The Loafers of Refuge (10 page)

He sat down and bowed his dark head. Carey Sheldon rose slowly to his feet, his wide shoulders and heavy form looming large in the small room. “I am abashed to raise my young voice in the presence of my elders,” he began, a time-honoured ritual for young Controllers which Timmy had omitted in his speech. There were approving nods from the old Council members present, and Carey went on, “As all here know, the number of Earthmen present on Refuge grows each day. The great skyships come more often now, and carry more people each trip. Yet the number now coming is but a drop in a rainstorm, one flake in a snowbank, compared to those who will come if ever our wise men solve the problem which has plagued Earthmen for many Refuge seasons: how to send a living creature through the space-that-has-no-time with no harm to the creature. While we await this day we toil to prepare for those already here, and those who will follow. All who come must be fed, housed, clothed, their children must go to school, their hands must be set to toil.

“Still, there are great masses of my people left on the planet
Earth, more people than is conceivable to those who have not seen their great metal homes towering into the sky, and there is little good soil on Earth in which to grow the crops to feed them. Therefore we people on Refuge, and many other planets like it, must grow great amounts of food and transmit it to Earth. The lessons Sam Harper is learning from Brixta and our friends in his clan, much of which comes from the breshwahr themselves, will aid our farmers greatly in producing more food from each acre of ground under cultivation. We in turn are supplying Brixta with all of that powder called borax which his people need to feed the breshwahr. To this time all have benefited, none have lost, from this exchange of information and help.”

Carey sat down and it was Sam Harper’s turn to rise and face the small group. “I have learned much of growing things from my friend Brixta and his people,” he began slowly, his deep voice filling the small closed room. “Much of what I now know can be used only on Refuge, on the plants that grow here, but a great deal can be used as easily on Earth, or in desert lands under faraway stars, or the rich forests on the worlds which neighbour ours here in the system of Antares. I plan to build two tales-you-look-at for my people, one for Refuge alone and another for all other worlds. What we have learned from the Loafers and the breshwahr will benefit all Hairless Ones.”

Carey nodded in grave approval. The copious notes Sam was accumulating, when edited and compiled in book form, were going to rock the boat of agricultural knowledge pretty thoroughly. However, there was his farm, only now bringing in its first harvest, to back up his words. He had welded a clever blend of breshwahr and Loafer knowledge to Earth’s powermachine techniques, and was reaping the benefits of both intensive and extensive methods of cultivation.

There was a sudden and dramatic interruption of the Council. The wirtl-leaf curtain over the door was thrown aside and Tharee entered. She was panting, as though she had run a long way, and her breasts heaved with emotion. She breathed deeply for a moment, composing herself, and then spoke rapidly in the Loafer tongue. “I heard Micka call me.
I do not know what has happened but she screamed in fear of some attacker, and I could receive no more. Now little Hasel comes down the path at a run, and ahead of her the fear moves like a heavy wind.”

Carey jumped to his feet, alarmed. Had Issakson or some of his more violent-minded friends abducted little Micka? If so it showed even less good sense than he would have expected. G.G. would crack down hard and fast, and there would be some new Involuntary Government Workers in the town very shortly.

They had only a moment to wait. Little Hasel, like all her people, was an athlete. She came flying into the central compound on winged heels and caught the powerful impulse Tharee was projecting to come to her. The child hesitated a moment, searching with both perception and eyes for her father, then realized he was not available and came to Tharee.

Tharee scooped her up and comforted her while she sent a ringing mental call for the girl’s mother. Hasel calmed herself while she regained her breath, then swiftly babbled out her story. Micka had been kidnapped by The-Old-Man-In-The-Mountain.

Carey glanced out over the ocean, hesitating. Antares was angling hard towards its choppy surface. Finding Jacobs after dark would be a virtually impossible task, even with the perceptive powers of the Loafers. Also, Jacobs had to be surprised and taken. He must have no chance to harm Micka in the time between attack and submission.

“Let’s work it this way,” Carey said aloud to Harper. “I know the mountain where he lives. Let’s go back to my house, radio Varrie English for the flitter and try to beat Jacobs home. If we can find his cave and surprise him as he comes in we should be able to get Micka away from him without any danger to her.”

“I will go too, Car-ree,” said Tharee in a firm voice. “You will need me to help you find Micka if you do not find the cave.”

“And I will accompany my father’s sister,” said Timmy quietly.

“Then that should be enough. Three men should be able to handle Jacobs, big though he is.”

Carey had ridden a horse from the Sheldon farm to Loafertown, and he mounted and rode the two miles at a gallop while the others trotted. By the time they arrived he had explained the situation to Varinov English and the Refuge area Security flitter was on its way.

There was a brief, hot argument with Doreen. Timmy finally led her outside, and the decision that she would stay home was not reached until she was sobbing softly, in angry-frustration, against his hairy chest. He kissed her tenderly, for perhaps the third time in their lives, and brought her inside as the flitter landed.

The sun was setting as they climbed inside the small machine. Carey saw, with dismay, that the pilot was Dane Issakson, oldest son of the farmer who had raised such a fuss at the school that morning.

“When did you join the Security Section, Dane?” he asked as they seated themselves.

The slightly older man grinned. “I didn’t exactly join, Carey. I’m serving six months Involuntary Government Service for fighting. Judge Cavanaugh said that if I liked to fight so much it might as well be on the side of the law as against it, and recommended I serve my time with the Security Section. Varrie English went along with the idea, and here I am. Now where are we heading?”

“Old Baldy is the mountain where most people have reported seeing Jacobs,” replied Carey. “Varrie English thinks he has a cave somewhere around the timberline on the west face. Let’s hover there and see if we can find it. We should have at least an hour before he can get to the edge of the woods and spot us.”

“Okay,” said Dane, and eased the flitter into the air. They saw Old Baldy clearly as they rose, a low, round-topped mound, far in the north-east. It was not as high as most of its neighbours and the trees reached almost to its naked crest. Dane held the flitter parallel to the Whitecap range and headed directly for the peak. It was a clear night and the myriad neighbours of Antares cast a soft, restful glow over
the world of Refuge, dimly outlining the dark thick temperate forests, the high plateau of the open grass range, the worn old mountains rearing their craggy heads in the east.

“What’s this I hear about my old man raising hell down at the beginners’ school this morning?” asked Dane when they were on course.

“He became a little excited over the integration experiment,” said Carey carefully. “I hope he gets over it without causing any trouble.”

“Ah, the old man’s all talk,” declared Dane. “Doesn’t mean half what he says. Jay’ll be back in school in a week.”

“I hope you’re right.” Carey, who was intently watching the ground below, nudged Timmy and gestured as they passed the steep scarp Where he had spent his initiation period. Timmy smiled and nodded. It had been a good initiation, the best in many years, for every pre-initiate had passed. Often, Carey knew, they were not so lucky. Every young Loafer went through the experience before becoming an adult, and those who failed the test either starved themselves to death or were banished from the tribe to live their lives alone and die childless. This form of selective breeding, carried on now for generations beyond counting, had resulted in a very low failure rate. Still, the Loafers seemed to have reached an impasse, for no one had advanced beyond the projection of
senses-emotions
to direct exchange of information. Carey, who had devoured every book and tape he could find in Earth’s vast libraries on the ancient and long-forgotten art of extrasensory perception, was aware that the hairy humanoids had barely tapped the possible sources of power in the ability they possessed. Yet he, too, though he had experimented often and extensively since becoming a Controller, had been unable to progress beyond Timmy or any of their friends. They had no equivalent in their language for the words clairvoyance, telekinesis, or pre-cognition, though they did experience a dim, blurred form of clairvoyance when projecting themselves.

The flitter had reached Old Baldy while Carey was occupied with his thoughts, and Dane was bringing them in close to its craggy walls. There was silence in the flitter for the next
half-hour while the entire party searched in the poor light for the cave or opening that might be the hiding place of The-Old-Man-In-The-Mountain. They landed twice, but in each case it was a wrong guess. When they were back in the air after the second landing Tharee said softly, “Carey, I … I feel Micka approaching.”

Carey stared at his watch in amazement. Jacobs had covered the distance in less than half the time Carey had estimated. The man must be either a giant in truth or an amazing athlete.

“Let’s set down just over the crest,” Carey said to Dane. “We’ll have to wait until he’s at home and asleep. After that run he shouldn’t stay awake too long tonight.”

Dane lifted the little craft swiftly and guided it over the comparatively flat top of Old Baldy until they were well past the rising slope of the western side. He found a wide cleft, the bottom lost in impenetrable shadow, turned on his lights a moment, and brought the flitter gently to rest on the bottom.

Tharee leaned back in her chair and seemed to fall asleep. Her breathing was quiet and slow, her eyes closed. The fine down that covered the faces of Loafer women could not hide the queenly beauty of the firm, angular features, nor the loose wirtl-cloak the slender strength of her well-formed body. Like all primitives she had married young, and though Micka was seven summers old by Loafer reckoning her mother was only twenty-two, a few years older than Carey. Refuge had a seasonal cycle that corresponded to eleven Earthly months, and the colonists still kept Ertime on their ages, though the habit was swiftly changing.

They waited quietly for a quarter of an hour, and then Tharee stirred and sat up. “The sense of motion has stopped,” she said to Carey. “They are in a cave, and Micka knows I am near.”

“Tharee, can you tell Micka to stay awake and call us when the giant falls asleep?”

“I do not know, my friend. I will try.” Tharee sat down again and concentrated for a full five minutes, then opened her eyes and said, “I am sorry, Car-ree. Micka understands
sleep
and
man,
but I cannot make her realize what you want.”

“Then let’s just give him an hour and let you try to lead us to him,” said Carey.

“That is good. Rest now, if you will, and I will call you,” said Tharee, closing her eyes. Carey glanced over at Timmy and saw that he had his eyes closed also, though he seemed to be asleep, not projecting. Harper, his big hands clenched in his lap, was sitting silently by Dane, able to follow only a little of the conversation. Carey brought him up to date on the decision and then closed his eyes himself.

Micka lay on the Hairless One’s bed where the white-haired giant had placed her and stared with dark accusing eyes at her captor. Jacobs was feeding himself, stuffing succulent kitzl berries and roasted corn into his mouth at a prodigious rate. He had placed some of the food by the big bed, but Micka had touched nothing. Her eyes were on the big rock in front of the entrance tunnel. It fitted fairly well, but there was a large crack on the right-hand side near the top, where she might possibly squeeze through at the expense of some skin.

Jacobs finished his simple meal and turned to stare at the small form of the Loafer girl. So tiny, so frail, and yet so strong in ways not outwardly visible, and with such a spirit. She would teach him what he still must learn.

He crossed the room to the bed and sat down by her, laying one massive arm casually across the small shoulders, careful not to burden her with his weight. Micka turned a calm face towards him, no sign of fear, terror or loathing on the childish features.

“We’re going to get along, you and I, little one,” rumbled Jacobs. His accent was crude and the pronunciation rough, but he spoke the Loafer tongue. “We’re going to be great friends, and you’re going to teach me how your people control animals. Yes you are. Because I learn fast, little girl, very fast, and when I have the power as strong as your people I’m going to show that stinking town of Refuge something, you
can bet on it! Now move over and make room for your friend Brian. Yes, I’m your friend even if you don’t think so now.”

He stretched out on the massive bed beside her and gently pulled the girl into a prone position. She found her face pressed into his heavy beard, so similar and yet so unlike the coating of hair on her mother’s firm warm body, and one great arm lay around her, holding her immovable against his chest.

“Yes, you and I are going to have lots of fun, and we’re going to be great friends and learn to be Controllers,” said Jacobs sleepily. “But I am tired now because I ran so far, and we must sleep. Don’t worry, you are safe with me.”

He dozed off almost immediately, and in minutes the sound of his heavy breathing filled the chamber. Micka waited patiently, held in place by the weight of the arm, and felt herself growing sleepy. She roused enough to project, with all her small strength, a sense of
need!
need!
need!
to her mother, and felt the answering surge of
love-sympathy-comfort-reassurance.
The response was so strong she knew her mother must be close, perhaps just outside the cave, and Micka forced herself back to full alertness. She squirmed gently in the big man’s embrace and felt the arm tighten about her. She lay still again, afraid of waking him, and thought hard. After a few minutes she reached with small hands and placed them both against the barrel of his chest. She clenched the small knuckles into fists and began to press against his ribs, first gently and then with more insistence. He stirred, muttered in his sleep, then yielded to the nagging sense of pain and rolled over and away from her.