Footfall

“Dawson holds his peace better than you have. You weren’t trying to protect Dawson. Must I return you to the silence of your cell?”

“I heard a snoring sound.”

“When?”

“A 64-breaths or so after the human left the Advisor for dead. I still didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I heard a snoring sound. I turned and his chest was heaving.”

“Speak further.”

“I knew what he’d say. The dissidents … we would have … I pushed his face in the mud. I pushed mud in his mouth. The snonng stopped. I pushed him the rest of the way.”

It was whas the Herdmaster had expected to hear; yet he had hoped. “What shall I do with you now, Chintithpit-mang? I cannot have you loose in Message Bearer.”

“Kill me. Gather the herd as tradition requires.”

“We are roguish enough these days. I cannot order my fithp to trample you and expect them to stop short of riot! Besides, too many owe you their lives, or their mates’ lives. The Attackmaster regrets your absence. Chintithpit-mang, will you return to Africa to fight?”

“Yes, if I am allowed.”

“You are sent, not allowed. Forever, Chintithpit-mang. I can grasp the pressures that made you rogue, but if such happens again, you will be trampled.” The Herdmaster tapped at keys.

And that is well done. Chintithpit-mang will serve us well. I will send down others of the Year Zero Fithp. Let them make amends in Africa. He tapped more keys. The picture changed.

Wes Dawson was… running nowhere? Pastempeh-keph watched for a bit. Dawson ran, legs pumping, making no progress; forelimbs pumping in rhythm, though they never touched the ground. Was he already mad? Did he dream that he chased a fleeing meat animal, or that something chased him?

“Wes Dawson.”

Dawson turned as he ran, to face the camera. He said nothing. The desperate longing to hear another’s voice… might have been present, but the Herdmaster saw no trace of it.

He said, “Chintithpit-mang tells me that he killed the Advisor. Fathisteh-tulk was still alive when you released him.”

Dawson’s mouth twitched upward at the corners. In fair fithp he said, “I do it better next time.”

Pastempeh-keph turned off the screen. Just whose mind was being broken by this treatment?

Spinward around the curve of the mudroom there were the sounds of splashing and soft-trumpeted gossip. Shreshleemang ignored it. Her status had become uncertain when her mate’s confession was broadcast. This was an embarrassment to her friends. These days they avoided her. Shreshleemang understood this, and resented it nonetheless. She could do nothing about it. She lolled in the mud with eyes half closed.

She grew aware of others gathering around her. They rested in the mud, quiet, but she could feel their eyes. When it became clear that they would not go away, she said, “I remember a time when the mudroom was a refuge from the day’s cares.”

“There was never such a time,” said Chowpeentulk. “The mudroom has forever been a pond of politics.”

Shreshleemang looked up. Chowpeentulk and K’turfookeph seemed to be coolly studying her. K’turfookeph said, “Your mate is not to be trampled. He will be returned to Africa.”

“He told me himself. He has already departed.”

“Shreshleemang, you should join him.”

Shreshleemang surged from the mud. With the greatest effort she managed to curb her bellow. “The Herdmaster may send me where he wills. Have you come as his emissary?”

“No. You are a mated female of the Traveler Herd, with no stain on your character. Will you listen?”

She sank back. “I will.”

“He needs you. Males go rogue far more easily without a mate to steady them. Chintithpit-mang lives close against that barrier.”

“Yes, for he has crossed it.”

“Africa is being conquered, but there remain many human rogues in the pacified territory. Effective warriors are needed. Chintithpit-mang is one of the best, but the jungle hunters live under terrible strain. Often they hunt alone, as if already rogue. Unmated, Chintithpit-mang will be rogue within a 64-days. Mated, he can be an effective leader.”

“Yes, he needs me. He has destroyed the dissident cause, he has humiliated me personally. Do I need him?”

Chowpeentulk said, “Unmated females go rogue too.”

“Nonsense.”

“We show it differently. We do not go on killing sprees. But we often develop a distaste for males and for children. We play dominance games instead of cooperating with our fithp.”

“What are you doing here, Chowpeentulk? What is your interest? Did you want my mate trampled?”

“No… I am widowed. At my age it is certain that I will never mate again. The war kills males, particularly unmated males. My interest now lies with my children and the Traveler Fithp. The Traveler Fithp needs your mate, sane.”

“If you knew how I feel about him, you might send me down in order to punish your mate’s murderer.”

“You were dissident too.”

“I was and am. The Traveler Fithp owned the stars and planets before ever we saw the shape of the prey. We don’t need them.”