The Witling Read Online Free PDF Page B

And they witlings? How could they be dangerous? Did they harm Ngatheru’s troops?”
    “No, Your Highness,” admitted Moragha, the barest hint of sullenness creeping into his voice. “In fact, if they had attempted any attack on the troops, they almost certainly would be dead now. But sir, it is not their persons that are so dangerous. Baron-General Ngatheru is convinced that they can explain the monster fragments that were left after the battle.”
    “Fine. I will take whatever of those fragments you have. Don’t interrupt. If my cousin Ngatheru is still upset with the situation, let him take it up with me or my father,” he said, praying that Ngatheru would decide to let the matter drop. After all, the baron-general was five tiers below Pelio as formal nobility was counted.
    “Yes, Your Highness.” The prefect came briefly to attention as he capitulated.
    Pelio took a last look into the dryad’s dark, mysterious eyes, then turned to slip into the transit pool. She is the most beautiful creature …
    … And, like me, a witling.

Four
    M e? Play up to that flat-noised, gray-faced savage? I’d rather die.” Yoninne Leg-Wot crossed her thick, muscular arms and glared at Bjault.
    Ajão leaned toward the irate pilot as far as the leather restraints would permit. “Look, Yoninne, I’m not asking you to, to do anything immoral. I’m just saying that this fellow likes you—and he’s obviously very powerful. If his title,” and here he pronounced an Azhiri phrase, “means what I think, then he is the number-one or number-two man in their state, even as young as he seems. We need his goodwill.”
    For a long moment Leg-Wot scowled down at the boat’s polished deck. Bjault suddenly wondered if she were really so disgusted at the thought of getting friendly with the young Azhiri, or if she were just so twisted by past romantic failures that she couldn’t even playact anymore.
    It wasn’t until this Pelio had talked to them that Ajão realized how much Leg-Wot looked like an Azhiri. She was a little tall, perhaps, but she had the build and the hardness—if not the coloring—of the aliens. Of course there were many differences: the Azhiri bone and cartilage structure was vastly different. Their features looked as though they had been pressed from soft clay, then smoothed until nose, chin, brow, and ears were all rounded and indistinct. Pelio was either very spoiled or very lonely to take to someone who must look as exotically strange as Leg-Wot.
    But this was exactly the sort of good fortune they needed now. Less than an hour after Pelio left the dungeon, Bjault and Leg-Wot had been teleported (what other word could he use?) to a clean, comfortable cell, where they were treated to warm baths and a meal. The next morning, they had been led to a small lake—to board the strange round boat that floated there. Now Bjault guessed the solution to several of the mysteries that had confronted them before their capture. And if Pelio were really taking them elsewhere—as he had said in the dungeon—then that guess would be put to the test in just a few minutes.
    Finally the woman answered him. “I don’t see that it really matters, Bjault. You say that sucking up to this fellow is the only chance we have for survival. I say that it’s just the difference between dying slow and dying fast. You yourself told me the local plants are tainted with heavy metals. I suppose we can still eat them, but we’ll eventually be poisoned—no matter how chummy I get with this big shot. Our only hope is for rescue, but the suit radios are so damn weak, and this planet’s ionosphere is so active, that any signal we send would get smeared unrecognizable. And even if Novamerika knew we were alive, it would be a stupid gamble for them to risk another ferry trying to pull us out of here.” She lay back limply. Her old spirit seemed completely quenched.
    It’s almost as though she’s making excuses , thought Bjault, as if she’d rather