THE UNIT SEPARATED INTO four minds. Justice, her brothers, Levi and Thomas, and their friend Dorian Jefferson became their individual selves. Justice was the Watcher and the balance for the unit’s strength. Brother Thomas was the magician who could cloud minds with marvelous and terrible illusions. And he longed to have Justice’s gift of greatest power. Levi was the caring, kind brother. He was not physically strong and had only a limited gift of telepathy. Their pal Dorian was known as healer among them.
It was a half-hour before the four allowed themselves visibility before Duster and his packen.
Thomas was shivering; he tried to shake off the effect of such awesome singing. The vocalizing of Duster and his tribe had touched them all deeply. They were moved by the bravery of these children in the face of unseen power.
It had stunned Justice the way they communicated through vocalizing. And they lived without grown-ups, with the bare minimum for survival.
Using telepathy, she traced to her brothers and Dorian, Think of the grown-ups, the grims! Off somewhere by themselves, I guess. We could find out more from Duster’s thoughts.
She was eager to see grown-ups. All at once she thought about her folks and felt the pain of longing.
No, I won’t go home yet. Not now.
Justice wore a hooded robe, socks and sandals. The boys were dressed similarly in hooded tunics and comfortable trousers. Absently she touched her arms and feet, the clothing. They felt just as real in Dustland as they did at home in the present. She sighed, forcing her mind away from what was and was not possible here in the future.
They’re no bigger than eleven-year-olds! Thomas traced, about the packen.
You’d be that little, too, if you had to starve all your life, Dorian traced back.
Well, you saw ’em bring down those animals. Mostly small beasties, Thomas traced, but still food. And they ate it raw!
But how often do you think they find so much food? Justice traced. Not every day, I bet. Maybe only once a month.
Nobody can live eating just once a month, Levi traced.
They might learn to, Justice answered. They lived without water, with only the liquid from animals they killed, before we made the water pool for them.
Are they all really eleven-year-olds? Dorian interrupted.
They’re fifteen, Justice traced. I read that from Duster’s mind. They’re all approximately the same age.
They’d have to be the same age, wouldn’t they? Levi traced. He was staring at the packen with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion.
Huh? Thomas was the last to see. There was quiet in which they waited for him; they had already seen. A long moment, then Thomas seemed to gather himself in.
It can’t be! he traced. I don’t believe it!
Well, believe it, it’s true, Justice traced. The packen youngens are duplicates of either Duster, Siv or Glass.
They were exact replicas. Thomas could see that when he looked beyond the dust and dirt covering them. There were four Dusters, four Sivs and four Glasses seated in the group. Counting the Duster, Siv and Glass who were standing, there were five of each kind, one of each kind of duplicate in every trip.
I don’t believe it, Thomas traced again, like a whisper.
We’d better show ourselves, Justice traced back.
Wait, he traced. What are they? Somebody knows how to make people just alike here?
I don’t think so. Not here in Dustland, she traced.
Then there is an outside!
We knew there had to be, else why would the Slaker beings try to find an end to Dustland? Levi traced.
When I saw them Slakers with their wings and three legs, I said this place had to be a zoo!
And I said it was a prison, Justice traced.
Thomas nodded. I think you’re right. But who put the Slakers and Duster and them here? What have they done?
We’ll have to find that out, she traced. Come, we’d better get on with it.
Gradually the four became visible. They were at first separate columns of shade. The columns took on form, shape and color. With coloration came depth and dimension. They became solid, real.
A shudder rippled over the packen. Youngens uttered tones of alarm. Sharp and quick were the soundings. What had been three circles of leaders, leggens and smooth-keeps was now a tight clump of frightened children. They huddled close, touching hands for comfort.
At the sight of the four with power, Glass faltered, stumbling into Duster’s back. Siv nearly jumped out of his skin. Unashamedly they held Duster’s hands tightly.
Glass toned to Duster in a thin, little voice: “Who be them things?”
She had broken Duster’s command for quiet. He forgave her this time, so overwhelming was the moment. He toned excitedly, “Glass, be waiting for leader to settle it.”
“But who be them shadow things, Leader?” she toned.
“They be tight with us, Glass, I be sure of it,” he toned.
Justice smiled at them. “Be tight with you, O Duster,” she sang out in her best voice, startling the packen and Duster and his trip.
Justice’s voice had always been musical. With a little effort, she had come close enough to the right toning to make herself understood.
Carefully Duster came forward to stand before her. “We be tight, then,” he toned, in a fine tremolo of hauteur signifying his leadership. He hand-signaled his trip to be at ease. Siv and Glass had taken a fighting stance—legs apart, arms swinging free—but they came forward now behind their leader.
Duster placed his hands on Justice’s shoulders. He would have lowered his head on his right hand, had she not been nearly as tall as he. To each of the boys also he made this gesture of tightening.
“Be tight, you,” he toned with a fine feeling of caring. “Be tight, me.”
Glass and Siv touched each boy’s chest with their heads. It was as high as their heads reached and their way of taking part in tightening. Despite an extreme effort of self-control, they cringed at contact with such odd-smelling, tall beings.
The packen duplicates hugged one another.
Dorian and Thomas giggled at the packen’s queer behavior. The youngens took part in the tightening by connecting with themselves!
“These be in my dream,” Duster toned, explaining the appearance of the four to his trip and packen.
Siv nodded. Glass looked confused.
“We came here through Duster’s dream,” Justice half-spoke, half-sang in her clearest voice. “We come from far to join you, if you will let us.”
“You be trip—one, two, three and one?” toned Glass. “How be two the same?”—motioning toward the identical twins, Thomas and Levi. And staring at Justice and Dorian, she toned, “You, one-two, be something else.”
“I see what you mean.” Justice spoke this time.
“Well, I don’t,” Thomas muttered. He did not stutter as he did at home. He never stuttered when they were in Dustland or when tracing through telepathy.
The packen set up a furious chattering beneath their breath whenever one of the four spoke. It was beginning to annoy Thomas. Shut up, you clowns! he traced.
“Glass means that there are two of us, not five that look alike,” Justice was explaining. “And if we were a trip, none of us would look alike. But we have one too many for a trip, and just two who look alike.”
“So?” Thomas said.
“Well, she finds it curious, that’s all,” Justice said. “Weird, I guess, for her to see Dorian and me with no more like us.”
All at once Glass kicked dust in Justice’s face, catching Thomas in the face also. She moved so swiftly, they could not shield themselves.
“Why, you—” Thomas sputtered.
“Cold on you two!” Dorian shouted, laughing. “Ooh, cold on you guys!”
Glass was a little thing, but lithe and strong. She looked just like a fifteen-year-old girl in miniature. Such a little one, bravely kicking dust in the face of power! That was what Dorian found so funny.
Without warning, Duster swung on Glass. The blow wasn’t vicious. It was hard, purposeful. It knocked her unconscious to the ground.
“Don’t!” Levi grabbed Duster’s arm.
Duster pulled loose. “Be touching leader, wrong!” His eyes glinted like sunlight on ice. He sang fortissimo in an ominous minor tone.
“Look! Look!” Dorian pointed at the packen. Every trip leader had swung on every smooth-keep, knocking them out cold.
“Oh, wow!” said Levi, turning away.
“You want to join up with these clowns?” Thomas asked Justice.
Justice didn’t answer. There was silence in which the Watcher rose in a glow in her eyes. Power rising. All understood words she implanted in each of them.
O Duster, this is no way to begin. Tell me my mistakes.
Through her, Duster’s thoughts were revealed to all.
Duster explained: Glass be saying why you a trip, one, two, three and one. You be singing back nothing. She be fighting over that. And leader be not letting a smooth-keep fight any tightening.
It was my fault, Justice traced.
Fault? Duster thought.
No, nothing. Why did you strike Glass? Justice traced.
Glass be not on her own, fighting. Glass be doing what the leader commands.
Oh, I see. So are we still a tightening?
Be still one.
You can call me Justice, she traced.
Justice, thought Duster.
And call him Thomas, and him Levi, and the last one you can call Dorian.
Thomas … Levi, Duster thought. Dorian.
Good! That’s it, traced Justice. Those are our names. We know your names, too. You’re Duster. And that’s Siv and over there is Glass.
Glass was coming to. At the sound of her name, she got up carefully and took her place at Duster’s left side. In the packen, also, smooth-keeps were up and in their circle.
Calm settled over trip and packen. Glass and Duster toned quietly to one another. A thoughtful Siv took in every shade of meaning.
“She be a strong thing,” Glass toned to Duster. “Be not easy, fighting.”
“You be not fighting. She be a leader,” he toned.
“Leader be better that one.” She gazed at Thomas.
“Be more than one leader?” toned Siv, with a trill of apology for intruding. “She be leader and Thomas one be leader?”
“And three be smooth-keep and one be leggens?” Glass sang out.
“That be it,” softly Duster toned. “One, two, three, one.”
Smiling at them, Justice spoke in calm tones. “We are like a trip, but being one, two, three and one, we are called a unit. We can be separate the way Duster is separate from Siv and from Glass. You are a trip. We are a unit. We care to join the packen. Join like a trip, but as a unit. Maybe sometime another one with us. Another one is called Miacis. An animal, Miacis. Having four legs.”
A clamoring arose in the packen. Glass took her fighting stance. Siv was loose, one foot before the other, ready to run an evasive action on command. Duster was poised in silence, ready to do in an instant what must be done.
“My mistake, to talk of this golden animal, Miacis,” Justice said in a soothing voice. “We wish to travel with you, O Duster, we of the unit. We can be our own trip with you and the packen.”
It interested Duster, these tones and levels of pitch the wim out of his dream could tone. And it amused him how terrible her voice could be when it slipped off key. The voice had few pitches that did not, at one time or another, grate on his thinking. Yet he understood her. And now he was silent, wondering about these strange ones who had come from far, yet had walked in from his dreaming.
An animal, she had said. A beast, part of her unit.
Duster thought and thought. Recalled a golden thing in his dreaming, streaking across the land. She had said a golden animal. Whatever kind was the golden animal from his dreaming, it was not a kind for the leggens to bring down on a run. That kind, golden, filled Duster with caring for it. Dreaming, he heard it bark what sounded like words from the distance.
“Who be you four humans?” Duster toned. His voice was strong in its leader’s mode.
“We are friends from far past,” Justice said.
“Friends? Be what, friends? I know no past,” toned Duster.
“Friends are those who support you, come to travel with you,” Justice said. “The far past is our time frame. We come from past—was—to this that is your now.”
“Friends, nothing,” coldly Duster toned. “Was, nothing.”
He tested the atmosphere of the four. It did not give off a bad feeling, but he must make certain.
“You be some kind of Mal, then?” Duster toned.
The four looked startled. They stared long and hard at one another, but made no sound that Duster could hear. He laughed inwardly, for these had shown that they need not make sound. They could plant thinking within one another, anyone.
“You be using mindsong,” he toned at them, proud that he’d found a way to describe their private thinking.
They were startled again, and this made Duster laugh.
“That’s a good way to put it,” Justice said. “You know of the Mal by name,” she said carefully. “Mal is a friend that supports you?”
“I know the Mal,” Duster toned easily.
“The Mal came to our time frame,” she said.
“It be bringing you here?” Duster toned in a voice like flint.
“Mal tried to keep us from coming,” Justice said. “It would fight us to keep us away from here. We came anyway. We want to find a way for Slaker beings to get out of here. They want so much to go.”
Duster held himself still, alert inside. He searched their faces, then turned to his packen and Siv and Glass. He must not make a mistake now. And it was some time before he made a move. A long kind of time, facing the four, while in his mind he sorted out what was known. He had helped the four hide in his dream. Was it Mal they hid from? Probably it was they who had kept the Mal from discovering his learning mind. As far as Duster could understand, the four had done no harm.
He raised his fist above his head; he let his arm fall, pointing to the ground, and began a plainsong.
“Be going, getting out of this place,” he toned. “Getting away, knowing which way, oh, long before anyone. Oh, very small Duster being. So few of my years; never this fifteen of my years. More like eight or nine, tough Duster. Here be me and other youngens one Graylight and not knowing where be me or them the Graylight before. So many Graylights trying to know and running with youngens.”
“O Duster. O Leader!” intoned the packen.
“Be running every which way,” sang Duster.
“Be running one which way, come be feeling so bad. Getting me deep. Knowing be the way out and be wanting to go out, eagerly. And be running that way, me and some youngens. Sickness coming fast. So sickening, make us be backing our tracks. Be falling down. Be lying down, so sick. Never get me up.
“And the Mal be come, singing to me. Duster will not run away?
“Be telling Mal, ‘Only try, why not be trying?’ ”
“And the Mal making me so sick, saying Duster will never run away?
“Be singing to the Mal, if It be leaving sickness outta me, never me be run away again.
“Mal saying, ‘Then you lead youngens from sickness. All ways lead them back. No run away.’ ”
“O Duster! O Leader!” intoned the packen.
“Poor youngens,” sang Siv and Glass.
“Grims finding us,” Duster toned simply. “Olders be helping youngens. Then be throwing us away when we be a few more of our years.”
Duster’s song came to an end. Now he knelt on one knee, with the other beneath his chin and his arms wrapped around it. He stared vacantly before him. Siv and Glass stretched out on their stomachs on either side of him. They made piles of dust and thrust their hands into them. The three of them watched Justice and her brothers and Dorian Jefferson.
Their at-ease postures meant that they would trust the four completely, Justice realized. Silently she regarded them when Dorian began tracing.
So that’s how they got here, he traced.
How? Thomas traced back. All we know is that one day Duster found himself here with some others, with no memory of where they’d been before. The Mal said they had to stay. So they formed a tribe. A pack.
Are they made to stay here because they’re duplicates? Dorian traced.
Who knows? traced Thomas. Duster doesn’t even seem surprised that the others look just like him. Maybe it’s like when I look at Levi. It’s like looking at myself.
Then, in a quiet, respectful tone, Justice asked Duster, “When will Mal come again?”
“When Mal comes,” Duster replied.
“Mal must not know we are with Duster’s packen,” she said. She had divined that Duster would permit them to travel with his tribe. “We will hide Levi, Thomas and Dorian in a trip,” she said. “I will not be seen by you or anyone, but I will be with you.”
All of this Justice enveloped in a mist of daydreams, in case the Mal had some way of staying in contact with Duster’s mind.
Sleepily Duster followed the daydreams. Siv and Glass had the daydreams and did not wonder about them; they accepted them, knew them.
A while after, Duster got to his feet. He stretched this way and that, getting the stiffness out, for he’d knelt on one knee for some time. He pulled himself up straight in his leader’s pose. “Be making our way. Water now,” he toned.
The leggens and smooth-keep got up, ready and waiting. The packen responded, forming into trips—leader, leggens, smooth-keep. In seconds all were in position. Duster waited for the unit to arrange itself.
The three boys took up positions at the center of the packen. They slouched as low as was comfortable.
“I don’t think the Mal checks Duster’s packen every day,” Justice said, “but to be safe, stay low.”
“We could become invisible again,” Levi said.
“That would upset the packen worse than seeing you with them,” she said. “They might feel something close to them and get frightened. Then Mal would know something for sure. Stay low. I’ll ride with one of you.”
Before disappearing from sight, Justice suggested to Duster and the others that she was there with them. She mind-traced to them that they need not worry about her again.
The boys didn’t know which of them had Justice with him. And not knowing, they could keep their thoughts as simple as those of the youngens.
She made herself as small as a germ. Microscopic through the power of her will, she rode in a dust particle under the hood of Levi’s tunic.
Her mind raced with the wonder of Duster, his tribe and trip. They shouldn’t be in this place, she thought. If there’s a way out, I’ll find it. Is my purpose here to save them? I’m sensing there’s more to it, but maybe that’s the first step.