inner sense of his was, in its way, a more accurate warning than any the People possessed.

  He tried now to count how many seasons it had been since Rutee had died of the coughing sickness. She had never been strong, Jony realized now, since the birth of the twins. But she had held on to life until they were almost as old as Jony had been when they had escaped from the Big Ones. In this time he had grown taller, taller than Rutee, nearly as tall as Voak who headed this clan of the People. It had been Voak's mate, Yaa, who had found them, saved Rutee and the babies, brought them back to
be of the clan. When Rutee left them, Yaa had taken over the raising of Maba and Geogee as if they were her own cublings.

  Jony sent out a questing thought. He detected nothing—save that which should be on wing or on paw, going about the normal business of living. He allowed his mind a chance to deal with his own present burning desire: further exploration.

  The clan had their established hunting grounds. Mainly the People were vegetarians, with a liking for a water creature now and then, or thumb-thick grubs which could be found in the rotted wood of certain fallen trees. But last season there had been a drought in the section held loosely by Voak's and Yaa's kin. A drying land had forced them to move away into the hills, beyond which rose those mountains that held up the sky bowl.

  Grumbling and snorting, they had come. The People were a settled lot who distrusted and disliked change. But Jony had welcomed the move. There was something which ever urged him on, a curiosity which was as much a part of him as the clubbed braid of his dark hair, his sun-browned skin. He wanted always to know what lay a little farther on.

  During that journey they had come across a thing which astounded Jony by its very being. It was like the stream below, save it was not formed of water, but stone (or something as hard as the rock about Jony now). However, in the likeness of a stream, it ran as a narrow length from the lowlands up toward the hills. The top of it was uniformly smooth, though in places earth had drifted across its surface, even as sand bars pushed at the water of the stream.

  Jony had run along that surface for a space, finding excitement in being able to move so quickly without stone or brush to impede his going. In the sign language of the People (Jony and his kind could not reproduce their grunting speech), he had tried to ask questions about this strange river of rock. He had been with Trush that day. Trush had been Yaa's cubling when she had come to Rutee's aid.