“We learned. There came revolts among warriors who refusd to enter a jungle. We ended with the elite jungle-warrior fithp. But most spaceborn simply cannot find the right mind-set. Fookerteh, you may Inform your father that sleepers will eventual hold the highest ranks among the African warriors.”
“But you adjusted.”
“I did. Do you notice anything strange about me, Fookerteh’, “You have surely changed.” Fookerteh had been avoiding it he thought. Now he could not: Chintithpit-mang behaved like incipient rogue.
“Some warriors hunt alone. We move through the jungles as on the plains, seeking human rogues. When we find them we call down laser fire from the digit ships. An octuple would find the rogues. The best hunters are those who go alone or in pain Without those we must needs cede the jungles to the humans, yet I fear what it does to our minds. Fithp minds are not geared for such wholesale killing. We don’t speak of the numbers of the dead, not among ourselves and not to the lesser warriors. Rumor spreads, and there is always the stink. We are always aware of what our foothold here has cost both humans and ourselves.
“The wholesale killing of whole human tribes due to the rogue behavior of one or two members has been forbidden by your father and the Attackmaster both. It continues nonetheless, for it is effective. Day by day the humans become more submissive. Many now cooperate with us.”
“And so we are winning,” Fookerteh mused.
“We win. There are costs. Many deaths were caused by difficulties in perception. Our lives aboard Message Bearer haven’ prepared us to recognize what we see. Fithp have wandered of cliffs, or broken their legs in holes, or shied from something harmless into real danger. The human enemy finds the simples of hiding places indecently effective. In spotted green clothing they seem to vanish. Many have guns, yet even without guns they kill us. Pointed sticks fly from the greenery—” Chintithpit-mang’s voice trailed off, and his eyes focused on Fookerteh, as if seeing the mudroom for the first time.
“Fookerteh, I have applied to return to Message Bearer for mating season.”
Well you might. “You shall. I was told.”
“Good.” Chintithpit-mang walked into the mud, bringing a bow wave with him. He sank, eyes half-closed, and it seemed he would not speak again. Then, “I fear the paths my mind would walk if I missed mating season. I have already walked too far from the life I knew.”
“I came to learn such things.” The Attackmaster had never spoken of such. “Can you tell me how Pheegorun died? I’m told you were there.”
“I was there.” Chintithpit-mang was deep in the mud, eyes fully closed now, only his head protruding. “We were not even in danger. I cannot think — we behaved stupidly. Nonetheless we did not understand Africa as we do now.
“You must see the jungle. I will show you. We had tamed it when I arrived, though the cost was high. When I stepped off the float-fort I found Pheegorun examining what might have been a primitive digging tool. .
Chintithpit-mang spoke without body language. His voice was almost a monotone. It was as if the emotions raised by his terrible tale had long since been burned away, by time or by worse to come.
Pheegonin said, “Here, Eight-cubed Leader, you can see that there’s a blade moored to one end. The native throws the stick and hopes the blade-end hits one of us hard enough to penetrate skin.”
Were Pheegorün a friend, Chintithpit-mang would have swatted him across the shoulders. Mocker! But this was a subordinate, a sleeper, a stranger — “Are you in fact joking?”
“No. They make it work. They kill us with these. Why doesn’t it turn end for end? How can they throw it so hard?”
Chintithpit-mang considered. A long, thin mass would have the proper moment of inertia if it could be thrown straight. But how? “Perhaps if you hold it properly? At the end, perhaps?”
“Lead me.”—
Chintithpit-mang picked up the long shaft with just the tips of his digits. He raised it into place, above and behind his head, point foremost, and threw it. It traveled some four srupkithp and landed sideways.
Pheegorun tactfully said nothing. Chintithpit-mang said, “Pause. Maybe if I—” He retrieved the spear. This time he carefully wrapped all eight segments of his trunk the same way round. “Now when I let go, it should spin, right?”
“Lead me, Eight-cubed Leader.”
The spear traveled four srupkithp and landed sideways.
“Take it,” said Chintithpit-mang. “Give it to a prisoner and let him demonstrate.”
Chintithpit-mang, who had been seeing nothing at all, was abruptly staring Fookerteh in the eye. “Of course Pheegorun must have tried this already. He had seen the spear kill, and he had studied it longer than I. He must have perceived me as a talkative novice an interloping fool. He was a good fi’, a good officer. He might have been one of the elite.”
“What happened?”
“He followed my orders.”
