It was a forbidding place to wake up to. Shadows were stark, acherontic, and surprising. A crag of rock might look innocuous and then, from a slightly different perspective, leap out in familiarity as the silhouette of some monster met a hundred times in nightmares.

It wasn't hard to have bad dreams in a place like this.

Shuffling in robe and slippers, Robert felt positive relief when at last he found the place he'd been looking for, the rebel "operations center." It was a fairly large chamber, lit by more than the usual spa.r.s.e ration of bulbs. But furniture was negligible. Some ragged card tables and cabinets had been supplemented by benches fashioned from chopped and leveled stalagmites, plus a few part.i.tions knocked together out of raw timber from the forest high above. The effect only made the towering vault seem all the more mighty, and the refugees' works all the more pitiful.

Robert rubbed his eyes. A few chims could be seen cl.u.s.tered around one part.i.tion arguing and sticking pins in a large map, speaking softly as they sifted through papers.

When one of them raised his voice too loud, echoes reverberated down the surrounding pa.s.sages making the others look up in alarm. Obviously, the chims were still intimidated by their new quarters.

Robert shuffled into the light. "All right," he said, his larynx still scratchy from lack of use. "What's going on here? Where is she and what is she up to now?"

They stared at him. Robert knew he must look a sight in rumpled pajamas and slippers, his hair uncombed and his arm in a cast to the shoulder.

"Captain Oneagle," one of the chims said. "You really should still be in bed. Your fever-"

"Oh, shove it ... Micah." Robert had to think to remember the fellow's name. The last few weeks were still a fog in his mind. "My fever broke two days ago. I can read my own chart. So tell me what's happening! Where is everybody? Where's Athaclena?"

They looked at each other. Finally one chimmie took a cl.u.s.ter of colored map pins out of her mouth. "Th" General . . . uh, Mizz Athaclena, is away. She's leading a raid."

"A raid. ..." Robert blinked. "On the Gubru?" He brought a hand to his eyes as the room seemed to waver. "Oh, Ifni."

There was a rush of activity as three chims got in each other's way hauling over a wooden folding chair. Robert sat down heavily. He saw that these chims were all either very young or old. Athaclena must have taken most of the able-bodied with her.

"Tell me about it," he said to them.

A senior-looking chimmie, bespectacled and serious, motioned the others back to work and introduced herself. "I am Dr. Soo," she said. "At the Center I worked on gorilla genetic histories."

Robert nodded. "Dr. Soo, yes. I recall you helped treat my injuries." He remembered her face peering over him through a fog while the infection raged hot through his lymphatic system.

"You were very sick, Captain Oneagle. It wasn't just your badly fractured arm, or those fungal toxins you absorbed during your accident. We are now fairly" certain you also inhaled traces of the Gubru coercion gas, back when they dosed the Mendoza Freehold."

Robert blinked. The memory was a blur. He had been on the mend, up in the Mendoza's mountain ranch, where he and Fiben had spent a couple of days talking, making plans. Somehow they would find others and try to get something started. Maybe make contact with his mother's government in exile, if it still existed. Reports from Athaclena told of a set of caves that seemed ideal as a headquarters of sorts. Maybe these mountains could be a base of operations against the enemy.

Then, one afternoon, there were suddenly frantic chims running everywhere! Before Robert could speak, before he could even stand they had plucked him up and carried him bodily out of the farmhouse and up into the hills.

There were sonic booms . . . terse images of something immense in the sky.

"But . . . but I thought the gas was fatal if ..." His voice trailed off.

"If there's no antidote. Yes. But your dose was so small." Dr. Soo shrugged. "As it is, we nearly lost you."

Robert shivered. "What about the little girl?"

"She is with the gorillas." The chim nutritionist smiled. "She's as safe as anyone can be, these days."

He sighed and sat back a little. "That's good at least."

The chims carrying little April Wu must have got up to the heights in plenty of time. Apparently Robert barely made it. The Mendozas had been slower still and were caught in the stinking cloud that spilled from the belly of the alien ship.

Dr. Soo went on. "The Villas don't like the caves, so most of them are up in the high valleys, foraging in small groups under loose supervision, away from any buildings. Structures are still being ga.s.sed regularly, you know, whether they contain humans or not."

Robert nodded. "The Gubru are being thorough."

He looked at the wall-board stuck with multicolored pins. The map covered the entire region from the mountains north across the Vale of Sind and west to the sea. There the islands of the Archipelago made a necklace of civilization. Only one city lay onsh.o.r.e, Port Helenia on the northern verge of Aspinal Bay. South and east of the Mulun Mountains lay the wilds of the main continent, but the most important feature was depicted along the top edge of the map. Patient, perhaps unstoppable, the great gray sheets of ice encroached lower every year. The final bane of Garth.

The map pins, however, dealt with a much closer, nearer-term calamity. It was easy to read the array of pink and redmarkers. "They've really got a grip on things, haven't they?"

The elderly chim named Micah brought Robert a gla.s.s of water. He frowned at the map also. "Yessir. The fighting seems to all be over. The Gubru have been concentrating their energies around the Port and the Archipelago, so far. There's been little activity here in the mountains, except this perpetual hara.s.sment by robots dropping coercion gas. But the enemy has established a firm presence every place that was colonized."

"Where do you get your information?"

"Mostly from invader broadcasts and censored commercial stations in Port Helenia. Th' General also sent runners and observers off in all directions. Some of them have reported back, already."

"Who's got runners . . . ?"

"Th" Gen- . . . um." Micah looked a bit embarra.s.sed. "Ah, some of the chims find it hard to p.r.o.nounce Miss Athac-. . . Miss Athaclena's name, sir. So, well ..." His voice trailed off.

Robert sniffed. I'm going to have to have a talk with that girl, he thought.

He lifted his water gla.s.s and asked, "Who did she send to Port Helenia? That's going to be a touchy place for a spy to get into."

Dr. Soo answered without much enthusiasm. "Athaclena chose a chim named Fiben Bolger."

Robert coughed, spraying water over his robe. Dr. Soo hurried on. "He is a militiaman, captain, and Miss Athaclena figured that spying around in town would require an ... um . . . unconventional approach."

That only made Robert cough harder. Unconventional. Yes, that described Fiben. If Athaclena had chosen old "Trog" Bolger for that mission, then it spoke well for her judgment. She might not be stumbling in the dark, after all.

Still, she's hardly more than a kid. And an alien at that! Does she actually think she's a general? Commanding what? He looked around the spa.r.s.ely furnished cavern, the small heaps of scrounged and hand-carried supplies. It was, all told, a pitiful affair.

"That wall map arrangement is pretty crude," Robert observed, picking out one thing in particular.

An elderly chen who hadn't spoken yet rubbed the spa.r.s.e hair on his chin. "We could organize much better than this," he agreed. "We've got several mid-size computers. A few chims are working programs on batteries, but we don't have the power to run them at full capacity."

He looked at Robert archly. "Tymbrimi Athaclena insists we drill a geothermal tap first. But I figure if we were to set up a few solar collectors on the surface . . . very well hidden, of course ..."

He let the thought hang. Robert could tell that one chim, at least, was less than thrilled at being commanded by a mere girl, and one who wasn't even of Earthclan or Terragens citizenship.

"What's your name?"

"Jobert, captain."

Robert shook his head. "Well, Jobert, we can discuss that later. Right now, will someone please tell me about this 'raid'? What is Athaclena up to?"

Micah and Soo looked at each other. The chimmie spoke first.

"They left before dawn. It's already late afternoon outside. We should be getting a runner in any time now."

Jobert grimaced again, his wrinkled, age-darkened face dour with pessimism. "They went out armed with pin-rifles and concussion grenades, hoping to ambush a Gubru patrol.

"Actually," the elderly chim added dryly. "We were expecting news more than an hour ago. I'm afraid they are already very late getting back."

27 Fiben

Fiben awoke in darkness, fetal-curled under a dusty blanket.

Awareness brought back the pain. Just pulling his right arm away from his eyes took a stoic effort of will, and the movement set off a wave of nausea. Unconsciousness beckoned him back seductively.

What made him resist was the filmy, lingering tracery of his dreams. They had driven him to seek consciousness . . . those weird, terrifying images and sensations. The last, vivid scene had been a cratered desert landscape. Lightning struck the stark sands all around him, pelting him with charged, sparking shrapnel whichever way he tried to duck or'hide.

He recalled trying to protest, as if there were words that might somehow placate a storm. But speech had been taken from him.

By effort of will, Fiben managed to roll over on the creaking cot. He had to knuckle-rub his eyes before they would open, and then all they made out was the dimness of a shabby little room. A thin line of light traced the overlap of heavy black curtains covering a small window.

His muscles trembled spasmodically. Fiben remembered the last time he had felt anywhere near this lousy, back on Cilmar Island. A band of neo-chimp circus entertainers from Earth had dropped in to do a show. The visiting "strongman" offered to wrestle the college champion, and like an idiot Fiben had accepted.

It had been weeks before he walked again without a limp.

Fiben groaned and sat up. His inner thighs burned like fire. "Oh, mama," he moaned. "I'll never scissors-hold again!"

His skin and body hair were moist. Fiben sniffed the pungent odor of Dalsebo, a strong muscle relaxant. So, at least his captors had taken efforts to spare him the worst aftereffects of stunning. Still, his brain felt like a misbehaving gyroscope when he tried to rise. Fiben grabbed the teetering bedside table for support as he stood up, and held his side while he shuffled over to the solitary window.

He grabbed rough fabric on both sides of the thin line of light and snapped the drapes apart. Immediately Fiben stumbled back, both arms raised to ward off the sudden brightness. Afterimages whirled.

"Ugh," he commented succinctly. It was barely a croak.

What was this place? Some prison of the Gubru? Certainly he wasn't aboard an invader battleship. He doubted the fastidious Galactics would use native wood furnishings, or decorate in Late Antediluvian Shabby.

He lowered his arms, blinking away tears. Through the window he saw an enclosed yard, an unkempt vegetable garden, a couple of climbing trees. It looked like a typical small commune-house, the sort a chim group marriage family might own.

Just visible over the nearby roofs, a line of hilltop eucalyptus trees told him he was still in Port Helenia, not far from Sea Bluff Park.

Perhaps the Gubru were leaving his interrogation to their quislings. Or his captors could be those hostile Probationers. They might have their own plans for him.

Fiben's mouth felt as if dust weavers had been spinning traps in it. He saw a water pitcher on the room's only table. One cup v?as already poured. He stumbled over and grabbed for it, but missed and knocked it crashing to the floor.

Focus! Fiben told himself. If you want to get out of this, try to think like a member of a starfaring race!

It was hard. The subvocalized words were painful just behind his forehead. He could feel his mind try to retreat ... to abandon Anglic for a simpler, more natural way of thinking.

Fiben resisted an almost overpowering urge to simply grab up the pitcher and drink from it directly. Instead, in spite of his thirst, he concentrated on each step involved in pouring another cup.

His fingers trembled on the pitcher's handle.

Focus!

Fiben recalled an ancient Zen adage. "Before enlightenment, chop wood, pour water. After enlightenment, chop wood, pour water."

Slowing down in spite of his thirst, he turned the simple act of pouring into an exercise. Holding on with two shaking hands, Fiben managed to pour himself about half a cupful, slopping about as much onto the table and floor. No matter. He took up the tumbler and drank in deep, greedy, swallows.

The second cup poured easier. His hands were steadier.

That's it. Focus. . . . Choose the hard path, the one using thought. At least chims had it easier than neo-dolphins. The other Earthly client race was a hundred years younger and had to use three languages in order to think at all!

He was concentrating so hard that he didn't notice when the door behind him opened.

"Well, for a boy who's had such a busy night, you sure are chipper this morning."

Fiben whirled. Water splattered the wall as he brought up the cup to throw it, but the sudden movement seemed to send his brain spinning in his head. The cup clattered to the floor and Fiben clutched at his temples, groaning under a wave of vertigo.

Blearily, he saw a chimmie in a blue sarong. She approached carrying a tray. Fiben fought to remain standing, but his legs folded and he sank to his knees.

"b.l.o.o.d.y fool," he heard her say. Bile in his mouth was only one reason he couldn't answer.

She set her tray on the table and took hold of his arm. "Only an idiot would try to get up after taking a full stunner jolt at close range!"

Fiben snarled and tried to shake her hands off. Now he remembered! This was the little "pimp" from the Ape's Grape. The one who had stood in the balcony not far from the Gubru and who had him stunned just as he was about to make his escape.

"Lemme "lone," he said. "I don' need any help from a d.a.m.n traitor!"

At least that was what he had intended to say, but it came out more as a slurred mumble. "Right. Anything you say," the chimmie answered evenly. She hauled him by one arm back to the bed. In spite of her slight size, she was quite strong.

Fiben groaned as he landed on the lumpy mattress. He kept trying to gather himself together, but rational thought seemed to swell and fade like ocean surf.

"I'm going to give you something. You'll sleep for at least ten hours. Trjen, maybe, you'll be ready to answer some questions."

Fiben couldn't spare the energy to curse her. All his attention was given over to finding a focus, something to center on. Anglic wasn't good enough anymore. He tried Galactic Seven.

"Na ... Ka ... tcha . . . kresh . . ." he counted thickly.

"Yes, yes," he heard her say. "By now we're all quite aware how well educated you are."

Fiben opened his eyes as the chimmie leaned over him, a capsule in her hand. With a finger snap she broke it, releasing a cloud of heavy vapor.

He tried to hold his breath against the anesthetic gas, knowing it was useless. At the same time, Fiben. couldn't help noticing that she was actually fairly pretty-with a small, childlike jaw and smooth skin. Only her wry, bitter smile ruined the picture.

"My, you are an obstinate chen, aren't you? Be a good boy now, breathe in and rest," she commanded.

Unable to hold out any longer, Fiben had to inhale at last. A sweet odor filled his nostrils, like overripe forest fruit. Awareness began dissipating in a floating glow.

It was only then Fiben realized that she, too, had spoken in perfect, unaccented Galactic Seven.

28 Government in Hiding