such remorse he asked a Bon shaman to
change him and his people into antelopes, so that they could do something to
repair the damage. That is the legend. Actually, they availed themselves of
pirated retrogenetics—even then, the nomads had the best of the contraband
technology—and they fit themselves into the empty niche. They are browsers
now, except when they’re running. They metabolize forms of cellulose which are
not much in demand by other humans. Of course, they didn’t give up their guns
or their intelligence. They have few predators, though I have heard the Chinese
soldiers sometimes hunt them for sport.”
“Infrequently,”
said Dhondub. “For the most part they run free, unwatched because their
presence is so common. We use them to carry illegal supplies and suchlike. Sometimes
we even run with them, in regions where the presence of vehicles would draw too
much attention.”
His eyes
seemed to glint in the dark. Marianne saw that he was grinning.
He looked
down into the gully and called up his company, then scrambled onto the level
ground. Marianne followed, then gave a hand to Dr. Norbu. Jetsun Dorje came
along with the others of Dhondub’s party.
“You may
have wondered how far we expected to get, traveling with no supplies,” Dhondub
said to Marianne.
“I thought
we were meeting a larger contingent,” she said.
“Indeed we
are. But they are many miles from here. Farther than we can walk before
sunrise.”
“Then how . . . ?”
“Farther
than we can walk .”
She looked
toward the herd, hearing their feet and the storm of their breathing. Fear overwhelmed
her. She could no longer see them, but she imagined the huge and mindless
stampede bearing down on her, human intellect obliterated by instinct, blind
hungers, animal passion. It was like a nightmare. She couldn’t understand why
the few of them were standing patiently on the edge of this gulch, waiting for
that wave to crash over them. She looked to Reting for confirmation of her own
fears, but he was standing poised and expectant, staring at the night with half
a smile on his face.
It was all she
could do to keep from throwing herself backward to shelter.
Dhondub drew
his flashlight, switched it on, and set it by his feet—shining toward the herd.
“Take this,”
he told her, holding out what appeared to be a wristwatch without a dial. “We
call these lung-goms.”
She held out
her hand. He strapped the band onto her forearm, setting the small lozenge
against the inside of her wrist. She felt a slight pricking of the flesh.
Raising her arm, she saw nothing but a small button on the face of the tiny
panel.
“Lung-gom,”
she repeated. “I thought that was a trance the lamas used when they wished to
cover great distances on foot.”
“This is an
artificial lung-gom,” Dhondub said. “This way, you don’t have to be a lama.”
She noticed
that Dr. Norbu and many of the others were already wearing lung-goms. Jetsun
Dorje, however, took a moment to inspect his before strapping it on. He smiled
when he saw her watching.
“I always
wanted to try one of these things,” he said.
“When I say
the word, press your button,” Dhondub told her. “Are you ready?”
She looked
out into the night. Dhondub’s flashlight faintly picked out the gleaming eyes
of the niche-runners.
“No,” she
whispered.
“Now,” he
said.
The herd
came straight toward them, converging on the light. At the last instant,
Dhondub snatched up the torch and slipped it into his belt, switching it
off—but not before Marianne had seen the wild faces of the runners. They were
dressed in ragged cloth, some decked in antlers, their faces streaked with dye,
their mouths wide and flecked with foam. They looked human only because they
ran on two feet, and because some of them carried weapons.
Dhondub
grabbed her wrist and squeezed, triggering the lung-gom.
She gasped,
stumbling back toward the ravine. The edge of the gully crumbled underfoot.
She
change him and his people into antelopes, so that they could do something to
repair the damage. That is the legend. Actually, they availed themselves of
pirated retrogenetics—even then, the nomads had the best of the contraband
technology—and they fit themselves into the empty niche. They are browsers
now, except when they’re running. They metabolize forms of cellulose which are
not much in demand by other humans. Of course, they didn’t give up their guns
or their intelligence. They have few predators, though I have heard the Chinese
soldiers sometimes hunt them for sport.”
“Infrequently,”
said Dhondub. “For the most part they run free, unwatched because their
presence is so common. We use them to carry illegal supplies and suchlike. Sometimes
we even run with them, in regions where the presence of vehicles would draw too
much attention.”
His eyes
seemed to glint in the dark. Marianne saw that he was grinning.
He looked
down into the gully and called up his company, then scrambled onto the level
ground. Marianne followed, then gave a hand to Dr. Norbu. Jetsun Dorje came
along with the others of Dhondub’s party.
“You may
have wondered how far we expected to get, traveling with no supplies,” Dhondub
said to Marianne.
“I thought
we were meeting a larger contingent,” she said.
“Indeed we
are. But they are many miles from here. Farther than we can walk before
sunrise.”
“Then how . . . ?”
“Farther
than we can walk .”
She looked
toward the herd, hearing their feet and the storm of their breathing. Fear overwhelmed
her. She could no longer see them, but she imagined the huge and mindless
stampede bearing down on her, human intellect obliterated by instinct, blind
hungers, animal passion. It was like a nightmare. She couldn’t understand why
the few of them were standing patiently on the edge of this gulch, waiting for
that wave to crash over them. She looked to Reting for confirmation of her own
fears, but he was standing poised and expectant, staring at the night with half
a smile on his face.
It was all she
could do to keep from throwing herself backward to shelter.
Dhondub drew
his flashlight, switched it on, and set it by his feet—shining toward the herd.
“Take this,”
he told her, holding out what appeared to be a wristwatch without a dial. “We
call these lung-goms.”
She held out
her hand. He strapped the band onto her forearm, setting the small lozenge
against the inside of her wrist. She felt a slight pricking of the flesh.
Raising her arm, she saw nothing but a small button on the face of the tiny
panel.
“Lung-gom,”
she repeated. “I thought that was a trance the lamas used when they wished to
cover great distances on foot.”
“This is an
artificial lung-gom,” Dhondub said. “This way, you don’t have to be a lama.”
She noticed
that Dr. Norbu and many of the others were already wearing lung-goms. Jetsun
Dorje, however, took a moment to inspect his before strapping it on. He smiled
when he saw her watching.
“I always
wanted to try one of these things,” he said.
“When I say
the word, press your button,” Dhondub told her. “Are you ready?”
She looked
out into the night. Dhondub’s flashlight faintly picked out the gleaming eyes
of the niche-runners.
“No,” she
whispered.
“Now,” he
said.
The herd
came straight toward them, converging on the light. At the last instant,
Dhondub snatched up the torch and slipped it into his belt, switching it
off—but not before Marianne had seen the wild faces of the runners. They were
dressed in ragged cloth, some decked in antlers, their faces streaked with dye,
their mouths wide and flecked with foam. They looked human only because they
ran on two feet, and because some of them carried weapons.
Dhondub
grabbed her wrist and squeezed, triggering the lung-gom.
She gasped,
stumbling back toward the ravine. The edge of the gully crumbled underfoot.
She
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