Chapter 4: Wolf Brother

"But, Phil! They might have killed you," Audrey protested, leaning back against the door of the side passage where they'd been temporarily housed. "I couldn't just go off and leave you locked up back there."

"Keep your voice down," he whispered, leaning close so that she could hear. "Your Mr. Jordan could have this place bugged. Look, all I had to do was to tell Marten's people who I was and what I was doing there. It would have blown my cover, but at least that way I wouldn't be a hunted fugitive. The more I see of this outfit, the more they look like a bunch of crooks, and your Mr. Jordan looks to me like he's the worst one of the whole bunch. Isn't he the one who was fired from his job with the O.M.M. and damned near sent to jail for tampering with the internal politics of one of these frontier worlds?"

"He had every right to do what he did there. They wouldn't have said a thing about it if he'd succeeded. He was only trying to restore the rightful emperor of that world to his throne. Please don't fight with me, Phil." She raised tearful eyes to his stern face, and in spite of himself his expression softened. "I hate these dark caves. Let's go outside, out where the sun is shining."

"If they didn't lock us in." Phil tried the door, finding that it opened easily. "Ah, good. Which way's the nearest exit?"

She led the way down a poorly lighted passage, following arrows painted on the walls until they could see sunlight ahead. Once outside, they walked across the close-cropped grass, finally stopping where a gnarled tree cast a pool of welcome shade as the sun rose higher in the sky. Audrey relaxed, leaning back against the trunk of the tree while Phil kept a wary eye out for wolves.

"It's all right," Audrey laughed, her good nature quickly restored by the sunshine and fresh air. "They won't bother us as long as we don't bother them. We've told them that we're here to give their world back to them and help them drive out the invaders."

"Told them? You mean that they actually do have a spoken language?" In spite of the evidences of civilization around him, Phil's mental processes hadn't yet taken him quite that far.

"Of course they do, and quite a few of them have learned to speak quite good English. They're really quite intelligent, and they have a long tradition of oral history that's been passed down from one generation to the next."

"Does it say anything about how they came to be here?"

"Just something about how their Gods brought them here and taught them how to speak. We think that what really happened was that a herd of long-horned bison stumbled through a naturally occurring portal, followed by a pack of dire wolves. The bison multiplied, and so did the wolves, developing intelligence to help them survive."

"You do no' believe our stories of how The Gods brought us here?" The husky, half-whispering voice came from behind them, and Phil whirled to face a huge, red-maned wolf.

"It's all right, Phil." Audrey laid a restraining hand on his arm. "This is Arralf-Hastha, one of the ones who have learned our language. Rowlf, this is Phil Hadley, a good friend of mine."

"I gree' your friend, and breathe his scen' with pleasure," Rowlf replied formally. His speech was slow and somewhat slurred, but Phil could understand him fairly well. "I hope tha' I do no' intrude."

"Not at all," Phil answered. "I am very interested in hearing about your people. Nobody where I worked had any idea that you were intelligent. Why haven't you approached them?"

"We tried," Rowlf countered. "Three warriors dead, five wounded, many others attacked withou' warning. Tha' was answer enough. Some of us though' at firs' tha' you were The Gods returning to us, but we are sure now tha' you are no'. No, you do not look or smell as The Gods are said to. Now these other men have come, saying tha' they will help us to drive ou' invaders from our hunting grounds."

"And be left in peace forever?" Phil asked. "Or would you rather learn of new things, different worlds?"

Rowlf's fangs flashed wickedly in a canine grin. "Some of us young warriors wan' more than the life our fathers have led. Our leaders wan' only to be lef' alone, to live in the old ways. Their way is no' mine. I was no' given the name Arralf-Hastha, 'Hunts-beyond-The-Moon' for nothing."

"Do you really think that you will be left alone when the invaders have gone," he probed. "Our world needs food, and our leaders would gain much power by giving your buffalo herds to them."

"They will leave," Rowlf promised grimly. "All of you will leave, if we have to call upon The Gods Themselves!"

He turned and loped easily away, powerful muscles rippling under his glossy pelt.

"Why did you do that," Audrey complained. "You made him angry."

"I think that I must have hit a sore spot," Phil answered, grinning. "I wonder what these 'Gods' of his are supposed to be like."

"They won't tell us," she pouted prettily. "But why did you say those things?"

"Because your Mr. Jordan and his friends look like thoroughly bad apples to me. I've worked for the government long enough to see some pretty raw deals pulled when somebody thought that they could get away with it, but at least most of us, most of the time, play by the rules. This bunch doesn't even know that there are rules. Those men who were killed back there on the job didn't know that there was a war on. They were murdered, and I don't think that the men responsible are going to just meekly surrender their toe-hold on this planet when World Traders has been chased out."

"You mustn't say such things," Audrey cautioned fearfully. "Mr. Jordan would be furious if he could hear you."

"Mr. Jordan had just better not hear about it, then. What else can you tell me about this set-up?"

"I don't know whether I should tell you anything! Which side are you on, anyway, our government or World Traders?"

"It may come as a shock to you, Audrey, but some of us aren't on either side. I was sent here to find out whether World Traders is breaking the law. I haven't seen any sign that they are, not so far anyway, but I've seen plenty of evidence that other people are breaking all kinds of laws. When I get back, my report will say just that. Sabotage and murder can't be glossed over as normal business tactics, or politics either. If you stick with Jordan, you'll be just as guilty as the rest of them."

She glared defiantly back at him, but her gaze wavered and broke before his level stare.

"I hate you!" She sobbed, turning away and running toward the mouth of the cave. "You'll spoil everything."

Shaking his head ruefully, Phil sat back down on the close-cropped grass. Him and his big mouth, again. She would either tell Jordan what he had said, or else she wouldn't. There was nothing he could do about it at this point. He'd just have to wait and see if he'd judged her correctly. With the hot sun beating down through the branches of the tree, his sleepless night caught up with him. He didn't even notice that he was drifting off until some time later when a booted toe prodded him in the ribs, jolting him back to full wakefulness.

"On your feet, Hadley." It was the guard he'd encountered at the entrance to the cave complex. What was his name? Oh, yes. Tony. Phil studied the beefy unshaven face for a clue to what was up, making a bet with himself that he'd seen a mug shot of it somewhere. "The Boss wants to see you again."

Jordan was still at his desk, working on his perennial paperwork, and Phil noted with some alarm that Rowlf was there, too.

"I just heard from one of my contacts inside the project," Jordan stated abruptly in his flat voice. "He says that the whole base is in an uproar over your escape. It seems there's a rumor that you kidnapped Miss Randolph on your way out. That sort of limits your usefulness to us with them, and I'm not sure just what use you are to us around here, either."

"Why not just ship me back to Washington, and let them send somebody else to take my place on the project?" Phil tried to look unconcerned. "That way I'd be out of everybody's hair."

"I'm afraid that's out, at least for now. We don't dare to use our portal any more than we have to. It's remotely possible to trace one of them in action, this close to another base. Rowlf, here seems to think that you'd be interested in the history of his people, and he's volunteered to teach you." He smiled coldly. "Perhaps you can learn some things that the rest of us haven't about this planet."

"Just what was that all about?" Phil demanded of Rowlf when they were outside.

"You asked some strange questions earlier," Rowlf told him coldly. "Some of us wan' to learn more about your people. We do no' care for spies, but we will give you a fair hearing before we kill you."

Jolted to his heels by Rowlf's calm statement, Phil measured his opponent warily. Two hundred and fifty pounds of ferocious wolf wasn't exactly his idea of a soft touch, but...

The idea died even as it was formed. From nowhere in particular two more red-marked wolves closed in behind them. Against one such opponent he might have had a slim chance, but not against three! The path they were following led to another cave, this one no more than a shallow hole scraped out by patient paws under an overhanging granite ledge. On its level floor some fifteen wolves sat in a circle, their growling speech rising to a crescendo as he approached.

A young wolf, in the dim light looking even larger than Rowlf, stalked forward to challenge the intruders. A barked query, a high-pitched whine in answer and they were admitted to the circle. Phil and Rowlf stood in the center of the pack, the light from the low-arched opening at their backs. Rowlf acted as Phil's translator for those who did not speak any English.

"Why do you speak agains' our friends?" Rowlf translated the first question, thrown at him by a grizzled warrior who seemed to be a pack leader.

"How do you know that they are your friends," he countered. "Have you asked why they are helping you?"

"Our pack elders have asked the man Zhordan many questions. They say tha' these others are their enemies."

"That is true enough, but is the enemy of your enemy truly your friend? These look like evil men to me, men who will use you and then turn on you when they don't need you any longer. How far do you trust them?"

"No farther than we have to," was the old warrior's reply. "I, Worgath the Gray and my pack do no' take any man a' his word. Tha' is why you are here. There are too many questions tha' our elders have no' asked. For them i' is enough to strike back agains' those who steal our world. They do no' ask of tomorrow or the day after. What can your people offer us tha' is better?"

"If I can reach my people, they can make World Traders leave your world without a fight. Leave it forever, or else until you invite them to return on your own terms. This needless fighting will stop, and the men who are profiting from it will be punished."

"Wha' is your pack tha' they can do this?" The question came from one of the other wolves in the circle.

Phil tried to explain how his government worked, only to realize that his accusers lacked many of the basic concepts that he was trying to put across.

"How can you le' others tell you how and when and where to do everything?" This question, or a variant of it, was asked again and again. "Have you no pride?"

"There are too many of us for our world," was the best answer he could give them. "We have to have rules to follow, just as you have customs that guide your lives. If there were many, many more of you, your customs would have to harden into strictly enforced rules like ours."

At this the circle broke up into furiously arguing groups of three or four. Rowlf tried to translate, but all that Phil got was a confused jumble. At last Worgath's snarl brought silence. They settled back on their haunches, tongues lolling over ivory fangs as they glared at Phil.