C. J. Cherryh - Brothers of Earth

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

BROTHERS

EARTH

C. J. Cherryh

DAW BOOKS, INC.

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER

1301 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N. Y.10019

Endymion died soundlessly, a man-made star that glowed and quickly winked out of existence.

Kurt Morgan watched her until there was no more left to see, eyes fixed to the aft scanners of the capsule.

When it was over, he cut to forward view and set his mind on survival.

There had been eighty men and women on Endymion, seventy-nine of them now reduced to dust and

vapor with the ship, indistinguishable from its remains. Two minutes to sunward was another cloud that

had been the enemy, another hundred individuals, the elements that had been life from a score of worlds

borne still on collision course, destroyer and destroyed.

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

No report of the encounter would go back to Central. There was no means to carry it. The Hanan planet of

origin, Aeolus, was no more than a cinder now, light-years distant; and Endymion in pursuing the Hanan

enemy had given no reference data to Command. They had jumped on their own, encountered, won and

perished at once; their survival capsule had no starflight capability.

A nameless star and six uncharted worlds lay under the capsule's scan. The second was the most likely to

support life.

It grew larger in his scanners over the course of seven days, a blue world wreathed in swirling cloud and

patched with the brown of land. It had a large, solitary moon. In all particulars it read as an Earth-class

planet, one the Alliance would have sacrificed a hundred ships to win-which they had already won if they

could have known it.

The feared Hanan retaliation did not materialize. There were no ships to threaten him. The world filled

the scanners now. Kurt vacillated between euphoric hope and hopeless fear-hope because he had planned

to die and it looked as if he might not; and fear, because it suddenly dawned on him that he was truly

alone. The idea of a possible enemy had kept him company until now. But Endymion had run off the edge

of the charts before she perished. If the Hanan were not here, then there were no other human beings this

far from Sol Center.

That was loneliness.

Absolute.

The wedge-shaped capsule came in hard, overheated and

struggling for life, plates shrieking as they parted their joinings. Pressure exploded against Kurt's senses,

gray and red and dark.

He hung sideways, the straps preventing him from slipping into the storage bay. He spent some little time

working free, feverish with anxiety. When he had done so he opened the hatch, reckless of tests: he had

no other options.

Breathable. For a time after he had exited the ship he simply stood and looked about him, from horizon to

horizon of rolling wooded hills. Never in all his planetfalls had he seen the like of it, pure and unspoiled

and, but for the stench of burning, scented with abundant life.

He stood there laughing into the sun with the tears running down his face, and shut his eyes and let the

clean wind dry his face and the coolness of the air relieve the stifling warmth that clung to him.

The land began to descend perceptibly after the forests: a long hill, a rocky bow of land, a brief expanse

of beach on an unlimited expanse of sea. The sun was low in the sky before he had found a way down

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

from the high rocks to that sandy shore.

And there he dropped his gear on the dry sand and gazed out entranced, over a sea bluer than he had ever

seen and greener than the hills, colors divided according to the depth.

Isles lay against the horizon. The sand was white and littered with the refuse of the sea, bits of wood and

weed, and shells of delicate pinks and yellows, in spiked and volute shapes.

Delighted as a child, he bent and dipped his hands into the water that lapped at his boots, tasted the salt of

it and spat a little, for he had known what a sea ought to be, but he had never touched one or smelled the

salt wind and the wrack on the beach. He picked up a stick of driftwood and hurled it far out, watched it

carried back to him. Something within him settled into place, finding all the home-tales of his star-

wandering folk true and real, even if it was in such a place as this, that man had never touched.

He waded at the edge a while, barefoot, careful of stepping on something poisonous, and used a stick to

prod at things that lived there. But the daylight began to fade so he could no longer see things clearly, and

the wind became cold; then he began to reckon with the coming night, and gathered a great supply of

driftwood and made a fire.

It was the dark that was terrible, lonely as the space between stars. He had seen birds that day, too high to

distinguish; he had seen the shells of mollusks and nudged at things that scuttled off into deeper water;

several times he had startled small creatures from the high grass and sent them bounding off, quickly

invisible in the brush and weeds. Nothing yet had threatened him, and no cries disturbed the night. But his

mind invented images from a score of worlds. He started at every sound. The water lapped and sucked at

the shore, and small scavenger crustaceans sidled about beyond the circle of firelight, seeking food.

At last he rose up and put a great deal of wood on the fire, then curled up as closely as he could before he

abandoned himself to sleep.

Pebbles grated. Sand crunched. Kurt lifted his head and strained his eyes in the dying glare of the fire.

Beyond it a dark dragon head rode the waters, rocking with the motion of the sea.

He scrambled for his gun, was hurled flat by sinuous bodies that hit his back, man-sized and agile. He

spat sand and rolled and twisted, but a blow exploded across the side of his head, heavy with darkness. He

went down again, fading, aware of the bite of cords, of being dragged through water. He choked in the

brine and went out altogether.

He was soaking wet, facedown on a heaving wooden surface. He sprang up, and was tripped and thrown

by a chain that linked his ankles together around a wooden pillar; when he twisted over to look up, he

could make out a web of ropes and lines against the night sky, a dragon head against the moon. It was a

wooden ship, with a mast for a single sail.

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

Men's voices called out and oars splashed down, sweeping in unison; the motion of the ship changed,

steadied, and with a rustle and snap of canvas the great square sail billowed out overhead, men hauling to

sheet it home. Kurt stared up in awe as the swelling canvas blotted out the sky and the deck acquired a

different feel as the wind sped the ship on her way.

A man crowded him. Kurt scrambled up awkwardly, the chain keeping his feet apart around the mast.

Others were close to him. He saw in the dim light the same structure repeated hi every curious face; wide

cheeks, flat, well-formed noses with flaring nostrils; the eyes large and dark, brows wide and heavy,

slightly tilted on a plane with the high cheekbones-the faces of wise children, set in a permanent look of

arrogant curiosity. The bodies were those of men though, tall and slim and muscular.

They did not touch him. They looked. And finally one spoke to them with authority and they dispersed.

Kurt sank down again, sick and trembling, not only with the chill of the wind. One returned and gave him

a warm cloak for his comfort, and he clutched that around him and doubled up. He did not sleep.

No one troubled him until the first light brought color to things. Then a man set a bowl and cup beside

him on the boards, and Kurt took the warm food gratefully and drank the hot, sweetened tea.

In the growing daylight he found the men of the ship not unpleasant to look at. They were brown-to-

golden-skinned, with black hair. They moved about the tight confines of the ship with amiable efficiency,

their laughter frequent and not unkind among themselves. Kurt soon began to know some of them: the

one who had brought him food, the gruff elder man who relayed the orders of a narrow-eyed young

officer; and he thought the name of the boy who scurried around on everyone's errands must be Pan, for

that was the word others shouted when they wanted him.

They were clean, proud folk, and they kept their ship well ordered; human or not, they were a better crew

than some lots of homo sapiens he had managed.

Fed and beginning to be warmed by the daylight, Kurt had only begun to achieve a certain calm in his

situation when the young officer approached him and had the chain removed. Kurt rose carefully,

avoiding any appearance of hostility, and the man nodded toward the low cabin aft.

He let himself be directed below, where the officer opened a door for him and gestured him through.

Another young man was seated at a low writing table, on a chair so low he must cross his ankles on the

floor. He spoke and Kurt's escort left him and closed the door; then he gestured, beckoning Kurt to sit too.

There was no chair, only the woven reed mat on which Kurt stood. With ill grace Kurt settled cross-

legged on the mat.

"I am captain of this ship," said the man, and Kurt's heart froze within him, for the language was Hanan.

"I am Kta t'Elas u Nym. The person who brought you in is my second, Bel t'Osanef." The accent was

heavy, the forms archaic; as Endymion's communications officer, Kurt knew enough to make sense of it,

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

although he could not identify the dialect.

"What is your name, please?" asked Kta.

"Kurt. Kurt Morgan. What are you?" he asked quickly, before Kta could lead the questions where he

would. "What do you want?"

"I am nemet," said Kta, who sat with hands folded in his lap. He had a habit of glancing down when

beginning to speak; his eyes met Kurt's only on the emphasis of questions. "Did you want that we find

you? Was the fire a signal asking help?"

Kurt remembered, and cursed himself.

"No," he said.

"Tamurlin are human like you. You camp in their land like a man in his own house, careless."

"I know nothing of that." Hope surged wildly in him. Kta's command of human speech found explanation:

a Hanan base onworld, but something in the way Kta spoke the word Tamurlin did not indicate friendship

between that base and the nemet.

"Where are your friends?" Kta asked, taking him by surprise.

"Dead . . . dead. I came alone."

"From what place?"

Kurt feared to answer and did not know how to lie. Kta shrugged, and from a decanter on a table beside

his desk he poured drink into two tiny porcelain cups.

Kurt was not anxious to drink, for he did not trust the sudden hospitality; but Kta sipped at his delicately

and Kurt followed his example. It was thin and fruit-tasting, and settled in the head like fire.

"It is telise," said Kta. "I offer to you tea, but telise is more warming."

"Thank you," said Kurt. "Would you mind telling me where we're going?" But Kta only lifted his small

cup slightly as if to say they would talk when they were finished, and Kta took his patient time finishing.

"Where are we going?" Kurt repeated the instant Kta set his cup aside. The nemet's short brows

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

contracted slightly.

"My port. But you mean what is there for you in my port? We nemet are civilized. You are civilized too,

not like the Tamurlin. I see this. Please do not have fear. But I ask: why came you?"

"My ship . . . was destroyed. I found safety on that shore."

"From the sky, this ship. I am aware of such things. We have all seen human things."

"Do you fight the Tamurlin?"

"Always. It is an old war, this. They came, long ago. We drove them from their machines and they

became like beasts."

"Long ago."

"Three hundreds of years."

Kurt kept his joy from his face. "I assure you," he said, "I didn't come here to harm anyone."

"Then we will not harm you," said Kta.

"Am I free, then?"

"In day, yes. But at night ... I am sorry. My men need secure rest. Please accept this necessity."

"I don't blame you," said Kurt. "I understand."

"Hei yth," said Kta, and joined his fingertips together before him in what seemed a gesture of gratitude.

"It makes me to think well of you, Kurt Morgan."

And with that, Kta turned him out on the deck at liberty. No one offered him unpleasantness, even when

his ignorance put him in the way of busy men. Someone would then gesture for him to move-they never

touched him- or politely call to him: "Umanu, o-eh," which he thought was his species and a request to

move. And after a part of the day had passed and he decided to imitate the crew's manner of bows and

courteous downcast looks, his status improved, for he received bows in return and was called "umanu-

ifhan" in a tone of respect.

But at night the young officer Bel t'Osanef came and indicated he must take his place again at the mast.

The seaman who performed Bel's order was most gentle in applying the chain, and came back afterward

to provide him a blanket and a large mug of hot tea. It was ludicrous. Kurt found the courage to laugh,

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

and the nemet seemed

also to understand the humor of the situation, for he grinned and said, "Tosa, umanu-ifhan," in a tone

which seemed kindly meant.

His hands left free, he sipped his tea at leisure and finally stretched out at such an angle that he did not

think anyone would trip over him in the dark. His mind was much easier this night, though he shuddered

to think what might have become of him if not for the nemet. If Kta's Tamurlin were indeed fallen Hanan,

then he had had an escape close enough to last a lifetime.

He would accept any conditions of the nemet rather than fall to the Hanan. If Kta spoke the truth and the

Hanan were powerless and declined to barbarism, then he was free. There was no more war. For the first

time in his imagination, there was no more war.

Only one doubt still gnawed at the edges of his mind: the

question of why a modern Hanan starship had run from the destroyed world of Aeolus to this world of

fallen humans.

He did not want to think on that. He did not want to believe Kta had lied, or that the gentleness of these

people

hid deception. There was another explanation. His hopes,

his reason for living insisted upon it.

In the next two days he walked the deck and scanned the whole of the ship for some sign of Hanan

technology, and concluded that there was none. She was wooden from stem to stern, hand-hewn,

completely reliant on wind and oars for her propulsion.

The skills by which these men managed then- complex vessel intrigued him. Bel t'Osanef could explain

nothing, knowing only a handful of human words. But when Kta was on deck, Kurt questioned him

earnestly; when the nemet captain finally seemed to accept that his interest was unfeigned, he tried to

explain, often groping for words for objects long-vanished from human language. They developed

between them their own patois of Hanan-Nechai, Nechai being Kta's own language.

And Kta asked about human things, which Kurt could not always answer in terms Kta could understand.

Sometimes Kta looked puzzled at human science and sometimes shocked, until at last Kurt began to

perceive the disturbance his explanations caused. Then he decided he had explained enough. The nemet

was earthbound; he did not truly conceive of things extraterrestrial and it troubled his religion. Kurt

wanted least of all for the nemet to develop some apprehension of his origins.

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

A third day passed in such discussions, and at the dawn of the fourth Kta summoned Kurt to his side as he

stood on the deck. He had the look of a man with something definite on his mind. Kurt approached him

soberly and gave a little bow of deference.

"Kurt," said Kta, "between us is trust, yes?"

"Yes," Kurt agreed, and wondered uneasily where this was tending.

"Today we go into port. I don't want shame for you, bringing you with chains. But if I bring you in free, if

then if you do hurt to innocent people, then I have responsibility for this. What must I do, Kurt Morgan?"

"I didn't come here to hurt anyone. And what about your people? How will they treat me? Tell me that

before I agree to anything."

Kta opened his hands, a gesture of entreaty. "You think I lie to you these things?"

"How could I know? I know nothing but what you tell me. So tell me in plain words that I can trust you."

"I am of Elas," Kta said, frowning, as if that was accustomed to be word enough; but when Kurt

continued to stare at him: "Kurt, I swear this beneath the light of heaven, and this is a holy word. It is

truth."

"All right," said Kurt. "Then I will do what you tell me and I won't cause trouble. Only what is the place

where; we're going?"

"Nephane."

"Is that a city?"

Kta frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, it is a city, the city of the east. It rules from Tamur-mouth to the Yvorst

Ome, the sea of ice."

"Is there a city of the west?"

The frown deepened. "Yes," he said. "Indresul." Then he; turned and walked away, leaving Kurt to

wonder what he' had done to trouble the nemet.

By midday they were within sight of port. A long bar\ receded into the shoreline, and at the back of it was

a great upthrust of rock. At the base of this crag and on its

gently rising side were buildings and walls, hazy with distance, all the way to the crest.

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

"Bel-ifhan," Kurt hailed Kta's lieutenant, and the narrow-eyed officer stopped and bowed, although he

had been going elsewhere in apparent haste. "Bel-ifhan, taen Nephane?"

"Lus," Bel agreed and pointed to the promontory. "Taen Afen, sthages Methine."

Kurt looked at the crag Bel called Afen and did not understand.

"Methi," said Bel, and when he still did not understand, the young officer shrugged helplessly. "Ktas

unnehta," he said. "Ktas, uleh?"

He left. They were going in. Somewhere aft, Bel shouted an order and men ran to their stations to bring in

the sail, hauling it up to the yard. The long oars were run out and they dipped together, sweeping the ship

toward the now-visible dock at the foot of the cliffs, where a shoreside settlement nestled against the

walls.

"Kurt."

Kurt glanced from his view of the bay to the face of Kta, who had joined him at the bow.

"Bel says you have question."

"I'm sorry. I tried to talk to him. I didn't mean he should bother you. It wasn't that important."

The nemet turned one hand outward, a shrug. "Is no difficulty. Bel manages. I am not necessary. What

think you of Nephane?"

"Beautiful," Kurt said, and it was. "Those buildings at the top-Afen, Bel called it."

"Fortress. The Fortress of Nephane."

"A fortress against what enemy? Humans?"

Again a little crease of a frown appeared between Kta's wide-set eyes. "You surprise me. You are

not Tamurlin. Your ship destroyed, your friends dead, you say. But what want you among us?"

"I know nothing. I'm lost. I've trusted you. And if I can't trust your given word, then I don't know

anything."

"I don't lie, Kurt Morgan. But you try hard not to answer my question. Why do you come to us?"

A crowd was on the docks, gaily colored clothing a kaleidoscope in the sunlight. The oars rumbled

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A Science Fiction Book Club Selection

inboard as the ship glided in, making conversation impossible for the moment. Pan was poised near them

with the mooring cable, ready to cast it to the men at the dock.

"Why," asked Kurt, "do you think I should know my way in this world?"

"The others, they knew."

"The . . . others?"

"The new humans. The-"

Kta's voice trailed off, for Kurt backed from him. The nemet suddenly looked frightened, opened his

hands in appeal to him. "Kurt," he protested, "wait. No. We take-"

Kurt caught him by surprise, drove his fist to the nemet's jaw and vaulted the rail, even as the ship

shuddered against the dock.

He hit the water arid water went up his nose at the impact, and again when something hit him, the gliding

hull of the ship itself.

Then he made himself quit fighting and drifted, wrapped in the darkening green of the sea, a swift and

friendly dark. It was hard to move against the weight of the water. In another moment vision and sense

went out together.

He was strangling. He gasped for air and coughed over the water mingling with it in his throat. On a

second try he drew a breath and heaved it up again, along with the water in his stomach, twisting over on

his belly to the stones while his insides came apart. When he could breathe again, someone picked him up

and wiped his face, cradling his head off the stone.

He was lying on the dock, the center of a great crowd of nemet. Kta held him and implored him in words

he could not understand, while Bel and Val leaned over Kta's shoulder. Kta and both the other men were

dripping wet, and he knew they must have gone in after him.

"Kta," he tried to protest, but his raw throat gave out only a voiceless whisper.

"You could not swim," Kta accused him. "You almost die. You wish this? You try to kill yourself?"

"You lied," Kurt whispered, trying to shout.

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AScienceFictionBookClubSelectionAScienceFictionBookClubSelectionBROTHERSOFEARTHC.J.CherryhDAWBOOKS,INC.DONALDA.WOLLHEIM,PUBLISHER1301AvenueoftheAmericasNewYork,N.Y.10019Endymiondiedsoundlessly,aman-madestarthatglowedandquicklywinkedoutofexistence.KurtMorganwatchedheruntiltherewasnomorelefttosee,eye...

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