“Then how do the females control them?” Raztupisp-minz demanded. “It cannot be possible—”
“Much is possible,” Takpusseh sighed, “Forgive me, grandson, but you have seen only life aboard ship. You have never lived on a world rich with life.”
“They eat their own kind! And sing as they do! I do not care to live on such a world.”
“If that is what we saw,” Takpusseh said. “We must ask the prisoners.”
“Does Dawson speak well enough?”
“No. Nor do I know their speech so well. But Tashayamp does. She has been studying.” Takpusseh took a deep breath. Then another.
Raztupisp-minz did likewise. Pheromones filled his lungs. A sweet flavor.
“Grandson, you are my only relative,” Takpusseh said. “Leader of my family, I wish to speak with you.”
Raztupisp-minz backed away slowly, then settled to a crouch. He waited until Takpusseh was similarly postured. “Speak.”
“I wish you to carry winter flowers with me.”
“Ah. I have seen you grow stronger with new domains. I am glad, Takpusseh-but have you not waited overlong? The Time is upon the Sleeper Herd, and you are hardly able to be rational.”
“I know of no unmated Sleeper who would have me to mate. I speak of Tashayamp.”
“Ah. Of acceptable lineage, and competent in her work. Yes.” He let his voice trail to nothing, without a stop.
“But,” Takpusseh said. “Yes. She is not comely. Indeed, some would say she is misshapen. Yet I find her attractive enough, and as you say, she is diligent at her work.”
“It happens seldom that spaceborn mates to sleeper. Do you know that you are acceptable?”
“How should I? I have no one to speak for me. None save you—”
“Yamp,” Raztupisp-minz mused. “Her grandfather is Persantipyamp. He is said to be irascible. A warrior in his day.” And say no more; there was no war, bus had there been, it could only have been against the sleepers. “You wish me to speak with him.”
“I ask that, my leader.”
“Tashayamp.” Raztupisp-minz snorted wry mirth. “1 have little experience in this, I should ask you what to say! Our roles are indeed reversed, in all ways. Let me see if I recall the words I am to say—”
“1 know them,” Takpusseh admitted. “But let the customs be kept.” He listened as Raztupisp-minz stumbled through the traditional lecture: that the fithp mate for life, that mating is an alliance forever, not to be entered through passions.
“Are you certain it is not passion? It is Time for your herd—”
“Not mere passion,” Takpusseh said. “Recall, I am-somewhat-older than you. I was mated to your grandmother. I know something of passion, and of reason as well.”
“Yes. Politically, it is a good match. The yainp clan holds a wide domain; and you have taken your own.” And you are male, mating with a spaceborn female. It is not as there were the other way, spaceborn male to submit — “I will speak with Persantipyamp, and if he will consent, I will come with you to present the winter flowers.” Raztupisp-minz rose to his feet. “And my congratulations!”
The opinion of the strongest is always the best.
They had floated forward, then inward along half a mile of spiral corridor, not quite in free-fall, but with so little gravity that motion was difficult for the newcomers. Wes tried to help where he could.
Two alien warriors carried large boxes. Tashayamp led the way.
A huge door opened for them: a cargo door, much bigger than would be needed to pass a fi’. They entered.
This huge chamber must be along the axis of the ship, forward of the chamber of the Podo Thuktun. A line of yellow-white light ran down the middle, too bright to look at directly. Elsewhere there was green, everywhere green, with splashes of carmine and yellow. Alien plants grew in cages, rooted in thick wet pads fixed along the walls. Green banners flapped in the breeze from the air conditioning. A field of yellow flowers turned as if to look at the intruders.
Here was a roughly rectangular block of loose dirt. Vines wrapped it loosely, and it was riddled with seven-inch holes. A head popped from a hole and was gone before Wes could react. A streamlined head, it had been, like a ferret’s, with red beads for eyes.
It was, finally, like being on another world.
Wes stole a glance at the others. Jeri Wilson was keeping her calm. Carrie Woodward expected to be killed at any moment. The prospect didn’t seem to frighten her much. Before she allowed herself to be escorted from the cell, she had led the others in prayer, and stared disapprovingly at Wes Dawson when he didn’t join in.
Melissa and Gary were gaping: not frightened, but delighted. Plants, birds, animals-and distant objects, after confinement in cells and corridors. Melissa pointed at something above them. It was gone before Wes could see it. but they all stopped to look.
