C. J. Cherryh - Cuckoo' s Egg

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

Cuckoo's Egg

C.J. Cherryh

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

CJ CHerryh - Cuckoo's Egg COVER

● Chapter I

● Chapter II

● Chapter III

● Chapter IV

● Chapter V

● Chapter VI

● Chapter VII

● Chapter VIII

● Chapter IX

● Chapter X

● Chapter XI

● Chapter XII

● Chapter XIII

● Chapter XIV

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

● Chapter XV

DAW Titles by CJ. CHERRYH

THE ALLIANCE-UNION UNIVERSE

The Company Wars

DOWNBELOW STATION

The Era of Rapprochement

SERPENT'S REACH

FORTY THOUSAND IN GEHENNA

MERCHANTER'S LUCK

The Chanur Novels

THE PRIDE OF CHANUR

CHANUR'S VENTURE

THE KIF STRIKE BACK

CHANUR'S HOMECOMING

CHANUR'S LEGACY

The Mri Wars

THE FADED SUN: KESRITH

THE FADED SUN: SHON'JIR

THE FADED SUN: KUTATH

Merovingen Nights (Mri Wars period)

ANGEL WITH THE SWORD

The Age of Exploration

CUCKOO'S EGG

VOYAGER IN NIGHT

PORT ETERNITY

The Hanan Rebellion

BROTHERS OF EARTH

HUNTER OF WORLDS

The Morgaine Cycle

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

GATE OF IVREL (#1)

WELL OF SHIUAN (#2)

FIRES OF AZEROTH (#3)

EXILE'S GATE (#4)

CUCKOO'S EGG

C.J. CHERRYH

DAW BOOKS, INC.

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM. FOUNDER

Hudson Street. New York. NY

ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEJM

SHEILA E. GILBERT

PUBLISHERS

Cover art by Michael Whelan.

For color prints of Michael Whelan paintings, please contact: Glass Onion Graphics, P.O. Box 88 Brookfield, CT

DAW Book Collectors No. 646.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold

and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

First DAW Printing, October 1985

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES -MARCA REGISTRADA HECHO

EN U.S.A.

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

He sat in a room, the sand of which was synthetic and shining with opal tints, fine and light beneath his bare feet. The

windows held no city view, but a continuously rotating panorama of the Khogghut plain: a lie. Traffic noise came through.

His name was Duun. It was Dana Duun Shtoni no Lughn. But Duun was enough for day-today. They called him other things.

Sey:general. Mingi: lord. Or something very like. Hatani: that was another thing. But Duun was enough now. There was only

one. Shonunin the world over knew that, and knew him; and when the door chimed and they came to bring the alien to him,

those who carried it would not look him in the eyes, not alone for the scars that a shonun could see, the pale smooth marks

traced through the fur of half his face like the limbs of a lightning-blasted tree, the marks that twisted his right ear and left his

mouth quirked in permanent irony and one eye staring out of ruin.

He was Duun, of Shanoen. He reached out hands one of which was marred, like his face, and took the closed carrier that they

gave him, marking how their ears slanted back and how they turned their heads from his for horror- not of what they saw: they

were meds, and had seen deformity. It was the force in him: like a great wind, like a great heat in their faces.

But his hands were gentle when he took the carrier from them.

They went away, appalled and forgetting courtesies.

He waved the door shut and set the carrier on the table-rise, opened it and gathered the small bundled thing from it.

Shonunin were naked when they were born, but downed in silver that quickly went to dapples and last of all to gray body coat

and black on limbs and ears and crest. Duun held the creature on its discarded wrapping, on his knees; and its downless skin

was naked and pink as something lately skinned, except for a thatch of nondescript hair atop its skull. It waved soft limbs in

helpless twitches. Its eyes were shut, in a face flat and not unlike a shonun; between its legs an outsized organ of curious form

and various (they said) function. Its mouth worked restlessly, distorting the small face. And Duun touched it with the sensitive

pads of his fingers, with the four fingers of his left hand and the two of his maimed right, exploring the hot, smooth feel of the

bandage-patched belly, the chest, the limbs. With the merest tip of a claw he drew down its soft lip to inspect its mouth-

nothing but toothless gums, for it was mammalian. With the claw he lifted the lid of a sleeping eye; he saw it white and milky,

centered with blue, restless in natural shiftings. He touched the convolutions of the stiff, small ears; explored the visible organ

and discovered reaction: so it was sensitive. That was of interest. He examined the fat, clawless feet, all one pad as far as the

toes. Unfurled a five-fingered hand with the careful touch of a single clawed finger, and the tiny fist clenched again,

stubbornly. It waved its limbs. Fluid shot from the organ and fouled Duun's clothes.

Any shonun would have flinched seeing that. But Duun gathered up the wrap about the infant and mopped at himself

patiently, with infinite patience. So. Likewise shonun infants performed such obscenities, if more discreetly. It let out cries,

soft and weak and meaningless as all infant cries. It struggled with less strength than his own infants had shown.

He knew what it would be, grown. He knew its face. He knew every aspect of its body. He gathered it against his breast in the

stinking blanket and rose, went to the package they had brought him that morning and left on the riser by the bed. He held the

softly crying creature in the crook of his left arm. for he was still more able with the right hand, two-fingered as it was. He

managed to open the case and to warm the milk-not milk of shonunin; by synthesis the meds provided, of their own ingenuity.

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

There was data, which had come days ago; he had memorized it. The creature wailed; so shonunin wailed, exercising infant

lungs. And it breathed the air shonunin breathed: and perhaps its gut would take the meat shonunin ate one day. The meds

thought that this was the case. The teeth that would grow would, some of them, be pointed like the major teeth of a shonun.

"Hush, hush," he told it, joggling it against his chest. He drew the warmed bottle from the case and thrust the nipple into the

soft mouth that quested among the blankets. It suckled noisily and quieted, and he crossed the sand to the riser he had left, sat

down cross-legged, rocking it, whispering to it.

"Be still, be still."

Its eyes closed in contentment; it slept again, fed and held. It could not, like a shonun, be taken for granted. He was delicate

with it. He laid it finally in the bowl of his own bed and sat beside it, watching its small movements, the regular heaving of its

tiny round belly; and when the view in the windows changed and became the nightbound sea, he still watched.

He would not soon tire of watching. He did not bathe. He was fastidious, but he inhaled the smell of it and the soiled blanket,

the smells of its food and its person, and did not flinch, having schooled himself against disgust.

They were dismayed when they came, the meds-to deal with him, to examine the infant and to take it back to the facility down

the hall to weigh it and monitor its condition. He stalked after them as they carried it in its closed case; he offended their

nostrils with his stink.

And never once in all this dealing would they meet his eyes, preferring even the face of the alien to the chance of looking up

into the stark cold stare he gave to them and all their business.

They weighed the infant, they listened to its breathing and its heart, they asked quietly (never glancing quite at him) whether

there had been difficulty.

"Duun-hatani, you might rest," the chief of medicine said the second day that they came for the infant. "This is all routine.

There's no need. You might take the chance to-"

"No," Duun said.

"There-"

"No."

There was uncomfortable silence. For days Duun had looked at them without answer; now the chief cast a searching, worried

glance full into his eyes, and immediately afterward found something else to occupy herself.

Duun smiled for the first time in those days, and it was a smile to match the stare.

"You dismay them, Duun," the division chief said.

Duun walked away from the desk on which Ellud sat, gazed at the false windows, which showed snowfall. Ice formed on the

branches of a tree above a hot spring. The sun danced in jeweled branches and the steam rose and curled. Duun looked back

again, the thumb of his maimed hand hooked behind him to that of the whole one, and discovered another man who preferred

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

to study something just a little behind his shoulder. The false sunlight, it might be. Anything would have served. "It's in very

good health," Duun said.

"Duun, the staff-"

"The staff does its job." Never once had the eyes focused on him, quite. Duun drew a deep breath. "I want Sheon."

"Duun-"

"Sheon belongs to Duun, doesn't it? I tell you that it does."

"Security at Sheon-"

"I stink. I smell. Notice it, Ellud?"

Long pause. "The estate-

"You offered me anything. Wasn't that what you said? Any cooperation? Would any shonun in the world prevent me anything-

if I want a woman; if I want a man; if I want money or your next of kin, Ellud-if I want the president turned out naked and the

treasury to walk in-

"You're hatani. You wouldn't."

Duun looked again at the false spring bubbling up in its wintry vapors. "Gods! but you do trust me."

"You're hatani."

He looked back with the first clear-eyed stare he had used in years. But not even that could hold Ellud's gaze to his. "I'm

begging you, Ellud. Do I have to beg? Give me Sheon."

"Settlers have moved there. Their title's valid by now."

"Move them out. I want the house. The hills. Privacy. Come on, Ellud… you want me to camp in your office?

Ellud did not. They had been friends. Once.

Now Duun saw the guarded lowering of the ears. Like shame. Like a man taking a chance he wanted. Badly. At any cost.

"You'll get it," Ellud said. Never looking at him. Ellud's claws extended slightly, raked papers aside as he looked distractedly

at the desk about him. "I'll do something. I'll see to it."

"Thanks."

That got the eyes up. A wounded look. Appalled like the rest. The agony of friendship.

Of wounded loyalties.

"Give it up," Ellud asked, against self-interest; against all interests. The loyalty jolted, belated as it was.

"No." For a moment then, eye to eye, no flinching from either side. He remembered Ellud under fire. A calm, cool man. But

the gaze finally shifted and something broke.

The last thing.

Duun walked out, freer, because there was nothing left. Not even Ellud. Just pain. And he wrapped that solitude about him,

finding it appropriate.

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

He came to Sheon's hills in the morning, in a true morning with the sun coming up rose and gold over the ridge; and the wind

that blew at him on this grassy flat was the wind of his childhood, whipping at his cloak, at the gray cloak of the hatani, which

he wrapped about him and the infant. Ellud's aide showed distress, there on the dusty road that led toward the hills, in the

momentary stillness of the craft which had brought them there, over in the meadow. The aide's ears lay flat in the wind, which

blew his neatly trimmed crest and disarranged the careful folds of his kilt. The wind was cold for a citydweller, for a softhands

like him. "It's all right," Duun said. "I told you. There's no way up but this. You don't have to wait here."

The aide turned his face slightly toward the countryfolk who gathered out of the range of hearing, who gathered in knots,

families together, uncaring of the cold. The aide looked back again, walked toward the gathered crowd waving his arms. "Go

away, go away, the mingi has no need of you. Fools," he said then, turning back, for they gave only a little ground. He

stooped and gathered up from the roadside the little baggage there was, slung the sack from his shoulder. His ears still lay

back in distress. "Hatani, I will walk up with you myself."

It was a wonder. The aide met his eyes with staunch frankness. Ellud chose such young folk, still knowing the best, the most

honest. Duun felt for a moment as if the sun had shone on him full; or perhaps it was the smell of true wind, with the grass-

scent and the cleanness.

He felt a motion of his heart toward this young man and it ached.

But he grinned, old soldier that he was, and glanced at the uphill road, for this time he was the one to flinch, from the youth's

innocence and worship. "Give me the sack," he said, and stripped the carry-strap from the young man's shoulder and took it to

his own, his right. The infant occupied his left arm, warm and moving there, nuzzling wormlike among its swaddlings beneath

his cloak.

"But, hatani-"

"You're not going. I don't need you."

He walked away.

"Hatani-"

He did not look back. Did not look at the mountainfolk who lined the road near the copter. Some of them were the displaced,

he was sure. Some of them had held Sheon, having gotten it since he was renunciate. Now they were abruptly dispossessed.

He felt their eyes, heard their whispers, nothing definite.

"Hatani," he heard. And: "Alien." Whisper they need not. He felt their eyes trying to penetrate his cloak. They came to

wonder what he was as much as they wondered about what he brought. "Hatani." There was respect in that. "What happened

to his face?" a child asked.

"Hush," an adult said. And there was a sudden, embarrassed hush. It was a child. It had not learned what scars were. It was

only honesty.

Duun did not look at them. Did not care. He was hatani, renunciate. His weapons were at his side beneath the cloak. He asked

one thing of the world. These hills. This place.

A little peace.

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C.J. Cherryh - Cuckoo's Egg

That a hatani dispossessed them- The countryfolk living at Sheon had surely thought their title secure. The land was fallow;

the house vacant; ten years renunciate and it was theirs by law.

But it was what he had told Ellud: there was nothing he could not ask and obtain, nothing in all the world

He felt their eyes. Perhaps they expected him to speak. Perhaps they expected him to care, to offer words to reassure them.

But he only walked past them up the road, the dusty road to the heights and the house made of native stone, deep within the

hills.

He heard the copter lift. It beat away with small thumps like heartbeats echoing off the mountainside. It had come and gone

often here yestereve and three days before, with other craft, seeing to provisions, to special equipment, to all such things as

satisfied Ellud and Ellud's ilk.

Nuisance, all of it.

* * * *

He prepared himself. He knew that Sheon would have changed. He gathered up his resolve in this as in other things. He

needed virtue. He sought it in abnegation. He sought it in lack of caring, when he came, in full noon, to the mountain heights,

and discovered the things countryfolk had done to Sheon, which he expected: a sprawl of new rubble-stone building, which

destroyed the beauty Sheon had once been, a creation of smooth artistry indistinguishable from the living rock of the

mountain wall that flanked it. The house sprawled now, artless and utilitarian, the yard about it cleared and dusty. He was not

dismayed.

Only when he came inside and discovered what Ellud and his crews had done-that, that afflicted him. Instead of the country

untidiness he had expected (different from the time of his childhood, of stones carefully polished, of spacious halls and a sand-

garden where the wind made patterns), the government had worked sterility, lacquered the stone walls, sanded the floors in

white, not red, installed a new kitchen, new furnishings, all at great expense; and the smell of it was new and pungent with

fixatives and paint and new-baked sand.

He stood there, in this clean, sterile, unremembered place, with its abundant stores, its furniture new from the city-

For the infant. Of course, for the infant.

The meds feared for its health. They wanted sanitation.

And destroyed-destroyed-

He stood there a long, long time, in pain. The infant squirmed and began to cry. And he was very careful with it in his anger,

as careful as he had ever been. He searched the cabinets for new cloths; found the cradle prepared-

The infant soiled itself. He knew the cry, smelled the stink, which had surrounded him, stronger than the lacquer and dry-dust

smell of sand.

He laid it down on the sand; he put off his cloak and laid his weapons down on a riser near the fireplace. He listened to it

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