The Green And The Gray

17

Even before the cab made it to the eastern edge of Manhattan, the drizzle began to taper off. By the time they reached the FDR and turned northward, Roger could see a little blue sky starting to peek through the clouds in the west. Just as the Green had predicted, it was turning into a nice day for a drive.

Not that either of their passengers was in the mood to appreciate it. Caroline hadn't said a word since they'd driven off, and every time Roger looked her direction he found her face turned slightly away from him as she gazed out the window. She was holding his hand, nestled there in her lap. But the fingers were stiff and cold, and he knew that only part of that was from fear and uncertainty.

The rest was undoubtedly anger... and it wasn't hard to guess where the slow burn was coming from.

Wimp was certainly one of the words bouncing around her skull. Coward was probably in there, too.

He couldn't really blame her.

His first thought as they got on the FDR was that they were being taken back to the Youngs'

apartment and the site of Melantha's latest disappearance. But the cab passed the turnoff without even slowing down. His next guess was that they were being taken to Central Park West. But they passed the likely turnoffs for that, too.

He had just started to wonder if they were being taken off the island entirely when the driver turned off onto 116th and headed west across East Harlem. They passed through that neighborhood, through Harlem itself, and finally came to a stop at Morningside Park.

"End of the line," the Green beside Roger announced as he opened the door and climbed out. "Come on, come on."

Silently, Roger obeyed, offering Caroline a hand as she slid across the seat to the door. The Green in the passenger seat had gotten out, too, and gestured into the park. "This way," he said.

"Where are we going?" Roger asked, looking around.

"There," the Green said, pointing up the slope to the tall stone wall towering above them. "Columbia University."

"Why don't we just drive around to the other side?" Roger asked, a shiver running through him as he looked up. Columbia University, home to the Miller Theater, where he and Caroline had been just before they'd met Melantha. Coincidence?

"Because it's more anonymous this way," the Green said. "Besides, you look like you can use the exercise. Let's go."

It was a long way up from the park to the university, and even with the various sections of more or less level ground interspersed with the stairs Roger's leg muscles were starting to complain by the time they reached the top. The two Greens took them a short way down the street, through an open gate into a small brick-and-pavement courtyard, then down another short walkway to a building identifying itself as the Faculty House. Another Green was waiting, and opened the door as they walked up. "President's Room," he told their escort as they filed through. "Second floor."

They arrived at the President's Room to find a single occupant waiting at one of the round tables by the windows, an older man with a lined face and patches of silver twisting through his otherwise black hair. "Roger and Caroline Whittier," he greeted them, rising from his chair as they approached.

He was dressed in a white turtleneck, black slacks, and a green blazer with a tapering filigree of muted copper pinned to the left lapel. "Please; sit down."

Roger took the chair across from him, giving the other a quick study. Despite the wrinkles and patches of silver hair, he had the same sort of grace and dignity that Roger had noticed earlier in Sylvia.

"I'm glad you could come here today," he commented as Caroline sat down at Roger's left. "My name is Nikolos Green."

"Ah," Roger said, nodding. "The Command-Tactician."

"And Leader Elymas's son," Caroline added quietly. "You're a well-preserved octogenarian."

"Thank you," Nikolos said, smiling wryly as he reseated himself. "Though to be fair, Greens don't age quite the same way as Humans do."

He looked over at the other two Greens. "You're dismissed," he said.

"Yes, Commander," one of them acknowledged. Together they crossed the dining room and left.

"Nice quiet place you have here," Roger commented. "According to the sign downstairs, it's only open on weekdays."

Nikolos shrugged. "I have certain privileges."

"Do those privileges include kidnapping and assault with a deadly weapon?" Roger countered.

Nikolos lifted his eyebrows. "Kidnapping? Come now. You were invited to visit me, and you accepted."

"And the knives those invitations were engraved on?"

"Knives?" Nikolos asked, looking politely puzzled. "No, no. I'm sure all you saw was a trassk." He reached up and unfastened the pin from his lapel. "Like this one."

"It was nothing like that," Roger growled, starting to feel annoyed at this childish game.

"Perhaps it was the lighting." Nikolos turned the pin over in his left hand, the copper filaments catching the light from the windows, and for a moment he stroked it meditatively with the fingertips of his right. Then he closed his right hand over the pin, squeezed it and slid his hand away toward Roger—

Roger caught his breath. The pin had vanished. In its place, stretched across Nikolos's open left palm, was a long, slender knife. "You can see what sort of tricks lighting can play on your eyes,"

Nikolos said. He closed his right hand over the knife again, pushing the point of the blade back toward the hilt as if collapsing a telescope. "It can make you think you've seen something that can't possibly be there."

He squeezed his right hand a few times as if kneading bread dough; and when he lifted it away again the knife had been replaced by a small, copper-colored replica of the Statue of Liberty. "Very nice,"

Roger commented. "May I?"

"Of course." Leaning forward, Nikolos handed the statue across the table.

Roger looked closely at it. The statue seemed perfectly solid, perfectly ordinary, the sort of trinket sold by the thousands in Times Square souvenir shops. It was about the same weight as the gun the mugger had given him Wednesday night, he decided, and approximately the same weight as the trassk he was still carrying in his pocket. "Impressive," he said, handing the statue to Caroline.

Nikolos shrugged. "A parlor trick," he said, his voice sounding oddly sad. "Useful enough, but little more than a memory of happier times."

"How do you work it?" Caroline asked, turning the statue over in her hand. "Is this one of the Gifts?"

"No, any Green can manipulate a trassk," Nikolos said. "And only Greens, of course. We can make it into anything we can visualize, consistent with its mass. Still, the metal is very strong, and like gold can be stretched almost infinitely thin."

He held out his hand, and she returned the statue to him. Again he kneaded it, then pulled it outward into a disk the size of a dinner plate. "As you see, it looks much bigger than should be possible, considering its original size," he said, holding it up. "What you don't see is how thin the metal has become in order to stretch this far."

He banged the disk gently on the table. "Yet even now it's strong enough to easily maintain its shape.

It can also be made flexible or even completely elastic." He manipulated it again, turning it into a giant rubber band. "Like so," he said, stretching it nearly to arms' length before letting it collapse again.

"How long will it stay that way?" Caroline asked.

"Left on its own, it reverts in anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, depending on how solidly its owner fixed it," Nikolos told her. "Obviously, a Green can alter it before then if he or she chooses."

"The multitool every well-dressed Green is wearing this season," Roger murmured.

"Once, that was literally true," Nikolos said. "But not anymore. We collected all the trassks we could before we fled our homeland, but our numbers have long since outstripped our meager supply.

Nowadays, there are only enough for our Warriors and a few of our top people."

"Melantha had one," Caroline pointed out.

"A special dispensation for a special occasion," Nikolos said. "That particular trassk had once been my mother's." His lips compressed briefly. "She was killed in the war, before we came here."

"I'm sorry," Caroline murmured.

"Why don't you make more of them?" Roger asked. "Did you forget how?"

"You can't forget what you never knew," Nikolos said ruefully. "The truth is, the trassks were made and given to us a long time ago... by the Grays."

Roger blinked. "The Grays?"

"Back when we lived together in peace and harmony." Nikolos placed his hands on opposite sides of the coppery rubber band and squeezed, and the trassk returned to its original shape. "As I said, memories of happier times."

"What happened?" Caroline asked.

"We met largely by accident," Nikolos said, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he refastened the brooch onto his lapel. "Both of our peoples were fleeing from conflicts with the Others, the ones who dominated our world. The Greens had been migrating northward, the Grays coming south, and we met in a place we always referred to simply as the Great Valley."

He shook his head. "You never saw such a place," he said quietly. "A swift-flowing river cut through the ground at the base of a line of bluffs rising from the riverbed. Hundreds of Gray families moved in there. On the other side of the river, a vast forest stretched across the rolling ground, eventually rising to a line of craggy mountains where the Grays set up a second colony. The forest itself went on for miles, filling the area between the ranges, with enough room for generations of Greens to come. The approaches were difficult to traverse, and lay a considerable distance from the Others'

trade routes. We had every expectation that we could live there for a long time in peace."

He stroked his trassk. "The Grays made little toys like this for us—they were cunning toolmakers, skilled beyond the capabilities of even our best Creators and Manipulators. In return, we used our Gifts to work with nature in ways their metalsmithing skills couldn't match. Our Manipulators and Laborers created gardens and specialized tree forms for them, while our Farseers located game and hidden fish schools for them to hunt. In many cases, our Lifesingers could also heal them of illnesses or injuries."

"I'm still unclear as to how these Gifts work," Roger said.

"There are only a few basic ones, which can mix together in different ways," Nikolos said. "The Higher Gifts, also called Mind Worker Gifts, are those of Visionary, Persuader, Pastsinger, Lifesinger, Command-Tactician, and Groundshaker. There are distinctions according to strength: a Farseer is a less focused Visionary, while a Farspeaker is a less powerful Persuader. A Leader, on the other hand, is the rare person who combines both the Visionary and Persuader Gifts. Overall, about one in eight of our people are Mind Workers."

"And the rest?" Roger asked.

"They're called Arm Workers," Nikolos said. "Creators have a smaller degree of the Visionary Gift than that possessed by Visionaries or Farseers, while Manipulators are less powerful Groundshakers.

Most of the rest possess the Gifts of strength and stamina and dexterity that permit them to work as Laborers. Overall, they make up between half and two-thirds of our population."

"And the Warriors?" Caroline asked.

"They have the same Gifts of stamina and strength as the Laborers, but with extra measures of speed and agility," Nikolos said. "They also have considerably more power and control of the Shriek."

"And you know in advance which of these categories each child is going to fit into?" Caroline asked.

Nikolos eyed her. "You disapprove?"

"I find it hard to believe a Green has so little control over his or her life," Caroline said, taking his gaze without flinching.

"I'm sure you do," Nikolos agreed calmly. "But we're not like you, Caroline. The Gifts aren't like Human talents for art or spelling or mechanics, something that can be used or ignored as the owner chooses. They're something we're born with, like the color of our eyes and the texture of our skin. At the age of twelve, each child sits down with Leader or Visionary and is put through the series of tests that formally identifies his or her Gift. That gives the child three years to learn the responsibilities and potentials of that Gift before assuming the full mantle of adulthood."

Caroline's lip twitched. "It doesn't seem fair."

"In some ways, it isn't," Nikolos conceded. "And I admit there have been times I've envied you Humans your ability to choose your own destiny, despite the handicap of having to spend weary years learning a skill which to us comes naturally." He shrugged. "But we are what we are, whether Human or Green. All we can do is accept it and move on."

"Perhaps," Caroline said, her voice carefully neutral. "How long did you live in the Great Valley?"

"I don't know the exact number of years," Nikolos said. "I do know that my father's grandfather told him of the journey northward, and of their first contact with the Grays."

"So about three generations," Roger said, relieved to be back to a less contentious topic. "Did you see this Great Valley yourself?"

"Of course," Caroline said before Nikolos could answer. "Velovsky said Elymas and his son were both there when they arrived at Ellis Island, remember?"

"That's correct," Nikolos said. "I saw the Great Valley at the very end of the good times, and at the very beginning of the bad."

"How did the war start?" Caroline asked.

"With a simple disagreement," Nikolos said, shaking his head. "Don't most things start that way?

The Grays were running low on some of their metals and wanted to expand their mining operations downriver. Our Leaders pointed out that the Others had gradually been settling closer to that end of the Great Valley and that the noise of mining might lead them to us. We suggested instead that the Grays send an expedition into the outside world and purchase the metals from the Others."

"What didn't the Grays like about that?" Roger asked.

"They said the Others thought we were all dead, and that appearing in the open would bring them down on us even faster than the sounds of mining would." Nikolos snorted under his breath. "I don't know what they did to the Others they lived among before they fled from their original homes, but knowing their rough behavior and lack of discipline I can think of several reasons they might be concerned about being found. At any rate, they made it clear they would oppose any attempt by anyone, Green or Gray, to reestablish contact with the Others."

"Who exactly were these Others?" Roger asked.

Nikolos shrugged. "I never actually met one, of course, but the Pastsinger memories record a people very similar in appearance to you or I. Some Greens even speculated they were an actual, physical cross between Greens and Grays, since they built with stone and metal like the Grays but also cultivated the soil and used wood from trees as we ourselves did." He waved a hand. "A completely ridiculous theory, of course, given the vast differences between Green and Gray physiology. But culturally and artistically, at least, it's fair to say the Others stood midway between our peoples."

"So which way did the decision go about the metals?" Roger asked.

"We never made it that far," Nikolos said grimly. "One night, when all were asleep, some of the Grays from the Eastcliffs slipped across the river and set fire to our end of the forest."

Caroline inhaled sharply. "No," she breathed.

"Yes," Nikolos said. His eyes were closed now, his forehead pinched. "You can't imagine what it was like," he said in a low voice. "Panicked children in their trees, their parents struggling to get them out as the fire burned all around them. Other adults and children running frantically across a carpet of burning leaves, trying to reach the safety of the river."

His eyes opened, a black fire burning suddenly within them. "And all the while, the whistle of Gray hammerguns as they fired volley after volley into the forest at us."

"What about your Warriors?" Roger asked. "Didn't they fight back?"

Nikolos smiled bitterly. "Of course they did. But sitting across the river midway up their cliffs, the Grays were too far away to be affected by the Shriek. The archers could find no target in the darkness, and the Warriors couldn't climb up to engage them hand to hand. In desperation, our Leaders summoned the Groundshakers and ordered them to bring down the cliffs."

"What do you mean, bring down the cliffs?" Roger asked carefully.

"Exactly what I said," Nikolos told him. "As the Grays had used our dependence on trees against us, so we now used the stone and rock they loved against them."

The skin on the back of Roger's neck began to tingle. "Are you saying they created an earthquake?"

"The Greens are a people of great strength," Nikolos said, the anger in his voice momentarily eclipsed by pride. "As moral authority lies with the Leaders and Visionaries, so physical power rests with the Groundshakers."

"But you said there were Gray families on those cliffs," Caroline protested. "Women and children."

"Did they care about our women and children when they set fire to our forest?" Nikolos snapped. He broke off, passing a hand in front of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice more subdued. "Of course we regretted the deaths of innocents. But we had no choice. The Grays were still firing, shattering our trees all around us, and we had to protect our own. The only way to stop them was to bring down their cliffs."

He closed his eyes again. "The Grays continued to fire as the rock began to splinter around them, now specifically targeting the Groundshakers. But they were too late. The Eastcliffs broke and fell, and their attack was finally ended."

"Yes," Roger murmured. "But there was still the Gray colony on the other side of the Great Valley."

"A much larger colony, too," Nikolos agreed quietly. "By the time the morning light began to struggle through the smoke rising from our ruined trees, the war had begun in earnest. In the space of a few days it had spread to the entire Great Valley."

He shook his head sadly. "And within a handful of months, it was clear there was no hope. The Great Valley we'd loved had become a killing ground: thousands of us dead, thousands of our trees burned or shattered into splinters. Many thousands of our enemies were dead too, of course. But if we continued as we were, the only end could be the mutual destruction of both our peoples."

"Which is where Velovsky's story picks up," Roger said as understanding struck him. "Your Leaders decided to leave."

"They decided to save a remnant," Nikolos corrected. "Sixty of us were selected, representing most of the Gifts, with my father chosen to lead them. The Farseers had located a new home, and a vehicle was constructed to take us there. The remaining Groundshakers and Manipulators joined their strength together beneath the guidance of the Visionaries; and in the beat of a hummingbird's wing we were here."

His eyes drifted to the tall windows. "It was a strange world, noisy and dirty, full of people whose speech we couldn't understand," he said in a low voice. "But all we could see was the fact that the terrible war with the Grays was over, and that at last we were safe."

Roger snorted gently. "And so, of course, eleven years later Adolf Hitler would touch off the worst war our world had ever known."

Nikolos smiled. "The universe does have a sense of irony."

"Did your people fight in that war?" Caroline asked.

"Not in that one, or in any since," Nikolos told her. "I'm sure you realize that allowing military doctors to examine us would be a disaster. No, our Persuaders kept us out of the army, while we found other ways to serve our adopted country."

"In war factories?" Roger asked.

"Many of our Arm Workers did so, yes," Nikolos said, nodding. "Others found more creative ways.

Have you ever heard about the German sabotage team who slipped ashore from a U-boat on Long Island in June of 1942?"

Caroline shook her head. "No."

"Actually, I think I have," Roger said, frowning as he searched his memory. "Didn't they run straight into a soldier patrolling the beach?"

"A Coast Guardsman, actually," Nikolos corrected. "A young man, only twenty-one, alone and in heavy fog. But instead of killing him and moving on, the saboteurs tried to bribe him, then simply let him go. Historians generally put it down to their reluctance to kill someone so young in cold blood."

"But you have a different theory?" Roger suggested.

"We know the truth," Nikolos said. "Our Warriors were patrolling the New York coastal areas, including Long Island, watching for precisely this sort of thing. The one who detected this particular group was close enough to a Persuader to call her in. She manipulated them into letting the young man go."

His lips twitched a smile. "She also persuaded one of the saboteurs to give himself up a week later, after the efforts by the Coast Guard, Naval Intelligence, and the FBI had come up empty."

A stray memory popped into Roger's mind: Stavros, at the Green apartment building near Central Park, opening doors without bothering to knock, as if he already had permission to enter. "I presume the Warrior didn't need a radio to call in the Persuader?"

"We can communicate with each other over short distances, yes," Nikolos confirmed. "For most of us, the range is no more than the length of a city block. Those with the particular Gift of Farspeaking are stronger, able to send and receive thoughts over much greater distances."

He smiled faintly. "We can't read Human minds, either, in case you were wondering."

"But you can talk to our minds," Caroline spoke up. "The Greens who came to our apartment yesterday afternoon were calling to me."

Nikolos made a face. "That would have been Cyril," he said. "Only a Persuader or Farspeaker would have the strength to send a message to a Human."

"Or to talk our super into unlocking our apartment," Roger put in. "How did he find us, anyway?"

"We'd seen a Gray searching that area the previous night, and guessed that they knew something we didn't," Nikolos said. "When Cyril got your name from Sylvia, he took it upon himself to check out all the Roger Wh-somethings in the area."

He looked at Caroline. "Once he learned your name, Caroline, he apparently decided to try to contact you."

"And to see if he could get Melantha back directly?" Caroline asked.

Nikolos hesitated. "Like all the rest of us, Cyril uses his Gift only for what he thinks best for our people."

"And how exactly does killing Melantha fit in with that noble goal?" Roger asked, folding his arms across his chest. "So far everyone we've met has done a tap dance around that question."

"I'm far too old to dance," Nikolos said tiredly. "The fact is that she was an unexpected surprise, a Gift that shouldn't have appeared until our population was at least twice the size it is now."

He sighed. "Melantha, you see," he said, "is a Groundshaker."