by Glen Cook
Tradermale technicians were at work around the airship’s gondola. One spotted them. He yelled at the others. A few just stared. Most scattered. Marika thought that was amusing.
The fat flank of the ship loomed higher and higher. She leaned back, now as awed as Grauel and Barlog. She beckoned a male either too brave or too petrified to have fled. He approached tentatively. “What ship is this, tradermale?”
He seemed puzzled by that latter, dialect word, but got the sense of the question. “Dawnstrider.”
“Oh. I do not know that one. It is so big, I thought it must be Starpetal.”
“No. Starpetal is much larger. Way too big for our cradles here. Usually only the smaller ships come up to the borderlands.”
“Borderlands?” Marika asked, bemused by the size of the ship.
“Well, Maksche is practically the end of the world. Last outpost of civilization. Ten miles out there it turns into Tech Three Zone and just gets worse the farther you go.” He tilted his ears and exposed his teeth in a way that said he was making a joke.
“I thought I hailed from the last outpost,” Marika countered in a bantering tone. “North edge of the Tech Two.” If she could overcome his awe, he might have something interesting to say. She did realize that most meth considered Maksche the end of the world. It was the northernmost city of consequence in the Hainlin basin, the limit of barge traffic and very border of Tech Four-permitted machine technology. It had grown up principally to service and support trade up the Hainlin, into the primitive interior of the vast and remote northern Reugge provinces. “Well, savagery is relative. Right? We are civilized. They are savages. Come, Barlog. Grauel.”
“Where are you going?” the tradermale squeaked. “Hey! You cannot go in there.”
“I just want to look at the control cabin,” Marika said. “I will not touch anything. I promise.”
“But... wait...”
Marika climbed the ladder leading to the airship’s gondola. After a moment of silent debate, Grauel and Barlog followed, shaking visibly, driven onward only by their pride. A Degnan huntress knew no fear.
Dawnstrider was a freighter. Its appointments were minimal, designed to keep down mass so payload could be maximized. Even so, the control cabin was bewildering with its array of meters and dials, levers, valves, switches, and push-buttons. “Do not touch anything,” Marika warned Grauel and Barlog for the benefit of the technician, who refused to leave them unsupervised. “We do not want this beast to carry us away.”
The huntresses clutched their weapons and stared around. Marika was puzzled. They were not ignorant Ponath dwellers anymore. They had been exposed to the greater meth universe. They should have developed some flexibility.
She did not remain impressed long. Dawnstrider was a disappointment, though she could not pin down why. “I have seen enough. Let us go look at the little ships.”
She went down the ladder behind the technician, amused by the emotion betrayed in his every movement. She was getting good at reading body language.
She did not sense the wrongness till she had moved several steps from the base of the ladder. Then it was too late.
Tradermales rushed from beneath the airship, all of them armed. Grauel and Barlog snapped their weapons to the ready, shielded Marika with their bodies.
“What is this?” Marika snapped.
“You do not belong here, silth,” a male said. “You are trespassing on brethren land.”
Marika’s nerve wavered. Yet she stared the male in the eye with the arrogance of a senior and said, “I go where I please, male. And you mind your manners when you speak —”
“You are out of line, pup. No one comes into a brethren enclave without permission of the factors.”
He had the right of it. She had not thought. There were compacts between the Reugge and the tradermales. She had overlooked them in her enthusiasm.
A stubborn something within her refused to back down, insisted that she up the risk. “You better have these males put their weapons aside. I do not wish to harm anyone.”
“I have twenty rifles, pup. I count two on your side.”
“You are speaking to a darkwalker. I can destroy the lot of you before one trigger can be pulled. You think about dying with your heart ripped out, male.”
His lips peeled back in a snarl. He was ready to call her bluff. The set of Grauel’s shoulders said that the huntress thought her mad to provoke the male so, that she would get them all killed for nothing.
Fleetingly, Marika wondered why she did provoke almost everyone who ever challenged her.
“We shall see.” The tradermale gestured.
Marika felt an odd tingling, like that she experienced around high-energy communications gear. Something electromagnetic was being directed at her. She spotted a tradermale in the background aiming a boxlike device her way.
She dived down inside herself, through her loophole, snagged a ghost, and slammed it into the guts of the box. She twisted that ghost and compressed it into an ever more rapidly spinning ball, all within an instant. She watched it shred wires and glass.
She came back in time to watch the box fly apart, to hear the technician’s startled yelp. He raised a bleeding paw to his mouth.
Fingers strained at triggers. The leading tradermale betrayed extreme distress. “You see?” Marika demanded.
“Hold it! Hold it there!” someone shouted from the distance. Everyone turned.
More males were running along the airstrip. In a moment Marika realized why one seemed familiar. “Bagnel,” she said softly. Her spirits rose. Maybe she would escape the consequences of her own stupidity after all.
The instant she began to see hope, she started worrying about the consequences that would follow the report that would reach the cloister. There would be a complaint, surely. Tradermales were said to be militant about their rights. They had struggled for ages to obtain them. Their organization was by-the-rules where those were concerned.
Marika was mildly amazed to discover she was more afraid of Dorteka than she was of this potentially lethal confrontation.
A few tradermale weapons sagged as they awaited those approaching. Tension drooped with them. Grauel and Barlog relaxed, though they did not lower their weapons.
Bagnel rushed up, puffing. “Timbruk, what have you got here?” He peered at Marika. “Ha! Well! And I actually thought of you when they told me. Marika. Hello.” He interposed himself between Marika and the male he had called Timbruk. “Can we have a little relaxation here, meth? Everybody. Put the weapons down. There is no call to get anyone hurt.”
Trimbruk protested, “Bagnel, they have trespassed...”
“Obviously. But no harm done, was there?”
“Harm is not the point.”
“Yes. Yes. Well, Trimbruk, if they need shooting we can do that later. Put the weapons down. Let me talk. I know this sister. She saved my life in the Ponath.”
“Saved your life? Come on. She is just a pup. She is the one who...?”
“Yes. She is that one.”
Trimbruk swallowed. His eyes widened. He looked spooked. He stared at Marika till she became uncomfortable. Twice his gaze seemed pulled toward a group of buildings at the north end of the field. Each time he jerked it back to her with sudden ferocity. Then he said, “Relax, brothers. Relax. Weapons on safety.”
Marika said, “Grauel, Barlog, stand easy. Put your weapons on safe.”
Grauel did not want to do it. Her every muscle was tense with a rigidly controlled fight-flight response. But she did as she was told, though her eyes continued to smolder.
Barlog merely heaved a sigh of relief.
Bagnel did likewise. “Good. Now, shall we talk? Marika, what in the name of the All did you think you were doing, coming in here like that? You cannot just walk in like you own the place. This is convention ground. Have they not taught you anything over there?
“I know. It was stupid.” She stepped closer, spoke more softly. “I was just wandering a
round, exploring. When I saw the airships I got so excited I lost my head. I forgot everything else. I just had to look. Then these males...” She broke off, realizing she was about to make accusations that would be unreasonable and provocative.
Bagnel was amused. But he said, “Did you have to be so... I see. They have taught you — taught you to be silth. I mean, the way silth here understand being silth. Cold. Arrogant. Insensitive. Never mind. As they say, silth will be silth. Timbruk. It is over. There is no need for you here now. This is to be forgotten. No record. No formal protest. Understand?”
“Bagnel...”
Bagnel ignored him. “I owe you a life, Marika. But for you I would have become meat in a nomad’s belly more than once. I repay a fraction of the debt here. I forgive the trespass.” In soft humor, he added, “I am sure your seniors would have a good deal to say to you if they heard about this.”
“I am sure they would. Thank you.”
Timbruk and his males were stalking away, some occasionally glancing back. Except for the male who had tried to use the box. Despite his wound, he was crouched over the remains, prodding them with a finger, shaking his head. He seemed both baffled and disturbed.
“Come,” Bagnel said. He started toward the buildings through which Marika had made her dash.
She asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I am assigned here now. As assistant security chief for the enclave. Since I did such a wonderful job as security officer at Critza, they awarded me a much more important post.” His sarcasm was thick enough to cut. Marika could not determine its thrust, though. Was he his own target? Or were the seniors who had given him the job?
“That was what you were doing up there? I always had a feeling you were not a regular wander-the forests-with-a-pack-on-your-back kind of tradermale.”
“My job was to protect the fortress and manage any armed operations undertaken in the region of its license.”
“Then you were in charge of that hunting party you were with the first time we met.”
“I was.”
“I thought old Khronen was in charge.”
“I know. We allowed you think so. He was just our guide, though. He had been in the upper Ponath all his life. I think he knew every rock and bush by name.”
“He was a friend of my dam. At least as near a friend as she ever had among males.”
Bagnel, daring beyond belief, reached out and touched her lightly. “The memories do haunt, do they not not? We all lost so much. And those who were never there just shrug it off.”
Marika stiffened her back. “Can we look at the small aircraft on the way to the gate?”
Bagnel rewarded her with a questioning look.
“The crime is committed,” she replied. “Can I compound it?”
“Of course.” He altered course toward a rank of five propeller-driven aircraft.
“Stings,” Marika said as they approached. “Driven by a single bank nine-cylinder air-cooled radial engine that develops eighteen hundred meth power. Top speed two hundred ten. Normal cruising speed one sixty. Not fast, but capable of carrying a very large payload. A fighting aircraft. Who do tradermales fight, Bagnel?”
“You amaze me. How did you find out? We fight anyone who attacks us. There are a lot of wild places left in the world. Even here in the higher Tech Zones. There is always a demand for the application of force.”
“Are these ones here for the push against the nomads?”
“No. We may reoccupy our outposts if the Reugge manage to push the nomads out, but we will not help push.”
“Why not? The Brown Paw Bond suffered more than we did, if you do not count the packs. Posts all along the Hainlin...”
“Orders, Marika. I do not pretend to understand. Politics, I guess. Little one, you picked the wrong sisterhood at the wrong time. Strong forces are ranged against the Reugge.”
“The Serke?”
“Among others. They are the most obvious, but they do not stand alone. That is off the record, though. You did not hear it from me.”
“You did not tell me anything I did not know. I do wonder why, though. No one has bothered the Reugge since they split from the Serke. Why start now?”
“The Reugge are not strong, Marika, but they are rich. The Hainlin basin produces a disproportionate amount of wealth. Emeralds out of the Zhotak — those alone might be reason enough. We Brown Paw Bond traders have done very well trading junk for emeralds.”
Marika harkened to younger days, when tradermales had come into the upper Ponath afoot or leading a single rheum-greater, exchanging a few iron tools, books, beads, flashy pieces of cloth, and such, for the clear green stones or otec furs. Every year Dam’s friend Khronen had come to the Degnan packstead, bringing precious tools and his easy manner with pups, and had walked away with a fortune.
The Degnan had been satisfied with the trades. Emeralds were of little value on a frontier. Otec fur was of more use, being the best there was, but what it would bring in trade outweighed its margin of value over lesser furs.
Junk, Bagnel called the trade goods. And he was right from his perspective. Arrowheads, axe heads, hoes, hammers, rakes, all could be manufactured in bulk at little cost in Maksche’s factories. One emerald would purchase several wagonloads here. And books, for which a pack might save for seasons, were produced in mass in the city’s printshops.
“Is that why the Ponath is kept savage?”
Meth, with the exceptions of tradermales and silth, seldom moved far from their places of birth. Information did not travel well in the mouths of those with an interest in keeping it close. How angry Skiljan would have been had she known the treasures she acquired for the pack cost the traders next to nothing. She would have believed it robbery. Just another example of innate male perfidy.
“Partly. Partly because the silth are afraid of an informed populace, of free movement of technology. Your Communities could not survive in a world where wealth, information, and technology traveled freely. We brethren would have our troubles. We are few and the silth are fewer still. Between us we run everything because for ages we have shaped the law and tradition to that end.”
They walked around the fighting aircraft. Marika found its presence disturbing. For that matter, the presence of Dawnstrider was unsettling. Trade in and out of Maksche did not require a vessel so huge. There was more here than met the eye. Maybe that explained Timbruk’s hostility.
“The Sting’s main disadvantage is its limited range when fully fight-loaded,” Marika said, continuing with the data she had given earlier.
“You are right. But where did you learn all that, Marika? I would bet only those of us who actually fly the beasts know all you have told me.”
“I learned in tapestudy. I am going to be a darkship flyer. So I have been learning everything about flying. I know everything about airships, too.”
“I doubt that.” Bagnel glanced back at Dawnstrider.
“But those craft...” Marika indicated several low, long, ovoid shapes in the shadow of a building on the side away from the city. “I do not recognize those.”
“Ground-effect vehicles. Not strictly legal in a Tech Four Zone, but all right as long as we keep them inside convention ground. You came close to catching us using them that time you first met me.”
“The noise and the smell. And Arhdwehr getting so angry. Engines and exhaust. Of course.”
“Every brethren station has a few for emergency use. Mainly for hurried getaways. You remember the odd tracks going away from Critza? Where I said some of our brethren got out? Ground-effect vehicles made those. They leave a pretty obvious trail in the snow.” He went on to explain how the machines worked. Marika had no trouble grasping the concept.
“There is much I do not yet know, then,” she said.
“No doubt. There is much we all do not know. Let me give you some advice. Try to consider the broader picture before you let impulse carry you away again.”
“What?”
“There is a great deal of tension between the Brown Paw Bond and the Reugge right now. Our factors not only refused to help reclaim the provinces overrun by the nomad, they would not lease the fighting aircraft the Reugge wanted. I do not pretend to understand why. It was a chance for us to sweep up a huge profit.”
“I see.” Marika considered the fighting aircraft once more. It was a two-seat, open cockpit biplane with two guns that fired through the airscrew, four wing-mounted guns, and a single gimbal-mounted weapon which could be fired rearward by the occupant of the second seat. “I would love to fly one of those,” she said. The tapes mentioned capabilities that could be matched by no darkship.
“It is an experience,” Bagnel agreed.
“You fly?”
“Yes. If there was trouble and the aircraft had to be employed, I would be a backup flyer.”
“Take me up.”
“Marika!” Grauel snapped.
Bagnel was amused. “There is no limit to her audacity, is there?”
“Marika,” Grauel repeated, “you exceed yourself. You may be silth, but even so we will drag you back to the cloister.”
“Not today, Marika,” Bagnel said. “I cannot. Maybe some other time. Come back later. Be polite at the gate, ask for me, and maybe you will be permitted entrance — without all this fuss. Right now I think you had better leave before Timbruk goes over my head and gets permission to shoot you anyhow.” Bagnel strode toward the gateway buildings. Marika followed. She was nervous now. There would be trouble when she got home.
Bagnel said, “I do not think your sisters would be upset if Timbruk did you in either. You still have that smoky look. Of the fated outsider.”
“I have problems with the silth,” Marika admitted. “But the most senior has given me her protection.”
“Oh? Lucky for you.”
They parted at the gate, Bagnel with a well-wish and repeated invitation to return under more auspicious circumstances.
Outside, Marika paused to scan the field, watched Bagnel stride purposefully toward distant buildings. Her gaze drifted to those structures in the north. Cold crept down her spine. She shivered.
