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The trail is beautiful.
My lands and my dwelling are beautiful.
Aqaldni,. Dinetah.
My spirit wanders across you.
I go to see the Faceless One.
Impervious to pain may I walk.
With beauty all about me may I walk.
It closes in beauty.
I shall not return.
Be still.
ANN AXTELL MORRIS AND HER
archaeologist husband Earl told the story of the two Francis-
cans, Fathers Fintan and Anselm, who traveled in the place
of the white reed, Lu-ka-chu-kai, in the year 1909. There,
south of the Four Corners, in the roadless and wild moun-
tains, they rested one afternoon while their Navajo guide
took a walk. Later the guide returned with a large, decorated
ceramic water jar. Father Fintan, who knew something of
Indian pottery, recognized the uniqueness of the piece and
asked where it was from. The guide did not give the location.
He did say that it came from an abandoned city of the
Anasazi, the Old Ones, a place of many large houses and a
high tower - a place where many such jars, some still filled
with corn, lay about, as well as blankets, sandals, tools. But
he had simply borrowed the jar to show them and must
replace it, for one day the owners might return. But where
was this place? The Navajo shook his head. He walked off
with the pot. After half an hour he was back, Later the
priests described the pot to the Morrises, who felt it to be
from the Pueblo III period, a high point in southwestern
culture. And surely the place would be easy to locate,
knowing that it lay within half an hour's walk from that
campsite. They searched several times, without success.
And Emil W.Haury spent half a summer there in 1927 but
was not able to discover the lost city of Lukachukai. There is
now a city in Arizona which has taken that name. Rugs are
woven there. The story of a lost prehistoric city in those
mountains somewhere to the northeast of Canyon de Chelly
has since been dismissed as apocryphal.
-It was the wind that gave them life. It is the wind that
comes out of our mouths now that gives us life. When
this ceases to blow we die. In the skin at the tips of our
fingers we see the trail of the wind; it shows us where
the wind blew when our ancestors were created.
Traanslated from the Navajo by
Washington Matthews, 1897
THE BOX HUMMED AND THE
outline occurred, quickly to be filled in and solidified as they
watched.
A tall, well-dressed black man of middle years smiled,
stepped down and moved forward.
"Good to have you here," Edwin Tedders said, shaking
his hand and turning toward the others. "This is Charles
Fisher, stage magician, mentalist."
He indicated a pale woman whose blue eyes were framed
by an ultrafine net of wrinkles, her blond hair drawn back
and bound.
"This is Elizabeth Brooke, the artist and writer," he said.
"Perhaps you've read -"
"We've met," Fisher said. "How are you, Elizabeth?"
She smiled.
"Fine, for a change. And yourself?"
Her accent was British, her ring was expensive. She rose,
crossed to Fisher and embraced him lightly.
"Good to see you again," she said.
"We worked together several years ago," she told Ted-
ders. "I'm glad you could get him,"
"So am I," Tedders said. "And this is Mercy Spender...."
Fisher moved to the heavyset woman with puffy features
and watery eyes, a red spiderweb design beneath the skin of
her nose. She wiped her hand before clasping his. Her eyes
darted.
"Mercy..."
"Hello."
"... And this is Alex Mancin. He works for the World
Stock Exchange."
Alex was short and plump, with a boyish face beneath
graying hair. His eyes were steady, though, and there was a
look of depth to them.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Fisher."
"Call me Charles."
"Glad to meet you, Charles."
"... And this is James MacKenzie Ironbear, a satellite
engineer," Tedders said, moving on.
"Jim."
"Dave."
James Ironbear was of middle height, solidly built, with
long black hair, dark eyes and a dark complexion. His hands
were large and strong-looking.
"We've worked together, too," he said. "How've you
been; Charles?"
"Busy. I'll tell you all about it later."
"And this," Tedders gestured toward the large smiling
man with narrow pale eyes who stood beside the bar, a drink
in one hand, "this is Walter Sands. He plays cards, and
things like that."
Fisher raised his eyebrows, then nodded.
"Mr. Sands..."
"Mr. Fisher."
"... And so we are gathered," Tedders said. "Everyone
else has reviewed the chips."
"I have, too," Fisher said.
"Well, everyone else has an opinion. Do you think you'll
be able to detect the approach of the Stragean adept?"
"I'm not sure," Fisher replied, "when it comes to an alien
with some sort of training."
"That's what everyone else said. May I offer you a
drink?"
"Actually, I'd like some food. I came from a different time
zone. Haven't had a chance at dinner yet."
"Surely."
Tedders moved to an intercom and pressed a button,
ordered a tray.
"They'll serve it on the second floor," he said. "I suggest
we all head upstairs and work things out there. It may be a
bit more... removed... from any action that might occur.
So if anyone wants to take a drink along, better get it now."
"I'll have a gin and tonic," Mercy said, rising.
"Woudn't you rather have a cup of tea?" Elizabeth asked
her. "It's very good."
"No. I'd rather have a gin and tonic."
She moved off to the bar and prepared herself a large
drink. Elizabeth and Tedders exchanged glances. He
shrugged.
"I know what you're thinking," Mercy said, her broad
back still toward them, "but you're wrong."
Walter Sands, standing beside her, grinned and then
turned away.
Tedders led them from the room, and they followed him up
a wide staircase.
It was a front room to which he conducted them. There
was a large table at its center, a small piece of equipment on
it. A half-dozen comfortable-looking chairs were placed
around the table; there was a couch to the left and four
smaller tables near the walls, left and right. Three trip-boxes
capable of accommodating a pair of people each had been
installed along the rear wall. Tedders halted in the doorway
and gestured along a cross-corridor.
"Charles," he said, "your bedroom is the second door to
the left up that way."
He turned back.
"Make yourselves comfortable, everyone. This is where
you will be working. We should have two people in here at
all times, listening for the alien while the others rest. You
can pair off as you wish and make up your own duty roster.
That small unit on the table is an alarm. Slap the button and
irritating buzzers will go off all over the place. If you are in
your rooms and you hear it, wake up fast and get over here.
You can use the trip-boxes to get out if all else fails -
"Wait a minute," Alex Mancin said. "All of this is of
course essential, but you've just raised a question that's
been bothering me and probably the others, too. Namely,
how far does our responsibility here extend? Say we detect
the alien and give the alarm. What then? I'm a telepath, but I
can also transmit thoughts to others - even nontelepaths.
Perhaps I could broadcast confusing images and downbeat
emotions to this creature. Maybe the others can do other
things. I don't know. Are we supposed to try?"
"A good point," Walter Sands said. "I can influence the
fall of dice. I might be able to affect someone's optic nerves.
In fact, I know I can. I could leave a person temporarily
blind. Should I try something like that - or do we just leave
the defense to the tough guys once the enemy is in sight?"
"We can't ask you to jeopardize your lives," Tedders
replied. "On the other hand, it would be a great help if you
could manage something along those lines. I'm going to have
to leave that part to your discretion. But the more you can
do, the better, even if it is only a parting shot."
"Charles and I once combined the force of our thinking to
pass a message under very trying circumstances," Elizabeth
said. "I wonder what would happen if all of us attempted it
and directed the results against the alien?"
"I guess that's for you to work out," Tedders said. "But if
you're going to try it, don't just blast away at anything
indiscriminately. We may have outside help."
"We will learn quickly to recognize the guards if we
haven't already done so," Sands said.
"But you may occasionally pick up the thoughts of some-
one who is not one of the guards," Tedders stated. "I don't
want you trying to fry his frontal lobes just because he
seems a little different."
"What do you mean? Who is it?" Mercy inquired. "I
think you'd better explain."
"His name is William Blackhorse Singer, and he's a
Navajo Indian tracker," Tedders replied. "He's on our
side."
"Is that the guy who practically filled that Interstellar zoo
out in California?" James Ironbear asked.
"Yes."
"What, specifically, will he be up to?"
"I'm not certain. But he says he's going to help."
They all stared at Tedders.
"Why don't you know?" Fisher said.
"He thinks the alien might be a telepath, too. He doesn't
want to risk her learning his plans from us. And he thinks he
might be able to block a telepath, at least part of the time."
"How?" Sands asked.
"Something to do with thinking in a primitive fashion. I
didn't understand it all."
"The Startracker," Ironbear said. "I read about him when
I was a kid."
"He a relative or something?" Fisher asked, moving
toward a chair and seating himself.
Ironbear shook his head.
"My father was a Sioux from Montana. He's a Navajo
from Arizona or New Mexico. No way. I wonder how you
think primitive?"
A man carrying a tray came up the hall. Tedders nodded
toward Fisher as he brought it into the room. It was deliv-
ered and uncovered. Fisher began his meal. Ironbear seated
himself across from him. Elizabeth drew out the chair to
Fisher's right, Sands the one to his left. Mancin and Mercy
Spender seated themselves with Ironbear.
"Thank you," Mancin said. "We are going to have to
discuss this now."
"You will have no objections if I record your discussion?"
Tedders said. "For later reference."
Sands smiled and an olive left Fisher's salad and drifted
toward his hand.
"If you have a machine capable of recording our delibera-
tions I would be very surprised," Mancin said.
"Oh. In that case, I guess there is no reason for me to
remain here. When should I check back with you?"
"In about an hour," Mancin said.
"And could you send up a large pot of coffee and some
cups?" Ironbear asked.
"And some tea," Elizabeth said.
"I'll do that."
"Thanks."
Tedders moved toward the door.
Mercy Spender looked at her empty glass, began to say
something and changed, her mind. Elizabeth sighed. Sands
chewed the olive. Ironbear cracked his knuckles. No one
spoke.
IT IS SAID THAT YOV PAPAGOS
have songs of power which give you control over all things."
"So it is said."
"Is it not true?"
"We have no control over the minerals beneath our land."
"Why is this?"
"We are not Navajos."
"I do not understand."
"The Navajos have a treaty with the government which
gives them these rights."
"And you do not?"
"To have a treaty with the government you must first have
made war upon it. We never looked ahead to see its benefits
and we remained at peace. A treaty beats a song of power."
"You make it sound like a card game."
"The Navajos cheat at cards, too."
"Coyote, you learned the secret of the floating-water
place. You kidnapped the child of Water Monster whom you
found there. As a result of your tampering with these forces
you have unleashed floods, disasters, upheavals of nature.
These have led to death, disorder and madness among the
People. Why did you do it?"
"Just for laughs."
"I understand that Begochidi-woman, Begochidi, Talking-
god and Black-god created the game animals, and so they
have control over the hunt?"
"Yes. They can help a hunter if they wish."
"But you no longer hunt as much as you used to."
"This is true."
"Then they have less work these days."
"I imagine they find ways to keep busy."
"But, I mean, are these the full parameters of their
functions as totemic beings within the context of your
present tribal structure?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is that all they do?"
"No. They also revenge their people upon anthropologists
who tell lies about us;"
In the center of my house of yellow corn I stand, and
I say this: I am Black-god who speaks to you.
I come and stand below the north. I say this:
Down from the top of Darkness Mountain which lies
before me a crystal doe stands up and comes to me.
Hooftip to kneetip, body to face, followed by game of
all kinds, it walks into my hand. When I call to it,
when I pray for it, it comes to me, followed by
game of all kinds.
I am Black-god who speaks to you. I stand below
the north.
They come to me out of Darkness Mountain.
Mercy Spender,
born at an illegal distillery in Tennessee,
orphaned at the age of 5,
raised by an eccentrically religious aunt on her mother's side
& her deputy sheriff husband,
who was taciturn & mustachioed,
liked bowling & fishing
& sang in a barbershop quartet.
along with two older girls
& a boy who raped her at age 11, Jim,
now a real estate appraiser,
lost any desire for further education at age 12,
sang in the church choir
& later in a bar called Wixie's,
had a series of tediously similar love affairs,
began drinking heavily at age 19,
discovered the joys of the Spiritualist Church at age 20,
where her peculiar abilities blossomed
shortly before her commitment
to a drying-out sanitorium in South Carolina,
where she found peace
in the shelter of the therapeutic community,
spent the following 12 years singing, playing the organ,
giving readings &. comfort at the Church
& drinking & returning to the therapeutic community
for peace A shelter & drying out,
& singing & comforting & supporting & reading
& drying out &,
we understand, sister, rest with us,
the same under skin, all
Alex Mancin,
born in blew Bedford,
passed through a number of private schools,
doing well without trying hard,
mastering the complicated computer World Economy game
model by age 11,
J.D., Yale, M.B.A., Harvard Business School,
passing through three marriages,
doing less well without trying any harder,
by age 36
father of two sons (twins) A three daughters
for whom he feels as much affection
as he has ever felt for anyone,
aware of everyone's opinion about him
because of his strange sensitivity to thoughts
& not really caring a bit,
passionately devoted to a kennelful of Italian greyhounds,
like Frederick the Great, whom he 'also admires,
& far more concerned about canine thought-processes
than those of people,
an absolute master of the money market,
rich as Croesus,
slow to anger & very slow to forgive,
greatly concerned about his appearance & dress,
wondering occasionally whether there is something he is
missing, seeking - every two or three years (unsatisfac-
torily) -
for omitted fulfillments
in orgies of high cultural immersion
& passing love affairs
with very young women,
highly intelligent & partially numb
a piece of everyone,
none of us complete, brother,
save when together,
like this
Charles Dickens Fisher,
born in Toronto of a physician father A sociologist mother,
became fascinated by illusion at an early age,
put on magic shows for his sisters, Peg & Beth,
was a good student though not an outstanding one,
read the lives of the great illusionists,
Houdin, Thurston, Blackstone,
Dunninger, Houdini, Henning,
learned that he could cast illusions himself
with no other equipment
than strong thoughts,
left school 4 became an entertainer
against his parents' wishes,
grew famous as an in-person showman
(his illusions would not televise),
was later approached by the government
on the basis of an uncanny mentalist act
he subsequently tried,
has since done considerable security work
both in & out of government,
never married, always maintaining
that the life he leads is too demanding
of his time & energy,
that he will not change
& that he will not be unfair
by subjecting another person
to confinement in a pigeonhole
in his schedule,
is actually afraid to commit himself
too strongly to another human being
or to give up the emotions
of audience attention he feeds upon,
possesses the compassion of a full empath,
has a few good friends 4 many acquaintances,
is aware of his deficiencies
& mocks himself often,
tends to grow maudlin around the holidays,
still dotes on his sisters &, their children,
has never been fully reconciled with his parents,
sometimes hates himself for disappointing
but here we are
what we are,
& knowing it all,
there is shelter
& pain drains away
Walter Sands,
left home when he was 14,
after blinding the stepfather who beat him,
knowing he had the power k could make his way,
big for his age,
won most fights
(with a little help from the power)
& most games of chance
(ditto),
seldom held a real job,
save as a kind of cover,
enlisted in the Perimeter Patrol at age 18 -
the international Coast Guard-like space service -
for a 4-year hitch
because he wanted to see
what was Out There,
was well-liked,
could have become an officer if he'd cared to stay,
didn't, though,
because he'd seen what he'd joined to see
& that was enough,
grew darkly handsome,
avoided close emotional involvements
though he liked people,
singly &, in groups,
except once,
married at 28, divorced at 30,
one daughter, now 16, Susannah,
whose picture he carries,
& that was enough,
likes spectator sports, travel & historical novels,
seldom overindulges in anything,
is totally irreligious,
but prides himself
on a personal code involving honor,
which he has only violated 6 or 7 times
and always felt bad about
afterwards,
is normally trustworthy but seldom trusts,
having seen the insides
of too many heads,
suffers, if anything,
from a feeling that life is
& always will be
too secure & bland a thing for him,
which is why he enjoys vicarious risks,
which usually turn into sure things,
leaving him vaguely dissatisfied
this one may prove
more interesting,
fortunate brother,
if not peace
then adrenalin
to you
Elizabeth Brooke,
daughter of Thomas C. Brooke, painter, sculptor,
& Mary Manning, concert pianist, author,
younger of two daughters,
showed artistic & literary aptitudes in early childhood,
vacationed with her family every summer
in France, Ireland
or Luna City,
schooled in Switzerland & Peking,
married Arthur Brooke (first cousin)
at age 24,
widowed at age 25,
no children,
lost herself in social work
on Earth & off
for the following 6 years
where her unfolding talent
was both her joy &, her grief,
returned to writing & painting,
exhibiting extraordinary perceptive powers,
understanding of the human spirit
& technical abilities,
has enjoyed a liaison with a high.-ranking
MP for the past 6 years,
has always felt partly responsible for Arthur's death
because of a series
of bitter confrontations
following her discovery of his homosexuality
we hold you, sister,
against the
unchanging past
in warmth
h full understanding
James MacKenzie Ironbear,
half Scot, half Oglala Sioux,
born on reservation land,
parents separated early,
raised by his mother in Bloomington, Indiana,
& Edinburgh, Scotland,
where she worked for the universities'
custodial staffs,
displayed high mechanical aptitudes
&, telepathic abilities
before age 5,
seldom visited relatives on his father's side,
first-class baseball k soccer player,
could have gone professional
but preferred the engineering
he pursued
on his athletic scholarship,
his best frierid an Eskimo boy from Point Barrow,
they spent their summers together in Alaska
during their college careers
as rangers in Gateway to the Arctic
National Park,
fathered one son, now in his teens
& living in Anchorage,
later served in Perimeter Patrol
where his telepathic ability
came to the attention
of government authorities,
was recruited for occasional. work
of the sort Charles Fisher
did for them,
which is where he met Fisher,
becoming friends with him,
has since fulfilled 5 separate
one-year contracts in space engineering,
working half of the year in orbit,
is on leave of absence from his sixth,
pending divorce from Fisher's sister, Peg,
who works for the same company
& resides in the great tube
of Port O'Neill
with their daughter Pamela,
attended his father's funeral this past summer
& was surprised to find himself deeply saddened
that he had never known the man,
had suddenly decided to chuck everything
& study music,
an enterprise commenced
when he sobered up a month later
& followed diligently
until this call came in,
finding himself thinking more & more
of his shrunken father,
lying there in a beaded leather jacket,
& of the son
he has not seen in years
come close, brother,
where we who
are greater than one
hold greater understanding,
absorb more hurt
IT IS GOOD THAT YOU WISH TO
walk in beauty, with beauty all around you, my son. But a
hunter should not speak prayers from the Blessingway dur-
ing the hunt, for they all have the life blessing at the end and
you require a prayer of death. To Talking-god must you
speak, and to Black-god: Aya-na-ya-ya! Eh-eh-eht Here is
the time of the cutting of the throat! Na-eh-ya-ya! It happens
in a holy place, the cutting of the throat! Ay-ah, na-ya-ya!
The cutting of the throat is happening now in a holy place!
Na-ya-ya! It is the time of the cutting of the throat! Ya-eh-ni-
ya!
"It is not always life that must be blessed."
NIGHT HE STANDS BEFORE THE
force wall. He watches the rock unfold itself.
There are clouds in your mind, hunter.
There are many things in my mind, Cat.
You have come. Have we a bargain?
Do as I asked you and I wil' do as you asked me.
We have a bargain. Release me.
It will take a minute or so.
The form rose to become a white pillar, the single, faceted
eye drifting upward along it. Billy Singer moved to the area
where the controls were housed. He opened the case and
lowered the potential of the field.
The base of the pillar split and forelimbs disassociated
themselves from the main mass higher up. A bulbous protu-
berance grew at the top, the eye coming to rest at its center.
The forked segments became leglike. A tightening at the
middle was suddenly a narrow waist. The head elongated,
growing vaguely lupine. The shoulders widened, the arms
and legs thickened. Excess mass was shifted behind, becom-
ing a broad tail. The manlike thing was tall, over two meters,
and it darkened as it moved forward, exhibiting a grace
which suggested earlier rehearsal of the form.
Silent for all of its bulk, it removed itself from the enclo-
sure and went to stand before the man.
I suggest you restore the force screen. That way it could
be several days before they notice my absence. I have
accustomed them to such a situation by assuming the ap-
pearance of portions of the habitat for days at a time.
I had already thought of that, Billy replied. But first I
wanted to watch you change.
Fou were impressed?
Yes. You do it quickly, he said in his mind, turning the field
on again. Come. I'll take you to a trip-box now. You will
have to charge it to my number without my card - which will
require a confirmation by me from the other end, since I'll
have to pass through first and -
I know how they work. I have had little but the thoughts of
your fellows to full me for a long while.
Come, then.
Billy turned away and moved across the hall.
You show me your back. Do you not fear that I will leap
upon you and rend you? Or is your action calculated?
I feel you wish to encounter the Stragean. Kill me now and
the opportunity will be lost to you.
A shadow as silent as himself - somewhat more manlike
than moments earlier, and hence more alien - came abreast
of him to the left. It matched his pace, the movements of his
arms, all of his rhythms. He could feel its power as they
glided through the hall. Inhabitants of the enclosures they
passed shifted uneasily, whether in sleep or full wakeful-
ness. Billy felt a touch of amusement in the alien mind at his
sid - and then a broadcast Farewell! which roused the
creatures to frantic activity.
He led the way outside, where he breathed deeply of the
night air. The creature at his side dropped to all fours, then
moved away, sliding into and out of shadows from unsus-
pected directions as they advanced.
From somewhere up ahead, a dog began to bark - a sound
terminated in midnote to the accompaniment of a brief
thrashing noise. Billy did not change his pace, knowing by
senses other than sight that Cat was with him all the way to
the trip-box.
All right, he said. I'll key the thing. I will go through to a
small public box a few miles from the place we will be
guarding. If there is any reason at that end for you not to
come through, I will use the communicator. Otherwise, be
ready to follow me.
A piece of shadow came loose nearby and drifted toward
him. It was even more manlike in proportion now and had
fabricated what could have been a long black cloak out of its
own substance. The massive, faceted eye was deeply sub-
merged within its head and masked by connective tissues in
such a fashion as to give the impression of a pair of glittering,
normally placed eyes.
On second thought, Billy said when he looked at him, I
believe you could pass even if there is someone there.
I see the direction of your thoughts, if dimty. I will
formulate something to resemble darkened glasses and mus-
ter something nearer to human skin-coloration. Why are
your thoughts so clouded?
I am practicing to deceive our enemy, Billy replied, enter-
ing the box. I will see you soon.
Yes. I cannot be lost so easily, tracker.
He watched Billy manipulate the controls and fade within
the enclosure. Then he entered there himself. Extending
what had become his right hand, he covered the slot where
Billy had briefly inserted his credit slip. A portion of that
appendage flowed into the opening and explored there for a
time. When the call came through, he withdrew it and
allowed himself to be transported.
Strange, a singing in his mind. Was there something in the
places between the places, to sing so of frost and iron, fire
and darkness? In a moment, it and its memory were gone.
Between the worlds walking.
Between the worlds walking.
Between the worlds walking.
Between the worlds walking.
There is something
before me, behind me,
to right and to left,
above and below.
What, on all sides,
is it?
ALEX MANCIN HIT THE BUTTON
when he detected the presence, a moment before Walter
Sands's hand jerked in the same direction. Buzzing sounds
filled the house and light flooded the lawns about it.
Yes
Mercy Spender joined them a moment later, sit-
ting up in her bed
I can feel them
Them?
joined Fisher, putting down his book
There is only one
A man
Ironbear joined, from sleep
moving strangely
nearby
Singer
no doubt
No man
joined Elizabeth, chasing dreams of dolphins
Something else
thing filled with hate
flowing
Together then
Sands joined
let us explore this
Yes
together we move
There is a man
fading now
and something else
alien thing
aware of us
fading also
with the man
the thing is not the thing
we seek
it hunts
with the man
our common enemy
retreating now
it sensed us
we know its signature
Shall we follow?
turn off the alarm
the guards come
we must report
I will follow
went Mercy, departing
the beast
if I can
and I the man
moved Ironbear away
though the trail
I fear
is covered now
apart break we then
we will report
Mancin and Sands, dividing
The following day, within a stand of trees about forty
meters from the road, Billy Singer sat beside an icy stream,
his back against a large, warm rock. He was eating a roast
beef sandwich, watching the flight of birds, listening to the
wind and observing the behavior of a small squirrel in the
lower branches of a tree upstream, to his right.
Something hunts nearby, the other told him.
Yes, I know, he answered in thought.
Something large.
I know that, too.
It comes this way.
Yes. What is it?
I cannot tell. Come inside. We will observe.
Billy rose silently to his feet. The rock split down the
middle vertically and opened like an upended clam. Even as
he watched, the cavity within grew large, outside surfaces
swelling proportionately. He entered, and it closed about
him.
Darkness, pierced by a few small holes, forward...
He placed his eye against one. He was facing the stream.
For a time, nothing happened. Several more apertures ap-
peared before him, but the section he regarded remained
unchanged.
Then he heard the splashing sounds. Something was ap-
proaching from beyond the shrub-lined bend. His stream of
consciousness fell still. His was now the passive eye of the
hunter, discerning everything before it without reflection.
His breathing slowed even further. Time ceased to exist.
Now...
First, a shadow. Then, slowly, the branched head ap-
peared from beyond the bend. A deer, browsing along the
stream bed...
Yet...
It moved again, forward, the rest of its body coming into
view. There was something wrong with the way that it
moved and held its head. The legs did not bend in quite the
proper fashion. And the shape of the head was unusual. The
cranium rose too high above the eyes....
Deerlike... Yes. A good approximation, perhaps, for
someone who had only studied tridees of the creature. No
doubt close enough to deceive any casual observer. But to
Billy it could only be deerlike. He wondered whether Cat
realized this, too.
... Yes drifted through his mind.
Immediately, the creature before them froze, one less-
than-delicate forelimb raised. Then the head turned, moving
through unnatural angles to survey everything at hand.
Moments later, the creature exploded into movement, the
entire body twisting, elongating, legs thickening, shortening,
bunching.
And then it sprang off, back in the direction from which it
had come.
Even as this occurred his shelter opened, regurgitating
him with some force, and by the time Billy had regained his
footing Cat was in the process of transformation back into
the form of the hunting beast.
Not waiting for the metamorphosis to run its course, Billy
ran in the direction the creature had taken, splashing into the
stream and following it beyond the bend.
His eyes scanned both banks, but he discerned no signs
that it had departed the water at either hand. He splashed
onward, over gravel, sand and slick rocks, continuing his
surveillance.
For a long while, he followed the twisting, watery route.
But he heard no further sounds from ahead, nor could he
detect any evidence of the creature's having departed the
stream. He halted at a rocky shingle to study it with extra
care. As he did, he heard sounds of approach from the rear.
Farther ahead! Farther ahead! Cat told him. I've touched
her mind. It slips away. But she betrays herself occasionally.
He turned and raced ahead. Cat bounded past him.
Something is happening. She is shifting again. She is up
high somewhere now. She - Lost her...
Billy continued his advance along the watery way. Cat
hurried on ahead and was lost moments later beyond the
screening brush. After perhaps five minutes, Billy found
what he had been seeking.
There was sign of something having left the water. He
followed it up and to the right. The first clear print he
located, however, was a peculiar, triple-pronged thing. But it
was sufficiently large, and its depth in soil of that consis-
tency was indication of the sort of mass that he knew he
followed. The spoor led him off toward higher ground, and
the next clear print he came upon showed a further altera-
tion of shape.
And he came across the even fresher signs of Cat, still on
the trail. Cat's tracks were far apart and deeply sunk.
The way remained clear and he was able to increase his
pace. Moving at a very fast walk, uphill, down, then up
again, he felt the old tingling sensation as the quarry's track
vanished, to reappear forty feet away, lighter, slightly re-
shaped, and then to vanish again. Pictures occurred within
his mind, his natural ability to form them enhanced by his
alien experiences. He read the sign correctly, and he looked
upward in time to see a vast, dark shape glide overhead,
moving in a southwesterly direction. And even as he hurried
to climb a tree, he knew that, for the moment, the quarry
had won.
He achieved a suitable vantage only in time to see the dark
thing slip out of sight beyond a distant tree-line.
... How clever! Cat's thought came to him. I wonder
whether I could do that?
At least it was not headed toward the mansion, Billy said.
We had best return to our post, though.
You go, Cat replied. I am going to try following her. I will
meet you there later.
Very well.
Before he climbed down he noted through an opening in
the leaves an area above him that had been blackened and
broken. It had not been a recent thing, but he shuddered at
one of the old superstitions reaching.out for him at this time.
Of all the trees present, he had chosen a lightning-struck one
to climb. Thing of ill-fortune... He sang a section from the
Blessingway as he descended. The part of him which did not
fear the lightning was standing far away now, clad in differ-
ent garments.
How much had the Stragean learned of what it was that
pursued her? Cat, keep your presence of mind, he thought.
Do not betray yourself in the fury of the hunt. Or are your
instincts proof even against one such as you follow?
He reached the ground and turned back. What would
Nayenezgani have done?
He did not know.
SUN COME DOWN THE SKY
from straight to slant again drifting waterwards gaze of
Billy's mind with it to flow time undoing knots touch of
cloud to dark the sky as hand with knowledge of own scoops
among sands at shore blue gray white yellow no red no real
black no matter bird above hunkered form of man on tree
limb singing leaves shifting in wind fish in water decompos-
able soda bottle decomposing across the riverrun.
Without thought, dipping his hands. A pinch of sand in the
right palm, beneath the second finger. Hand turning. A
trickle from the index finger, thumb regulating its flow.
Movement. The hand has not forgotten. The lines. The
angles. Blue and white and yellow here. Naa-tse-elit, the
Rainbow yei taking form, guarding the south, the west and
the north, open to the east. Within, the body of Thunder,
Ikne'etso, a bat guardian above his head, messenger of the
Night, east, an arrow, ash-tin, west. A great power here.
One of the unpredictable, dangerous gods. Holder of light-
ning. Humming to himself, pieces of the Mountain Chant,
finishing, staring, Billy. For a long time, staring.
Slowly, the awareness. A peculiar thing to have done.
Consciously or automatically. Of all things to call upon, why
Thunder? For that matter, why call at all? However things
fell out, he would be the loser. Yet he reached forward to
touch ikne'eka'a, the lightning, to transfer the medicine and-
the power, since it was there before him.
And now... A day sandpainting must be erased before
the sun sets. With a sacred feather staff it is to be erased. He
recalled the black feather in the tchah and withdrew it and
used it to this end, casting the sand away into the water.
Sun go down the sky rolling west
Time undoing knots
No real color
Ikne'etso and Naa-tse-elit into the riverrun
recirculation
SINGING NOW. BILLY BLACK-
horse Singer. At the corner of the estate. Night. Spring
constellations filling the heavens. Coyote cries faded.
They had located her again at evening, circling, circling at
a great distance, probing, carefully advancing. They had
waited.
She had come, slowly, in many guises. Skimming, bur-
rowing, flowing. They-had waited. And when the night was
complete, she came on.
One moment Cat had been at his back, dark stony buttress
to the wall itself. Then a huge shape had drifted overhead,
blotting stars. The buttress had flowed upward, coalescing
into a nightmare outline atop the wall. Then a second dark
shape rode the air currents, sought altitude, circled, slid
through the night toward the house.
He was never certain at what point the encounter oc-
curred and the struggle commenced, whether it was in the
air, on the ground, outside the house or within. But he heard
a series of unearthly cries at about the same time that the
lights came on all over the grounds. He remained unmoving
in his shadowy corner, listening to the various sounds which
ensued - crashes, buzzes, the breaking of glass, several
small explosions. These continued for nearly a minute be-
fore all of the lights went out.
And he waited. He could think of nothing for which he
might hope. He remembered things, and he sang the song
softly.
Then the silence came again. He regarded the sky as the
moment stretched. His words neither hurried nor slowed in
their passage across the night.
A single loud crash occurred, followed by some lesser
sounds. Then again the silence. A small light appeared
behind a pair of upstairs windows.
Cat?
A large form emerged from the front of the house,
dropped to all fours, moved slowly away. Nothing moved to
interfere with it. The night remained quiet. Billy followed its
progress with his eyes. He knew that it was time for the song
to end. He carried a knife and a computer-targeting laser
sidearm. If this were the Stragean, he felt obliged to attempt
her destruction. He drew the weapon and placed his thumb
on the set stud.
This is how you keep your promise, hunter?
Cat!
Yes. She fought well bat she is dead. I have broken her.
Shall we see now whether you can activate the weapon
before I can reach you? Ten meters separate us and I am
ready to spring. The weapon is faster than I am, but is your
thumb? I will know the moment that you decide to move it.
Go ahead. Any time now...
No.
Billy tossed the weapon into the shrubbery to his right.
I did not know which of you it was moving this way.
He detected a sense of puzzlement, underlined by a touch
of pain.
You were injured?
It is nothing.
Both remained unmoving.
Finally, As you said, any time now, Billy stated.
You offer me no contest.
No.
Why not? You are a predator, like me.
We have a bargain.
What is that when it is your life? I expected resistance.
Cat detected something like puzzlement.
I made you a promise.
But I took it to mean that you would await my attack here
and defend yourself when the time came.
I am sorry. That was not my understanding. But now I
have no intention of giving you a token fight. You require my
life. Take it.
Cat began a slow advance, his form dropping nearer and
nearer to the ground. When he raised his head once more it
bore an enormous, horned, fanged, semihuman face - a
bestial parody of Billy's own. Suddenly then, Cat reared, to
raise that head fully eight feet above the ground. He glared
down.
Billy shuddered, but he held his place.
You are taking much of the pleasure from it, hunter.
Billy shrugged.
That cannot be helped.
Cat began to unfurl great membranous wings behind him.
After a time, he folded them about himself and became a
still, dark pillar.
Finally, If you can make it over the wall before I reach
you, Cat said, I will let you go.
Billy did not move.
No, he said. I know that I could not do it. I will not make
the attempt just to provide you with sport.
The pillar blossomed, an exotic flower opening to reveal a
tigerlike head. It swayed toward him.
You pursued me for over a week, Cat said at last. While I
have dreamed of your death, I have dreamed, too, of hunt-
ing you. Your death alone should be sufficient, but I do not
want it to be over with in an instant. It troubles me, too, that
I do not know whether this desire springs from that which I
know best - the hunt - or whether my long mental associa-
tion with your own kind has taught me somewhat of the joys
of prolonging an enemy's agony.
Both are sufficiently primitive, Billy replied. I wouldn't
worry about it.
I do not. But I desire the hunt, and I see now that only one
thing will make you give it to me.
And what is that?
Your life. A chance to regain it.
Billy laughed.
I have already resigned myself to dying. Do you believe
yourself the only misfit alien on this world, Cat? My people-
my real people - are also dead. All of them. The world in
which I now find myself is a strange place. The Dineh are not
as I once knew them. Your offer only brought my condition
into full focus. And I have prepared myself for this.
Cat drew back.
Years ago, he said, I saw in your mind a great pride in
your people's ability to adapt. Now you say that it is gone
from you. I say this means that you have become a coward,
seeing death as the easy way out.
Billy stiffened.
That is not true!
Look within yourself. I have but given you an excuse to
resign.
No!
Then fight me, Billy. Pit your skills against me one more
time.
I -
You are afraid now, where you were not before. You are
afraid to live.
That is not so.
Would you say it four times, mari of the People?
Damn you, Cat! I was ready, ready for you! But you are
not satisfied with just my life. You wish to fill me with
uncertainty before you kill me!
If that is what it takes, yes. I see now that there would be
small pleasure in slaying you like some brainless piece of
meat that waits to be slaughtered. My full revenge requires
the joy of the hunt. So I will make you an offer, and I will
have you know that my promise will be as good as yours,
Billy Singer - for I cannot let you beat me even in that thing.
My lands and my dwelling are beautiful.
Aqaldni,. Dinetah.
My spirit wanders across you.
I go to see the Faceless One.
Impervious to pain may I walk.
With beauty all about me may I walk.
It closes in beauty.
I shall not return.
Be still.
ANN AXTELL MORRIS AND HER
archaeologist husband Earl told the story of the two Francis-
cans, Fathers Fintan and Anselm, who traveled in the place
of the white reed, Lu-ka-chu-kai, in the year 1909. There,
south of the Four Corners, in the roadless and wild moun-
tains, they rested one afternoon while their Navajo guide
took a walk. Later the guide returned with a large, decorated
ceramic water jar. Father Fintan, who knew something of
Indian pottery, recognized the uniqueness of the piece and
asked where it was from. The guide did not give the location.
He did say that it came from an abandoned city of the
Anasazi, the Old Ones, a place of many large houses and a
high tower - a place where many such jars, some still filled
with corn, lay about, as well as blankets, sandals, tools. But
he had simply borrowed the jar to show them and must
replace it, for one day the owners might return. But where
was this place? The Navajo shook his head. He walked off
with the pot. After half an hour he was back, Later the
priests described the pot to the Morrises, who felt it to be
from the Pueblo III period, a high point in southwestern
culture. And surely the place would be easy to locate,
knowing that it lay within half an hour's walk from that
campsite. They searched several times, without success.
And Emil W.Haury spent half a summer there in 1927 but
was not able to discover the lost city of Lukachukai. There is
now a city in Arizona which has taken that name. Rugs are
woven there. The story of a lost prehistoric city in those
mountains somewhere to the northeast of Canyon de Chelly
has since been dismissed as apocryphal.
-It was the wind that gave them life. It is the wind that
comes out of our mouths now that gives us life. When
this ceases to blow we die. In the skin at the tips of our
fingers we see the trail of the wind; it shows us where
the wind blew when our ancestors were created.
Traanslated from the Navajo by
Washington Matthews, 1897
THE BOX HUMMED AND THE
outline occurred, quickly to be filled in and solidified as they
watched.
A tall, well-dressed black man of middle years smiled,
stepped down and moved forward.
"Good to have you here," Edwin Tedders said, shaking
his hand and turning toward the others. "This is Charles
Fisher, stage magician, mentalist."
He indicated a pale woman whose blue eyes were framed
by an ultrafine net of wrinkles, her blond hair drawn back
and bound.
"This is Elizabeth Brooke, the artist and writer," he said.
"Perhaps you've read -"
"We've met," Fisher said. "How are you, Elizabeth?"
She smiled.
"Fine, for a change. And yourself?"
Her accent was British, her ring was expensive. She rose,
crossed to Fisher and embraced him lightly.
"Good to see you again," she said.
"We worked together several years ago," she told Ted-
ders. "I'm glad you could get him,"
"So am I," Tedders said. "And this is Mercy Spender...."
Fisher moved to the heavyset woman with puffy features
and watery eyes, a red spiderweb design beneath the skin of
her nose. She wiped her hand before clasping his. Her eyes
darted.
"Mercy..."
"Hello."
"... And this is Alex Mancin. He works for the World
Stock Exchange."
Alex was short and plump, with a boyish face beneath
graying hair. His eyes were steady, though, and there was a
look of depth to them.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Fisher."
"Call me Charles."
"Glad to meet you, Charles."
"... And this is James MacKenzie Ironbear, a satellite
engineer," Tedders said, moving on.
"Jim."
"Dave."
James Ironbear was of middle height, solidly built, with
long black hair, dark eyes and a dark complexion. His hands
were large and strong-looking.
"We've worked together, too," he said. "How've you
been; Charles?"
"Busy. I'll tell you all about it later."
"And this," Tedders gestured toward the large smiling
man with narrow pale eyes who stood beside the bar, a drink
in one hand, "this is Walter Sands. He plays cards, and
things like that."
Fisher raised his eyebrows, then nodded.
"Mr. Sands..."
"Mr. Fisher."
"... And so we are gathered," Tedders said. "Everyone
else has reviewed the chips."
"I have, too," Fisher said.
"Well, everyone else has an opinion. Do you think you'll
be able to detect the approach of the Stragean adept?"
"I'm not sure," Fisher replied, "when it comes to an alien
with some sort of training."
"That's what everyone else said. May I offer you a
drink?"
"Actually, I'd like some food. I came from a different time
zone. Haven't had a chance at dinner yet."
"Surely."
Tedders moved to an intercom and pressed a button,
ordered a tray.
"They'll serve it on the second floor," he said. "I suggest
we all head upstairs and work things out there. It may be a
bit more... removed... from any action that might occur.
So if anyone wants to take a drink along, better get it now."
"I'll have a gin and tonic," Mercy said, rising.
"Woudn't you rather have a cup of tea?" Elizabeth asked
her. "It's very good."
"No. I'd rather have a gin and tonic."
She moved off to the bar and prepared herself a large
drink. Elizabeth and Tedders exchanged glances. He
shrugged.
"I know what you're thinking," Mercy said, her broad
back still toward them, "but you're wrong."
Walter Sands, standing beside her, grinned and then
turned away.
Tedders led them from the room, and they followed him up
a wide staircase.
It was a front room to which he conducted them. There
was a large table at its center, a small piece of equipment on
it. A half-dozen comfortable-looking chairs were placed
around the table; there was a couch to the left and four
smaller tables near the walls, left and right. Three trip-boxes
capable of accommodating a pair of people each had been
installed along the rear wall. Tedders halted in the doorway
and gestured along a cross-corridor.
"Charles," he said, "your bedroom is the second door to
the left up that way."
He turned back.
"Make yourselves comfortable, everyone. This is where
you will be working. We should have two people in here at
all times, listening for the alien while the others rest. You
can pair off as you wish and make up your own duty roster.
That small unit on the table is an alarm. Slap the button and
irritating buzzers will go off all over the place. If you are in
your rooms and you hear it, wake up fast and get over here.
You can use the trip-boxes to get out if all else fails -
"Wait a minute," Alex Mancin said. "All of this is of
course essential, but you've just raised a question that's
been bothering me and probably the others, too. Namely,
how far does our responsibility here extend? Say we detect
the alien and give the alarm. What then? I'm a telepath, but I
can also transmit thoughts to others - even nontelepaths.
Perhaps I could broadcast confusing images and downbeat
emotions to this creature. Maybe the others can do other
things. I don't know. Are we supposed to try?"
"A good point," Walter Sands said. "I can influence the
fall of dice. I might be able to affect someone's optic nerves.
In fact, I know I can. I could leave a person temporarily
blind. Should I try something like that - or do we just leave
the defense to the tough guys once the enemy is in sight?"
"We can't ask you to jeopardize your lives," Tedders
replied. "On the other hand, it would be a great help if you
could manage something along those lines. I'm going to have
to leave that part to your discretion. But the more you can
do, the better, even if it is only a parting shot."
"Charles and I once combined the force of our thinking to
pass a message under very trying circumstances," Elizabeth
said. "I wonder what would happen if all of us attempted it
and directed the results against the alien?"
"I guess that's for you to work out," Tedders said. "But if
you're going to try it, don't just blast away at anything
indiscriminately. We may have outside help."
"We will learn quickly to recognize the guards if we
haven't already done so," Sands said.
"But you may occasionally pick up the thoughts of some-
one who is not one of the guards," Tedders stated. "I don't
want you trying to fry his frontal lobes just because he
seems a little different."
"What do you mean? Who is it?" Mercy inquired. "I
think you'd better explain."
"His name is William Blackhorse Singer, and he's a
Navajo Indian tracker," Tedders replied. "He's on our
side."
"Is that the guy who practically filled that Interstellar zoo
out in California?" James Ironbear asked.
"Yes."
"What, specifically, will he be up to?"
"I'm not certain. But he says he's going to help."
They all stared at Tedders.
"Why don't you know?" Fisher said.
"He thinks the alien might be a telepath, too. He doesn't
want to risk her learning his plans from us. And he thinks he
might be able to block a telepath, at least part of the time."
"How?" Sands asked.
"Something to do with thinking in a primitive fashion. I
didn't understand it all."
"The Startracker," Ironbear said. "I read about him when
I was a kid."
"He a relative or something?" Fisher asked, moving
toward a chair and seating himself.
Ironbear shook his head.
"My father was a Sioux from Montana. He's a Navajo
from Arizona or New Mexico. No way. I wonder how you
think primitive?"
A man carrying a tray came up the hall. Tedders nodded
toward Fisher as he brought it into the room. It was deliv-
ered and uncovered. Fisher began his meal. Ironbear seated
himself across from him. Elizabeth drew out the chair to
Fisher's right, Sands the one to his left. Mancin and Mercy
Spender seated themselves with Ironbear.
"Thank you," Mancin said. "We are going to have to
discuss this now."
"You will have no objections if I record your discussion?"
Tedders said. "For later reference."
Sands smiled and an olive left Fisher's salad and drifted
toward his hand.
"If you have a machine capable of recording our delibera-
tions I would be very surprised," Mancin said.
"Oh. In that case, I guess there is no reason for me to
remain here. When should I check back with you?"
"In about an hour," Mancin said.
"And could you send up a large pot of coffee and some
cups?" Ironbear asked.
"And some tea," Elizabeth said.
"I'll do that."
"Thanks."
Tedders moved toward the door.
Mercy Spender looked at her empty glass, began to say
something and changed, her mind. Elizabeth sighed. Sands
chewed the olive. Ironbear cracked his knuckles. No one
spoke.
IT IS SAID THAT YOV PAPAGOS
have songs of power which give you control over all things."
"So it is said."
"Is it not true?"
"We have no control over the minerals beneath our land."
"Why is this?"
"We are not Navajos."
"I do not understand."
"The Navajos have a treaty with the government which
gives them these rights."
"And you do not?"
"To have a treaty with the government you must first have
made war upon it. We never looked ahead to see its benefits
and we remained at peace. A treaty beats a song of power."
"You make it sound like a card game."
"The Navajos cheat at cards, too."
"Coyote, you learned the secret of the floating-water
place. You kidnapped the child of Water Monster whom you
found there. As a result of your tampering with these forces
you have unleashed floods, disasters, upheavals of nature.
These have led to death, disorder and madness among the
People. Why did you do it?"
"Just for laughs."
"I understand that Begochidi-woman, Begochidi, Talking-
god and Black-god created the game animals, and so they
have control over the hunt?"
"Yes. They can help a hunter if they wish."
"But you no longer hunt as much as you used to."
"This is true."
"Then they have less work these days."
"I imagine they find ways to keep busy."
"But, I mean, are these the full parameters of their
functions as totemic beings within the context of your
present tribal structure?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is that all they do?"
"No. They also revenge their people upon anthropologists
who tell lies about us;"
In the center of my house of yellow corn I stand, and
I say this: I am Black-god who speaks to you.
I come and stand below the north. I say this:
Down from the top of Darkness Mountain which lies
before me a crystal doe stands up and comes to me.
Hooftip to kneetip, body to face, followed by game of
all kinds, it walks into my hand. When I call to it,
when I pray for it, it comes to me, followed by
game of all kinds.
I am Black-god who speaks to you. I stand below
the north.
They come to me out of Darkness Mountain.
Mercy Spender,
born at an illegal distillery in Tennessee,
orphaned at the age of 5,
raised by an eccentrically religious aunt on her mother's side
& her deputy sheriff husband,
who was taciturn & mustachioed,
liked bowling & fishing
& sang in a barbershop quartet.
along with two older girls
& a boy who raped her at age 11, Jim,
now a real estate appraiser,
lost any desire for further education at age 12,
sang in the church choir
& later in a bar called Wixie's,
had a series of tediously similar love affairs,
began drinking heavily at age 19,
discovered the joys of the Spiritualist Church at age 20,
where her peculiar abilities blossomed
shortly before her commitment
to a drying-out sanitorium in South Carolina,
where she found peace
in the shelter of the therapeutic community,
spent the following 12 years singing, playing the organ,
giving readings &. comfort at the Church
& drinking & returning to the therapeutic community
for peace A shelter & drying out,
& singing & comforting & supporting & reading
& drying out &,
we understand, sister, rest with us,
the same under skin, all
Alex Mancin,
born in blew Bedford,
passed through a number of private schools,
doing well without trying hard,
mastering the complicated computer World Economy game
model by age 11,
J.D., Yale, M.B.A., Harvard Business School,
passing through three marriages,
doing less well without trying any harder,
by age 36
father of two sons (twins) A three daughters
for whom he feels as much affection
as he has ever felt for anyone,
aware of everyone's opinion about him
because of his strange sensitivity to thoughts
& not really caring a bit,
passionately devoted to a kennelful of Italian greyhounds,
like Frederick the Great, whom he 'also admires,
& far more concerned about canine thought-processes
than those of people,
an absolute master of the money market,
rich as Croesus,
slow to anger & very slow to forgive,
greatly concerned about his appearance & dress,
wondering occasionally whether there is something he is
missing, seeking - every two or three years (unsatisfac-
torily) -
for omitted fulfillments
in orgies of high cultural immersion
& passing love affairs
with very young women,
highly intelligent & partially numb
a piece of everyone,
none of us complete, brother,
save when together,
like this
Charles Dickens Fisher,
born in Toronto of a physician father A sociologist mother,
became fascinated by illusion at an early age,
put on magic shows for his sisters, Peg & Beth,
was a good student though not an outstanding one,
read the lives of the great illusionists,
Houdin, Thurston, Blackstone,
Dunninger, Houdini, Henning,
learned that he could cast illusions himself
with no other equipment
than strong thoughts,
left school 4 became an entertainer
against his parents' wishes,
grew famous as an in-person showman
(his illusions would not televise),
was later approached by the government
on the basis of an uncanny mentalist act
he subsequently tried,
has since done considerable security work
both in & out of government,
never married, always maintaining
that the life he leads is too demanding
of his time & energy,
that he will not change
& that he will not be unfair
by subjecting another person
to confinement in a pigeonhole
in his schedule,
is actually afraid to commit himself
too strongly to another human being
or to give up the emotions
of audience attention he feeds upon,
possesses the compassion of a full empath,
has a few good friends 4 many acquaintances,
is aware of his deficiencies
& mocks himself often,
tends to grow maudlin around the holidays,
still dotes on his sisters &, their children,
has never been fully reconciled with his parents,
sometimes hates himself for disappointing
but here we are
what we are,
& knowing it all,
there is shelter
& pain drains away
Walter Sands,
left home when he was 14,
after blinding the stepfather who beat him,
knowing he had the power k could make his way,
big for his age,
won most fights
(with a little help from the power)
& most games of chance
(ditto),
seldom held a real job,
save as a kind of cover,
enlisted in the Perimeter Patrol at age 18 -
the international Coast Guard-like space service -
for a 4-year hitch
because he wanted to see
what was Out There,
was well-liked,
could have become an officer if he'd cared to stay,
didn't, though,
because he'd seen what he'd joined to see
& that was enough,
grew darkly handsome,
avoided close emotional involvements
though he liked people,
singly &, in groups,
except once,
married at 28, divorced at 30,
one daughter, now 16, Susannah,
whose picture he carries,
& that was enough,
likes spectator sports, travel & historical novels,
seldom overindulges in anything,
is totally irreligious,
but prides himself
on a personal code involving honor,
which he has only violated 6 or 7 times
and always felt bad about
afterwards,
is normally trustworthy but seldom trusts,
having seen the insides
of too many heads,
suffers, if anything,
from a feeling that life is
& always will be
too secure & bland a thing for him,
which is why he enjoys vicarious risks,
which usually turn into sure things,
leaving him vaguely dissatisfied
this one may prove
more interesting,
fortunate brother,
if not peace
then adrenalin
to you
Elizabeth Brooke,
daughter of Thomas C. Brooke, painter, sculptor,
& Mary Manning, concert pianist, author,
younger of two daughters,
showed artistic & literary aptitudes in early childhood,
vacationed with her family every summer
in France, Ireland
or Luna City,
schooled in Switzerland & Peking,
married Arthur Brooke (first cousin)
at age 24,
widowed at age 25,
no children,
lost herself in social work
on Earth & off
for the following 6 years
where her unfolding talent
was both her joy &, her grief,
returned to writing & painting,
exhibiting extraordinary perceptive powers,
understanding of the human spirit
& technical abilities,
has enjoyed a liaison with a high.-ranking
MP for the past 6 years,
has always felt partly responsible for Arthur's death
because of a series
of bitter confrontations
following her discovery of his homosexuality
we hold you, sister,
against the
unchanging past
in warmth
h full understanding
James MacKenzie Ironbear,
half Scot, half Oglala Sioux,
born on reservation land,
parents separated early,
raised by his mother in Bloomington, Indiana,
& Edinburgh, Scotland,
where she worked for the universities'
custodial staffs,
displayed high mechanical aptitudes
&, telepathic abilities
before age 5,
seldom visited relatives on his father's side,
first-class baseball k soccer player,
could have gone professional
but preferred the engineering
he pursued
on his athletic scholarship,
his best frierid an Eskimo boy from Point Barrow,
they spent their summers together in Alaska
during their college careers
as rangers in Gateway to the Arctic
National Park,
fathered one son, now in his teens
& living in Anchorage,
later served in Perimeter Patrol
where his telepathic ability
came to the attention
of government authorities,
was recruited for occasional. work
of the sort Charles Fisher
did for them,
which is where he met Fisher,
becoming friends with him,
has since fulfilled 5 separate
one-year contracts in space engineering,
working half of the year in orbit,
is on leave of absence from his sixth,
pending divorce from Fisher's sister, Peg,
who works for the same company
& resides in the great tube
of Port O'Neill
with their daughter Pamela,
attended his father's funeral this past summer
& was surprised to find himself deeply saddened
that he had never known the man,
had suddenly decided to chuck everything
& study music,
an enterprise commenced
when he sobered up a month later
& followed diligently
until this call came in,
finding himself thinking more & more
of his shrunken father,
lying there in a beaded leather jacket,
& of the son
he has not seen in years
come close, brother,
where we who
are greater than one
hold greater understanding,
absorb more hurt
IT IS GOOD THAT YOU WISH TO
walk in beauty, with beauty all around you, my son. But a
hunter should not speak prayers from the Blessingway dur-
ing the hunt, for they all have the life blessing at the end and
you require a prayer of death. To Talking-god must you
speak, and to Black-god: Aya-na-ya-ya! Eh-eh-eht Here is
the time of the cutting of the throat! Na-eh-ya-ya! It happens
in a holy place, the cutting of the throat! Ay-ah, na-ya-ya!
The cutting of the throat is happening now in a holy place!
Na-ya-ya! It is the time of the cutting of the throat! Ya-eh-ni-
ya!
"It is not always life that must be blessed."
NIGHT HE STANDS BEFORE THE
force wall. He watches the rock unfold itself.
There are clouds in your mind, hunter.
There are many things in my mind, Cat.
You have come. Have we a bargain?
Do as I asked you and I wil' do as you asked me.
We have a bargain. Release me.
It will take a minute or so.
The form rose to become a white pillar, the single, faceted
eye drifting upward along it. Billy Singer moved to the area
where the controls were housed. He opened the case and
lowered the potential of the field.
The base of the pillar split and forelimbs disassociated
themselves from the main mass higher up. A bulbous protu-
berance grew at the top, the eye coming to rest at its center.
The forked segments became leglike. A tightening at the
middle was suddenly a narrow waist. The head elongated,
growing vaguely lupine. The shoulders widened, the arms
and legs thickened. Excess mass was shifted behind, becom-
ing a broad tail. The manlike thing was tall, over two meters,
and it darkened as it moved forward, exhibiting a grace
which suggested earlier rehearsal of the form.
Silent for all of its bulk, it removed itself from the enclo-
sure and went to stand before the man.
I suggest you restore the force screen. That way it could
be several days before they notice my absence. I have
accustomed them to such a situation by assuming the ap-
pearance of portions of the habitat for days at a time.
I had already thought of that, Billy replied. But first I
wanted to watch you change.
Fou were impressed?
Yes. You do it quickly, he said in his mind, turning the field
on again. Come. I'll take you to a trip-box now. You will
have to charge it to my number without my card - which will
require a confirmation by me from the other end, since I'll
have to pass through first and -
I know how they work. I have had little but the thoughts of
your fellows to full me for a long while.
Come, then.
Billy turned away and moved across the hall.
You show me your back. Do you not fear that I will leap
upon you and rend you? Or is your action calculated?
I feel you wish to encounter the Stragean. Kill me now and
the opportunity will be lost to you.
A shadow as silent as himself - somewhat more manlike
than moments earlier, and hence more alien - came abreast
of him to the left. It matched his pace, the movements of his
arms, all of his rhythms. He could feel its power as they
glided through the hall. Inhabitants of the enclosures they
passed shifted uneasily, whether in sleep or full wakeful-
ness. Billy felt a touch of amusement in the alien mind at his
sid - and then a broadcast Farewell! which roused the
creatures to frantic activity.
He led the way outside, where he breathed deeply of the
night air. The creature at his side dropped to all fours, then
moved away, sliding into and out of shadows from unsus-
pected directions as they advanced.
From somewhere up ahead, a dog began to bark - a sound
terminated in midnote to the accompaniment of a brief
thrashing noise. Billy did not change his pace, knowing by
senses other than sight that Cat was with him all the way to
the trip-box.
All right, he said. I'll key the thing. I will go through to a
small public box a few miles from the place we will be
guarding. If there is any reason at that end for you not to
come through, I will use the communicator. Otherwise, be
ready to follow me.
A piece of shadow came loose nearby and drifted toward
him. It was even more manlike in proportion now and had
fabricated what could have been a long black cloak out of its
own substance. The massive, faceted eye was deeply sub-
merged within its head and masked by connective tissues in
such a fashion as to give the impression of a pair of glittering,
normally placed eyes.
On second thought, Billy said when he looked at him, I
believe you could pass even if there is someone there.
I see the direction of your thoughts, if dimty. I will
formulate something to resemble darkened glasses and mus-
ter something nearer to human skin-coloration. Why are
your thoughts so clouded?
I am practicing to deceive our enemy, Billy replied, enter-
ing the box. I will see you soon.
Yes. I cannot be lost so easily, tracker.
He watched Billy manipulate the controls and fade within
the enclosure. Then he entered there himself. Extending
what had become his right hand, he covered the slot where
Billy had briefly inserted his credit slip. A portion of that
appendage flowed into the opening and explored there for a
time. When the call came through, he withdrew it and
allowed himself to be transported.
Strange, a singing in his mind. Was there something in the
places between the places, to sing so of frost and iron, fire
and darkness? In a moment, it and its memory were gone.
Between the worlds walking.
Between the worlds walking.
Between the worlds walking.
Between the worlds walking.
There is something
before me, behind me,
to right and to left,
above and below.
What, on all sides,
is it?
ALEX MANCIN HIT THE BUTTON
when he detected the presence, a moment before Walter
Sands's hand jerked in the same direction. Buzzing sounds
filled the house and light flooded the lawns about it.
Yes
Mercy Spender joined them a moment later, sit-
ting up in her bed
I can feel them
Them?
joined Fisher, putting down his book
There is only one
A man
Ironbear joined, from sleep
moving strangely
nearby
Singer
no doubt
No man
joined Elizabeth, chasing dreams of dolphins
Something else
thing filled with hate
flowing
Together then
Sands joined
let us explore this
Yes
together we move
There is a man
fading now
and something else
alien thing
aware of us
fading also
with the man
the thing is not the thing
we seek
it hunts
with the man
our common enemy
retreating now
it sensed us
we know its signature
Shall we follow?
turn off the alarm
the guards come
we must report
I will follow
went Mercy, departing
the beast
if I can
and I the man
moved Ironbear away
though the trail
I fear
is covered now
apart break we then
we will report
Mancin and Sands, dividing
The following day, within a stand of trees about forty
meters from the road, Billy Singer sat beside an icy stream,
his back against a large, warm rock. He was eating a roast
beef sandwich, watching the flight of birds, listening to the
wind and observing the behavior of a small squirrel in the
lower branches of a tree upstream, to his right.
Something hunts nearby, the other told him.
Yes, I know, he answered in thought.
Something large.
I know that, too.
It comes this way.
Yes. What is it?
I cannot tell. Come inside. We will observe.
Billy rose silently to his feet. The rock split down the
middle vertically and opened like an upended clam. Even as
he watched, the cavity within grew large, outside surfaces
swelling proportionately. He entered, and it closed about
him.
Darkness, pierced by a few small holes, forward...
He placed his eye against one. He was facing the stream.
For a time, nothing happened. Several more apertures ap-
peared before him, but the section he regarded remained
unchanged.
Then he heard the splashing sounds. Something was ap-
proaching from beyond the shrub-lined bend. His stream of
consciousness fell still. His was now the passive eye of the
hunter, discerning everything before it without reflection.
His breathing slowed even further. Time ceased to exist.
Now...
First, a shadow. Then, slowly, the branched head ap-
peared from beyond the bend. A deer, browsing along the
stream bed...
Yet...
It moved again, forward, the rest of its body coming into
view. There was something wrong with the way that it
moved and held its head. The legs did not bend in quite the
proper fashion. And the shape of the head was unusual. The
cranium rose too high above the eyes....
Deerlike... Yes. A good approximation, perhaps, for
someone who had only studied tridees of the creature. No
doubt close enough to deceive any casual observer. But to
Billy it could only be deerlike. He wondered whether Cat
realized this, too.
... Yes drifted through his mind.
Immediately, the creature before them froze, one less-
than-delicate forelimb raised. Then the head turned, moving
through unnatural angles to survey everything at hand.
Moments later, the creature exploded into movement, the
entire body twisting, elongating, legs thickening, shortening,
bunching.
And then it sprang off, back in the direction from which it
had come.
Even as this occurred his shelter opened, regurgitating
him with some force, and by the time Billy had regained his
footing Cat was in the process of transformation back into
the form of the hunting beast.
Not waiting for the metamorphosis to run its course, Billy
ran in the direction the creature had taken, splashing into the
stream and following it beyond the bend.
His eyes scanned both banks, but he discerned no signs
that it had departed the water at either hand. He splashed
onward, over gravel, sand and slick rocks, continuing his
surveillance.
For a long while, he followed the twisting, watery route.
But he heard no further sounds from ahead, nor could he
detect any evidence of the creature's having departed the
stream. He halted at a rocky shingle to study it with extra
care. As he did, he heard sounds of approach from the rear.
Farther ahead! Farther ahead! Cat told him. I've touched
her mind. It slips away. But she betrays herself occasionally.
He turned and raced ahead. Cat bounded past him.
Something is happening. She is shifting again. She is up
high somewhere now. She - Lost her...
Billy continued his advance along the watery way. Cat
hurried on ahead and was lost moments later beyond the
screening brush. After perhaps five minutes, Billy found
what he had been seeking.
There was sign of something having left the water. He
followed it up and to the right. The first clear print he
located, however, was a peculiar, triple-pronged thing. But it
was sufficiently large, and its depth in soil of that consis-
tency was indication of the sort of mass that he knew he
followed. The spoor led him off toward higher ground, and
the next clear print he came upon showed a further altera-
tion of shape.
And he came across the even fresher signs of Cat, still on
the trail. Cat's tracks were far apart and deeply sunk.
The way remained clear and he was able to increase his
pace. Moving at a very fast walk, uphill, down, then up
again, he felt the old tingling sensation as the quarry's track
vanished, to reappear forty feet away, lighter, slightly re-
shaped, and then to vanish again. Pictures occurred within
his mind, his natural ability to form them enhanced by his
alien experiences. He read the sign correctly, and he looked
upward in time to see a vast, dark shape glide overhead,
moving in a southwesterly direction. And even as he hurried
to climb a tree, he knew that, for the moment, the quarry
had won.
He achieved a suitable vantage only in time to see the dark
thing slip out of sight beyond a distant tree-line.
... How clever! Cat's thought came to him. I wonder
whether I could do that?
At least it was not headed toward the mansion, Billy said.
We had best return to our post, though.
You go, Cat replied. I am going to try following her. I will
meet you there later.
Very well.
Before he climbed down he noted through an opening in
the leaves an area above him that had been blackened and
broken. It had not been a recent thing, but he shuddered at
one of the old superstitions reaching.out for him at this time.
Of all the trees present, he had chosen a lightning-struck one
to climb. Thing of ill-fortune... He sang a section from the
Blessingway as he descended. The part of him which did not
fear the lightning was standing far away now, clad in differ-
ent garments.
How much had the Stragean learned of what it was that
pursued her? Cat, keep your presence of mind, he thought.
Do not betray yourself in the fury of the hunt. Or are your
instincts proof even against one such as you follow?
He reached the ground and turned back. What would
Nayenezgani have done?
He did not know.
SUN COME DOWN THE SKY
from straight to slant again drifting waterwards gaze of
Billy's mind with it to flow time undoing knots touch of
cloud to dark the sky as hand with knowledge of own scoops
among sands at shore blue gray white yellow no red no real
black no matter bird above hunkered form of man on tree
limb singing leaves shifting in wind fish in water decompos-
able soda bottle decomposing across the riverrun.
Without thought, dipping his hands. A pinch of sand in the
right palm, beneath the second finger. Hand turning. A
trickle from the index finger, thumb regulating its flow.
Movement. The hand has not forgotten. The lines. The
angles. Blue and white and yellow here. Naa-tse-elit, the
Rainbow yei taking form, guarding the south, the west and
the north, open to the east. Within, the body of Thunder,
Ikne'etso, a bat guardian above his head, messenger of the
Night, east, an arrow, ash-tin, west. A great power here.
One of the unpredictable, dangerous gods. Holder of light-
ning. Humming to himself, pieces of the Mountain Chant,
finishing, staring, Billy. For a long time, staring.
Slowly, the awareness. A peculiar thing to have done.
Consciously or automatically. Of all things to call upon, why
Thunder? For that matter, why call at all? However things
fell out, he would be the loser. Yet he reached forward to
touch ikne'eka'a, the lightning, to transfer the medicine and-
the power, since it was there before him.
And now... A day sandpainting must be erased before
the sun sets. With a sacred feather staff it is to be erased. He
recalled the black feather in the tchah and withdrew it and
used it to this end, casting the sand away into the water.
Sun go down the sky rolling west
Time undoing knots
No real color
Ikne'etso and Naa-tse-elit into the riverrun
recirculation
SINGING NOW. BILLY BLACK-
horse Singer. At the corner of the estate. Night. Spring
constellations filling the heavens. Coyote cries faded.
They had located her again at evening, circling, circling at
a great distance, probing, carefully advancing. They had
waited.
She had come, slowly, in many guises. Skimming, bur-
rowing, flowing. They-had waited. And when the night was
complete, she came on.
One moment Cat had been at his back, dark stony buttress
to the wall itself. Then a huge shape had drifted overhead,
blotting stars. The buttress had flowed upward, coalescing
into a nightmare outline atop the wall. Then a second dark
shape rode the air currents, sought altitude, circled, slid
through the night toward the house.
He was never certain at what point the encounter oc-
curred and the struggle commenced, whether it was in the
air, on the ground, outside the house or within. But he heard
a series of unearthly cries at about the same time that the
lights came on all over the grounds. He remained unmoving
in his shadowy corner, listening to the various sounds which
ensued - crashes, buzzes, the breaking of glass, several
small explosions. These continued for nearly a minute be-
fore all of the lights went out.
And he waited. He could think of nothing for which he
might hope. He remembered things, and he sang the song
softly.
Then the silence came again. He regarded the sky as the
moment stretched. His words neither hurried nor slowed in
their passage across the night.
A single loud crash occurred, followed by some lesser
sounds. Then again the silence. A small light appeared
behind a pair of upstairs windows.
Cat?
A large form emerged from the front of the house,
dropped to all fours, moved slowly away. Nothing moved to
interfere with it. The night remained quiet. Billy followed its
progress with his eyes. He knew that it was time for the song
to end. He carried a knife and a computer-targeting laser
sidearm. If this were the Stragean, he felt obliged to attempt
her destruction. He drew the weapon and placed his thumb
on the set stud.
This is how you keep your promise, hunter?
Cat!
Yes. She fought well bat she is dead. I have broken her.
Shall we see now whether you can activate the weapon
before I can reach you? Ten meters separate us and I am
ready to spring. The weapon is faster than I am, but is your
thumb? I will know the moment that you decide to move it.
Go ahead. Any time now...
No.
Billy tossed the weapon into the shrubbery to his right.
I did not know which of you it was moving this way.
He detected a sense of puzzlement, underlined by a touch
of pain.
You were injured?
It is nothing.
Both remained unmoving.
Finally, As you said, any time now, Billy stated.
You offer me no contest.
No.
Why not? You are a predator, like me.
We have a bargain.
What is that when it is your life? I expected resistance.
Cat detected something like puzzlement.
I made you a promise.
But I took it to mean that you would await my attack here
and defend yourself when the time came.
I am sorry. That was not my understanding. But now I
have no intention of giving you a token fight. You require my
life. Take it.
Cat began a slow advance, his form dropping nearer and
nearer to the ground. When he raised his head once more it
bore an enormous, horned, fanged, semihuman face - a
bestial parody of Billy's own. Suddenly then, Cat reared, to
raise that head fully eight feet above the ground. He glared
down.
Billy shuddered, but he held his place.
You are taking much of the pleasure from it, hunter.
Billy shrugged.
That cannot be helped.
Cat began to unfurl great membranous wings behind him.
After a time, he folded them about himself and became a
still, dark pillar.
Finally, If you can make it over the wall before I reach
you, Cat said, I will let you go.
Billy did not move.
No, he said. I know that I could not do it. I will not make
the attempt just to provide you with sport.
The pillar blossomed, an exotic flower opening to reveal a
tigerlike head. It swayed toward him.
You pursued me for over a week, Cat said at last. While I
have dreamed of your death, I have dreamed, too, of hunt-
ing you. Your death alone should be sufficient, but I do not
want it to be over with in an instant. It troubles me, too, that
I do not know whether this desire springs from that which I
know best - the hunt - or whether my long mental associa-
tion with your own kind has taught me somewhat of the joys
of prolonging an enemy's agony.
Both are sufficiently primitive, Billy replied. I wouldn't
worry about it.
I do not. But I desire the hunt, and I see now that only one
thing will make you give it to me.
And what is that?
Your life. A chance to regain it.
Billy laughed.
I have already resigned myself to dying. Do you believe
yourself the only misfit alien on this world, Cat? My people-
my real people - are also dead. All of them. The world in
which I now find myself is a strange place. The Dineh are not
as I once knew them. Your offer only brought my condition
into full focus. And I have prepared myself for this.
Cat drew back.
Years ago, he said, I saw in your mind a great pride in
your people's ability to adapt. Now you say that it is gone
from you. I say this means that you have become a coward,
seeing death as the easy way out.
Billy stiffened.
That is not true!
Look within yourself. I have but given you an excuse to
resign.
No!
Then fight me, Billy. Pit your skills against me one more
time.
I -
You are afraid now, where you were not before. You are
afraid to live.
That is not so.
Would you say it four times, mari of the People?
Damn you, Cat! I was ready, ready for you! But you are
not satisfied with just my life. You wish to fill me with
uncertainty before you kill me!
If that is what it takes, yes. I see now that there would be
small pleasure in slaying you like some brainless piece of
meat that waits to be slaughtered. My full revenge requires
the joy of the hunt. So I will make you an offer, and I will
have you know that my promise will be as good as yours,
Billy Singer - for I cannot let you beat me even in that thing.